Thread: U N F O U N D

Originally Posted by Siиdяed

first and last names

Originally Posted by GestaltAlteration

NAME Rachael

...whut?

Name: Alex Tan
Gender: Male
Race/Ethnicity: Half White Caucasian/Half Indonesian
Country of origin: Australia
Personality: He is a thoughtful, silent type of person who prefers to mull things over before doing them. However, he has hidden depths; when pushed over the edge he may become violent and/or abusive. He will kill if he absolutely must but prefers not to if he can avoid it.
Archetype: Scientist

OK, updated character as per request.

Name: Alex Tan
Gender: Male
Race/Ethnicity: Half White Caucasian/Half Indonesian
Country of origin: Australia
Personality: He is a thoughtful, silent type of person who prefers to mull things over before doing them. However, he has hidden depths; when pushed over the edge he may become violent and/or abusive. He will kill if he absolutely must but prefers not to if he can avoid it.
Hair: Short,black hair.
Eye Colour: Brown
Height: A bit taller than average.
Distinguishing Features: None.
Archetype: Scientist

THE GOLD DOME from far away:

Originally Posted by GestaltAlteration

THE GOLD DOME from far away:

Is that from a game? If so, which?



Anyway; hair; White. Long and in a pony tail. Bear in mind this guy is like Locke-age.

Eye colour; brown

Height 6'0


Distinguishing Features; small scar on left eye. The look of an old well built guy with white hair and a russian accent and a ponytail is kinda distinguishing in itself. One arm seems to fit oddly, almost as if it wasn't his.

NAME Mia Giorgetti
GENDER Female
RACE/ETHNICITY Italian-Japanese[ I like to mix things up]
COUNTRY OF ORIGIN Venice, Italy
PERSONALITY A dreamer who strives to defy. Tries to keep things in perspective when making decisions, but usually comes out sounding like it had some emotional meaning when it doesn't [You can choose to keep what you see fit].
HAIR Black, long, and straight.
EYE COLOUR Pomegranate
HEIGHT Average, lest you desire another height "suiting" the personality you develop for her.
DISTINGUISHING FEATURES Right upper arm: black gun wrapped by a black dragon, both facing up towards the shoulder. A birthmark on her neck that looks like a hickey. [I had to find something weird to add in there.]
ARCHETYPE [I like being different, even though originally I wanted scientist >.<] L A W M A N or S O L D I E R [Forgive for not being able to choose, but the truth is, I like about every single archetype just as much as the other]

U N F O U N D

Mexico, 1866

"We're out of water."
"We're always out of fucking water."
The capitaine grinned and dropped his pack on the ground. His friend grimaced as the dust settled, and spat.
"Napoleon not sending us back yet?"
"No." the capitaine said, ruefully. "Not yet."
"Got to make his Latin Empire first, hasn't we?"
"Yes." the capitaine agreed. He bit his lip, slightly, and stared thoughtfully towards the horizon.
His friend sat and waited a moment, before shifting in his faded blue tunic. His forage cap was coming undone at the seams, and he shifted it to cover his eyes.

"If you could have anything, right now, what would it be?"
The capitaine thought, carefully. In the distance, small pockets of gunpowder smoke billowed and were carried away in the breeze. Mexicans. Guerillos from the Juarist Army harrassing the Foreign Legionnaires every mile they marched. They couldn't be chased into the jungles or villages without the legionnaires getting divided or lost.
The capitaine knew a man who'd got separated from a patrol in a village, and been garrotted. By women. They'd had to fix their bayonets to retrieve the body, and even then they'd been mobbed with stones and angry calls.

"Capitaine."
He shook his head. "An island. A quiet island. Somewhere to start again. Away from all...this."
"Ah." his friend nodded, understanding. "You want to get away from it all, Bulgakov."
"God gave us Eden in the beginning." Capitaine Bulgakov said, firmly. "He sheltered us from the evils of the world. Adam and Eve proved unworthy, but why should we be judged by their merits? Why is every man not born on an island, to make of it what he will? To be judged as an individual, and not as his ancestors were?"
Bulgakov took the offered cigarette and smoked, quietly. He watched as a legionnaire rested his Minié rifle against a low adobe wall and dozed beside it. He considered making a reprimand but decided against it. Let them rest.
"It is interesting that you should say this."
Bulgakov did not turn his head to look at his friend.
"Why is that?"
"Because my family have recently come into some fortune."
Bulgakov snorted. "Legionnaires of the Foreign Legion do not have fortunate families."
"Maybe not with your Russian imbreeding." his friend grinned.
Bulgakov laughed. "Get on with it, Heller."
"My father bought an island...a tiny affair...just east of the Caribbean. He died last year. Left it all to me. Came through in the dispatches last week."
"Fortunate." Bulgakov shrugged. Sergeant-Major Heller grinned.

There was an explosion, and the two rose. Bulgakov shouted, his voice lost in the roar of gunfire.
Beside him Sergeant-Major Heller cocked his Minié rifle and knelt, taking aim.
"That means they dealt with our sentries. Do you know any French?"
Bulgakov shouted again and the soldiers around them formed line. He pointed, shouting.
Heller shrugged. "I ought to learn it some time."
A crack and a man spun, his head a jelly-like mess. Bulgakov drew his revolver and fired in one fluid motion. It was a Colt. Not regulation, but as neat a piece as any he would ever find in Mexico, or France for that matter.

"That island of yours, Heller..." he managed, cocking his revolver against the ball of his hand.
"Yeah?"
Bulgakov grinned. "Room for one more?"

U N F O U N D

London, 1981

There was a shift in the shadows as the figure detached himself from the gloom.
There was a sudden orange flare and a plume of smoke as a cigarette lit up. There was a flash as two slate grey eyes were illuminated, suddenly, and then faded into darkness.
The figure inhaled, and then exhaled. The smoke spiralled upwards, lazily disappearing into the murky London sky above.

It strode, suddenly, stalking the alleyway. Long, deliberate strides, the face harsh and set in cold concentration.

A crash. The hammer fall as a revolver was cocked. The figure spun. arm lashed out, hand twisting around the muzzle of a firearm. Spun, letting the revolver go clattering aside. Lunge, and the figure had the assailant. Hands found the neck and moved, with practised ease.

"Freeze!"
The figure froze. There was a delayed crack as the body fell from his hands, neck snapped back, unnaturally bent. Broken.
The greys and dull whites of urban camouflage flashed under the cigarette light as men moved, surrounding the figure and crouching, rifles levelled.
Blackened gas masks made the assailants faceless, cold. The figure's blank stare matched them, carefully distant.

The figure cocked his head, as though curious. His black coat billowed around him, suddenly caught in the wind.
"Brigadier."
The officer stepped out, his face contorted. He looked down at the lifeless body at the figure's feet. Then looked up.
"Lorenson."
The figure nodded, amused.
"You're under arrest, Mr Lorenson." the Brigadier said, struggling to keep his voice level. "You no longer have the privelege of human rights. You will be detained at a secure base indefinetly. You will not receive the right to a trial."
Lorenson smiled, suddenly.
"I'm sorry, Brigadier, but the Company won't let you do that."
The Brigadier ground his teeth. "Fuck the Company."
Lorenson laughed. The crouched riflemen didn't move.
Lorenson's slate grey eyes flashed. "Fuck UNIT."

The Brigadier reacted. Lorenson moved, suddenly. Kicked, knocking a rifle up. Reached and pulled it from surprised hands. Fired, a sudden burst as he rolled.
The Brigadier shouted, and then jumped. Tackled Lorenson. Punched, then rolled away, clutching a broken arm.
Lorenson rose, breathing heavily. He grinned and reached into his coat.
The Brigadier's eyes flashed. Lorenson pulled the pin.

"The Company doesn't tolerate investigation, Brigadier. Not even by UNIT."

The alley lit up, suddenly, brilliantly, and smoke spiralled upwards, disappearing into the murky London sky.

I *have* sent them, in a PM named "actions" I think.

Tell me and I'll send it back. Just haven't got time now.

I shouldn't have taught Kromoh to lie.

Send the actions in 'again', Kromoh.

I want to learn too, teach me oh professor of lies.