CLOSED PARALOGUE The Evrensel Conflict: Paralogue 1 -- The Cyber-Hangover

[The Wanderer]

Artyom
Imperial Guardsman having a wild time with his fellow Guardsmen.

Artyom's time in this world was a short one, flash of green and confusion at the sights before him made the Guardsman think he had somehow been sent to a starting Hivecity. Before the spires scrape across low atmosphere and before the usual Hive Gangers could form on the sublevels where they'd fight over scraps of shit and metal that had been dumped down their way. Not to mention, the place looked too good to be Hive Tertium. The lack of waste and recycled metal and of course the Heretics he was sent with fellow Squads to wipe out.

All around him, people with strange modifications walked around. Caring little at the sight of him, with the most being someone stopping to look him over before going on their merry way. A detail he keenly became aware was the fact that he wasn't hearing the chants of the Imperial Church, nor broadcasts about keeping an eye out for Heretics, Xenos or the Mutant. Hell, he didn't even spot a PDF troop patrolling or even the Adeptus Arbites looking to smash in someone's skull.

He had begun to wander for what felt like hours before he stumbled upon a regiment of Guardsmen. The telltale uniform of green with white dots, the cheap white Flak-Helmet that wouldn't stop a pebble and the improper way they carried themselves which was only amplified by the alcohol that they were consuming keyed in Artyom on who they were, all Guardsmen regiments had heard of the Jopall Indentured Squadrons. Artyom stormed over to get information and how the hell to get back to the fight so he wouldn't be marked for death by the Inquisition or even the Astra Militarum for 'desertion.' But he would quickly lose track of what happened next, like a haze washed over him and he blacked out. Moments where he'd snap back to reality, and he would find himself drinking and laughing with the Jopall Guardsmen and Guardswomen. Drinking and partying with strangers, including some odd-looking Guardsman in a strange armor that was blue and white.

He even drank with a weird woman with a flowing metal hand as she was crafting something.

Eventually their little party group had reached another place to party it up at, some bar called 'Afterlife.' The green lighting made Artyom feel woozy, especially when he realized he was back in control of himself, the alcohol he had been consuming was taking a toll on him and he felt his stomach turn, and he'd take off his armored mask and find the nearest trash bin to hurl into. Spitting the rest of his stomach contents into the trash bin, Artyom regained some more semblance of his consciousness. Not by much as much of the alcohol had gone into his system so his words and balance were still labored. He'd speak with an accent akin to a Russian one. "Where...The Hel?" He began as he looked around, a Jopall Sergeant waved over to him.

"See? Can't hold his liquor. Not like ussss." The Sergeant slurred, spilling his drink over himself as he chummed with a large man with cybernetics. 'Arasaka' was on the uniform, fourteen of them were partying with the Arasaka uniform having folks, another eight were busy doing shots with folks that looked like they belonged in a Hive Gang, with one having his head be mostly a red LED. Despite being drunk, Artyom's mind was still hardwired from the Guard to already be putting together a plan and listing all relevant information. 'Probably the local PDF chain or Hive Gang, or Rogue Trader. Gear looks too nice to be Hive Gang, others are wearing similar gear with the same name on their uniform. Could be PDF, but gear was too nice, nonstandard. Could be a well-equipped Elite Guard Regiment. Don't see the usual Imperium decorations.'

It made his head hurt but it was something he tried to focus on to keep himself from wobbling to the floor as he used a cloth from a table to wipe off his vomit from his face before he put his armored mask back on. He heard someone raise a fuss, looking over to watch as someone whiffed a grab and another one whiffed a punch. The second person looked pretty borged up that Artyom thought he was a Tech Priest, especially as his head had wires poking out.

The guy in the booth was side-eying the exit which made Artyom wonder just what did he know about their current situation. Were they all drugged or something? Was an attack about to occur? Artyom didn't like it one bit. "I....Don't like the look of the....Traxis-Minoris at twelve'o'clock." Heavily slurred and stuttered, Artyom tried to get the Jopall to at least put together some semblence of a squad but he was laughed off as the Jopall drunkenly waved in the direction of Michael.

"Go...Get that guy more alcohol!" With Michael having a trio of drunk stumbling Guardsmen, who were all giggling as they tried to hand Michael beer. The Drunk Three Musketeers were wobbling on their feet and look about five seconds from falling over, giggling or drinking the drinks meant for Michael.

Groaning, Artyom tried to stand but would tumble to the floor. His slinged lasgun poking into his back.

He wanted this head haze to end and so he could not feel like shit.

Plus he was pretty sure that he saw five more Jopall Guardsmen talking with Xenos, with one being a Snake-Woman for crying out loud.

@Wade Von Doom @littlekreen @BazusoTheGrey @Valkan @Amber Franklin @LenxKaitoYaoi

 

[Wade Von Doom]

In the brief moment Flynn looked away from her device to figure out how the hell she went from the Pathfinder to... whatever this 'Afterlife' place was, it vanished. But it wouldn't take her long to see the culprits behind the theft. Four little brown figures with eight even more little legs skirted through the large crowd of evil looking turquoise men. They made funny sounds, like they were each yelling to the other to 'run faster!' They even trampled over the poor Artyom in their haste, stampeding over his back to press him against the cold floor.

They ran past the drunk trio of Jorpall men who grabbed at Michael just as he made a dash from the booth. "Oh, thanks but no thanks, fellas, I just found out my wife just broke her water and I gotta meet her at the hospital to meet my baby boy!" The sneaky bastard lied, hoping to appease these drunken fools with a sob story.

The strange Bohemian man wasn't buying it. "Don't worry, it's not his!" He shouted out, before breaking out into laughter. He then put Abby back in her seat to help pick up Oliver next, who was still leaking green fluid from his head holes. The aug barely even came within an asses roar of the Bohemian, tripped several feet from him thanks to all those wires stuck inside him. "Don't worry, I wouldn't dream of doing anything to little Abigail!" He told Oli, before booping his finger against where Oli's nose would be. Just out of curiosity, some of that green liquid was on his finger, and he quickly took a smell of it... then popped it in his mouth to taste.

He quickly scrunched up his face. "Blegh! Too sweet," he commented aloud, "Oh, if you're looking for your sword, I think some guys took it with them to the shitter. We couldn't find a plunger!" He then laughed aloud once more.

 

[Amber Franklin]

Abigail Delano, Courier Six-Played by Amber Franklin

It is not that Abby does not appreciate the man's help getting back up from the floor, but she has a mind to slap the man when he grabs her face. This guy was between her and revenge, and he would be lucky to only wake up with a concussion rather than getting a burning hole in his chest. She was going to shove him away, maybe give him a hard kick to the crotch so he stays down and away, and then tackle Michael to the ground to strangle him right there in the bar.

But then he hits her with those eyes. Her perception tunnels to those eyes as he looks at her. The aggression leaves her body and is replaced by euphoria. When he leaves her to tend to Oliver and Michael struggles with other overly friendly patrons, Abby sits there for a moment blissed out until her eyes flutter, and she puts her hands up. This is a technique she has honed over many sessions of being drunk out of her mind, or forced to endure a shot of Psycho or other drug to overcome a bad situation. Looking between her hands, she focuses herself in the small space between them. It only reduces the fuzz around her mind, but enough that she remembers her objective.

Abby slowly gets back to her feet and walks over to Michael and the guards. She winds up her right arm, and throws a punch at Michael's head from behind him. Unfortunately, her centering technique was not as effective as she thought. In the process of winding up her blow, she had unintentionally shifted her stance to one side and so unloads her gauntleted fist into the head of one of the guardsmen instead. Since they were standing so close together, this starts a domino effect that ends with all of them in a pile.

Also unfortunately for Abby, she had hit too hard.

"Goddamn it! Sonofabitch!" Abby yells, holding her right hand as pain shoots up from her knuckles.

 

[littlekreen]

Flynn The Volitale - Character Sheet

A wavering straight-on eye noticed motion but Flynn had to look down with alcohol sodden hair to see it as the drunkenness had taken too much of her focus to use the humanoid husk's peripheral vision. Her head darted back and forth and with a quick sway over the table picked up a odd looking shotgun from the table with several cylinders and apparatus attached with tubes and a badly scrawled 'Shotfun' someone had carved into the stock with dagger chiseled letters. The hairworm she wore as a tool pulled more tightly into a metallic cobalt gauntlet around the pistol grip as her finger flicked the safety. A dim of what it did swirled past her as it hummed but the drunkenness made her too angry to pick a gun that actually shot bullets.

The room tottered and leaned nearly upsetting the topless gunsmith from her unsteady human feet and yelled after the thieving creatures with a melodic slur as they skittered past Michael, "Shell cracked thieving spikers! I'm not even done yet!"

She shouldered the shotfun to aim as she advanced to straddle Artyom when Abby launched at the three imperial guards and cleared her lane of fire. The force of firing jiggled her tanned bosom just as much as the gelatinous cylinders whoooshthoomped across the room at the Jawas with her aim made dubious by rage. The faintly glowing blue jello shots held cohesion to hit like a particularly angry nerf dart but the impact wasn't a wet splatter. They bounced off just to wriggle and levitate in an orbit for a little while like some moon drawn by the gravity of alcoholism until they were grabbed, or just fell and splattered.

A half-empty bottle of Mjød was the last round that finally broke through the Reacher and the husk's combined resistance to sugary alcohols after Flynn had drank terrifying amounts of fireball liquor among the various multiversal supplies trickling in. The wibbling blue-glowing cinnamon-honey jello shots were pure though not as noxious to mundanes as the fenrisian ale would have been after passing through Flynn and her husk. Their odd combination of a sweetly burning hoar frost was unblemished. It certainly made the shots hit one's liver like a slug.

The drunken murk started to fade as the sanguimancer used the blood in her alcohol supply to channel ammunition and stood a bit firmer as Abby called out and Flynn slurred, "It's damofabitch! only one fun gun!"

WHOOSHTHOOMP! WHOOSHTHOOMP! Flynn retargeted her rifle to doink Abby in the head twice with the gelatinous floating rounds. Then stuck out her tongue a bit to aim as she jello shot the odd bearded fellow in the face and called out, "RELOAD!"

Two nearby laughing patrons arrived with more fireball and the bottle of fenris ale as she flicked the safety out of a short-lived cogent reflex and bent back to drink from both bottles. A groping hand didn't really bother Flynn though a nearby evil eye stopped it.

 

[Henryboy003]

MUCH LATER
​

How much later? Who knows?

Abby, Alec and their new friend Patches found their way to Michael. Agatha and Karena, with Volare brought along with them, followed their gun enthusiast to their shop, and the group of misfits in charge of getting medical supplies found themselves on a chase to find Anri. Only to end up fighting through a small army of Militech soldiers and causing pandemonium in the process.

But as all of this happened.... Nothing.

The intensity of the Militech fight, the chaos of Abby's revenge against the man who tortured her and her partner, even the simple cash exchange with Agatha and Karena all suddenly stopped. The last memories all the teams would have before the world suddenly went dark would be blurry visions and obscure sounds. Something happened to them, something that took over their minds in a matter of seconds. It was a small feeling at first, a mellowness like a glass of fine white wine. Their mouths tasted of fine vintages and nuanced palates, and their worries vanished as the sweet taste of such fine liqours flowed through their bodies. Even though they hadn't even touched a drink since they landed on this planet. The feeling would grow more and more until they begin feeling more drunk.

The sweet taste turned to stronger drinks, of Whiskey, Rum, Vodka, Bourbon, all their minds would become intoxicated by these sensations that didn't make any logical sense to be happening. But whatever logic and reason they had left vanished like the world around them. Their sights turned to Jackson Pollock paintings, the sounds nothing but white noise between TV channels, their thoughts more random and disorganized than a child's playroom. It turned to a haze, before it finally went black.

Maybe they were all drugged at the same time. Maybe they were hypnotized. Maybe someone put them under a spell. All they would know, once they could properly think again, was they were back together once more. But they weren't anywhere near where they were before. They were now in a bar. Above it was the name in bright neon green lighting. 'Afterlife.'

They weren't alone either. Militech guards, the same ones Anri, Chika and Oliver had fought, were now laughing outrageously together with large pints in their hands. The guards Abby and Alec fought to grab Michael, engaged in drinking contests and arm wrestling with the other Militech people. The gunsmith Agatha and Karena had met with, he was speaking with Patches as they reminisced about days gone by from their worlds.

There were even Gangsters there, sharing in the revelry but by no logic should even be in the same room. Tyger Claws, Maelstrom, Valentinos, hell there looked to be several Arasaka bodyguards/assassins with heavy duty cybernetics. Even Michael himself, last Abby would remember, was hanging him from the ceiling rafters of his makeshift apartment like she was the judge, jury and executioner of the crimes he committed lightyears away.

She and him were now sitting in a booth, opposite each other. Michael had visible bruises around his neck from where her wiring choked him, but how the hell did they even end up here? If someone looked to the TV playing over the bar, they would see several news reports of a Militech base, the same one Anri and co. attacked, set ablaze like a bomb had gone off inside it.

How did they happen? Fuck if they knew. All Oliver and Chika knew, once they managed to regain some semblance of consciousness back, was Chika was for some reason trying to chop open a beer bottle with her sword, and Oliver had several cords sticking out his head like he was the world's strongest modem.

Alec was nowhere to been seen, while Agatha was in an arm wrestling contest with the biggest Maelstrom fella in the room. Karena herself would be chugging a beer keg upside down, and Volare was doing magic spells like some streetside entertainer to the cheers and wows of his audience.

How did they get here? Why were they doing this? God only knew right now. All they knew at this point was they somehow had their minds back... but not by much.

Because even though they had a moment of clarity from their drunken haze... They were all still pretty drunk right now. Except Anri. The little girl thankfully didn't have the same sensation thrown upon her.

No, she got something worse as a substitute. A sugar rush.

Karena's whole body was floating. Not physically at least, just that weird floating feeling intoxication had with it. Though... in the back of her head she knew something was wrong. She was too relaxed. The words of her old teacher flashed into her mind. Never Calm Down.

It was like a spike of ice driven into the floaty feeling of her inebriation. Not enough to sober her up but it did help return her to a normal level of stress for what she was. She stumbled around for a little bit, checking her pockets as she saw a little brown shape sprint past. Revolver... check... sword... check... Hand was still there... Yep that all made sense.

What didn't explain anything was how they got here, let alone why this place was... as friendly as it could be. Most pubs like this in Halcyon had some form of barfight, or, professional dart game going on. Oh that is what she forgot, the dart board. There had to be one around here somewhere. All she had to do was find it!

This may have involved moving though the bar at her own pace, she thought she was meandering through without bumping into people but she was rather hammered. A few people, and drinks, might have gotten bumped over on her quest for a dartboard. Didn't seem like there was anything else to do besides that!

 

[Valkan]

Agatha Brandt

The stoic policewoman held her practiced poker face to perfection, despite almost salivating on the inside to the thought of owning that Ray Gun. Not only that, but this deal could lead Agatha to accomplishing her mission. Win-win, if she ever saw one. However, she never got to hear the verdict of Snowman. Saying things got out of hand would be an understatement. She was drugged, but she couldn't recall a moment where that could have been possible. Agatha's mind raced as she tried to fight back the incoming blackout in a futile effort. "Shi..."

When Agatha came to, if she could even call it that, she was in the middle of an... arm wrestling match? Not only that, her opponent was quite the mass of muscle, or most likely, implants. As her mind somewhat kicked back into gear, she threw her arm full force against the opposing arm in shock, slamming it against the table they were playing in. "Vaaat in zee...?" She looked around, concerned. The first problem, her body had consumed who knows how much alcohol, or an equivalent drug. She felt sluggish and clumsy as she moved, for a supersoldier, at least. The whole group was there, drinking and seemingly having fun... Or well, the shitty bar from shady parts of town kind of fun, at least. Herself included.

That thought led her to turn to the guys likely to be with the guy she arm wrestled "Saaaay, veeere ze fuck... hic... am I?" As she spoke, her attention turned to another detail that was quite important. She checked for her belongings, guns and such.

 

[BazusoTheGrey]

Fifth Grade Fixer

There is nothing. The green hues and sounds of the world drained around the Fixer as he lay slump against a wall, leaving behind only tv static to fill the void. A shape with amethyst eyes hovered close to his face, inaudible nonsense coming from it. It was probably mocking him...
'Well, can't say it's unwarranted. Death by violent unplugging's kinda funny buddy.'
True enough. His first death in the Library was infinitely preferable to this, at least he had his sword in hand...
'FUCKING COCK! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING RIGHT NOW?!'
Hm?
'GET UP. RIGHT FUCKING NOW. WE GOTTA GO AND FIND IT-FIND HER!'
'Uh huh, and how do you propose we do that mr man? I don't know if you noticed but our brains are literally leaking through our face at the moment. Besides, we don't even know where "her" is. Better to just let things happen I say, we ain't supposed to be alive in the first place anyhow.'
'FUCK OFF, WE'VE SURVIVED WORSE. WILL SURVIVE WORSE. THIS IS NOT HOW WE FUCKING DIE, MARK MY FUCKING WORDS. I WON'T ACCEPT IT, WE AINT DYING WITHOUT STEEL IN HAND. JUST LISTEN TO THE HIPPIE FOR A SECOND. YOU CAN FEEL IT CAN YOU NOT?!'
'The familiarity in his tone, the fact that he knows us and the whole not giving a shit about the situation? Yeah, I hear it, so what?
'HE KNOWS. HE SET EVERYTHING UP. THIS IS AN ELABORATE PLOT, A FUCKED UP LITTLE SHOW WITH US AS THE DISMEMBERED RAT DROPPED IN THE BACKSTREETS FOR THE SWEEPERS TO PLAY WITH. WE'RE THE COMEDY RELIEF IN THIS FUCKED UP PLAY, HE TOOK OUR SWORD AWAY FROM US AS A LAUGH, HE'LL TELL US WHERE IT IS AS THE PUNCHLINE.'
'That ain't exactly convincing me to get up my guy'
'YOU DUMB MOTHERFU-'
'Enough, both of you. Come on Fixer, focus for a second. There is still enough life left in us to do that much, at least.'

The Fixer raises his head slightly, craning it toward the shape with purple eyes. Slowly the tv static went from blinding to somewhat translucent, allowing the indistinct shapes around him to take shape into actual human beings.

"Blegh! Too sweet," The man commented aloud, "Oh, if you're looking for your sword, I think some guys took it with them to the shitter. We couldn't find a plunger!" He then laughed aloud once more, before hitting the girl near him (ABIGAIL DELANO, THAT'S HER NAME) with those eyes of his and walking off.
'...'
'Well.'
'That's a new low even for us, huh buddy?'
'Truly. I believe that is reason enough to go and retrieve it.'
'WHAT DID I SAY?! WHAT. THE. FUCK. DID I SAY YOU STUPID PESSIMISTIC SHIT?! GET UP, RIGHT NOW, WE'RE GRABBING HER BACK! BILLIONS MUST DIE FOR THIS!'

Slowly, the Fixer pushes himself up, rushing towards the bathroom doors with a zombie like gait before shoving through the bathroom doors. Immediately, he caught the attention of three guys holding his (babyLOVERfriend) sword an arms length from themselves. At the same time, water was filling the room, mixed in with the shit and urine from an absolutely destroyed toilet.
'Feh, dumbasses must've unsheathed her before plunging away, sliced open the toilet and by the looks of things, a chunk of the pipe. Well, at least she's still as sharp as ever so that's a definite win.'
'KILL EM KILL EM KILL EM KILL EM KILL EM KILL EM KILL EM KILL EM KILL EM KILL EM KILL EM KILL EM KILL EM KILL EM KILL EM'
'Go for the one holding the sword first, the others will not be able to react in time, they are too drunk to do so.'

In an instant, the Fixer's upon them. Lunging forward, his hands press into the man's skull before slamming it against the wall, once, twice, again and again until there's nothing left to hold and the wall's painted a nice shade of crimson. Dropping the body, he turns toward the other two, their eyes droopy and uncomprehending. Before they could react however, the Fixer picks up his sword and swings it wildly toward the both of them, the expensive blade simply ignoring the fact that it was in an enclosed space by sheering through the walls before cutting the two men in half. The act of swinging through the wall and tow people actually managed to clean the blade a little bit, with the wall now sporting a brown streak across it.
'IT'S STILL NOT ENOUGH, WE GOTTA DO MORE TO RID IT OF THE FILTH'
'There's alcohol out there isn't there? That stuff's a solvent or something right?'
'Yes, indeed. After that, we reconvene with our coworkers, as long as that man does not intervene of course.'
Sword reacquired, if in somewhat smelly condition, Oliver shambles out of the bathroom toward the counter and the rest of the people he woke up with, sword dragging behind him.

For a minor explanation if you guys need it

Basically Oliver is going really schizo and his thoughts have personified into 3 of the four attributes in Lobotomy Corp. The last one (being white) is not as developed as the others so it mainly just describes things without providing actual insight for them. So in case you really need clarification, all the colored texts are just different types of thought processes for Oliver.

Red's his Instinctual murder hobo brain going off
Purple's his sorta empathetic, cynical, pessimist brain
Blue's his drive and Judgement, basically the superego

I had a little brain worm after playing a bit of Disco Elysium and reading a fanfic for library of ruina. Basically the author used the four main attributes of Lobotomy Corp as the thought processes for her OC so I thought it'd be neat to do that for fun. I'll probably be sticking with the whole schizo stuff until we reach the end of the paralogue or something.

 

[Girania the Knightess]

Anri
Whatever you do, don't tell Evelynn

Anri didn't know what happened, but she did know what was happening now. She was feeling energetic! She was feeling restless! She was a little woozy and lightheaded! She wanted to do something while she felt funny! And seeing the fun everyone was having all around this weirdly-lit place only enticed her to do more.

For her, this place was unlike any tavern she'd ever been in. It was cramped, mostly loud in the booming music, and had these weird looking people that looked like they could breathe underwater in some big tubes. She hobbled over to the big glowy counter that a bunch of people were hanging out by, and snuck behind it. Everyone else was drinking some colorful things, and she wanted to drink some too!

Behind the counter, and near the big lady that was looking a bit wobbly, there was a treasure trove of bottles holding various liquids, and some metal cylinders that Anri guessed also had liquid in it. She took a bunch of them and stuffed them in her pockets before running off with even more in her arms. She found a nice spot to try them out. She started with one of the cans. She opened one up and took a swig of it. It gave a strange sensation of small pops in her mouth that didn't stop until soon after she had swallowed it. The beverage itself was sweet and metallic. When she looked at the can it had a picture of a woman with red lipstick and lines for eyes, as well as the word "NiCola." She liked it! It was fun and tasty to drink! Next she tried a bottle of red liquid. It was much thicker than she expected it to be, and tasting it revealed why. It wasn't a drink, but some sort of syrup that had a fruity taste to it. Like berries. Finally, she got around to a big bottle she took. It was purple with white lines forming the image of a knight's helmet. When she sipped from this one, she almost immediately spat it out. It tasted HORRIBLE. Whatever flavor it was, it was the opposite of sweet. It was bitter and burned as it made its way down her throat. It had no distinct flavor that she could describe, and she would have thrown it away had she not had an idea.

SHe went back to the counter and quickly nabbed a glass. When she returned to her spot, she mixed the three liquids together, and gave them a try. It was… much better. The burning sensation that the last liquid have was still there when it went down, but the flavor had been much improved, with the NiCola and red syrup sweetening it into a different taste. She would continue mixing the liquids together and drinking them.

 

[The Wanderer]

Artyom
The Imperial Guardsman that was Artyom had to refrain from slapping himself as he tried to stand once again but unfortunately he would find himself being sat on by a strange woman with a weird shotgun that shot jello out of it for some insane reason. Artyom did not quite take kindly to being a seat and he would roll over to get the strange woman off him. The second he was free, Artyom would steady himself by using more of his training. 'Even you are in pain or affected by some miasma, you are to do the Emperor's work or die!' He repeated the Commissar's words inside his skull until fear sobered him up. At least partially.

It was easy to get oneself to function if they imagined a Bolt-Pistol at the back of their head. He watched as the Jopall were useless in stopping the shady looking guy from fleeing his booth, but to his surprise, the lady who had tried to get the man before had tried again by throwing a punch. A punch that landed in the back of one of the Jopall's head. Hitting their cheap helmet and breaking but also leading to all of them tumbling forward like dominos. One of them grabbing onto the man as they fell and near immediately, Artyom felt a pin drop.

A shitstorm was going to occur.

Not because of some drunks getting violent, or the usual bar antics. But because he knew the reputation of Jopall Guardsmen when they were drunk. First it began with slurred questions, before one suddenly sucker-punched their fellow Guardsman in the face, breaking goggles and knuckles. One practically rode Michael like a stead as he slammed his fellow two Guardsman like he was part of a comic relief trio from early Terra. What didn't help was one had a bowl cut, another had long curly hair and one was a portly one. The other Jopall saw this and decided to get involved, and considering they were all over this bar. A fight was going to break out all over the place. And Artyom knew that despite being a Guardsman, he'd be amongst the folks who'd get swarmed by the Jopall.

"Kark....I'd advice to get ready for....Brawl." Artyom said to the weird woman who had straddled him as he stood up, pausing to dry heave as he raised his fists. His stance and posture pointed towards the green-uniform wearing soldiers, so hopefully she'd catch on and get ready. He made sure his back was to the wall, no other way to potentially get flanked, he recited a prayer to the Emperor and a whisper to himself.

"Keep them infront. Hold the line."


@Wade Von Doom @Amber Franklin @littlekreen @BazusoTheGrey @Valkan @Henryboy003

 

[littlekreen]

Flynn The Volitale - Character Sheet

Flynn shuffled upward from her position as the convenient seat decided it wanted to move when she bent up after swallowing more alcohol. Beneath her wavered legs with both drunkenness and anomalous reflexive control as the noxious alcohol and tasty cinnamon drink started to filter in. The Hairworm bit her again from inside the husk to alert its home and overbeing to a dire concern as the red warmth of drunken glee faded into an attentive and pointed focus. Flynn lowered her weapon to thread it through two loops on her belt as resistances wound up their cranks and axles. That allowed a slightly longer look at the situation than the end of a bottle. Abby was angered at a man for something more than drunken anger. A quick look around told her everyone was drunk, even those that ought to be more challenging to do so. The husk doubly so. Others she recognized, including the angry swordbearer with what ought to be fatal damage, and a few others she did not see often but knew of. Memories played back in her head with some erratic spurts that it was self-inflicted, but everything before a certain point was blank. A free hand looped the front part of her leather getup over her head to cover up. There was still something not in her blood that was rattling around in her making the limbs drunkenly sway and her focus try to waver. A pernicious curse inside the husk's machinery as she compensated some for the actual alcohol at least.

Flynn, of some practice dealing with tersely establishing rules of engagement, gave a thumbs up then pointed at the two nearest she recognized, "Yeah. Quartermaster Flynn. Allies: puncher girl, sword brute. Low intel environment, avoid lethal fire. Suspect enemy actor. Don't get sucker punched!"

The woman nodded to the wobbling guardsman as he recovered himself and said one of her own if aloud, one prayer old even to Reachers, when they used to revere Grandfather Teeth, the first and last machine, as a deity. Later, knowledge quelled their reverence but did not dilute their aims. Faint trundling marks of gears pressed out of her skin as much as they seemed to mate with tattoos of the same on the skin surface. As sanguimancer grabbed the stock of the 'shotfun' to eye Artyom with a smile like a readying tank barrel toward the oncoming ruckus, she spoke what was now translated roughly as the 'Reacher's Lament.' Though he might recognize it as high gothic, the Latin translated much the same as she put her dukes up.

Viventes pereunt, sed machina perpetitur.
Ponam vestigium silentii.
Primo pedibus in machine.
Primo pedibus in infernum.
In morte etiam munus non finit.

Spoiler

The living perish, but the machine endures.
I will leave a trail of silence.
Feet first into the machine.
Feet first into hell.
Even in death duty doesn't end.

 

[Epiphany]

Ahsoka Tano

At this point, a gloved hand suddenly landed on the top of the bar from...beneath it? Then another hand. A moment later, the twin white peaks of Togruta montrals cleared the bar counter, only to be followed by the flushed, sweaty face of a decidedly unbalanced Jedi. Ahsoka got her elbows up on the counter, groaned once and shook her head only to instantly regret it.

"What...where?" Her normally sharp blue eyes were uncharacteristically blurry as she tried to take in the chaos of the bar scene before her. Only a few of her companions from the Pathfinder she recognized but there was little doubt this establishment was just as diverse as it was seedy. A moment later she closed her eyes and a look of intense concentration swept over her features. The Jedi reached out with the Force, felt the Light and felt through it her connection to all the living beings in this building and beyond. Turning her mental attention inward, she sought out the intrusions in her blood stream that were affecting her, distorting her perceptions and her reflexes. And through the Force, she began the process to filter and stream those chemicals and biologicals out of her blood stream.

Ahsoka Tano took a deep breath. She centered herself. Then she pulled herself fully to her feet, intent on addressing the situation before her and especially the incipient brawl about to happen.

It was at this point that she noticed something was missing. Her lightsabers remained with her, as did her Jedi utility belt. All of its myriad devices and pieces of equipment remained intact. Her billowy pants tucked into her boots were in surprisingly good condition, given the state of the bar floor that she'd apparently been lying on.

Pants but no top.

Exposed before presumably anyone looking in her direction, the Jedi sighed and covered herself with one arm. "I could use a shirt, or a coat or something." The question is aimed at literally anyone in the position to hear her and notice her predicament.

 

[Amber Franklin]

Abigail Delano, Courier Six-Played by Amber Franklin

Suddenly, the possibly broken hand was no concern. The alcoholic gelatin hits Abby fully in the face, and she screams thinking her head split open yet she had somehow survived to feel her brains spraying everywhere. She falls onto the floor, scrambles her hands over her face, trying to feel for a hole in her head to put her brains back in. Finding no hole, she stops screaming and licks her lips.

"Mmm..yummy." She licks her hands, wipes the gelatin away from her eyes and crawls back to the table where she had been sitting to find something to wipe her face off. Abby finds something made of cloth, and uses it to clean her face as all around her the chaos escalates.

"Awright….that sobered me up somewhat…now to..to…what is this anyway?" She holds out the cloth she had used, and realizes it is actually two items wrapped in each other: a blue shirt and tan bra now sullied by alcoholic gelatin.

"Is this mine?" She asks, looking down at her armored chest. Not hers. Somewhere in this mayhem was a topless woman.

 

[Otomos]

Chika

Drunkenness is different for everyone, as seen with the situation going on in the Afterlife bar. With no one able to even resist the influence, everyone blacked out. Yet while others found themselves sobering up in Night City's most infamous hangout, Chika would not yet awaken. No, once everyone starting sobering up, her will would remain unconscious, and the spirits would puppeteer her body to sate their bloodlust. They had her step out for a while, climbing the stairs up and finding their way to a more popular area. With everyone in a stupor, they would ample bodies to have their fun. They were not without their wants. Without the mask that she wore, Chika's revealed face represented that she was still herself. The mask was their way of representing their presence and influence over the Hitokiri.

So it was that they stole articles of clothing. Wearing them realistically meant nothing. For the spirits it was a symbolic gesture. Lacking the weapon that Chika normally used, they had to improvise. They used her body to snap off a street sign, before finally indulging in wanton slaughter. The stupor would have delay any sort of urgency to flee, but there would still be those that would run. After all, drunkeness did not keep realization and fear from bubbling to the surface. By the time the area had cleared and the spirits were satisfied enough to stop, the scene had looked as if a Cyber Psycho had arrived. Leaving the sign impaled in one of the bodies, the spirits moved Chika back to the bar, discarding the clothing and allowing Chika to regain consciousness.

She felt a numbness in her head, and a soreness in her limbs. Chika did not know what happened. She was at that one large building with everyone else, and now she found herself in some place with bright lights and a plethora of drunks, some of whom were the people she had gone on the mission with. Those same people seemed to be causing a ruckus, and possibly starting a brawl. She did not know what was going on, but Chika felt that she was going to need to do something anyway.

 

[Apothecary Bruce]

You've been drugged.

Jeremy stumbled to his feet, pulling himself upright on whatever he could. Only too late did he realize it was a person he clung to. With a loud krak, the ranger slammed to his back, helmet rolling away from his hand. Sliding over, he managed to grip it, and pull it close. Sliding it over his head, he got up to his feet, and got a look at the place in front of him. Afterlife, the sign burned with an intense neon. His helmet did its best to regulate the light and sound coming in, providing his addled senses a needed crutch.

He stumbled into the place, finding a seat rather quickly. Don't drink anything. Clear your head...
Jeremy put his hand in his coat and rummaged about, trying to stay upright. Please say I kept some fixer on me. A few more seconds. No luck. Dammit. The best tool Jeremy knew of, besides something that would flush the alcohol from his system like a legionnaire jumping out from a table or his CO demanding what was under his bunk, would be time. He just needed to give himself that...

The ranger started laughing a little, then it became a whole lot. Cackling by his lonesome, trying to keep his voice down but utterly failing. How many times had he done this to himself? Countless, probably. Nothing had gripped him more than the bottle in his youth. Even when he joined the NCR fighting forces, it still had its hooks in him until he was dragged out of it by his brothers in arms. Sobered, given support, and when it came down to it Jeremy loved his brothers more than he loved the bottle.

He couldn't let them down, not in the Mojave. Legion, raiders, the Fiends. Even remnants of the Khans. He couldn't let them down. Now, despite all of his therapy and his willpower, his fear of going back to the bottle, he was forced to be drunk. He knew he hadn't had a drop. Someone did this to him, someone had to have...
You're in no condition to start investigating, though. Rest. Let it pass.

 

[Wade Von Doom]

Abigail Delano, Courier Six-Played by Amber Franklin

It is not that Abby does not appreciate the man's help getting back up from the floor, but she has a mind to slap the man when he grabs her face. This guy was between her and revenge, and he would be lucky to only wake up with a concussion rather than getting a burning hole in his chest. She was going to shove him away, maybe give him a hard kick to the crotch so he stays down and away, and then tackle Michael to the ground to strangle him right there in the bar.

But then he hits her with those eyes. Her perception tunnels to those eyes as he looks at her. The aggression leaves her body and is replaced by euphoria. When he leaves her to tend to Oliver and Michael struggles with other overly friendly patrons, Abby sits there for a moment blissed out until her eyes flutter, and she puts her hands up. This is a technique she has honed over many sessions of being drunk out of her mind, or forced to endure a shot of Psycho or other drug to overcome a bad situation. Looking between her hands, she focuses herself in the small space between them. It only reduces the fuzz around her mind, but enough that she remembers her objective.

Abby slowly gets back to her feet and walks over to Michael and the guards. She winds up her right arm, and throws a punch at Michael's head from behind him. Unfortunately, her centering technique was not as effective as she thought. In the process of winding up her blow, she had unintentionally shifted her stance to one side and so unloads her gauntleted fist into the head of one of the guardsmen instead. Since they were standing so close together, this starts a domino effect that ends with all of them in a pile.

Also unfortunately for Abby, she had hit too hard.

"Goddamn it! Sonofabitch!" Abby yells, holding her right hand as pain shoots up from her knuckles.

Flynn The Volitale - Character Sheet

A wavering straight-on eye noticed motion but Flynn had to look down with alcohol sodden hair to see it as the drunkenness had taken too much of her focus to use the humanoid husk's peripheral vision. Her head darted back and forth and with a quick sway over the table picked up a odd looking shotgun from the table with several cylinders and apparatus attached with tubes and a badly scrawled 'Shotfun' someone had carved into the stock with dagger chiseled letters. The hairworm she wore as a tool pulled more tightly into a metallic cobalt gauntlet around the pistol grip as her finger flicked the safety. A dim of what it did swirled past her as it hummed but the drunkenness made her too angry to pick a gun that actually shot bullets.

The room tottered and leaned nearly upsetting the topless gunsmith from her unsteady human feet and yelled after the thieving creatures with a melodic slur as they skittered past Michael, "Shell cracked thieving spikers! I'm not even done yet!"

She shouldered the shotfun to aim as she advanced to straddle Artyom when Abby launched at the three imperial guards and cleared her lane of fire. The force of firing jiggled her tanned bosom just as much as the gelatinous cylinders whoooshthoomped across the room at the Jawas with her aim made dubious by rage. The faintly glowing blue jello shots held cohesion to hit like a particularly angry nerf dart but the impact wasn't a wet splatter. They bounced off just to wriggle and levitate in an orbit for a little while like some moon drawn by the gravity of alcoholism until they were grabbed, or just fell and splattered.

A half-empty bottle of Mjød was the last round that finally broke through the Reacher and the husk's combined resistance to sugary alcohols after Flynn had drank terrifying amounts of fireball liquor among the various multiversal supplies trickling in. The wibbling blue-glowing cinnamon-honey jello shots were pure though not as noxious to mundanes as the fenrisian ale would have been after passing through Flynn and her husk. Their odd combination of a sweetly burning hoar frost was unblemished. It certainly made the shots hit one's liver like a slug.

The drunken murk started to fade as the sanguimancer used the blood in her alcohol supply to channel ammunition and stood a bit firmer as Abby called out and Flynn slurred, "It's damofabitch! only one fun gun!"

WHOOSHTHOOMP! WHOOSHTHOOMP! Flynn retargeted her rifle to doink Abby in the head twice with the gelatinous floating rounds. Then stuck out her tongue a bit to aim as she jello shot the odd bearded fellow in the face and called out, "RELOAD!"

Two nearby laughing patrons arrived with more fireball and the bottle of fenris ale as she flicked the safety out of a short-lived cogent reflex and bent back to drink from both bottles. A groping hand didn't really bother Flynn though a nearby evil eye stopped it.

It wasn't like regular sized Dominos that tumble over, it was more those ridiculously giant sized ones that slowly topple over and would probably kill you if they landed on top of you. That was what happened with these 'Jopall' fellas once Abby smacked the first bastard in the back of the head. It was like they were in slow motion as they crumbled to the ground, each one slowly yelling out, 'whooooooaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!~' until the last one smashed against the floor with a loud thud. All of them crushed Michael in their fall, as their grip on the asshole was too firm for him to slither out of.

And the madness only escalated from there, as the bar descended into total anarchy, with Abby seemingly lighting the spark on this powder keg of drunken madness. Although the Bohemian wasn't bothered at all. With a large smile, he gently cupped the jello shot fired at him by Flynn; slurping it up like a slushy. "Ahhh!~" He exclaimed, smacking his lips together. "Blya, tak! Davayte hulyaty, suky!" Somehow, the translators they all had, whether magical or technological, wasn't working with him, so unless they spoke Ukrainian, they had no idea what he said.

But whatever it was, the crowd joined him in an up-roaring cry of joy. "OPA!"

"OPA!"

With that, the music that had been playing in the bar cut out with a sudden stop. Like the radio playing music was unplugged. What replaced were the soft chords of acoustic guitar strings being plucked, echoing out across the whole bar. The Bohemian had vanished in the blink of an eye, only to return atop the bar itself; waving about a microphone.

"Start wearing purple, wearing purple," he began to sing, his voice perfectly echoing across the bar for all to hear, even those in the bathroom." Start wearing purple for me now.~ All your sanity and wits, they will all vanish. I promise. It's just a matter of time~" All those listening, who hadn't broken free from this drunken spell put upon them, had their eyes glow a brighter shade of purple along their pupils. Even those with cybernetic eyes, like the Maelstrom gangsters, began to have their red lights turn a shade of purple.

"So yeah, I-

START WEARING PURPLE, WEARING PURPLE!~
(La la la la!~)
START WEARING PURPLE FOR ME NO-OW!

ALL YOUR SANITY AND WITS, THEY WILL ALL VANISH!
I PROMISE~
IT'S JUST A MATTER OF TIME~"

The crowd went into a frenzy. The music blared through the whole place, and with it, the people went into a trace of stupid happy drunk fun. They were dancing, singing along, throwing themselves into the booze, more instruments began to play, and of course, fights broke out within this mosh pit.

First and foremost being the Jopalls. "What the fuck!" The first guy standing shouted to his comrade beside him. "You dog shit!" Bam, a punch was thrown, landing across his comrade's cheek.

"You fuck-ass!" The comrade shouted back, smacking his former friend upside the head.

"I'LL RIP OFF YOUR HEAD AND JIZZ DOWN YOUR NECK!" The two then began to wrestle each other, followed by the others trying to break them up... Only to then start shoving each other, as they thought each of them were trying to pick a fight. Then they also started throwing punches. Pretty soon they went into an all out brawl against each other, with Michael slipping through their legs to escape the chaos, although going the wrong way because he was all mixed up on where the exit was.

 

[Wade Von Doom]

MUCH LATER
​

How much later? Who knows?

Abby, Alec and their new friend Patches found their way to Michael. Agatha and Karena, with Volare brought along with them, followed their gun enthusiast to their shop, and the group of misfits in charge of getting medical supplies found themselves on a chase to find Anri. Only to end up fighting through a small army of Militech soldiers and causing pandemonium in the process.

But as all of this happened.... Nothing.

The intensity of the Militech fight, the chaos of Abby's revenge against the man who tortured her and her partner, even the simple cash exchange with Agatha and Karena all suddenly stopped. The last memories all the teams would have before the world suddenly went dark would be blurry visions and obscure sounds. Something happened to them, something that took over their minds in a matter of seconds. It was a small feeling at first, a mellowness like a glass of fine white wine. Their mouths tasted of fine vintages and nuanced palates, and their worries vanished as the sweet taste of such fine liqours flowed through their bodies. Even though they hadn't even touched a drink since they landed on this planet. The feeling would grow more and more until they begin feeling more drunk.

The sweet taste turned to stronger drinks, of Whiskey, Rum, Vodka, Bourbon, all their minds would become intoxicated by these sensations that didn't make any logical sense to be happening. But whatever logic and reason they had left vanished like the world around them. Their sights turned to Jackson Pollock paintings, the sounds nothing but white noise between TV channels, their thoughts more random and disorganized than a child's playroom. It turned to a haze, before it finally went black.

Maybe they were all drugged at the same time. Maybe they were hypnotized. Maybe someone put them under a spell. All they would know, once they could properly think again, was they were back together once more. But they weren't anywhere near where they were before. They were now in a bar. Above it was the name in bright neon green lighting. 'Afterlife.'

They weren't alone either. Militech guards, the same ones Anri, Chika and Oliver had fought, were now laughing outrageously together with large pints in their hands. The guards Abby and Alec fought to grab Michael, engaged in drinking contests and arm wrestling with the other Militech people. The gunsmith Agatha and Karena had met with, he was speaking with Patches as they reminisced about days gone by from their worlds.

There were even Gangsters there, sharing in the revelry but by no logic should even be in the same room. Tyger Claws, Maelstrom, Valentinos, hell there looked to be several Arasaka bodyguards/assassins with heavy duty cybernetics. Even Michael himself, last Abby would remember, was hanging him from the ceiling rafters of his makeshift apartment like she was the judge, jury and executioner of the crimes he committed lightyears away.

She and him were now sitting in a booth, opposite each other. Michael had visible bruises around his neck from where her wiring choked him, but how the hell did they even end up here? If someone looked to the TV playing over the bar, they would see several news reports of a Militech base, the same one Anri and co. attacked, set ablaze like a bomb had gone off inside it.

How did they happen? Fuck if they knew. All Oliver and Chika knew, once they managed to regain some semblance of consciousness back, was Chika was for some reason trying to chop open a beer bottle with her sword, and Oliver had several cords sticking out his head like he was the world's strongest modem.

Alec was nowhere to been seen, while Agatha was in an arm wrestling contest with the biggest Maelstrom fella in the room. Karena herself would be chugging a beer keg upside down, and Volare was doing magic spells like some streetside entertainer to the cheers and wows of his audience.

How did they get here? Why were they doing this? God only knew right now. All they knew at this point was they somehow had their minds back... but not by much.

Because even though they had a moment of clarity from their drunken haze... They were all still pretty drunk right now. Except Anri. The little girl thankfully didn't have the same sensation thrown upon her.

No, she got something worse as a substitute. A sugar rush.

Karena's whole body was floating. Not physically at least, just that weird floating feeling intoxication had with it. Though... in the back of her head she knew something was wrong. She was too relaxed. The words of her old teacher flashed into her mind. Never Calm Down.

It was like a spike of ice driven into the floaty feeling of her inebriation. Not enough to sober her up but it did help return her to a normal level of stress for what she was. She stumbled around for a little bit, checking her pockets as she saw a little brown shape sprint past. Revolver... check... sword... check... Hand was still there... Yep that all made sense.

What didn't explain anything was how they got here, let alone why this place was... as friendly as it could be. Most pubs like this in Halcyon had some form of barfight, or, professional dart game going on. Oh that is what she forgot, the dart board. There had to be one around here somewhere. All she had to do was find it!

This may have involved moving though the bar at her own pace, she thought she was meandering through without bumping into people but she was rather hammered. A few people, and drinks, might have gotten bumped over on her quest for a dartboard. Didn't seem like there was anything else to do besides that!

Chika

Drunkenness is different for everyone, as seen with the situation going on in the Afterlife bar. With no one able to even resist the influence, everyone blacked out. Yet while others found themselves sobering up in Night City's most infamous hangout, Chika would not yet awaken. No, once everyone starting sobering up, her will would remain unconscious, and the spirits would puppeteer her body to sate their bloodlust. They had her step out for a while, climbing the stairs up and finding their way to a more popular area. With everyone in a stupor, they would ample bodies to have their fun. They were not without their wants. Without the mask that she wore, Chika's revealed face represented that she was still herself. The mask was their way of representing their presence and influence over the Hitokiri.

So it was that they stole articles of clothing. Wearing them realistically meant nothing. For the spirits it was a symbolic gesture. Lacking the weapon that Chika normally used, they had to improvise. They used her body to snap off a street sign, before finally indulging in wanton slaughter. The stupor would have delay any sort of urgency to flee, but there would still be those that would run. After all, drunkeness did not keep realization and fear from bubbling to the surface. By the time the area had cleared and the spirits were satisfied enough to stop, the scene had looked as if a Cyber Psycho had arrived. Leaving the sign impaled in one of the bodies, the spirits moved Chika back to the bar, discarding the clothing and allowing Chika to regain consciousness.

She felt a numbness in her head, and a soreness in her limbs. Chika did not know what happened. She was at that one large building with everyone else, and now she found herself in some place with bright lights and a plethora of drunks, some of whom were the people she had gone on the mission with. Those same people seemed to be causing a ruckus, and possibly starting a brawl. She did not know what was going on, but Chika felt that she was going to need to do something anyway.

"HEY!!!" Chika would be shouted at with a screaming voice to her right, one that would feel like a hard slap to the back of her head. "You gonna do it or what?!" The man shouted again into her ear, as Chika was still standing in position to cut the bottle open, even as she regained consciousness. Sitting beside her, sweating buckets in his Hawaiian shirt, was a tubby man who seemed nervous as all hell she wasn't doing her little 'trick,' like his life was on the line.

NEWMAN

... In fact, it probably was, considering sitting behind him, aiming a ray gun at his head, was a fog-hat gray robot, smoking a cigar and chugging down a bottle of beer with his free hand. "Yeah, what's the holdup?! I got five more asses to kick besides blubber over here!"


BENDER​

"Now, don't rush the woman, she's just trying to focus her concentration is all," said yet another masculine voice to her left. This time it was a black man in a snazzy black suit, aiming yet another ray gun of some sort at the robot. It seemed the two were in a standoff, with the tubby man being used as a meat shield for the robot in case the man in black tried anything clever. "Just take your time, Chika, we ain't in no rush. Them five other asses are gonna be missin' that metal foot by the time I'm done with this tin can."

J
​

"The only piece of me you're gonna get is biting my shiny metal ass!" The robot called out to the man in black.

"CAN SOMEONE PLEASE JUST DO SOMETHING?!?!" The tubby man was on the verge of a mental breakdown being this hostage. And unless Chika successfully cut open the bottle with her sword, which was for some reason a Glass Sword that had frost sizzling off its sharpened edges, this would end in a bloodbath.

"Oh ey, Karena!" J then shouted out to the vampire as she was passing through the crowd, just passing a glimpse of her before she disappeared again. "Girl, where the hell did you go? I told you to get the cops down here!"

 

[Wade Von Doom]

Agatha Brandt

The stoic policewoman held her practiced poker face to perfection, despite almost salivating on the inside to the thought of owning that Ray Gun. Not only that, but this deal could lead Agatha to accomplishing her mission. Win-win, if she ever saw one. However, she never got to hear the verdict of Snowman. Saying things got out of hand would be an understatement. She was drugged, but she couldn't recall a moment where that could have been possible. Agatha's mind raced as she tried to fight back the incoming blackout in a futile effort. "Shi..."

When Agatha came to, if she could even call it that, she was in the middle of an... arm wrestling match? Not only that, her opponent was quite the mass of muscle, or most likely, implants. As her mind somewhat kicked back into gear, she threw her arm full force against the opposing arm in shock, slamming it against the table they were playing in. "Vaaat in zee...?" She looked around, concerned. The first problem, her body had consumed who knows how much alcohol, or an equivalent drug. She felt sluggish and clumsy as she moved, for a supersoldier, at least. The whole group was there, drinking and seemingly having fun... Or well, the shitty bar from shady parts of town kind of fun, at least. Herself included.

That thought led her to turn to the guys likely to be with the guy she arm wrestled "Saaaay, veeere ze fuck... hic... am I?" As she spoke, her attention turned to another detail that was quite important. She checked for her belongings, guns and such.

Fifth Grade Fixer

There is nothing. The green hues and sounds of the world drained around the Fixer as he lay slump against a wall, leaving behind only tv static to fill the void. A shape with amethyst eyes hovered close to his face, inaudible nonsense coming from it. It was probably mocking him...
'Well, can't say it's unwarranted. Death by violent unplugging's kinda funny buddy.'
True enough. His first death in the Library was infinitely preferable to this, at least he had his sword in hand...
'FUCKING COCK! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING RIGHT NOW?!'
Hm?
'GET UP. RIGHT FUCKING NOW. WE GOTTA GO AND FIND IT-FIND HER!'
'Uh huh, and how do you propose we do that mr man? I don't know if you noticed but our brains are literally leaking through our face at the moment. Besides, we don't even know where "her" is. Better to just let things happen I say, we ain't supposed to be alive in the first place anyhow.'
'FUCK OFF, WE'VE SURVIVED WORSE. WILL SURVIVE WORSE. THIS IS NOT HOW WE FUCKING DIE, MARK MY FUCKING WORDS. I WON'T ACCEPT IT, WE AINT DYING WITHOUT STEEL IN HAND. JUST LISTEN TO THE HIPPIE FOR A SECOND. YOU CAN FEEL IT CAN YOU NOT?!'
'The familiarity in his tone, the fact that he knows us and the whole not giving a shit about the situation? Yeah, I hear it, so what?
'HE KNOWS. HE SET EVERYTHING UP. THIS IS AN ELABORATE PLOT, A FUCKED UP LITTLE SHOW WITH US AS THE DISMEMBERED RAT DROPPED IN THE BACKSTREETS FOR THE SWEEPERS TO PLAY WITH. WE'RE THE COMEDY RELIEF IN THIS FUCKED UP PLAY, HE TOOK OUR SWORD AWAY FROM US AS A LAUGH, HE'LL TELL US WHERE IT IS AS THE PUNCHLINE.'
'That ain't exactly convincing me to get up my guy'
'YOU DUMB MOTHERFU-'
'Enough, both of you. Come on Fixer, focus for a second. There is still enough life left in us to do that much, at least.'

The Fixer raises his head slightly, craning it toward the shape with purple eyes. Slowly the tv static went from blinding to somewhat translucent, allowing the indistinct shapes around him to take shape into actual human beings.

"Blegh! Too sweet," The man commented aloud, "Oh, if you're looking for your sword, I think some guys took it with them to the shitter. We couldn't find a plunger!" He then laughed aloud once more, before hitting the girl near him (ABIGAIL DELANO, THAT'S HER NAME) with those eyes of his and walking off.
'...'
'Well.'
'That's a new low even for us, huh buddy?'
'Truly. I believe that is reason enough to go and retrieve it.'
'WHAT DID I SAY?! WHAT. THE. FUCK. DID I SAY YOU STUPID PESSIMISTIC SHIT?! GET UP, RIGHT NOW, WE'RE GRABBING HER BACK! BILLIONS MUST DIE FOR THIS!'

Slowly, the Fixer pushes himself up, rushing towards the bathroom doors with a zombie like gait before shoving through the bathroom doors. Immediately, he caught the attention of three guys holding his (babyLOVERfriend) sword an arms length from themselves. At the same time, water was filling the room, mixed in with the shit and urine from an absolutely destroyed toilet.
'Feh, dumbasses must've unsheathed her before plunging away, sliced open the toilet and by the looks of things, a chunk of the pipe. Well, at least she's still as sharp as ever so that's a definite win.'
'KILL EM KILL EM KILL EM KILL EM KILL EM KILL EM KILL EM KILL EM KILL EM KILL EM KILL EM KILL EM KILL EM KILL EM KILL EM'
'Go for the one holding the sword first, the others will not be able to react in time, they are too drunk to do so.'

In an instant, the Fixer's upon them. Lunging forward, his hands press into the man's skull before slamming it against the wall, once, twice, again and again until there's nothing left to hold and the wall's painted a nice shade of crimson. Dropping the body, he turns toward the other two, their eyes droopy and uncomprehending. Before they could react however, the Fixer picks up his sword and swings it wildly toward the both of them, the expensive blade simply ignoring the fact that it was in an enclosed space by sheering through the walls before cutting the two men in half. The act of swinging through the wall and tow people actually managed to clean the blade a little bit, with the wall now sporting a brown streak across it.
'IT'S STILL NOT ENOUGH, WE GOTTA DO MORE TO RID IT OF THE FILTH'
'There's alcohol out there isn't there? That stuff's a solvent or something right?'
'Yes, indeed. After that, we reconvene with our coworkers, as long as that man does not intervene of course.'
Sword reacquired, if in somewhat smelly condition, Oliver shambles out of the bathroom toward the counter and the rest of the people he woke up with, sword dragging behind him.

For a minor explanation if you guys need it

Basically Oliver is going really schizo and his thoughts have personified into 3 of the four attributes in Lobotomy Corp. The last one (being white) is not as developed as the others so it mainly just describes things without providing actual insight for them. So in case you really need clarification, all the colored texts are just different types of thought processes for Oliver.

Red's his Instinctual murder hobo brain going off
Purple's his sorta empathetic, cynical, pessimist brain
Blue's his drive and Judgement, basically the superego

I had a little brain worm after playing a bit of Disco Elysium and reading a fanfic for library of ruina. Basically the author used the four main attributes of Lobotomy Corp as the thought processes for her OC so I thought it'd be neat to do that for fun. I'll probably be sticking with the whole schizo stuff until we reach the end of the paralogue or something.

Agatha's question was met with a resounding, "SHUT THE FUCK UP!" The muscly Maelstrom gangster was in a standstill with Agatha. While he was struggling to push her arm down with all his cybernetic might, sweating just as many bullets as Newman was across the bar room, Agatha wouldn't feel a thing.

Their arms were locked in place, right in the middle of the table they were using to arm wrestle. Even with his arms twice the size of hers, he couldn't seem to push her arm down enough to have her knuckles kiss the table. But, they weren't alone. Surrounding her were several more Maelstrom members, each distinctive from each other for their bizarre cybernetic appearances.

"Yo, you really gonna let this dumb bitch fuck you?" The one missing a mouth shouted to the muscly member. It was at that point Agatha would realized they were all packing heat, and while she still had her weapons, the fact her shooting arm was currently locked together in the wrestling contest made reaching for them tricky without being shot.

"Go fuck yourself! This stupid cunt ain't mean shit!" The muscly man shouted back, before staring her right in the eyes. "You just HAD to insult my ma, didn't you, choom?!" Agatha would have no memory of insulting someone's mom.​

 

[Wade Von Doom]

Anri
Whatever you do, don't tell Evelynn

Anri didn't know what happened, but she did know what was happening now. She was feeling energetic! She was feeling restless! She was a little woozy and lightheaded! She wanted to do something while she felt funny! And seeing the fun everyone was having all around this weirdly-lit place only enticed her to do more.

For her, this place was unlike any tavern she'd ever been in. It was cramped, mostly loud in the booming music, and had these weird looking people that looked like they could breathe underwater in some big tubes. She hobbled over to the big glowy counter that a bunch of people were hanging out by, and snuck behind it. Everyone else was drinking some colorful things, and she wanted to drink some too!

Behind the counter, and near the big lady that was looking a bit wobbly, there was a treasure trove of bottles holding various liquids, and some metal cylinders that Anri guessed also had liquid in it. She took a bunch of them and stuffed them in her pockets before running off with even more in her arms. She found a nice spot to try them out. She started with one of the cans. She opened one up and took a swig of it. It gave a strange sensation of small pops in her mouth that didn't stop until soon after she had swallowed it. The beverage itself was sweet and metallic. When she looked at the can it had a picture of a woman with red lipstick and lines for eyes, as well as the word "NiCola." She liked it! It was fun and tasty to drink! Next she tried a bottle of red liquid. It was much thicker than she expected it to be, and tasting it revealed why. It wasn't a drink, but some sort of syrup that had a fruity taste to it. Like berries. Finally, she got around to a big bottle she took. It was purple with white lines forming the image of a knight's helmet. When she sipped from this one, she almost immediately spat it out. It tasted HORRIBLE. Whatever flavor it was, it was the opposite of sweet. It was bitter and burned as it made its way down her throat. It had no distinct flavor that she could describe, and she would have thrown it away had she not had an idea.

SHe went back to the counter and quickly nabbed a glass. When she returned to her spot, she mixed the three liquids together, and gave them a try. It was… much better. The burning sensation that the last liquid have was still there when it went down, but the flavor had been much improved, with the NiCola and red syrup sweetening it into a different taste. She would continue mixing the liquids together and drinking them.

Ahsoka Tano

At this point, a gloved hand suddenly landed on the top of the bar from...beneath it? Then another hand. A moment later, the twin white peaks of Togruta montrals cleared the bar counter, only to be followed by the flushed, sweaty face of a decidedly unbalanced Jedi. Ahsoka got her elbows up on the counter, groaned once and shook her head only to instantly regret it.

"What...where?" Her normally sharp blue eyes were uncharacteristically blurry as she tried to take in the chaos of the bar scene before her. Only a few of her companions from the Pathfinder she recognized but there was little doubt this establishment was just as diverse as it was seedy. A moment later she closed her eyes and a look of intense concentration swept over her features. The Jedi reached out with the Force, felt the Light and felt through it her connection to all the living beings in this building and beyond. Turning her mental attention inward, she sought out the intrusions in her blood stream that were affecting her, distorting her perceptions and her reflexes. And through the Force, she began the process to filter and stream those chemicals and biologicals out of her blood stream.

Ahsoka Tano took a deep breath. She centered herself. Then she pulled herself fully to her feet, intent on addressing the situation before her and especially the incipient brawl about to happen.

It was at this point that she noticed something was missing. Her lightsabers remained with her, as did her Jedi utility belt. All of its myriad devices and pieces of equipment remained intact. Her billowy pants tucked into her boots were in surprisingly good condition, given the state of the bar floor that she'd apparently been lying on.

Pants but no top.

Exposed before presumably anyone looking in her direction, the Jedi sighed and covered herself with one arm. "I could use a shirt, or a coat or something." The question is aimed at literally anyone in the position to hear her and notice her predicament.

You've been drugged.

Jeremy stumbled to his feet, pulling himself upright on whatever he could. Only too late did he realize it was a person he clung to. With a loud krak, the ranger slammed to his back, helmet rolling away from his hand. Sliding over, he managed to grip it, and pull it close. Sliding it over his head, he got up to his feet, and got a look at the place in front of him. Afterlife, the sign burned with an intense neon. His helmet did its best to regulate the light and sound coming in, providing his addled senses a needed crutch.

He stumbled into the place, finding a seat rather quickly. Don't drink anything. Clear your head...
Jeremy put his hand in his coat and rummaged about, trying to stay upright. Please say I kept some fixer on me. A few more seconds. No luck. Dammit. The best tool Jeremy knew of, besides something that would flush the alcohol from his system like a legionnaire jumping out from a table or his CO demanding what was under his bunk, would be time. He just needed to give himself that...

The ranger started laughing a little, then it became a whole lot. Cackling by his lonesome, trying to keep his voice down but utterly failing. How many times had he done this to himself? Countless, probably. Nothing had gripped him more than the bottle in his youth. Even when he joined the NCR fighting forces, it still had its hooks in him until he was dragged out of it by his brothers in arms. Sobered, given support, and when it came down to it Jeremy loved his brothers more than he loved the bottle.

He couldn't let them down, not in the Mojave. Legion, raiders, the Fiends. Even remnants of the Khans. He couldn't let them down. Now, despite all of his therapy and his willpower, his fear of going back to the bottle, he was forced to be drunk. He knew he hadn't had a drop. Someone did this to him, someone had to have...
You're in no condition to start investigating, though. Rest. Let it pass.

As Jeremy suffered from his sudden mental breakdown of alcoholic relapse, someone would shove him from behind his back; hard enough that he could fall out of his seat. When he turned around to see who did it, the creature stood tall above him by several feet.

It looked down at him with a ghastly smile, growling under its beer smelling breath.


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While Anri continued to mix up her various concoctions of drinks, something had crept over to her quietly while she wasn't looking. The creature was invisible to the naked eye, and with the music blaring as loudly as it was, she wouldn't hear its legs crawling against the metal flooring. But, when she mixed her latest drink together, and went to take a sip from the glass once more, it was suddenly snatched from her fingers.

The glass was simply floating in the air below the counter, with its liquids disappearing as this invisible force drank it all in one gulp. The glass then began to wobble away from Anri, as the invisible stealer of children's liquor made a quick getaway.

-----------------------------------------------------

"Nah," a voice from the bar underneath Ahsoka told her. Patches, and the friendly gunsmith Karena and Agatha met from earlier, both of whom were enjoying drinks of their own from the bar itself, were looking up to the Jedi with large smiles on their faces. Can you guess why? "I think you're fine as is." Sewell Snowman, the gunsmith, commented next; taking a long puff of smoke from his rolled up cigarette.

Ahsoka wouldn't be alone on the bar top for long, however. "AHA!" A high pitched voice cried out. At the opposite end of the bar, a figure would appear out of thin air.

​

As he spun onto the bar, drinks spilled everywhere like a boozy tornado, and glass flew across the room; hitting several pedestrians. Once the mysterious ninja stood upright, he spoke right to Ahsoka herself.

"天の網は大きく広がります。粗いのに、何も抜けません。"
Yet again, the translator wasn't working, so unless she spoke Japanese, nadda clue what he was saying.

"運命の出会い…決闘しましょう！" With a proclamation, he then took a fighting stance against Ahsoka.

 

[Wade Von Doom]

Artyom
The Imperial Guardsman that was Artyom had to refrain from slapping himself as he tried to stand once again but unfortunately he would find himself being sat on by a strange woman with a weird shotgun that shot jello out of it for some insane reason. Artyom did not quite take kindly to being a seat and he would roll over to get the strange woman off him. The second he was free, Artyom would steady himself by using more of his training. 'Even you are in pain or affected by some miasma, you are to do the Emperor's work or die!' He repeated the Commissar's words inside his skull until fear sobered him up. At least partially.

It was easy to get oneself to function if they imagined a Bolt-Pistol at the back of their head. He watched as the Jopall were useless in stopping the shady looking guy from fleeing his booth, but to his surprise, the lady who had tried to get the man before had tried again by throwing a punch. A punch that landed in the back of one of the Jopall's head. Hitting their cheap helmet and breaking but also leading to all of them tumbling forward like dominos. One of them grabbing onto the man as they fell and near immediately, Artyom felt a pin drop.

A shitstorm was going to occur.

Not because of some drunks getting violent, or the usual bar antics. But because he knew the reputation of Jopall Guardsmen when they were drunk. First it began with slurred questions, before one suddenly sucker-punched their fellow Guardsman in the face, breaking goggles and knuckles. One practically rode Michael like a stead as he slammed his fellow two Guardsman like he was part of a comic relief trio from early Terra. What didn't help was one had a bowl cut, another had long curly hair and one was a portly one. The other Jopall saw this and decided to get involved, and considering they were all over this bar. A fight was going to break out all over the place. And Artyom knew that despite being a Guardsman, he'd be amongst the folks who'd get swarmed by the Jopall.

"Kark....I'd advice to get ready for....Brawl." Artyom said to the weird woman who had straddled him as he stood up, pausing to dry heave as he raised his fists. His stance and posture pointed towards the green-uniform wearing soldiers, so hopefully she'd catch on and get ready. He made sure his back was to the wall, no other way to potentially get flanked, he recited a prayer to the Emperor and a whisper to himself.

"Keep them infront. Hold the line."


@Wade Von Doom @Amber Franklin @littlekreen @BazusoTheGrey @Valkan @Henryboy003

Flynn The Volitale - Character Sheet

Flynn shuffled upward from her position as the convenient seat decided it wanted to move when she bent up after swallowing more alcohol. Beneath her wavered legs with both drunkenness and anomalous reflexive control as the noxious alcohol and tasty cinnamon drink started to filter in. The Hairworm bit her again from inside the husk to alert its home and overbeing to a dire concern as the red warmth of drunken glee faded into an attentive and pointed focus. Flynn lowered her weapon to thread it through two loops on her belt as resistances wound up their cranks and axles. That allowed a slightly longer look at the situation than the end of a bottle. Abby was angered at a man for something more than drunken anger. A quick look around told her everyone was drunk, even those that ought to be more challenging to do so. The husk doubly so. Others she recognized, including the angry swordbearer with what ought to be fatal damage, and a few others she did not see often but knew of. Memories played back in her head with some erratic spurts that it was self-inflicted, but everything before a certain point was blank. A free hand looped the front part of her leather getup over her head to cover up. There was still something not in her blood that was rattling around in her making the limbs drunkenly sway and her focus try to waver. A pernicious curse inside the husk's machinery as she compensated some for the actual alcohol at least.

Flynn, of some practice dealing with tersely establishing rules of engagement, gave a thumbs up then pointed at the two nearest she recognized, "Yeah. Quartermaster Flynn. Allies: puncher girl, sword brute. Low intel environment, avoid lethal fire. Suspect enemy actor. Don't get sucker punched!"

The woman nodded to the wobbling guardsman as he recovered himself and said one of her own if aloud, one prayer old even to Reachers, when they used to revere Grandfather Teeth, the first and last machine, as a deity. Later, knowledge quelled their reverence but did not dilute their aims. Faint trundling marks of gears pressed out of her skin as much as they seemed to mate with tattoos of the same on the skin surface. As sanguimancer grabbed the stock of the 'shotfun' to eye Artyom with a smile like a readying tank barrel toward the oncoming ruckus, she spoke what was now translated roughly as the 'Reacher's Lament.' Though he might recognize it as high gothic, the Latin translated much the same as she put her dukes up.

Viventes pereunt, sed machina perpetitur.
Ponam vestigium silentii.
Primo pedibus in machine.
Primo pedibus in infernum.
In morte etiam munus non finit.

Spoiler

The living perish, but the machine endures.
I will leave a trail of silence.
Feet first into the machine.
Feet first into hell.
Even in death duty doesn't end.

"Flynn!" A voice cried out to Flynn from behind her. When she turned, a large man with a thick muscle build waved to her with an adoring look. Although it was obvious he was completely wasted, by the fact that as he tried walking towards her, he not only kept stumbling over his feet, but also bumped into several people at the same. Wasn't like they were even close to touching him, he was literally throwing his body around into them in his attempts to stay stable footed.

"My darling light!~" He cried out to her again once close enough, drink in hand, before once more tripping over his feet and falling onto his face; spilling his drink all over the floor. "AH!... I go' you a drink!~" He raised up the empty glass while on lying on the floor, a gazed look in his eyes. The man was a half-drow, with a dark lichen colored skin tone, and two different sets of iris colors. His left was purple, while his right was yellow, and his chair a snowy white with purple highlights running through it.

"YOU!" On the opposite side, behind where Artyom was standing, yet another voice cried out. This time to the Emperor's finest, and this time, a woman of dark tanned skin. Her dark brunette hair was braided into a bun, and wore a short red jacket with fingerless gloves, and tight blue jeans with belts around her thighs and waist.

When close enough to Artyom, she clocked him right in the face as hard as possible.​

 

[Amber Franklin]

Abigail Delano, Courier Six-Played by Amber Franklin

"Alec!?" Abby calls out to the bar, as thinking about a topless woman wandering around made her instantly think Alec had to be with that woman if not with her. The chaos was ramping up now, and even in her drunken state, Abby has the presence of mind to throw up her hands and use her technique to get herself together. She was very drunk. Moreso than any other time she could remember. She had to sober up fast to find Alec, sober him up, and they had to get everyone back together. They could hunt down Michael afterwards. But how? There was only one way to get at least alert, focused.

Her hand goes to a pocket of her belt that had her 'last resort': a plastic inhaler loaded with Jet. The drug had been used to give her that edge needed to beat Legate Lanius, and she did not want to risk addiction but that could be fixed later. She closes her eyes, puts the nozzle to her mouth, and presses down on the applicator.

As the Bohemian man yells "OPA!" Abby's green eyes shoot wide open. The haze in her mind clears. Abby stows the shirt and bra in a back pocket, jumps to her feet and does a frantic survey of the bar as the music kicks up in tempo. The purple glowing eyes of the many other patrons cannot be good. Abby turns back to the table where she had been sitting, snatches up the Death Pod tucked under it, and looks around again.

"ALEC! Alec where are you?! Flynn?! Have you seen him?" She yells out over the music and crowd. Her heart pounds hard in her chest, and she almost feels sorry for anyone who tries to fight her in this state. The Jet was doing its job, but mixing stimulants with alcohol is a highly volatile solution to have in an armed and skilled woman.