not-the-red-leader

[not-the-red-leader]

💋 - kissing ... I'm uh asking for a friend (thatfriendisme)

“Good question, maybe your ‘friend’ would like to find out for themselves, yes?”

But seriously, I’m probably average. You’d have to ask someone else.”

[not-the-red-leader]

He stares into the space above the lamp as she speaks, numbly listening to her story and masking his surprise with an almost disinterested gaze. In truth he hangs on her words. He’s fought to keep corruption from inside his militia ever since gaining control of it, and hearing about the near execution of a blameless foot soldier, a talented one at that, has his blood boiling. 

He almost laughs hearing about how Paul and Patryk’s mishap saved her life. 

Guess their terrible piloting skills are good for something after all. 

He perks up suddenly, giving her his full attention as her soft voice changes into the unintelligible lilt of her native French. His eyes widen, partially in embarrassment because she thinks he knows a language he doesn’t (he’s working on too many as it is, English was hard enough to master), and partially because, well, there’s something both calming and stirring about the way the language sounds when she speaks it. As though instead of words she was thrumming out beautiful poetry. 

He shakes off the awe in his eyes when she begins apologizing for her mistake. 

“No, no. Don’t worry about it.” His own thickly accented English sounds so clumsy in comparison. “It’s good to have as many languages under your belt as possible. Maybe you can teach me sometime, eh?” 

Closed Starter for @red-army-sniper

Tord rolled over in bed, letting out a low groan that turned into a hiss of pain as he accidentally put weight on his bad arm. The arm itself didn’t bother him; even though he knew he was stretching and ripping the fresh bandages, and likely soaking the sheets in blood. It was his shoulder that hurt him, a shooting phantom pain erupting from the dead limb that told him he’d twisted the appendage the wrong way. It felt so unnerving, not having control over his own limb, the dead weight a constant reminder of his failure.

Cursing lowly under his breath, he sat up in bed, wiping a tired hand across his brow. He could only hope he hadn’t woken his companion, the sniper Paul had chosen to accompany him back to England. He had to give her credit; she had done well to get them this far without passports or recognition, and now they were holed up in one of the better third-class motels Tord had even been in. Still, he didn’t like feeling like an invalid, or leaving things in charge of one of his soldiers. He should be the one arranging things, keeping vigilance while she followed his lead.

Determined and past sleep, the brunette threw the covers off of himself with the intention of getting dressed and having a smoke out in the night air. In the mirror, his burnt and scarred face stared back at him from the semi-darkness. He still wasn’t used to the sight, and it startled him, and the movement of his paralyzed hand knocked a bookend off of the vanity, the sound ringing through the quiet motel room like a gunshot.

Damn, he thought, there was no way she didn’t hear that.  

[not-the-red-leader]

Ask muse how good they are at..

💋 - kissing 👼 - babysitting 🍛 - cooking 💃 - dancing 🎭 - acting/performing arts 🍻 - tolerating alcohol 😠 - managing with their temper 📝- planning and following their plan 🎤- singing 🙊 - keeping secrets 🌷- taking care of plants/pets 😈 - manipulating with others 🏊 - swimming 😂 - telling jokes 📰 - keeping track of world news 📚 - worlds history knowledge ⌚- keeping track of time 💪 - staying fit 😏 - lying 🚗 - driving a car 👗 - dressing with style 🔮 - magic 🔪 - melee weapons 🔫 - ranged weapons 💞 - expressing their feelings 😓 - acknowledging mistakes 🎺 - playing an instrument 🎁 - making gifts ✊ - keeping promises

[not-the-red-leader]

He blinks at her, before tossing his cigar across the room and into the can by the bathroom door. He leans back again the headrest, one arm tucked behind his head like a pillow. The somewhat cradles by his side. "Nothing. We will keep traveling until we get to London. I don't know how much Paul told you but I have...unfinished business there." He cracks an eye open at her waiting form, slightly worried she'll take his words as a dismissal. "But since I can't sleep, you can bore me with your story." He smirks at her.

Closed Starter for @red-army-sniper

Tord rolled over in bed, letting out a low groan that turned into a hiss of pain as he accidentally put weight on his bad arm. The arm itself didn’t bother him; even though he knew he was stretching and ripping the fresh bandages, and likely soaking the sheets in blood. It was his shoulder that hurt him, a shooting phantom pain erupting from the dead limb that told him he’d twisted the appendage the wrong way. It felt so unnerving, not having control over his own limb, the dead weight a constant reminder of his failure.

Cursing lowly under his breath, he sat up in bed, wiping a tired hand across his brow. He could only hope he hadn’t woken his companion, the sniper Paul had chosen to accompany him back to England. He had to give her credit; she had done well to get them this far without passports or recognition, and now they were holed up in one of the better third-class motels Tord had even been in. Still, he didn’t like feeling like an invalid, or leaving things in charge of one of his soldiers. He should be the one arranging things, keeping vigilance while she followed his lead.

Determined and past sleep, the brunette threw the covers off of himself with the intention of getting dressed and having a smoke out in the night air. In the mirror, his burnt and scarred face stared back at him from the semi-darkness. He still wasn’t used to the sight, and it startled him, and the movement of his paralyzed hand knocked a bookend off of the vanity, the sound ringing through the quiet motel room like a gunshot.

Damn, he thought, there was no way she didn’t hear that.  

[not-the-red-leader]

"Sophia..." He liked the way the name rolled off of his lips. It was fitting, somehow, but he couldn't put his tongue on it. For a minute he's so distracted placing a name with a face that he doesn't hear her question. The simple inquiry makes him internally wince. All of the soldiers at the base knew better than to remark on his injuries aloud in front of him. Paul and Patryck were the only ones who really knew the whole story. Much worse then the physical pain, had been the agony and shame that accompanied marching back into base with a burnt and scarred body, sans one superweapon and a working arm. More pugnant than the scent of burning flesh and dried blood had been the unmistakable stench of failure. He puffed testily on his cigar as he thought about how to reply. "Sophia, have you ever heard an English expression that goes, 'keep your friends close and your enemies closer'?" Without waiting for her to reply, he brushed the ash off of his cigar and continued, an edge of old anger to his voice. "I learned the hard way that it's mostly true." He shrugged, letting the vague answer hang in the air, before adding. "I guess when you do what we do, going back isn't as easy as you think." He caught her eye and realized she probably was more confused then she'd been at the outset. "Harpoon gun." He said by way of clarification, moving so that his useless arm was exposed to the light, marred flesh and all. "I underestimated someone, but I won't make that mistake again."

Closed Starter for @red-army-sniper

Tord rolled over in bed, letting out a low groan that turned into a hiss of pain as he accidentally put weight on his bad arm. The arm itself didn’t bother him; even though he knew he was stretching and ripping the fresh bandages, and likely soaking the sheets in blood. It was his shoulder that hurt him, a shooting phantom pain erupting from the dead limb that told him he’d twisted the appendage the wrong way. It felt so unnerving, not having control over his own limb, the dead weight a constant reminder of his failure.

Cursing lowly under his breath, he sat up in bed, wiping a tired hand across his brow. He could only hope he hadn’t woken his companion, the sniper Paul had chosen to accompany him back to England. He had to give her credit; she had done well to get them this far without passports or recognition, and now they were holed up in one of the better third-class motels Tord had even been in. Still, he didn’t like feeling like an invalid, or leaving things in charge of one of his soldiers. He should be the one arranging things, keeping vigilance while she followed his lead.

Determined and past sleep, the brunette threw the covers off of himself with the intention of getting dressed and having a smoke out in the night air. In the mirror, his burnt and scarred face stared back at him from the semi-darkness. He still wasn’t used to the sight, and it startled him, and the movement of his paralyzed hand knocked a bookend off of the vanity, the sound ringing through the quiet motel room like a gunshot.

Damn, he thought, there was no way she didn’t hear that.  

[not-the-red-leader]

Tord raised his eyebrows as his subordinate messed with the fire extinguisher. It was a precaution he never would have considered, and he admired her foresight. He accepted the cigar and lighter cagily, flicking his finger across the open flame before lighting up and extinguishing it, drawing a long breath of the imported cigar. "Can't have many of these left..." He muttered to himself, before he noticed the sniper's gaze was still directed on him. "So eh...what was your name, again?" They'd been on the road together for three days, but between the need for aliases and silence crossing borders, and Tord's fitful restlessness following his injuries, he hadn't had time to memorize it.

Closed Starter for @red-army-sniper

Tord rolled over in bed, letting out a low groan that turned into a hiss of pain as he accidentally put weight on his bad arm. The arm itself didn’t bother him; even though he knew he was stretching and ripping the fresh bandages, and likely soaking the sheets in blood. It was his shoulder that hurt him, a shooting phantom pain erupting from the dead limb that told him he’d twisted the appendage the wrong way. It felt so unnerving, not having control over his own limb, the dead weight a constant reminder of his failure.

Cursing lowly under his breath, he sat up in bed, wiping a tired hand across his brow. He could only hope he hadn’t woken his companion, the sniper Paul had chosen to accompany him back to England. He had to give her credit; she had done well to get them this far without passports or recognition, and now they were holed up in one of the better third-class motels Tord had even been in. Still, he didn’t like feeling like an invalid, or leaving things in charge of one of his soldiers. He should be the one arranging things, keeping vigilance while she followed his lead.

Determined and past sleep, the brunette threw the covers off of himself with the intention of getting dressed and having a smoke out in the night air. In the mirror, his burnt and scarred face stared back at him from the semi-darkness. He still wasn’t used to the sight, and it startled him, and the movement of his paralyzed hand knocked a bookend off of the vanity, the sound ringing through the quiet motel room like a gunshot.

Damn, he thought, there was no way she didn’t hear that.  

[not-the-red-leader]

The End - Eddsworld, 2016

[not-the-red-leader]

[not-the-red-leader]

Transformation M!As

Send my character a symbol to transform them into:

♧  -  An animal of the anon’s choice.

❤ - The person they love.

☠ - Something/one they hate.

☮ - The opposite sex.

☀ - A child.

♔ - Themselves, but three inches tall.

▲ - Anon’s choice.

M!As last as long as the RPer chooses.

[not-the-red-leader]

He stills, leaning against the vanity as she goes for her gun. 

Good, he thinks, that should always be your first instinct. No matter who you’re with. 

He snaps, “I’m fine.” A little more roughly then he means too. His voice is gravely from sleep, and his accent is thicker when he’s tired. “I wanted a smoke; that’s all.” 

Hoping she doesn’t notice the expression on his face, he risks another look into the mirror. No; it’ll be a long time before he is used to that. When he speaks again his voice is kinder.

“You’ve uhm, you’ve done well to bandage this the way it is. I completely forgot about it.” He indicates the bookend on the floor with a nod of his head, holding his bad shoulder self-consciously. “You can go back to bed soldier, I’ll be fine.”

Closed Starter for @red-army-sniper

Tord rolled over in bed, letting out a low groan that turned into a hiss of pain as he accidentally put weight on his bad arm. The arm itself didn’t bother him; even though he knew he was stretching and ripping the fresh bandages, and likely soaking the sheets in blood. It was his shoulder that hurt him, a shooting phantom pain erupting from the dead limb that told him he’d twisted the appendage the wrong way. It felt so unnerving, not having control over his own limb, the dead weight a constant reminder of his failure.

Cursing lowly under his breath, he sat up in bed, wiping a tired hand across his brow. He could only hope he hadn’t woken his companion, the sniper Paul had chosen to accompany him back to England. He had to give her credit; she had done well to get them this far without passports or recognition, and now they were holed up in one of the better third-class motels Tord had even been in. Still, he didn’t like feeling like an invalid, or leaving things in charge of one of his soldiers. He should be the one arranging things, keeping vigilance while she followed his lead.

Determined and past sleep, the brunette threw the covers off of himself with the intention of getting dressed and having a smoke out in the night air. In the mirror, his burnt and scarred face stared back at him from the semi-darkness. He still wasn’t used to the sight, and it startled him, and the movement of his paralyzed hand knocked a bookend off of the vanity, the sound ringing through the quiet motel room like a gunshot.

Damn, he thought, there was no way she didn’t hear that.  

[not-the-red-leader]

He didn’t miss the movement of her weapon closer to her body, and the automatic reactions of a fight took hold of him, even though he tried to keep his posture relaxed. His muscles were tense and his neck hot and stiff, ready for a swift reaction if need be. He had laughed off what Paul had told him as mere superstition, but something about this girl was...off.  

“Eh, who me? My name is Tord...I’m just...” He cast his eyes around the darkened street, “...passing through, I guess. But enough about me. What have you lost? I can help you look for it if you’d like?” 

And find out what on earth gives you those unnatural abilities, and who you work for. He calculated inwardly. 

@not-the-red-leader

Ava stared at the boy, wondering who he was. He seemed…rather strange. The tall girl couldn’t put her finger on what it was about him.

He wasn't facing her, so he had no idea she was there. She approached him, her axe floating behind her.

“Who are you?”

[not-the-red-leader]

“I like you’re en-thu-si-asm.” Chuckled their commanding officer, emphasizing the syllables of the word in what was meant to be a friendly jab at the other’s thick accent. It was clear that they were not entirely at ease shaking his hand; Tord was used to a sort of reverence for his position, but this was different. It was as though they had been entirely devoid of human contact for most of their life. He let his smile fade into a thoughtful frown.

Those who were naive were easily swayed by flattery. His mind drifted to Matt, but he managed to remember himself and shake off the comparison.

“If you’re ready to go now, how about we put you on the range and see what you can do?” He threw an arm over the other’s shoulder, “Now, I know the scientists evaluate you every so often, but this will be a special display, just for your leader, Okey?” He smiled brightly. “And I can promise you, this timethere’ll be a reward for your good performance.”

(@red-army-killer-kitty) Black Cat had been a test subject of the red army's for quite some time. Their body had been augmented to be able to do, see, and hear inhuman things. They were very cat-like, giving them the aforementioned nickname. They sat in their containment cell, looking up when the door opens only to see the red leader himself walk through the door. They blink, but avert their gaze to the floor fairly quickly. What could he want with a test subject? Nothing good, they guessed.

Tord paused in the doorway, moving his cigar from one side of his mouth to the other with a deft flick of his tongue. There was a strict rule against smoking in the testing area but petty rules were not for the Red Leader, and besides, it had been a long day. 

Wordlessly, he leaned on the door frame and scrutinized the test subject at his feet, cerulean eyes flicking up and down their body nonchalantly before tapping a bit of ash from the end of his cigar and watching it flutter to the stone ground before he finally spoke.

When he did, his voice was loaded with coy sarcasm. 

“Well soldier, how do you like it down here?” 

[not-the-red-leader]

Closed Starter for @red-army-sniper

Tord rolled over in bed, letting out a low groan that turned into a hiss of pain as he accidentally put weight on his bad arm. The arm itself didn’t bother him; even though he knew he was stretching and ripping the fresh bandages, and likely soaking the sheets in blood. It was his shoulder that hurt him, a shooting phantom pain erupting from the dead limb that told him he’d twisted the appendage the wrong way. It felt so unnerving, not having control over his own limb, the dead weight a constant reminder of his failure.

Cursing lowly under his breath, he sat up in bed, wiping a tired hand across his brow. He could only hope he hadn’t woken his companion, the sniper Paul had chosen to accompany him back to England. He had to give her credit; she had done well to get them this far without passports or recognition, and now they were holed up in one of the better third-class motels Tord had even been in. Still, he didn’t like feeling like an invalid, or leaving things in charge of one of his soldiers. He should be the one arranging things, keeping vigilance while she followed his lead.

Determined and past sleep, the brunette threw the covers off of himself with the intention of getting dressed and having a smoke out in the night air. In the mirror, his burnt and scarred face stared back at him from the semi-darkness. He still wasn’t used to the sight, and it startled him, and the movement of his paralyzed hand knocked a bookend off of the vanity, the sound ringing through the quiet motel room like a gunshot.

Damn, he thought, there was no way she didn’t hear that.  

[not-the-red-leader]

((are you kidding me he’d be the one sitting in the chair all like “yep don’t tell me how to run an army I clearly know what I’m doing”))

Unmute this.

[not-the-red-leader]

Send '👊' to punch my muse in the jaw.

Or send ‘👋’ to slap my muse across the face.

[not-the-red-leader]

“They say I’m a  c o n t r o l  f r e a k,

                                          driven by a  g r e e d  to  s u c c e e d...”

[not-the-red-leader]

“Hva i ?!” 

Startled, Tord whirled, hand automatically reaching for the gun that should be just by his hip in it’s holster. He found nothing, of course, and instead of the rough exterior of his coat he found the soft down of his red hoodie. Cagily he took in the girl in front him, pupils widening as he realized what he was encountering. 

“En djevel i kjødet...” [A devil in the flesh] He muttered lowly in his native tongue, remembering Paul’s description of the flame-eyed girl he had encountered. Recovering quickly, he pasted a bright smile to his face and pretended to be oblivious the axe floating behind her body. 

“Eh, hello little girl. Are you lost by any chance?” 

@not-the-red-leader

Ava stared at the boy, wondering who he was. He seemed…rather strange. The tall girl couldn’t put her finger on what it was about him.

He wasn't facing her, so he had no idea she was there. She approached him, her axe floating behind her.

“Who are you?”