#genuine antique firearms

[howdoesone]

How does one properly display antique firearms and weapons in a collection?

Distinguishing between replicas and genuine antique firearms and weapons is a crucial skill for collectors, enthusiasts, and anyone interested in these historical artifacts. With the market flooded with reproductions and counterfeit items, it’s essential to be able to identify the authenticity of antique firearms and weapons. This comprehensive guide will provide you with valuable tips and…

[sisterspooky1013]

Gaslight, Chapter 36/48

Rated X | Read it here on AO3

Mulder sleeps in the back of their rented van on the drive to Henryton, exhausted from nearly twenty-four hours of preparation and worry. His mind feels like an oversaturated sponge, and he finds himself in a perpetual state of frustration as memories tease the edges of his subconscious, never fully revealing themselves. It’s all on the tip of his tongue, burbling just under the surface, but woefully inaccessible.

Langly remains in critical condition, his bedside now attended by his younger brother who flew in on a redeye from out of state. Byers dutifully calls for an update every few hours, and the men make it their mission to save Scully in his honor. What they can’t bring themselves to say aloud is that if he dies, it will hurt all the more to have lost them both in one fell swoop. Never seeing Scully again is an idea that Mulder can’t even allow himself to entertain. He just has to find her. He has to.

Frenchie is curled up near his head, intermittently cracking one eye open to verify that he hasn’t left her again. She’s been glued to his side since she arrived, and between her clear separation anxiety and the fact that they have no idea how long they’ll be gone, he decided that they couldn’t leave her at the Gunmen’s house in good conscience. Having her in tow will also allow him and Scully to set out for Canada right away, without returning to Washington, as will the lock box under the driver’s seat containing two sets of passports, ID, birth certificates, a marriage license, and $10,000 cash.

In the back of the van there are also several firearms. To Mulder’s recollection, the last time he fired a gun was during his short stint at Quantico. But when Byers slid a pistol into his palm, he instinctively released the magazine to verify that it was loaded, slammed it back home, and racked the slide without a single conscious thought regarding what he was doing. He hopes that he doesn’t need to use it, but knowing that he would be able to do so effectively instills the confidence he’ll need if he’s going to pull this off.

It was Byers, fresh from the hospital, who suggested that Teena Mulder’s cryptic message regarding the trains that pass through Henryton tunnel should be interpreted to mean he needs to board a train there. Henryton, however, has no train station, only the infamous tunnel. The railway schedule indicates that between three and five trains pass through the tunnel each day, as early as 10:00 am and as late as 6:00 pm. Their plan is to arrive by 10:00 and scope out the area, then board the train if given an opportunity to do so. They have surveillance equipment, radios, a first aid kit, and detailed maps of every square inch of land within five hundred miles of Henryton, none of which have offered any answers or even suggestions as to Scully’s location. As prepared as they are, they are operating off little more than a hunch and an audacious amount of hope.

They arrive in Marriottsville, a small town near Henryton, just past 10:00 am and stop for breakfast at a mom and pop cafe called Ruth’s. It’s a weathered clapboard house that’s been gutted and converted into a restaurant, and they slide into a booth next to an antique fireplace with historical photos displayed on the mantle.

“Good morning, gentlemen, what can I get for you?”

Their server is an older woman with a moon-shaped face and wiry salt and pepper hair, and a name tag on her apron that says “Moira.” She meets Mulder’s eye and smiles, and she’s so genuinely warm and welcoming that he can’t help smiling back despite his sour mood.

“Coffee, please,” he says, and she winks at him.

“Three coffees, coming right up.”

They sit in relative silence, thinking about Langly, or Scully, or the potential outcomes of boarding a train to nowhere and encountering who knows what on the other side. Mulder has tried, unsuccessfully, to force his brain to remember where he and Scully were taken before. Any tiny detail that might give them some context regarding the level of security in the building or how far it is from a source of transportation. He worries over what they’ll do if she’s injured or ill, or if they’ve already wiped her memory clean and she no longer knows who he is. There are a million ways it could go wrong, but never for a single second does he contemplate not trying. He could never live with himself if he doesn’t at least try.

Their coffees arrive and they order pancakes and waffles, bacon and eggs, carbohydrates and protein to fuel the journey ahead. Byers lays the maps out over the table, following the train tracks with his index finger and looking for an out of place building along their course. He’s already done this dozens of times, but he’s just as meticulous now as he was on the first pass. Mulder watches him with heavy eyelids and a worried heart, wondering what Scully is doing at this exact moment.

The bell above the door jangles and the excited squawk of children draws looks from several patrons. Mulder glances at the newcomers as they are shown to a table, and they seem familiar to him. The man, presumably the father, is tall and tawny, and he takes one side of the booth while the two children, a boy and a girl, sit on the side that is facing Mulder and the Gunmen’s table. The girl is older, and her hair is long and ruddy against her porcelain cheeks. The boy looks more like the father, with protruding ears and raucous laugh. Mulder watches them for a long time as they color their menus, wondering if he knew them before but just can’t recall the memory.

“Flapjacks and scrambled eggs,” Moira says as she sets a plate in front of Mulder, and he is distracted enough by trying to force himself to eat that he forgets about the familiar family for a time.

“I think John should stay back,” Frohike announces, shoveling a forkful of waffle into his mouth.

Byers turns and gives him an incredulous look.

“I agree,” Mulder chimes in, and Byers turns his incredulous look to the other side of the table. “For one, we can’t leave Frenchie in the car; it’s too hot. And if we don’t come back…”

The men all stop eating and look at each other. He doesn’t need to say the rest: if they don’t come back, someone will need to look after Frenchie, and be there for Langly. Someone will need to try and send for additional help.

Byers slowly nods and lowers his eyes to his plate. Though he won’t say it, Mulder can tell he’s relieved.

In his periphery, he sees someone small approaching the table. When he looks, he finds the young girl from the familiar family walking towards him, her eyes on the ground. She crouches down beside the booth and picks up a yellow crayon, then stands and looks at Mulder, locking her brilliant blue eyes on his.

“Abby! Get back over here!” the man, her father, calls out, turning in his seat to admonish her.

Mulder gets a better look at his face, and it’s just so familiar. He knows he’s seen it somewhere before. The little girl scurries away, and her father gives Mulder a long look. A warning look.

“How’s everything tasting?” Moira asks, a stack of dirty dishes resting on her hip. They assure her that the food is up to snuff, and she takes in the pile of maps now neatly folded in the middle of the table. “Where ya headed?” she asks, gesturing to the maps with her chin.

The men exchange glances.

“Henryton,” Frohike supplies after an awkwardly long silence. “Any recommendations?”

She pulls a face, indicating that Henryton is not what she was expecting to hear.

“There’s not much to do out there in terms of tourist attractions, I’m afraid, but lots of great walking trails. Lotsa people like to visit the train tunnel; it’s the third oldest in the world that’s still in operation. And haunted to boot.”

“Haunted?” Byers asks, quirking an eyebrow.

“Well,” she says, shifting the dishes to her other hip, “It’s really the old sanatorium that’s haunted, but the tunnel is right nearby. Legend is that they didn’t used to let the patients bathe for weeks on end, and they’d get to smelling so bad that they’d escape and run down to the river to wash up.”

Byers sets his fork down and pushes his plate away.

“Even now,” she continues, “people claim that they see ghosts crossing over the tracks on the west end of the tunnel. Sometimes trains will even stop right there, halfway through, to let ‘em pass.”

“The train stops in the tunnel?” Mulder asks, too urgently, and she gives him a perplexed look.

“Sometimes,” she says, hiking the dishes up higher. “Not always. That’s why people think it’s the ghosts. If the engineer spots one, he better throw on the brakes or the whole thing could derail.”

“Wouldn’t want that,” Frohike says blandly while giving Mulder a significant look.

“Anywho, I better get back to it. You ready for your check?”

They nod, and she leaves them.

“Ghosts on the tracks,” Mulder says, pushing his plate away. “Why else would a train stop in the middle of a tunnel?”

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Frohike says, shaking his head.

They settle the bill and collect their maps, and as they head toward the door, Mulder passes by the table of the familiar family. The children are dowsing their pancakes in an ungodly amount of syrup while their father stares absently at the table top, his own plate untouched. Just as he reaches the front door, Mulder turns back and approaches them, seeking resolution for the familiar feeling that he just can’t shake.

“Excuse me,” he says, addressing the father. The man looks up sharply, alarmed, and Mulder takes half a step back. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. Have we met? You look so familiar to me, but I can’t place you.”

The man flicks his dark, intense eyes over Mulder once, sitting up taller in his seat in a show of dominance.

“I don’t think so,” he says levelly.

The little boy, taking advantage of the fact that his sister is distracted by Mulder’s presence, sticks his finger into the half-melted scoop of butter sitting atop her syrupy pancakes and then stuffs it in his mouth.

“Peter!” she shrieks, “Don’t touch my food!”

“Abby, shhhh,” her father says softly, and she sticks out her lower lip.

Abby and Peter. He remembers from the maps that Ellicott City isn’t far from here. What are the odds?

“Cal,” Mulder says, turning back to the man. “Calvin, is that your name?”

The man stands abruptly, positioning himself between Mulder and his children, and Mulder takes another step back.

“Who the fuck are you?” the man hisses, and Mulder is surprised to find himself quite intimidated. He holds his hands up, palms out, in deference.

“My name is Fox Mulder,” he says. “I know Dana.”

Cal looks at him for a beat, his expression unreadable.

“Mulder?” he repeats, and Mulder nods once. “How do you know Dana?”

He has no idea what this man knows regarding the nature of he and Scully’s relationship. Most likely nothing at all.

“We used to work together,” he offers, and Cal relaxes a little.

Cal seems to become suddenly aware that the whole restaurant is looking at them. He extends his hand, and after a brief moment of consideration Mulder shakes it.

“Calvin Rose,” he says, then cocks his head over his shoulder towards the children. “This is Abby and Peter.”

“Hi,” Mulder says, looking at the children and smiling. Abby shrinks towards her brother shyly.

“Hi, I’m Pete!” the little boy says proudly.

“Did Dana tell you to come here?” Cal asks with narrow eyes. He may have concluded that Mulder isn’t a threat, but he clearly doesn’t trust him.

“No,” Mulder says, and his heart sinks. The children are both watching him intently, and he doesn’t want to scare them. He motions for Cal to come closer, and the man leans his upper body forward, turning his head to the side to offer his ear. Mulder speaks in a low voice, one he hopes the children can’t hear. “We’re trying to find her. She was…taken.”

Cal slowly leans away and stares at him.

“What do you mean?”

Mulder looks at Abby and Peter. Their syrup-sticky faces and their wide, innocent eyes.

“Maybe we should discuss this in private,” he suggests, and Cal follows his gaze back to the very observant children.

“Yeah,” he agrees.

They sit down at the dirty table just vacated by Mulder and the Gunmen, close enough for Cal to keep an eye on the kids but far enough away that they won’t hear them.

“What do you mean taken? Taken where?” Cal asks, his elbows on the table top.

“I don’t know,” Mulder admits. “I’m not sure how much Dana told you about what happened to us before, but I believe she’s been taken back to the place where our memories were initially manipulated.”

“Who took her?” Cal asks urgently, questions tumbling out too quickly for Mulder to answer. “Did you see this happen? Where were you? I don’t even know where she’s been, she just left and then I got this letter yesterday—”

“You got a letter? From who?”

“From Dana,” Cal says, reaching into his pocket.

He sets the letter on the table and Mulder reads it several times. Henryton tunnel at noon. He checks his watch. It’s almost 11:00.

“This isn’t from her,” he says, handing the note back. “I’ve been with her for the last seventy-two hours, and I know she didn’t write this.”

Cal looks at the note like it’s suddenly a foreign object.

“Then who sent it?”

Mulder shrugs.

“The people in charge of all of this, I assume. They may be trying to lure you there, instead of taking you by force.” An image of the black van tearing out of the parking lot at the safehouse flashes through his mind. “That’s what happened to Scully.”

“Scully? Who’s Scully?”

“Sorry, Dana. Scully is…her maiden name. That’s what I’ve always called her.”

Cal looks at the table.

“Right,” he says. “I guess I should know that.”

“Even if this isn’t from her,” Mulder says, pointing to the letter, “it’s helpful. It confirms that I need to get on the train at the tunnel, and at an exact time. But you don’t want to get on that train, Cal. Especially not with the kids.”

Cal’s eyes widen and he looks over to the children, then back to Mulder.

“What are they doing to her?”

“I don’t know,” Mulder says, and his chest tightens. “Best case scenario, they plan to wipe her memory again. Worst case…they’re destroying the evidence of what they’ve done.”

“I’m going with you,” Cal says without hesitation.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Mulder objects. “I have no idea what we’ll encounter. It’s going to be dangerous, and there’s a possibility that we won’t make it back.”

Cal leans in, locking his eyes on Mulder’s.

“Mira, cabrón,” he says, his voice suddenly venomous, “I appreciate your concern, but that’s my wife out there.” Cal must see Mulder’s reaction in his face, because he softens a little. “I mean…the kids don’t know,” he says, glancing over at them. “They still have their chips in, they’re still taking their meds. She’s their mom. I have to find her.”

The queasiness he feels seeing how attached Cal clearly is to Scully, that he still thinks of her as his wife, is quickly replaced by fear.

“They still have chips? That means they’re tracking you, Cal.” Mulder looks around the small restaurant. No one seems to be paying them any attention. “If the kids don’t get on the train, they might come for them.”

Cal sits back and swallows, then his eyes dart around erratically while he thinks.

“Who are those guys you’re with?” he asks.

“Friends,” Mulder tells him. “Of both mine and Dana’s. We’ve known them for years. They’ve been helping us.”

“You trust them?” Cal asks, very seriously.

“Absolutely,” Mulder says emphatically. “I’d trust them with my life, and Dana’s.”

“You trust them with my kids?”

Mulder sees how much the question hurts to ask. Sees the fear behind it, the risk. It only reinforces how deeply Cal cares for Scully. For a fleeting moment, Mulder wonders what will happen to the three of them if they make it out of this alive.

“I would, yes. They’ll do everything within their power to protect them, if necessary.”

Cal sucks in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. He looks over at his children, who are piling the remains of their breakfast onto one plate and covering it with salt and pepper.

“We better get going,” he says resolutely. “The train will be there soon.”

Tagging @today-in-fic

[topsword]

Tips for Building a Valuable Antique Weapon Collection

Collecting antique weapons is a fascinating hobby that provides an insight into the rich history of military technology. Here are some tips for starting your antique weapon collection: - Research: Start by learning about the various types of antique weapons, including medieval armor, swords, firearms, and bayonets. Understand their historical significance and value. - Focus: Narrow down your area of interest and focus on building a coherent collection. This will help you identify genuine pieces and avoid fake antique weapons. - Networking: Join local antique weapon clubs, attend gun shows and auctions, and connect with other antique weapon collectors online. This will provide you with valuable knowledge and potential new acquisitions. - Condition: Pay close attention to the condition of each antique weapon before making a purchase. A well-maintained weapon will have higher value and be easier to sell in the future. - Authenticity: Verify the authenticity of each antique weapon before adding it to your collection. Look for unique markings, signatures, and other indicators of provenance. - Display: Properly display and store your antique weapon collection to protect it from damage and theft. Use acid-free paper, proper storage boxes, and display cases for safekeeping. In conclusion, collecting antique weapons is a fulfilling hobby that offers a window into history and the artistry of past eras. By conducting thorough research, focusing on a specific area of interest, networking with other collectors, and taking care of your collection, you can build a valuable and impressive antique weapon collection. Read the full article

[gunbrokerblogs]

Holiday Gift Guide: 5 Interesting and First-Rate Concealed Carry Handguns

Not that anyone necessarily needs an excuse to find a gun enthusiast in their life a shiny (or matte) new firearm, but the holidays are looming. There is a terrific variety of first-rate concealed carry handgun options these days. However, they’re not all as interesting as they could be. This holiday season, what if you looked around for the most interesting concealed carry for your favorite fan of firearms? Remember that small, concealable pistols are by no means a recent innovation. Be sure to browse both new and used guns for sale to find some gems.

Hellcat RDP The Springfield Armory Hellcat RDP semi-automatic micro-compact is an exciting and excellent little pistol. For one, it looks like a SOCOM operator left his teched-out sidearm in the dryer too long, and it shrunk. It comes stock with red dot optics and a compensator. Despite its diminutive size, the Hellcat RDP is also a 9mm double-stack, featuring a capacity of 11+1 or 13+1 with an extended mag. Remington 51 The Remington 51, designed by legendary gunmaker John Pederson, is so ergonomic that it was initially billed as “self-aiming.” This concealable winner, chambered in 380 ACP, is one of the most comfortable pistols you will ever shoot. The release of the R51, Remington’s reimagining of the original, was initially plagued by technical glitches, though the 2nd generation models sorted those out. Because of its bumpy beginning, the R51 is now an often underpriced, high-quality 9mm pistol. FN 1910/1922 Anything with FN’s name on it, you know you can trust. The FN 1910 model is a concealed carry legend that set the stage for decades to come. One of them was even used to start WWI. The FN 1922 model is an FN 1910 with extended barrel bushing for greater accuracy and more mag capacity. Either of these often century-old or more pistols is a stellar concealed carry choice. Bersa 380 The Bersa 380 immediately gained attention for a variety of features. For one, it was highly reminiscent of the vaunted Walther PPK but could generally be found for half of what James Bond would pay for his pistol of choice. Then there’s the fact that it proved accurate, dependable, and genuinely lightweight. Despite its lightness, its design somehow manages to mitigate felt recoil. SACM 1935 The French military SACM 1935 is one of the most underrated pistols ever. For one, it rivals the Remington 51 for gorgeous ergonomics and the silkiest possible action. Then there’s the fact that this gun was the inspiration and blueprint for the masterpiece, the SIG P210—arguably the finest military pistol ever made. The only reasonable explanation for its relative obscurity is its chambering in the obsolete 765 French Long. However, there are modern manufacturers of the round, making the SACM 1935 a stellar concealed carry option. Plus, it’s one you can pick up for approximately a third or less of what you’d pay for a SIG P210. About GunBroker.com GunBroker.com is the ultimate online firearms marketplace for true gun enthusiasts. As one of the world’s largest marketplaces for buying, selling, and auctioning guns, users list almost anything gun-related and a lot more. Search the GunBroker.com listings for thousands of firearms every day. You’ll likely find anything from antique flintlocks to the most advanced competition-level handguns. Browse gun parts, ammunition, and firearm accessories. Plus, GunBroker.com is always safe and easy to use. So, it’s no surprise that this site is widely considered the most well-respected and trustworthy firearms marketplace online. Whether you’re looking for a Ruger Mini 30, a Hellcat RDP, 50 Beowulf ammo, or something else, start your search at GunBroker.com. Find the best concealed carry handguns available at https://www.gunbroker.com/ Original Source: https://bit.ly/3FztU9D

[ayellowbirds]

Today being my birthday, i had the time and energy to finally do some drawing after ages of neither time nor drive. So, i spent that on sketching out some headshots of the recurring characters of 33 Usher Street, my 1920s (and beyond?) vampire hunters story. Meet the employees, management, friends, and nuisances of the Usher Street House of Antiquities and Curios, an estate management company specializing in settling the affairs of the unusually deceased. This is both a source of income and a cover for their real calling: the elimination of dangerous vampires and other hostile undead. 

Solomon “Sol” Szombathy (gay intersex man), a Jewish dhampir of Romanian-American extraction (late of Pittsburgh, Vandalia) has arrived at the USHAC with his guardian in tow, after both of them got involved in a vampire attack. Sol’s ability to see the invisible and the surges of supernatural strength he gets when battling the undead are especially useful, as is the hawthorn-wood cane he uses to deal with the chronic pain he feels the rest of the time. 

James “Jim” Cullock III (asexual cisgender man) is a Scottish immigrant who helped co-found the USHAC as the assistant of a longtime vampire hunter; his love of gardening has given him many potent botanical weapons against vampires, including especially hardy and richly-scented roses that repel most bloodsuckers. He’s taken to maintaining a backstage role for the most part, as his lifelong issues with visual hallucinations have gotten worse with age.

The Reverend Doctor Matteus J. Hammer (transgender man of no particular sexuality) is an aging monster hunter of no small repute, his experience having brought him briefly as a boarder to the Szombathy house. His recommendation brought Sol to Usher Street, but can the perspective of this eccentric wandering hero be relied upon?

Randolph Carter (in-denial bisexual cis man) was once an author of minor repute with a fondness for the strange and occult, but encounters with the genuinely supernatural have mellowed his previously bigoted worldview. While he still struggles to be a halfway decent person in a reality that is at odds with his beliefs, his expertise with languages, obscure subject matters, and research makes him at least a useful jackass when it comes to spending time among his books.

Pluton is a very good judge of character, for a one-eyed cat. And oddly skilled at making his way out of dangerous situations, to the point that one might almost think he has more than the usual nine lives. It’s no wonder that the USHAC often bring the cat along.

Constance “Connie” Wright (pansexual cis woman) is a former orphan with the miraculous talent to ‘chew’ raw materials into new shapes, a skill she most often uses to create nails for sealing up coffins and the like. Naturally, the rail-thin Connie’s favorite weapon is a heavily weighted steel sledgehammer, when she can’t just do some slugging with a sturdy baseball bat.

Dorotheea “Dotty” Szombathy (transgender lesbian) is a golem that once served as Sol’s guardian, and is now happily living as his adopted sister. Her ability to reshape her naturally earthen clay body pairs well with her immunity to most forms of vampiric attack, as an artificial being. Prone to switching between having difficulty speaking at all and being effusively loquacious, she finds it easiest to focus when she has something to occupy her hands and mind.

Marie Bosley (bisexual cis woman) was and is the greatest vampire hunter in the United States, even if these days she prefers to stay at home and listen to music. Her unmatched knowledge of apotropaic magic allows her to create boundaries and barriers that no vampiric influence can pass, and lets her open the way for her proteges.

Esther "Essie” Levi (asexual cis woman) is the self-proclaimed ‘fastest knot-tier east of the Rockies’, and an unmatched expert in knotting string, yarn, thread, and cord to achieve magical effects. Paired with a gift for strategic thinking and an eye for symptoms of vampirism, she can easily weave a web that no bloodsucker is going to get through.

Aleister “Al” Jones (gay cis man) is a multilingual expert in stealth, infiltration, and charm whose gentlemanly demeanor is in no way at odds with his fondness for boxing. Unfortunately for opponents that would see him as unarmed except for a disarming smile, he’s also the bearer of a pair of gloves lined with the relics of a Catholic saint invoked against vampires.

Wilhemina “Will” Fawkes (lesbian cis woman) is the USHAC’s resident machinery buff, with cutting-edge expertise in automobiles, radios, firearms, and more. Her fondness for artifice means that the only thing that can distract her from something shiny and new is an animated short at the nearest theater, and her love of testing the limits of machinery means that her allies often find she’s made unexpected ‘upgrades’ to important equipment.

Adriaen ten Boom (bisexual cis man) is the most senior of the employees of the USHAC, a skilled actor whose pyrokinetic gift makes his good looks more than just smoldering. In spite of these charms, he’s actually fairly naïve when it comes to romance, and is prone to charming his way into entanglements he didn’t mean to get into.

Smith the Mechanical Heel (just a real dick) is a World’s Fair experiment gone wrong, and now runs the criminal underworld in Jackson, Massachusetts—which puts him at odds with the USHAC, since that’s where their home base is. He sees most of the employees as potentially useful additions to his crew, but he’s especially interested in learning more about Dotty’s magically-constructed nature, in the hopes of making himself more lifelike. He’s not above getting involved in things that involve the undead....

The Ghosts of Madeline and Roderick Usher (cis lesbian and cis gay man) are the former owners of the land on which the USHAC was built, and haven’t moved on since the new tenants turned up. Freed of mortal concerns, they’re fond of teasing the living staff members, and serve as a second line of defense after Marie’s wards and magical traps. Roderick is absolutely certain that he’s going to get his ectoplasm all up on Randolph one of these days, and nobody feels up to questioning his taste in men; Madeline is the company gossip fiend and the best source of information on comings and goings at 33 Usher Street.

Dr. Joaquín de la Garza (closeted nonbinary queer) is a local physician who has a close working relationship with the USHAC, and is very fond of the mysteries and excitement they bring to his life. Exactly what brought a medical expert of Zapotec and Spanish heritage all the way up east is uncertain, but the good doctor seems to know a lot more about the supernatural than one might expect from just his familiarity with the secrets of the Usher Street staff.

Phoebe Khrysos (???) is a remarkably pristine ancient automaton, whose actual provenance is uncertain. Resembling a child made of silver, glass, and gold, she has a mischievous mystery about her that makes her more like a mechanical fairy than a precious relic. What motivates her and how she sees the living and the undead remain to be seen....

Zuleika Dobson (pansexual cis woman) is a a con artist, thief, and scammer who has broken many hearts and far more bank accounts; her lack of concern about what she leaves in her wake may have finally caught up with her when she targets some valuable goods in a city with a vampire problem. Can someone so untrustworthy be relied upon when there’s undeath to deal with, or will her self interest put her in the way of both bloodsuckers and the USHAC alike?

33 Usher Street leans heavily on the public domain, and will do so much more than just in the few characters here that originated elsewhere. Some of these designs are likely to change as the story develops, but i’m just so happy to finally get them on paper!

[majimemegoro]

answering some of these questions about mr okduera

3. What type of drunk are they? holds his liquor quite well, he doesnt get really emotional or anything. the most you will probably see is the regular physical effects, plus he will also become a bit less guarded. still stays guarded though. even if hes crawling around vomiting totally soused he doesnt get THAT emotional. happens very rarely anyway.

4. Give three of their strengths and three of their weaknesses. strengths: loyalty, tenacity, resourcefulness. weaknesses: suspicion, stubbornness, recklessness.

5. What’s their favourite food? probably chinese food idk.

6. If they were to be represented by a seven deadly sin, which would it be? hmmmmmmm probably wrath/“being mean”

8. Describe (or draw) their body type. like..... compact and stringy. quite short. wiry strength but not at all bulky. genuinely doesnt eat enough.

9. What’s their biggest fear? maybe not living up to his hunting partner’s standards.

10. Are they a dog or a cat person? ok with both, but more likely to have a dog bc of his job.

11. Describe them in 5 words. grief-filled snarky old nature man

12. If your character was handed a puppy, how would they react? hed hold it by the cruff of its neck and see if it has the temperament to be a hunting dog lol.

13. How would they react to suddenly being hugged? hed freeze up and then disentangle himself with extreme prejudice

14. What’s their biggest secret? lol

15. What are their pet peeves? emotions. also if someone doesnt put stuff back in the right place.

16. What’s their opinion on pineapple on pizza? probably fine with it

17. On average, how much sleep do they get at a time? depends on what hes trying to get done. a full night of sleep for him is 7-8 hours, but can sleep effectively in short bursts too. can sleep under any conditions.

18. If they were a superhero, what powers would they have? (if they have powers, what are they and under what conditions do they work?) ice ray or something idk

19. Does your character collect anything? useful stuff. used to [want to] collect antique firearms.

20. What would your character’s favourite band(s) be? surprisingly he likes rock music. doesn’t have any specific fav band though, hes casual about it.

21. How many languages do they speak, and what are they? maybe he speaks mandarin as well as japanese? and a bit of conversational english

22. When your character is sad, what do they do to cheer themselves up? more like, ‘when your character is happy, what does he do to make himself sad again?’

23. Does your character snore? no

24. Describe their voice. gentle tone, but the sound itself is a bit rough

25. How long would they last in a zombie apocalypse? final girl XOXO

[lichdolly]

okay so a few questions.. is it actually legal to buy and sell those bottles with poison like that? Two: what would that type of poison be used for exactly? Three: where the hell did you get it?!? It’s so incredibly cool!

Good question. The first one, I mean. I say that both sarcastically and seriously. Because the answer is dubious. It’s… kind of yes, kind of no.

It’s old poison. Really old poison. However, that being said, the DEA doesn’t really give a rat’s ass whether it’s 500 years old or produced yesterday; it’s still a controlled substance to them. Do I think the DEA is gonna bust my door down over it? No, it’s not worth their time because it’s my private collector’s item now. Foxglove derivatives aren’t exactly as popular as they used to be, and aren’t quite as controlled as some things in apothecary vials.

I think people forget that you used to be able to walk right up to the counter and ask Fred the Pharmacist for some arsenic in 1867 to get rid of some bugs in your kitchen; foxglove was used as a treatment for heart failure and many heart-related illnesses back in the day, and actually compounds from it still remain in modern medication in some cases!

I bought both pieces at a shop in Florida called Spanish Main Antiques; they sell genuine shipwreck goods such as jewelry, coins, antique firearms, old money, oddities, vintage mariner items, and more.

[curiouslich]

Called a Ghost

“HA! I must have done good if the boss sent her favorite pet out to pick up my haul!” The drunken man barked out as he slapped his leg. The Seller gestured to the boxes next to his seat. “I knew I’d be made with this haul. Just like I promised big boss, quick, clean, and no witnesses. On-hundred perchent untraceable. I promise.”

Ichiro showed no response to the name calling or the drunken man in general. This was a business venture. Merely retorting with “Put em on the table and we can get started.” It was an old tradition, leave your weapon insight and away from your hand. A symbol of being on even terms before things started. Well as even as terms could be in the under ground. Drawing out an antique pistol Ichiro  laid it between them expecting the seller to do the same. “Oi~ that thing still fire?” The hyur man half laughed out as he eyed the old gun. He could have probably seen the rust on it from his seat. “Couldn’t big boss lady give you something nicer? Maybe brush her hair a bit more and she’ll give you some of the Garlemald magitec?” With a shit eating grin he tugged his own gun free and waggled it before Ichrio before dropping it onto the table with a heavy thud.

The silver almost sparkled when compared to Ichiro’s patina. The magitec was an impressive sight. Clearly one of the newest models from the empire. Something that was probably considered illegal just to possess. 

“Yeah, I got this baby custom from a good friend of mine.” Flashing his finger out to Ichiro” I bet a single round of my gal could out do all six of yours.”  Giving a bang of his finger gun the drunken man laughed at his own joke.

Ichiro didn’t rightfully care too much about the banter. What he did care about was the gun, and as he  looked over the weapon for a moment longer than he should have. “Well, if it’s that rare can I get a look?”

“Sure I love some foreplay before the real deal. Sides, it's not loaded.” The seller cackled out as he leaned back and picked up his bottle. “If you want one I can hook you up with the smith, for a price that is…”

With genuine interest Ichiro scooped up the pistol. Eyes pouring over each machined part. Fingertips trailing up to the latch at the edge of the grip. Flicking it open the gun folded in on itself and the cylinder popped out throwing out the spent shells. “Top loaded, intesting.”

“Yeah, makes it far easier to load back up, more time shooting rounds, less time getting shot!” Leaning back in the chair the seller wore a big smirk as his weapon was admired. “Always go for the spring, every second counts in a fire fight.” Reaching over he picked up Ichiro’s gun. “Though I guess looking at your piece you haven’t seen much of a fight.”

With the flash of a viper a black glove gripped the boasting man’s face. “Sorry but you took a lot. Its distracting.” Ichiro pressed one of the empty shells between the seller’s lips. 

“Da fak?” The Hyur tried to spit out the words and brass before he met a pair of red eyes boring into him.

“Now, before you give tips let me start. First thing you’ll learn, If you are going to speak to me, you will use my name. Yurei” Squeezing his grip on the man’s jaw the Au Ra pushed him back into his chair. Straightening his back he eyed the freight to be bartered. “Second, the problem with this type of gun is…”

There was a second flash of movement. This time Ichiro brought the grip of the firearm down on the man’s face. The sickening crunch of twisted metal and chipped bone split the room open. 

Ears ringing from the blow the Seller fell off his chair with a thump. The man wept as blood started to pour from his mouth. “Wha.. wha ya doo that?” he cried out.

The Xaela scoffed and dropped down to the wailing man. Reaching out to his bandalar he pulled one of the shells out and brought it to his face. “The problem with spring loaded cylinders, is that it makes it harder to police, and I am willing to bet that these shells can only be used by a few guns out here.” The crying stopped as the injured man’s blood ran cold. 

“....And I am betting that wearing all these rounds like a badge of honor means that the empties point, in one direction. So you see my friend, you were marked. Which means all your haul is dirty.” Ichiro thumbed the gun opening it back up and sliding the shell inside. “Which means it's useless to us.”

“Yu...rei?”

Ignoring the seller Ichiro continued. “Finally, Oba doesn’t send me out to congratulate the drones on what they bring back.” Shaking his head he closed the gun up and spun the cylinder. “No, I get sent out when someone needs to be made an example. An example that can’t be traced back home.” 

“...pa-wease?” 

Ichiro muffled the crying man’s pleas with the barrel of his very shiny, very noticable gun.

It was over in a flash, and the white haired Au Ra was gone just as quickly.

~~~~~~~~~ @stormandozone @jessipalooza @thanidiel

[tuffin-tuffmuffin]

Art from the talented @goattrain.

Resistance, Dinner

For the second time in a row, the setting sun only gave Natasatch worry.

It had been months since Natasatch watched a human settlement commence its nightly rituals, and certainly in a better context this time. The marketplace folded itself neatly into the trailers it sprung forth from, and the permanent hanging holiday lights gave the compact streets a completely different atmosphere. There were a few humans milling about, most of them militia guards, but a few were those who missed out on satisfying their curiosity of the local alien earlier in the day. None gave her anything resembling trouble, however, and she took the time to peruse the amenities until she grew bored. Inevitably, her mind turned to her friend Malcolm, who had passed through the marketplace fourteen times on his aimless walking. She counted.

Natasatch knew he needed help. How to achieve that was one of her greatest challenges yet.

Ultimately, she decided to copy her friend’s strategy, applied to the very same friend. Experience showed Malcolm was happiest when sharing “human culture.” The formerly-upbeat human had a list of memorabilia or events he insisted she must experience eventually, one that she had trouble remembering at the moment. Near the end of the day, the sight of one such promised experience on the edge of the marketplace jogged Natasatch’s memory, and fortunately, Aida’s blanket discount applied.

The reserve that Safari Outpost eventually became already possessed a restaurant, and little had changed in the fifteen years since it officially closed, or so she was told. Busts of dead animals and pictures of humans with firearms lined the walls, all cast in a soft yellow from the few hanging lights that still worked. The wooden-floored center of the rectangular building was empty. It was late, and Natasatch surmised the restaurant must’ve already served its regular patrons. Only a waiter and a bartender remained, but both seemed to be quietly working once their orders were placed. The two looked nearly as antique as their restaurant, and they weren’t going to let any alien interrupt their routine. Malcolm sat opposite her in the corner table for two. Natasatch still found human chairs difficult, and opted to rest upright on her own coils where her seat would be. In the background, a wooden jukebox delivered music consisting of simple guitar strings, but their focus was elsewhere. An electric imitation of a candle added an orange glow to their faces: one hopeful, one sullen.

Malcolm cut off a slice from the “steak,” which was an ADVENT burger patty in a different shape with some minced plants and sauce on top. He took a bite and said, “You know what? You’re doing your best, and I’m proud of you, actually.” Natasatch, who was debating between awkwardly imitating the human food custom or simply snatching the identical meal in one bite, looked up at her companion. “What do you mean? “Trying to cheer me up. The food, the small talk, and the sort. Getting my mind off our shitty vacation.” He had a bit of his confidence back, but a sense of resignation offset whatever gain she witnessed. “Is it working?” Natasatch asked. “Not really.”

Natasatch deflated instantly. She let out a tsssk, but managed to prevent it from becoming a full hiss. Her frustration lingered. “I’m... trying. What more do I need to do to make it work?” He shrugged. “I don’t think you can, to be honest. I’m a tough case.” She rose to the challenge. “I learned ‘cheering up’ from you. What makes you special, that it wouldn’t work?” He chose not to answer directly. After a few moments, he sighed and said, “I did this talk for Ackers too.” “Hmm?” “That’s why this one bites hardest. Ackers is- was, I suppose now- he was a unique friend to me. We’re assigned to the same cramped bunk; he gets it night hours, me the day hours. He started out real quiet, since he had been through a lot, like the rest of us. Family suffocated by viper poison, he admitted after I got him a few drinks at the bar, in a spot just like this one.” Nat commented, “This situation... is similar, yes.” “But Ackers, he also didn’t say he just wanted to kill aliens. He said he wanted to make the world safer for his sister.” She tried her best to put aside every instinct telling her to make Ackers suffer for his betrayal, and tried to view him through a sympathetic light. Just like Malcolm would. “In a way, I suppose I could understand. He still viewed me as a threat, and one that everyone in XCOM seemed to be blind to.” “That’s horseshit.” Her first thought was that Malcolm had never said anything so gruff before. Her second thought was to wonder what a horse was. Malcolm cut off a slice of his food, chewing away in the silence. When it was obvious Natasatch wasn’t going to speak first, he continued, “You look surprised to hear that. Probably thinking I would say ‘He’s really a good guy this,’ ‘his parents were killed by Vipers’ like that’d make everything okay. Ackers was ready to throw away everything he stood for, to try to murder us ‘cause of a grudge meant for someone else.” “Yes.” She gave an awkward laugh, which died the moment it left her mouth. “I feel like we decided to switch the sides of the argument between us.”

“And you’re probably right. In fact, I know I should be at his side. Hell, before today, I’d be first in line for the Ackers Defense Squad. ‘Till this. Cuts right through my lie.”

A pause, and the Viper blinked. “Lie?”

Malcolm sighed, then focused on her. “This lie,” he said in a resigned tone. Then he smiled.

It was Malcolm’s regular, easy-going, worry-assuring look, once again on her human friend’s face. His lips pulled back across his white teeth, the muscles pausing in the right spots to create youthful dimples, and the way one corner of his mouth rested further back than the other... and the warm look in his eyes, bright and brown, impervious to the damage that their owner suffered yesterday. Natasatch almost reflexively grinned back, caught herself, but then let it show. Why would she need to conceal it, after all?

Then there was only one smile at the table. Hers. Her human friend looked back at her, sullen and shaken once more. His eyes drifted down to her mouth, still pulled into a happy look, and she sensed his skin grow cold as his muscles clenched. As if he realized a terrible mistake. Natasatch put her smile on hold. “I’m... afraid I don’t follow.”

“Me,” Malcolm gestured toward himself in its entirety. “I’m the lie.”

Her mind raced, a hundred horrifying possibilities dueling for control of her mind. Was he confessing his guilt as an ADVENT spy? Some advanced Faceless? Mind control puppet? Something worse? Natasatch looked around, seeing how the chef and waiter reacted, only to find them gone and herself alone. She was still on edge, ready to fight or flee, as he continued. “I mean, it’s an act. A sham. Not the real me. It pays off being raised by thespians.”

Thespians... actors? What? She finally externalized one of her countless questions. “Then who are you actually, Malcolm Silva?”

“I’m pretty damn depressed, actually,” Malcolm responded without missing a beat.

When it became clear Natasatch wasn’t prepared to respond, Malcolm calmly continued, “I think my parents raised me right. Community-minded, moral, always seeing the best in people, and an aficionado of the cultural arts. That got them killed by us, other humans, volunteering for ADVENT outreach in our slums when ADVENT was still deciding if the carrot or the stick worked better. Everyone else I knew died when the aliens brought the stick down on the entire favela. My parent’s dream of a better world was doomed from the start because us humans were gonna let fear and paranoia ruin it and the aliens were gonna prove their fear and paranoia right. Maybe, one day, we can fight off ADVENT, but our real enemy is gonna be ourselves.”

Malcolm looked her in the eyes, resting his chin on his hands. With a sorrowful calmness, he said, “Even in the group most likely to change the world for the better, human nature is going to win out.”

“Would you say the same, even if you were not swimming in pain-killers?” Natasatch asked.

“Well, I admit I get philosophical when I’m loopy, but all this was there before.” He appeared slightly annoyed as he responded.

“So, where did this ‘lie’ come from?

“Acting is just another kind of lying, Nat. You pretend you’re someone you aren’t, saying a script that isn’t true, convincing others that you’re genuine.” He shrugged. “Like I said, it pays to have thespian parents.”

“That is not quite what I asked, Malcolm. Why did you even ‘lie’ about being happy at all? There are no shortage of traumatized soldiers on the Avenger. You would have fit right in.”

“I...” he trailed off. “Well, you’re right about that,” Malcolm conceded. “That’s all I saw when I first stepped on board. Nothing but misery everywhere. I guess I must like being a rebel, because I just... put on that mask as a spur of the moment, and then never really took the smile off.”

The Viper focused in on Malcolm, upset without anger, interrogatory without malice. “Then explain why you tried to rescue me when your comrades would rather me dead? Why try to teach me about human culture and ethics and history? Why would you even bother to show me Star Trek? Was every single one of those a calculated ploy?”

“Well, I had Star Trek on hand anyway,” Malcolm mumbled. She raised an eye ridge. Of the expressions she’d copied from her humans, she enjoyed that one the most, since humans somehow always knew the thought behind the gesture. This time was no different.

He sighed, and shrugged, not looking her in the eyes. “...I think I started believing in that lie for a bit too. ‘Specially after everyone started lightening up around you, it started getting easier to tell myself tomorrow was going to be better when I woke up. ... Least ‘till Ackers pulled the curtain back on what I’d ignored.”

“You know what I think?” Natasatch offered, not giving him time to brood. “I think that whatever you claimed to think before, you actually still believe in that pointless optimism, because now you have proof you were right.”

“What?”

The alien lowered her head, meeting him at eye level. The electric candle’s glow against her scales shimmered, and her hood’s slight flex solidified her human’s attention. Natasatch placed her hand, the one that Malcolm bandaged, over his own injured forearm, and gave him the most determined look she could. Yet, in the alien’s genetically-engineered eyes, he saw nothing but sympathy and kindness in the deep red, and in turn Natasatch saw a spark of understanding in his.

This.

Moistness came at the edges of Malcolm’s eyes. “I’ve already killed more aliens than I’ll ever befriend, Natasatch,” he almost whispered. She finally recognized the guilt for what it was.

“That is not true,” came the gentle counter. Yet, Natasatch found the answer she sought. You do care.

It was another few moments before Malcolm finally broke eye contact. The Viper took a deep breath, and started again. “Look, Malcolm, you may have killed many ADVENT, and you’ll probably have to kill many more.”

“That... really doesn’t help, Nat.”

“Yet, if those you ended were offered the same choice you gave me, not all of them would have been your enemies.”

He actually seemed to recoil from that. “I could have... Nat, you’re doing the opposite of consoling m-”

“Listen, Malcolm. We did what we needed to survive, so do not begrudge yourself for that. But the other aliens like me will never get that choice as long as the Elders control them, but you may have been the first to convince your kind to make the offer. Do not ever forget or downplay what you’ve accomplished.”

The human gave a humorless chuckle. “Watch me. In fact, yesterday you just watched me almost get die trying it again! I’ve started this dance before, Nat, and it’s ended in misery each time. Even if I keep trying, even when it works, it’s a drop in the bucket for the better Earth we need. If that future happens —which it can’t— I’m never going to reach it.”

“Not without me at your side,” Natasatch affirmed. She slid her hand back and clasped his fingers in her palm, giving it a small squeeze. Humans preferred to confirm deals with a handshake, after all, though her adjusted version was far from standard. A curious heat bloomed on Malcolm’s face, around the cheeks, and she couldn’t explain why seeing such gave her a feeling of contentment. “After all, you wouldn’t survive for a minute without my help.”

Finally, a genuine smirk, one that Malcolm was actively struggling to suppress. “I’m gonna drag you down with me, Nat. I can’t do that to you.”

“Perhaps you will. Perhaps not. Everything in XCOM seems to a roll of the dice. Until we get unlucky, I promise to do my utmost to make sure we both see it. Together.”

Then she tilted her head to the side, ponderous and mischievous both. “...But only if you promise me something in return.”

“What’s that?”

“Stop being depressed.”

He gave her a look he reserved for displays of severe naivety, the one weapon in his arsenal that could legitimately still discourage her. “That’s not how depression works, Nat. It’s... chemical, and psychological. The right medication helps along with therapy, but ADVENT’s got a monopoly on antidepressants and our only psychiatrist shot himself.” He paused as he realized what let slip so matter-of-factly. “Damn, that apparently just happened when I went onboard, a month before the Commander was rescued. Explains why everyone seemed extra miserable.”

Her hood dropped, dissatisfied. She didn’t like his response, but there still didn’t seem like an easy fix to his ‘depression.’ “Alright, then you will promise two easier somethings for me.”

“Fine. The first?”

“You can promise me to smile right now.”

“One fake smile, coming up.”

The smile seemed convincing, but Natasatch wasn’t yet able to know for sure. His expression looked touched by mirth and misery both, the former only overcoming the latter when the soft guitar tune in the background switch to a track with a higher, variable tempo. Natasatch heard it before, trying to recall its name. Flamenco? Yes, Malcolm enjoyed this style. She did as well, noticing her tail-tip start to sway in time to the drum beat.

“What’s the second promise, Nat?”

A tongue shot out to her plate, bringing the entirety of the ADVENT steak into her mouth, followed by another shot stealing away the remaining half of Malcolm’s meal. Her human had reflexively pulled his hand away from the surprise, but the incredulous, amused, yet not annoyed face he made sparked a familiar feeling of contentment in her.

Without addressing the theft, she asked, “You fulfilled the second. Now, will you be more honest with your feelings from now on?”

“You know what?” Malcolm pushed his chair back, using his uninjured arm to help him rise. He caught sight of the Viper’s tail waggling to the beat, and his own hand began to tap on the table in unison. He stretched slightly, closing his eyes and focusing on the tune. It was just the two of them and their music. “Honestly, I feel...”

The smile Natasatch saw couldn’t possibly be faked.

“...I feel like dancing! Let’s go!” Malcolm announced, clasping his hands over hers and tugging.

Natasatch had no response for this direction of her human’s spontaneity. "Wait, Maaaaaal-!"

But he was already in motion, and was pulling her along to the open space in front of the jukebox. Well, he tried to, anyway. Malcolm’s stretching stood no chance against half an hour of sitting, and his leading step was onto his injured leg to boot, so he would have quickly danced his face into the floor if his Viper hadn't been there to pull him back upright. He continued, undeterred, moving and swaying while Natasatch awkwardly fell into complimentary motions.

Obviously the painkillers haven’t worn off. She nearly shrieked, “This is a terrible idea! You need rest!”

“Terrible ideas will save the world. You said so yourself!” He replied, thankfully using his uninjured foot to stamp along to the rhythm.

“I said no such thing!”

“Pretty sure you did. Now, move! You have two feet, use them!”

The Viper was too busy floundering to counter his joke. Her face ran hot, but she thankfully remembered nobody was there to see her struggle. Yet, dancing was an action she possessed zero experience in. She gripped Malcolm’s hands tighter as she swerved, somehow bumping into two tables simultaneously. “How?!”

“Fake it until you make it. Works every time!”

Natasatch gave up trying to copy the human’s motions, instead just going with the physical curve of her body. Oddly enough, the less she focused on imitation, the more natural the motions felt. Her random tail lifts and sways eventually evened out, progressing along with the beat of the song. The unconscious movement of her tail played itself over the whole of her body. When she got a glimpse of Malcolm, bruised and bandaged and trying to ignore the fact, she saw his face content but eyes closed, the moistness at their edges returned.

At that, a peacefulness came over Natasatch. She could close her eyes, and not worry that Malcolm would crush her tail underfoot, that or a series of bullets would burst through the shuttered windows. Here she was, enjoying a song she was never meant to listen to, swaying to a dance she was never intended to, holding onto a human she should have never spoken to. The unique combination of closeness and color and music and warmth gave her a sensation that she never felt before, nor knew how to describe.

Everything else felt secondary, after that. The music continued but felt mostly ignored, the furniture melted away, and even the inevitable stumble on the tail was corrected with a low scoop and dip. The two might have danced their way outside, but she couldn’t quite tell. She only noticed the warmth of their contact contrasted by the sudden coolness of the air.

When there was no more music left between the two, the Viper slowly opened her eyes. All she could see was Malcolm, hands still grasping hers, standing bathed in moonlight against a black background. Genuinely happy, and certainly exhausted. Natasatch couldn’t help but smile when he awakened to her gaze, his deep copper meeting her deep red.

He spoke something, but she couldn’t hear it, because she finally noticed her ears were filled already. A low droning she had practically ignored gradually increased in volume until she could recognize it as a lift engine, and it kept booming as she finally noticed movement above and to her left. She looked up, seeing a blinding light in one half of her vision and the rear portion of Firebrand’s dropship in the other. Looking around, she saw the darkened buildings of Safari that the searchlight blinded her to, and the few denizens stuck between gawking at the two dancers and the squad of XCOM soldiers rappelling down from the aircraft.

They were equipped in their glittering plated armor as if an ADVENT fortress was next on their hit list, but fortunately their boxy magnetic weapons were pointed everywhere but the two. Their comrades were obviously past taking any chances. Natasatch and Malcolm quickly and awkwardly broke their security cling, as Central himself lowered his retrofitted combat rifle and stepped forward, sizing up their numerous injuries.

“Well, Sergeant...s,” Central started, hastily making the rank plural, ”Hmm, no funny quip, Silva?”

Malcolm composed himself. “Honestly Bradford, I’m just glad you’re here.”

“We’re XCOM. We don’t turn our back on our own.”

Natasatch smiled. Finally, their longest day came to an end.

This one scene was the real reason why it took me so long to continue this story. I had to get it just right, and I’m still not sure if I did, but I’m still pretty happy with what it became.

Thank you to @tehangryxeno for proofreading

Link to the Chapter Index

[totallynotagentphilcoulson]

A post I’ve honestly meant to write for years but kept putting off because I was overly concerned about whether or not people would be interested but I honestly don’t care so ANYWAY: my Star Wars OCs

gonna toss this under a read more though especially since I plan on reblogging this a few times, so yeah

Also guess I should also have some semblance of organization, so I’ll do them in order of when I conceptualized them. The first four are all my core characters whom I’ve conceptualized as all generally hanging out on various escapades.

Deak Idanian

- Male Human of Corellian, Socorran, and Alderaanian descent

- Attended Coronet City campus of Corellia University with a major in xenoarchaeology focusing on anthropology with a senior thesis analysis of Pre-Republic primitive lithic weaponry points and their use. Also took correspondence courses in basic starship systems and was a hobbyist racer for extra spending money.

- has always had a passion for galactic history, particularly in those parts of the GFFA considered to be backwater. Unfortunately for him, Deak is prone to occasionally neglecting to fill out all pertinent legal documents before an excavation because of being too enthusiastic. Sometimes this neglect is rather more intentional than it should be especially if stealing it from under the nose of the legal claimant coincides with that legal claimant being a dickish private collector. This puts Deak solidly in the very large category of “semi-legitimate field researcher,” which wasn’t exactly his plan but there’s worse he could be stuck doing.

- Related to the above, while he tends to try to work only for actual accredited institutions or for communities seeking repatriation, economic realities in the galaxy do lead him to working for less-than-legitimate clients as well. Or sometimes just for the hell of it. Retains a small personal collection of art and antiquities that he uses as a good source of income when jobs are few and far between.

- likes to think of himself as some sort of crack shot with a blaster. In reality, is more along the lines of Uncharted’s Nathan Drake and goes for the “try to aim when I can but otherwise just shoot vaguely in the enemy’s direction and hope for the best” school of firearms training. Has a small collection of blasters he considers his own including  Blastech A180, DL-44, and rifle model DH-17; and both a Merr-Sonn Power 5 and Model 434 Death Hammer.

- Hella bi, not a lot of past relationships but not exactly a dearth of them either. Has largely retained amicable relationships with his exes, though he doesn’t talk to one ex-boyfriend who sold a Pre-Clone Wars Corellian battle helm Deak was preparing to donate in order to fund the downpayment on a new airspeeder.

- Eclectic tastes in fashion by some standards, is a big fan of the finer end of galactic fashion when it comes to dressing for business but often opts for basic durable spacer garments for casual settings and field research

- [started life when I was in middle school as basically me but as Indiana Jones as Han Solo. Last name was shamelessly stolen from the Legends EU while the first was taken from early drafts of the first movie. Now visually less brown haired white guy if you couldn’t gather from his ancestry and the general trend in the ethnicity of the actors who have portrayed canon characters from those planets (hint: Han is Corellian, Lando is Socorran, and Bail Organa is Alderaanian)]

ELE-47G6

- Began life as an RA-7 protocol droid, externally still largely remains as such due to sheer number of potential surplus bodies in the galaxy. Internally upgrades wiring alongside each major generation of protocol droid, tosses an eclectic mix of military-grade wiring and sensor systems in when the occasion calls for it. Droid brain consists of a core of a Synthtech AA-1 Verbobrain with a TranLang III communications module with T-series tactical droid combat-analysis software installed in place of superfluous language software (which, for ELE, is anything that isn’t linguistically related to Galactic Basic or Hutteses) mated to an Intellex VI R4 astro-agromech computer. There are at least three spares of this modified computational core squirreled away both on and off ship. Most notable external differences are the heavier duty torso plating and bulkier aftermarket legs that increase both height and mobility, and the fact that ELE sometimes wears a utility vest.

- Can interface with the ship directly in a secondary body of their own design. Said secondary body is an R4 unit with an old Clone Wars-era commando droid head and the arms of a KX-series security droid unceremoniously welded to one of the engineering station’s stools.

- Does not bother with and was never programmed to have a specific gender; through decades of life with very few memory wipes of any sort has become rather fast-talking and fluctuates between feminine and masculine vocal modules within the same conversation and often the same sentence.

- Gets flirty with the crew and the passengers that tag along on certain jobs, both for the hell of it and to get something they want. ELE does generally consciously choose a gendered vocal module in these cases, going for some form of old fashioned holofilm stars and starlettes’ affected Mid-Inner Rim accent. Knows this works most often on Deak and regularly uses this fact to their advantage.

- [ELE was conceived of in my last couple years of high school, initially as a droid character in a potential fan film in which only one organic being survives a freighter crash on a deathworld that’s also in the middle of a war zone and finds the head of one of the ship’s droids conscious but damaged enough to have fluctuating vocals as the deuteragonist. Obviously never made the fan film and actually fleshed out the droid character into something far better than that, I hope]

Kolgrahgth the Hutt

- A relatively young Hutt by his species standards (approx. 250 standard years old) Kolgragth is the owner and sometimes operator of both Krazy Kol’s Certified Pre-Owned Speeder Emporium and the Rusty Sparnacle tavern, a family-friendly dining establishment with tasteful Mon Cal oceanside resort decor. He is strictly above-the-table and by the books in all business and prides self on being a completely legal business-being of the highest breeding to the obvious point of personal flaw. Much to his chagrin however, his celebrity doppelganger is a younger version of the infamous Jabba and this perception does not only apply to members of other species who are prone to lumping all Hutts together, but to other Hutts as well. Kol does not enjoy this fact.

- while he himself sticks with the letter of the law in all business, he has no compunctions about the other crewmates operating in a less-than-legal manner as long as he doesn’t get roped into their nonsense. As such he does not wind up taking part in very many major misadventures space-side

- Is the head of the local HOA, VERY vocal about violations in the color of exterior house trim and lawn ornamentation

- Kol is also an avid Loth-cat fancier and owns about 15 felines. He would never admit it to himself or the other cats, but his favorite is actual an elderly one-eyed neutered mixed-species former stray feline named Grand Admiral Biggles.

- [Came up with Kol roughly the same time as ELE, also much more one dimensionally. Originated from the thought “what if there was a Hutt whose biggest dick move was instating and running a homeowner’s association”. On another note that doesn’t technically apply in-universe the same way as the rest of his backstory, despite the Disney-era Canon now stating that Hutts exist as a species in which some individuals produce one sex gamete or the other I have and always will personally stick with the old Legends EU approach of “Hutts are giant sapient gastropods and as such are hermaphroditic”]

Jasna Vintrakahs

- A Devaronian female who started her career path solidly on the wrong side of the law due to growing up in a poor formerly industrial city and the costs of genetic and hormonal therapies on Devaron being, at the time, exorbitantly out of range and the off-world options being more effective in a shorter time-span but still very expensive. Her greatest shame was stooping to bounty hunting and mercenary work to expedite her financial growth after transitioning, though she certainly appreciated and kept the skills and fun little toys that come with working in that field. Does now balance professional life on both sides of the legal line, but genuinely enjoys the rough and tumble fringe spacer life at this point due to more adventure and more interesting individuals. Also because it’s generally more accepted for a fringe spacer to nonverbally respond with the good old fashioned “fuck you” that is a pair of knuckledusters when some stranger asks why she’s a female Devaronian with horns than it would be for an accountant or a trader.

- Depending on the particulars of the job, will often undercut her competitors’ bids on smuggling runs to the point of intentionally being deeply in the red. Doesn’t do this out of a need to repent for her past but rather out of a deep sense of the rights of all beings to live a comfortable life free from external control by privileged outsiders and class traitors. Can usually count on Deak to find one of his less-than-legitimate antiquities obtainment jobs along the way or after delivery given the parts of the galaxy a lot of these vaguely humanitarian smuggling runs tend to be in.

- Captain of our merry band, or as much a captain as anyone can be in an eccentric group of friends and acquaintances. Okay, it really just boils down to she’s the one who owns the ship, but when they’re on-board everyone defers to her hard-earned experience. Passengers can be dicks, but that’s what turning down the inertial dampeners in the guest berths during rough patches of flight is for.

- Met ELE by purchasing the droid as a gift to herself for retiring from bounty hunting, manumitted them after modifying them from near-stock protocol droid and gave them back-pay for the year it took to get to that point.

- Original ship was the Moldy Mynock, a twin-seat variant Incom Z95 Headhunter. Managed to keep this starfighter in such good repair and with a nearly pristine interior that a collector of vintage ships wound up paying close to double the original price. This made it pretty damn easy to purchase the ship that became the Starry Loth-bat, which started life decades ago as a YT 1200 freighter. By the time Jasna obtained it the ship had already become a haphazard blend of the base YT 1200 and a stock YT 1300, and eventually became a hybrid of a number of various YT models with some auxiliary gun ports on the forward starboard and port sides that were once TIE-series cockpits.

- When at home enjoys leatherworking (made Deak’s favorite satchel and ELE’s vest), traditional Devaronian blacksmithing (it’s handy to have a few blades on hand to use for barter in the Outer Rim), and pulp holoadventures. Which Jasna regularly takes the piss out of them for unrealistic tropes but is sincerely an avid fan of them.

- [Jasna started life as an unnamed female Twi’lek, then a male Twi’lek, around 2011-2012. Shifted to being Devaronian a couple years later, then shifted back to being a woman a little after that. Naturally, much like ELE, I am a bit nervous about having this character as she is. I’m cis and as far as I can tell will always identify as such, so y’know not exactly on the forefront of having the life experience of being trans to build off of. But on the other hand half the people I consider friends are trans, more trans characters need to exist, and gender as a whole is a fuck so I’ll be honest as a whole I’m pretty comfortable with Jasna being trans. I’m sure someone out there will read into the whole “gender of the character changed multiple times over the years I conceptualized her” thing alongside me quantifying my cis status as being “as far as I can tell”, to which I say...-shrug- eh, whatev. I wanted a trans OC]

A few unnamed ones that sort of exist in a void of “there for world building, may expand their characters later

Torgorian barkeep with the equivalent to Janus cat syndrome, a Barabel mechanic, Fonzi Kaz and the Boys (a Rodian singer, Bith Dorenian Beshniquel player, Weequay touchboardist, and Gungan lutenist), and a Chiss lawyer. There’s also Jasna’s partner whom I have not yet come up with a name for but she’s a cis Twi’lek artist with prosthetics. And I’m trying to come up with a good compelling Yuuzhan Vong OC too, though considering the dearth of them even now a full two decades after the NJO series began to be published I could probably go for a less compelling more stereotypical one for the first one and create a second one but yeah what I’ve got right now is extremely bare bones

[tarralin]

A Turn of Events

Fox Hunt, Chapter Ten

(Board gifted by @under-sengoku-skies)

Find Master List, Ao3, and Ko-Fi links in blog bio!

Thank you @rainyluneotome for beta reading!

~*~

RM’s time at Kasugayama passed slowly, if not a little on the boring side. Shingen’s constant flirty playboy act grew old after the first full day but at least it meant he was still interested in her. He’d set her up in a lavish room that seemed more suited for a visiting dignitary. Opulencency had always been a sign of great wealth and RM knew such resources could be useful. For that, she’d deal with the cheesy talk and keep in his good graces until the other boss-- the actual owner of the castle whom she hadn't met yet-- came back from a skirmish among his territories.

Sasuke became a quick friend and accompanied her through the local town when he wasn't being more scientist than ninja and poring through the notebooks she’d brought him. She almost got a genuine smile from him the few times she dropped modern culture references.

Yukimura hovered constantly. Every time she turned a corner or questioned a maid, he was there-- suspicion clear in his eyes. She tried to remain polite and friendly, but his endless badgering depleted the minuscule amount of patience she possessed before her thirty-sixth hour in the Sengoku.

“What’s your problem?” She snapped at breakfast the second morning. “Can’t a girl have a single moment's peace?”

His eyes knit together indignantly as he set his bowl down. “Look, I don't what kind of sorcery your family practices. Your sister managed to lure the Devil himself into her spell, so I can only imagine what you're trying to work on Lord Shingen.”

From the corner of her eye, RM watched Sasuke’s gaze drop to the floor as he massaged his brow in humiliation.

Did he really just… He did. Homeboy did. And he believes what he says, too. You've got to be shitting me…

I'm in Hillbilly Hell.

RM took pride in the fact that she managed to keep her thoughts to herself, instead glancing at Sasuke as she rose to her feet to leave the room. “I'm not even going to touch that. I'm likely to damage Homeboy’s feelings beyond repair if I did.”

Breakfast the third morning of RM’s residence arrived without word from Shingen’s retrieval team. She made it her personal mission to be as complicated as possible for any who crossed her path...

But he got the ‘Extra Salty’ package.

“Angel, why must you wound me with the discarded robes of a page-boy? Are the garments I've provided not to your liking?”

RM never glanced up, focusing solely on her hashi as they swooped between her lips and the plate. If there was one she learned growing up with four brothers, it's that tiny jabs on their pride hurt men the most. Choosing to wear a page's attire instead of the decadent kimonos he'd supplied was just the first attack on Shingen. “You expect me to trust your judgment? Now? I'll pass. I’ve already spoken with the castle seamstresses on alternatives, thank you.”

“My men may be delayed, but--”

“They're not delayed, they're dead!”

Shingen’s eyes narrowed slightly and RM finally glimpsed through to the warlord instead of the playboy facade he insisted on fronting. “You've said something similar before. Why?”

A cruel chuckle slipped from her as she leaned back onto her heels. “You sent a team after a target you had a rather impressive lack of intel on. A team of only four people that, as I've mentioned, are probably dead because, guess what? You messed with the wrong fucking princess!” RM popped the rubber band on her wrist as she felt the anger stirring higher, an old habit that never really dulled the flames like it was supposed to, but it did redirect her thoughts to her favorite anger management activity. “Do you have a rifle range?”

Shingen’s eyes flicked between the band and her eyes in a bewilderment RM was accustomed to seeing when she snapped between topics. “Uh, yes, at the troop camp. I’m planning an inspection this evening--”

RM jumped to her feet and strolled from the dining area without another word.

~*~

It wasn't until she was in the middle of camp that she realized she hadn't thought this idea of hers all the way through. This time period’s firearm of choice was a matchlock musket. Ammunition consisted of powder cartridges that had to be manually loaded for each shot and even a ram rod to pack the bullet down the barrel. I was wrong, I didn't survive the fall. The wormhole killed me and I'm in Sharp Shooter’s Hell!

She was peacefully observing the firing line reloading their rifles for the next round when she spotted a familiar red robe coming her way through the haze of gunsmoke. Oh fuck, identify compromised… Abort! Abort!

She’d just ducked behind a tent when Yuki’s voice carried across the remaining distance. “What in the Hells are you doing here?”

“Good morning to you too, Sunshine.”

He gave an eye roll that could rival MC’s famous gesture of irritation. “I asked what you were doing here, not wish you a good morning. And where is Lord Shingen?”

“I left him at the castle. I’m likely to blast his face off if I see it again today. Which is why I'm here-- I need to shoot something that won't end with me in the executioner’s sights.”

Yukimura scrubbed a hand over his face. “Look, I don't really have time to babysit--”

“Then don’t,” she sidestepped him without further comment, letting out a piercing whistle that gained the attention of the gathered riflemen that had just started lining up their shots and pulled out her signature southern belle smile. “Hey, go take fifteen. You've earned it!”

Yukimura remained in place as the men passed by, making no attempt to hide the indignation splayed across his features. “Care to tell me why you just dismissed the squadron?”

“Already did,” she sighed as she gathered the loaded pistols close together and within her reach, checking each match chord as she did. Good, still lit.

She’d observed the gun squad enough to guesstimate the recoil of the musket. There wasn't much of a breeze today to interfere with bullet trajectory and her accuracy was never in question. So, aside from that initial terror of handling antique weapons, she was as confident as she could be. How often would she get to fire a five-hundred year old musket while still in its prime?

Kneeling in final preparation, she took her shot and a sliver of satisfaction rose within her just as the cloud of spent powder lifted on the wind. One down…

RM repeated the same routine with each preloaded rifle, only switching to the next furthest target once changing to the next gun. The familiar ritual of lining up a perfect shot helped melt away the morning tension. She’d always had trouble focusing on one topic for extended periods of time when her brain took in every little detail around her and was always running at full speed. Shooting was one of few activities that slowed it back down but, much like her brain, it was fast paced and she blew through her targets in near record time.

She huffed out a breath while she waited for her ears to stop ringing. What to do now? I could go see if the seamstresses have any of my clothes ready…

The ringing subsided but there were still whistles calling out around her. Glancing up, she found the gun squad had returned from their impromptu break and caught her show. They were applauding so passionately she couldn't just leave without giving them a showman’s bow and wave. “Thank you! Thank you! I'll be here all week!”

“And who has declared that?”

At the chilled voice, the smiling men scrambled to stand at attention in a perfect line. Her own military instincts kicked in with the general panic of commander on deck and she immediately fell in rank at the end of line, giving the closest man a quick once over to match his stance. An icy wind blew through the rank line as gravel crunched under the determined steps headed her way. The flash of platinum hair in her vision was nearly as blinding as the glint of steel that followed and laid flat on her shoulder at the base of her neck.

“Yukimura! Why is there a woman here? I thought it was clear that entertainment was not  allowed in camp.”

Breaking rank, RM raised a brow in the newcomer’s direction. “Well, I'm not jumping through flaming hoops or anything.”

“Not that kind of entertainment…” Yuki snapped as he joined them, ears turning a darker shade of red. “She’s a friend of Sasuke’s who ran into trouble and Lord Shingen has welcomed her as a guest. I'm still trying to figure out why she's here, though.”

“I told you I needed to shoot something, not my fault you didn't believe me.”

“Why would I believe the sister of the Oda Enchantress?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake… Look, if either of us turns out to be a ‘vile enchantress’, I can promise it’ll be me!” Yuki stepped back at her words as if he’d been bitten by a snake. RM turned back to the man in front of her and batted the sword off her shoulder. “Sorry to be a disruption. I’m leaving.”

She didn't make it a step before the sharpened edge was pressed to her throat. “ ‘Sister of the Oda’, did I hear that correctly?”

“Technically, I'm sister to the Princess but, yes, you heard right.” She ducked under the sword only to feel it in place again. What’s this guy's problem?

“Y-you were victorious in battle then, Kenshin?” Yuki moved between the two, successfully taking all the attention of the blond man.

“That mockery could not even earn the title of battle.” Finally sheathing the blade, the one called Kenshin turned on his heel and marched off as if he hadn't just tried to give her a new windpipe.

“Just get back to the castle,” Yuki snapped over his shoulder before following after the blue clad commander.

With an eye roll, RM started back the way she came until the rifle line caught her attention again. The poor guys remained stock still at attention and several shades paler in the face, no doubt due to the scene that had just played before them. “At ease, boys!”

Each man blinked several times, even turning to each other for a moment but remained mostly at attention. RM sighed before forcing herself to pull out her long abandoned lieutenant voice. “I said ‘at ease’! Reload while you're at it!”

There was the desired effect as the men visibly relaxed and returned to their previous tasks. There, that’s better, thank you.

She really did try to walk away from the camp but the hand-to-hand drills just seemed… off. They can't honestly be pairing the brutes against the kids…

She couldn't walk away until that was fixed.

~*~

“Is that your fifth bottle already?” Sasuke warned her of his employer’s trigger happy attitude and extreme alcohol tolerance, but damn if she still wasn't impressed as she and Sasuke joined Yuki and Kenshin. The blond in question simply tipped back another cup full as if she hadn’t spoken. Where does he put it all?

“Sake doesn't effect Kenshin much, aside from potentially shortening the lifespan of those around him,” Sasuke informed.

“So, nothing new then?”

“Sad that you know that already,” Yuki rolled his eyes before they snapped back to focus on her, pink flushing over his features. “Seven Hells! What are you wearing?”

RM beamed a smile and spun a quick twirl for full inspection as she dropped into criss-cross on a free floor cushion. “This is what the seamstresses have been working on for me. The garments Shingen gifted are gorgeous and beautiful, don't get me wrong, but I could barely breathe! I’m a gymnast, I need to move. So, they whipped me up some things similar to the ninja here but in Takeda colors. Oh wow, looks kind of like yours, huh?”

“Yukimura, where is Shingen?” Kenshin piped up as he poured another cup of sake, ending the previous discussion.

Yuki’s gaze wavered between her and Kenshin a moment as he cleared his throat. “A… messenger arrived with news he’s been awaiting.”

RM perked at that. “From Azuchi?”

“Would I be here if I accompanied him?”

Now it was her turn to roll her eyes as she chucked a nearby pillow at Yukimura's head. “If I knew that, I wouldn't have asked you.”

“Yuki, must you upset your angel so much?”

RM turned to the entering voice, ignoring the sputtering tomato across from her, and instead pouring a generous cup of sake for the Tiger. “You've received news from Azuchi?”

Whatever joking mood Shingen had been in vanished with her question as his eyes lost their glimmer. He didn't speak until after downing the contents of his cup. “I have.”

Well, that tone never means anything good.

“I sent four men to capture Oda's princess but they never made it to Azuchi.” To iterate his point, Shingen dropped four headbands onto the table before her. “Instead, a squadron four times that size attacked the castle three nights ago. My mitsumono have learned a young guard took a death blow intended for Date Masamune.”

His eyes dropped back to the table, avoiding RM’s gaze completely. She tilted forward pointedly, forcing him to look at her. “And?”

He downed another cup of sake, savoring the burn before continuing. “The princess was injured. Rumor is she hasn't woken since the attack.”

Now, it was RM’s turn to swish the burn of sake at the news. An injury wouldn't be a problem normally back home, but here? Infections… Unhygienic practices… Hell, were there any kind of pain managements during this time aside from biting down on something?

After downing another cup of sake, she jumped to her feet and started from the banquet hall.

Yukimura was on her heels after a silent command from Shingen. “Where are you going?”

“Azuchi.”

“You can't go to there!” Yukimura grabbed her arm in attempt to slow her pace. The contact had her swirling, pivoting behind to shove him into the wall and pinning both arms to his back while her weight immobilized him. She ignored the deathly silence that fell over the banquet hall.

“Let's get one thing clear. I've been here of my own choosing this whole time, waiting for my sister who was supposedly being brought to Kasugayama. Well, now we know she's not coming because she's injured. I have medicine from home and I'm taking it to her. So stay out of my way; I'll be gone by dawn.”

It didn't take long to gather her belongings as she always kept things mostly in her pack in case she had to make a quick getaway. After stuffing her newly crafted clothing into the bag, she glanced about the room for any valuable trinkets she might be able to trade that wouldn't be missed. Everything looked as if it belonged in a museum to her and she ended up wrapping a random hand full of sparkly things into a coin bag. Only thing left to do was pull a vegetable sack over the rucksack as not to pull attention with its obvious untimely design.

She had just shrugged her pack onto her shoulders when a nervous shout reached her ears from the hallway, followed by the distinctive shatter of a ceramic vase. What the-

Poking her head in the hallway only earned more questions. Why is Sasuke in the rafters? Why is Kenshin chasing Yuki? And what in the hell does he plan to do with that sword?

“Sasuke!” Yuki called to the ceiling ninja. “Get down here!”

“Alliances are broken all the time, Yukimura. Good luck in the afterlife!” With that, the ninja hopped across the rafters and out of sight.

“What the--” she raised her brows to Yuki but the swipe of steel interrupted her.

“This is normal.”

“This is normal?” RM laughed at the absurdity as Yuki dodged another feral swipe from the blond, dropping her rucksack back onto the floor. Maybe these guys knew how to have fun after all. “Then why are you running?”

“Just because I'm used to it doesn't mean I have a death wish!”

“Ha! Okay… then I'm borrowing this!” Without another word, RM snatched Yuki’s katana from the scabbard at his waist to meet the God of War’s blow.

~*~

“She… She’s what?”

Shingen didn't hear that right. He couldn't have. There was absolutely no possible way he heard what he thought did from his loyal vassal.

“She stole my sword and is meeting Kenshin blow for blow. With the look he had on his face, I thought he was about to fall over dead from shock at first. Then, she went on the offensive!”

Shingen watched as Yukimura’s eyes cycled through a number of emotions as he relayed the turn of events. Shock and surprise giving way to a kind of wonder and acceptance. He hadn't missed the way his vassal’s eyes lingered after the newcomer’s footsteps or his overbearing nature the last few days. Yuki always had trouble being honest with himself but his extreme actions were all the sign Shingen needed. However, aside from a few comments of her being ‘Yuki’s angel’, there wasn't much that could be done.

Shingen grinned up to Yukimura. This new development may be just the push the two needed. “Yuki, make sure your angel doesn't leave the compound. We'll bring her with us tomorrow to the combat inspection we didn't get to complete today.”

“What? Why?”

“To see what else she can do. She may be a good fit as a new mitsumono.” He hated lying to the lad but the plan required it.

Yuki rolled his eyes at that. “I doubt she’d be interested in that.”

Shingen shrugged. “Maybe not, but we'll see the extent of foreign capabilities while we have one with us.”

That seemed to pacify the little lord for now as he finally conceded with a nod. “I'll make sure she doesn't leave… but stop calling her my ‘angel’!”

Not a chance. Shingen was still chuckling to himself long after Yuki left. 

[vampireadamooc]

As Always: text is provided only in the event of access expiration or post deletions from the hosting site. Whenever possible, always read the article at the link.

Note: I've been debating setting up a web store where I sell Folklore Correct Vampire Hunting Kits, but I'm already busy enough. My plate is full. I don’t need goths and former twilight fans emailing me that I’m an “idiot” for not including this, that or the other thing. 

 I did put one together over a weekend just to illustrate the differences between Hollywood inspired kits and the folk tales. Like... I can tell the maker of the kit was a fan of Bram Stoker-ish vampires or if they preferred Hammer Horror. And neither fandom would do much to actually “kill” a vampire. PS: no. Gwyneth Paltrow’s Vampire Repellent wont do shit except suck all the money from your bank account.

https://www.mirror.co.uk/news/uk-news/silver-bullets-killing-kits-very-13940409

Silver bullets, killing kits and the very weird history of vampires Creepy cases packed full of vampire-killing instruments are selling for tens of thousands of pounds

ByMatt Roper 13:16, 6 FEB 2019

A vampire killing kit might not seem like the most obvious item for your gift wish list but it's the latest must-have possession.

It has been claimed the cases of creepy instruments were once used by real life Dracula hunters.

And they don’t come cheap - ‘authentic’ kits dating back to the 17th century can sell for tens of thousands of pounds.

Most of the antique cases include wooden stakes and a mallet - to strike vampires through the heart - as well as a crucifix, rosary and prayer book, and a pistol with silver bullets.

Other items include garlic powder, holy water and vials containing anti-vampire serums.

But while, with a recent new vampire fever taking hold, the kits are experiencing a modern-day renaissance, doubts have been raised about whether they ever existed at all.

Even the Royal Armouries Museum in Leeds recently admitted the vampire killing kit it's had on display since 2012 might not be authentic.

The museum's Keeper of Firearms, Jonathan Ferguson, wrote that after researching vampire slaying “it became clear that kits like our one could not have existed until the era of ‘Hammer’ horror films in the 1950s-70s”.

But he said it still had value as “an invented artefact that reflects our cultural obsession with the vampire.”

Another museum, however, insists their vampire killing kits are 100 per cent genuine.

Ripley’s Believe It or Not! museum claims it owns the world’s largest collection of the kits, of which no two are alike.

The kits contain everything the vampire hunter needs

It claims that, while vampires were described in tales and folklore for thousands of years during the 17th century people were so scared of them that they often took extreme precautions.

A graveyard in Poland, for example, was discovered to have people shackled at the neck.

Then, as Bram Stoker’s Dracula swept Victorian England, vampire fears finally made it out of Europe and travellers toured the hills of Transylvania with grave caution.

The museum’s 30 vampire killing kits include stakes, guns and equipment for making silver bullets.

No two kits at Ripley's are the same

There are also vials of liquid including “Professor Blomberg’s New Serum’, a Victorian sulphuric acid stomach tonic called Elixir of Vitriol, and one simply labelled ‘vampirism’.

Ripley’s, which has museums around the world, claims it has managed to authenticate the age of some of the components, including the firearms.

It says: “Were they sold to witlessly terrified travellers in the forests of Transylvania?

"Were they assembled later by mysterious individuals for purposes unknown? Either way, these kits are real.”

Historians agree, however, that for centuries there was a genuine fear of vampires throughout Europe.

'Vampire' skeleton that was speared after death uncovered in Yorkshire burial site

Often, these legends arose from a misunderstanding of how corpses decompose.

People mistook longer-looking teeth and fingernails for bodies turning into monsters, while the dark “purge fluid” that can leak out of a corpse was seen as evidence it had been drinking blood from the living.

Many blamed vampires for outbreaks of diseases like the plague, and the business of killing them, or preventing the dead from feeding on the living, was deadly serious.

Historical accounts emphasised the need for particular methods and tools, such as stakes to destroy the heart - one of the only ways to permanently kill a vampire - and the use of holy water or garlic to ward off the dead.

In a 1979 tract entitled ‘On The Chewing Dead’ a Protestant theologian wrote that people could stop the dead from leaving the grave and eating people by stuffing soil or a stone into the dead person’s mouth.

Without the ability to chew, the tract claimed, the corpse would die of starvation.

In 2006 archaeologists found evidence of this tactic when they unearthed a 16th-century skull in Venice, Italy, that had been buried among plague victims with a brick in its mouth.

Tales of vampires continued to flourish right up to the end of the 19th century, despite a declaration by Pope Benedict XIV that vampires were “fallacious fictions of human fantasy”.

Many of the cases contained cricifixes and firearms

They were also filled with strange vials filled with potions designed to kill a vampire

In 1892, when neighbours of Mercy Brown, a 19-year-old from Rhode Island who had died of tuberculosis, opened up her grave and found blood in her mouth, they took it to be a sign of vampirism.

Believing she was harming her brother, Edwin, who was sick, they burned Mercy’s heart and mixed the ashes into a potion for him to drink - a common anti-vampire tactic.

The potion was meant to heal him but he died a few months later.

By the 20th century belief in vampires subsided, but the monsters were revived in books, films, and more recently, hugely popular TV series.

And it was during the latest period of fascination with the vampire legend that the first anti-vampire kit emerged, in 1986, when one was put up for sale in the US.

The kit contained a percussion pocket pistol with accessories, a combined cross and stake in wood and ivory, and two silver bullets, and was sold as a genuine 19th century artefact.

In the years that followed other kits began to come to light, and values began to climb as the big auction houses got involved, with some fetching tens of thousands of pounds.

While some claimed they were genuine, made to sell to vampire-fearing western travellers to Transylvania, others insisted that vampire killing kits never existed at all.

In 2004, Sotheby's sold a kit attributed to German Ernst Blomberg and Belgium gunmaker Nicholas Plomdeur for nearly £25,000.

Although the auction house cautioned that "neither the existence of the gunmaker Plomdeur nor that of the gunmaker Plomdeur can be confirmed.

"Also open to question is whether these kits were ever employed successfully in the killing of vampires."

Genuine articles once used to stake the hearts of suspected vampires, or expensive novelties still fooling buyers today? One thing is sure, vampires are still dividing opinions and fomenting beliefs even today.

[airgunkart0]

air gun buy online

Air guns resemble genuine weapons in appearance, however they merely fire harmless plastic projectiles at a lower velocity than a conventional BB gun. Air weapons are good for both collectors and players of war games, and are available in spring-powered, gas-powered, and battery-powered versions. Air guns were created to allow Japanese gun collectors to acquire replicas of guns that had become forbidden to own. Air firearms have spawned an entire sport, akin to paintball, in which air guns are used to simulate military battle. Today, replicas of a wide range of weapons, including pistols, rifles, and even automatic assault weapons, are available.

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There are an increasing number of gun sellers and gun retailers operating on the internet. You may acquire a large variety of different sorts of weapons for sale through these stores. On a regular basis, you'll be able to get cheap pricing on select guns on a number of these Internet websites.

As an aside, if you decide to buy a firearm via the Internet, you must ensure that your transaction is made in accordance with all applicable laws. If you have any doubts about the legality of a particular gun purchase made over the Internet, there are a number of reliable sites that provide basic information on the do's and don'ts of gun sales and gun purchases made over the Internet. You will be in a better position to ensure that you are acting entirely within the standards and demands of the law if you take the time to educate yourself on the ins and outs of Internet gun buying.

In many cases, you'll be able to find firearms for sale on the Internet at one of the many auction sites that operate online. In some cases, you'll be able to find a variety of antique guns for sale, including true collector's goods. (In recent years, an increasing number of people have been interested in collecting vintage weapons.) For men and women hunting for antique weapons and other collectibles, the Internet has become a valuable resource.)

Finally, there are a variety of overstock sites operating on the Internet that can be a good source for weapons for sale online. The availability of firearms in these locations can be sporadic. However, if you keep an eye on these overstock sites on a regular basis, you'll almost certainly be able to acquire a rifle that fulfils your requirements.

Some things, particularly in large urban locations, can be found at local merchants when purchasing these guns. Most customers agree that shopping online is the best approach to ensure a large selection, competitive pricing, and a simple purchasing process. Projectiles, gas refill and converting equipment, and protective clothing are all available from online merchants. For today's busy consumer, Air gun buy online shops offer the most convenient manner of purchasing with a variety of options.

[thisdaynews]

(IT WILL SHOCK YOU)Lekki Shooting: Read Full Details of Lai Mohammed’s Petition To CNN

New Post has been published on https://thebiafrastar.com/it-will-shock-youlekki-shooting-read-full-details-of-lai-mohammeds-petition-to-cnn/

(IT WILL SHOCK YOU)Lekki Shooting: Read Full Details of Lai Mohammed’s Petition To CNN

The Federal Government in an appeal on Monday charged United States-based Cable News Network (CNN) of 15 grave editorial offenses in its inclusion of the detailed taking shots at Lekki Toll Gate in Lagos.

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The request which was by and by endorsed by the Minister of Information and Culture, Alhaji Lai Mohammed, was routed to Vice-President, Communications of CNN, Mr. Jonathan Hawkins.

Naija News reports that the request was named “How a Bloody Night of Bullets Quashed a Young Protest Movement.”

The request, dated November 23, 2020, peruses:

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… “Our consideration has been attracted to an ‘examination’ by CNN, named ‘How a Bloody Night of Bullets Quashed a Young Protest Movement’ and circulated on 18 November 2020, in which the worldwide news association said it had “revealed that Nigerian security powers started shooting at unarmed nonconformists” at the Lekki Toll Gate in Lagos, Nigeria, during the #EndSARS fight. ‘Report missed the mark concerning editorial principles’

… We put down to put on account that the report didn’t simply miss the mark concerning editorial norms, it fortifies the disinformation that is going around on the issue, it is glaringly untrustworthy and it is a helpless bit of editorial work by a trustworthy worldwide news association.

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… “In the primary occasion, the report didn’t satisfy the most fundamental of the center standards of news coverage — equilibrium and reasonableness. As per the site, www.ethics.journalists.org, “equilibrium and reasonableness are exemplary popular expressions of news coverage morals: “In target news-casting, stories must be adjusted in the feeling of endeavoring to introduce all sides of a story. Reasonableness implies that a columnist ought to take a stab at exactness and truth in announcing, and not inclination a story so a peruser reaches the journalist’s ideal determination.”

… “Racing to air quite a pivotal story without introducing the public authority’s side is reprehensible and shaky. CNN said it reached more than 100 dissidents and relatives, however didn’t address one authority of Nigeria’s Federal Government. “While CNN said there was no reaction from the military and that authorities of Lagos State would not talk considering the Judicial Panel that is examining the issue, it didn’t state what exertion it made to talk with any authority of the Federal Government. CNN connected with FG

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… “truly CNN didn’t endeavor to arrive at the Federal Government. Nima Elbagir, who introduced the report and most presumably drove the examination, is acquainted with the Minister of Information and Culture, who is additionally the Spokesman for the Federal Government of Nigeria, yet didn’t state that she even attempted to arrive at the Minister.

“It is, along these lines, peculiar, most definitely, that she would hurry to air quite a significant examination report without getting the public authority’s side. As such, Nima, and by expansion, CNN, penetrated the most essential of the center standards of news-casting — equilibrium and decency. CNN depended intensely on unconfirmed recordings gathered from online media

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… “Another genuine break by CNN, in its ‘examination’, is that the organization depended vigorously on unsubstantiated film it gathered from web-based media. CNN was absent at the Lekki Toll Gate the evening of the episode. “Neither its correspondent nor cameraman was there, however it depended on observers. All things considered, this is laden with peril. While specialists state onlooker declaration is a strong type of proof, it is likewise dependent upon oblivious memory twists and predispositions. BBC’s record negates CNN’s “Not normal for CNN, a correspondent from the British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC) Pidgin Service, Damilola Banjo, was at the Lekki Toll Gate on the night being referred to, and was cited as saying officers shot inconsistently into the air and not at the dissidents — an immediate logical inconsistency of the position taken by CNN who depended on second and third-hand data.

… “In circulating its ‘insightful’ report, CNN helpfully failed to remember that on Oct. 23rd 2020, it earnestly tweeted, from its confirmed Twitter handle, that the military killed 38 individuals when it started shooting at tranquil nonconformists on Tuesday, Oct. twentieth 2020.

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“Very nearly a month later, a similar CNN — after an as far as anyone knows comprehensive examination — is currently revealing just a single demise from what the world was made to accept was a slaughter. Is CNN not humiliated by this sharp move down? Has CNN taken ownership of this and apologized for its tactless act?

… “It is likewise fascinating that while CNN got film demonstrating when the vehicles conveying troopers left their dormitory and showed up at the Lekki Toll Gate, it couldn’t acquire any recording indicating the assortments of those evidently executed in the slaughter. All things considered, criminological ballistic specialists will in all likelihood affirm that shooting military-grade weapons into a group won’t leave anybody requiring a magnifying instrument to search for blood or bodies at the scene.

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… “CNN has said it remains by its story, and that ‘our revealing was cautiously and carefully investigated.” This is astounding, taking into account that the story needs reasonableness and equilibrium, as we have brought up, and that the association depended vigorously on controlled online media recordings. “This retreat to a dreamer antique appears to be more similar to a face-sparing measure by a generally good news network trapped in the blinding glare of ‘counterfeit news and disinformation headlamps. “Or then again by what other means does one clarify the pompous safeguard of a global news network that would not regard the most essential guideline of news-casting?

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… “One of CNN’s star observers in its ‘insightful announcing is DJ Switch. Obscure to CNN, DJ Switch’s story on the Lekki Toll Gate shooting has changed a few times. DJ Switch’s ever-evolving stories “From asserting she checked 78 groups of dissenters who were probably murdered by officers the evening of the Lekki Toll Gate occurrence, she has twice, at any rate, changed the setback figure from 78 to 15 and afterward to 7, without a smidgen of proof. “CNN can’t profess not to realize that for anybody to go about as an observer, their validity must be blameless. DJ Switch’s validity doesn’t meet that edge.

… “In one of online media recordings of DJ Switch that was utilized by CNN (see connected connection 1), the woman (DJ Switch) guaranteed she and some anonymous people conveyed dead bodies and dropped them at the feet of the fighters. No video or photographs of dead bodies “She additionally guaranteed she addressed their administrator before the officers tossed the bodies into the vans. Inquisitively, for somebody who was streaming live on Instagram during the Lekki Toll Gate occurrence, there was not a solitary video or image of the dead bodies. “Not even Godson (Uyi), another CNN star observer whose video was additionally utilized by the organization, or any of the several nonconformists, all furnished with advanced mobile phones, at the scene recorded a video or shot an image of dead bodies being diverted by troopers.

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… “Discussing Godson, regardless of professing to have broke down long stretches of film, it is interested that CNN helpfully left out key pieces of Godson’s 57-minutes, 5-second video (see appended connect 2). “For instance, 13 minutes, 40 seconds into the video, there were voices, in road dialect, in the foundation disclosing to Godson that the shots were not from the troopers (na young men dey fire, that na nearby firearm sound… .it’s young men, which means promotes and criminals, who are shooting. “That is nearby weapon).

Exactly 20 minutes, 14 seconds into the video, Godson affirmed that the young men had drawn out their weapons and were shooting (nearby okah, he called it). “Around 23 minutes, 14 seconds into the video, Godson said ‘stand by, every one of these young men dey fire’ (which means discharges rang out from the promotes/punks).

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CNN, in its hurry to nail troopers and tell a ‘profoundly unique story’, advantageously left out these pieces of the Godson video, which might have demonstrated that furnished hooligans attacked the Lekki Toll Gate that evening, and might have hit any of the nonconformists as they shot inconsistently.

“This is plainly a ploy by the CNN columnist/moderator to control watchers of its ‘analytical’ report and power them to reach the correspondent’s ideal determination! Another video demonstrating a furnished dissident at the Lekki Toll Gate (see connected connection 3) was clearly not among the recordings investigated by CNN! Controlling watchers

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… “It is stunning that all through its examination’, CNN didn’t for once notice the way that six officers and 37 cops were executed during the #End SARS emergency, which likewise left 196 cops harmed, not to discussion of the great decimation of government and private properties the nation over. “All things being equal, the organization is focused on the slaughter that never occurred. Are security specialists not individuals as well? Is it true that they are not qualified for the security of their basic liberties?

… “For the record, this isn’t the first occasion when that CNN has conveyed a wrong or scam anecdote about Nigeria. “In February 2007, Nigeria blamed CNN for arranging one of its reports from the nation’s Niger Delta area, indicating shooters holding 24 Filipinos prisoner. Obviously, CNN and its then Africa Correspondent Jeff Koinange straight denied the charge, saying the organization didn’t pay for any piece of the report. “Afterward, in an email apparently shipped off a companion, Mr. Koinange was cited as saying: “obviously we needed to pay certain individuals to get the story… You don’t get such a story without paying off.” So much for disavowals!

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… “As a type of remediation, Nigeria’s Federal Government requests a quick and thorough examination from CNN into its ‘insightful’ report on the Lekki Toll Gate episode to decide, among others, its validness, regardless of whether it fulfilled the fundamental guidelines of news coverage and furthermore the particular utilization of unsubstantiated online media recordings to control popular feeling.

“While it is dependent upon CNN to agree or not

[laberintos-espinas]

MacGruber (New Movie Review)

MacGruber (Jorma Taccone, 2010) - Saturday Night Live has generally been off individuals' radar throughout recent years, with brief snapshots of social importance like during the 2008 political decision or when 300,000 individuals joined on a Facebook page to get Betty White on as visitor have (in spite of the fact that this talks more to the ubiquity of Facebook than SNL). Most movies dependent on SNL draws, for example, Coneheads, The Ladies Man, A Night at the Roxbury, and Superstar, have modest notorieties (and, really, I've never observed any of the abovementioned). Wayne's World is generally viewed as the high watermark for SNL-inferred highlights. For not being horrendous and really appearing well and good as a full length farce of 80's activity film shows, MacGruber merits credit for defeating the chances and its own beginnings (the first outlines weren't full draws, and some of the time were as short as 30 seconds in length). That being stated, the film isn't great https://new-solarmovie.com/other-brand/cmovieshd This is normally where I would compose a plot synopsis, yet in the event that you've at any point seen a 80's activity film, at that point you know the plot. There's a main foe (Val Kilmer) with an atomic weapon and just one man can stop him: he wears a khaki vest and is referred to just as "MacGruber." And, on the off chance that you've never observed a 80's activity film, god favor you, however you won't get this film at any rate.

I need to state at the start that I snickered a great deal during MacGruber. Will Forte is an interesting man and I anticipate following his work later on. Be that as it may, the film never truly makes sense of what it is, or what it ought to be. Is it a satire of MacGyver? A few jokes are right on target in satirizing the craziness of a person who enters firefights without a firearm, utilizing whatever is lying around to jerry-rig contraptions while projectiles prodigy by. Be that as it may, for a great part of the time, MacGruber is a satire of 80's stars like Arnold Schwarzenegger or Sylvester Stallone. Those are two fiercely various focuses for spoof (the previous being fairly feminine and hostile to weapon, the last being hyper manly and genius firearm). To consistently switch between the two creates disarray that dulls the parody.

For instance, when we are acquainted with MacGruber we learn he is a hand to hand fighting master. Later in the film, in any case, we should chuckle at his shortcoming as he gets set up out of a gathering by four bouncers. In any case, before the end, he is a hand to hand fighting master once more. Toward the starting his amazing rundown of achievements are recorded (he's won 16 purple hearts), however after a deadly (and entertaining) botch, he separates and admits he doesn't have the foggiest idea what he's doing. So which right? Is it true that he is an idiot who gets the credit when things happen to work out in a good way in spite of his folly? Provided that this is true, at that point finish on the thought. (Think the first Pink Panther motion pictures). Is the joke that the American government is so inept they can't tell what amount of a risk MacGruber really is? That would be something that could be created. But then, MacGruber has no such goals. Colonel James Faith (Powers Boothe), MacGruber's man in the legislature and his nearest partner, in the long run comes to perceive MacGruber as a risk. This is the focal issue of the film... what's the joke, precisely?

I realize what you're thinking... for what reason am I being so condemning of such a crazy film? All things considered, this is on the grounds that it could have been similarly as strange yet with an increasingly sound account, which would make the jokes hit home more diligently. Not that there weren't snapshots of amusingness. Kristin Wiig plays the hapless sidekick/guinea pig job impeccably, and the sexual moments, sending up the 80's activity film antique, were entertaining. Be that as it may, even here, at it's most entertaining, MacGruber has a propensity for rehashing jokes, with a reduced impact each time.

At a certain point close to the start of the last demonstration, Ryan Phillipe's character takes care of MacGruber, rebuking him for being all discussion and no activity, an analysis that is dreadfully spot on for this sort of film. That is the joke of the first productions, and hearing Phillipe state it so anyone can hear makes any ensuing braggadocio with respect to MacGruber less clever. Phillipe's character can obviously observe straight through the MacGruber b.s., and ruins the comedic strain that made their relationship interesting. It didn't bode well that he would keep on taking heading from or admire MacGruber, but then he does.

MacGruber is most clever when Forte depicts MacGruber as a total bonehead (an extraordinary slogan for the film is "a definitive device"), and loses steam when he really needs to get down to making all the difference, something he does in amazingly proficient and brutal style. MacGruber really tears the miscreants' throats out. This is definitely not a wonderful turn for the character nor is it interesting. It's simply unusual, which is fine, however the scattershot idea of the parody keeps the film from being a genuine great. It feels like they didn't invest enough energy or exertion on sharpening the character or its raison d'etre.

[bienready2122]

Movie Reviews - The Expendables

MacGruber (Jorma Taccone, 2010) - Saturday Night Live has generally been off individuals' radar throughout recent years, with brief snapshots of social pertinence like during the 2008 political decision or when 300,000 individuals joined on a Facebook page to get Betty White on as visitor have (despite the fact that this talks more to the notoriety of Facebook than SNL). Most movies dependent on SNL portrays, for example, Coneheads, The Ladies Man, A Night at the Roxbury, and Superstar, have humble notorieties (and, really, I've never observed any of the abovementioned). Wayne's World is broadly viewed as the high watermark for SNL-inferred highlights. For not being awful and really seeming well and good as a full length spoof of 80's activity film shows, MacGruber merits credit for conquering the chances and its own causes (the first outlines weren't full portrays, and here and there were as short as 30 seconds in length). That being stated, the film isn't great https://new-solarmovie.com/other-brand/primewire This is normally where I would compose a plot outline, yet on the off chance that you've at any point seen a 80's activity film, at that point you know the plot. There's a most outstanding adversary (Val Kilmer) with an atomic weapon and just one man can stop him: he wears a khaki vest and is referred to just as "MacGruber." And, on the off chance that you've never observed a 80's activity film, god favor you, yet you won't get this film at any rate.

I need to state at the beginning that I snickered a ton during MacGruber. Will Forte is an amusing man and I anticipate following his work later on. In any case, the film never truly makes sense of what it is, or what it ought to be. Is it a farce of MacGyver? A few jokes are right on the money in satirizing the ludicrousness of a person who enters firefights without a weapon, utilizing whatever is lying around to jerry-rig contraptions while projectiles pro by. Be that as it may, for a significant part of the time, MacGruber is a farce of 80's stars like Arnold Schwarzenegger or Sylvester Stallone. Those are two fiercely various focuses for spoof (the previous being to some degree feminine and hostile to firearm, the last being hyper manly and genius weapon). To consistently switch between the two produces disarray that dulls the satire.

For instance, when we are acquainted with MacGruber we learn he is a hand to hand fighting master. Later in the film, in any case, we should giggle at his shortcoming as he gets set up out of a gathering by four bouncers. Be that as it may, before the end, he is a hand to hand fighting master once more. Toward the starting his surprising rundown of achievements are recorded (he's won 16 purple hearts), yet after a deadly (and clever) botch, he separates and admits he doesn't have the foggiest idea what he's doing. So which right? Is it true that he is a dolt who gets the credit when things happen to work out in a good way in spite of his ineptitude? Provided that this is true, at that point finish on the thought. (Think the first Pink Panther motion pictures). Is the joke that the American government is so awkward they can't tell what amount of a risk MacGruber really is? That would be something that could be created. But, MacGruber has no such goals. Colonel James Faith (Powers Boothe), MacGruber's man in the administration and his nearest partner, in the end comes to perceive MacGruber as an obligation. This is the focal issue of the film... what's the joke, precisely?

I realize what you're thinking... for what reason am I being so reproachful of such a silly film? All things considered, this is on the grounds that it could have been similarly as crazy however with a progressively cognizant story, which would make the jokes hit home more earnestly. Not that there weren't snapshots of cleverness. Kristin Wiig plays the hapless sidekick/guinea pig job consummately, and the simulated intercourses, sending up the 80's activity film antique, were amusing. Be that as it may, even here, at it's most amusing, MacGruber has a propensity for rehashing jokes, with a diminished impact each time.

At a certain point close to the start of the last demonstration, Ryan Phillipe's character takes care of MacGruber, rebuking him for being all discussion and no activity, an analysis that is excessively spot on for this sort of film. That is the joke of the first plays, and hearing Phillipe state it so anyone can hear makes any ensuing braggadocio with respect to MacGruber less interesting. Phillipe's character can unmistakably observe straight through the MacGruber b.s., and ruins the comedic strain that made their relationship entertaining. It didn't bode well that he would keep on taking course from or admire MacGruber, but he does.

MacGruber is most amusing when Forte depicts MacGruber as a total bonehead (an extraordinary slogan for the film is "a definitive device"), and loses steam when he really needs to get down to making all the difference, something he does in amazingly effective and savage style. MacGruber really tears the trouble makers' throats out. This is definitely not a fantastic turn for the character nor is it entertaining. It's simply odd, which is fine, however the scattershot idea of the satire keeps the film from being a genuine exemplary. It feels like they didn't invest enough energy or exertion on sharpening the character or its raison d'etre.