Havelock Vetinari

IC (Alecto) "They serve Mule Juice here Jesika. Classy this place ain't." Alecto cricked his neck, still managing to keep eye contact with..eh, he was feeling lazy today. "Well, William Bingham." He raised his voice slightly, loud enough to be heard. "Aren't you just a keen one? Next thing, you'll notice the skies grey-with-a-chance-of-depression." Alecto smirked lazily. "Bet the CIA just can't wait to get you on the payroll. Make 'em look like fools at this rate."

IC (Alecto) Alecto meanwhile, kept fighting the good fight against the assorted gawkers, bogglers and sundry that the whole saw fit to throw in the general direction of winged individuals. "Jesika. If you want to start throwing things at him, now'd be the time." If it was a standoff the gawker wanted, it'd a standoff he'd get. No one said it had to be fair though.

I'll have to second New Orleans. Alot of ground to cover and have fun with. I'd certainly considering joining up, as some sort of remnant of the DC Enclave. A survivor, perhaps, of their nasty little war with the Lone Wanderer. Just spitballing at the moment. But I think the setting has alot of potential. You could so many directions with it-even if some of it's civilized, whose to say what kind of civilized it is?

IC (Alecto) "Your support touches me. Truly, I would be lost without you." Alecto's tone was roughly as dry as the Gobi desert. After a particularly hot summer. During a drought. Alecto shrugged extravagantly. "Fine. We'll try this another way. Let's see who blinks first." He turned about, and stared right back at their erstwhile 'fan'. Let's see how they liked being boggled at eh?

IC (Alecto) Alecto raised an eyebrow at Snow. It'd been...awhile...since someone had stared at the wings. New York was good like that. At least his wings weren't on fire, for one. That made him practically normal, by the standards of this city. "Looks like we've got a fan huh?" He gestured, at the out of the towner across the restaurant. And he was an out of towner, or Alecto swore he'd eat his shirt. For one, he looked like he actually cared about the weather. When everyone in New York had long ago given up hope. Time to test out some lines, in other words. "I think I'll go with something like "Wild Wings at Wild Wings, whodda thought?" Alecto shrugged extravagantly. "You got any ideas?"

Things are happening now?

IC (Leon) Leon blinked once. Twice. A thousand questions came to mind, and each was carefully considered. Not for the possible informational value they might provide, but rather by how likely they were to convince Jenna to do something unwise. And thus drag him into something unwise. And result in a sock being jammed down his throat upon informing Jenna that the action in question was, in fact, unwise. ".....So. Werewolves exist and our races are at war and I owe a few movie directors an apology. Got it." He paused again, and appeared to consider something. "Any idea who shot first and set off the race war?" Or was it even a race war at all? Were they fighting the Werewolf equivalent of the Klan? This led, of course, to the mental image of a Werewolf dressed up in full-on bigot regalia. He would have laughed, but knowing Jenna, she'd guess what he was thinking and decide they needed to capture a Werewolf and play dress up. One learned to be careful.

IC (Leon) Leon boggled for a moment. ".....Those actually exist?" Out of sheer reflex, he brushed back his hair with his right hand while the information sunk in. He waited a few more seconds for the punch line. "You're actually serious." This brought up alot of questions. Like why Jenna hadn't dragged him along on a roadtrip across the country in search of a Werewolf. Simply so she could dump a bucket of steak juice over his head and use him as bait. Come to think of it....there it was, that familiar stab of prescient dread.".....We're going to try to find one. Aren't we."

IC (Leon) Leon had not trusted himself to speak, not even remotely. He had not expected Jenna's response to be.....what it had been. Or to catch a glimpse of what laid beneath that carefully cultivated mask (he hadn't even known there'd been a mask) of carefree vampiric party girl. So he was inordinately grateful when the new kid took the chance to inject himself into the conversation. "....I think so...?" The statement came out as a question. Considering the circumstances, he wasn't shocked.

IC (Alecto) "You're a real gentlemen Snow." Alecto pulled his phone out of his pocket, and with a wicked grin, snapped a picture of the now lonesome Kyle. He paused for a moment, considering, carefully, the exact tact he'd take with this. Eh. Whatever. He sent the picture to the billionaires phone, with a text attached. Ice cold bby. I like cold. He could just tell he'd found his next hobby for the month. Nothing like giving a pretty boy, straight billionaire a week or four of to lift the spirits. And nothing, speaking from experience, annoyed pretty boy billionaire's like a continual stream of lazy, no-effort come on's. He'd learned that in Taiwan. Good times.

IC (Alecto) "Snow. Something wonderful has happened today." Alecto's grin quickly became the -eating variety. "So. You wanna start spamming his phone or should I do the honors?"

IC (Alecto) Alecto crowed in victory. " done! Talk to ya later angelface!" Alecto favored the beleaguered billionaire with a slightly scandalous, entirely schadenfreude laden wink. He then turned back to Jesika for a moment, grin splitting his face. "Always nice to see an employee who looks out for his boss. Warms the heart." To his credit, he sounded almost entirely deadpan.

IC (Alecto) Record this. He must have mouthed that silently to Snow a dozen times before the very loud, very very irish man asked him to participate in what could only be described as performance art. He took a moment to do his best impersonation of Muttley, Then, as expected, Alecto bellowed back an answer. "What'd it cost me!?"

IC (Alecto) Whatever commentary Alecto was going to provide was drowned out in a storm of what could be described as choked laughter. "B-breath. Have to...b-reath..." Despite the reminder, the storm continued unabated. Desperate, he gestured at Snow's smartphone. "R-record this." Another bout of laughter. "T-the world needs...." He cut himself off again, with yet another cluster of choked laughs. "D-deserves to see this."

IC (Alecto) "When are the repairs to your apartment going to be done again? The less I hear that shrill...electronic....ear murder you call music, the better." Alecto straightened up a bit, and learned forwards. "And I didn't hear ya complaining about his looks before. Looks like someone's a sore loser." He didn't bother dressing up the smirk he shot her way as a smile. "Some things never change I guess."

IC (Alecto) The bat-winged mercenary huffed. "Does this mean you're going to move into his apartment and keep him up with that...." Alecto spat the next word. "Techno music." The mercenary then shifted his eyes away from his companion, and back the cashier. Without warning, he fluttered his wings lightly for a moment, and then shot a Jesika a fairly nasty smirk. "Eyes stayed right where they were Snow. Not the wings. And certainly not your cyborg self, Cortana. Looks like you're stuck with the power armored slave soldier. Wonder how you'll explain that one to Watchbeast. Be fun to watch." He paused. "Think I'll put it up on youtube,"

IC (Alecto) "Mm?" Alecto glanced at the other mutant. "Snow. For...uh, future reference, it's kinda hard for me to make eyes at the cashier when you're waving your hands in front of them like that. Watcha need?"

IC (As Rojo-Schmetterling) The battlefield stretched out before the Schmetterling. His first impressions could be summed up with some choice words from one of his trainers in the FCRC. A few hills and enemy air support means you might just have time to see the attack that kills you. "This the Schmetterling. FCRC diplomatic detail. Here to assist." He'd been patched directly into the Federations comms, a nice little gift to go with the new set of orders. Which, increasingly, seemed like a fancy way of saying 'go forth ye heroes and die'. Okay. That was over-dramatic but...not by much. Still. Orders were orders, and right now, he had standing orders to, if he hadn't horribly misread something, to molest that as yet unmolested column of vehicles that were trying to swing around the battlefield. An enemy column if the information flowing across the battlenet was any indication. He'd set down on one of the few hills nearby. As close to the column as he could manage. It wasn't much, but it was better then nothing. And it might just buy him a few precious precious seconds to panic if the raptors honed in on him. But in the meantime....it took only a few seconds sight in on the enemy column and line up a few shots. "I have a bead on the enemy column. Engaging." Choosing his target-one of the centermost vehicles, As Rojo let loose with the Schmetterling's assault rifle. The fact he was aiming for the central column would, hopefully, ensure that even if some of the shots went long, he'd still have a chance of hurting some poor sod in the front or back parts of the column. Besides, if the enemy had any sense, they'd start to scatter if they came under determined fire. A scattering enemy could easily become an uncoordinated enemy, and a uncoordinated enemy could easily become a confused enemy...and a confused enemy was....precisely the kind of enemy you wanted to fight. The only better kind of enemy was an angry one.

IC (Leon Kane) "One hundred and five dead. Lowballing it. That's what's eating me." Leon crossed his arms, his mouth set in a thin grim line. "Did the math on that 'genius' racket. One wallet a week for two years. If it lasted longer then that.....fifty-two weeks in a year last I checked." His voice was strangely calm, but there was....something different about it. It sounded flat and hard. It was the sort of voice a soldier speaking in the cold logistic might use. Even so, he hesitated, for the briefest of moments before continuing. "That, and the fact you don't seem to have much of a problem with it." He paused again. "Even if you do, seems like...." Another pause, as if he was struggling to put something into comprehensible speech. "There's something a reporter said, when MACE was going down. That even the best of us covered for the worst of us. Seems like I walked into the same ###### here. Not a path I'm keen on walking again." IC (Remus) "I'm not seeing any drinking. If you wish to fulfill your duties as a leader, you must properly nourish yourself. When battles comes, a sharp, ready mind is needed." Remus threw Dominik a sidelong glance. "You should also consider increasing your iron intake. I've noticed it's lacking."

IC (Leon) Leon was more or less running on automatic throughout the whole spiel. He liked to think he was acquiring an immunity after a few dozen stories about Jenna and James and the......things......they'd done across the city. Things he desperately wished he could forget. He would never look at Times Square the same way again. Or the Empire State Building. Or Ellis Island. Or- Then what she was staying started to register. Oh. This was one of those times when she was actually going to try to teach them something and not, presumably, try to make his mind shut down in horror. That was nice. Also getting to be increasingly rare. She'd been upping her game ever since...the incident. Hm. Bar served as some sort front for a counterfeiting operation from the sound of it. Fake ID's, social security cards.....Heh. Leon's mouth crooked upwards slightly. Nice to know the criminal element was the same no matter what side of line between live and death you happened to fall down on. Consistency. He'd have to ask about the mafia sometimes. See if old 'Al still happened to be knocking around under an assumed name somewhere. You never knew. And then she got to the mechanics of the scam. That got Leon's attention. What. What. He ran the numbers. Even if it was just four wallets a week for two years, heck, two a week.....four hundred and sixteen dead or two hundred and eight. He ran a few more possibilities through his mind...the numbers weren't still weren't pretty. For a business like that to be viable....Leon would be the first to admit he wasn't the best at math. But even if he was off by twenty or ######, fifty, the numbers didn't look any better. And, if the breezy, light tone she used was any indication..... Jenna, his self-proclaimed foster mom and mentor, didn't have much of an issue with it. Leon more or less ignored the last part of the lecture, and approached Jenna once the new kid had embarked on Operation: Too Much Information. "Uh. Pardon me. But...what the ######?"

IC (As Rojo-Schmetterling) A simple escort mission they said. The former pirate bite back a litany of curses, many of which involved the questionable ancestry of the more important colonial families, and their rumored liaisons with numerous members of the more exoetic portions of humanities genetic family tree. He really should have expected something like this. It would just about figure that, on his first mission outside of the FCRC itself, his first mission that didn’t consist of killing drones, giving a lecture to a room of bored officers or the occasional sojourn to some remote base, would get interrupted by what appeared to be an inbound attack. And a pretty serious one, if the comms traffic he was picking up was any indication. "Sargento!" They always forgot the “second-class” part when the shooting started for some reason. As Rojo bite back a sigh and replied. “Sí?” A rapidfire tide of spanish followed, intermixed with the occasional nonsensical command. “Ya veo.” The ex-pirate contrived to sound as bored as possible. He wasn’t precisely *happy* about the situation, but there was no call to go into hysterics over it. The pilot sighed. “Te he oído alto y claro señor embajador.” It’ll be good for relations with the Federation they said. So. What would have been a good, relations-raising stroll through Horizon was going to be a ######-for-leather run for the relatively safety of the Federation base. While the presumably heavily outnumbered Federation forces did what they could to stem the tide. The ace sighed finally let out a sigh. He was going to be doing alot of that today. He just knew it. Laugh. Cry or sigh, it didn’t change the facts. They had to move now. Then the shouting in his ear was gone, and much calmer, flatter voice replaced it. Ah. Ms. Stone. Federation liaison to the FCRC. Cool as ice. Also, precisely no sense of humor. “Pilot. If you please?” It’ll be relaxing they said. Mindful the rapidly clearing streets, he coaxed the Schmetterling forwards. A dead run would compromise their maneuverability to ######. Not to mention he wasn’t betting on that limo managing to keep up the Schmetterling. Which meant he’d have to more or less stride his way through what was going to be warzone. While Stone kept the ambassador from screaming a panicked mixture of threats and orders shouted at him over the commlink. Alright. He swung the Schmetterling around the corner easily enough. Left turn first. Then right. The streets had cleared now-and the limo had some fight in it at least. He fancied he could hear the ambassador scream at Stone as they rounded another sharp turn. Keep moving. They had to keep moving. There are some good bars in Horizon they said. He’d lost track of the minutes, as they ticked by. As Rojo shook his head slightly at the realization. He’d focused on the twists and turns, on the road and the mission before him. A quick glance solved the problem easily enough. Not much time at all. Good. The Federation base-and the relative safety it promised to a certain loud mouthed ambassador was just ahead. Only issue was the relatively wide and clear road they’d need to head down to get there. Open sky, open road, relatively little cover. This was going to be fun. If the Federation lines broke, they’d be fish in a barrel. Granted, in his case it’d be a rather unique fish that happened to have a harpoon gun, but said unique fish would still be staring down the barrel of several shotguns. Still. Nothing for it. One of these days I’m going to learn to stop listening. Assault rifle raised, he surged out ahead of the limo, keeping an eye on the sky. If the attackers were going to come for them, he was more than willing to bet it would be from above rather than from ground level. Nonetheless, he swung the Schmetterling's sensors around, side to side, periodically as he moved the Assault Walker further and further down the road, with the limo and it’s no-doubt jostled cargo close behind. It only took a few seconds, but the fact the pilot was intimately aware of how vulnerable the position was ensured that it felt at least as long as particularly awkward family dinner. The threat of sudden and total annihilation tended to have that effect. Pirate-turned-soldier had become acquainted enough with that threat to know that much at the least. The fact he'd calculated precisely how long he'd last against an aerial attack in the best case scenario, and that those numbers were not what one would call 'comforting' did not help matters. An awkward family dinner after a major death in the family then. Still. If the chronometer was correct, they’d gotten through the killzone-waiting-to-happen and into the base in….45 seconds. Not bad. Not bad at all. As Rojo allowed himself a small smirk and began to key Stone’s commlink. Might as well check up on he- And then a new set of orders flowed across one of the Assault Walker’s tactical screens. Well. The Federation must be desperate, if they were going try sending a one-walker diplomatic escort to the frontlines. This was going to be one of *those* missions. The kind that ended with most of those involved wounded. He could tell. He’d gotten a taste for them. He let out a final sigh, and activated the Schmetterling boosters, rocketing towards the fight. Well…..bright side, I’ll get to terminate some of that scum before the days out.

Finally, finally got this done. Alex said it looked fine over PM, so I'll post this up for Blade to take a look-see at as well. Name: As Rojo (nickname, real name...he leaves it unsaid, for OOC reference, it’s Alonso Cañizares) Age: 29 Gender: Male Occupation: FCRC AW Pilot (Diplomatic Services detail), E3, Pirate (Formerly! Really!), On-call adviser on Colonial forces and tactics for the FCRC. Appearance: As Rojo’s natural features can generally be described as soft, or perhaps gentle. He sports a slightly square face, in terms of structure, and his cheekbones are not particularly prominent, though that is not to say they are on the verge of unnoticeable, they’re simply not the first thing that leaps out at one when they see his face. His cheeks aren’t particularly puffy and are more on the lean side of things then anything else, gently tapering down to his prominent chin. His lips are full, and typically upturned in a slight smirk. His mouth is average-sized, as such things go but leans ever-so-slightly on the small side of things, it certainly couldn’t be called large. Above the mouth, his nose is of the straight, aquiline variety. As Rojo’s brow stands out, much like his chin. The mixed heritage pilot also sports thick, light golden blonde eyebrows. His eyes are narrow and their coloration is a strikingly bright blue. His hair is quite long by the typical standards of the male gender, coming down past his ears but ending before hitting the shoulders or the lower cheeks. As Rojo's hair is the same shade of light golden blonde as his eyebrows, and though it’s not particularly layered, it is feathered. This hair hides the upper part of his ears on most occasions, though aside from that, he’s made a habit of tucking it behind his ears as much as possible. He’s quite muscular, despite the overall gentle nature of his features, with the chest muscles being particularly prominent. His skin color is a light shade of white, though it is often broken up by scars of an even lighter white. These scars vary depending on the part of the body they’re located on. On his face, they tend to be long thin affairs, primarily on the outer edges of his cheeks, or near the jawbone. A thicker scar runs across his nose however, and below the eyes, it almost resembles a curved rounded upside down V. A a short, thick scar runs across the back of his neck and the uppermost parts of his back. His arms have long, thick scars upon them, almost as if some great clawed beast had mauled them, though they seem far too precise for that thesis to hold true. Scars of varying, usually medium length run thick across seemingly random parts of his chest. The lower back sports a few long, thick scars across it, and the lower abdomen sports scars of much the same type that afflict his chest. His legs share the same mauled appearance as his arms. He tends to wear his uniform when on duty and off duty, he’s got a few sets, allowing him to more or less get through the week. Provided he does laundry. His uniforms are somewhat different from the Federation norm, having their origin in the national forces of the FCRC rather than the portion of its forces contributed to the Federation. His duty uniforms tend to resemble a greatly stripped down pilot’s uniform, of the sort that existed in the 21st century. It lacks much of the equipment such uniforms had, due to the differences in technology and duties between the pilots of yesteryear and the pilots of today. The uniform’s coloration is a drab olive green, with the helmet and other instruments being a dark black in color. His dress uniform is fairly simplistic, as such things go, consisting of a set of fatigues, a red beret and a similarly red sash. He typically wears a single red star on the upper right of the uniform. The sash hosts what appears to be a collection of various pieces of scrap, carefully sewn into it. These are, in fact, the remains of enemy Arsenal Walkers he has downed….mostly during his time as a pirate. Equipment: Aside from his uniforms, he sports a PM-43A pistol. This pistol is a staple of the FCRC’s armed forces, and it’s roots show through in it’s resemblance to the old Makarov pistol of yesteryear. There are a few differences however, aside from the more streamlined, modern design. It sports a holographic targeting system, and is made out of a variety of modern composite materials. A large, steel, leather-gripped combat knife serves as his secondary weapon. He also wears a standard set of FCRC holotags around his neck, though these are normally nestled beneath a gold-chained necklace bearing a large shark’s tooth. He has a few pens, stashed away in his uniform, just in case he needs to sign for something or perhaps stab someone’s eyes out. Aside from this, he normally has a small medkit nearby, just in case. He is also the proud owner of a slightly used Arsenal Walker, a FAW-007[G] Warrior. As with most soldiers, he also has a commlink. Skills: As Rojo, as the name implies, has honed his piloting skills to a fine point during his time as a pirate, to the point where he is one of the few who can claim the title of ‘ace’. He appears to be a natural, when it comes to piloting, if his record is any indication. That said, growing up aboard a pirate vessel does not precisely grant one a formal education, meaning most of the skills he possess are self-taught, and perhaps, lacking when compared to the products of educational facilities. He is skilled when it comes to the maintenance and repair of your typical arsenal walker, and knows a fair bit about the same set of skills when it comes to starship repair. He’s got a smooth tongue and a head for trade and barter as well, as a result of making his living off of goods “acquired” from colonial ships. As a result of this relatively lawless lifestyle, he’s also proficient at personal melee and ranged combat, though even he will admit that melee is his specialty, and his ranged abilities don’t in any way measure up to them. Oddly, he seems equally proficient at both when inside of an assault frame. Aside from this skills, his personal hobbies have also granted him a general working knowledge of history, strategy, and similar subjects. He speaks english and spanish, though he is more fluent in english. As a result of making his living preying on colonial shipping, he’s also very familiar with their tactics, and how to counter them. Personality: As Rojo is a man who strives to take life as it comes, and who tries not to lose his sense of humor in the face of the sometimes unreasonable challenges that life so often presents to those who live it. He is something of a walking contradiction as a result. He’s utterly ruthless in combat, using any dirty trick, feint or lowblow that becomes available to gain the edge on his enemy. He no notion of honor when it comes to combat, and is simply in it to see the enemy die. He’s not a sadist about it however, perhaps the best term for how he behaves in combat would be “efficient” or “practical”, though these fail to capture the bloody nature of his approach. Even here, when he is at his most callous, some of his more human side does show through, as he prefers to have some form of music playing during combat, and may on occasion crack a joke or two over the commlink. Outside of combat, he seems to become an entirely different person. He’s easy going, gentle and perhaps just a tad eccentric. He has a marked predilection for flowery terms and language, never saying with one word what he could see with many. He’ll often launch into fantastic, humorous and utterly false tales of his motivations or background if asked about such things. While part of this is a facade to keep people from learning too much for comfort about his history, just as much it is completely and utterly genuine. He never missed a chance to joke, for that matter, he seems to pride himself on his sense of humor….or perhaps his ability to keep talking for as humanly possible, when no one is speaking to him, As Rojo will often muse to himself, or comment out loud on whatever book he happens to be reading that day. In his downtime, when he isn’t reading, he can normally be found at the gym, the firing range, or rustling up another crowd of poor sods to regal with his tales of “legally dubious acts of interplanetary cargo liberation”. He tends to playfully flirt with any member of the same sex he’s taken a liking too-and he certainly won’t hesitate to pursue them further if they seem responsive. He has a hatred of the colonies that tends to dull his good spirits when they are brought up-he has nothing but contempt for the colonies and the colonials that inhabit them, and is of the opinion that much of the population should, at the least, stand trial for crimes against humanity. He also has a sympathy for, as he puts it, rogues, rebels and perilous pirates. This is due to his own time amongst the rogues and pirates of deep space. He knows the challenges of that life, and rarely misses a chance to discuss it with someone else who understands it. He’s doggedly loyal to anyone he considers crewmate, another holdover from his pirate days, though simply serving in the same unit will not earn one ‘crewmate’ status. Helping him out, being a good conversation partner or otherwise doing him a good turn will. Bio: As Rojo’s history starts with a simple a question. What happens when a political radical and a pirate meet in a bar? The answer, evidently, is “fall in love and start a joint crusade against those goddamn colonials”. The next day, the two departed on Irene’s fine (which is to say functional) vessel, ‘New Berlin Burning’. So it was that Avelino Cañizares and Irene Gleeson began their careers as professional thorns in the side of the various colonies that exist throughout the solar system. Together, these two and their occasionally faithful crew of ne’erdowells, thieves, ladies and men of the night, the odd disgraced lawyer and other various sorts of scum, along with whatever radicals Avelino managed to attract, made a name for themselves in the business of piracy, though you’d never find their names in the headlines. Eventually, the event that many of the crew had declared inevitable happened, and the two had a son. They immediately christened the newborn Alonso Cañizares. Young Alonso, as one might imagine, had something of an unusual upbringing, considering his parents were leading a crew of pirates on the run from most relevant governments. For one thing, tutors and teachers tend to be remarkly hard to come by in such a situation. Thus, the young boy was learned at the feet of the ship's crew, or to be more accurately, learned from his parents and pestered the rest of the crew incessantly until they answered his questions or helped him with whatever homework his parents managed to scrounge up. He learned from textbooks stolen from cargo ships. They came in three varieties, actually useful, slightly singed and propaganda. Incidentally, he tended to use the last category to make paper airplanes or as scrap paper. The greater part of his education however, was much more hands on. Throughout his early youth he was drafted/ordered/volunteered to help out around the ship, as the danger of their every waking moment demanded that everyone aboard, more or less, pull their weight aboard the vessel. Thanks to this, he picked up quite alot of general mechanical knowledge. He has also mastered the obscure art known as ‘scrubbing the bulkheads’. Eventually, however, Alonso took up a more active role onboard the New Berlin Burning. Due to the inherent risk piracy brings with it, the New Berlin Burning often found itself in need of new crewmembers, and the most valuable crewmembers, the pilots needed for the eclectic collection of assault frames that they had acquired over the years, were often amongst the losses the crew took. So it was that Alonso took up the reigns of an old FAW-007 Warrior. Fortunately for his parents, and for his own wellbeing, he turned out to be a natural when it came to piloting...and finding inventive ways to ensure he continued to live at the expense of the poor sod he’s currently fighting. If Alonso were more honest with himself, he’d admit this was one of the worse times of his life, having to rely on his ability to kill others just to secure a daily for himself and his fellows for the next month or so does not a good life make. Still, Alonso isn’t that honest with himself, and prefers to remember this portion of his life as the best. Whatever it’s quality when compared to other parts of his life, it came to an end when Alonso was twenty-five years old. A job went bad, and an extremist colonial group damaged the New Berlin Burning, killed his father and scattered most of the other pilots. Alonso himself was captured. He was...interrogated and tortured for months before the crew could manage a rescue. He was never really the same after this event however, and his actions during missions, raids and the like became less crisp and businesslike and more bloodthirsty. Though he earned quite a few kills during this time, enough to grant him the title of “ace”, it rapidly became evident that staying with the crew, and staying in space, wasn’t doing any wonders for his mental health, and that the damage the torture had done required treatment. Expensive treatment. Treatment a crew of pirates simply couldn’t afford. So, a deal was struck and a bargain made. The ailing pirate was, in a secret meeting, turned over to the Federated Communist Republics of the Caribbean, an Earth Federation member state. The pirates got some decent supplies out of the deal, Alonso got access to much needed medical technology, and the FCRC got access to an expert on anti-colonial tactics. In short, everyone got something out of the deal, and had reason to keep it a secret from certain agencies. Alonso shed his old name, and took on something of nickname, As Rojo. Time spent in Cuba proved to be stabilizing for the former pirate, and some of his old personality returned. His actions in combat (well, training exercises and the occasional patrol), though still ruthless became much more efficient and less focused on making the enemy suffer, which was generally taken as a sign of improved mental health. He even acquired a dog, one of the new, tougher breeds….granted, said dog as a vicious streak, prompting As Rojo to name her “Zen”. So that all may appreciate his taste for irony. His life, for the best few years, has more or less been training, relaxation, and lectures on colonial tactics. Recently however, he’s been assigned to escort an FCRC diplomat to talks with the Federation... Weakness: Due to the torture he suffered at the hands of pro-colonial terrorist cell, As Rojo’s nervous system is, to put it politely, not functioning ideally. If he’s jostled around for an extended period of time, eventually his system will overload and he’ll suffer an attack of sorts. Could just be a slight shaking or it could be a much more extreme seizure, it appears to be up to random chance more or less. While his own mech is modified to reduce the risk of such an event, even within its confines, he still suffers from an occasional episode of the shakes. Dancing also appears to set off these attacks, while it is unlikely that dancing will decide the course of the war, it still bears mentioning. As a result of his largely self-taught education he tends to have difficulty with new subjects, or new parts of old subjects. He knows how to fix his Assault Frame, sure enough, and other’s of it type, but a new one? A new one could be tricky... Base Model: FAW-007[G] Warrior Designation: FAW-007[G/S] (Ground/Stealth) Schmetterling Appearance: The Schmetterling is, at a glance, much more streamlined than your typical warrior model. It also features a set of thrusters along the back, allowing it to maneuver quickly in interstellar and low gravity-situations and, outside of these situations, boost its mobility in combat by a healthy margin. The coloration of the Schmetterling is, primarily, black. The secondary coloration is a dark gray, and at a distance, the AW almost appears to be a pure black. This is in part due to the stealth systems installed upon it, allowing it to baffle radar and sensors. This modification is much more useful in space then it is upon the ground, though with innovative use of cover, it can give one the opening they need to win the fight. The Schmetterling is an old AW, and this shows. It sports more than a few patches and scratches that testify to the rough life the AW and it’s pilot have led. Armaments: One AW-class assault rifle, equipped with AP ammunition for “normal” combat, but capable of using other types of ammunition as the mission profile dictates. The Schmetterling also sports a small missile launcher on the upper right shoulder, equipped with tracking missiles suitable for AA or anti-armor duty as the situation demands. In general, this launcher only has enough ammunition to fire four or five times in combat before it must be reloaded. For closer encounters, the Schmetterling sports an AW-grade machete. While fancier melee weapons are available, As Rojo has a certain respect for the machete, as it’s designed to do one thing and one thing only. Hurt living things. Or things being driven by living things. There is, in his opinion, purity in that. As is standard for the FAW-007, it is also equipped with a shield for close combat encounters, though this shield, much like the mech, sports more than a few scratches to the paintjob. Weakness: The Schmetterling is an old machine, and like all old machines, it has developed...quirks. On occasion one of its systems will fail, or otherwise malfunction. A joint might jam, a sensor might fail, a weapon might jam. Attempts to rectify this have actually made the situation worse on more than one occasion, costing those who made these modifications a few months in manpower to restore the system back it’s old, slightly less temperamental, status. The thrusters also tend to be fuel hogs, and repeated leaps can deplete it quite quickly-and despite the modifications made to it to enhance its speed, smaller mechs such as scouts are still quite capable of outrunning it. Pilot: As Rojo

IC (Alecto) “Don’t see how that’s any of your business kid. I’ve swapped spit with people who never got to know that, and no offense, I don’t think we have that sort of connection.” Alecto, flicked the tip of the needle again, and gave another satisfied hum. Then, without further ado, injected the morphine, as gently as was possible. “Alright. You’ll be lucy in the sky with diamonds real soon kid. Say hi to Sinatra for me.” Quickly, efficiently, Alecto started to set up a splint. “And you know what, here’s some advice. Free of charge. Starry-eyed idiot like you needs all the help they can get. First? "Don't give me that ###### brave face kid. It's weaker than your arm is right now." "Second, Kid. You talk a good game, a real ###### good game. About how you're all kids with big hearts and yadda yadda yadda. Well. Lemme ask you this, you ever gotten screwed over? Like, real screwed over? And maybe ya try to talk to one of the other 'kids with real ###### big hearts' about it right? Just a stab in the dark, but I'm gonna guess they laughed in your face right? Because I know your type. You're nice. You're sweet. You care. And you're idiots. Because you think everyone's like that. And don’t turn around and say I’m helpin’ you or some ###### like that to try an’ prove me wrong. There’s a burning city outside that begs to ###### differ.” Alecto reached into his medical kit and pulled out another set of pads, then continued his work. “Now, not gonna tell ya to stop helping people. I know that’s a hopeless cause, because even tall, red and gruesome didn’t have enough power behind his bunch to beat common sense into ya. So….You wanna help people? Great. ###### great. Give all of yourself away to everyone else, till you've got nothin' left. I'm not gonna stop you from climbing up on some cross and just poundin' the ###### nails in. But there are better things to crucify yourself over. The. X-Men. Don't. Help. Anyone. Get that through your skull kid, because you're gonna have to if you want to do something worth a ######. Every time you're in the news, everytime you flash a smile for the camera..do ya think you're making things better for kids like you? Ya think the bigots are just gonna magically see they're giant shitheels? Here's a hint. They won't and they don't. Every person ya save, I promise you, at least four are beaten to inch of their lives because, guess who just threw a ###### stone into the hornet's nest?" He was speaking from experience now. Some part of Alecto was vaguely aware this had gotten just a tad bit more real then he’d intended. But the rest of him didn’t care. The rest of him was a bit too focused on the torture that growing up mutant-and gay on top of that-had been. And how much worse the beatings in the school hallway, the bathroom…..and any place where there wasn’t a set of adult eyes around 24/7 got when those spandex-clad idiots had been on TV lately. Alecto paused to take a breathe. “But hey.” Alecto put the finishing touch on the splint, then started to look it over for flaws, just in case. “I’m just a goddamn merc. You’ve got no reason to listen to me. "So yeah. I guess you could stay in the X-Men. For that nice fluffy feelin' you get when you help someone, but unless you're a goddamn coward, you'd ###### better realize you're hurting people too. You'll probably never see 'em. Probably never have to deal with feeling their mother######ing pain. Maybe ya can live that. Maybe not. I don't know." Alecto paused. "And for the record? That dose of pain, rage and whatever-the-###### you just got from me? Standards of my day, I was one of the goddamn lucky ones. I had parents who gave a ######. Not all mutants do. So chew on that.” Alecto stood up. “Your arm should be good for awhile. I’d still get it checked out by whatever hack passes for a doctor down at child-soldiers-r-us.”

IC (Leon) Leon shrugged. "Sorry to say I don't. Last I saw she and her....friend...were doing...things...near an apartment complex. Near Times Square in fact. I thought, since I didn't see her dancing merrily in the chaos, she might have left the area."

IC (Alecto) "Help people? Kid...they sent ya to the wrong place for that. X-Men don't really help anyone. Never did...." Alecto paused a moment. "If this sort of thing is common for you, I've gotta say, there's better jobs out there. I can put in a good word." Alecto shrugged helplessly as he held up the needle. "Whenever you're ready...." Alecto paused. "And I'll drive you home, wherever that is. I'm not gonna let someone hopped up on morphine out into the streets. And something tells me your twin over there is a bit distracted." Poor kid. Probably got "forgotten" alot. The nice ones always were. You had to make a fuss and raise a bit of fire to get anything in this world. He hoped the kid learned that before it was too late. IC (Romulus) "I do believe you're drunk." Romulus smiled, taking in the festivities. "No shame in that. Such a glorious victory must be celebrated." He pointedly ignored the other commentary the drunken secretary turned warrior woman had offered up. He turned to one of his men. "Mr. Reynolds, if you don't mind...I'd like to fetch me some wine. The good vintage if you will."