Franco

IC: Gavarm clenched his teeth and sucked in air, a favorite habit he'd developed under the lurid gleam of fight club lightstones. He'd been trying to kick it when Gyn had given him his first cigar; the new addiction had only dragged him deeper into the first. Now he was getting to work on cigars, but could he really help them if they numbed the funk produced by this kind of talk? "So y'all joins," he pronounced slowly, epiphany laborious as his voice but with the explosive force only lying beneath it. "Goin' aftah anotha excaped convict."

Congratulations to the new staff. To everyone else: come at the Piraka, bro.

How've you been, old Tucky, old pal?

IC: "No news 'bout him, Ah suppose?"

Due to unforeseen circumstances, I'll not be present for approximately one week.

Due to unforeseen circumstances, I'll be gone for around a week. Touch not Cero while I am absent.

IC: Komuhu quirked a metallic eyebrow and glanced off at the inn while it spoke, hands making the slightest of gesticulations. "That would be your state in the near-future. I hereby confess I lack any interest in keeping you hounded by those who would vivisect you and recombine your parts to make a servile pack beast--I've seen the skeletons in Colonel Noxra Immiti's closet, as it were, and the bones are picked clean. After all, the Onu-Koronan watchwords are 'reduce, reuse, and recycle.'" It let out a professionally-affected chuckle at the dark comedy. Then it returned its gaze to the mercenary and smiled. "No, Derlath, I've seen your work and I like your modus operandi, your elan, if you will, too much to not propose to you an occupation when you have none and sanctuary when you need refuge. Care to hear the counteroffer to your next, grim work?"

IC: "I see," Komuhu replied quietly. "I'm sure you'll find work soon." It took a heroic draft. "Tell me:," it said; in a smooth, unhurried motion, the Toa set down its cup and leaned forwards on its arms, looking into Derlath's eyes with a gaze that did not bore but cut, "would you enjoy the occupation of being hunted down by the Ussalry?"

IC: "Yeah."

IC: Derlath found no weapons hidden in Komuhu's hand, nor even a trace of any extra force or weakness in its handshake. Yet their hands remained joined a time longer than normal. There was nothing intimate about that; the time was surely not more than a millisecond Komuhu's expression remained casual for the duration of the handshake. Komuhu's nonchalant reach for his ale following was ordinary as ever. However, the duration that the Toa had gripped Derlath in was too long to be unintentional. Komuhu acknowledged nothing to be out of the ordinary. "Post-Maru, I've been stuck looking for work," it confided informally, taking an unaffected sip from his tankard. Its eyes bored into Derlath's as though their bearer knew him beyond small talk in an inn. "You got any?" OOC: Don't worry, Komuhu knows Derlath. It's testing him.

IC: "Yeah, her Gukko darn near fell on mah face," Gavarm recalled with a chuckle. Almost as soon as the mirth had come, though, his inflection became gentle and his tone slid into somber territory. "He-u-an-i cut up her friend an' her bird." He moved back into the realm of feeling. "She's strong, though. Ah'm sure she's good."

IC: Gavarm would've shaken his head could the other man see it. "Naw, Ah was preparin' for th' Hahv Assault 'bout that tahm."

IC: "What?"

IC: "I'll have an ale," the Toa said amicably to its waiter. It turned to Derlath and offered its hand for a shake. "Name's Komuhu."

IC: Gavarm knew exactly how hyperbole worked to lionize or defame men, having watched the rise and fall of Kyju first-hand, and he idly wondered how positive or negative exaggeration of his deeds would build his colonel's legend. His tenure was still inchoate--in fact, he realized with dawning enlightenment as he meandered through the though, this mission was his first major action in his exalted rank. He supposed that was something of note. Regarding things of note, what time was it, anyway... Time for me to talk to Rynekk. "Speakin' o' good legends, how'dja get inta th' Po-Koro forces?"

Thanks, you've just illustrated the character Gavarm. I may yet be back for more. In the meantime, good luck with your future spritings.

IC: A mottled-white Toa slid into the chair facing Derlath. "Mind if I sit here?," it asked with ease, androgynous lips moving in organic fluidity and yet having the natural hesitation to remain well within social norms.

IC: "Raht. Whale, when Ah came around, they call me 'Onuvarm'--Onu cuz Ah was Earth an' -varm cuz it comes from ol' Skakdi for 'fruitful,'" Gavarm explained matter-of-factly. "A blessin', lahk all good names, Ah suppose. "Let me tale yew, Ah lahk that blessin' an' Ah lahk where Ah am. Onu-Koro is pretty darn cool if ya wanna do y'all's some scahnce an' race Ussals. Ah can nevah stay in one place too long, though, so one day, Ah up an' move ta Ta-Koro," he went on cordially. "Ah lahk th' lava-surfin', too, but Ah also git a lil' bored and left. "Ah do that with all th' Koros 'fore Ah came back. Last on th' list's Ga-. Thang is, though, Ah love swimmin', sailin', sellin', even th' people. There's always sumthin' up an' there ain't a day that goes bah there Ah'm bored,," he confessed earnestly, "Cuz o' them boats. Still ain't. So, Ah visit darn about every otha day. "Things're lahk this fer a while," Gavarm resumed. "One day, though, Ah tell everybody Ah'm gonna join th' Ussalry. A friend goes, 'Y'all sure 'bout that, Ga-varm?' "It was a cute lil' joke. An' that cute lil' joke stuck lahk a barnacle ta a ship 'til Ah made it mah name. How 'bout yours?"

IC: "Oh, Ah'm mahty sorry, sir, dunno where Ah put mah manners...Ah'm Gavarm. What's y'all's name?"

IC: "Don't leap ta con-clu-sions, ol' sport. Know how Ah got mah name?"

This looks good. Have a request. Sprite style: Rayg Primary color: Gunmetal Secondary color: Purple Mask: Great Ruru Mask color: Black Eye color: Brown Body build: Rebuilt Matoran Cape and or Feather/Bat wings: Yellow cape Weapon: Sword

Good job making Matoro stereotypically British. He looks really cool.

Protip: "creepface" is the professional version of that particular nom de guerre, sir.

I'm good--actually, I would be good, but the sidebar to the left tells me you wrote a Taylor Swift songfic. You've betrayed me. I can never be good again. ;_;

Any mercenaries in need of long-term work?