Preacher
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Post by Preacher on Sept 22, 2017 14:35:20 GMT -8
Banned because HOLY SHIT
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Post by Preacher on Sept 20, 2017 16:30:08 GMT -8
Silas turns to look at the armour-clad woman who stoops to be beside him, even as the Mustafarian holds his shoulder and breathes his frail words. Preacher's eyes are at once comforted by her presence, thankful for her friendship, and troubled in a way she has never seen in him before. He replies to her question about preying on the weak without hesitation, though in a sightly detached way, his mind working away on what the broken being before him has said...
The Code is clear, Warrior. The third writing of the eldest bears this out. "Give justice to the fatherless; maintain the right of the afflicted. Rescue the weak and the needy; deliver them from evil. Stir the idle, bolster the fainthearted, help the weak and be patient with them all." ...We who are strong have an obligation to bear with the failings of the weak.
Swallowing, seeking to banish the dry, angry desert from his mouth, Silas turns back to the alien, fixing him with a steady gaze. It is what you seek, friend? I can do what you ask of me, but I will not do his bidding. Not now, not ever.
Turning back to Neassa, Silas falters, unsure of what to say, much less what to do. He was here. The one I seek. I... I'm not sure. End this one's suffering, a path may be revealed. But it's his rules. Not mine. To do so is... I'd be... there is no provision under the Code for me to do this. Turning back to the Mustafarian What is your name, friend?
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Post by Preacher on Sept 18, 2017 18:58:47 GMT -8
...home is home no matter where one is from, and the natives would probably find our homeworlds every bit as strange as we find theirs. You aren't wrong, warrior. He thought of the wastes that made up much of his world. The difficult terrain, the travel by horseback. In his years, he had never ventured farther than a months' travel from Biul, never so much as viewed the Great Salt. Strange, didn't begin to describe it.
The watering hole was much like the other spots Silas had come to recognize as much by smell as by design. Small, cramped, the air tinted by desperation and bravado. This place though, added a touch of home cooking to the milieu. Something a touch sweeter than the average cantina, whose usual scent was enough to make ones' eyes water. Preacher was wiping the sweat from his brow when the Mustafarian entwined himself in Silas' pant-leg. "Too late, too late again, boy. He was here, but now he's gone, gone away. Far away, ahead of you still. Left something for you, he did. Hidden like. So he said."
Surprised, but mustering the presence of mind to dwell on the words spoken by Nahimana a week ago on Kessel, her portion of the prophesy ringing in his ears, Silas refrains from breaking the man's arm, instead kneeling down, lowering himself to the injured man's eye-level, and looking him over. The revelation of his condition prompts a look of honest concern from Silas, and for an instant, he sincerely hopes the facial expression is one familiar to the alien. I have been told that my timing is poor, friend. looking intently at the man You know him... How did he break you? It's what he does, you know... Do you know what he left for me, and where I can relieve this place of his cruelty? Chancing a glance over his shoulder to see that Neassa is free of her own entanglements, Silas quietly thanks Rayfe and the Code for leading him to this prophet, before turning back to the man, placing a hand on his shoulder. Go on, friend. Unburden yourself.
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Post by Preacher on Sept 11, 2017 15:45:01 GMT -8
The days have grown long, life aboard ship lending itself to stagnation and repetition. Planetside or not, the same walls, day in and out, tend to breed monotony. Preacher has spent time patching his worn clothing, meditating, and as ever, reading from the Code. At Neassa's arrival, he slowly closes the page, smoothing it against its neighbour, before closing the leather-bound cover, and beginning the process of placing the book back in its fabric sheath.
Aye, warrior. It's a good use of our time and skills.
He rises, stretching, and replaces the Code in his small shoulder bag. Once done, he is prepared, no further weapons to retrieve, no goodbyes to make, no say-so to hold him back. He nods his readiness at the helmet-clad warrior woman, and strides by her side to the planetfall ramp. Opening the portal and extending the ramp ushers in a wave of oppressive heat, and Silas whistles through closed teeth at the temperature of the world, and its hellish vistas.
I'll not get used to that anytime soon, he adds as they walk along. Unlike anything I've ever seen before. Incredible to me that beings can live out their lives in a place such as this.
Preacher has also been spending a little time on the holo-net, researching the greater universe (and seeking out the Man Who Ended It All...) to educate himself in the ways of different cultures and tech. It is -- to put mildly -- an uphill battle, as Silas has only the most rudimentary understanding of the Galactic Standard written language. Subtleties and nuance are lost on him, and he pauses a few minutes later at a sign post, brow deeply furrowed.
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Post by Preacher on Aug 13, 2017 4:16:31 GMT -8
I stopped checking in here two months ago. Glad to see I haven't missed anything.
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Post by Preacher on Jun 30, 2017 19:01:55 GMT -8
God DAMN I love Neassa!!
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Post by Preacher on Jun 10, 2017 5:56:17 GMT -8
what ARE you two on about? Chattering like a pair of octogenarians.
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Post by Preacher on May 23, 2017 18:35:10 GMT -8
I've been posting nonsense (well, not nonsense, but needless posts,) waiting for our pilot or someone else to push this plot.
We're in hyperspace.
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Post by Preacher on May 16, 2017 5:55:04 GMT -8
Preacher wandered. His vague intention was to head for the bridge, but he ended up in the cargo hold. No real purpose in mind, but he suddenly had plenty to think about. Vague images, emotions and memories that were not his own clouded his thoughts, and Silas was forced to pause, leaning against a cargo crate to clear his mind, and quiet the dull, overlapping images and voices that meant nothing to him, until context was given. He knew this to be an unwelcome side-effect of joining another's consciousness for even a moment, and he often did his best to avoid such measures. He cleared his mind, reaching out with his gift, seeking peace from within. It took a few minutes (he was not an expert in such matters, the curse of being self-taught...) and in doing so, he again began to wander, now thinking in terms of his job with this crew.
Hands ran along the sides of the bulkhead supports, along the duralumin walls of their home-in-space, feeling the cold outside, mere inches from his fingertips. He spent a great deal of time investigating -- though if anyone had been there to ask him, he wouldn't have been sure of what he was looking for. Finally, somewhat sure of himself, he went off in search of someone to run his idea past.
Adrien was speaking to Isabelle, which was good. Finally, he reached the bridge, and walked in, voicing his discovery to nobody in particular, hoping everyone present would have an opinion.
"I have deduced a serious design flaw in our home-away-from-home. There is only a single gangway access from the Starboard (drive) side of the ship, to the Port (cargo / medbay) side of the ship, via the lounge. If we were ever to be boarded, or have need to fight off an internal threat, it would be relatively easy to trap crew members in a non-essential part of the vessel by choking off that access-way. It seems to me a secret hatch or secondary means of accessing the cargo hold, via perhaps one of the crew cabins -- would alleviate that issue..."
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Post by Preacher on May 12, 2017 16:38:34 GMT -8
Hallloooooo?
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Post by Preacher on May 7, 2017 5:15:42 GMT -8
Posted in Outer Rim West Hyperspace...
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Post by Preacher on May 7, 2017 5:13:42 GMT -8
...continued from here..."Like everyone else there I was captured, sold, and waiting to be sold again."It wasn't a lie. But it wasn't the whole truth either. Isabelle looked away for a moment (and he was almost certain she was reflecting on what really happened, just for a moment) and then looked back to him... ...her question wasn't unexpected, as were her reservations and her assertion that his presence seemed out-of-place. About as much as her own.You'd be surprised. The old axiom 'honor among thieves' rings true, at least in this company. As for my reasons for being here, I s'ppose that depends on your definition of 'here.' I'm aboard Adrien Draykon's ship because the Captain is a good man, flawed as we all are, but fundamentally good. And that sits well with me. The nature of his business takes us many places, which suits me. If you meant the larger meaning -- why here he insinuates 'space' in general rather than my home... a thin smile ...I don't think we're there yet, Isabelle. You and me, anybody on this ship for that matter. He left it there. Could've gone further, maybe should've, if he was truly interested in fostering trust. But he was happy with his choice of words. It was true. Nobody here had earned the right to know his motivations. Not yet. And that should have been fine by any measure of expectation. There was silence between them for a moment, and for the first time it was comfortable, not filled with the tension of two who weren't sure they deserved to be on the same side. And that was a good feeling. You feel better. It wasn't a question. I'm glad. There was a shift in the motion of the ship, felt by them both. Silas, not accustomed to space travel, furrowed his brow, pushed off the counter, feeling obviously uncertain. I should go. Check in at the bridge. He turned to go, but looked back at Isabelle. I enjoyed our talk. Truth is everything, isn't it? Hey -- you know Neassa is here, yes? You should let her know you're ok. ...and he walked toward the flight deck, feeling better about Isabelle Eoura for the first time.
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Post by Preacher on May 3, 2017 18:48:46 GMT -8
Crossing his arms, he sat while she replied, knowing exactly (or nearly) the words or interpretation she'd go with.
"No... I mean, why were you -- you -- in a slave pen?"
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Post by Preacher on May 3, 2017 17:28:12 GMT -8
Silas leans back against a piece of scanning equipment, and his accidental contact activates the machine. He looks slightly alarmed, and takes a full twenty seconds to figure out where the 'off' button is. Turning back to face Isabelle, he grins sheepishly. "House Biul (he pronounces it 'Bayuuule') is on my home world, a place you call Kilia IV. I wouldn't be surprised if you had never heard of it. Very few have. Where I am from, none of this -- he suggests the ship, the tech, all around him -- exists. I am new to your ways of space travel and blasters, computers and androids. I had a very specific job on my planet. Before we even knew there were other worlds... other civilizations. I was known as a Preacher. I kept the law. And where I am from, taking advantage of a situation -- even 'watching over you as you slept' as you say, is not done. Not by one such as myself."
He let that sit a moment, as it's a tale as tall as a Rancor pen. Truth was often stranger than fiction. Maybe she believed him, maybe not. He crossed his arms, looking at her pointedly. Not certain where the question had come from... but there it was. Silas wasn't one to ignore his inner monologue. "Now, tell me -- why are you here?"
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Post by Preacher on May 2, 2017 19:35:22 GMT -8
He was jarred slightly by her sudden change in demeanour. There was no sugar-coating it, and only the most casual of observer would have missed her about-face. It was not only off-putting, it also served to illustrate her mental state, need for subterfuge and misdirection, and possible paranoia.
"You were just watching over me while I slept then?" At this point, his hands were still up defensively, and the look on his face would be somewhere between confusion and disbelief, though he tried to play along, if only to ease her way. "Something like that." He offered no further additions. Explaining his Gift was often misunderstood, feared, or mistaken for aggression. Lowering his hands slowly, he stood neutrally, and was conscious of his form blocking the door. He stepped to the side, granting her an easy exit, should she want it.
"You know I'm starting to feel like this relationship is all one sided. You seem to know a lot more about me than I've told you and you've seen me naked. I don't even know your name." Hoisting himself up onto an unoccupied bit of counter-top, he side-steps the first, more playing bit of her question, and instead answers the second. "My full name is Silas, of Biul. What would you know of me? It is true, few aboard Captain Draykon's ship know much of my past..."
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Post by Preacher on May 2, 2017 19:22:44 GMT -8
Gotta be a non-punny way of saying that... I'm never not gonna have boobs in my head when you put it that way, boss.
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Post by Preacher on Apr 27, 2017 14:42:22 GMT -8
The FB chat is better...
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Post by Preacher on Apr 27, 2017 2:52:56 GMT -8
Silas held out a hand in front of him, palm out, fingers splayed apart. "Be calm, Isabelle. Calm. I'm not here to hurt you. Quite the opposite, in fact."
He made no move, stood still by the exam table, only switched off the table's overhead light which cast an odd glow over the room, allowing it to return to a semblance of normalcy. She was fully dressed. There was no evidence of inappropriate behavior or having been 'handled' in any way -- save the absence of pain and injury.
"You're back aboard Adrien Draykon's ship."
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Post by Preacher on Apr 25, 2017 11:26:25 GMT -8
Easy Castle... I still find it amusing that your avatar is the not-so-bright, ex-mechanic from Serenity.
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Post by Preacher on Apr 25, 2017 5:14:30 GMT -8
Post up!
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