So that's a Blitz
Blitz. What can one really say about Blitz. He's . . . well . . . Blitz. Don't get me wrong, I like the guy, but he seems like a bit of a clown to me. But I saw him in the prison break. Definitely not someone to cross. And he's with Amara, she doesn't like me much as it is. But then again, I have yet to meet a woman on this island that /doesn't/ condescend. Just because I'm new here doesn't make me a child. All in due time, they will all understand just how useful I can be.
I admit I'm not much of a talker, and my attitude sucks sometimes, but that's just me. Just wait until they get me in a training scenario. They'll see. I got a note from some guy named Chrome that says he wants to meet me for a bit of a talk. Probably more rules and regulations for me to follow. There's alot of those around here. Oh well, no worse than the Corps.
The sun is making interesting patterns on the water during its setting.
The white caps of the waves crashing against the rockface of the island
and the seagulls flying off shore, make for an interesting soundtrack
to the evenings sunset. Tommy is crouched on a large rock looking out
over the ocean, wind whipping his slightly shaggy hair around as he
absentmindedly notes the tactical advantage they have over any kind of
seaborne invasion of this island. He appears to just be enjoying the
quiet of the evening. The wifebeater shirt and slightly loose jeans he
wears do little to keep him warm against the cool breeze of the ocean,
causing him to rub his tattooed arms.
The evening is the customary time for an Irishman to go a'wandering.
Padraig is taking his customary stroll, having wiped all thoughts about
Sabella from his mind for the moment, confident that she'll be fine.
Dressed in artfully ripped jeans and a bright green rugby shirt, the
Irish rogue is sauntering along, hands in pockets, and humming gently
to himself. The cliffs are part of his route, and as he strolls
somewhat precariously close to the edge, shoulder length mousy hair is
pulled out to the side, left free from its pony tail. Lost in his
reverie, he doesn't spot Thomas until he's quite close, and a flash of
recognition crosses his eyes. The one he hasn't met yet. He saunters
casually closer, an open expression to his face. "Evening." is called
out well before he stops.
Thomas nods but doesn't turn. "Yes. It's the time between afternoon
and night." A self serving grin crosses his lips at his own little
bout of humor. He finally looks down and realizes who it is that's
speaking to him. It's hard to pick an Irish brogue out from a single
word. He realizes it's another full member of the Brotherhood and
blinks. "I remember you. You were at the prison break. The one with
Umbra." Yeah, this is the guy that he decided could probably beat the
everliving birdmonkey taco shits out of him. Well, other than the
jacked behemoth that led the charge out of there, Cain he thinks.
"Got me some competition for funniest man on the island?" Padraig
queries, with a broad smile of amusement. His lilting accent pushes
through easily, carrying the humour in his intent. He comes to a halt
within reasonable speaking distance, and looks up at the man. "You'd
be Thomas. Padraig O'Hara. Blitz if you're in the mood. But I was
there, bolting the hell out of guards for fun." Amara's codename
brings another smile forward, this time purely friendly. "Umbra's my
better half, and a lucky bastard I am to have her." His demeanour is
open, jovial even.
Thomas smirks as he hops off the boulder and faces Padraig. "Please,
it's Tommy. Syphon if you'd prefer." He goes to extend a hand but
stops with a grin as his mind flashes to those nasty bolts he heard
about. "Excuse me if I don't shake you're hand. I'd rather not find
myself in the Infirmary." He starts looking out over the ocean again.
"It's fantastic isn't it?"
"Tommy." Padraig repeats, commiting it to memory even as his hand
comes out in offer of a shake. "I'm perfectly safe unless I don't see
the touch coming, or I want to hurt someone. Try me." The hand hovers
out, just waiting to be grasped, even as his eyes twinkle a little.
His head tips over to watch the ocean. "It's impressive. So much
power and majesty, and still we've not tamed it. Just wait until you
see it during a storm. The lightning across the sky can be incredible
out here." Seriousness? From Padraig?
The new guy looks at the younger man's hand questioningly, but he
grasps it anyway. No use in being here if you can't trust your own
teammates, right? That and there's really nothing stopping him from
blasting Padraig in the side of the head with a stiff kick to send him
flying over the cliffs. "Look how wild it is. Such natural, raw
energy. It's the epitome of freedom. Two years in a box will really
make you appreciate it all." Freedom, that word seems to be on his
mind alot lately. Perhaps it's still some lasting shock from his
unscheduled release. Perhaps it's more. He glances down at the bonds
on his arms.
No energy rips from Padraig at the handshake, and he'd probably laugh
if Thomas mentioned being able to kick him. Supernatural reflexes take
you a long way around this island. The grip is firm but not too hard,
just a friendly greeting that couples his grin. "Guess you're getting
back into being able to walk around, huh? Two years is a long time to
spend locked in a concrete cube." He follows the glance down to the
metal bonds. "Did the boss chuck those on you? I figure they're just
there until he can trust the new people not to randomly go crazy and
attack everyone." As he releases the hand and turns to face over the
cliffs, his eyes become distant, distracted as he stares out.
Thomas nods. "Yeah. I'd be alot happier if they weren't on, but who
am I to question?" He rubs the restraints after he releases the other
man's hand as he stares out at the sunset. "Cement cubes aren't
exactly my thing. And next time I see a bus station attendant, I'm
going to rip their face off and make a hockey mask out of it." Random
psychotic statement. Nice touch, doofus. His arms go up in the shape
of a rifle and he tracks a seagull, finishing up with a popping noise
like he just fired a gun. "You know, moving targets are much more fun
than stationary ones."
"They'll be off as soon as you prove you're not a loon." Padraig
assures with a briefly amused grin. An eyebrow quirks to the next, as
he delivers an intrigued glance. "Any particular reason for
attendant-destruction or just a passing fad?" Asked dryly so as not to
offend, of course. He breaks into a brief chuckle at the last, and the
twinkle in his eyes stays. "Guess you're not a ranged combatant then,
if you're into the guns. Want a seagull for your supper?"
Thomas chuckles. "The attendant destruction? Of coures there is. If
it wasn't for a stupid bus station attendant I wouldn't have been sent
up." That kinda leaves a bad taste in one's mouth. He quirks a brow
at Padraig's other comment and begins to laugh whole heartedly.
"Seagull would beat the crow I had to eat the other day. But yes, I
dabble in shooting a bit. I was trained for a long time as a sniper.
You could say I take my firearms rather seriously." He smirks. "It
makes up for not having spiffy powers like you."
With a grin quirked over at Thomas, Padraig good-naturedly offers,
"Then next time we're both off-island, we'll go hunt down an attendant
and castrate him. How's that sound?" He shrugs to the second, peering
up to judge the distance and whether they're close enough to bolt.
With a frown, he figures he can manage it. His fist suddenly erupts
into the familiar sparks, and a frown of concentration crosses his
features. "If you're a shooter, then you'll probably be training with
the missus quite a bit. She's into her handguns, but I guess you're a
rifle boy. Tell the boss and see if he minds you setting up a range."
With his eyes beginning to glow with their fierce blue light, Padraig's
fist is truly crackling and hissing, a faint smell of ozone drifting
over the air. "My powers can be annoying rather than spiffy, a lot of
the time. Imagine never being able to sleep next to anyone 'cause you
might kill them."
A sly smirk crosses the scruffy face of Syphon as Padraig suggests the
idea of going off-island to castrate someone. It just sounds like fun.
At the eruption of the hand, he steps back tentatively and waits for
the guy to finish his little display. "Well, I was shooting down at
the range when your 'missus' decided to drop in. She strikes me as the
type that won't let sleeping dogs lie." He frowns a bit at the killing
your lover thing and shakes his head. "That definitely sucks. But
then again, so does losing control of your power and releasing
concentrated mustard gas in a debriefing." He kinda drops it at that
statement and watches Blitz.
Padraig shakes his head slightly, distractedly. "Depends if she likes
you or not. She almost blew my head off before we got together. She's
a dangerous girl to get on the wrong side of." A friendly advisement,
though the potential implication for a faint, but friendly warning is
still there. "Exactly. Then again, those things are what make us
better than the humans. What exactly is it you do?" Finally, a
seagull comes in the right direction and into range. The fist glows
even brighter for a moment before it's thrust forward with a grunt of
effort, palm opening. The bolt of lightning, there's not much else a
metre-long bolt of electricirt can be called, whips out and smacks into
the gull. There's a strangled noise and the gull begins to drop towards
the two men.
Thomas shrugs slightly at the question and puts his hand in the air in
a sort of 'not a big deal' motion. "I basically can breath in any air
quality. My body actually changes toxins in the air into energy to
keep me going. It was useful in the Marines. I never had to suffer
under a gas mask." He closes his eyes reflexively at the flash as his
armhairs stand on end. He watches the birdy fall. "Cool. But anyway,
if I try, I can make my body hold onto the toxins and concentrate them.
Then I can expel them through my mouth or skin. It's really kind of
cool when I can do it." He doesn't really seem like he's going to tell
the whole story unless really prodded.
As the seagull crashes into the ground behind the two men, a fair
distance away, Padraig breaks into a grin. "Basically, you live off
toxins, and can suck 'em in and breath 'em out." He summaries, as best
he can understand. "Could be damn useful on a stealth mission. Just
go and breath into the face of the person who needs to be removed, or
shake hands with them. I like it. And I'll remember never to check if
you've got bad breath." The last is accompanied by a chuckle and a
brief grin. "I'll have to remember to get you from a distance in the
recruit training."
Thomas shakes his head slightly. "It's not quite that simple, but
that'll work." Better to have him slightly worried about the extent of
the power. Misinformation like that could really help in a training
mission. "Yeah, Raidha was telling me about the training missions last
night. You know, for a mood ring, she's kinda cute. It's a shame
she's so young." He chuckles slightly and walks over toward where the
gull fell. "Damn that had to hurt." He laughs at the cooked bird, and
would probably be holding his nose if he let the smell bother him.
"Blitz, I do believe I'm going to call you Colonel Sanders from now on,
'cause that is definitely an original recipe." He laughs even more,
really the first time he's let himself relax without shooting since he
got here.
And people don't believe Padraig when he says he's the comic relief
around here. The Irishman nods at the first, and the second brings
about a light chuckle. "Don't let her fool you. She'sa lovely girl,
but she's hard as anything. Imagine trying to fight an invisible
woman." Another grin meets the seagull, as he trails Thomas towards
it. "Colonel Padraig Sanders. Got a nice ring to it. The question
is; who's door id this being left outside? I'm such a child." He
grins broadly. There aren't enough practical jokes around here.
Thomas chuckles. "Well, if we were to leave this little guy outside of
someone's door, it would be a total waste of prank material." He
reaches down and picks it up by a crispy wing. "The trick is to get it
inside someone's room where they can find it under their pillow." You
don't spend 6 years in the military without learning a good practical
joke. "I heard there's this guy around here that could use a sense of
humor, but from the description I heard, I don't think he'd appreciate
us trying to give him one." He holds the bird up and contemplates it
for a moment.
"If you're talking about Creed then you're officially crazy." Padraig
retorts. "He could trace the perp by the scent on it." He breaks into
another brief grin, this one a little wry. "Unfortunately, I don't
think we can really play the joke. I mean, it's kind of obvious that
it's me that's killed it. Look at the damn thing." Which does indeed
have some scorches on it and a fair old electrical burn ripped across
the point where the bolt struck. "Guess Pyro's an option. Shit, no
idea how people will react. Better off throwing the damn thing over
the cliff. Or frying it."
Thomas laughs as he turns and whips the seagull off the cliff like a
boomerang. It kind of flops over itself and falls toward the ocean.
In the middle of the fall, another gull swoops down and grabs it.
"That's odd. I never realized how much seagulls were like norms." He
nods at the gull as it lands and the a large group comes along and they
all pick at the other bird looking for a meal. "They find the one who
can't defend himself or that is different, swoop down on him, and pick
his bones clean. It's really just that much more proof of how
important the Cause is. We are superior to them not only in our amount
of power, but in our civility as well."
"Better in every way." Padraig affirms with a nod. "They're all sheep
just in need of someone to lead them. One day, that'll be us.
Mutants. A ruling class over the peons." A moment's fierc defiance
creeps into his voice as he speaks, a decisiveness not normally
present. "Anyway, I should be carrying on with my walk. Got to meet
someone half way round, if you get my meaning."
Thomas winks and nods to Padraig. "Blitz, I must say, it was an
experience." He starts to walk past him back toward the dorms. "We
will most definitely chat again, you and I. And don't be late for your
meeting, someone could get quite upset." A simple wave is all he gives
to the younger man as he walks off.
"Absolutely, my man. You seem like a reasonable guy." High praise
considering what Amara said to him. "I'll catch you later." And
Padraig begins his walk, tossing a wave as he begins to saunter,
towards his meeting and his stroll.
I admit I'm not much of a talker, and my attitude sucks sometimes, but that's just me. Just wait until they get me in a training scenario. They'll see. I got a note from some guy named Chrome that says he wants to meet me for a bit of a talk. Probably more rules and regulations for me to follow. There's alot of those around here. Oh well, no worse than the Corps.
The sun is making interesting patterns on the water during its setting.
The white caps of the waves crashing against the rockface of the island
and the seagulls flying off shore, make for an interesting soundtrack
to the evenings sunset. Tommy is crouched on a large rock looking out
over the ocean, wind whipping his slightly shaggy hair around as he
absentmindedly notes the tactical advantage they have over any kind of
seaborne invasion of this island. He appears to just be enjoying the
quiet of the evening. The wifebeater shirt and slightly loose jeans he
wears do little to keep him warm against the cool breeze of the ocean,
causing him to rub his tattooed arms.
The evening is the customary time for an Irishman to go a'wandering.
Padraig is taking his customary stroll, having wiped all thoughts about
Sabella from his mind for the moment, confident that she'll be fine.
Dressed in artfully ripped jeans and a bright green rugby shirt, the
Irish rogue is sauntering along, hands in pockets, and humming gently
to himself. The cliffs are part of his route, and as he strolls
somewhat precariously close to the edge, shoulder length mousy hair is
pulled out to the side, left free from its pony tail. Lost in his
reverie, he doesn't spot Thomas until he's quite close, and a flash of
recognition crosses his eyes. The one he hasn't met yet. He saunters
casually closer, an open expression to his face. "Evening." is called
out well before he stops.
Thomas nods but doesn't turn. "Yes. It's the time between afternoon
and night." A self serving grin crosses his lips at his own little
bout of humor. He finally looks down and realizes who it is that's
speaking to him. It's hard to pick an Irish brogue out from a single
word. He realizes it's another full member of the Brotherhood and
blinks. "I remember you. You were at the prison break. The one with
Umbra." Yeah, this is the guy that he decided could probably beat the
everliving birdmonkey taco shits out of him. Well, other than the
jacked behemoth that led the charge out of there, Cain he thinks.
"Got me some competition for funniest man on the island?" Padraig
queries, with a broad smile of amusement. His lilting accent pushes
through easily, carrying the humour in his intent. He comes to a halt
within reasonable speaking distance, and looks up at the man. "You'd
be Thomas. Padraig O'Hara. Blitz if you're in the mood. But I was
there, bolting the hell out of guards for fun." Amara's codename
brings another smile forward, this time purely friendly. "Umbra's my
better half, and a lucky bastard I am to have her." His demeanour is
open, jovial even.
Thomas smirks as he hops off the boulder and faces Padraig. "Please,
it's Tommy. Syphon if you'd prefer." He goes to extend a hand but
stops with a grin as his mind flashes to those nasty bolts he heard
about. "Excuse me if I don't shake you're hand. I'd rather not find
myself in the Infirmary." He starts looking out over the ocean again.
"It's fantastic isn't it?"
"Tommy." Padraig repeats, commiting it to memory even as his hand
comes out in offer of a shake. "I'm perfectly safe unless I don't see
the touch coming, or I want to hurt someone. Try me." The hand hovers
out, just waiting to be grasped, even as his eyes twinkle a little.
His head tips over to watch the ocean. "It's impressive. So much
power and majesty, and still we've not tamed it. Just wait until you
see it during a storm. The lightning across the sky can be incredible
out here." Seriousness? From Padraig?
The new guy looks at the younger man's hand questioningly, but he
grasps it anyway. No use in being here if you can't trust your own
teammates, right? That and there's really nothing stopping him from
blasting Padraig in the side of the head with a stiff kick to send him
flying over the cliffs. "Look how wild it is. Such natural, raw
energy. It's the epitome of freedom. Two years in a box will really
make you appreciate it all." Freedom, that word seems to be on his
mind alot lately. Perhaps it's still some lasting shock from his
unscheduled release. Perhaps it's more. He glances down at the bonds
on his arms.
No energy rips from Padraig at the handshake, and he'd probably laugh
if Thomas mentioned being able to kick him. Supernatural reflexes take
you a long way around this island. The grip is firm but not too hard,
just a friendly greeting that couples his grin. "Guess you're getting
back into being able to walk around, huh? Two years is a long time to
spend locked in a concrete cube." He follows the glance down to the
metal bonds. "Did the boss chuck those on you? I figure they're just
there until he can trust the new people not to randomly go crazy and
attack everyone." As he releases the hand and turns to face over the
cliffs, his eyes become distant, distracted as he stares out.
Thomas nods. "Yeah. I'd be alot happier if they weren't on, but who
am I to question?" He rubs the restraints after he releases the other
man's hand as he stares out at the sunset. "Cement cubes aren't
exactly my thing. And next time I see a bus station attendant, I'm
going to rip their face off and make a hockey mask out of it." Random
psychotic statement. Nice touch, doofus. His arms go up in the shape
of a rifle and he tracks a seagull, finishing up with a popping noise
like he just fired a gun. "You know, moving targets are much more fun
than stationary ones."
"They'll be off as soon as you prove you're not a loon." Padraig
assures with a briefly amused grin. An eyebrow quirks to the next, as
he delivers an intrigued glance. "Any particular reason for
attendant-destruction or just a passing fad?" Asked dryly so as not to
offend, of course. He breaks into a brief chuckle at the last, and the
twinkle in his eyes stays. "Guess you're not a ranged combatant then,
if you're into the guns. Want a seagull for your supper?"
Thomas chuckles. "The attendant destruction? Of coures there is. If
it wasn't for a stupid bus station attendant I wouldn't have been sent
up." That kinda leaves a bad taste in one's mouth. He quirks a brow
at Padraig's other comment and begins to laugh whole heartedly.
"Seagull would beat the crow I had to eat the other day. But yes, I
dabble in shooting a bit. I was trained for a long time as a sniper.
You could say I take my firearms rather seriously." He smirks. "It
makes up for not having spiffy powers like you."
With a grin quirked over at Thomas, Padraig good-naturedly offers,
"Then next time we're both off-island, we'll go hunt down an attendant
and castrate him. How's that sound?" He shrugs to the second, peering
up to judge the distance and whether they're close enough to bolt.
With a frown, he figures he can manage it. His fist suddenly erupts
into the familiar sparks, and a frown of concentration crosses his
features. "If you're a shooter, then you'll probably be training with
the missus quite a bit. She's into her handguns, but I guess you're a
rifle boy. Tell the boss and see if he minds you setting up a range."
With his eyes beginning to glow with their fierce blue light, Padraig's
fist is truly crackling and hissing, a faint smell of ozone drifting
over the air. "My powers can be annoying rather than spiffy, a lot of
the time. Imagine never being able to sleep next to anyone 'cause you
might kill them."
A sly smirk crosses the scruffy face of Syphon as Padraig suggests the
idea of going off-island to castrate someone. It just sounds like fun.
At the eruption of the hand, he steps back tentatively and waits for
the guy to finish his little display. "Well, I was shooting down at
the range when your 'missus' decided to drop in. She strikes me as the
type that won't let sleeping dogs lie." He frowns a bit at the killing
your lover thing and shakes his head. "That definitely sucks. But
then again, so does losing control of your power and releasing
concentrated mustard gas in a debriefing." He kinda drops it at that
statement and watches Blitz.
Padraig shakes his head slightly, distractedly. "Depends if she likes
you or not. She almost blew my head off before we got together. She's
a dangerous girl to get on the wrong side of." A friendly advisement,
though the potential implication for a faint, but friendly warning is
still there. "Exactly. Then again, those things are what make us
better than the humans. What exactly is it you do?" Finally, a
seagull comes in the right direction and into range. The fist glows
even brighter for a moment before it's thrust forward with a grunt of
effort, palm opening. The bolt of lightning, there's not much else a
metre-long bolt of electricirt can be called, whips out and smacks into
the gull. There's a strangled noise and the gull begins to drop towards
the two men.
Thomas shrugs slightly at the question and puts his hand in the air in
a sort of 'not a big deal' motion. "I basically can breath in any air
quality. My body actually changes toxins in the air into energy to
keep me going. It was useful in the Marines. I never had to suffer
under a gas mask." He closes his eyes reflexively at the flash as his
armhairs stand on end. He watches the birdy fall. "Cool. But anyway,
if I try, I can make my body hold onto the toxins and concentrate them.
Then I can expel them through my mouth or skin. It's really kind of
cool when I can do it." He doesn't really seem like he's going to tell
the whole story unless really prodded.
As the seagull crashes into the ground behind the two men, a fair
distance away, Padraig breaks into a grin. "Basically, you live off
toxins, and can suck 'em in and breath 'em out." He summaries, as best
he can understand. "Could be damn useful on a stealth mission. Just
go and breath into the face of the person who needs to be removed, or
shake hands with them. I like it. And I'll remember never to check if
you've got bad breath." The last is accompanied by a chuckle and a
brief grin. "I'll have to remember to get you from a distance in the
recruit training."
Thomas shakes his head slightly. "It's not quite that simple, but
that'll work." Better to have him slightly worried about the extent of
the power. Misinformation like that could really help in a training
mission. "Yeah, Raidha was telling me about the training missions last
night. You know, for a mood ring, she's kinda cute. It's a shame
she's so young." He chuckles slightly and walks over toward where the
gull fell. "Damn that had to hurt." He laughs at the cooked bird, and
would probably be holding his nose if he let the smell bother him.
"Blitz, I do believe I'm going to call you Colonel Sanders from now on,
'cause that is definitely an original recipe." He laughs even more,
really the first time he's let himself relax without shooting since he
got here.
And people don't believe Padraig when he says he's the comic relief
around here. The Irishman nods at the first, and the second brings
about a light chuckle. "Don't let her fool you. She'sa lovely girl,
but she's hard as anything. Imagine trying to fight an invisible
woman." Another grin meets the seagull, as he trails Thomas towards
it. "Colonel Padraig Sanders. Got a nice ring to it. The question
is; who's door id this being left outside? I'm such a child." He
grins broadly. There aren't enough practical jokes around here.
Thomas chuckles. "Well, if we were to leave this little guy outside of
someone's door, it would be a total waste of prank material." He
reaches down and picks it up by a crispy wing. "The trick is to get it
inside someone's room where they can find it under their pillow." You
don't spend 6 years in the military without learning a good practical
joke. "I heard there's this guy around here that could use a sense of
humor, but from the description I heard, I don't think he'd appreciate
us trying to give him one." He holds the bird up and contemplates it
for a moment.
"If you're talking about Creed then you're officially crazy." Padraig
retorts. "He could trace the perp by the scent on it." He breaks into
another brief grin, this one a little wry. "Unfortunately, I don't
think we can really play the joke. I mean, it's kind of obvious that
it's me that's killed it. Look at the damn thing." Which does indeed
have some scorches on it and a fair old electrical burn ripped across
the point where the bolt struck. "Guess Pyro's an option. Shit, no
idea how people will react. Better off throwing the damn thing over
the cliff. Or frying it."
Thomas laughs as he turns and whips the seagull off the cliff like a
boomerang. It kind of flops over itself and falls toward the ocean.
In the middle of the fall, another gull swoops down and grabs it.
"That's odd. I never realized how much seagulls were like norms." He
nods at the gull as it lands and the a large group comes along and they
all pick at the other bird looking for a meal. "They find the one who
can't defend himself or that is different, swoop down on him, and pick
his bones clean. It's really just that much more proof of how
important the Cause is. We are superior to them not only in our amount
of power, but in our civility as well."
"Better in every way." Padraig affirms with a nod. "They're all sheep
just in need of someone to lead them. One day, that'll be us.
Mutants. A ruling class over the peons." A moment's fierc defiance
creeps into his voice as he speaks, a decisiveness not normally
present. "Anyway, I should be carrying on with my walk. Got to meet
someone half way round, if you get my meaning."
Thomas winks and nods to Padraig. "Blitz, I must say, it was an
experience." He starts to walk past him back toward the dorms. "We
will most definitely chat again, you and I. And don't be late for your
meeting, someone could get quite upset." A simple wave is all he gives
to the younger man as he walks off.
"Absolutely, my man. You seem like a reasonable guy." High praise
considering what Amara said to him. "I'll catch you later." And
Padraig begins his walk, tossing a wave as he begins to saunter,
towards his meeting and his stroll.