Everyone was fine, except for Sieges, MetaLogic and Illyria who couldn't show the same respect they were being given.

Yeah, it sucks when everyone doesn't agree with everything you say huh?

Isn't Mammon supposed to be dead?

I like the idea and if anyone 'doesn't see the point',I'll spell it out.  F-U-N.

I never did like Baseball...

Well this all sounds good to me.

I mean, no crits, ok, but with the new quest lines.  A new quest with new items to get hold off opens up alot more playing time then one crit a week.

No daily live events, well the current format for them was getting a bit stale anyway.  Hopefully this means that those events we do have are 1) not just filler and 2) better as a whole.

I'm not so worried about org meeting and parties but if you don't like them, don't go to them.

The Gang boss masks are cool and I'm sure will show up alot in screens/videos, particularly for RP purposes and especially those kind of gangs that can't be recreated with player clothes.

sean.kelly wrote:

goes around the waste

Ew.  Just.... Ew.

Spelling pwned.  Woot.

As for the actual idea.  As nice as it would be to have these extra little features, the possible balance issues outweigh the asthetic gains.

I never thought of it before but it is pretty surprising it took this long to see a Mave profile.

Poor Pablo, he has no chance of being normal.

The only good thing to come out of Method was Nicks.  <3

I found this at Furihata C earlier when I was passing through, donno really, but I think it says T+ is A Nub.

/shrug >.> <.< <.>

I think someone's sore that they didn't get an outfit in their e-mail.

Hug?

It'd been a long, slow, dull night. No-one had counted how many of the racers had been killed in the shoot out. Indeed it was hard to tell how many had fallen and how many were simply too afraid to return to the track, so soon at least. Jason would have been more disappointed but he hadn't been able to race anyway, his car still down in the garage. Either way though, he'd still hoped there would be at least a little action, but the few racers who had chosen to show their faces had barely been able to increase his heart rate as he'd idly watched then shoot up and down an empty stretch of road. He hadn't even bothered to wait for the end of the meet before him and Zeek had made an uncharacteristically subdued exit. He'd trundled back up to his unkept, neglected apartment, dragging his feet over each of urine stained and scented steps on the way. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt quite so low. The door creaked open painfully as he made his way in and even more so as he kicked it closed behind him, only turning around to lock the line of dead bolts that ran down the termite infested door frame. He sometimes wondered why he bothered since it was more likely if anyone tried to break in that the frame itself would crumble long before the door itself would open.

He dropped his keys on the plain old oak sideboard the same way he did every day, flicked the light switch, patiently waiting as the lone light bulb hanging from it's own exposed wiring in the middle of the roomed flickered and strained, eventually breaking out into a dull but consistent light that cast a strangely warm glow that he‘d grown quite fond of over the recent months. He kicked his shoes off into a corner and pulled his hoody lazily over his head, throwing it over the back of a worn brown leather couch, the only half decent looking piece of furniture in the whole room. Pulling his oversized white t-shirt off as he went, Jason shouldered the door open into his bedroom.

Blinded for the first few seconds by his own clothing, the first he knew of his assailant was the solid kick that slammed through his ribs and threw him back out into the hall, stopping only when met with the equal impact of his spine on the opposite wall. Pieces of old flaking plaster broke free and fell on and around him, discolouring patches of his otherwise dark skin and hair a strange mouldy yellow. Sharp stabbing pain from a number of broken ribs shot through his chest with each breath as he tried to regain the wind that he been so forcefully removed from his lungs. He managed to throw the shirt aside from where it had ended tangled around his forearms.

Looking up he caught the first glimpse of his attacker. He was no taller than Jason, six feet at most. His pale gaunt face and sunken features hinted at a similarly frail looking frame though it was hidden beneath a long black trench coat, buttoned from neck to waist along it's front and seemingly bound by numerous black leather belts though anyone would doubt their practical application. As it walked and the bottom of the coat bounced it was just possible to make out a pair of knee high riding boots. It fixed it's blood red eyes on Jason as it loomed over him, smiling sickly to reveal rows of unnaturally pointed yellowing teeth. It's hair was long and as dark as the clothing that enshrouded it, it was thin, but soft and seemingly weightless, occasional strands being picked up and held by a breeze neither of them could otherwise feel.

"Hello Swift." it said, it's voice thin and spiteful. It's lips and tongue strangely over articulating each syllable. Saliva pooled in the corners of it's mouth adding an almost snake like hiss to the end of it's words.

Jason forced himself back to his using the wall behind him for support, he continued to lean back heavily on it with his shoulders even when stood up to almost full height. He fixed the exiles gaze but didn't speak.

"What? You lost for words, Swift? You always seemed so talkative." the exile laughed dryly, mockingly.

"What do you want?" Jason asked, wincing at the pain in his chest that doing so caused.

"You didn't think you could run forever did you?"

"I'm not going to tell you anything."

"Such a shame. Because if you could tell me where to find Connell, I might be able to let you live."

"Go to hell."

In one smooth motion Jason drew the pistol that had been tucked in the waistband of his jeans. In was aimed solidly between the exiles eyes and ready to unleash it's payload faster then a human eye could see. It was unfortunate that his assailant wasn't human. It's spindly fingers clasped around his wrist like a vice and pulled his arm aside. The first shot passed harmlessly by the exiles head and buried itself in the wall behind. It snapped his wrist back hard, the sounds of the bones beneath coming apart clearly audible to both parties. The weapon dropped from his hand with a dull thud as it hit the old wooden floorboards. Jason lashed out with his one good hand, a strong hook punch aimed for his enemy's temple. The exile merely moved his head back, watching amused as the strike passed less than an inch from his eyes. His own free hand grabbed at the wrist and twisted the arm up, the inside of Jason's elbow now facing the ceiling. It kicked up, it's legs almost forming a perfectly straight line between floor and ceiling and effortlessly snapped the elbow back the wrong way, heralding another muffled scream of pain as Jason tried unsuccessfully to hold it back. The exile let go of both of his arms, allowing them to drop to his victims sides, rendered useless by his attacks. A flick of the wrist produced a long shining wickedly curved dagger in his right hand. He took one step in and thrust it upwards under Jason's ribcage. He screamed again, muffled once more but this time by his quickly disappearing ability to breath and the blood that was now forming in his throat.

"We'll find them you know. All of them. You'll be together again soon." With those final words he twisted the blade hard, forcing Jason to spit up the blood that had filled his mouth, spraying it over his killers face. The exile smiled and licked what he could reach off his lips with his long thin tongue. Relishing the moment for just a few seconds more, he removed the blade and stepped away, the young racers body falling into a crumpled heap on the floor, his now freely flowing blood instantly soaking into every line and crevice in the flooring.

Silently now, the exile turned towards the door, casually undoing each dead bolt on the frame and pulling the door open, somehow preventing it from creaking in the manner it had previously done for as long as anyone could recall. He reached out beside him and flicked the light off, stepped out into the hall and gently pulled the door closed again behind him before making his escape in the waiting elevator.

Oh my thoughts are in the other thread too but I may as well reiterate.

T+ owns you all.

Well it clearly wasn't one person since you can see several names in system chat.

Not that I'm actually objecting or anything.

Was wondering when this one would be up.

Good to see what happened after we left.

Amy Mallard opened the door to her dingy apartment and slumped inside. It had been a long night and by now she was covered in other peoples dry blood. As soon as she was in the door she tore the scrubs shirt off and tossed it in the bin before turning around to apply the numerous dead locks that lined the door frame.

"That you honey?" Jack's voice called out from the next room.

"Yeeeeah it's me." She called back wearily. Moments later her lover appeared in front of her in what by his standards qualified as a clean set of clothes and more surprisingly, an apron. "What're you doing?" Amy asked, clearly bemused.

"I thought you'd need cheering up when you got back. I wasn't expecting you for a little while so uh, it's not quite ready." Jack replied as he stepped in, wrapping his arms around the younger woman's shoulders.

"What isn't?" she asked, looking up at him, her face almost buried in his chest.

"You can see in a minute. Go sit down."

Amy stepped back and frowned a little, a look that would have looked genuinely annoyed if it weren't paired with a warm, if somewhat tired sideways smile. "Ok." Jack smiled and turned around heading back into the kitchen as Amy stepped around the corner, waiting there just long enough to be sure Jack would think she'd sat down as he asked. With an excited burst of energy she ran around into the kitchen too where Jack was stood putting the finishing touches on a particularly rich looking chocolate cake.

"You baked!" She almost accidentally shouted before covering her mouth, embarrassed by her own childlike outburst. Stepping behind Jack she wrapped her arms around his middle, looking around his right arm to watch him finishing his work. "I can't remember the last time you baked."

"Too long."

"What brought this on then? Good day at work?"

"Yeah, well, an interesting one, certainly."

"What happened?"

"Some kid bought his street racer in."

"So?"

"I'm pretty sure he was the fastest pilot around."

"Really?" Amy asked, genuinely sounding astonished by the claim.

"Really. At least, that's what he'd have me believe."

"That so strange."

"Why?"

"There was a guy at the Den tonight. Little Asian guy. Looked kinda like some sort of monk."

"Wow, that is strange." Jack said finally finishing with the icing and taking up a knife to cut it with. "Ok, now go sit down, I'll bring you a slice through."

"Ok." Amy smiled, releasing her grip on him. "Make it a big one."

"Of course." Jack said, grinning cheerily as he watched her walk away.

I wonder if he recovered from his staking?

Really, I expected one of the Merovingian's 'top' lieutenants to be able to handle himself a little better than that.

*applauds*

Epic man.  Can't believe it's really been five months either.

We gonna be seeing the trial then?

The Dragon's Den. One of the most notoriously vicious underground fight meets in the International district. It's organisers and many of it's regulars hesitated to call it a fight club from the way it moved all over the south western neighbourhoods, always one step ahead of the authorities. Tonight the groups champions did battle in the basement of an old noodle bar in Ueno. Two storeys underground, crowds of bloodthirsty fans cheered and jeered the fighters who stood in the centre of a roughly drawn chalk circle. Many of them held out fistfuls of notes that they offered to the numerous book keepers who passed through their ranks.

The room was dank to begin with. Now with hours of ever increasing body heat the air had become thick and muggy, drawing out ever more perspiration from everyone enveloped in it. Even the walls appeared to sweat with the condensation that built up over the creaky wooden boards and flaking plaster. The dim lighting from the few still functional tube light bulbs did little to alleviate the sensation that one was in a cave.

In the centre of the circle, Wu Jian was stripped to the waist clad in just a baggy pair of orange pants tied tight around his ankles and a thin pair of black tabi shoes. Across from him stood the staggering bloodied form of his previously cocky opponent. He stood near half a foot taller than the young kung fu master and twice as wide, dark skinned and bald headed. He'd stepped into the circle grinning maniacally and cracking near every joint in his unnaturally muscular body in preparation for the beating he'd seemed sure he'd give the below average sized man he'd been put up against. His cocky attitude hadn't lasted long. Now, 3 minutes into the bout he limped uncomfortably as all feeling had been drained from his right leg from a series of precise blows to numerous pressure points. Blood flowed freely from his visibly broken nose. It was testament to his endurance that he was still fighting. Jian circled him, like a tiger circling an injured wildebeest. The beaten competitor tried to follow him, hobbling awkwardly on his one half decent leg. From all through the crowd, cries to finish him cut through and overlapped each other. The bookies had long since stopped taking bets, the outcome already obvious to all. The beast charged as best he good, swinging a potentially brutal haymaker at Jian's head. It was all he needed. The little guy deftly moved his head aside and clasped the attacking wrist. His other palm shot up, smashing the attached elbow the wrong way, breaking the joint clean apart, heralding a blood curdling scream from its owner and more enthused cheers from the onlookers. The next attack shot two fingers into his solar plexus, knocking what little air remained in him and doubling him over. Finally a ferocious elegant axe kick, rising up next to Wu's head and crashing down on the back of his opponents slammed him into the floor. The referee quickly stepped in and separated the two, before raising Jian's hand in victory while a pair of other men rushed in to remove the loser from the ring.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In the next room Amy Mallard had been watching the action calmly through the small window in the door. She hadn't been able to catch much of the bout but could tell it was over. She stood in a pale blue scrub top and an old pair of jeans. She watched as her two of her assistants passed through the crowd, carrying the loser. Amy sighed as she saw the state he'd been left in and shook her head as she pulled another pair of sterile rubber gloves from the box she'd unofficially requisitioned from the hospital earlier that day. She deplored this kind of violence, sometimes she wondered why she moonlighted here so often. Maybe her disapproval was just it, a desire not to see anyone seriously hurt or killed for this kind of entertainment. Or maybe it was the hefty stacks of cash the organisers paid her to keep their people in fighting shape and under the authorities radar. Whatever it was didn't matter right now, she had a job to do. She held one half of the double doors open as her new patient was carried through. What passed as her surgery tonight was once an office. Empty filing cabinets still got in the way around the edge of the room. Her supplies sat on a wooden desk that was being devoured by termites as she looked at it. They'd had to drag through a bench from another room to let people lay down.

"Put him down there." She said, gesturing to the bench as she pulled up a creaky wheeled office chair. The makeshift orderly's did so and the young nurse got to work.

It wasn't long before the doors opened up again. Amy had given the man something for the pain, put his arm in a sling and taped his nose. It was the best she could do without taking him to hospital which she knew was out of the question. She shouted for the orderlies, not sure if they'd have heard her over the din of the crowd who were now gripped by the nights main event. She was pleasantly surprised when the door opened mere seconds later and looked up with a smile. It soon faded as she saw Jian standing just inside, a small gash bleeding down his left temple. The pair stared at each other in silence for a second before Amy spoke.

"Can I help you?"

Jian pointed at the gash sheepishly. Amy frowned, clearly confused. "You didn't have that after the fight did you?"

Jian shook his head and smirked at himself. "Uh, no." he paused. "I slipped on some blood in the dressing room and hit the edge of a locker." he explained, clearly embarrassed.

Amy buried her face in her hand. "Sit down." she said in a strange combination of annoyance and amusement. He sat down the pair looked at each other again, the air suddenly filled with a strange awkwardness. Amy quickly looked away to retrieve some tweezers, cotton wool and antiseptic.

"Don't I know you?" Jian asked, smiling unusually.

Amy looked back, frowning and she made to open her mouth. She was interrupted by the sound of the doors opening and her orderlies finally arriving to pick up the last patient.

"No....I think I'd remember you." she said sternly, looking between the orderlies and the fighter. She made to clean the wound, uncaring when Jian winced and the sudden stinging sensation. A second later she was done. "Ok, get out of here, and try to be more careful in future."

Jian got up, still smiling slightly despite his cold treatment. "Thanks doc." he smirked and walked out leaving Amy alone again, shaking her head in disbelief.

Just a small selection of my holiday pics from last week.

Scenery

Absolutly knackered.

Ya rly

and finally http://i14.photobucket.com/albums/a.../pnavmc0sl9.jpg