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originally posted in:The New Dojo
11/18/2016 4:13:57 AM
57
[b][i]Reflections[/i][/b]
[b]Dojo, Inside a Bar, 11:00 PM[/b]
[i]The air outside was getting cooler, snow dusting the ground, clouds blocking much of the starlight. Nicholas Clarkson didn't mind much, it was no different from Hereford this time of year, cold and wet. He himself sat at the bar counter, a glass of scotch before him. His helmet was off, clipped to his bandolier belt, but he wore his SAS beret on his head. The combat hardsuit he wore was black, his cloak matching. A silver spread-winged crow was embroidered in the back of his cloak, and on his gauntlets, there were silver etchings of feathers. The mask at his waist was black, matching the rest of his armor. Three blades atop each gauntlet lay folded down and inwards, his tac-pad covered by a protective metal cover that could be retracted. He wore a single bandolier across his chest, which held his munitions and grenades. On his back, a bo staff was folded down, his G28 DMR situated with its suppressor and scope covers.
At his hips, two handguns, M45A1s, both black with silvered feathers engraved in them. His knife lay situated on the rear of his belt, hilt facing his right. On his right shoulder, where he once wore the insignia of the blood red cobra, he wore the insignia of the British Special Air Service.
The man himself looked to be in his early fifties, perhaps fifty-two, his hair black with streaks of grey, his neatly trimmed goatee matching. His expression was hard and seemingly cold, and he sat alone.[/i]
[spoiler]Open[/spoiler]
English
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[b]Rook stepped inside the bar. Knocking some snow off his boots. [/b] "Jeez it's getting colder. If only fall could last a little longer." [b]He removed his helmet and looked around. He walked up to where Nicholas was sitting, asking if the seat was taken.[/b] "Mind if I take a seat here?"
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Not at all, lad. [i]He said, gruffly, his accent British, that of a Londoner.[/i]
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"Alright nice." [b]Rook asks the bartender for a drink.[/b] "Name's Rook, and you are?"
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Crow. [i]He replied. He knew this man was not giving him a real name, and he would do the same. Real names were dangerous in his realm of business.[/i]
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"Alright Crow, nice to meet you. So how long have you been on the SAS?"
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Long enough. [i]He really wasn't planning on conversation. When he came to drink it was mostly alone. He preferred it that way, it was just how he had always been. [/i]
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[spoiler]does this version of earth is like the same from the NTR? Or is it different?[/spoiler]
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[spoiler]Clarkson is from the Venom Incorporated universe. In their post-WW3 world, special forces agencies around the world are continuing to hunt for old Venom operators and destroy the extremely advanced weapons built by the company at this point. Clarkson, who was originally one of Venom's commanders, defected back to the SAS once Schrader had been killed, having been an operator with them prior to working for Venom. His expertise and knowledge on fighting the remaining scattered mercenaries is why he got promoted to being in command of the entire SAS.[/spoiler]
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[spoiler]so in other words no. Thank you for telling me.[/spoiler] [b]He sees a man, his appearance is well kept. He's looking around the bar bored, he drinks down some scotch and approaches.[/b] Evening. [b]is voice is British, more of a common accent but has that sound of a usual British voice. [/b]
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Aye. [i]He said tersely, not turning around, but rather looking off in the distance.[/i]
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Good seeing a new face around for a change. Clarkson isn't it? SAS higher up? It's not like I'm just a local commoner, i guess the name Lego rings a bell?
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Good seeing a new face around for a change. Clarkson isn't it? SAS higher up? It's not like I'm just a local commoner, i guess the name Lego rings a bell?
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Field Marshal. I run them. [i]He said.[/i] I've never met the man, but I had received intel on him when I worked for Schrader and Venom Incorporated.
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I got some vital information about him...
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It wouldn't serve any purpose, not to me, anyway. [i]He replied. Lego wasn't someone from his world, and thus he didn't cross Clarkson's spectrum of concern.[/i]
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Oh well, i was going to say you're talking to the bastard.
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[i]He didn't seem to care very much. Names and rumors meant little to him anymore. [/i]
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A strangely dressed man walks by sitting at the bar looking at his pocket watch before ordering a glass of wine. "A solider from the SAS? Interesting the people that flock to this place"
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That's a bit of oversimplification, mate. [i]He said, taking a sip from his tumbler.[/i]
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"Hmm? More to it than that eh? Guess most officers wouldn't be marching around with that much gear."
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I'm not the average officer, mate. I do a little more than just run the lads from Hereford. [i]He said.[/i]
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"Ah, usually I'd say I'm someone impressive but today, today is finding a lady with a glass to fill" He says chuckling a little at his own lame joke.
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Believe me, it's not exactly bragging to be in position of power. It's a hassle beyond belief, mate. [i]He said, finishing what was in his glass.[/i]
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"Ehh, I was saving this for someone I bit more on the pretty side but sounds like you need it. Hey waiter! Another round for the soldier over here."
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Edited by Trashcan Jesus: 11/18/2016 10:07:02 PMI don't need any more liquor, lad. I'm not trying to get sh*tfaced. Hangovers hurt after thirty. [i]He said, taking a pipe from his bandolier, and lighting it.[/i]
