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Post by tardis218 on Jan 28, 2016 3:18:27 GMT
"Well, I suspect all of us here, are part of one of these branches of the CIA that deal with the... paranormal? For instance, I have precognition and retrocognition. And I'm sure this is real. The CIA is wonderful at hiding things, and gives it to the right people at the right time. Sometimes, during my different missions I always wondered if there were others" Mortz said, getting out his own cigarette. "I suspected there were more people like me, but I learned my abilities through practice. I'm going to assume some of you were born with your powers." Laurence said still leaned back in his chair. "Plus the fact that I had a human-bird hybrid being as a friend, I assumed these guys would drag me in soon." "Ah, I got mine unnaturally. Originally I was a West German spy, then one day in Leningrad the damn Reds caught me. I was tortured and with some drugs they used I got my powers and escaped. The CIA picked me up from there and I became one of their "special" operatives. I generally always knew that there would be a bigger mission, eventually." "Your good at sword fighting, huh. Back in my spying days I had a mission in Moscow, there was a traitor to the Reds. The man must've been in his 80's, but damn, was he good at sword fighting. I myself would spend as much time as possible with the man, and God did I learn. But he was so much better than I. Oh, and I would love to see your freinds of yours. He looks around the rest of the room. "What about you guys?" "The name's Mortz. Mortz Bauer."
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Post by MinnesotaNationalist on Jan 28, 2016 3:40:34 GMT
Nobxing was flown over the ocean and large plots of land before landing presumably somewhere in America. They blindfolded him before proceeding. When they finally arrived to the secret base, they removed the blindfold. He was led through a large maze of hall ways to a room with three people in there. Before he entered, he finally said in French, "Fine, I agree to help you. Do I at least get paid?" He was ignored as he pushed in. "Bien... Est-il quelqu'un qui parle Francais? Je ne parle pas bien l'Anglais" "Je parle assez bien français. Je m’appelle Miriam." She stands up quickly, extending a hand in greeting. Nobxing grabs two chairs, sitting himself on one and putting his feet on the other, "Je m'appelle le Nobxing Charles Favager," He coughed and tried to speak English, "I call myself the Nobxing Charles Favager." (he's trying to understand what everyone is saying. He's able to understand a couple things, but it takes him a moment to translate)
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Post by tardis218 on Jan 28, 2016 5:15:14 GMT
"Hello, I call myself Mortz Bauer." he says extending his hand.
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Post by lightninglynx89 on Jan 28, 2016 20:27:53 GMT
"I'm assuming our generous hosts are just building up the suspense for what they have in store for us." Said Laurence with his usual grin.
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Post by tardis218 on Jan 28, 2016 20:31:10 GMT
"Yup, or they could be getting a few more agents to join the company" Mortz replied, proceeding to slump back into his chair.
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Post by Krall on Jan 28, 2016 20:55:49 GMT
"I'm assuming our generous hosts are just building up the suspense for what they have in store for us." Said Laurence with his usual grin. "Yup, or they could be getting a few more agents to join the company" Mortz replied, proceeding to slump back into his chair. ((Subtle. I am actually waiting for the other players to post, or more specifically for their characters to arrive. If they've still not posted in a day or so I'll just move on without them for the moment.))
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ruth
New Member
pining for the fjords
Posts: 35
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Post by ruth on Jan 28, 2016 22:14:20 GMT
When the devil comes calling Marja can't will herself to be surprised. It's the sort of thing where she figured that, sooner or later, she'd wake up with a bag over her head without knowing what time it was, where she was, who she was talking to, even what country she'd be in. There was only so long she could keep up this balancing act before someone or something would tip the balance, so when she does wake up, blindfolded, a roaring sound flooding her ears, and with her head feeling a dizzy hurricane, her first thought is not panic or even curiosity but "so it's finally happened."
Her hands are loosely bound, but it's clearly an afterthought—she can tell, in other words, that she is being transported somewhere she will be put to use, rather than somewhere she will be imprisoned. It's small comfort, given how intensely uncomfortable the situation is. As far as she can tell, she's in a small military transport—American, she decides after a few minutes listening to the roar of the engine. It's too loud and wild to be an Antonov, with its steady, measured putt-putting through the sky; this engine is too insistent and self-important, like one of those American holidays where they wave the flags and yell all together in this chaotic rumble, each one trying to be the loudest and the most American of them all.
She stays still a few minutes after coming to, preferring to listen to and smell and feel her surroundings before attempting any motions. She can sense that someone's beside her, paranormally present on the realm of spirits, his luonto burning bright but small, straitjacketed by naïveté and ignorance. He is just following orders. And therefore, suggestible. Fingers rubbing together, lips in whispered ritual, she wills together an illusion just strong enough to delude, to convince her captor she's unimportant and unassuming enough to let free. There's little chance of escape, she realizes immediately, but earning herself a little comfort on a plane ride that might be taking her all the way across the Atlantic is worth it. Whoever shows up to greet her will probably already be aware of what she is capable of.
What they want her for remains unanswered as she mutters to the guard at her side, "Hey, you, this is the wrong woman you have taken. You can see my face, right? This is not who you are looking for."
The man begins to say something, then stutter-stops and seems to focus his attention. "Hang on—wait." At the very least, she figures, her suspicions are confirmed. "No, you're right, this is—this is wrong somehow? You're not—I don't know why I even tied you up here, jeez, uh, sorry about that. Let me get that fixed for you."
That's better. "Thank you," she tells the soldier, and lets her eyes wander—hands free and blindfold gone, she can finally take stock of her environment. A medium-sized military transport, probably a Douglas, with a single guard in heavy armour and a machine gun. About what she'd expect from Americans—less roomy than the Antonov's airy naves, but solid, with a fine-machined gloss that seems to overwhelm the brownish gloom. So far from the ground and its forces of nature, much of the earthy comforts abandon her by air—it's just the wind flowing through her that leaves her feeling whisper-light and inconsequential, and keeps her from being overcome by fear or anxiety in a situation that she can objectively determine is not ideal. Twenty-four hours ago (as far as she can tell, though she can't say exactly how long she's been asleep), she'd been taking a strong cup of coffee in a Helsinki café, enjoying a brief moment of détente with her handler/fake boyfriend, and planning for a trip to Stockholm for an astronomy conference where they would attempt to pry some military secrets from the Western-aligned attendees. Now, she can't even say where exactly she's going, let alone why, or who will be there when she arrives. But so high in the sky, the thought drifts away as she contemplates the engineering of the airplane.
It's not until she feels the plane descending to Earth that worry begins to ground her. She considers letting them find her with her restraints gone, but the little knowledge this might provide her could compromise the knowledge she might be giving away by proving she's capable of doing it—so to avoid suspicion, she replaces her restraints and the blindfold. She plays along with the charade, the pomp and circumstance of prisoner transport as she's pushed slowly by a handful of spirits (haltija much brighter, more self-aware, prickly and more sophisticated than most) but insistently through cold fluorescent-lined hallways that stand the hairs of the back of her neck on end, sighs imperceptibly as they all draw further from the world outside into some kind of building until finally, they arrive at their destination, and Marja's restraints and blindfold are quickly whisked away. "Into that room," they (whoever They are, she thinks, and though she knows so much when her eyes are shut when they open she doesn't learn much more from the bare-bulbed backlighting that keeps Them in the dark) tell her, and so she does, following suit, and that's how she walks in, her hands stuffed into a light parka, face stuck in a place between perplexity and sullenness—makes for a hell of a better poker face than broadcasting the fear and uncertainty (and scheming) ticking away inside her head.
When she enters the room, she's slightly surprised to find there are already several others, who appear to have struck up conversations. She's fine with staying out of them—she doesn't know these people nor does she have much interest in knowing them. Not on this level. She'll just become as small and unassuming and unremarkable as she needs to be to stay out of the way and look at what she really wants to see. The luonto inside them. The shadows that follow them from the pallid ceiling light and warp around them in sharp, flickering motions in her mind's eye. Speaking may be necessary eventually, but for now she'd rather listen to the ley-lines coursing through the room, to gather information and thus learn more and know more. She's been in this business long enough to know that in the Cold War, there is always a war of information. These people are assets or they are liabilities, and the more she knows about which is which before she opens her mouth, the more leverage she will have, and the better chance she'll have of making it out alive.
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Post by MinnesotaNationalist on Jan 29, 2016 4:26:26 GMT
Nobxing watched as a new woman entered the room. She was apparently shy and decided to stay silent as everyone was distracted talking to each other. Nobxing smirked in delight and said, "Ah, regarde! A new person has entered!" He gestured to the new woman.
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Post by tardis218 on Jan 29, 2016 4:31:15 GMT
"Hello, madam!" Mortz said getting out of his chair and extending his hand to the woman.
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ruth
New Member
pining for the fjords
Posts: 35
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Post by ruth on Jan 29, 2016 4:53:34 GMT
Damn it. It was a long shot anyway, with others in the room with paranormal skills in their own, that she'd be permitted to observe for long without someone taking note of her. But it's still sooner than she expected or wanted, and her nose scrunches as she refamiliarizes herself with the feeling of being noticed. One of them—Madam Guy, she decides she will call him—stands up and presents himself to her, hand extended for greeting and all. Seeing little else she can do in the room now that her avenues of subterfuge have narrowed to nothing, she decides to take the plunge. "Ah, yes. Forget I'm in a room with the imperialists, to use silly titles like madam. Please, my name is Marja. Prefer to use this."
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Post by lightninglynx89 on Jan 29, 2016 5:37:21 GMT
"Imperialists. Quite the strong word, for some of us here." Laurence said with a smile at the accented girl. "If I were a betting man, and I'm not, I'm guessing you're... Scandinavian of some sorts?" Laurence said with a larger grin. "Anyway, it's a pleasure to meet you Marja, the names Laurence. And I'm sure we can get along just fine. Plus I may have a friend you can meet who'd you'd get along with real well." Laurence finished towards the brown haired girl with his typical smile. It seems he'd finally woken up.
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Post by tardis218 on Jan 29, 2016 5:44:25 GMT
"Ah, yes. Forget I'm in a room with the imperialists, to use silly titles like madam. Please, my name is Marja. Prefer to use this." "Imperialist is a strong word. If anything, with each passing day I get more and more angry with the AMerican government But ah well. And sorry for referring to you as "madam", it's a force of habit when you don't know the name of person your talking to. Anyways, I'm Mortz, Mortz Buaer. Nice to meet you, Marja." Mortz replied, smirking a bit, having quickly reviewed her past, revealing how she grew up in the USSR.
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ruth
New Member
pining for the fjords
Posts: 35
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Post by ruth on Jan 29, 2016 15:51:51 GMT
"Mister madam-guy, may not be perfect with the English, but you understand, I say the strong words because I mean them." Marja puts on a pitch-perfect pout, then rolls her eyes with a puckish smile. "Well, maybe not so much, even though you call me the axis of evil, I can still have the sense of humour about it. You, big blondie," she says, now looking towards Laurence (and clinching her propensity to dole out nicknames, already two for two to those who have spoken to her), "even if it's from a weird conclusion, you are not so far off. Not Scandinavian, but Karelian. Does anyone know about this? Maybe Finnish is better known. Either way, it's like this. Not so used to working with America and the Americans' little friends—you understand maybe, Finland is a neutral country so we prefer not to associate in little world team clubs."
As far as a cover story, pretending to be a routine Finnish national poses little difficulty for her, especially as it seems there's few others to quiz her thicker Karelian accent or even test the limits of her spoken Finnish. It's who these people are and their potential for supernatural ability that concerns her more, and she'd rather remain on the defensive rather than ask questions overtly. After all, she has no idea what constitutes overplaying one's hand in this room, or even whether the whole thing might be a test—she wouldn't put it past her own government to try to get her to turn with ostensibly sympathetic "fellow prisoners" as a way of testing her loyalty and her willingness to turn.
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Post by lightninglynx89 on Jan 29, 2016 16:16:30 GMT
"Mister madam-guy, may not be perfect with the English, but you understand, I say the strong words because I mean them." Marja puts on a pitch-perfect pout, then rolls her eyes with a puckish smile. "Well, maybe not so much, even though you call me the axis of evil, I can still have the sense of humour about it. You, big blondie," she says, now looking towards Laurence (and clinching her propensity to dole out nicknames, already two for two to those who have spoken to her), "even if it's from a weird conclusion, you are not so far off. Not Scandinavian, but Karelian. Does anyone know about this? Maybe Finnish is better known. Either way, it's like this. Not so used to working with America and the Americans' little friends—you understand maybe, Finland is a neutral country so we prefer not to associate in little world team clubs." As far as a cover story, pretending to be a routine Finnish national poses little difficulty for her, especially as it seems there's few others to quiz her thicker Karelian accent or even test the limits of her spoken Finnish. It's who these people are and their potential for supernatural ability that concerns her more, and she'd rather remain on the defensive rather than ask questions overtly. After all, she has no idea what constitutes overplaying one's hand in this room, or even whether the whole thing might be a test—she wouldn't put it past her own government to try to get her to turn with ostensibly sympathetic "fellow prisoners" as a way of testing her loyalty and her willingness to turn. "Big Blondie eh?" Laurence questioned looking up at the ceiling. "I like it, it's probably the nicest nickname anyone has ever given me." He said with a smile towards Marja. "Plus we may say your nation is the axis of evil, but the people we believe are not." He said smiling, waiting a moment before realizing something. "Oh, and I was pretty close with my guess, so I'll give myself 3/4ths of a point." Laurence finished, chuckling a bit.
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Post by tardis218 on Jan 29, 2016 19:51:46 GMT
"Mister madam-guy, may not be perfect with the English, but you understand, I say the strong words because I mean them." Marja puts on a pitch-perfect pout, then rolls her eyes with a puckish smile. "Well, maybe not so much, even though you call me the axis of evil, I can still have the sense of humour about it. "Ah, I see. Back when I spent a few years in the USSR the people were great. I don't see the people of the USSR as the Axis of Evil, if anything they're the opposite. But, the government of the USSR I see more as the United State's natural enemy. The United States has and will always have one. The Nazis, Spain, Mexico, the British Empire, etc. And your homeland, no matter what type of government, will always their own. But yes, having a bit of humor about any dark topic is good" Mortz said, now with a full grin.
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Post by ToixStory on Jan 31, 2016 0:46:27 GMT
Mary Jane leaned against the window of the Army helicopter as it swooped low over scrubby Texas prairie, on its way to Fort Hood, no doubt. Her escorts, as always, were unwilling to divulge information other than simple commands to her, but it was obvious where they were headed. What else could be out here besides prairie dogs? The droning of the helicopter filled her ears incessantly. Her bright eyes drooped and she yawned every other breath. The helicopter had taken off early that morning from a base somewhere in the middle of Nevada, where she had been hurried to on a flatbed truck. While her escorts likely didn't know any more than she did—neither of them were older 21—it was obvious that something was up. Hurried looks and shushed orders had followed her from her "hom" on a secret military training facility to the helicopter and beyond.
Now, the heli swooped low over a landing pad nestled within the confines of the base's outer perimeter. For all its secrecy, the exterior of Fort Hood resembled a cross between a military training academy and office park; were it not for the assortment of military vehicles strewn over the front lawn, she may not have been able to tell it was a base at all. Once the heli settled down, however, the soldiers turned to her and gave her a knowing look. "They told us you'd know what to do," the tall, wiry one said, holding a pair of military fatigues to Mary Jane.
She nodded and began the arduous process of squeezing her tentacled lower half into the two leg holes so that she could, with help, walk almost like a human. A moment of concentration later and her normally violet skin faded to the dull pink of a WASP; nothing out of the unusual to an untrained eye. She was hurried out of the helicopter and across the pad, entering the base with the other junior soldier—a chubby short one that spoke bits of Spanish beneath his breath—holding a jacket over her body to give her just a little more concealment.
They exchanged her with an unknown set of faces in unmarked military garb who escorted Mary Jane quickly down brightly-lit Spartan hallways that quickly melted together in Mary's mind as she was escorted deeper and deeper into the fort. She had a general sense of going downward into a virtual labyrinth of facilities, but didn't even realize where she was being led until, just as suddenly, her escorts stopped before an unmarked door that opened to reveal a large, plush conference room with a massive wooden table in the center. Around it were a number of faces she felt as if she had seen before while glancing through military records, but none she could place a name on.
Her escorts closed the door behind her, leaving Mary Jane to her own devices. Gingerly waving a had in the group's general direction, she meekly smiled. "Hi?"
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Post by lightninglynx89 on Jan 31, 2016 1:14:18 GMT
Mary Jane leaned against the window of the Army helicopter as it swooped low over scrubby Texas prairie, on its way to Fort Hood, no doubt. Her escorts, as always, were unwilling to divulge information other than simple commands to her, but it was obvious where they were headed. What else could be out here besides prairie dogs? The droning of the helicopter filled her ears incessantly. Her bright eyes drooped and she yawned every other breath. The helicopter had taken off early that morning from a base somewhere in the middle of Nevada, where she had been hurried to on a flatbed truck. While her escorts likely didn't know any more than she did—neither of them were older 21—it was obvious that something was up. Hurried looks and shushed orders had followed her from her "hom" on a secret military training facility to the helicopter and beyond. Now, the heli swooped low over a landing pad nestled within the confines of the base's outer perimeter. For all its secrecy, the exterior of Fort Hood resembled a cross between a military training academy and office park; were it not for the assortment of military vehicles strewn over the front lawn, she may not have been able to tell it was a base at all. Once the heli settled down, however, the soldiers turned to her and gave her a knowing look. "They told us you'd know what to do," the tall, wiry one said, holding a pair of military fatigues to Mary Jane. She nodded and began the arduous process of squeezing her tentacled lower half into the two leg holes so that she could, with help, walk almost like a human. A moment of concentration later and her normally violet skin faded to the dull pink of a WASP; nothing out of the unusual to an untrained eye. She was hurried out of the helicopter and across the pad, entering the base with the other junior soldier—a chubby short one that spoke bits of Spanish beneath his breath—holding a jacket over her body to give her just a little more concealment. They exchanged her with an unknown set of faces in unmarked military garb who escorted Mary Jane quickly down brightly-lit Spartan hallways that quickly melted together in Mary's mind as she was escorted deeper and deeper into the fort. She had a general sense of going downward into a virtual labyrinth of facilities, but didn't even realize where she was being led until, just as suddenly, her escorts stopped before an unmarked door that opened to reveal a large, plush conference room with a massive wooden table in the center. Around it were a number of faces she felt as if she had seen before while glancing through military records, but none she could place a name on. Her escorts closed the door behind her, leaving Mary Jane to her own devices. Gingerly waving a had in the group's general direction, she meekly smiled. "Hi?" "Well look at that," Laurence said as the girl grabbed his attention, "I was wondering if we'd have any other friends joining us." He finished with a smile. "The name's Laurence, nice to meet you. If you're lucky enough, I have another friend I have to introduce you too."
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Post by ToixStory on Jan 31, 2016 1:18:01 GMT
Mary Jane leaned against the window of the Army helicopter as it swooped low over scrubby Texas prairie, on its way to Fort Hood, no doubt. Her escorts, as always, were unwilling to divulge information other than simple commands to her, but it was obvious where they were headed. What else could be out here besides prairie dogs? The droning of the helicopter filled her ears incessantly. Her bright eyes drooped and she yawned every other breath. The helicopter had taken off early that morning from a base somewhere in the middle of Nevada, where she had been hurried to on a flatbed truck. While her escorts likely didn't know any more than she did—neither of them were older 21—it was obvious that something was up. Hurried looks and shushed orders had followed her from her "hom" on a secret military training facility to the helicopter and beyond. Now, the heli swooped low over a landing pad nestled within the confines of the base's outer perimeter. For all its secrecy, the exterior of Fort Hood resembled a cross between a military training academy and office park; were it not for the assortment of military vehicles strewn over the front lawn, she may not have been able to tell it was a base at all. Once the heli settled down, however, the soldiers turned to her and gave her a knowing look. "They told us you'd know what to do," the tall, wiry one said, holding a pair of military fatigues to Mary Jane. She nodded and began the arduous process of squeezing her tentacled lower half into the two leg holes so that she could, with help, walk almost like a human. A moment of concentration later and her normally violet skin faded to the dull pink of a WASP; nothing out of the unusual to an untrained eye. She was hurried out of the helicopter and across the pad, entering the base with the other junior soldier—a chubby short one that spoke bits of Spanish beneath his breath—holding a jacket over her body to give her just a little more concealment. They exchanged her with an unknown set of faces in unmarked military garb who escorted Mary Jane quickly down brightly-lit Spartan hallways that quickly melted together in Mary's mind as she was escorted deeper and deeper into the fort. She had a general sense of going downward into a virtual labyrinth of facilities, but didn't even realize where she was being led until, just as suddenly, her escorts stopped before an unmarked door that opened to reveal a large, plush conference room with a massive wooden table in the center. Around it were a number of faces she felt as if she had seen before while glancing through military records, but none she could place a name on. Her escorts closed the door behind her, leaving Mary Jane to her own devices. Gingerly waving a had in the group's general direction, she meekly smiled. "Hi?" "Well look at that," Laurence said as the girl grabbed his attention, "I was wondering if we'd have any other friends joining us." He finished with a smile. "The name's Laurence, nice to meet you. If you're lucky enough, I have another friend I have to introduce you too." Mary Jane raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. Having spent most of her life around cocky young soldiers, she was unfazed by any attempts to seem tough around her. "Oh, is that so?" she said slyly as she expanded her tentacles within the military fatigues, ripping them apart to reveal her tentacled lower half as, at the same time, her skin reverted back to its usual dark shade of magenta. "I hope he can handle all of me."
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Post by lightninglynx89 on Jan 31, 2016 2:20:50 GMT
"Well look at that," Laurence said as the girl grabbed his attention, "I was wondering if we'd have any other friends joining us." He finished with a smile. "The name's Laurence, nice to meet you. If you're lucky enough, I have another friend I have to introduce you too." Mary Jane raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. Having spent most of her life around cocky young soldiers, she was unfazed by any attempts to seem tough around her. "Oh, is that so?" she said slyly as she expanded her tentacles within the military fatigues, ripping them apart to reveal her tentacled lower half as, at the same time, her skin reverted back to its usual dark shade of magenta. "I hope he can handle all of me." "Oh so you're like a hybrid or something?" Laurence asked excitedly. "Me and Kasi have dealt with a few of the tentacle breed of monsters before, however, they were never as human as you." Laurence said aloud rubbing his chin, before smiling back at the girl. "Anyway, it's good to see someone new with tentacles instead of the weird creepy monster variety." Laurence said still smiling. "By the way, what's your name."
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Post by tardis218 on Jan 31, 2016 3:55:13 GMT
Mary Jane raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. Having spent most of her life around cocky young soldiers, she was unfazed by any attempts to seem tough around her. "Oh, is that so?" she said slyly as she expanded her tentacles within the military fatigues, ripping them apart to reveal her tentacled lower half as, at the same time, her skin reverted back to its usual dark shade of magenta. "I hope he can handle all of me." "Oh so you're like a hybrid or something?" Laurence asked excitedly. "Me and Kasi have dealt with a few of the tentacle breed of monsters before, however, they were never as human as you." Laurence said aloud rubbing his chin, before smiling back at the girl. "Anyway, it's good to see someone new with tentacles instead of the weird creepy monster variety." Laurence said still smiling. "By the way, what's your name." "Ah, yet another member of our company. I guess I should introduce myself, I'm Mortz, Mortz Bauer. And what might your name be?" Mortz said as he joined in the conversation, extending his hand
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