Well thats not very helpful to some one who's never seen a manga in his life. But a random shot in the dark....Helsing?Elheru Aran wrote:Okay, hint: He's from a rather noted manga/anime, and he's more or less the definition of 'wank'.Nieztchean Uber-Amoeba wrote:I'm still not getting it.
Not sayin' any more...
The Cleric of the Matrix
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Crazedwraith
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Why the hell did you introduce Alucard? You evil bastard.Elheru Aran wrote:Okay, hint: He's from a rather noted manga/anime, and he's more or less the definition of 'wank'.Nieztchean Uber-Amoeba wrote:I'm still not getting it.
Not sayin' any more...
Justice League, Super-Villain Carnage "Carnage Rules!" Cult of the Kitten Mew... The Black Mage with The Knife SD.Net Chronicler of the Past Bun Bun is my hero. The Official Verilonitis Vaccinator
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CaptainChewbacca
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"Going to level 3".
Stuart: The only problem is, I'm losing track of which universe I'm in.
You kinda look like Jesus. With a lightsaber.- Peregrin Toker
You kinda look like Jesus. With a lightsaber.- Peregrin Toker
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Elheru Aran
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I'm not sure I get that....-
Elheru Aran
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Oh, and since I was on a roll... here's my fight scene....
######******#####*********######
The Cleric’s eyes narrowed. He reached through the side pockets of his coat, and pulled out his sidearms; as he thumbed back the hammers of his modified Berettas, the man in red reached into his coat and drew out a massive pistol, resembling an extensively modified silver-plated Colt 1911-- Preston estimated it was a .454 Casull from the likely diameter of its barrel-- and hefted it, holding it casually by his face as he drew his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose with his other hand, exposing one intent eye.
Preston heard heavy wool rustle behind him and to the sides as Connor and
Murphy drew their Berettas; all about the room, the Merovingian’s henchmen yanked out various weapons and pulled more down from the walls. His focus remained solidly upon the man in red.
The room remained stock still for a moment. Nobody moved; nobody breathed.
A drop of sweat trickled down Connor’s brow.
It went down his cheek… to his chin.
And, atop the balcony of the second level, one of the Merovingian’s thugs flung a huge knife at Preston.
The Cleric easily sidestepped it, and with a casual movement of his wrist sent a pair of bullets through the thug’s head; the other hand fired continuously into the red-dressed man’s torso. As he charged towards the gentleman with the Casull, he began hitting him with both guns; the 9mm bullets began blowing chunks out of the man in red’s body, and yet… he laughed.
He leveled the .454 Casull, and fired.
Preston snap-rolled just in time-- and felt the heat of the bullet as it scorched just barely above his spine-- and flipped to his feet, right into a massive fist.
The force of the blow was such that Preston was flung backwards a couple of feet. Stunned, he jumped back onto his feet, and felt his face; worked his jaw about. When his hand came away, he noticed blood from his lip. He gave the man in red a piercing look, and holstering his now-empty pistols, carefully worked his way around to one of the suits of armor-- an piece of 18th Century Japanese samurai armor, with a full set of blades. He briefly inspected the swords, and then pulled the katana out from its scabbard carefully. Testing the blade, he found it flawlessly sharp, as it should be; closing his eyes momentarily and taking a deep breath, turning towards the man in red, and as he opened his eyes the familiar green code of the Matrix appeared all about him.
“Your name, sir?”
His opponent chuckled deeply, and baring his teeth in another feral grin, he remarked, “Well, that depends… I suppose you want this current historical period, eh? You can call me Alucard.”
As the Cleric scrutinized this Alucard, he noted a peculiar glow in the scroll comprising Alucard’s body… he was rebuilding himself, the pieces blown out of him flowing back to his body and reintegrating themselves with him somehow. He delved deeper into Alucard’s code… and this being was not a person. Not alive, per se, but rather, a program, apparently cooked up by this Merovingian. A program that could never die, but that would regenerate itself from the very stuff of the Matrix.
He grinned suddenly, stabbed the katana into the floor and held out his hand-- “I’m John Preston. Pleased to meet you.”
Alucard blinked, somewhat flabbergasted, but recovered quickly and likewise grinned and shook Preston’s hand. They nodded cordially to each other, then turned their backs on each other and took a step.
They held for a breath, and then Preston spun around and snatched the katana out of the floor-- Alucard likewise spun about and grabbed for it-- but Preston was a hair faster, and with a swift flash of steel the blade passed before Alucard’s face. A fine line of blood appeared upon the bridge of Alucard’s nose; and the bottom halves of his glasses slowly separated and clattered upon the floor.
A disgruntled look upon his face, Alucard pulled the glasses off, and dropped them; they clattered upon the wood as the line of blood upon his nose vanished. He blurred into motion, as did Preston; all that could be seen of the fight was Preston twisting, leaping, and the katana bore a resemblance to silver fire leaping through the air in his hands, as the red blur that was Alucard whistled through the air about him.
Meanwhile, Connor and Murphy had been exchanging fire with the Merovingian’s strongmen; advancing, firing two-fisted with their twin Berettas. When their slides locked back, they shoved their Berettas into their holsters and sprinted towards the bag they had left upon the floor. A quick unzip, and between the two of them, they hefted a 5.56mm Minigun, power cords running to an auto battery and a flexible feed connection leading to a large ammo box inside the bag.
Connor bellowed, “Mr. Preston! Down in front!”
When the Cleric heard that, he promptly hit the deck; Alucard halted in confusion. And Connor thumbed the firing stud.
The Minigun roared out its leaden fury; Alucard was smeared across the wall in a burst of blood and gore, which promptly began flowing back together and reconstituting. Meanwhile, firing careful bursts, the MacManus brothers worked their way around the room, literally blowing away the Merovingian’s men, and in the process destroying much of the room; chunks flew through the air, flame spat from the Minigun, and bullets flying in both directions miraculously did not touch the brothers.
A long burst eventually ripped the gun out of Murphy’s grasp, and as it began to spin Connor about-- in a trajectory that would have brought the muzzle directly across Murphy-- it ran out of bullets. The barrels whistled to a halt as Connor groaned and dropped the gun.
Preston carefully poked his head up from the floor. As he stood, he took in the devastation that the brothers had wrought with but a minute’s wrath with the Minigun; shattered balustrades, pulverized bodies lying about, and Alucard, leaning against the wall and wincing as he pulled a new pair of glasses out of his coat. Dust drifted down upon Preston, and he dusted his shoulders off as he walked up to Alucard.
“Truce?”
“Indeed.”
“If you want to come along, we’d be happy to have you.”
Alucard gave Preston a bitter smile, and shook his head. Tearing his shirt apart, he revealed a band binding his chest-- the silver seal in the midst of the band bore a deeply inscribed capital ‘M’. He spoke, resentfully, “That motherfucker went and sealed me to him. I cannot leave the building without his permission nor fight against him, much as I might wish thus. But--” a malicious light came into his eyes-- “Nothing says I cannot simply refuse to fight, hmm? You are free to go, Cleric. If you can take this off me, by all means do so. But you are too good a fighter for me to not let you go. Until we meet another day…” and he bowed aside as Preston and the brothers dashed through the shot-apart doorway between the stairs.
######******#####*********######
The Cleric’s eyes narrowed. He reached through the side pockets of his coat, and pulled out his sidearms; as he thumbed back the hammers of his modified Berettas, the man in red reached into his coat and drew out a massive pistol, resembling an extensively modified silver-plated Colt 1911-- Preston estimated it was a .454 Casull from the likely diameter of its barrel-- and hefted it, holding it casually by his face as he drew his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose with his other hand, exposing one intent eye.
Preston heard heavy wool rustle behind him and to the sides as Connor and
Murphy drew their Berettas; all about the room, the Merovingian’s henchmen yanked out various weapons and pulled more down from the walls. His focus remained solidly upon the man in red.
The room remained stock still for a moment. Nobody moved; nobody breathed.
A drop of sweat trickled down Connor’s brow.
It went down his cheek… to his chin.
And, atop the balcony of the second level, one of the Merovingian’s thugs flung a huge knife at Preston.
The Cleric easily sidestepped it, and with a casual movement of his wrist sent a pair of bullets through the thug’s head; the other hand fired continuously into the red-dressed man’s torso. As he charged towards the gentleman with the Casull, he began hitting him with both guns; the 9mm bullets began blowing chunks out of the man in red’s body, and yet… he laughed.
He leveled the .454 Casull, and fired.
Preston snap-rolled just in time-- and felt the heat of the bullet as it scorched just barely above his spine-- and flipped to his feet, right into a massive fist.
The force of the blow was such that Preston was flung backwards a couple of feet. Stunned, he jumped back onto his feet, and felt his face; worked his jaw about. When his hand came away, he noticed blood from his lip. He gave the man in red a piercing look, and holstering his now-empty pistols, carefully worked his way around to one of the suits of armor-- an piece of 18th Century Japanese samurai armor, with a full set of blades. He briefly inspected the swords, and then pulled the katana out from its scabbard carefully. Testing the blade, he found it flawlessly sharp, as it should be; closing his eyes momentarily and taking a deep breath, turning towards the man in red, and as he opened his eyes the familiar green code of the Matrix appeared all about him.
“Your name, sir?”
His opponent chuckled deeply, and baring his teeth in another feral grin, he remarked, “Well, that depends… I suppose you want this current historical period, eh? You can call me Alucard.”
As the Cleric scrutinized this Alucard, he noted a peculiar glow in the scroll comprising Alucard’s body… he was rebuilding himself, the pieces blown out of him flowing back to his body and reintegrating themselves with him somehow. He delved deeper into Alucard’s code… and this being was not a person. Not alive, per se, but rather, a program, apparently cooked up by this Merovingian. A program that could never die, but that would regenerate itself from the very stuff of the Matrix.
He grinned suddenly, stabbed the katana into the floor and held out his hand-- “I’m John Preston. Pleased to meet you.”
Alucard blinked, somewhat flabbergasted, but recovered quickly and likewise grinned and shook Preston’s hand. They nodded cordially to each other, then turned their backs on each other and took a step.
They held for a breath, and then Preston spun around and snatched the katana out of the floor-- Alucard likewise spun about and grabbed for it-- but Preston was a hair faster, and with a swift flash of steel the blade passed before Alucard’s face. A fine line of blood appeared upon the bridge of Alucard’s nose; and the bottom halves of his glasses slowly separated and clattered upon the floor.
A disgruntled look upon his face, Alucard pulled the glasses off, and dropped them; they clattered upon the wood as the line of blood upon his nose vanished. He blurred into motion, as did Preston; all that could be seen of the fight was Preston twisting, leaping, and the katana bore a resemblance to silver fire leaping through the air in his hands, as the red blur that was Alucard whistled through the air about him.
Meanwhile, Connor and Murphy had been exchanging fire with the Merovingian’s strongmen; advancing, firing two-fisted with their twin Berettas. When their slides locked back, they shoved their Berettas into their holsters and sprinted towards the bag they had left upon the floor. A quick unzip, and between the two of them, they hefted a 5.56mm Minigun, power cords running to an auto battery and a flexible feed connection leading to a large ammo box inside the bag.
Connor bellowed, “Mr. Preston! Down in front!”
When the Cleric heard that, he promptly hit the deck; Alucard halted in confusion. And Connor thumbed the firing stud.
The Minigun roared out its leaden fury; Alucard was smeared across the wall in a burst of blood and gore, which promptly began flowing back together and reconstituting. Meanwhile, firing careful bursts, the MacManus brothers worked their way around the room, literally blowing away the Merovingian’s men, and in the process destroying much of the room; chunks flew through the air, flame spat from the Minigun, and bullets flying in both directions miraculously did not touch the brothers.
A long burst eventually ripped the gun out of Murphy’s grasp, and as it began to spin Connor about-- in a trajectory that would have brought the muzzle directly across Murphy-- it ran out of bullets. The barrels whistled to a halt as Connor groaned and dropped the gun.
Preston carefully poked his head up from the floor. As he stood, he took in the devastation that the brothers had wrought with but a minute’s wrath with the Minigun; shattered balustrades, pulverized bodies lying about, and Alucard, leaning against the wall and wincing as he pulled a new pair of glasses out of his coat. Dust drifted down upon Preston, and he dusted his shoulders off as he walked up to Alucard.
“Truce?”
“Indeed.”
“If you want to come along, we’d be happy to have you.”
Alucard gave Preston a bitter smile, and shook his head. Tearing his shirt apart, he revealed a band binding his chest-- the silver seal in the midst of the band bore a deeply inscribed capital ‘M’. He spoke, resentfully, “That motherfucker went and sealed me to him. I cannot leave the building without his permission nor fight against him, much as I might wish thus. But--” a malicious light came into his eyes-- “Nothing says I cannot simply refuse to fight, hmm? You are free to go, Cleric. If you can take this off me, by all means do so. But you are too good a fighter for me to not let you go. Until we meet another day…” and he bowed aside as Preston and the brothers dashed through the shot-apart doorway between the stairs.
It's a strange world. Let's keep it that way.
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Pick
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Ah, you brought him in! Coolness! 
"The rest of the poem plays upon that pun. On the contrary, says Catullus, although my verses are soft (molliculi ac parum pudici in line 8, reversing the play on words), they can arouse even limp old men. Should Furius and Aurelius have any remaining doubts about Catullus' virility, he offers to fuck them anally and orally to prove otherwise." - Catullus 16, Wikipedia
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CaptainChewbacca
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I don't think you have Preston's character quite right. He doesn't get mad, or annoyed, or anything. The director of Equilibrium characterized him as "the god of death". He's also not arrogant.
That aside, how could the brothers NOT have a rope?
That aside, how could the brothers NOT have a rope?
Stuart: The only problem is, I'm losing track of which universe I'm in.
You kinda look like Jesus. With a lightsaber.- Peregrin Toker
You kinda look like Jesus. With a lightsaber.- Peregrin Toker
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Elheru Aran
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Preston isn't quite being Preston, I know... two reasons. One, he IS acting to some degree; two, he's getting a little edgy for various reasons which will become clear later on.CaptainChewbacca wrote:I don't think you have Preston's character quite right. He doesn't get mad, or annoyed, or anything. The director of Equilibrium characterized him as "the god of death". He's also not arrogant.
That aside, how could the brothers NOT have a rope?
And don't worry, Connor and Murphy will get the chance to use that rope... you don't think they just have a Minigun in that bag of theirs, do you?
EDIT: By 'acting to some degree', I refer to the bit with the receptionist. With the Merovingian, he knows he's on enemy territory, so to speak, so he's trying to play smooth initially, but shifts to an intimidation posture pretty fast. With Alucard, he's being smooth-- he knows he hasn't a chance in hell of beating Al, so why not make friends?
Last edited by Elheru Aran on 2005-03-19 11:42pm, edited 1 time in total.
It's a strange world. Let's keep it that way.
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Captain Cyran
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Elheru Aran
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Yeah, sorry about that... this isn't quite the same Alucard as you may be used to. He's a program created as a personal bodyguard for the Merovingian, but which has a large degree of independence-- enough that the Merovingian saw fit to put blocks, so to speak, upon him in order to ensure his loyalty. And, as you'll see before long, he's not exactly in tiptop condition...Captain Cyran wrote:Alucard was a bit out of character, it takes a lot to get him to show his shock. But I liked it.
It's a strange world. Let's keep it that way.
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CaptainChewbacca
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Well, for starters, he was born and raised in a society where he didn't need 'social skills'.Elheru Aran wrote:Preston isn't quite being Preston, I know... two reasons. One, he IS acting to some degree; two, he's getting a little edgy for various reasons which will become clear later on.CaptainChewbacca wrote:I don't think you have Preston's character quite right. He doesn't get mad, or annoyed, or anything. The director of Equilibrium characterized him as "the god of death". He's also not arrogant.
That aside, how could the brothers NOT have a rope?
And don't worry, Connor and Murphy will get the chance to use that rope... you don't think they just have a Minigun in that bag of theirs, do you?
EDIT: By 'acting to some degree', I refer to the bit with the receptionist. With the Merovingian, he knows he's on enemy territory, so to speak, so he's trying to play smooth initially, but shifts to an intimidation posture pretty fast. With Alucard, he's being smooth-- he knows he hasn't a chance in hell of beating Al, so why not make friends?
Apparently the Morovingian is an Anime enthusiast.
Stuart: The only problem is, I'm losing track of which universe I'm in.
You kinda look like Jesus. With a lightsaber.- Peregrin Toker
You kinda look like Jesus. With a lightsaber.- Peregrin Toker
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Crazedwraith
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CaptainChewbacca
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It lives!
Stuart: The only problem is, I'm losing track of which universe I'm in.
You kinda look like Jesus. With a lightsaber.- Peregrin Toker
You kinda look like Jesus. With a lightsaber.- Peregrin Toker