Kirby Krackle

Down the hallway from Melody Amber's bedchambers was the overly dramatic and terribly cliché throwing opening of the lush velvet curtains. The sun's harsh rays flooded the master bedroom, blinding the fat louse that Melody Amber called Father, giving him one heck of a wake-up call. The maid guilty of this heinous act was, after a bit, getting a nasty chewing out: something about this being the third time this week and another thing about threats of docked wages.

If Melody Amber hadn't arranged the whole thing, he might have felt a twinge of remorse for the pretty (she sounded pretty, anyway) filly getting an ear full of foul language. Especially after today, it being the first mention of a suffering paycheck. But she need not worry. Her end of the bargain was giving the Louse as many bad mornings as possible, his being the promise of a hefty Hearth's Warming bonus. Besides, once the Louse was out the door, they both had a good laugh about the whole situation. Meanwhile, the Seminarian was waking up to the rich aromas of brewing black tea and blueberry scones fresh from the oven. Butter, cream and honey were off to the side. During breakfast, highlights from, as well as the entirety of the financial section of the morning paper were read to him. The murder investigation of Faith Wealth (His Great-uncle or something. Amber never kept track.) was still ongoing for a week now, one article mentioned. What was genuinely curious about this whole mess is the spirit of said Great-uncle hasn't manifested yet. But those were thoughts for a later time.

He was bathed and dressed shortly after. The dress robes in question he insisted on not being the finest in the closet. A little wear and tear wouldn't kill him. On his way down to the atrium of the family manor, he called for his thrulls, Asterix and Obelisk, as well as shooing away the staff that offered to escort him to work.

"[colour=#4b0082]Don't be such an alarmist, my dear. The boys know the route by now. I assure you that absolutely nothing bad will happen! Now then, I must be off![/colour]"

His keepers, more than a little worried, strapped on his collar (a golden Orzhov signet dangling from it like the bell of a cat) and gave the leash to Asterix, who clenched down on it dutifully. The master bowed to his servants, and they in turn, then off he and his two thrulls went. Despite his handicap, Melody Amber felt no fear walking down the streets of Ravnica. He wasn't alone. The commanding thuds made by Obelisk's powerful knuckles on the concrete as well as the occasional chattering of Asterix assured him he was protected. Besides, the day itself was beautiful and deserved appreciation. The warmth of the sun was welcoming, as was a breeze beginning to show itself. There was the chatter of the crowds, the beating of wings, the shouting of shopkeepers' sales pitches and absolutely nothing out of place. Certainly nothing could go wrong.

On the other hoof, the phrase 'nothing could go wrong' is only used to tempt fate. A nearby clock tower chimed noon. The three have been walking for an hour and a half. A leisurely commute to work should take no more than forty minutes.

"[colour=#4b0082]You two idiots have no idea where we are. Do you?[/colour]"

Big Rock frightens me. Both as an RP setting for colourful cartoon ponies and as the map of a first person shooter.

I don't suppose I could see what you could cook up as far as a character history goes? That's my only input so far.

Not so much from scratch. There will be a minor skip in time, maybe a day or a week or so. Nothing serious. Everything will be built off of what previously transpired, though. I am a huge fan of continuity. With an expanded neighborhood, I'm okay with more things happening. Storylines can intersect! It will be fun! I'm trying to make a new post!

No retconning in the slightest. In fact, Melody Amber is Fungus Amongus's loan officer. I totally foreshadowed that.

Roleplay Type: Ravnica

Name: Melody Amber

Sex: Male

Age: Stallion

Species: Unicorn

Eye colour: N/A

Coat: Khaki.

Mane/Tail: Deep purple with a single pale yellow streak. Both worn long. Mane in a pony tail.

Physique: Tall, lanky and out of shape. Feminine.

Occupation: Seminarian

Cutie Mark: Scales, out of balanced, favoring the right.

Character History: High ranking officials in the Orzhov syndicate often use magical means to extend their lifespans, and as such can become mutated. These defects tend to pass onto their offspring. Though, in Melody Amber's unlucky case, this seemed to skip a generation. Yes, his father (a Monsignor) gained no ill effects from his new one hundred and thirty seven year guarantee. Meanwhile, the boy was born with his eyes useless. While dear Papa saw his first born son as a liability with no potential to move anywhere beyond his bedroom, Meldoy Amber saw this as a challenge. The motivation came from, upon learning Chess via notation, actually beating his old man. A fluke, he said! There was no way he would lose to the blind kid. But Amber would win again and again, to the point where dad has outright refused to play. Well, if it was this easy to wreck the grump, than...

Using solely the gold he accumulated from allowances and 'borrowing' the prestige of his father, he hired tutors, dedicating himself solely to study. Economics, Orzhovian lore, Ravnican history, Poetry, Music, anything at all that could refine him. The field of magic was especially difficult. Without vision, he could only use a small amount of spells, most of which were areas of effect with his own person as its center. A few high ranking officials were bribed, a few blackmailed and he managed to earn the title of Brother right from under his father's nose. Boy was he furious, especially after being assigned to dad's own parish. It became very clear to the Monsenior who was after his job.

Character Summary: Prone to feign helplessness because of his eyes. He's a manipulative *******, and he knows it, though he loses no sleep over the fact. On the plus, he's very refined, speaks eloquently, and is a very good listener. He's friendly to everypony that isn't openly out for his head, prone to buying complete strangers a good lunch. There is an air of superiority that the Orzhov are known for, which he wishes to avoid at all costs. You catch more flies with honey, after all. Most recently, he's set up his own private money lending practice, catering to the smaller businesses that, being benieth the interest of Orzhova, might not otherwise take off. He never leaves home without the company of a pair of Thrulls, Asterix and Obelisk, both created from the bodies of Griffins. One small, shriveled, with great wings for its size. It's more like a parrot than anything else. The other is an absolutely massive brute of a Thrull, of closer resemblance to a pint-sized Manticore and capable of smashing through a few walls if need be. Ravnica can be dangerous, after all.

The smile was drained from Tinker Tailor for the first time today. The nerve of some ponies! Honestly! There would be more than enough robots to go around so surely there would be enough for a three way competition. Well, he'll show them! He'll show the lot of them, the Engineer mused, building contraption number 3. Muttering to himself as he assembled a small rotating platform, he mused that he would be the one to bust up all the robots! They would be so jealous! And then he would fix them, oh yes he would. Fix them and reprogram them and have them sneak into their houses at night and wreck up the place! Maybe shave them! Oh, what would a griffin look like shaved? He cackled aloud at the thought, the smile back again, as he skipped off, setting up his second of two platforms in a nice little cabin all the way at the other end of the territory. It was a nice little high ground with easy access thanks to a pair of staircases. After a single flip of a switch, both platforms buzzed to life, offering a bright red glow in which to plant one's hooves. He hoped on in full 'Mad Scientist's Maniacal Laugh' mode, instantly bamfing back to platform A. He stepped off, took his Sentry Gun, stepped back on and bamfed back to platform B. The process was repeated with his Dispenser. His super secret base now completed, he couldn't help but holler so the whole wilderness could here:

"[colour=#ff00ff]READY WHEN YOU ARE![/colour]"

So.

This RP kinda teetered into oblivion for a while. No biggie if things got stale. My fault. But with Gatecrash coming out, I figure it's time for a rehash! A redo! A mulligan, if you will. The old setting of the Mushroom Kingdom diner is still canon, though I will be expanding the 'territory' (is that the right word?) to an outlying neighborhood and... one other place, which will be revealed when I cook up a new application.

New players welcome! Old players welcome! Old players with new characters welcome! Get hype!

So, here's a thing:

I started combat in Coal Town. Why? To keep things interesting. We can only have so much character development that doesn't involve dodging bullets. TortoiseShell... dragging feet again. Kitten feet. But that's another story. Anyway.

Make a big post if you feel like it. Have fun with it! Go crazy and I suppose... this is just Wave 1? One post per before the lull hits again and wounds are licked? Wave 1 is the easy one. Crazier things will happen in later waves, including Tanks and blahdy blahdy blah.

I leave triggering Maneworks' shooty bang-bang time to the Gardevoir-knight-avatar-person.

Once the shock of not dying wore off, Reveille suddenly realized what this kind of embrace this must have looked like. Enter a new kind of shock. He blushed terribly, frozen in place, thoughts rattling around in his mind along the lines of 'Oh Celestia what do I do' and 'She smells nice'. She shove snapped him out of it and, to avoid any awkward eye contact, he tipped his hat downward to hide in the shadow. Speaking of awkward, the only response to her heart-felt demands was the facade of Soldier he was supposed to be wearing. His body stiffened to attention, one foreleg (Reveille couldn't remember which one, so he assumed the right) snapping upward in salute. "[colour=#0000cd]Yessir-ma'am! Yes ma'am![/colour]" But it wasn't the right fit for him. Or her for that matter. His body language slackened and, with eyes still downcast in embarrassment, he went off to find his weapon. It conveniently traveled with him, landing less than three yards away, by a balcony behind him. He didn't blame the thing for trying to remove his face, or himself for building something with a life threatening malfunction either.

"[colour=#0000cd]Hey, at least I know for next time that three is the magic number. I promise I'll be careful[/colour]", he managed to get out. Distance made him a little more courageous. "[colour=#0000cd]Sorry for making you worry.[/colour]" And he even smiled at her. The stallion is learning!

He hopped down from his high ground (though he recalled the Art of War mentioning to keep it) and went back towards the Heavy one and the... Pyro? (Is that what it was? Never mind. From this moment, he just assumed 'her'. Just so he could pick one pronoun and stick with it) There were drills to perform and he wasn't helping anypony by blasting himself sky high.

The first robot battalion! They're here! If they get that bomb into the hatchway, we're all done for!

Five...

Four...

Three...

Two...

One!

Oh crud.

I cannot wait to see the inevitable Sniper vs Spy headbutting.

Tinker's ears perked up, first from the pleasant humming from his littlest of friends (he even joined in for a bar), and secondly from what were clearly wagers being set. Wagers meant competition. Competition meant games. Games meant "[colour=#ff00ff]Fun![/colour]". He shoved himself between the taller stallion and the shorter griffin, with no mind for personal space, meanwhile his horn multitasking with his wrench and putting some end-of-the-instruction-booklet touches on his Dispenser. "[colour=#ff00ff]You guys are playing a game, huh? Need a third guy? Need a score keeper? Need a cheerleader? C'mooooooooooon[/colour]", he pleaded as the machine behind him hummed to life, providing a soothing aura to the lot of them. Tinker didn't notice. "[colour=#ff00ff]I want in![/colour]" He drew his modified shotgun to get the point across. Playtime was serious business. So was firing a few rounds into the air.

Duh. Silly question. And six ponies makes the robots attack so... Get ready, folks

"[colour=#ff00ff]Well, let's see...[/colour]", he pondered, magicing away Edd's rifle for closer examination. "[colour=#ff00ff]Single shot pneumatic dart gun, air pressured, bolt action, telescopic sight...[/colour]", he narrated, only to interrupt himself by muttering aloud some complex figures, only to come to the conclusion of "[colour=#ff00ff]Why yes! In a round by round basis, you will, mathematically speaking, kill more robots than me![/colour]" All the while, he never lost his smile, offering the gentlecolt's weapon back to its owner. "[colour=#ff00ff]But can your 'Official Red Ryder' do this?[/colour]"

Tinker once again pulled out his clunky old video game controller and suddenly, the movements of the joystick became the movements of his Sentry Gun. Hitting the lesser pronounced of the two trigger buttons fired a set of rocket propelled grenades from the top mounted four barrel cannon. They aimed as he commanded, off into the lesser mountain-side that the right of their base was built into. The explosion was spectacular and Tinker Tailor found it absolutely hilarious, falling belly up in laughter.

These were the moments truly precious to Tinker Tailor. Sun shining, birds chirping, grease on his hooves and a wrench in his mouth. The fact that the plans forwarded to him were absolutely, unmistakably brilliant was just icing on the cake! Motion sense! colour sense! A 360 degree pivot joint! The fact that it could kill ponies! Oh, everything about his new toy were wonderful! So wonderful, he could sing. Which is good, because he was singing since he first sat down and began assembling his Sentry Gun.

"[colour=#ff00ff]Someone's in the kitchen with Dinah! Someone's in the kitchen I know-ow-ow-ow! Someone's in the kitchen with Dinah strummin' on the ole banjo and singin'-[/colour]"

Fully loaded. Every screw tightened. Every joint oiled. Cameras on. And a charming little set of three beeps came out of it once it started an absolutely adorable little pivot in its search for baddies to fill with holes. He could not wait to take it home and fill it with foam darts.

"[colour=#ff00ff]HEY YOU GUYS[/colour]", he cried, with absolutely no sense of volume, "[colour=#ff00ff]I'M FINISHED! COME SEE![/colour]"

His tail was wagging like a little puppy dog, he was so excited! But he could blow up balloons later. Pulling page two from his tube full of blueprints, he began work on whatever it was that was called a 'Dispenser'. He hoped it dispensed Bonk Atomic Punch. That was his favorite.

So. This is what dying feels like. Legs broken, definitely. Flesh burned. Blood lost. There were probably some chunks of him missing, even! He was pretty sure this was ultimate suffering. There were no regrets, right? He tried. Good enough. Time to cash in his chips and meet his ancestors at the Great Rodeo in the Sky. Look, there's an angel coming to greet me, he mused through the pain. And there was that light everypony kept talking about. He closed his eyes, accepted his fate and drew his final breath... only feel something akin to lightning surging through his fibers. Instantly he sat up, swallowing a huge mouthful of air, eyes wide as could be.

"[colour=#0000cd]I'm alive. I'm alive! No holes or anything![/colour]" Looking down at his body, he saw absolutely no signs of abuse. A miracle! What he did see though, was a glaring spotlight fixated on him. The source was from the bizarre machine strapped to Sweet Scent. She was an angel after all. "[colour=#0000cd]You did this. You saved me! Oh goodness I can't thank you enough![/colour]" Her reward was his forelegs thrown around her, clutching in a tight bear hug.

Make that your signature. Seriously. Do it. Now.

Reveille had come to a painful realization: this death trap he was lugging on his shoulders hasn't even been tested yet. He then, with a heavy heart, weighed his two options: test it during this calm before the storm and die now, so he can't be a burden. Or, he could test it during legitimate combat, die then, and put his whole team in serious danger. The first option seemed best. Looking to Sweet Scent for a prayer briefly, he took aim at the horizon and pulled the trigger for... absolutely nothing. Silly thing wasn't even loaded. He then questioned how to even complete that step. He fumbled with his hooves for a bit, looking for something he may have installed that resembled a clip or magazine. Nothing. The only real opening was the barrel itself. After one long, nervous gulp, he slid one rocket from his backpack down inside its gullet. In response, the bazooka violent spit the round back out. It took to the sky immediately and flew a few meters in no real trajectory, detonating spectacularly in the sand at the bottom of the hill they stood atop. Reveille felt like a colt at Hearth's Warming.

"[colour=#0000cd]You saw that, right? You all saw that? Brilliant![/colour]" Now giddy, he shoved in two and let them rip, with similar results. His joy only escalated. He repeated the process with three. Even better! Time for four, which was his unlucky number it seems. There was no more room at the inn, it seemed. The innate faultiness of his weapon backfired and he took a full detonation to the face, being launched high into the air then back down onto a nearby rooftop with a sickening crunch.

"[colour=#0000cd]...ow...[/colour]"

"[colour=#ff00ff]Oh I think I'll do alright, you two. I mean, I'm definitely not much of a fighter buuuuuuuuut...[/colour]" What were clearly insults simply didn't register in his head as anything negative. Besides, he was digging through his toolbox at the time and not really paying attention. "[colour=#ff00ff]I always win at Cops and Robbers[/colour]", he finished with an ear to ear grin, giggling as his magic horn levitated two pieces of what could only be a much bigger machine: six barrels affixed to a central rotating shaft. Each of them dragging along very long chains of ammunition, fed into a base compartment.

"[colour=#ff00ff]Now where are.... Oh bother, be a pal and hold these, would you? Thanks a billion![/colour]" Offering these two delicate pieces of equipment to the Griffin lady with all the concern for pencil shavings. Immediately he dug back into his box, using mouth and magic to toss out heaps of metal, (plus shotgun shells, a hot-wired controller from an old Atari, action figured and a few deflated balloons) clearly looking for something, what with his constant "[colour=#ff00ff]No. No. Nuh uh. Nada. Nope. Negatory. Nein. Niet. Nej. Nee. Nie. Nema. N.. AHA! Found you![/colour]" Out he pulled a hefty wooden crate, stamped with the seal of Mane Co. and clearly labeled 'Danger: High Explosives' and showed them with pride to the others. Clearly pleased with his efforts, he magically gathered up the entire mess he made and skipped outside, ready to put his puzzle together.

Oh the way out, what a surprise! He bumped into another little pony, smaller than he and in such a fun costume to boot! "[colour=#ff00ff]Wait right here, I have just the thing![/colour]" He whizzed back through the automatic doors, quick as a hiccup, then back out to gently place a "[colour=#ff00ff]Banana sticker![/colour]" on the new pony's forehead.

can i just keep widdle biscuit?

I just realized! She would have her Botkiller weapon in this one!

Totally okay to join in! I'm also liking the difference in theme here. Coaltown has 'fresh meat teetering on the sanity slippery slope' and Maneworks has full on comedic sociopathy.

Fun!

"[colour=#ff00ff]-somepony staaaaaaarted singing it not knowing what it was and they'll continue singing it forever just because this is the song that doesn't end- Oh, we're here? Thanks a million! And sorry for the grease on the seats, here this should take those stains right now. Byebye now! Safe back to civilization![/colour]" One sack of bits and a can of industrial solvent to the cabby (who thanks Celestia for him finally leaving, though Tinker didn't notice) later, he was dropped off in a... less-than-fun looking set of long forgotten industry. It was a dull brownish grey, in dying need of colour. Dyeing. Ha! He let out a hearty cackle, clearly amused by his own antics. Once two and a half minutes of hysterics were up, he gasped for much needed air and wiped a few tears from his eyes. With the moment passed, he picked his song back up and started skipping through the dusty hallways and out of the way, randomly placed rooms. All of them. His half hour analysis finally ended at the most secure looking facility. Must be the barracks.

One swipe of his ID card later and he found... more brownish grey. Boring boring boring. He sighed and wondered how long it would take the colour scheme to drive him batty. He carelessly shrugged his massive toolbox (which was red and covered in stickers ) off his aching shoulders, the resulting metal on metal roaring through the tiny room. Tinker didn't notice. But what caught is eye was... a Griffin! He's never seen one up close before! Certainly she's a mercenary too, and therefore a coworker, and therefore an ally in his robot hunt! Best to be on his best behavior and use the universal greeting. It works every time.

"[colour=#ff00ff]Bah weep granah weep ninni bong![/colour]"

Roleplay Type: Mane vs Machine

Map: Maneworks

Name: Tinker Tailor

Sex: Male

Age: Stallion

Species: Unicorn

Eye colour: 'Pink as Hell'

Coat: Cobalt blue

Mane/Tail: Curly, long and unkempt. Tail cut short. A deep commitment to purple.

Physique: Above average height and a little stocky. Too many donuts.

Occupation/Class: Engineer and toy maker.

Cutie Mark: Two interlocking gears.

Loadout: Rescue Ranger/Wrangler/Stock Wrench. Wears the Industrial Festivizer, Idea Tube and the Teddy Roosebelt.

History: Tinker Tailor was born with a beautiful curiosity about the inner workings of the modern world. That's good. He was also born with poor impulse control. That's bad. His delight over machines would cause him to cause random acts of destruction on alarm clocks and the like just to see the cogs inside turning. This behavior would unfortunately bleed into the young colt's social life, leaving the toys of a few friends dead. He was quick to realize his heel realization though, rushing to salvage both the wind-up pony figure and his friendship. His compulsion to deconstruct became a new found love to build. Good as new! And a cutie mark to boot! As he grew to a fine young stallion, he became the local Mr. Fixit, able to repair anything from faulty plumbing to engine blocks to grandfather clocks. It was a challenge at first but became a bore very quickly. His real passion was still in toy making.

A decent profit was made selling his designs. Some improvements on best selling cube puzzles, plus a wide variety of mechanical board games and budding novelty electronics to name a few. The bits from this would fund his more daring projects, which allowed his creativity to flourish. One inspiration persisted: his first repair of the wind-up toy. And it budded into a concept only read about in science fiction: robotics. What if he could market fully functional self operating machines to the market? Eagerly he proposed ideas to any company that profited from his work, though none nibbled without some kind of prototype. His idea seemed dead before it began.

But what's this? Rumors were floating around about an army of machines threatening the livelihood of his friends and neighbors. It certainly explained why some were packing up and leaving their families as if it were a wartime draft. What if these rumors were true? His mouth practically watered at the idea of reverse-engineering these monsters into a child's plaything! A few inquiries and an acceptance letter from one "Saxton Hale" later, he was sent an ID card as well as the blueprints to several astounding inventions. He would familiarize with them along the way the battlefield.

Character summary: Tinker Tailor possesses a friendly and bubbly personality, tending to give off a 'few sandwiches shy of a picnic' vibe. It comes from the fact that he spent most of his time growing up in front of a tool box and pastel paints, rather than outside having a life. He tends to ramble and when not intently focused on his engineering, his mind tends to wander and will begin playing with the few action figures he has stashed in his tool box.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

On a side note, I would like to point out that no, I'm not playing a male Pinkie Pie. I'm playing a not-murderous Toyman. Superman villain. Look him up.

I don't see why not? We should decide on continuity then, to accommodate this. Which map "exists" first?

Well, since it seems we now both have some fun character ideas we want to try, the question is now "Should I start a new OOC for it, or just use this one?"

And now that I'm thinking about it, a TF2-crossover general thread might not be a bad idea if we can get more steam (HA) behind this, but then we would either have to make ANOTHER OOC for the current one, Coal Town, or keep this the OOC for Coal Town and just make an entirely different ManeVM General.

Or maybe I'm thinking to much and should just make a new OOC for either Mannworks (Maneworks?) or Decoy (which is a strange case, because in TF2 canon it was made by The Soldier, who technically doesn't exist)

Rather than clutter up the OOC forum, perhaps in application, there should just be a new section for which map you're playing on. And yes, Maneworks. Because I hate that map. It's a terrible map with too many tight corners, too many ways for bots to flank and no real way to reset the bomb. Perfect. Oh, and just because, I think my Engiepony's name is Tinker Tailor.

Sorry I haven't been posting as of much lately, school's been hectic and i've had a bit of a writers block. I'll try to get back into posting soon

No worries, friend. Hectic is most of my life too.