[ The first step in taking any job is doing the research, understanding the setting, the context, the agenda, the entrances and the escape routes. Booker treats his time here like a job, not because he's got anything (or, lets face it, anyone) particular to go home to, but because it keeps him from wandering into some nearby drinking hole and spending the rest of his very long, miserable life there.
So he's out today, stubble only a day or so old and not the beard he might otherwise unintentionally be working towards, dressed in dark clothing and looking more or less nondescript. Find him as he makes an effort to avoid the sample booths and generally any area where a crowd might gather — either for free prizes, or volunteering opportunities, the food, the games — and wanders towards the lesser crowded stands promoting an education about the festivities, the history behind them.
Well, it's not a bad place to start, just a newbie here to soak in the atmosphere and maybe give his neural app a try. It's too bad he's an old man with a love/hate relationship with technology, because it takes some time before he can get the video to work. Maybe now would be a good time to offer him a quick tip about how to use this world's tech, especially when he's mumbling horrible profanities in French under his breath. ]
❚❚❚❚❚ displaced vs displaced
[ These days Booker goes through about three typical moods: exhaustion, depression, and anger. Not in any particular order, and none of them so outright as to cause a disturbance or bring any attention to himself. (That would be the last thing someone who prefers to slip in through the shadows, unnoticed, would want.) But today he's been drinking (well, that's not actually new), and not entirely by any fault of his own, his feelings of frustration and pain are exacerbated by the strange monster gas in the air of the New Amsterdam. In fact, it's almost hard to control — and why would he want to control it when he just wants it gone?
If you just so happen to brush past him in a rush as he half-stumbles down the street, in something of a 'come at me bro' stance, Booker taps at his chest, feeling the burn of the aggression and grief and guilt and everything else within him roil up like an unstoppable wave. ] You can try all you want, but I will not die so easily. [ He gets very French when he's angry, and he's itching for a fight right now, everyone else be damned. He takes a swig from his flask, all depressed cool guy. ] Come on, huh?
❚❚❚❚❚ network ( un: @ sebastien.booker )
Is it possible to get a proper book around here?
[ Yes, come at him with all of your 'username checks out' comments. ]
❚❚❚❚❚ wildcard
[ ooc: if none of the above piques your interest, drop a thing below or give me a shout over on thwip or PM me and we can plot something entirely different! ]
booker | the old guard
[ The first step in taking any job is doing the research, understanding the setting, the context, the agenda, the entrances and the escape routes. Booker treats his time here like a job, not because he's got anything (or, lets face it, anyone) particular to go home to, but because it keeps him from wandering into some nearby drinking hole and spending the rest of his very long, miserable life there.
So he's out today, stubble only a day or so old and not the beard he might otherwise unintentionally be working towards, dressed in dark clothing and looking more or less nondescript. Find him as he makes an effort to avoid the sample booths and generally any area where a crowd might gather — either for free prizes, or volunteering opportunities, the food, the games — and wanders towards the lesser crowded stands promoting an education about the festivities, the history behind them.
Well, it's not a bad place to start, just a newbie here to soak in the atmosphere and maybe give his neural app a try. It's too bad he's an old man with a love/hate relationship with technology, because it takes some time before he can get the video to work. Maybe now would be a good time to offer him a quick tip about how to use this world's tech, especially when he's mumbling horrible profanities in French under his breath. ]
❚❚❚❚❚ displaced vs displaced
[ These days Booker goes through about three typical moods: exhaustion, depression, and anger. Not in any particular order, and none of them so outright as to cause a disturbance or bring any attention to himself. (That would be the last thing someone who prefers to slip in through the shadows, unnoticed, would want.) But today he's been drinking (well, that's not actually new), and not entirely by any fault of his own, his feelings of frustration and pain are exacerbated by the strange monster gas in the air of the New Amsterdam. In fact, it's almost hard to control — and why would he want to control it when he just wants it gone?
If you just so happen to brush past him in a rush as he half-stumbles down the street, in something of a 'come at me bro' stance, Booker taps at his chest, feeling the burn of the aggression and grief and guilt and everything else within him roil up like an unstoppable wave. ] You can try all you want, but I will not die so easily. [ He gets very French when he's angry, and he's itching for a fight right now, everyone else be damned. He takes a swig from his flask, all depressed cool guy. ] Come on, huh?
❚❚❚❚❚ network ( un: @ sebastien.booker )
Is it possible to get a proper book around here?
[ Yes, come at him with all of your 'username checks out' comments. ]
❚❚❚❚❚ wildcard
[ ooc: if none of the above piques your interest, drop a thing below or give me a shout over on