So who else here is taking a massive hit in finding future income opportunities thanks to the make-over those mysterious bastards who dropped us here gave us? Now I don't doubt that my charm alone could bring me new clients to set up shop with, but it's so much easier with my looks to fall back on. The shaved-looks-like-I-just-got-out-of-prison do just isn't cutting it.
So? Question for those who've been around this block way longer then I have, what are your hair-care, or lack thereof, secrets? Or should I just place a bag over my head for a couple of months and call it a day?
006. getting in
[Coming to in New Amsterdam had been a lot like arriving in Ergastulum for the first time, minus the nightmares, but feeling altogether just as traumatic. What had followed had been long weeks of trying to find his balance, trying to blend in while also staying aware of what was going on in the city. Ingratiating himself to anyone and everyone who could feed him relative information, hidden behind the guise of polite smiles and easy flirting. He had built himself a name once in one city, and he can do it again here. It just took a little time.
Getting into the club, in the end, hadn't been much trouble at all. He'd had his eye on it for the past week, discreetly watching the comings and goings of its most powerful clientele. His surveillance had given him names, faces, and the beginnings of a schedule he had painstakingly put together. Now, tonight, all it had taken to get through the door had been the right name in the right ear, a little cash into the right hand, and a small lie regarding his employment.
Inside, Worick sets himself up at one of the tables in the back, sitting so that his back is to the wall and he's facing the rest of the club. The perfect vantage point. Nursing a vodka shot, he seems content to sit back and watch.]
009. where there's smoke
[If there is one lesson Worick is learning the longer he remains in New Amsterdam, it's that it doesn't take much for everything to go to shit. When the fires had started he had been more then happy to leave it up to the firemen and other hero types. He's certainly no one's hero and isn't looking to be. But what happens when all your hero types attempt to save lives and come out of it infected by smoke inhalation and the overwhelming urge to punch everything? Bullshit.
Of course the cure has to be the one thing he's been very careful about since arriving in New Amsterdam. Touch. Touching others that are displaced to be specific. The very thought of having his emotions manipulated by someone else's and vice versa makes his skin itch and the scar across his damaged eye throb.
He's no hero, but he's not the type prone to inaction either. When he sees someone looking like they're about to strike someone physically, he gets between them and their target, reaching out for their nearest wrist, whether they're displaced or otherwise.
When he speaks, it's calm with a hint of exasperation.] Alright, I'm gonna need you to take a deep breath, sing kumbaya in your head, or whatever you feel is relaxing. If you still feel like throwing that punch in a couple of minutes I'll leave you to it.
010. a visit from the una
[Worick would never consider himself a fighter per se; his skills leaning more towards information gathering and strategy. But he's had to learn to defend himself over the years, or die young. Besides, who needs brute force when you can predict things about your enemy, catch them off guard, separate their numbers, and pick them off one by one.
He couldn't do it all by himself, of course. Which is where his little rag-tag group, formed completely under duress to stop the UNA soliders, comes in.
Crouching over one of the soldiers he's just knocked out, he systematically checks their body over for weapons, armor, and whatever else seems important enough, or interesting enough to take. Glancing up at one of his 'teammates', he offers a cheery grin and nods towards the other knocked out solider laying a few feet away.]
You already strip him? Find anything good?
013. wildcard
[For anything and everything else! You can hit me up at NearTheHeart for plotting.]
worick arcangelo | gangsta.
[Bad username or site: worick @ arcangelo]
So who else here is taking a massive hit in finding future income opportunities thanks to the make-over those mysterious bastards who dropped us here gave us? Now I don't doubt that my charm alone could bring me new clients to set up shop with, but it's so much easier with my looks to fall back on. The shaved-looks-like-I-just-got-out-of-prison do just isn't cutting it.
So? Question for those who've been around this block way longer then I have, what are your hair-care, or lack thereof, secrets? Or should I just place a bag over my head for a couple of months and call it a day?
006. getting in
[Coming to in New Amsterdam had been a lot like arriving in Ergastulum for the first time, minus the nightmares, but feeling altogether just as traumatic. What had followed had been long weeks of trying to find his balance, trying to blend in while also staying aware of what was going on in the city. Ingratiating himself to anyone and everyone who could feed him relative information, hidden behind the guise of polite smiles and easy flirting. He had built himself a name once in one city, and he can do it again here. It just took a little time.
Getting into the club, in the end, hadn't been much trouble at all. He'd had his eye on it for the past week, discreetly watching the comings and goings of its most powerful clientele. His surveillance had given him names, faces, and the beginnings of a schedule he had painstakingly put together. Now, tonight, all it had taken to get through the door had been the right name in the right ear, a little cash into the right hand, and a small lie regarding his employment.
Inside, Worick sets himself up at one of the tables in the back, sitting so that his back is to the wall and he's facing the rest of the club. The perfect vantage point. Nursing a vodka shot, he seems content to sit back and watch.]
009. where there's smoke
[If there is one lesson Worick is learning the longer he remains in New Amsterdam, it's that it doesn't take much for everything to go to shit. When the fires had started he had been more then happy to leave it up to the firemen and other hero types. He's certainly no one's hero and isn't looking to be. But what happens when all your hero types attempt to save lives and come out of it infected by smoke inhalation and the overwhelming urge to punch everything? Bullshit.
Of course the cure has to be the one thing he's been very careful about since arriving in New Amsterdam. Touch. Touching others that are displaced to be specific. The very thought of having his emotions manipulated by someone else's and vice versa makes his skin itch and the scar across his damaged eye throb.
He's no hero, but he's not the type prone to inaction either. When he sees someone looking like they're about to strike someone physically, he gets between them and their target, reaching out for their nearest wrist, whether they're displaced or otherwise.
When he speaks, it's calm with a hint of exasperation.] Alright, I'm gonna need you to take a deep breath, sing kumbaya in your head, or whatever you feel is relaxing. If you still feel like throwing that punch in a couple of minutes I'll leave you to it.
010. a visit from the una
[Worick would never consider himself a fighter per se; his skills leaning more towards information gathering and strategy. But he's had to learn to defend himself over the years, or die young. Besides, who needs brute force when you can predict things about your enemy, catch them off guard, separate their numbers, and pick them off one by one.
He couldn't do it all by himself, of course. Which is where his little rag-tag group, formed completely under duress to stop the UNA soliders, comes in.
Crouching over one of the soldiers he's just knocked out, he systematically checks their body over for weapons, armor, and whatever else seems important enough, or interesting enough to take. Glancing up at one of his 'teammates', he offers a cheery grin and nods towards the other knocked out solider laying a few feet away.]
You already strip him? Find anything good?
013. wildcard
[For anything and everything else! You can hit me up at