Weekend Warriors
Weekend Warriors
an original superhuman rpg
Welcome
Hello and welcome to Weekend Warriors. We are an original superhuman roleplaying game. Our focus is on interesting and compelling stories, told with strong and diverse characters. We have been open for three years and are always willing to welcome newcomers to our site.

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Need help coming up with a character, check out our resources page, or see our wanted page for wanted characters.

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Credits
Weekend Warriors was originally created by Terri / Dosymedia of RPG-D. Skin by Rosey / WinterSeaSpray of Shine. Color palette From Ashes by winterseaspray of Colour Lovers. Custom forum content was created by Black of Code. All content is the property of the poster. Copying, stealing or using content without the creator's permission is strictly forbidden. Beware the Agency is everywhere.
December 12 - Check out the update for new information!

October 17 - After the riots the other shoe drops.

October 14 - A riot breaks out downtown.
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 Signals, Open | December 22, 2014
Colton Carver
 Posted: Dec 22 2014, 08:18 AM
Quote
Bio Soldier

6'4" tall
Brown eyes
37 years old
Level Three
+, Bone Manipulation, Pain Manipulation
70 posts Written By Mori


It started with the AC unit blowing itself out in August. Colton had decided to wait out the repairs for a while, instead defaulting to rolling down the windows of the car and letting the torrid air of the late summer run through his hair as he drove from odd job to the fire station. He could weather the heat, could endure and suffer to save a little money. There were still bills to pay on the house, Clay's tuition still needed to be tackled, and it seemed like the price of food had gone up drastically since late September. The broken AC in the family car quickly became a small, tiny, insignificant thing -- an after thought to be considered only sparingly and only when there was nothing else to worry or think about.

Right now? The most pressing concern on Colton's mind was the soft, wheezing rattle that seemed to permeate through the night air. One muttered curse later saw him looking to the red-light washed windows towards the other cars, only to find that he was the only one left at the intersection. Of course he was. This was a bad part of town. There was also a curfew, but he'd been caught up at the station, and now it seemed as though his car was leaving him dead in the water. A flash. The light shifted from red to green, and Colton moved his foot from the break to the gas. He'd been expecting -- perhaps praying, even -- for the car to purr onward through the intersection to bring him straight back home and to bed. Instead, the car lurched forward slightly and gave a low whine before shuddering to a full-blown stop.

It didn't matter how many times or how vigorously he tried to get the engine to turn over: all that was left was the reedy whine and a small tendril of smoke from the hood. All he could do was laugh and watch as the safety of green switched off to yellow. He'd read a poem to Amy that morning -- something about street lights and what to do when they turned certain colors -- and now he was living the words.

When the light turns green, you go. So Colton pulled the keys from the ignition and stuffed them in his pocket. Fishing around the glove box bought him a flashlight, but he doubted there was much he could do to get moving without a tool box or some jumper cables. Getting a look was better than wondering, though, so he opened the door, jumped out into the street and shut the door with a squeal and slam of metal.

When the light turns red, you stop. The car had sealed his fate on that one, though. A click saw a beam of light from the flashlight, which was then jammed in Colton's mouth while he lifted the hood. He had been expecting to see a corroded cable, a series of damaged wires, or perhaps a leak somewhere, but all that drifted up into his face was smoke. It stung at his eyes faster than he could bat it away, and before he could stop it, Colton's chest rumbled in a cough that saw his flashlight clattering down into the concrete street.

"Damnit," he grumbled before easing down into a crouch. "Can't even get a break..."

He didn't hear the rush of footsteps, not until it was too late. Before he could even rise or turn around, Colton felt a blossoming of pain in the back of his head which was twinned by the rake of the grill against his face as he slammed forward into it.

"Man, you're lucky I got such a thick skull," Colton's laugh was low and menacing. Adrenaline helped pull him to his feet, but his feet staggered. Colors danced across his eyes in a hazy blur. Who hit him? Where were they? What did they want? What were you supposed to do when the light turned blue with orange and lavender spots?

"Luck's 'bout to run out when I find your sorry ass, though,"

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Henry Goodwin
 Posted: Dec 27 2014, 10:24 PM
Quote
Bio Soldier

6' tall
blue eyes
27 years old
Level Four
ghost form, self-molecular manipulation, self replication
384 posts Written By Dany


Being wanted was a fucking nuisance and took the fun out of pretty much almost anything Henry loved doing. Whereas once intruding in strangers' home had been a chill, joyful experience, he'd been faced with people pointing fucking guns at him at least thrice in the past month alone. They were all so angry and Henry didn't understand why. He was harmless, it was particularly written on his face! Of course in retrospective pointing out that trying to shoot a guy who could turn himself intangible -- duh! it said that on his poster, didn't it?! -- maybe hadn't been such a good idea. But apparently that only managed to piss off people more.

In the end, he'd gone back to stealing from supermarkets. Most people were too distracted by getting food to really pay him any attention and by the time they did, Henry was always well on his way to disappearing out of their sight. Easy as pie. Usually.

Except this time phasing through the frozen food section and out of the supermarket had made him end up right beside an Agent tag-team of two. At first he'd been terrified they had somehow known he was going to be there. Then, when seeing they recognized him, he'd -- well, he'd still been fucking terrified. Figuring out his ability wasn't working had been the rotten cherry on top of things (fucking negators!) and out of panic more than actual foresight, he'd swung his still open backpack at them, canned food flying everywhere as he managed to hit one of the fuckers right in the face.

Then he'd simply run as fast as he could.

He was running still, despite being pretty sure he'd been able to shake them off. Once he'd gained enough distance, his power had kicked back in, enabling him to zigzag through a couple of buildings and making tracking much more of a hassle for them. He was just lucky neither of them were capable of teleportation. That would have ruined his night for sure.

Fucking Agency, making him lose half of the food. His backpack felt too light now, his knees too heavy. All this running was fucking annoying. It seemed like all he'd been doing lately was to run. Run, run, run, and then run some more.

Breathing heavily, lungs and calves alike protesting, Henry chanced a glance behind him only to let out a strangled whine. Motherfucker, he was leaving breadcrumbs. Except he really needed those breadcrumbs. Those breadcrumbs meant Christmas food for a lot of people he cared about. Maybe he'd twist around and go back for them, it was worth the --

What. The. Fuck.

He hit something, hard. At first he was convinced it was a goddamn car, that was how much the impact hurt. But as the first bout of pain cleared somewhat, Henry was reminded that cars, in general, did not laugh. Or speak, for that matter. Releasing a groan, Henry bent forward and with his hands placed on his knees coughed.

"So-- sorry, man," he managed to rasp inbetween taking large gulps of air, "did not -- did not see you there." God, he was the fucking worst intangible man ever. Eyes darting into the direction he'd come from, Henry willed his legs to work again except now that he'd stopped, he realized he really needed to catch his breath.

Turning back to the person he'd rammed into, it was only then that he realized he'd actually pushed the man right into a car. Granted, it was a car that hadn't been moving but, but, but --

"Fuck. Are you alright?!" he gasped, Agents currently forgotten. He could have fucking killed the poor guy! How was he still standing anyway? Staring at the stranger with a slack jaw, Henry raised his hands slightly, trying to indicate he meant no harm. He really didn't want to piss off yet another person. "Sorry," he repeated, "I -- Sorry. I was just --"

Just what? Maybe it was better to be on his way before the guy strangled him alive.


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Colton Carver
 Posted: Jan 2 2015, 05:49 AM
Quote
Bio Soldier

6'4" tall
Brown eyes
37 years old
Level Three
+, Bone Manipulation, Pain Manipulation
70 posts Written By Mori


Colton blinked lamely as he struggled to stand straight. There was a figure before him -- one that was tall, and thin, and moving... shaking, perhaps? Motions and colors blurred together in a watercolor wash, bathed in a shifting backlight of bright yellow. Yellow. Yellow meant slow down. Stop before you barreled through the intersection and into oncoming traffic. Pull your fist to your side and keep it there. Yellow meant slow. Slow was just a precursor to stop. He'd banged his head into a stop sign when he was younger, but the thwack of his thick skull into the metal grill of the car hurt worse than a drunken stumble into red aluminum.

Stop passed to go, and Colton realized he'd been laughing and that the figure in front of him was talking. Words filled the air, but all that Colton could hear was a strange, slow hum that occasionally shifted into a snatch of a distinct word. Sorry. Man. Did. Not...something, something...what was it? Another blink and he had his answer. See. Again, Colton laughed. How could he not be seen? It was dark, true, but the hazards were still blinking on the car, and there was still the slow circulation of red, yellow, green to keep him lit up in the night.

"S'okay," Colton slurred at the sorry man in front of him, only to clutch his head with a hand. Shit. Was that another concussion? Was there a cash prize for most-concussed man in New Haven? It had to be. He hadn't been seeking a fight tonight, but damned if it didn't find him.

Except it hadn't. After a few seconds of rubbing his temples -- probably only bruised -- Colton stood and found his vision cleared, if only somewhat. The face that looked back at him was painted harshly in the red light, and the emotions written there were a complicated jumble for a simple man. Terror? Or was that tiredness? There was something about the face... a familiarity in it. He'd seen that face somewhere, but the answer danced out of the reach of his mind. Content to forget the mystery, the firefighter's eyes trailed down from the face to lines of stature. The man... boy... man standing in front of him had limbs that seemed too long for him. Arms stretched out. Hands were raised, fingers splayed. Stop, stop, stop.

So Colton lowered his hands and gave a curt nod, a signal that the gangly man in front of him could echo the gesture. If punches were to be thrown, it'd take more than an accidental shove to earn them.

"Told you... got a thick skull," Colton grunted with a quick shrug, only to lean back into the car that he'd just slammed his face into. "Takes more than that to put me down for good, but damn if you didn't give it a good try."

A glint shifted his vision down. Brown eyes slunk down vertically until the horizon shifted from the slackjawed boy's face to his feet, or rather the cans of food that had pooled there. The aluminum glittered in the green light, the labels a fuzz of block text promising cheap, quick nourishment. There was a different picture painting itself in Colton's mind, though. Few men had reason to run in a hurry through the streets with a backpack full of groceries. He'd never had the hands for delicate affairs such as thievery, but he couldn't turn his fists on anyone trying to feed themselves, much less a guy who looked like he needed a decent break.

There was a low whine of metal as Colton pulled his weight off the car and eased forward.

"You dropped your dinner," he explained with a small nod that sent a faint wave of dizziness through him. "Lemme help."

Before the accidental attacker could protest, he crouched down and busied his hands with the task of picking up the mess. Slowly, he collected the cans and offered them up to their owner: one container of tuna, another a foreign mystery meat disguised in aluminum and colorful labeling and...one misplaced can of cat food that caused him to give a guffaw of laughter.

He continued to laugh even when he pulled himself back up to stand, only for the laughter to die when Colton was hit by a sobering thought. Few men had reason to run in a hurry through the streets with a backpack full of groceries. Few men also ran unless they were running from something, or someone. Lately, someone was the more likely option.

"You got a girl waiting on you? Men don't run without looking less he's got a girl, or he's bout to be a father," Colton drawled, his head swiveling from left to right in an attempt to catch a blur of movement that indicated what would likely break into a fight. "Guessing that you ain't a usual case though..."

He also guessed that the likelihood of stranger knowing jack about cars was about zilch, but maybe the night had a more pleasant surprise in store.
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Henry Goodwin
 Posted: Jan 18 2015, 12:17 PM
Quote
Bio Soldier

6' tall
blue eyes
27 years old
Level Four
ghost form, self-molecular manipulation, self replication
384 posts Written By Dany


It didn't look okay. In fact, the guy in front of him looked far from okay. The feeling of guilt tripling in his chest, Henry eyed the stranger carefully as if unsure whether or not he was going to pass out after all. The man wasn't frail by any means -- hah! -- but the Ghost still felt the lingering shock of having rammed him into a fucking car of all things.

"Are you sure?" he asked, sounding uncertain as the stranger rubbed his temples. Half of him wanted to reach out and steady the guy but he didn't think such a move would be all that welcome so instead Henry just stood there, still staring and still feeling helpless.

Trying not to fidget under the man's inquiring gaze, Henry was relieved when the spark of recognition never came. Granted, he could still run -- probably -- even if the man connected his face to the face on the posters but Henry would rather stay and make sure the other man was alright.

Laughing rather awkwardly at the comment about having given it a good try, Henry scratched the back of his head sheepishly.

"Sorry," he said again before the whine of metal nearly made him jump again. Remembering the Agents, Henry cast a slightly nervous glance behind him again only to have his eyes rivert back to the burly man at his next words.

"No, no, no, it's fine, really," but the protest came way too late. Already the stranger had crouched down to pick up the fallen cans and, feeling awful, Henry bent to help or at the very least take the offered containers. He put them back in his backpack one by one, slightly relieved to find that there was still enough food for his run not to have been completely useless.

"Thanks," he uttered quietly, oddly touched by the guy's consideration. He was sad to realize he really wasn't used to complete strangers giving him a helping hand anymore.

Wrinking his nose at the cat food -- Mr Kingston better eat this one or Henry was going to throw a fit -- he wasn't as worried about the stranger laughing as he was about the moment when his laughter died away. Putting the last of the cans inside his backpack, the Ghost made sure to zip it up properly this time. It was better to be ready.

Another somewhat embarassed laugh escaped him. Oh, how he wished he would have been running because he was about to become a father. That would have been great. Except maybe it wouldn't have been at all -- his kid would most likely be a super too, right? It was a possibility at least and the thought of dealing with that in the current political climate was more than just a little terrifying.

"N-no," he agreed carefully, straightening and slinging his backpack over his shoulder. He was quiet for a moment, uncertain what he could say and yet figuring that the man in front of him would be putting at least some of the pieces together regardless of whether or not Henry remained silent. "I ran into some... trouble a few blocks away. It's cool now though." He hoped.

Not wanting to linger on this particular topic -- too much anti-mutant sentiment going around these days -- Henry cleared his throat and gave the stranger's car a look.

"What's wrong with it? D'you need help?" he asked instead. Henry was by no means a car expert but he'd certainly hitch-hiked enough in his life to have to deal with dying cars and flat tires every once in a while.

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Colton Carver
 Posted: Jan 27 2015, 03:00 AM
Quote
Bio Soldier

6'4" tall
Brown eyes
37 years old
Level Three
+, Bone Manipulation, Pain Manipulation
70 posts Written By Mori


The kid kept gawking at him and questions followed right on the heels of whatever reassurances Colton provided. Sure, his head was ringing slightly and stinging just a little at the temples, but he'd had harder hits than finding his face slamming into the front grill of the car. He'd survived and would continue to do so. Carvers were apparently good at surviving despite the odds and tough knocks life threw at them. Was he sure he was okay? Colton nodded, ignoring the slight dizziness that came with the action. He was okay now, but he'd be a lot better once he got settled at home and tucked into bed for the night.

"Sure as anything. Told you--" Ignoring the slight fuzziness that settled at the edge of his vision, Colton lifted his hand as he spoke. His fingers wrapped into a fist that he used to lightly, gently knock into his head. "Gotta' thick skull. You're more than welcome to take a swing at me later if that'll prove it."

The offer was delivered with a light smirk, although from the sheepish, cowed way that the kid was behaving, Colton doubted he'd see another blow from him. The beanpole jumped at the lightest stray noise and kept looking over his shoulder, confirming Colton's suspicions that at least a good chunk of whatever was in that backpack was stolen. Clearly someone's desperate attempt to rob the local Safeway had gone up somewhere at the getaway.

The criminal life was supposed to be behind him. Thievery and its consequences were supposed to be tales he told to scare his children into being straighter than he'd ever been, but he wasn't about to judge a guy for trying to get by. Not everyone had a job, much less enough to eat on a given night. Colton had heard horror stories about what had happened in Section M during the quarantine. Sometimes images of desperation haunted him in dreams, only it was his own family crammed and starving in the cubicles that some white-collar prick called "suitable mutant housing."

So instead of giving the kid a lecture or -- worse -- calling the cops on his cell phone, Colton waved away the protests and picked up each aluminum can from the street and handed them up before he stumbled back to his feet.

"No need to thank me," Colton said with a small shake of his head. "We all need a hand from time-to-time."

Times were tough in New Haven, and that was before things went to straight up shit. It was easy to pull the "every-man-and-mutant-for-themselves" card, but Colton had never been much for the easy route, especially if it meant ignoring someone in need. The kid -- how old was this guy anyway? -- didn't ask for his help, but between the emptied backpack, the nervous laughing, and the way the guy's head kept wheedling around to check his surroundings?

It was decided. Colton was going to try to help the guy who'd probably just given him a concussion. He didn't want a scuffle, especially not during a curfew, but it'd be a big damn lie to say he wasn't itching to throw his fist into the face of whoever Backpack had the misfortune of pissing off, especially if they were part of Tam's crew.

"Trouble probably wanted what was in your bag," he mumbled with a quick shrug of his shoulders before his attention was brought back to the car. The car that was still was emitting faint wisps and tendrils of smoke. His flashlight still lay abandoned on the ground near his foot, the surface of the plastic lens cracked from its fall.

"Dunno. AC went out a few months ago, and then the engine just up and died on me. Guessing it's a problem with the fan relay. Engine's probly overheating too, but I ain't an expert. Tell you what--"

Colton paused only long enough to pick up the flashlight on the ground and wobble back to his feet. When the slight rush of movement faded, he clicked the light back on and offered it out.

"You hold the light so I can get a better look, I'll get you a ride to wherever you're headin'. Sound fair?"
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Henry Goodwin
 Posted: Feb 1 2015, 01:33 PM
Quote
Bio Soldier

6' tall
blue eyes
27 years old
Level Four
ghost form, self-molecular manipulation, self replication
384 posts Written By Dany


Take a swing at the guy? Henry gave a slightly awkward laugh at the offer, brushing a hand through his hair. Like that was ever going to happen. The Ghost didn't think he was all too hot for having his own hand broken -- which was certainly how trying to punch the guy would end. If getting rammed head first into a car still had the burly man standing on his feet, Henry sure as hell couldn't do any damage. In the end, he preferred this encounter to remain the way it was: non-violent.

We all need a hand from time-to-time. The words were oddly touching. Not too long ago Henry had been very optimistic about strangers lending a helping hand, nowadays everything was different. People didn't do kind things anymore, which was sad even though it was something the Ghost understood too. The higher the price for kindness became, the less people would be willing to afford it.

One day, the Ghost told himself, that would change again too. Maybe not as soon as he would have liked, but one day.

"Hah, yeah, I guess," he admitted with a bit of embarassment in his voice. It was no longer true, though. Henry missed the days when all people had wanted from him was to have their stuff back -- now, most of the time, it was him they wanted. Whether it was because they recognized him as wanted or because they'd become witness to his ability, it didn't really matter. Too often the reaction was the same: fear, anger, accusations. It was sad. Stealing things had never made him feel bad and it certainly hadn't made him feel like a criminal but being a mutant... well, he supposed that was the point of what the Agency was doing.

Giving a nod at the stranger's musings about the predicament his car was in, Henry watched the other man pick up the abused flashlight. Wordlessly, the Ghost took it, still eyeing the stranger's wobbly movements with caution. He hoped... he hoped the guy really was alright. If he passed out, Henry was going to have to get him help. He didn't know how well that would turn out.

"Okay," he settled on saying, then added a bit more upbeat, "sure. Thanks." With his backpack zipped up and safely on his back, Henry approached the open hood of the car and squinted, trying to get a look inside while at the same time attempting to avoid the wisps of smoke. He then backed up a step and moved the light slowly, forcing himself not to glance over his shoulder again.

"See anything yet?" he asked after a couple of moments, curiosity in his voice.

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Colton Carver
 Posted: Apr 25 2015, 11:51 PM
Quote
Bio Soldier

6'4" tall
Brown eyes
37 years old
Level Three
+, Bone Manipulation, Pain Manipulation
70 posts Written By Mori


Colton waited, flashlight still in hand. It was dark, and he might have been taller than the kid standing in front of him, but he didn’t miss that look -- not when he’d seen it so many times in his life. Worry and caution. Be careful, Colton. His parents sometimes wore it when they slipped out of their high and remembered to come for a visit. His grandparents wore their worries constantly when he was younger, although his grandmother was the only one who really kept it visible as he grew older. Rocky worried -- wasn’t that what the phrase “lie low” indicated? And now this guy?

Colton wanted to roll his eyes. Sure, his head still smarted a little, but he was fine. He’d had worse injuries. This wasn’t a bloody crawl across a parking lot. This wasn’t waking up naked and bruised after some party. This wasn’t even him lying face-down and prone on a bedroom floor after one of his cousins tried to coax him out of bed just to see if he could walk without crutches (he made three steps before his bones gave out.) This was just some silly head wound, the swat of a kitten in comparison to tiger swipes. The concern only made Colton want to do something stupid to prove that he was okay, something real dumb that could make him puff out his chest and flex his muscles with pride.

But it was curfew, and this kid probably didn’t need the extra attention after a run like that. As it was, Colton was just relieved the guy even stuck around and took up the flashlight to give him a hand with the car. Maybe it was a scratch your back if you scratch mine kind of a deal at the moment, but the guy seemed nice enough. Sure, he was probably a thief, but Colton had been worse once upon a time. People deserved the benefit of the doubt.

That in mind, Colton turned back to the car and leaned down into the engine, batting away the smoke. It was easier to see now that he had a steadier source of light than the changing wash of yellow, red, green traffic lights. Mostly. The guy behind him got all fidgety on his feet for a few seconds, prompting Colton to mutter out a quick “hold it steady” that reverberated out of the engine before the light settled.

He saw it then. The name of the part wasn’t quite registering in his head, much less the exact nature of the problem. Alcohol and drugs had been a mistress once. Fighting was an illicit love affair. Helping people was a calling, but car mechanics? Colton could only claim to be a dabbler, and the specifics of what he knew had been knocked out of his head by being knocked face-first to a couple ton aluminum frame.

It was fixable, though. Well, a trip to the auto shop would be in the cards, but getting a temporary run to the house (and wherever this guy needed to go?) All he’d need to do was knock a few things back into place and hope for the best. Didn’t even need tools, just fists, hard bones and determination.

He’d stepped back, anchored one hand onto the car and was about to take a swing down into the engine when the kid piped up again and reminded him. Colton straightened back up and lifted his arms in a big stretch.

“Yeah,” he said with a grunt before dropping his arms and turning to face the guy. “Gonna’ do a quick patch job to get us home, but I’m gonna’ need your help.”

Reaching into his pockets, he pulled the car keys free and gave them a quick shake before tossing them forward. God, he hoped the guy wasn’t as clumsy and slick-fingered as he looked. At least butterfingers was better than calling the kid kid the rest of the night.

He made a quick gesture back to the door of the car.

“I’ll do the fix, but I’m gonna’ need you to hop in, start the car and see if it took. You gotta’ wait for me to give you the signal, though, or you’re gonna’ light me up like a damn tree and a thick skull ain’t gonna’ do me no favors there.”

He fixed the guy with his best attempt at a stern look. Clay and Amy always knew how to wheedle around that look and get him to crack a grin, but this guy didn’t know that. Right now, Colton was intimidation and muscle and expectation with one pulsing headache.

“Think you can do that?”

At the very least, it’d get him out of eyesight from anyone still chasing him, if anyone even still was.
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Henry Goodwin
 Posted: Jun 23 2015, 08:00 PM
Quote
Bio Soldier

6' tall
blue eyes
27 years old
Level Four
ghost form, self-molecular manipulation, self replication
384 posts Written By Dany


Henry caught the car keys, but mostly out of reflex. A little dumbfounded he stared down at the keys in his palm for a moment, as if unsure whether they were really there. After all, it wasn't every day that someone like him, who was clearly a thief, got handed the keys to someone else's car so easily. Not that Henry would be able to get far with the thing. Hell, anyone trying to sell it would probably get laughed at and, anyway, being an asshole towards kind people also just wasn't what he did.

At the stern look he received, the Ghost held up his hands. "Don't worry man, got no business with frying people," he reassured, then, fearing he sounded a little too obnoxious, he quickly added, "Gonna wait for your signal. Got it." Of course Henry could do that. He might not have a driving license, but that didn't mean he didn't know how to start a car (or how to drive one).

Making his way to the front of the car, he got into the driver's seat, put the keys into the ignition and then poked his head out of the window to look back at the stranger.

"Ready whenever you are," Henry announced almost happily, barely managing to add a 'bud' to the end of his sentence. Still, he couldn't help his improved mood. It was great to know he could still be of a little help somewhere.

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Colton Carver
 Posted: Jun 26 2015, 01:53 PM
Quote
Bio Soldier

6'4" tall
Brown eyes
37 years old
Level Three
+, Bone Manipulation, Pain Manipulation
70 posts Written By Mori


The stern tough-guy look didn’t last long. In some ways, the tough-guy look was all people would ever see when it came to Colton. He had managed to grow up big and burly, and even the cross of his arms over his chest caused people to wonder nervously about what they had done wrong or what he was going to do. Add the cruel curve of a lip and the glimmering promise of a fight in dark eyes? Well, people moved away real quick and stayed in line. It was what made Colton good in his previous work.

Tonight, though? Tonight the tight pull of his expression relaxed and he gave a chuckle at the younger guy’s words. Got no business with frying people. It was a serious thing, but Colton’s head shot straight towards his early attempts at making breakfast in bed for Rocky, and how the eggs had gone scrambled instead of sunny-side up like he’d wanted. Two sunny-side up eyes and a bacon smile? More like an exploded and impossibly runny mess threatening to run right off the edge of the plate and breakfast tray.

It was a goofy memory, but one that helped Colton relax. All he wanted was to fall asleep in his warm bed next to Rocky, but he’d have to get there first. Colton hardened the bones in his hands and waited for the kid to turn around and make his way towards the driver’s side door. He made sure to place one very heavy hand on the hood of the car. The kid seemed a decent enough sort and seemed to be all chipper instead of chip on the shoulder, but Colton wasn’t about to let himself get taken by surprise and lose his ride home.

Ignoring the slight lurch the car gave under the weight of his hand, Colton looked over to the window and tried to peer through the windows. It was hard to see into the car, though, even with the street lights and the slow-changing wash of green, yellow, red, green, yellow, red from the traffic light. Luckily, it wasn’t too long before his helper peered out the window and gave him the okay in a voice that practically chimed.

Green. The light turned green. Green meant go. Colton straightened up, narrowed his eyes down at the misaligned parts, and struck out with his fists. The collision of hard bones into auto parts brought a small tune of thwacks and thuds and grunts into the street, until Colton pulled back from the engine and wiped a bead of sweat from his brow.

His knuckles were stinging and there were dark splotches over the skin of his fingers that were either new-forming bruises or ground-in blood, but the work was done. Lifting a hand, Colton gave a wave to the driver’s side of the car.

“Kay. We’re good here. Give it a go,” he called, and with any luck the engine turning over and coughing to life would be the next sound to reach his ears.

((OOC: Mori does not condone trying to fix a car this way. Falcon punching the engine is nooooooot fun. >>; Aaaaand now I’m sure everyone in the board is wondering how I’m still alive.))
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