Smithy: **WoW. Is it halloween already? At 5'9 and 27 years old Smithy is not someone easily forgotten. its not one thing.. so much as.. well.. everything. those boobs are fake. thats for damn certain. they move stiffly and unnaturally as she bounds about in cleated black boots. wait. why can you see her breasts? oh god praise Manhatten's toplessness laws. Tucked under a huge collared purple overcoat, blood red bandages cover her ribs and left shoulder, lumpy and wet against the left side of her body. tattoos of circiuts twine up her body and circle her breasts, progressing up her neck and crawling like a living thing up across the right side of her face, and forehead. her eyes are owlish, ringed with the dark circles that denote sleepless nights and iron deficiency, contacts blanking her eyes white but for small black pupils with scan her surroundings with mad intensity. her nose is somewhat roman, lips thin and tattood with circuitry, face like a reversed teardrop, skin pallid. Her hair is overly elaborate, long indigo chunks framing her face and falling down her back, layered over top of shorter hair swept far sideways into a radical silver sort of pagoda. An underlayer brushing her neck a different color still, dark green and braided with small gears and circuitry laced throughout. Moving down, she's hippy, wearing a clunky belt with a huge poisonous Mario mushroom as the buckle, belt loops stretched, she's wearing dark olive army pants with a good many pockets, loose and baggy. she'd maybe be mildly attractive. if she wasn't both sickly looking, and such a total freak that any appeal is overshadowed by sheer "what the fuck?!" factor.*** ((((app 2) (uncanny 1) (notoriety 1-ping for details) (fame 2 - Gunsmithing and illegal arms)))))

Smithy: *hobos. put in every game to steal your money, take your turf or give you bits of important information. for a price. in tonights case they were invading her turf. and by hobos she of course meant park staff. fuckers. magic having been flying around all day, as she constructs her base, sitting on her ass in the grass, chewing a gear and typing*

Michelle Morgan: She walks along the pathways in Liberty State Park, a small smile on her face. The rock chick is in a good mood this Saturday evening...a nice change from recent trauma. She's wearing a T-Shirt that reads "I'm a gay woman, and I don't like Bush. Deal with it." with a pitcure of the President, and a full-length green skirt, with sandals on her feet.

Smithy: *a streeeeetch and a twang of something metallic in her spine. mmm. the gun was migrating. yummy. she grinds the gear in her teeth. a twitch as she goes back to typing* Structural integrity.. Certified.. Planning stage.. Concluded... *she intones in a remarkably good computer voice*

Michelle Morgan: d10: Per+Alert: 7,4,1,6,3,

Michelle Morgan: She doesn't notice Smithy until she's quite close. Her eyes then pass over Smithy, and she blinks. Whoa.

Smithy: d10: per alert: 2,10,5,4,4,

Smithy: Terrain removal, initiated.. *she intones, gun greased fingers flying over the keys as she bleeds through her bandages, smelling of old blood and gun oil.. white eyes in a tattooed face jerk up and to the side, focussing on michelle as she gets close. *

Smithy: *grimey fingers hover over her keyboard, another hand hovering over a large green bit of oily metal at her side. better not be another parkie. she waits unblinking*

Michelle Morgan: She looks Smithy over, warily. Her hands smooth over her skirt, and she nods to the woman. "Umm...hey."

Smithy: *white eyes flicker over michelle, before the barebreasted maddie breaks into a minigun laugh. that was no parkie. though she looked familiar... she squints beadily as she laughs, tonging her teeth finally as she croaks* who joo N00b?

Michelle Morgan: "I'm Michelle." Something Sam told her suddenly resonates, and she blinks. "Let me guess...you're...Smithy?"

Smithy: Damn right biatch. *she beams. ah.. not so much a N00b, or at least an informed one, she springs to her feet in one violent motion, a bit offputting as she's suddenly just.. THERE.. like a laggy video game monster* Michelle Morgaaaaaaan.. yeah. ok.. I got this. *she nods. thats where the skin was from. she nods again more animatedly. recognition in mad white eyes*

Michelle Morgan: Oh, dear Gods. She smiles to Smithy, nodding a little to her, curiously. "You got what?"

Smithy: *she gives a mad face splitting grin that stretches her cheeks as she tilts her head so far sideways it looks like she'll break. this chick was famous = a plot hook.* What I got? I are teh 1337 HaXor n00b. WTF. *she scratches violently at the bandages, ignoring the blood bubbling to her ribs as if its old hat.*

Michelle Morgan: Fuckin' VA's. She glances down at the blood, eyebrow raised. "Are you all right?"

Smithy: Keen biatch. *glance to her wound, then a fake boobie jigglin shrug as she wipes the blood along a breast.* game glitch. perma gib. no BFD. *time to eliminate the obvious connections. Smithy kicks her laptop up into her hand with a disrespectful crunch, tapping in some code and flicking a vr monocle down* WTF joo be Michelle? Dead? soon to be? *minigun laughter, as apparently her lappy's going to give her the answer*

Smithy: d10: arete - li/ma scan: 4,6,5,

Smithy: (roll awareness if needbe)

Michelle Morgan: "I certainly hope not..." She regards the other warily as the VR gear comes into play. Oh, yeah. Someone's getting ready to to counter shit if necessary.

Michelle Morgan: d10: Per+Aware: 8,7,5,7,3,

Michelle Morgan: Okay, just a scan hopefully. She just watches as her Awareness goes off.

Smithy: *a cluck of her tongue. hmm. not dead. her eyes scan over the woman blankly.. then rivit on her purse. she licks her circuited lips. a .38 nodding begins* Puss gun. joo want a real gun you call Smithy.

Smithy: *to illustrate, she twirls out a rather large green gun, her insignia stamped on both sides of the handle.. 'FRAG' raised on the barrel. *

Michelle Morgan: "Thanks...I'll keep the one I have." She regards Smithy with a little bit of hesitant curiosity. "What exactly are you doing out here?"

Smithy: Setting up the rabbit hole, biatch. *she grin widely and half jumps sideways as she's reminded of what exactly she WAS doing out here. her head slams forward as she starts typing rapidly with one hand, other hand held up in a bloody fingered "wait" gesture*

Smithy: d10: arete: 3,9,9,

Michelle Morgan: Rabbit Hole...great. About twenty-five million interpretations of that one...

Michelle Morgan: d10: Per+Aware: 9,6,5,3,5,

Michelle Morgan: Oh, gods, what's she doing now? She watches, cautiously.

Smithy: *the cartoonish woman hums something that sounds like.. new age girl... ew... still typing away, eyes flicking to her camp and back as her grin gets wider and wider, teeth gleaming*

Smithy: d10: arete: 3,2,1,

Smithy: (wp spent) *smithy stiffins and holds her bones. oh no.. none of that.. sweat breaks out on her brow and she grits her teeth, typing a few more lines amidst grinding of molars, fixing her code* I'll fatal error ~you~ motherfucker...

Smithy: d10: arete: 9,9,2,

Smithy: *24 bit... 16 bit... 8 bit.. black and white.. a flicker.. and a portion of the ground is gone into nothing. Smithy pumps her hand with the laptop ito the air* w00t!

Michelle Morgan: She stares at the hole, sighing a bit. This bitch is getting vulgar, and in a bad way. "Ahh. Rabbit hole." At least she gets that, now.

Smithy: *a blink that clicks audibly and she leaps into action... she tosses some stuff down the hole, emptying pockets, etc, bandages, gears... was that a blowtorch?..down the hole it goes.. nintendo gun, joystick.. a hard clunk of something heavy, looks like a backup battery for.. something.... Smithy stretches and cocks her head with a twang and a clank of gears.* joo awake? *she gets the gun ready. she's decided slapping isn't working* cause.. joor not dead

Michelle Morgan: "Yes, I'm awake," she murmurs with a nod, looking around to ensure no Sleeprs saw Smithy's 'alterations,' or this conversation. "Obviously, you are, too."

Smithy: damn right. *at that her eyes get narrow, half moon pupils floating inside the white circuited slits* joo Game?

Michelle Morgan: "What do you mean, am I game?"

Smithy: *a roman nose twitches and wrinkles a little in disgust as Smithy grunts* Rp'er. fucking figures. you assholes can suck my digital dick. *shakes her head violently as she caaaarefully lowers what looks like a Flak Cannon into the bunny hole*

Michelle Morgan: "I'm sorry, I have no idea what you're talking about."

Smithy: *berretta laughter. she haaates when they play dumb. * sure you don't n00b. *she hops back up from her squat and thrusts a hip out in a ludicrous character pose, hands on hips* Listen. joo play how joo play, don't get in my way.. and I'll not gank you. Filch my kills or camp my spawn, and I'll frag your lamer ass.

Smithy: *seems reasonable to her. she nods, still grinning*

Michelle Morgan: "I have...no idea...what you're talking about." She repeats it, eyebrow raised.

Smithy: *a double take. was this chick suuure she was awake? naaw.. just a dedicated asshole* yeah yeah I got it. in character. just process it deep in those memory banks.

Smithy: *an eyebrow wraggles as she scratches her head with the barrel of a gun*

Michelle Morgan: She sighs, and shrugs. "You keep things like this up, Smithy, and the Technocracy's going to snag you. Just a warning."

Smithy: fucking mods got nothing on smithy. Men in black. Agents.. admins.. fucking lamers. all of them. you know where they are? *she gets a griiiin, mad eyes gleaming. any chance to take out a mod... she's thinking on it already*

Michelle Morgan: "AATR is their headquarters, downtown. Pretty well inpenetrable." She watches the woman, arms folding over her chest. "If you're smart, you'll stay away from it. You're not exactly subtle."

Smithy: *she's already imagining mushroom clouds. you can see it in her eyes, an absent nod. A-A-T-R. that had to be a clue for something. nice. her eyes flick suddenly to Michelle* Right. Thx 4 info lamer. Transmission complete. *she intones in compu-speak, nodding her head and shutting her lap top*

Michelle Morgan: She shakes her head with a sigh. "Well, nice meeting you..." Yes, that was a hint of sarcasm in her tone. She turns and starts to walk away.

Smithy: *music is cranked up on Her earphones as she makes a gun with her finger, squints an eye and shoots at the rocker, before geronimo-ing into her rabbit hole amidst a clatter of metal, to seal up her sactuary, gun shop and code port*

Michelle Morgan: Off and out of the park she heads. She should probably get back home.