It starts with a buzz, a flicker; a small but toothy grin as a light âyesâ is hissed gently under his breath. A fist balls tightly as the small door to one of the fuse boxes is slammed shut, grin still held on his face as the tall BLU admin strides his way back over to tarnished chair and moaning computer. As he sits, left hand brushes over metal framework, pushing one or two buttons as the jack to the computer is slid in to the port access.
Heâs in.
Jakeâs finger taps at the keyboard pointlessly, turning into a repeated drumming pattern over the keys, as he hopes to God that whatever the green writing is reading on his screen means they have control again. Well... time to find out.
Nervously, he reaches and slowly flicks each switch up, his face lighting up with self pride as each light starts to flicker on in both RED and BLU. Readings return to normal, temperature controls enabled... itâs all there and working! âYou did it Jakey boy...â
A feverish hand seizes the mic, switching it on before a sigh of relief wakes it from months of disuse. âIt about bloody time!â The words sound genuinely jovial for once, something unheard of from REDâs administrator.
His fingers tap away at the side of the desk while he contemplates his words carefully. Months in the dark--quite literally--had him forget his imposed business-like manner in favor of necessity, survival.
And now the power is back. No excuses; the base was up and running as usual, it was about time he sought back to his role.
âRight. First things first, sorry everything went tâhell over here. I ainât got much of an excuse for that... negligence, and us blokes not knowinâ a damn thing about electronics, for starters.
Also worth mentioninâ, weâre down a few men. Followinâ recent events, BLUâs sniper Xander, BSN-120334, as well as both REDâs pyros are going tâbe leavinâ us. Itâs... a shame, I canât lie.Â
Next up, as you may have noticed, our powerâs back online! And along with that, respawnâs back up. Now, for... reasons, and I donât just mean celebratinâ, respawn going târemain on at all times for now on. Itâs for safety, but donât get too used tâit.Â
Speakinâ of safety: teleporters. Call it lockdown, but teleportation out of the base--either to other bases or the wider area--is strictly prohibited. If any of yous have cars, or any other means of transportation, we advise you take full advantage of it. Plus, weâve still got a train up and runninâ, I remind you. And finally--â
More tapping; delving back into his mind for exactly what to say is harder than heâd anticipated, especially with no notes. âFinally... anyone thinkinâ of going on holiday--vacation over Easter, tâsee family or the like, we advise you hand in your papers directly to us by the thirty-first of this month. I say us, I mean BLUâs admin. He ainât exactly hard tâmiss.â
And neither was REDâs admin. He had his reasons, of course. Dry laughter ends the feed on a heightened note, if nothing else--but the mere notion of having electricity once more should render that note unnecessary to most mercenaries.
[ OOC! ]
Hello, hello! Long time no see. We do hope that all your classes are going well and you're not all too stressed with finals coming up. As you can see, the power is now back on and things are starting to change; coming Easter this blog will be updated again and the whole story will hopefully become all clear to you. Until then, good luck, as always.
We've also cleaned up some space here, as we feel like certain users will not be returning... so feel free to spread the word, as RED seems to frequently lacking in members.
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In all seriousness Iâve been dashwatching Sydney for a while and holy frick the guy is adorable. So heh, the feelingâs mutual! Iâm always up for starting something whenever you are \o/ ]]
Hearing the sound behind him, he jumps and spins around in the same motion, hand already armed with a syringe full of xylezine. He notices the red uniform just in time not to waste the sedative and relaxes only enough to be absolutely furious.
âNever. Approach me from behind again. Vhat do you vant.â
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Janeâs hands are not smooth nor soft in almost any way; theyâre working manâs hands. Rough, large hands covered in callouses, cuts, scrapes, and bruises. More often than not his knuckles are scabbed up from getting too heated from what was a simple misunderstanding or squabble among teammates.
Large, thick fingers and meaty hands are not good with delicate tasks, but have by now been hardwired to quickly reload weaponry - and have memorized the keystrokes on a telephone needed to call up The Rib Place. Despite how rough they are, they have their brief moments of gentleness: A thumb over a womanâs cheek; the broad, scooping motion of lifting a child into his arms; a firm but careful squeeze to a dying allyâs shoulders.
17. Is there anyone your OC would try to avoid on the battlefield? Why?Â
[[ No one at all! Heâll attempt to battle everyone and anyone he seesâI mean, it canât hurt trying in his case, so to him itâs worth the risk ]]
18. Does your OC get upset if their team loses even if they did good on their own?Â
[[ Oh yes, Matthaus is a very sore looser. Sometimes heâll even start singing the German National Anthem if heâs that pissed off. Despite this, he still blames himself for the failure. ]]
