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Cullen's Account

Discussion in 'Character Journals' started by Punished Tacc, Sep 25, 2015.

  1. Punished Tacc

    Punished Tacc New Member

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    *The following is Cullen's account of his life, randomly typed into his CMD whenever the nostalgic, lamenting mood struck him. It is written in no clear, discernible order, which speaks to the random increments it is written in*

    I figure I oughta make a record of who I am, and what I done. Way things go out here, wouldn't feel right to get plugged by some punk and havin' people wonder what I was all about. Hopefully, no one has to read this any time soon.

    Full name is Cullen Maurice Delatour Fontaine. Not an Earth born like many of the humies I meet out here are. Never even saw the place. I was born on a backwater farmin' planet well outside council space or core space. People called the place "The Basket" but to be truthful, I don't remember the name of the planet. Grew up there too on that backwater farming planet. And on one of those, you either pick up a shovel and get diggin', or you pick up a gun and start shootin'. Tried a shovel, didn't much care for it. Took to the gun well enough, made a bit of a name for myself shootin' vermin and the like. Critters that would get into the crops. Critters and vermin turned into people, and the pay days got bigger. Wasn't much longer after that I left.

    Age is a weird thing. Even the aliens seem to know their age in Earth years. 365 intervals of 24 hours is a year. Wasn't quite the same back home. Seemed most people didn't care about age either. You were either old enough to work, or too old to do anything useful. I learned age was signified by those years, and a year was signified by how long it took to do a full round around the sun a planet orbits. Shit, if that's true I ain't more than 5 years old back home. Tried to do the math to convert that into Earth years. Too lazy to get anythin' accurate. I figure I'm somewhere between 38 and 42. 5 sounds younger though.

    Once I was big enough and had shot enough people, the big wigs that occasionally rolled into town decided to hire me on for the odd job here'n'there. Standard thug shit. Go here, rough that guy up, make sure no one takes that box, scare him, shoot him. Pay was good but shit, I got a bit of an ambitious streak in me. I took on the dirty jobs, makin' as much as I could till I could afford some good shit. Even buddied up with some of the other kids from that farmin' world. There was three of us at first. Called ourselves "Trident Squad". Shit, times were simpler back then.

    I got a taste for White Russians sometime ago. One of those, floatin' merchant stations out in the black ya sometimes see. Some guy with hair longer than mine and a fuzzy robe introduced me to the drink, not chargin' much and showin' how simple it is to make. Really hits my sweet tooth right. I wonder whatever happened to that guy.

    In a related note, that station is also where I got my taste for cigars and holodancers.

    Addendum; Me and Trident Squad used to hang around that station after every payday.

    Addendum; I'd be a helluva lot richer if I didn't do the above

    Once we had made a bit of a names for ourselves, me'n Trident Squad became the kinda "go too" group for our lick of space. What was initially 3 eventually grew to 5. We kept doin' the dirty jobs, not really carin' what they were so long as the pay was good. And those big wigs always delivered. I remember one job, me and the squad were sent to a moon to scout out a potential outpost. Standard cut and dry shit. Gravity was whack. We get there, and not a day in don't we find this weird tower thing. Had those flyin' critters carved into it. Before we could get close, we saw one of those birdmen fall of the top, and slowly float to the bottom where the poor guy was summarily shot. Not sure what became of the place after we called it in, but I later learned that was how those crazy Avians executed eachother, only that they weren't supposed to survive the fall. You'd think they'd look at the gravity before tryin' to throw people to their death.

    My first encounter with mojo was back on the homeworld. No idea how old I was, but I had hair on my balls so I figure I musta been up there. Some of the smarter types used some of the crops to make booze, makin' sure they made themselves into the stupid types in the process. We'd all meet up and get drunk off it, fuck around, growin'up shit. One of those kids had a baggy of the stuff, I figure now he musta got it from the bigwigs. Bein' the badass I was, I took a couple too many hits and walked through the crops butt nekkid fore awhile. Got to work early too. Never really much cared for it after that.

    A couple years doing dirty jobs for the big wigs, and Trident Squad was gettin' tired. I reckon so, this wasn't oo long ago. We were gettin' old, and useless. Sure, we had plenty of fight left in us, but we weren't runnin' and gunnin' like we used to. Bigwigs, who I now know as Spire, could see it plain as day. I figured the last job they gave us was a bit of a bone. A reward for years of valuable service. Go here, eliminate some drug crazed monkey men, go home. We got there, me and Trident Squad. Was simple enough, they weren't organized and were all centred around this tacky as shit manor. Shit hit the fan when our employers decided they'd rather just mop up the rest themselves, and took us out. None of that one by one shit. It was a huge build up for 5 minutes of stupidity and heartbreak. 5 minutes later, Trident Squad was gone and I was phonin' in backup.

    When I first met Jazz, I was afraid he was gonna try and seduce me.

    Addendum: His advances are relentless, I have tried to stir him into pursuing Dana

    Addendum: Dana is not pleased.

    Sigma Battle Group. Never officially rolled with'em, but we collaborated on a few jobs. Well organized, well equipped and skilled. Expensive as all hell too. They rely on the same tired strategies though. Once I had done a few jobs with'em, I knew their operation inside and out. I'm almost thankful it was them what hit Darkwood on Spire's behalf. Were it anyone else, I wouldn't have known how to get under their skin.

    We'd all be ashes against walls if it were anyone else.

    I'm not that old, I still got some fight in me. Kids won't like it, they're good like that. They got me this far, helped me build Triton into what it is, figure they'll help me build it into what it can be. I figure they can tolerate their boss goin' into the field to settle some scores once in awhile. It's only fair.

    Still got some fight in me. Think I'll grow a beard.
     
  2. Punished Tacc

    Punished Tacc New Member

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    I learned a long time ago that no one comes back from two to the head. Been a habit ever since. Remindin' myself to tell that to the green TSS operatives.
     
  3. Punished Tacc

    Punished Tacc New Member

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    Think it might be high time to start gettin' my name out there. Seems to me people have a hard time figurin' out who, er what I am. They talk tuh me, and end up askin' "Hey old man, who runs this place?" It's me kid! Me!

    Buildin' on that, some people can't seem to make the distinction between Olympus, and Triton. May need tuh look into markettin' tuh put up some kinda "Beginner's Guide to Olympus". They keep thinkin' I'm some kinda mayor and this here is my hamlet. That just ain't right.

    Double shootin' recently. Involved mostly birds. Fer a couple of feather heads that preach nonstop, they sure are quick tuh murder each other. I watched the tapes a couple times. One dumb ass bird with another dumb ass bird caused trouble, which made another dumb ass bird shoot one of the first dumb ass birds, and then a fourth dumb ass bird came and shot that dumb ass bird. One of those dumb ass birds bein' one of my executives. Can't blame the kid. Fer all he knew, that one dumb ass bird had just plugged him.

    Figured it was time to clear the air. Morris had history with laws 'n such. My basic frontier laws had no place here in this "civilized" place. Got him to write up some kinda document. I helped of course, but he provided the meat. Should make things nice and clear. This is a well oiled machine, with protection of my people and my property comin' before the feeling's of some gun happy nut case.

    We're surrounded by water, but I want a pool.
     
  4. Punished Tacc

    Punished Tacc New Member

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    If I have tuh eat one more crab, I think I might actually shoot myself. A man broken.