"It's called Barbatos." Obviously he was going to correct the naming schemes, because let's face it, Mikazuki always did anyway.
"Cool."
Verity Carlo wrote:
"I commented about how that guy…" She gestures towards Dutch Kaldor, "…looks like he should be fighting a giant blue alien cat lady. Y'know, like in those movies?"
He went wide-eyed when he finally got the reference
(zero reference for what they're talking about btw)
The bar was quiet enough to hear the hum of the refrigeration unit, fluoresced by the lumen strips above. It wasn’t a place people came for company, more the sort of joint where you nursed a drink, stared at the bulkhead, and tried not to remember things you couldn’t forget.
Dutch Kaldor didn't sit so much as he occupied space, brooding with the menace of a ticking explosive, as a cube of ice floated in the amber liquid before him. The overhead lamp cast a hard cone of light across his shoulders, picking up the faint sheen that never fully left him. His combat vest, stamped with the golden skull-and-wings, was probably the most polished thing in the bar. Everything else about him was scarred, nicked, or battle-worn.
He held a stoagie between two thick fingers, rolling it slowly as if it were a thought he hadn’t decided to finish yet. The ember glowed each time he drew in, painting his face with brief flashes of orange against the deep-set lines of a man who’d seen far too many campaigns. On the table sat a glass of cheap gutrot, half empty or half full, depending on how optimistic you thought a man like Dutch could be.
" That stuff will kill you Dutch "
Stated a guardswoman, junior rank, another catachan like him, but Dutch Kaldor didn't really concern himself with rank, all he cared about was if you could hold your own in a deathmatch with the enemy, that earned you his respect. Because killing was Dutch Kaldor's business and business was good.
Dutch smirked, took a sip of the whiskey that was weak enough for an eldar to stomach it, not that he cared, a dull clink of ice against glass as he gulleted the entire thing with rough groan at the end, setting the glass back down. A knife was buried in the tabletop next to it. Not out of temper. Just out of habit. Dutch liked things stable, and a knife in a table made the world feel a little more nailed down. Even alone, he kept pieces of routine close, like mile markers on a road he couldn’t turn back from. The man was a mountain of scarred muscle wrapped in combat greens and an armored vest marked by a golden skull-and-wings sigil. His red headband was stained and frayed from too many close calls, and his cigar glowed like a tiny furnace between clenched teeth.
“Listen, rookie. The day a little stick of leaves can kill Dutch Kaldor is the day we all pack up and go home, because the universe would have run out of bigger problems. You want to worry about something dangerous? Try the fifty-meter death-beast Dutch Kaldor suplexed last week. Or the shell that exploded in Dutch Kaldor's face and apologized afterward”
He leaned back, exhaled a slow plume of smoke, and let his eyes roam the empty room.
" I'll give you my two thrones about it, After a deployment, everyone ought to have a Cigar, hrn, I tried it and well... the rest is history... I'm still smoking stoagies, I love it and he introduced me to something really good. And... I know now, the next question, knowing you, digging in deeper all the time like you're some inquisitor, you will say, What Does The Lord General think about that? let me ask you something, when the Lord General himself, has introduced me to Stoagies, what is the regimental commissar going to say? he's not going to say the Lord General made a mistake because the Lord General never makes mistakes, so therefore, it is okay, I can smoke stoagies in the unit, I can smoke stoagies in my base first of all, because the Lord General introduced me to Stoagies and second of all, because I'm a stud, I'm ballsy, I don't take shit from anyone... I smoke my stoagies anywhere I want, I don't have to find a hideout place.. like you.. hrahah "
The guardswoman sighed shaking her head with an amused grin, she let the man have his comfort, she did however see him put out his stoagie in the eye of a tyranid, though it would be venerable if it all didn't go to Dutch's head sometimes nevertheless it was on the battlefields that the man truly lived, truthfully he was out of his element here, in pacified surroundings. She couldn't help but think if there was someone she had to go on deployment with, she'd choose Dutch Kaldor, that guardsman was one mean mother******.
The bar was quiet enough to hear the hum of the refrigeration unit, fluoresced by the lumen strips above. It wasn’t a place people came for company, more the sort of joint where you nursed a drink, stared at the bulkhead, and tried not to remember things you couldn’t forget.
Dutch Kaldor didn't sit so much as he occupied space, brooding with the menace of a ticking explosive, as a cube of ice floated in the amber liquid before him. The overhead lamp cast a hard cone of light across his shoulders, picking up the faint sheen that never fully left him. His combat vest, stamped with the golden skull-and-wings, was probably the most polished thing in the bar. Everything else about him was scarred, nicked, or battle-worn.
He held a stoagie between two thick fingers, rolling it slowly as if it were a thought he hadn’t decided to finish yet. The ember glowed each time he drew in, painting his face with brief flashes of orange against the deep-set lines of a man who’d seen far too many campaigns. On the table sat a glass of cheap gutrot, half empty or half full, depending on how optimistic you thought a man like Dutch could be.
" That stuff will kill you Dutch "
Stated a guardswoman, junior rank, another catachan like him, but Dutch Kaldor didn't really concern himself with rank, all he cared about was if you could hold your own in a deathmatch with the enemy, that earned you his respect. Because killing was Dutch Kaldor's business and business was good.
Dutch smirked, took a sip of the whiskey that was weak enough for an eldar to stomach it, not that he cared, a dull clink of ice against glass as he gulleted the entire thing with rough groan at the end, setting the glass back down. A knife was buried in the tabletop next to it. Not out of temper. Just out of habit. Dutch liked things stable, and a knife in a table made the world feel a little more nailed down. Even alone, he kept pieces of routine close, like mile markers on a road he couldn’t turn back from. The man was a mountain of scarred muscle wrapped in combat greens and an armored vest marked by a golden skull-and-wings sigil. His red headband was stained and frayed from too many close calls, and his cigar glowed like a tiny furnace between clenched teeth.
“Listen, rookie. The day a little stick of leaves can kill Dutch Kaldor is the day we all pack up and go home, because the universe would have run out of bigger problems. You want to worry about something dangerous? Try the fifty-meter death-beast Dutch Kaldor suplexed last week. Or the shell that exploded in Dutch Kaldor's face and apologized afterward”
He leaned back, exhaled a slow plume of smoke, and let his eyes roam the empty room.
" I'll give you my two thrones about it, After a deployment, everyone ought to have a Cigar, hrn, I tried it and well... the rest is history... I'm still smoking stoagies, I love it and he introduced me to something really good. And... I know now, the next question, knowing you, digging in deeper all the time like you're some inquisitor, you will say, What Does The Lord General think about that? let me ask you something, when the Lord General himself, has introduced me to Stoagies, what is the regimental commissar going to say? he's not going to say the Lord General made a mistake because the Lord General never makes mistakes, so therefore, it is okay, I can smoke stoagies in the unit, I can smoke stoagies in my base first of all, because the Lord General introduced me to Stoagies and second of all, because I'm a stud, I'm ballsy, I don't take shit from anyone... I smoke my stoagies anywhere I want, I don't have to find a hideout place.. like you.. hrahah "
The guardswoman sighed shaking her head with an amused grin, she let the man have his comfort, she did however see him put out his stoagie in the eye of a tyranid, though it would be venerable if it all didn't go to Dutch's head sometimes nevertheless it was on the battlefields that the man truly lived, truthfully he was out of his element here, in pacified surroundings. She couldn't help but think if there was someone she had to go on deployment with, she'd choose Dutch Kaldor, that guardsman was one mean mother******.
"Wow, G.I. Joe at it's finest here..."
Ragna was currently drinking a cup of black coffee. He doesn't usually drink this kind of stuff: But that's what happens when you're the Grim Reaper himself. Coffee was one of his sources of comfort, in a way.
Ragna was currently drinking a cup of black coffee. He doesn't usually drink this kind of stuff: But that's what happens when you're the Grim Reaper himself. Coffee was one of his sources of comfort, in a way.
"Best not pay attention to him. Again hot headed air balloon," he said as he knew he was being ignored by this Dutch fellow. "If we met in a dark alleyway, I would stick a knife in him," he said as he wanted to draw a knife on the man to show him his knife.
Battlegroup Arpat's Decimator Pattern Heavy Bolters for Decimator Kill-Teams, taking the OICW and making it into a heavy weapon because you can have your HMG and Grenade Launcher in one package in the grimdark universe. Optimized for a "flush-and-shoot" role for enemies entrenched in cover and holding it's own against light armor and heavy infantry as well.
Blaze wrote:
"Best not pay attention to him. Again hot headed air balloon," he said as he knew he was being ignored by this Dutch fellow. "If we met in a dark alleyway, I would stick a knife in him," he said as he wanted to draw a knife on the man to show him his knife.
"Look, I'm not a street punk or anything like that, but why stop at a knife?"
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