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/tg/ - Traditional Games

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[ERROR] No.21127710 [Reply] [Original] [4plebs] [archived.moe]

You are a fighter pilot of the 501st Joint Fighter Squadron, and for the first time in about a million hours there's no obvious catastrophe hovering over your head. Loose romantic ends are being tied up, you're overcoming your hangups and everybody seems to be adapting to each others existence pretty well.

Clearly, its all going to blow up in your face at any goddamn minute.

Strolling down the wide cobbled walkway leading from Castle Barin's "keep" to the outer gate, you savor the warm, brisk breeze kicking up as dark clouds build in the North-East, over the Continent. The typical piss-drizzle English weather is darkening fast, and the sky to the south hardly looks any less brooding.

You're enjoying your first minute of real peace, while sober and awake, for a long while now... but you're not sure how to use it.

>Wat do?

>> No.21127736

how are our parents?
nb4 panzer

>> No.21127739

Get drunk, of course.

>> No.21127749

There is only one thing to do

>> No.21127750


Well, shit. Our sister's got to have set something on fire by now. Let's make sure it isn't anything important.

>> No.21127754

>The typical piss-drizzle English weather is darkening fast, and the sky to the south hardly looks any less brooding.


>> No.21127762

No trouble?
Let's generate some!
Me must find someone to shoot with soap.

>> No.21127763

Find Robin, ask how she's adjusting to war.

>> No.21127769

Let's just sit here for a bit and enjoy the quiet.

>> No.21127781

Assuming we're M.C. Young, let's make sure our parents are okay, and as is Robin.

And no one is making more waves about the fact that there was a human assassin after us? Or is that getting swept under the carpet because everyone else is doing the same?

>> No.21127785

waiting warmly

>> No.21127806


Where the fuck were you man?

>> No.21127810

Well obviously need to find some way to get ourselves back into trouble.

>> No.21127817

Check on our parents. We didn't get an update on them after they survived that air raid. We're gonna look mighty shitty if Ma was in the sickbay with a broken arm while we were banging the redhead.

>> No.21127830

We should probably go do that thingmajig with Sean.

>> No.21127836

Wait, do our parents still think Eila is our betrothed?

>> No.21127850

Probably, it's been like a month in real time, and some of the memories are a little fuzzy.

>> No.21127852

After that show Sanya put on? Probably not.

...we're gonna have to deal with that eventually.

>> No.21127858

ha ha oh shit

>> No.21127859

Oh, right, but weren't we also going to get Ian involved?
And maybe we should get the Old Watchmaker or Luke as the authority figure who will tell him to suck it up, he's sparkly?

>> No.21127875

steal a bunch of science shit from tesla. start putting it together in different combinations till we invent the internet. make a website on there about traditional games. run a quest on it about how the war would be like if the countries were slightly different and also there were no men around at all and the witches had to have zany adventures by themselves.

>> No.21127879

check on parents, then Minna.

>> No.21127890

Does anyone have an updated list of THINGS WE NEED TO DO?
I think talking to Seanya about his sparkles was one of them.

>> No.21127926

Okay, you lot are reminding me of things:

-Sean, You've got Sparklies
-Sanya/Elia, how much strain is there between the two
-Sister/Family, ARE THEY ALIVE?
-Assassin, what's up with that?

>> No.21127963

oh right, assassin is pretty big

>> No.21127978

You wander aimlessly, no real destination in mind. Like elephants, fighter pilots can instinctively locate food and liquid sources, and communicate between themselves in mysterious ways. You're somewhat confident of finding something interesting.

This time, however, it finds you. As you're strolling past the small copse of woods on one side of the island, a voice hails you from the shade.


You look over and see Trude sitting under a tree, back against the trunk, tossing a fifth of liquor from one hand to the other. Accepting her pseudo-invitation, you amble over and seat yourself against a tree trunk.

"How ya doin?"

You sigh, and close your eyes, savoring the warm, moist wind before the coming storm drives you indoors. "I'm exhausted."

"Didn't you just wake up?"

"Not like that."

Trude says nothing, but you sense she understands what you mean.

"Want to talk about it?"

"Not particularly," you say, and you both sit in silence for a while, watching the sky darken with stormclouds from horizon to horizon.

>> No.21128001

>human assassin


>> No.21128059


>> No.21128072

forever a scone

>> No.21128093


I like Trude ;_;

..kind of.

>> No.21128107

Trude > Minna.

There. I said it.

>> No.21128112

Trude has too many waifus. She should share some with us.

>> No.21128122

dibs on shirley

>> No.21128129

There's a lot to talk about, for sure. For instance, how your little sister managed to turn a bolt-action Springfield into a fully-automatic weapon. Or the man who tried to blow your preciously scant brains out of your generous skullcase. Or your receiving the Medal of Honor immediately after (that you don't think you deserve) even as the commander of the entire goddamned Air Force - and everybody else in the room - had their brains scrambled by god knows what. And, come to think of it, where did the Sharkplane go, or the reporters obsessed with it, or the gigantic beast of a flying boat you hopped over it, or...

You shake your head. It's a big war, and you're just one little part of it. But for now, for these five measly minutes, you can just. Fucking. Relax.

>> No.21128138


I want the one on the right!

>> No.21128141

Sir, I will fight you to the death.

>> No.21128146

And then hell breaks loose.

>> No.21128156

always a good decision

>> No.21128158

and then a skeleton pops out

>> No.21128159

Gentlemen, can we hold the images for after the quest?

Planefag, can we get a quick recap? It has been a while, after all.

>> No.21128160

Come at me

>> No.21128167


>> No.21128168

How many images have you renamed

They're all funny.

>> No.21128171


>> No.21128178

> planefag's made like three posts
> already spamming women in underwear and talking about nothing related to the quest

Ah, right, this is why I was glad it stopped.

>> No.21128179

Save your shitposting for later, homos.

>> No.21128188


>> No.21128200

So if nobody is going with small, blonde and perky...

>> No.21128217

Your sacrifice shall be remembered.

>> No.21128221

Useless people like Crix are why planefag took such a long break in the first place

>> No.21128228

>about to go to work
>I think I'll refresh /tg/ one more time...


>> No.21128246

You asked planefag personally, did you?

>> No.21128255


>> No.21128284

I'm going to post my images so I don't feel like my time spent on pixiv was in vain

>> No.21128286

Well then, I'm sorry that useless people like Crix and yourself scared him away.

>> No.21128301

Looks like a man

>> No.21128314

>Women in underwear
>Quest is about Women in underwear with planelegs fighting in WW2
I don't even. Seriously?

>> No.21128316

I already know that my being here is pointless so I don't bother posting anything. You should learn the same.

>> No.21128323

...where's the ironic shitposting?

>> No.21128328

Posts with pictures in them that have no relevance

>> No.21128330


He probably became frightened of all of the Americlaps thunderous applause whenever he made a post and lost his spaghetti.

>> No.21128335

I consider that bad fanon.

>> No.21128339


Hey, they got healed right up afterward.

>> No.21128342

"How's Robin dealing with things?" Trude asks you.

"... I don't know," you reply honestly. "Just because she acts all gung-ho doesn't mean she IS. I know she's thrilled to be fighting alongside her big brother and all, but..."

"That's the only thing she's still liking about it, you think."

You nod.

Trude sighs, and looks back at the sky, averting her eyes. "I..." She hugs herself tightly, the fifth lying forgotten in the grass. "If you repeat what I'm about to say to anyone, I will rip your intestines out through your asshole and strangle you with them. Do you understand me?"

"Not following you on the 'intestines' part. Just my colon, or the whole nine yards or-"

"I thought about deserting with Chris, after she recovered."

Your smartassery ignites in flames and dies halfway to Trude in a little puff of pathetic. You'd sooner expect Sean to tongue-kiss HellCow then hear somebody as stiff-backed as Trude even *suggest* desertion.

"... why?" you ask.

"To keep her out of this war," Trude says miserably. "To protect something *I* love, just for once."

"She's nine!" you say.

Your sharp vision catches the moist glint in her eyes before she closes them.

"Do you think that will make a difference, very soon?"

>The Allies won't sink *that* low. Come on.
>What are you getting at?
>... you might have a point.

>> No.21128344

No is debateable

>> No.21128348

As does the Borogravian high command.
Uniform jackets do that.

>> No.21128362

she strikes me as too lazy to go that far.

[x]What are you getting at?

>> No.21128363

You can debate whether it's shitposting, but that's not ironic in any way. That's just people posting pictures because they want to post pictures.

>> No.21128364

>What are you getting at?

>> No.21128369

I think if they're dragging her into this war, we are already fucked anyway, so it won't actually matter at that point.

>> No.21128372

>The Allies won't sink *that* low. Come on.

Oh god DAMN IT, ANOTHER ONE?! *ANOTHER* one of the witches is getting hopeless?!

>> No.21128379


>...you might have a point.

That said, we're holding them. It's bad, but we're still holding them. We might win this before it comes to that.

>> No.21128380

[x] What are you getting at?

She doesn't even know if Chris is a witch yet. SHIT TRUDE, GET IT TOGETHER.

>> No.21128381

Hence it's shitposting. Not ironic, yes, but shitposting nonetheless.

>> No.21128386

>...you might have a point.

>> No.21128387

>>The Allies won't sink *that* low. Come on.
UNLESS we wind up fighting a horde of alien monstrosities that take over most of asia and require the use of mechs to fight at any sort of effectiveness

>> No.21128398

So why did you post a picture about ironic shitposting being just as bad as normal shitposting if there's no ironic shitposting?

>> No.21128400


yeah, you probably got a point,

>> No.21128403

>>The Allies won't sink *that* low. Come on.

> You'd sooner expect Sean to tongue-kiss HellCow


>> No.21128412

The war situation isn't getting that bad. We're slowly pushing out the Martians that landed in England, and they've still got this major offensive they're putting together here.

>> No.21128416


>yfw Tortilla Chips and Strike Witches gets a crossover.

>> No.21128420 [DELETED] 

I didn't post that picture, friend.

>> No.21128425

>>... you might have a point.

Lets all elope with Trude and Chris, shit will be cash.

>> No.21128428


"The way things are going, the war'll be over long before they try to bring her in."

Historically, the war was over by late-Summer 1945, so I'd assume the Martian's will be defeated by around the same time. Maybe sooner.

>> No.21128429

>The Allies won't sink *that* low. Come on.
And if they do, we've already lost and both of us will already be dead.

>> No.21128430

all the chips are down, lady. gotta do what we gotta do.

>> No.21128432 [SPOILER] 

Say whatever you want love, we are just trying to read this quest, with or without witches. Stop with the negative waves

>> No.21128447

Please die. Thanks.

>> No.21128455 [DELETED] 

Then why did you jump into the conversation with my asking why the hell that picture was posted if you don't know?

>> No.21128470 [DELETED] 

Oi. Sperglords.
Quit serpging all over everything.

>> No.21128474 [DELETED] 

I just tried to answer the question.

>> No.21128479 [SPOILER] 

No because it rustles your autistic jimmies to post relevant images relating the the quest, as, last I checked, it's called StrikeWitchesQuest, Go back to France Perrine, you already lost.

>> No.21128480

We all are, every minute of every hour.

>> No.21128503

>>The Allies won't sink *that* low. Come on.

>this war

>the people are starting to get desperate



>> No.21128507

>rustles your autistic jimmies
Well then. You should probably go back to /v/ around now.

>> No.21128508 [DELETED] 

ITT: /tg/ does it's level best to make Planefag want to take his toys and go home and I can't blame him.

Stop shitposting and let the artist work you faggots.

>> No.21128513

>The Allies won't sink *that* low. Come on. Right?

>> No.21128520

>gb2 cancer

Yeah, sounds like you're cruisin' for a /v/trip yourself.

>> No.21128537

If planefag told everyone to stop bitching at each other, would they stop?

>> No.21128550

I don't see what I've done to deserve that.

Hah. No.

>> No.21128551

if they find out about us.....well just look at the hulk...we will be hunted down and locked away to become some science project to make more!

>> No.21128612 [DELETED] 

Then you're worse than I feared.

>> No.21128644

>> No.21128645

and its dead.

>> No.21128662

I blame the Communists.

>> No.21128671

Planefag probably just passed out. He;s known to do that

>> No.21128672

those damn commies

>> No.21128675

I think we should blame ourselves.

>> No.21128676


>> No.21128678

I blame the people who aren't communists.

>> No.21128687

>trusting russians

>> No.21128696

>IT ENDS...?

>> No.21128702

"... we're not going to send nine year olds into combat, Trude," you say, puzzled. "The war isn't going that badly. We've fought them to a halt and we're on the brink of pushing them back." That last part sounds a bit thin even to you.

"She won't be nine," Trude says, her tones miserable. "How has this war gone on as long as it has? They have some amazing technology, but they're still millions and millions of miles from home." Trude snorts. "The Wehrmacht could hardly keep a supply line from Berlin to the outskirts of Moscow, and that was against peasants led by political officers who's only combat experience was pressing pistols to the heads of the officers who actually knew how to fight. How has it taken us almost a year to merely *halt* them?"

You expel a gusty sigh, trying to blow out all the stress and doubt and fear you carry around on a daily basis; the war-weariness that usually lies buried under the routine insanity of being young and stupid in a war-zone. Scooting over the grass, you lean your back against Trude's tree, a sizable oak, and bump shoulders with her companionably.

"I felt that way too. After the Fitzgerald, I mean. I didn't actually expect to survive that, but even when I did..." you shudder involuntarily, remembering the sight of an entire goddamned Great Lakes freighter flying through the air. "And then I bounced a shark-plane that surfs on lightning over our OWN flying cargo ship with a genius lightning-wizard at the controls." You bump her with your elbow kindly. "We're not as far behind as you think."

"I get tired of thinking, sometimes."

>> No.21128721

"Mmm," you concur. "Sometimes its nice to just... let it slide." Which is what you've done with a great many huge, unanswerable questions since this war began. Civilians can sweat that; but you've a job to take your mind off things.

Shoulder-to-shoulder with Trude, you both watch the building storm over your tiny island, the natural allegory to your worry, not for yourselves, but for the ones you love most. And you both close your eyes and savor the warm, wonderful spring wind, the blessing that comes with the storm, hoping it'll carry some of your cares away.

And then Sean charges into view with a box of tape spools held high over his head while pursued by a jeep.

>Guess my five minutes are up?
>Fuck right off, I'm brooding and intellectual right now.

>> No.21128722

>Calling it dead
>after less than 20 minutes

It takes time to write, people.

>> No.21128739

>>Fuck right off, I'm brooding and intellectual right now.

>> No.21128744

>Guess my five minutes are up?

>> No.21128750

>Guess my five minutes are up?

Alright, time to go unfuck the Mick...

>> No.21128752

>Guess my five minutes are up?
Back to work, work, war, war, war.

>> No.21128755

>Fuck right off, I'm brooding and intellectual right now.
I get to do it once every other month, so fuck you.

>> No.21128760

man when the nuke is made, and we then have jet technology, and Shark is used to eliminate the final floating battle station, forcing a peace treaty, this war will end.

>> No.21128762

>Guess my five minutes are up?

Ain't no rest for the wicked.

>> No.21128774

>Guess my five minutes are up?

what did you do now!?

>> No.21128782

>>Fuck right off, I'm brooding and intellectual right now.

Goddamn man, its not even been five minutes, can't he go jam a potato up his own ass without supervision?

>> No.21128784

>Fuck right off, I'm brooding and intellectual right now.

This is a rare, peaceful and quiet moment. Fuck off Sean.

>> No.21128785

[x]Guess my five minutes are up?

Any particular reason why Trude was the girl to go to?

>> No.21128787

Hi you must be new here.

>> No.21128794

Fuck off, I'm being brooding and intellectual.

Being a pilot is rough.

>> No.21128828

>Guess my five minutes are up?
Back to work I guess

>> No.21128837

> spend all day at NY Comic-con
> come home to SWQ
best day

>Guess my five minutes are up?
I wanna know what the hell he's doing.

>> No.21128838

>Fuck right off, I'm brooding and intellectual right now.

>> No.21128840

Yes, very new in fact. Please, teach me more about your strange and wild customs!

>> No.21128850

TWQ when?

>> No.21128863


>> No.21128865

Well, usually when a new thread starts, we say "inb4 Panzer". That guy isn't here right now though.

>> No.21128878


Is that why AWiY is taking so long to update?

>> No.21128913

Fuck off, sean, we're brooding.

>> No.21128926

>Guess my five minutes are up?

>> No.21128928


>> No.21128931

>Fuck off. We brooding now.

Low blow that.

>> No.21128946

A Wizard is You, the quest that planefag runs on THP as Demetrious

Polite sage for no contributan

>> No.21128960

Fuck off, Sean and jeep, I'm brooding.

>> No.21128968

"Was nice while it lasted," you opine sourly as your radar operator runs like a mad bastard with a milk-crate of big tape-spools held high above his head. From around the end of the wooded copse comes the roar of a Jeep surging over the boggy, wet ground with considerable difficulty. Inside are several men wearing suits, screaming and swearing and hurling pencils in Sean's general direction as they bear down on him.

Just as you're formulating a plan of action that involves opening Trude's fifth and slugging it down while laughing madly at the dumbasses plight, a dark shadow flits through the trees with a stalkers slithering intent. Just as the Jeep is catching traction in the drier ground by the edge of the copse, the giant figure rises from the darkness of the trees and leaps in front of it so swiftly it almost seems to appear out of thin air. Sharp hooves sink deep into the wet turf as the forelimbs smash down onto the hood. The Jeep's rear wheels scream for a moment, then stop as the engine stalls and dies.

With air pressure dropping rapidly, even birdsong is absent, making the poignant 'calm' before the storm even more charged with portent.

And into that terrifying silence echoes a single, dreadful, hiss.

>> No.21128985


>> No.21129001

We should sell tickets. We really should.

>> No.21129013

Holy cow.

>> No.21129038

beware of collateral hellcow damage

>> No.21129043

You have seen burning planes empty out slower then that jeep empties of men. Clipboards and pencils fly out in a cloud of debris as they literally flip backwards over the seats to escape the dreaded Hellcow by the most direct route available to them, their shrill, high squeals more the sound of excess air being forced out of their noses by their ribcages contracting away from the fell beast more then actual, proper screams. The four men tear across the lawn faster then a Budweiser deliveryman with a sober Marine after him, and are soon lost to sight.

Satisfied, Hellcow removes his hooves from the dented hood, takes one suspicious look around, and starts cropping grass like nothing fucking happened.

You look at Trude.

Trude looks at you.


>> No.21129053


>> No.21129059

Let other people be crazy for now.

>> No.21129066



Drink. Watch and drink.

>> No.21129068

And laugh

>> No.21129070

Pat Trude's hand and say something amusingly corny about enjoying the day.



>> No.21129072

>Hey Trude.
>You said you wanted to take a load off?
>Watch this.

>> No.21129074


...Sean, why did you steal the reporters' tape?

>> No.21129076


>> No.21129079

See if Sean comes back. Take another drink.
If Sean doesn't come back, go and find him.

>> No.21129083

Today truly is my birthday. Thank you planefag.

>> No.21129095

Watch carefully. We must learn!

>> No.21129097

Observe. Each other.

>> No.21129099


>> No.21129102

There's still the matter of breaking the gnome news to him.

>> No.21129113

>Note to self: In future, always carry an easily accessible camera everywhere.

>> No.21129140


Take a slug of that booze, sit back and enjoy the show. Nice to not be the center of madness for a while.

>> No.21129151

It's been broken, like, three times to him already.

>> No.21129163



"Do you think we should carry around cameras with us from now on? That way, in the future, we could show future generations the kind of shenanigans we deal with to completely destroy whatever BS super-serious images that the PR departments will make of us?"

>> No.21129180

With all the stuff that happens to MC, I'm not sure carrying around a relatively delicate piece of machinery is a good idea...

>> No.21129182

Lets wait till hellcows a little farther away before attempting to force the gnome thing through his skull

>> No.21129203

I don't think it's been done definitively with either Sean running off or some other crap happening (very common for PF; "Plot development? Let's have some crap happen")

>> No.21129208

"Break it to him" as in "Break his skull". Maybe then it'll fucking stick.

>> No.21129214

With your philosophical, almost Emerson-like detachment from local timespace nearly complete, you can't summon the energy to disrupt the fascinating display before you. In a queer sort of way it feels like a grand stage, the lovely green expanse gently sloping towards the rocky barrier of the sea, that churning, crashing orchestra pit of waves providing soothing background while you and Trude sit comfortably in the darkness of the audience seating.

Trude raises her fifth questioningly, and you can almost read her mind. Bit light for a picnic, isn't it?

Unhesitatingly, you produce two nice, big D-rations from your pocket. Dinner AND a show!

Trude passes you the bottle and accepts a D-ration as Sean, who's too preoccupied to notice you, dumps the tape spools into a heap and begins to rip through his pockets for something. After almost a minute of frantic searching, his face lights with discovery and he withdraws something small, rectangular and metallic. He's about to flip the cap off the device, producing a small yellow can from another pocket, when you see him pause, confused. His eyes narrow, and your sharp eyes can read his lips with little difficulty as he mouths "E-W" in puzzlement.

After a moment, he shrugs, unscrews the lid of the yellow can, and is about to upend it over the spools when it happens.

The Pyledriver.

>> No.21129237

Oh god, what's on those tapes?

>> No.21129252

oh god what

>> No.21129264

Whatever it is, we should secure it for the good of mankind.

>> No.21129267

Wait... THAT Pyle?

>> No.21129268

The what.

Hellcow, you fool, what have you done?!

>> No.21129292


Stay quiet, this seems like prime blackmail material, I'm sure Trude would agree.

>> No.21129340


>> No.21129381

>Keep quiet
>Keep watching
>Keep eating
>Give no fucks when he finally notices us and comes over
>Keep eating

>> No.21129405

Today, on this day of days, our jimmies are unrustle-able.

>> No.21129413

There isn't an aviator alive who can't recognize the journalist who darts from the woods and ambuscades Sean from behind. The lanky man flexes like a bar of spring-steel under strain as he simply wraps his arms around Seans midsection and arches over backwards, bringing Sean with him and slamming the big Irish lout's skull into the boggy earth.

"Bhwauf," Sean comments as he chews the sod thoughtfully. You think he's opining that it needs more lemon, and make a mental note to ask him how he liked chewing on some cold turf for a change.

Meanwhile, the journalist is righting himself. He fetches the yellow can a kick and watches it tumble away, contents draining uselessly into the grass, then starts scooping up the tapes.

"Ernie!" somebody shouts, a rather routound gent in a grass-stained buisness-casual getup. "Ernie, you got 'im!"

"I sure as hell did," Ernie Pyle says, dusting off his knees. "I am not a cantankerous man, but I take my job seriously." You're suddenly very, very glad you refrained from exposure. Pyle is, indeed, a man not noted for fucking around. He's a man who can write the sweetest, folksiest stories about places he's visited in the course of following the ever-fluid front-line of a devastating interplanetary, interpspecies war of unprecedented destruction and horror. If there was a physical embodiment of giving no fucks, the fabled "nullfuck," it is quite likely this man.

As he gathers his tapes and prepares to leave with his routound companion, Sakamoto strides out of the trees with an expression of pure murderous joy on her face.

>> No.21129440


>> No.21129453

Oh boy!

>> No.21129457

>Sakamoto strides out of the trees with an expression of pure murderous joy on her face.
Yeah, we're staying the FUCK out of this.

>> No.21129460

This is one of the craziest days since the beginning, and it has absolutely nothing to do with us.
Something has gone horribly wrong.

>> No.21129462

I have no pictures of Sakamoto expressing murderous joy...

>> No.21129469


>> No.21129509


>> No.21129513


>> No.21129528

Sit yer ass down, that's Ernie fucking Pyle. The (war) Journalist to end all (war) Journalists!

>> No.21129533

Sakamoto Mio strides forth from the shaded woods, her magical eye smouldering red as she turns her naked blade in one hand, letting the meager light glint and play on its honed blade. Backdropped against the gathering storm-clouds, she seems to be rising from the choppy, turbulent sea, a Japanese naval War God made manifest upon the land. She levels her weapon and glares down three and a half feet of razored steel at Pyle with her glowing, wrathful eye.

"Hand it over."

Pyle snorts.

>> No.21129534

Mio has things in hand, it'd be for the best that Young stays at a healthy distance from what's about to go down.

>> No.21129538

Obviously we should be betting Trude on the outcome of the battle.

"In this corner, the man who gives no fucks whatsoever, And on the other corner, a small waif with a katana! And no pants!"

"Let's get ready to RUMBLE!!"

>> No.21129539


>> No.21129549

...they have audio/video of the two fucking. Calling it now.

>> No.21129560

Plye is gonna kick her ass

>> No.21129568


We'd need some stakes if we are betting, 'm sure Trude can think of suitable bets as I for one cannot think as to what we have on hand.

>> No.21129589

We should. But we should also be quiet about it, not being particularly suicidal.

Also, could someone clarify for my momentarily stupefied mind which tapes these are exactly?

>> No.21129619

We don't know, but my best guess is they are videos of Sean on stage for the awards ceremony.

>> No.21129628

"If I win, I get your liquor, If you win, you get mine."

And then we turn to find out she just finished drinking hers.

>> No.21129629

Pretty much. Nobody, not even Sakamoto, could get away with fucking around with Ernie Pyle. That man gave no fucks whatsoever.

>> No.21129634

We don't know!

>> No.21129639

Maybe we should let Trude know we may need to move some time soon. There's a storm coming, and the weather's looking nasty too.

>> No.21129641

Except, you know, the Japanese. Who killed him.

...ain't Mio Japanese?

>> No.21129646

we can't leave him to the wolves guys we need to save him. AND THE TAPES!

>> No.21129654

Calling it now: Pyle is a gnome.

>> No.21129661


Think of the blackmail material.


>> No.21129672

you must be insane to want to get inbetween Mio "gives no fucks" Sakamoto and her prey.

>> No.21129678

It's japan time

>> No.21129694 [DELETED] 

Go die, Crix.

>> No.21129698


>> No.21129703

Welp, better back up our bro. or at least figure out what the hell

Seriously, what the fuck is going on?

>> No.21129725

Obviously we need to use the Rommel Approach, and hit him the head with a piece of meat.

>> No.21129743

Shut up.
Sit back.
Enjoy the dinner show.

>> No.21129744


The Pyle Piper has lewd material of 'em

Or he caught the Potato Masher performing gnome-y shit.

>> No.21129746

To which 'him' do you refer?

>> No.21129776

no we need to save our radar man and save those tapes for black mail later

>> No.21129780 [DELETED] 

who's dis

>> No.21129853 [DELETED] 


I will kill you, rape the body, and take your mom out for a nice seafood dinner.

And never call her again.

>> No.21129860 [DELETED] 


>> No.21129880 [DELETED] 


>> No.21129882 [DELETED] 


>> No.21129887 [DELETED] 


That's nice.

>> No.21129926

"Bitch," Pyle states politely, "PLEASE. I am a war correspondent. I stride amongst death and destruction on a daily basis armed with nothing but a pencil, and the last time I met a Martian face-to-face, I wrote his eulogy with it by ramming it through his fucking skull... pardon my french," he amends absently. He hefts the milk-crate, clanking with film spools. "Trust me when I say, I can kill you with what's in this box. But I won't, because I'm a polite gentlemen. I will just make you wish I'd killed you for the full six months you're passing small slivers of aluminum in your daily ablutions. You'll never get close enough to use that sword."

Sakamoto considers that for about point-five seconds.

"Okay," she says, and draws her Nambu.

>> No.21129954

in b4 the Nambu jams

>> No.21129957

Guns don't kill people.

Video tapes do.


>> No.21129961

ere we go.

>> No.21129974


So Trude... do you think it will be worth it?

>Nudge nudge, wink wink, etc. so on and so forth.

>> No.21129976

Time to intervene.

Otherwise someone is going to die.

>> No.21129981

Then it jams and/or explodes.

Demetrious hates the Nambu.

>> No.21129982


>> No.21130003


Or we could set back and not escalate the situation further with out own personal breed of shenanigan.

>> No.21130007

Pyle's eyes widen with sudden, pure horror.

"Ernie, you... can't you... like the others-" the fat man stutters.

"You don't understand," Pyle growls. "We're inside the shrapnel radius!"

"She wouldn't-" the fat man's statement is truncuated by the whipcrack of a 7mm round zipping between him and Pyle. Ernie flings the milk crate at Sakamoto, and in the space of an instant vanishes from sight in a hail of cascading tape spools. His companion is significantly less suave, but manages to huff out of sight in due time.

>Speak up
>Stay silent

>> No.21130026

>Stay silent

Well that was neat.

>> No.21130028

>Speak up

"So, was this kerfuffle because you two slept together or because Sean is a gnome?"

>> No.21130029

> Speak up

Well, that was amusing. I think he thought you'd really shoot him.

>> No.21130030

speak up!

>> No.21130035

>Stay silent
Heck of a show.

>> No.21130037

Speak up

Comment on the giant brass balls Sakamoto must have to actually discharge a Nambu without a ten foot string and a blast shield.

>> No.21130040

>stay silent

situation does not require MCs input

>> No.21130042

Continue watching. Maybe crack a joke at Sean's expense.

>> No.21130043

>Stay silent
Sounds good to me. This is been the best show in weeks. Like hell were going to stop it.

>> No.21130045



>> No.21130046

Take another drink. Look to Trude, gesture with our head towards Sakamoto, see what we should do.

>> No.21130047

speak up

>> No.21130050

>>Stay silent
lets see what happens next

>> No.21130052

>>Stay silent

Dinner isn't going to eat itself, even less so if we open our fat mouth.

>> No.21130054

>Speak up
By laughing, of course.

>> No.21130059

>"Ernie, you... can't you... like the others-" the fat man stutters.


>> No.21130073

speak up or shoot our weapon in to the air

>> No.21130077

"Hey Sean! He took the Yellow canister!"

Let's stir up the hornets nest.

>> No.21130079

pretty sure he meant ernie should do something like this
at 0.45
cause he wouldn't shut up about how dangerous he was with his pencil.

>> No.21130080


You can't cheat in life

>> No.21130097


>> No.21130111

Look to Trude.


"Just another day on Sparkle Island."

Pass the fifth back to her.

>> No.21130125

So, we're pretty much in the eye of the storm now, huh? Everyone around us is getting the shit we have for the past week, and we're just fine. This won't end well.

>> No.21130141

stay silent

>> No.21130160

>speak up

Can't you two do that somewhere else?

I'm drinking.

>> No.21130189

Well, that's not too bad, I guess.

>> No.21130207

why do you hate tomoko

>> No.21130208

"What's on the tapes? Did you two finally fuck, or did Sean's magic get caught on camera?"

>> No.21130225


But seriously, I'm just fuckin' around, man.

>> No.21130231

Where's her other arm?

Crix, are you stealing arms now?

>> No.21130255

With your radar operator semi-conscious and the object of his issues so close at hand, you're tempted to intervene. But the surrealistic zen of the moment has reached such an aggressively tranquil dominance you can hardly stir. The thought you had earlier, that perhaps, just perhaps, this one will work itself out, floats through your mind once more.

"Sean?" Sakamoto asks, stabbing her blade into the ground in exactly the way that looks cool in movies, but is terrible for an actual blade. The Japanese witch kneels by your fallen crewmate. "Sean, you okay?"

"I feel like I just got my ass kicked by a sentient leaf-spring," Sean moans, slowly righting himself with Sakamoto's support. "I heard a gunshot... you drove them off?"

Sakamoto hefts her characteristic hearty, heart-stopping laugh. "They ran like thundershy rabbits when I put a round past their ears! What the hell were you stealing these for, anyway?"

"Oh," Sean said. "Those are the videotapes of the award ceremony. Can't let that last few minutes get on the airwaves."

"What? Why?"

"You don't remember that bullshit drama between Sanya and Moron Supreme?"

"I thought they played it perfectly," Sakamoto says, confused.

"Hello!" Sean says, rapping Sakamoto on the noggin with his knuckles. "Hello, Mio, anybody home? Sanya claimed he was her BROTHER!"

>> No.21130269

...Oh, SHIT, he's totally right.

>> No.21130277

She lost it in an alien base atack mission.Rookie vasques hit her with an anti tank rifle

>> No.21130297

Wait, which thread did the award ceremony happen in?

I want to verify this

>> No.21130298


>> No.21130299

Sean is doing us a giant favor and we should go thank and aid him.

>> No.21130300

What. Wait really? I don't remember that...

>> No.21130322

It's true, she did.

>> No.21130328

Eila introduced herself to our parents as her fiance. To get her off our back, we invoked Sanya. She called us her brother. Then she called Eila a Nazi. Then the aliens hit.

>> No.21130330


Time to stealth the fuck out?

>> No.21130332

Yeah, we should probably thanks him for this.

Perhaps a raincheck on the next Aileron roll?

... Nah.

>> No.21130339

as our fiance*

>> No.21130347

I fail to see how this is an issue, unless Sanya has a brother already. Or had one who died.
Oh god that's it isn't it.

>> No.21130350

To be specific, we invoked Sanya.

Sanya thought Eila was just toying with her heart like she was messing with us.

>> No.21130368

That isn't unsalvageable. Sanyan's family is stuck in Russia or dead or something, so she plausibly and adorably treats MC as a brother to cope and has absolutely no scandalous feelings for Elia.

The press will buy that, right?

>> No.21130383

Fuck no, they won't, and you know it.

>> No.21130389

"So what? They're both white!"

Sean gives her a lidded-eyed look. "Mio, Sanya's father is a famous piano composer. His lineage is well-known. Even *I* know that."

You snort rudely even as you appreciate the legendary gall on display.

"The reporters lapped it up!" Mio objects, hands on her hips.

Sean squares his shoulders. "Because everybody was getting a Martian Mindfuck at the time, remember?"

Mio's face clouds. "I... I don't actually-"

"Yeah, because mindfuck," Sean explains. "The tapes, however - you can watch those sober and unwhammied and when people do it's gonna get awkward fast, so I thought I'd... dispose of them."

>> No.21130399

maybe the real issue Sean is getting at is that if someone tried to assassinate MC they'd be happy to go after family members as well.

>> No.21130408

Did sean get the backup copies?

>> No.21130434

Another reason to destroy the tapes: lesbians aren't kosher just yet, and lesbian witches would be a scandal.

>> No.21130435

>tape in 1940s
>back ups
You are hilarious.

>> No.21130445

It's a good thing sean is so responsible

>> No.21130467

I admit I am not up to snuff on pre-electronic technology.

Are you saying that they PROBABLY didn't make a copy or that it is IMPOSSIBLE to make a copy?

>> No.21130468

Yeah, we get him a drink and never tell him why.

Well that is if doesn't do anything stupid in next few updates...

>> No.21130482

Very highly unlikely, is what I'm saying. Few things are impossible, but they can be quite difficult.

>> No.21130490

They need machines for that. Machines which are far too cumbersome to be carrying on a plane.

>> No.21130502

and a military base isn't likely to have them or allow the press to use them, I see.

Thank you gentlemen

>> No.21130506

"Well, that is an expedient solution!" Mio agrees, a dangerous twinkle entering her eye. "I happen to have a hand grenade in my pocket."

"You... happen to have," Sean says dubiously.

"My dress uniform," she says by way of explanation. "Put things in the pockets, forget they're there, find them next time you get it out, you know."

"Sakamoto, I find shit like LINT. A grenade is a little... big, for starters."

Mio snorts. "Well if you're only finding the PINS in your pocket, you've got bigger problems then your laundry, I'd think."

"... okay," Sean says, regaining his footing metaphorical and literal. "Lets just stand back and toss that baby, since Ernie Potter there dumped out my kerosene. You should do it, though. I'm not much good at throwing things."

"You never played horseshoes?" Mio asks, suprised.

"Irish-American family, Mio. I never got a turn before somebody got hit with a horseshoe and the fight started."

"Before or after the drinking?"


Mio shrugs. "Just set the grenade on top then. I'm an expert marksman, we can do it from a safe distance." She raises the Nambu towards the sky, slipping into another dramatic pose with little apparent effort.

And that's when Sean goes full bugshit.

>> No.21130530


Sean is just full of boners today.

>> No.21130531

>And that's when Sean goes full bugshit.
No he doesn't.

>> No.21130547


>> No.21130575

Oh for the love of-

Grab the fifth from Trude, pour it over the tapes, light them, and then yell "YOU OWE ME A BOTTLE OF GOOD BOOZE" at Mio. Then we walk off before she wacks us with the sword.

>> No.21130580

Shooting Nambu bad woman, just pull the pin drop and RUN/SHIELD

>> No.21130591

Yes very much this.

>> No.21130601

I support this action.

>> No.21130604

This, but without words. Just walk up, douse them, light them, walk away.

Cool. Smooth.

Like Keith Stone.

>> No.21130605


You would waste good booze during wartime? What kind of freakish alien infiltrators are you?

>> No.21130613

The best kind.

>> No.21130625



>> No.21130635

This, conserve as much booze as we can.

>> No.21130658

Fuck you it's for Sanya.

>> No.21130687

Booze or Sanya? This isn't even a choice. Burn the booze and walk away like a boss as the tapes explode in flame behind you.

>> No.21130690

Sean recoils from Mio, reflexively making the sign of the cross as his eyes lock on the Nambu. "Set it down slowly, Mio, and it might not go off!"

"... what?" Mio says, puzzled. "What's wrong?"


Mio's eyes narrow at Sean. "Are you insulting the engineering genius of the glorious Japanese Empire?

"FUCKING A!" Sean screams. "Mio, it's got a safety that requires both hands just to fire it, but doesn't actually keep it from going off from a sharp jolt. And if it misfeeds, and they always do, it likes to explode for shits and giggles. It was literally designed to kill its user."

Mio glowers at Sean, and she seems to grow three inches taller from pure indignation. "You ARE insulting the engineering genius of the glorious Japanese empire!"

"Mio," Sean says, his voice hard and cold, "I cannot in good conscience let such a valuable pilot and Witch continue to carry that pistol."

"Then take it from me."

>> No.21130697

I know you hate Nambus, but goddam

>> No.21130701

oh boy!

>> No.21130703

The original glocknade?

>> No.21130708


>> No.21130710

To be fair, it's all true.

>> No.21130713


>> No.21130714

Hey planefag, look at what your fans have done.



>> No.21130715

I hate to be Mr. NoFunAllowed but I think we are overestimating the flammability of drinking alcohol.

>> No.21130716


>> No.21130724

Glocknade would be better. At least it has 40S&W STOPPAN POWAH and works when you don't try to load extra hot rounds.

>> No.21130731


Thats what they are going to do, in a sweaty pile ontop of those tapes, and here we are with front row seats to the most imaginative way to destroy film.

>> No.21130733

Even so, it should completely fuck up the film.

>> No.21130737

Pfft. We've had a wiki for months.


>> No.21130743


For some reason www screws it up.

>> No.21130751

oh god he's gonna do it

I don't planefag knows that animu

>> No.21130781

Sean kisses her.

For one stunning moment, Mio is caught off-guard, both her eyes wide with complete and utter surprise. For that one instant, she looks like a young woman in love, not a hellion alien-slayer of the skies. The bulwarks of gruff attitude and natural, fierce aggression are dispelled by one moment of tenderness -

- and then she leans into the kiss, pressing her lips tight against Sean's, looping her arm around his head to press him tight against her. Her perpetually rigid, military bearing melts into sinuous, supple femininity as she seems to glue herself to Sean's figure. A rosy blush colors her cheeks, and her eyes, magical and mundane, begin to roll upwards as her lids drop closed.

Then Sean drops her.

Mio lays on the ground, breast heaving, for a good two seconds before she looks over at Sean to see what the hold-up is and finds him grimacing at the Nambu, holding it with his handkerchief.

"It's made by... Tokyo. Gas. And. Mother. Fucking. ELECTRIC."

>> No.21130791

Damn, Sean is looking to get a full-contact vasectomy here.

>> No.21130797

>Sean kisses her.




>> No.21130810

...if that fucker ever dares to call us dense again, we're gonna kick him in the balls.

>> No.21130811

Rolled 3

....clever boy

>> No.21130812

Oh lordy

We need to take the tapes and the nambu somewhere else and destroy both of them and leave these two alone.

>> No.21130814

Chuck the pistol, and get back to the lovey-dovey stuff.

Or you're going to a sword through your abdomen.

Best line would be. "Now... where were we?"

>> No.21130820

hey uh....when do we get a say in this/

>> No.21130831

Ruin the moment by yelling: Sean you're a leprechaun! Deal with it.

>> No.21130833

We would have, if we hadn't kept picking
>[x] Observe

>> No.21130843

I like this, though I'm not sure if we should cockblock him.

>> No.21130857


We decided to sit quietly and feel uncomfortable with Trude watching Sean and Sakamoto get their mack on, so thats whats going to happen. No choices until its no longer uncomfortable.

Besides, we're in the blast radius of the Nambu, best stick by Trude incase it explodes, don't you think there's been enough hospital visits?

>> No.21130876

Hit Sean on the head, take the Nambu and destroy it for him, and push him back at Mio. Then burn the tapes.

>> No.21130920

>"It's made by... Tokyo. Gas. And. Mother. Fucking. ELECTRIC."


>> No.21130923

You, the fighter pilot who's spent the better part of a year fighting aliens from Mars, stare uncomprehendingly at the first truly unbelievable thing you've seen in your entire life.

Once, you heard a pilot ask where his reflective belt was (he used it to bundle his kit together.) You've heard a pilot say "I've had enough." (Too much and you can't get it up.) You've even heard a pilot say, in all seriousness, "That's some real good marshalling!" when a ground crewman took one step too far in the predawn darkness and tumbled into an air-raid slit-trench half-full of scummy water and rancid England. And once, you even heard a pilot say "I hate my job" as he fired cute, harmless smoke rockets to mark targets for the men with real weapons.

But here, now, at long last, you are witnessing something which has no possible, logical explanation. The very fabric of space-time is being ripped asunder as you watch the stupidest motherfucker on earth hatefuck the fundamental rules of existence.

Trude speaks for all three of you.

"Is this happening? Is this a thing that HAPPENS?"

>> No.21130939



>> No.21130946

>you heard a pilot ask where his reflective belt was


>> No.21130962

Jesus fuck sean

>> No.21130963


>> No.21130969

Rolled 5


Burn tape on way to closet

>> No.21130973

> Ian
I'd imagine Perrine wouldn't approve?

>> No.21131023

Wait, has MC banged Trude before?

>> No.21131044


Don't you mean "Has Trude tried to rape us?"

I think the answer is yes, but I don't recall.

>> No.21131049

no we banged Minna and Krupinski and we are waifuing Minna hard at this point

Which is a shame because Trude is the best, but oh well.

>> No.21131051

The only one to know his lovin' is miss cupcakeski herself.

>> No.21131060


>Walk calmy towards Sean
>Gently pry gun from his hand
>Take tin as well

"... do continue, you dense motherfucker."

>> No.21131066

I wish. Better than that Minna broad.

>> No.21131071

>only cupcakeski
Apparently someone missed a thread or two.

>> No.21131075

"You - you are carrying a gun made by meter-readers," Sean says, his voice so cold the sound if it raises goosebumps on your skin. "Meter readers. Made. Your. WEAPON."

Mio blinks.

"Your life - your precious, irreplaceable life - is in the hands of slant-eyed ching-chong meter-readers." Sean's hands are going white-knuckled on the pistol, and you realize, with horrific dread, that Sean has stopped swearing.

That is never, ever, ever good.

"Mio," Sean says, his voice burred with blossoming wrath "Your combat prowess. Your majestic and terrible wrath, loosed upon the battlefield. Like a shark in a kiddie pool full of those little mistakes who cry for the entire Sunday sermon; horrific and just in your retribution. Your laugh, your dangerous, thrilling Valkyrie laugh." You stare unbelievingly as the frame of the Nambu begins to warp.

You couldn't imagine anybody doing it, but Mio does - she keeps enough wits to not only break the spell, but go for an opening as well. "You've got super-strength, Sean! You're - you're a-"

"I don't need super-strength because this pistol is MADE BY KNUCKLE-DRAGGING TURD-SNIFFING METER-READERS!" Sean roars, the Nambu's frame bending, little by little, into a slightly curved shape.

>> No.21131079

He and Mina did it in the closet, though with PF didn't imply it very well.

>> No.21131083


Best to make sure than to claim falsehoods.

>> No.21131094


Welp. He has to face it now.

>> No.21131101

>Sean is bending steel

...oh dear

>> No.21131106

Well, there's only one possible response to this:


Then start swearing at the bastard while he's shocked and get him to focus on the woman in front of him if he doesn't want another!

>> No.21131109

It could be that one of us misinterpreted something.

>> No.21131112

oh shit he is hulking out!

>> No.21131125

For bending a Nambu?

>> No.21131127

No way! He's Green Lantern!

>> No.21131129

"Dude, you're rending metal in your bare fucking hands, it doesn't matter how shitty the metal is, it's tough enough to fire bullets out of, albeit unreliably. You have super strength, stop being a bitch about it and accept that you're a gnome."

>> No.21131131


Let's be fair, it's really really shitty steel.

>> No.21131145

>"Is this happening? Is this a thing that HAPPENS?"


>> No.21131153


That's preposterous.


>> No.21131162

And that someone is you.

>> No.21131180

>next monday


>> No.21131181

And that's why MC walks with a limp to this very day.

>> No.21131184


its elegant in its symmetry. do eeet.

>> No.21131229

"What's next? Pistols made by typewriter manufacturers? So you can HUNT while you PECK?"

Sharp little pops come from the Nambu as the grips splinter and bust.

"Or perhaps signal-light companies! With big flashing lights on 'em! Red for empty, yellow for loaded, and green for loaded, so the enemy knows exactly when to kill you."

The barrel of the pistol is being bent down towards the grips in a "c" shape, lending a terrifyingly direct demonstration of the guns metallurgical quality, or lack thereof.

"But no. No. The crowning glory. Just for our little lovely female Witch, because she DARED go and play in a MAN'S world, lets give her a gun made by a SEWING MACHINE COMPANY! Oh ho ho how cute, female Witch with her sewing-machine!"

The Nambu is almost completely bent in half now, but Sean's hands are still shaking with anger. "Or is it just a translation problem? They heard all those tommy gun nicknames and went CHING CHONG CHEERIO LETS GIVE OUR MOST PRECIOUS WARRIORS SEWING-MACHINE GUNS FOR SHITS AND GIGGLES, TEE HEE!"

>> No.21131254

Sean is losing it

>> No.21131257

>implying Singer 1911s aren't perfectly serviceable sidearms

>> No.21131267

This is hysterical. Who's got more popcorn? I'm all out.

>> No.21131269

Sean is losing if

>> No.21131344

>kissing Sean in front of Sakamoto and Trude
>kissing Sean at all
>a good idea
Pick one and only one.

>> No.21131363


>good ideas

>> No.21131366

Going to go with "Kissing Sean".

>> No.21131388

That's in the past, he's not quite as retared as he used to be.

>> No.21131416

He's never been THAT retarded.

>> No.21131430

Tell that to the morons who try to make him so.

>> No.21131438

> All that shit with Cupcakeski
> less retarded than a drastic move to get a bro together

>> No.21131453

Okay yeah I'm going to vote against kissing Sean.
Also, holy fuck you faggots are being retarded today.

>> No.21131454

Sean tosses the almost completely c-shaped pistol on the ground at Mio's feet as she warily rises.

"Mio," Sean says, his voice echoing with sepulchral, final intent. "You are too valuable to be using pot-metal trash. If anybody tries to issue you that shit again, I will ram that ball of former pistol up their ass, right next to their head."

Mio looks at the bent-in-half gun lying on the ground.

"For me?"

"For you."

Mio looks up at Sean, and then she does the most terrifying thing she can possibly do.

She smiles.

Sean knows something is wrong. You can see the doubt clouding his features as the expected beating, berating, and/or scolding fails to materialize. For a young serviceman associated with you this is like waking up to find the Sun playing hop-scotch on the horizon with a jump-rope braided from the Milky Way. Bees buzz, birds sing, and you and yours do things that piss people off. Its the way God intended His creation to work.

Then Mio laughs. She throws her head back and laughs, long and loud, despite the impossibility of such a tiny girl producing such loud, powerful, booming GAH HA HAS! that blast and bounce about the landscape and the tense, charged air. Mio seems to embody the pent-up violence of the coming storm, her small, lithe figure crammed with energy, like the impossibly loud, arrogant, aggressive laughs that mark her every coming and going.

Okay, so THAT is the most terrifying thing she can do.

Mio digs her hands into Sean's shirt and leans close to him.

"Sean, I am going to fuck you until it's rape."

>> No.21131462

That would be like unto talking to a brick wall. I'd rather stick forks in my eyes than do that.

The stuff we did with cupcakeski might have been stupid, but it wasn't anything more than establishing who the alpha was, and while that is stupid, it could have been worse.

>> No.21131466

Lucky asshole.

>> No.21131468



Oh my~

Mio's my favorite

>> No.21131476

Approach, and push Sean on top of Sakamoto. Us and Trude can burn the tapes. We have a lighter, right?

>> No.21131483

Perhaps Trude and us should now quietly and very quickly vacate the area?

>> No.21131486

Drink Booze
Hug Trude
Look Sean
Get Tapes
Use Fire on Tapes

>> No.21131491


Yell "Get a room!"
Continue drinking.

>> No.21131494


Perhaps we should comment to Trude, and to Mio out loud, that what Sean has been saying can be construed as a very round-about way of saying that he loves her and does not wish to see her get hurt.

Maybe by shouting, "WE GET IT; JUST FUCK ALREADY!"

>> No.21131495

Good luck Sean.

>> No.21131496

I agree with you to get out of there and to do something more productive, such as checking in on parents, and what not.

>> No.21131497


>> No.21131498

>And Remington-Rand 1911s
>And Union Switch&Signal 1911s

>> No.21131504


We should reach out and hold Trudes hand, this is a terrifying scene of the end times.

>> No.21131512

dear diary. Today was a good day>>21131454

>> No.21131521

That lucky son of a bitch.

God have mercy on him.

>> No.21131531

Mutter to Trude, "You know, I was actually worried about the resolution here. Now, all that I need to worry about is getting his wheelchair to the widow for the next sortie."

>> No.21131554



STRIKE WITCHES will resume TUESDAY, regular time (i.e. a half hour after the scheduled start-time of 8:00 PM.) ROLL FOR ANAL CIRCUMFERENCE.

>> No.21131569


Oh god. She really IS going to fuck him till it's rape.

>> No.21131587

what the fuck am I going to do with these blue balls?

>> No.21131588

Archive is up on sup/tg/ you maggots.

>> No.21131590

Oh thank god that's over.

>> No.21131601



>> No.21131631

Will Mio actually rape Sean?

>> No.21131639

But which one? The Milf-lesbo one with the Kents? The NTR one with the Kents? The Threesome with Minna and Cupcake? The adorable ball of DIABEEUS that is Mack and Georgette?

>> No.21131661


She will try. She will try very, very hard to be so rough that Sean won't like it.

She won't succeed.

>> No.21131667


No, the up and coming one with Cookie and Socks. It will not be pretty.

>> No.21131697

So, she's going to go Monmusu Quest on his ass, and he's going to take it and demand more?

Or is it going to be "No, Mio, don't do this...

...why'd you stop?"

>> No.21131705

Well, as long as Tesla doesn't cockblock them from across the base (with SCIENCE), it should happen.

>> No.21131712

DAMN, IT'S BEEN A WHILE. Archive all updated n'stuff.


TONIGHT ON DEMONS OF THE PACIFIC: Dieppe sidestory. Oh yeah. THAT Dieppe. Bring your flashlights, cause it gon get dark in here. And maybe some Thunder and Lightning. iunno.

>> No.21131748

>implying anyone knows who they are

>> No.21131777

Rolled 1


>> No.21131794


Whelp. Sean's not gonna enjoy what happens next.

>> No.21131803

August 19th, 1942 05:15
Dieppe, France

A trio of witches, along with several dozen Hawker Hurricanes, sped through the skies toward the beaches of France. The lead, an older looking woman with a long, blonde mane adorned with an officer's cap, stared forward, utterly disinterested in the animated conversation going on behind her.

“Yeah. That sort of thing is why we don't let you near farms anymore.” A short witch with neatly-cut dark hair pointed out, words accented with a subtle French flair. “And- hey, where's your Bren?”

The other witch, taller, with long, wind-swept auburn hair, cradled an enormous Boys AT Rifle in her arms. “Harrison wanted me to pop a few squids for her. Figured this would be the best way to do it.”

“Yeah,” the smaller witch gave a light, reminiscent smile, “still miss the old gang. We had some good times. We should send them a postcard or something once we get back.”

“Hey! You two!” The lead witch called back. “I can see the beach from here. Action in five. Game faces, ladies.”

>> No.21131816

“Been able to see the beach for the past ten minutes, boss.” The taller witch called out, her eyes glowing the tell-tale turquoise-blue colour of magic. “And you've got this little fluff on your panties-”

“Tactical undergarments.” The smaller witch interjected, popping an unlit cigarette in her mouth.

“-and it's been bugging me since we left. Could you just, like, fix it or something? Please?”

The older witch looked back and shot the two a glare that could probably take lives. “You both ARE adults, right?”

The two rear witches looked at each other and snickered. The long practised routine between the three continued for several more minutes, until the first of the martian's signature purple tracers sped past. The formation broke and made for the beach, the witches watching as several Hurricanes spiralled into the sea below. The small witch lit her cigarette off of a tiny flame on her finger and shook her head at the mess on the ground.

“Alright, remember the plan, ladies.” The lead witch barked. “We cover the Hurricanes until they drop smoke, then we watch for bombers. Stick together and everything will be fine.”

A dull click sounded through the din as the trio switched safeties off in unison. Wendy Barker took a deep breath and adjusted her cap. Just another day. Just another battle.

>> No.21131828

The martians, evidently, were far more prepared than what was expected. The thin, silver forms of dozens upon dozens of martian fighters glistened over the horizon, slowly growing closer and closer. A loud crack sounded through the air as the witch with the Boys loosed a shot, sending one of the fighters hurtling to the ground. The other two witches pressed forward, keeping pace with the Hurricanes as they approached the beach.

“Dalton! Move up! You aren't gonna be hitting anything from back there, no matter how good your eyes are!” Wendy shouted back at the sharpshooting witch.

The older witch glanced back at the beach. There was smoke. That was good. The Hurricanes were doing their jobs. There were, however, no landing craft hitting the beach. Banking hard left, she circled out toward the ocean. Sure enough, there were the landing craft, still several minutes out and getting pounded by shore guns.

“Dupuis, on me. Strafing run on the beach guns.” Wendy signalled for the small witch and craned her neck to spot the other. “Dalton, keep them off us and see if you can hit any of the harder guns.”

The two others voiced the affirmative and the small witch, Dupuis, came up on Wendy's right. The pair nodded together and dove for the shore batteries, machine gun rounds tearing through martian after martian, sending sprays of green mist across their comrades. As the pair pulled up to reload, Dalton's voice rang out over the radio.

“Hey guys! Hurricanes got the order to pull back for a refuel, and I do believe I spy Spitfires o'er yonder.”

>> No.21131834

Wendy looked around. Very few of the Hurricanes were breaking, most were still caught in the anarchy overhead. She shook her head and ordered for the other two witches to follow her further over the channel for a loop around the fight.

“How long do we have until they hit the shore?” Wendy looked to Dalton.

“About,” the light haired witch looked out to sea, her eyes aglow with magic, “two minutes, give or take.”

“Alright. Until then, you do what you can to relieve the Hurricanes. You see one of those pricks, you latch on and don't let go until one of you is dead.” The older witch growled. The pair nodded quietly. “Good. Br-”


Dalton fired off a shot that sheared through what passed for a cockpit in one of the martian fighters, sending it to the ground. The other two witches glared at her.

“Kate. Please. I like the enthusiasm, but wait until I'm done talking, okay?” Wendy pleaded. Kate whistled innocently and popped fresh magazine into her rifle. The older witch flipped around to face the ongoing furball over the beach and licked her lips. It had definitely been a while since she'd been in a fight this exciting.

>> No.21131861

The witches each took off in different directions, Wendy choosing to head directly into the centre of the action. She quickly spotted a smoking Hurricane overhead being tailed by a pair of Martian fighters. The older witch grinned devilishly. This was what she had been waiting for.

Wendy set her sights on the closest fighter and swivelled onto its tail, chasing it through the surrounding chaos. Stray tracers flew past, many narrowly missing her, some managing to skim her arms and striker. Hurricanes and martians darted and buzzed through the air around her, each focusing on their own targets. The sound of an explosion to her front snapped Wendy's attention back to her target, looking just in time to dodge the flaming wreck of the Hurricane her target had been following. Her shield went up just in time to catch the fiery debris while she dove under the wreck. The hulking piece of metal seemed to stand still in the sky as she flew onward, catching an unwary martian fighter as it fell. Wendy made a mental prayer of thanks to the fallen pilot for sending one of the wretched squids to hell even in death.

>> No.21131872

Shaking herself out of her awed silence, Wendy set her sights on the fighter she had still managed to chase subconsciously. It didn't seem to notice her yet. Excellent. Levelling her Bren on the fighter, the witch fired a series of short bursts into the fighter, the impacts blossoming on its hull like tiny metal flowers. That caught the martian's attention. The fighter swirled itself downward in that trademark martian defiance of gravity, diving for the ground at a near ninety degree angle. Clearly the fighter didn't see that its opponent was a witch, one who was able to perform the same manoeuvres with ease. Wendy zoomed after it, firing off more bursts into its tail. The fighter swivelled again, righting itself just above the water, sending it straight into the path of another hail of bullets. Wendy watched them pierce through from above, and she could swear she saw a few sprays of green liquid coming through the holes, but the fighter kept pressing onward.

“Dalton, this thing isn't stopping.” Wendy called out over the radio. “Gimme a hit!”

“Going down in five, four, three, two, ONE!” Kate answered.

Right on cue, the thundering of machine gun fire filled Wendy's ears and the fighter spiralled off to the side, crunching hard into the beach. A trio of planes filled her sight as they flew across her view with those pointed wing-tips she'd know anywhere. Spitfires.

“Landing craft hitting the beach, boss. They need cover!”

“Roger, Dalton.” Wendy called back. “Diane, break and help me cover the beach.”

“On it, boss!” The smaller witched called back.

>> No.21131878

Wendy turned her sights back to the beach and saw the first of the infantry landing on the rocky shore. Finally. She was so filled with glee that she almost didn't realize what was wrong. She could see them. The smoke had lifted. They had taken too long and now their best hope of cover was gone. Men charged out of the boats only to be cut down as they left. Fine red mist now painted the dull grey of what little smoke remained. The veteran witch flew through the continuing fight over the beach and fiddled with her radio.

“Where the hell is the armour support?!” Wendy barked. “Those boys are getting slaughtered, damn it!”

“Late, just like everything else in this fucking battle.” Came Kate's sullen voice. “The fourteenth is being shot to shit out at sea and- oh for FUCK'S SAKE. REALLY?!”

“What's the matter Dalton talk to m- Oh. Hell no.” Wendy glanced back at the beach. Dispersed between the soaring forms of Hurricanes, Spitfires and martian fighters were the unmistakable forms of Steamsleds moving toward the shore.

“Alright ladies! Three to a 'sled, just like old times!” The older witch called out.

“Uh, Boss, you forgetting that it's just us now?” The smaller witch, Diane, spoke over the radio. “We can't take two at once like we used to.”

“So it'll take longer, doesn't matter. On me!” In moments the other two witches were at Wendy's side, and the trio soared back into the brawl.

>> No.21131887

Taking a few moments to pick a target, the three hurled themselves after it. Purple tracers zoomed by the witches' faces, and Wendy found herself using her shield far more than she would have liked. However, the witches still held the upper hand. Every time the Steamsled tried to break, it found itself staring down the barrel of either Wendy's or Diane's gun and eating a mouthful of lead.

Above the fight, Kate Dalton sped forward at a strong clip, patiently placing her shot. The witch took careful aim at what had always been assumed to be the cockpit. There was a distinct bulge on top of the craft, toward the front. This was where the heart of the craft sat. That was where the disgusting creature invading her planet was. Kate's eyes were good, but she dared not test the range of her rifle in such a circumstance. She focused down the sight. Five hundred yards. Watching the alien's every move. Four hundred yards. Her finger twitched on the trigger, just waiting to pull. Three hundred yards.


Wendy and Diane snapped their attention upward, drawn by the sound from Kate's direction. It wasn't the characteristic slamming of the rifle. There was a sickening crack and the distinct sound of something tearing. When they looked, however, the feisty witch was nowhere to be found, only a puff of fading smoke in her place. Instead, they stared downward, where they saw her slender, delicate form plummeting to the earth.

>> No.21131897

The two witches screamed her name in unison and broke from the target.

Kate shoved both hands toward the ground, desperately praying for a shield strong enough to cushion her fall. She ignore the searing pain in her lower body. She knew something was wrong, but there were more important things to consider at the moment. Such as her landing.

The two other witches shot through the air, each vying to catch their falling comrade. Both, however were only moments too late. Kate's body hit the ground with a sickening crunch. The witch weakly lifted her head, thankful to realize that the crunch was only the sound of her shield hitting the stones. It took a few seconds before the agonizing pain in her lower body returned. She didn't scream. She didn't move. She had no energy for that. Only a few thoughts surfaced in her mind. Pain. Lots of pain. And something was missing.

In moments something else slammed to the ground at her side: her crumpled, near unrecognizable Spitfire Mk V striker. It took another moment for her to understand what was missing. With a quiet, subconscious horror, she realized that it was still in her striker, or at least what was left of it. With that final thought, Kate threw her head back and blacked out.

>> No.21131908

Wendy had to pull Diane by the collar to keep her moving. It wasn't until the smaller witch saw someone carry the fallen witch's body that she looked forward and began flying under her own power.

Diane shoved another cigarette into her mouth and lit it from her finger, as before. “We gonna kill 'em all, boss?”

“Yeah,” Wendy's voice was cold and distant, she didn't even bother looking over at the other witch as she spoke, “we're gonna kill every last one of them.”

“Great.” The small witch flashed a toothy grin from behind her cigarette. “Cause you may not have noticed, but this beach is going to hell in a handbasket.”

Wendy looked down at herself. Dozens of small cuts, scratches and burns were painted across her and her striker. Diane looked no better. The red and grey background that the beach cast behind the pair only served to make them look even more ragged.

“Good.” Wendy finally answered. “What better place for a Demon, eh?”

Diane looked up at her superior. Her blue eyes were distant, with a gleam rarely shown. Diane smiled and nodded, her look laced with a subtle hint of what could only be pity. This wasn't Wendy Barker the forty-something veteran of two and a half world wars anymore. This was Wendy the terrified sixteen year old girl stuck fighting a war that had long been over.

“Let's show 'em why they call us Demons then!” Diane slapped her superior hard on the back in a vain attempt to bring her back to reality. The older woman turned to her and smiled, but her eyes still showed the same scared little girl.

>> No.21131916

The pair split and each found a target in overhead melee. Diane hurled herself after her's with a renewed fury. These were the monsters that hurt her best friend. Today they would pay. Wendy, on the other hand, lazily sped after another target, still not entirely aware of the battle around her. The smaller witch shot a volley into her target, tearing holes through the martian fighter. The alien vessel swerved for a moment but recovered to pull a hard turn on the witch. Wendy still hadn't chosen a target and was only shooting the occasional martian that got too close.

The fighter rounded on Diane causing her to dive in response, flipping onto her back to continue firing. More shots tore through the soft underbelly of the prick, but it continued its turn to face her. The witch raised her shield as a hail of purple screamed by, many of the shots breaking up as they hit the solid, glowing wall in front of her. She was forced to let her weapon hang on its shoulder strap as she thrust her hand out behind to form another shield. Another martian fighter tore past, inches away from Dianes tiny form. Diane hastily looked around. The human air cover was waning, and the martian forces were only growing.

“Wendy! WENDY!” Diane shouted over the radio. “I think the Spitfires are at the edge of their range and the Hurricanes are heading b-”

A high-pitched squeal of metal stole Diane's attention as she began losing altitude. She looked down and easily identified the problem. The propeller had been shot off one of her strikers and was now billowing glistening smoke as magic burned into the air.

“I'm going down- shit! WENDY!” Diane screamed. “HELP!”

The veteran witch could only watch from across the beach as her subordinate went careening into a field west of the beach.

>> No.21131920

“Di-Diane?” Wendy softly asked the air. Snapping back to reality, she took stock of the situation. The Hurricanes were all but gone and the Spitfire remained for only few precious minutes as they skirted the edge of their range. For the first time in years, Wendy felt a tear run down her face. “Diane? Diane?!”

The witch stared at the battlefield as she began to break into sobs. This wasn't supposed to be this way. A thousand thoughts rushed through her head at once. They only needed to take a port. More men rushed out of landing craft and into the killing fields. Wendy could only watch. It had been far too long since she'd seen bloodshed like this, and it was still too soon to see it again.

“DIANE?!” Her crying broke into wails like a child without her mother. “KATE?!”

She was alone. Smoke began to drop onto the beaches as more landing craft hit the shore. Above it all, a terrified, lonely witch cried. More thoughts stampeded through her mind. Why did they have to pick her? Why couldn't they send that new joint unit that was supposed to be formed? They could have handled it. She was sure.

>> No.21131930

The wailing died down into quiet sobs. She took off her cap and held it tightly. “P-please. Anyone? He-help me. Please...”

The grown witch held herself tightly and cried into her cap, if only to give herself something to hold on to. This wasn't supposed to end this way. It was just another battle. She had lived through a hundred before. Why did this one have to be so terrible? A couple dozen Churchill tanks emerged from the landing craft. Wendy continued to sob into her hat. She should have just stayed home. She should have just listened to Scarlet and Rose. The only two people left willing to follow her were likely dead because of her.

Wendy didn't hear the incoming rocket until it was already too late. Her shield barely had time to open before she was engulfed in searing heat. The force of the explosion sent her flying into the hard, rocky beach like a ragdoll. Her world turned black before she even hit the ground.


And that's a wrap for tonight. Pastebin here for anyone who wants it: http://pastebin.com/u/Grizzlyniisan Comments, criticisms, etc. welcome as always.

>> No.21131973

He was doing it again, dammit. The bloody Yank was trying to get himself killed. The incestuous Black Widow pilot had broken off from combat after taking a beating from a Martian- his little sister escorting them from the battle. Geneveve Bishop poured all of her excess magical reserves into her strikers, trying desperately to catch up to Anders’ Lightning, but the little Supermarines could only go so fast, and the American fighter was quite a bit more than “so fast.”

“Anders! Wait!” She called, watching him break off from the roiling furball, diving away from the furball over the newly-arrived American battleship. “Dammit! I can’t fly that fast!”

It took a few more seconds for Anders to reply, and when he did, his voice was tense, sounding as though he were speaking through gritted teeth. “Little busy right now!” A short pause. “Glider bombs. Barin… C’mon, you bitch, level!” he grunted through the radio as the Lightning came out of its dive a couple hundred feet above the choppy channel waves.

>> No.21131989

Genie followed the line of his trajectory. As her gaze scanned across the waters leading towards Castle Barin’s runway she spotted two glints, hardly larger than firebees, racing towards the yawning mouth of Barin’s hanger- her mind raced through what she knew about the Martian weapons, and as she did a cold fear gripped her. The payload on a Gliderbomb would be more than sufficient to level half the castle if it hit the right spot, and a hanger full of munitions and fuel was about as right as you could get…


Anders muscles ached and it was all he could to keep from panting with exertion. The Lightning wasn’t just at the edge of its performance envelope- it was beyond it, and the fighter bucked and vibrated as every tiny change of air pressure buffeted it with the force of a hurricane. “C’mon, baby, just hold together…”

As his Lightning tore across the sky, the first gliderbomb began to expand from a distant speck- he was faster by a fair margin, but they had a headstart. It was Highschool algebra all over again: If Lightning A was travelling at five-hundred miles-per-hour, and gliderbomb B was travelling at four-hundred miles-per-hour, how long will it take for A to catch B if B has a three mile head start? If Gliderbomb C is travelling as fast as B but has a four mile headstart, how long will it take for Lightning A to catch it?

>> No.21131999

Tearing his mind away from the equation of whether he’d close the distance in time, Anders glanced down at the ammunition indicator- he had 28 rounds left in the ‘.50s, and another five in the Hispano. He’d need to get close and make every shot count.

Get close to nearly a ton of high-grade Martian explosives. And shoot at it.

This was quickly becoming one of those days that were tricky to make it through alive.

‘Head back in the game, James.’ He refocused his attention on the lump of explosives and lifting surfaces that was growing ever larger in the front windscreen. He carefully lined the crosshairs up and pulled the trigger.

Anders involuntarily winced, expecting the rounds to detonate the payload, but as he passed by the now-thoroughly ventilated glider bomb, already lazily spinning away from its previous trajectory. He inwardly shrugged. ‘Well that went better than expe-“

He never heard the blast.

>> No.21132017

The sultry notes of Edith Piaf carried through an old phonograph, lyrics of La Vie en Rose punctuated by the hisses and pops of the record as the carried through the smoky O-Club. Anders enjoyed the notes as he leaned against the worn and comfortable leather cushions and sipped what tasted like very expensive Scotch.

James Anders looked around. “Well shit. Guess it had it coming sooner or later.”

The voice of his old, dead squadron-mate, Harry Weltson, drifted up behind him. “You wish.” The other pilot sauntered around to sit opposite of Anders, wearing his trademark wry grin. “Nope, this is just a temporary visit. Again. Seriously, you come here any more often and I’m going to take you off my tab.”

Anders leaned back in his seat, savoring another sip of his drink. “Yeah, I know. Figure only way to get scotch this good is to knock myself out doing stupid shit.” He took another sip.

“Speaking of which, if you don’t wake up soon you’re gonna get all the scotch you ever want.” He raised his hands like some cheap stage ghost. “For all eternity!”

>> No.21132035

Anders finished his drink. “Any advice from beyond the grave?”

“Don’t fucking die?” Harry’s grin became even wider and wry-er.

“Fuck you. You know what I meant.” Anders said, finishing his drink.

“Oh, you mean like who’s been sneaking into your room at night?”

Anders gave him a thoughtful look. “You know who that is?”

“We know everything up here. I gotta admit, though, it is damned good entertainment watching you freak out over it.” He winked at Anders. “So maybe I’ll let you know next time, eh? Until then: Protect them.”
And Anders was back in the Lightning’s Cockpit. Quietly, as if in the distance, he could hear someone yelling. He blinked and focused his eyes outside of the cockpit and saw the English Channel rushing up to meet him.

>> No.21132309

Who the hell was complaining about the sidestories not being DARK enough? You lot sure as hell took THAT to heart.

That said, I liked it!

>> No.21132330

>Anders finished his drink.
> Anders said, finishing his drink.

>> No.21133059

Oh god planefag I nearly got concussion from laughing at this

I fell out of my chair and broke my desk with my head

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