Gavril simply rushes at the tentacle-headed monstrosity, figuring that for the most dangerous target, and hacks in with his tomahawk.
Search Posts
When the aliens first appear in the car, Gavril does his best not to react... but then Bohan and Vasquez start moving, so his tomahawk comes into his hand and he's ready to attack.
Gavril sits on standby, ready to draw a weapon if needed, but otherwise passive. Vasquez and Stein are medically minded, and Bohan is certainly capable of looking around a train car. Having someone who might not be as obviously capable could be advantageous, and besides, there isn't much to do at the moment. Best to conserve energy and strike when necessary.
Once the whole team is awake, Gavril calmly pulls down the luggage case with his gear and opens it on a seat. He quickly removes his suit jacket and shirt to don the concealable vest beneath, and after redressing he slides the pistol and its suppressor into the hidden pocket of the suit. The tomahawk, snug in its holder with a special rig, goes around his midsection; the weapon itself fits mostly in the small of his back, all but hidden under his jacket. Once he's ready, he nods at the rest of the team. "I can stay with the doctor. You see what's going on, call me if you need help."
"I'll stay here," Gavril says. While Rosa checks on Doctor Stein, the Romanian moves to the other teammates, shaking their shoulders if they don't come to on their own. "Hey. You feeling alright? Something's wrong."
It basically works the same as a Wound--you apply a -1 penalty to all Trait rolls for the duration of the Fatigue. The nice thing with Fatigue is that it's easier to get over, though--simply resting gets rid of the condition, whereas Wounds need quick treatment or a long recovery period.
I'd wager it has something to do with the trance.
Gavril settles in for the ride, but when things start to go strange, he reacts about the same time as Richard and Naomi. "Something is not right," he mutters, touching his temples. He looks to Borax as the man starts his usual paranoia, trying to follow his quick and quiet instructions for identification. Finally, he blinks and grabs at a memory someone else can corroborate. "Eh, the interrogation. I stopped Chase from skinning the man. Vasquez knows." The man shakes his head and grunts before standing, finally noticing that none of the other passengers appear to be moving. "Doctor Stein? Hello?" He reaches up with one hand to steady himself as he steps over to the other man. "Are you okay?"
"I can stay with the doctor and Vasquez." Gavril cracks his neck and shrugs, trying to get used to his cover outfit. "It fits the role, and means more of us together."
I assumed tomahawk, survival knife, and pistol for Gavril, and then appropriate civilian clothing for his role as bodyguard/manservant/personal aide. That probably means a flexible, comfortable suit, or at least somewhat formal attire. Oh, and sick shades. Can't forget those.
Yeah, I'm ready to board the train. I think we've figured out our plans as best as we can at this point. Surely they'll all work perfectly, with no hiccups or surprises whatsoever.
"I could serve as, ah, luggage porter and bodyguard?" Gavril puts forward his suggestion after looking over himself, keeping in mind Naomi's comment about 'screaming military.' "It would be hard to suggest I am much else related to a doctor."
A Night at the Pub: Gavril laughs along with the others through the night, grinning at the high points of stories and nodding along with more somber moments. He offers an anecdote of his own here and there, but he avoids telling any sort of story of his own, at least for a while. Eventually the circle of storytelling comes around to him again, though, and between prior skips and prior drinks, the Romanian finally relents. The group agrees they want to hear a story of victory and glory, and after a moment's thought--and another swig of beer--Gavril leans forward.
"This was back during my training days with the Foreign Legion." The introduction is straightforward, simple, but hints at what goes unsaid--Gavril won't be telling stories from his combat days, at least not now. "You must understand, the Legion is very different from most military units. We come from many cultures, many lands. Backgrounds, languages, we all swear service together. It leads to a mixing of styles, of training. We all learn the basics, but each man adds some of his own experience to things. I knew some old knife tricks from my grandfather, an Arab shares what his family taught him about life in the desert. A good place to learn more languages, too." He grins and sniffs. "But there was one, this real fils de putain--pardon my French--a Belgian from Marseille. Every day when we drill hand-to-hand combat, he goes on about savate. French boxing, you know? Many others would call it kickboxinng, I believe, since you use the feet. We learn different methods for close combat, knife and wrestling, where I learned to use an hatchet. We drill and learn, but every day with him, the same. 'Why bother, I am a master of the savate, I cannot be touched.' When he drills with the others, always the same--he snaps kicks into them, always high and fast. "Well, rivalries form, same as any unit. He and I, we were the favorites for the best in that area, hand-to-hand, I mean. So, men start talking. Betting, wagering, spreading rumors. 'The Romanian is best,' or 'the Belgian could win any fight.' Me, I don't care, it's so much talk. But the Belgian, he takes it personally. An affront to his skill as a tireur. So finally, on the last day of hand-to-hand training, he calls me out. Wants to fight. He wouldn't leave it off, so I agree." Here Gavril takes a long sip of his beer, finishing the drink. He sets it on the coaster with a smile and nod. "Do you know something about high kicks? They are strong, yes. A good strong kick to the jaw will usually put a man down. But if you miss, it leaves you very open. Slow to recover." The Romanian leans back. "And when you see the same kick many times, you learn how to duck. The face when he missed was almost as good as the face when I punched him right in the..." Gavril's gaze lands on Rosa and Naomi, and he coughs. "Anyway. He spent a couple days in the infirmary, I got latrine duty as reprimand, and there was no more arguing or jostling for respect. A win all around, I think." The Romanian turns and holds up his thumb, signaling for another round of drinks.
Sorry--much like Jacob I've just been struggling to get something written that sounds at all decent and works for Gavril. I'll try and get it up as soon as I can today.
Sorry, I've been away from the boards basically since the last time I posted. I'm hoping to be better.
Gavril seems happy enough to chat with new blood, and he introduces himself with a handshake, a smile, and a nod. "Gavril Vasilescu. I was a Caporal-chef, Senior Corporal, Foreign Legion." The big Romanian speaks English easily, but with a heavy French accent--understandable mostly from careful pronunciation. "If we're talking specialties, I carry a SAW, and I'm trained in close-quarters fighting. I think I'm also our linguist, at least for the time." He stretches his shoulders, trying not to move too much to do so, and nods. "Some R-and-R as a team would be good. Get to know each other a little better." He pauses, then says, "I don't do trust falls, though." His tone might mean it's a deadpan joke... or it might just be a serious comment.
Hey all, posting this in all my games to let people know I'll be away for a few days. My family is headed to camp later today, and I won't have Internet or my computer while I'm there. I should be back and posting Friday afternoon/evening (Eastern Time), but please push the game as needed, botting my character if you need to do so. Thanks!
Gavril silently nods, agreeing with the plans so far. Inside, a part of him wishes they could have been made aware of this a little sooner, but that's how the life of a soldier works. You rarely get to see the big picture until you've already finished putting it together for whoever wanted it done that way. "What are our new recruits like? Military, police?"
Gavril switches from suppressive fire to an aimed burst, going for one of the Jeep's tires--if they can blow them out, then Lena won't be getting anywhere. Rolls:
Gavril scowls as Lena continues to run, and he turns to spray a volley of suppressive fire between her and the Jeep, forcing her to stay clear or duck around.
Gavril lets out a hiss as a bullet traces along his thigh, but he barely flinches even at the pain. More bothersome is the escape of the helicopter and the strange man onboard. With a growl, he turns his gun on Lena, aiming to cut out her legs from under her to incapacitate. Rolls:
Gavril keeps his aim on the man they're after, trusting his allies to bring Lena down before she becomes a real problem. Unless Jacob's grenade manages to bring the man down, the Romanian opens fire, spraying rounds across the man's legs--hopefully enough to incapacitate him, but not kill him. Rolls:
Gavril simply sets his SAW in position and opens fire, laying down a suppressing burst between the strange man and the helicopter--it should make him think twice about trying to get away.
Gavril suddenly lunges forward and says, "Hold on." He points up ahead and nods. "Hear that? A helicopter, up ahead. I'd guess it belongs to them." He turns to Jacob. "You have anything that can bring that down? A machine gun will do some damage to it, but maybe not fast enough."
Gavril simply checks that his gear is in order while riding along in the Jeep. Talk is all well and good, but it's speculation at this point--the team can only keep eyes and ears open and stay wary for potential trouble.
My apologies, I completely forgot/missed that we had an Advance. Gavril will also be picking up the Rock and Roll Edge--he's got some assault capabilities, and he's fearsome in close combat, but as the team's resident machine gunner I figure he should shore up his ability to do that well.
Gavril had remained mostly quiet since the previous day, due to both the tension in the group from his and Jackalyn's actions, and the trouble that brewed up overnight. He moved with the others during the search, letting some of the more directly investigative members take the lead, and now he nods at Rosa's discovery and thoughts. "Where is the most likely opening from the vents? We can cut them off there."
Hey, by the way everyone, our GM has given me the go-ahead to drop a line here that I've opened recruitment for a new game I'm going to run. It's a mashup of a couple settings in the Savage Worlds system, and I'd love to see anyone from here poke in with interest!
Gavril pauses for a long time, listening to the chatter over the earpiece while he stares at Malik. He only offers one brief sentence of his own, spoken to the man but clearly heard over the communication: "I'm not talking you into anything, Malik." Finally, Gavril reaches forward and ejects the magazine from the pistol, and begins slowly, methodically, loading the cartridges back in, one at a time. He remains silent all the while, and once he's finished, he replaces the weapon in its holster and stands up. "Think about your life, Malik. Think about the things you have done, and whether they have been worth the doing. I will talk to you again." The Romanian turns to the door and pauses, looking at one of the guards. "If he or his brother are hungry, get them food. Make sure it's halal." Those are his final words before he leaves the room and returns to the central chamber, where he removes his earpiece and takes a long, slow, deep breath, before he looks up at the others. "I hate interrogations."
"Lieutenant Kristophson is alive, actually," Gavril says, surprisingly calm given his earlier outrage at the man's injury. "I could have killed you, and I could have killed your man. We did not. But you mistake my offer, Malik." As he continues to speak, Gavril ejects the magazine from the pistol and begins removing cartridges, one by one. He sets them on the table before him in a neat row, showing clearly that he's not pulling any tricks. "You came here to fight men like me. To join a crusade of ideals, to fight against a capitalist West that you feel goes against God, and goes against the way things should be. Probably being raised in France did not help with that. Rather than do what you could to better your situation, you became radical and moved here to kill Westerners. I'm not insulting your decision. Every man makes his own way. But now your way and mine are at odds." Having removed the final cartridge from the magazine, the Romanian pulls back the slide, ejecting the round that was ready to fire. He catches it in one hand and holds it in the light. "I cannot say whether you've done the right thing or the wrong thing in the eyes of God. All I know is that you have caused pain for myself, my companions, and innocent people. I am certain that selling your work to an American is nothing good, nothing to be proud about as a warrior or a religious man. So no, Malik. I am not risking my life, not truly. I am giving you a choice: to repent, and tell the truth." Gavril loads the single cartridge into the magazine, slides the magazine into the pistol, and pulls back the slide, arming the weapon to fire. He then sets it on the table--still out of the other man's reach--and folds his hands. "I am giving you a choice. Tell me what you know, and you get this gun. One bullet to do with as you choose." His eyes are hard, uncaring. "Your choice, Malik. Do what you feel is right."
Gavril nods at Malik. "I thought so." He leans back and takes a slow breath, then shakes his head at the man. "That is not how this works. I ask questions. You give answers. But I can give you one for free, I suppose. Your brother is here. His interrogator is a good deal less patient and friendly than I am at the moment. That could change... but only if you choose not to cooperate." The Romanian listens to Borax's statement without any outward sign, but he does hear it and follows suit. "Tell me about the American. Edwards. What he looks like, what he offered you. Why you came here." Presumably Malik responds with silence, and Gavril leans forward. "Malik, I will make you a deal. You came here to fight people like me. To kill us or die trying. But now you are captured, and that is... that's no good, is it? We ask you questions, and to what end? Surely you know you will die like a dog, unarmed, helpless. No way to end for a man like you. So if you help me, I will help you." He slowly draws his pistol from its holster and shows it to the man. "If you answer my questions, no lies, no curses? I will give you the chance to choose your own end. To die with a gun in your hand, like a true warrior." He sets the gun on the table, just in front of him, well out of Malik's reach. "What do you say?"
Gavril leans forward in his seat. "Who I am and how I know you, the details, do not matter for you... Malik." He pauses again, wondering if saying the man's name will bring another response. "My companions and I are the ones who stopped you. We are the ones who could have killed you, and did not. Now, you are here, because we need you to tell us what you know." The big man shifts in his seat, as if gathering his thoughts. "Now. You were born in France, although you may not be French. I'm aware of the complexities of those systems. But you came here, to take up this fight, of your own accord. It wasn't the money, was it? I don't think it is. There is money in France, money elsewhere. You came because you believe. Am I wrong?"
Uh, we just circumvented the issue of torturing the second witness--both in terms of morality and in terms of "contamination." The idea behind my post was that we still let Jackalyn go in to face "her" prisoner--since her going back empty-handed would completely undermine what she's done so far--without actually having to cause harm to the other man. That second prisoner is unharmed and unaware of what's gone on so far--leaving him untouched and ready for questioning. As a note, presumably the rest of the team isn't 100% aware of what just went down, although putting two and two together would be pretty easy in this case. All in all, it provided an RP opportunity, some character showcasing/development, and let Jackalyn maintain an air of serious threat and danger without utterly compromising our moral ground.
Gavril nods at Borax and the others, inserts his earpiece, and steps out of the room... just in time to catch Jackalyn approaching. When he sees her turning to enter the second man's room, he steps in front of the door and stands still, waiting for her to look him in the eyes. "Lance Corporal Chase." The title sounds slightly awkward coming from Gavril's mouth, a combination of the pronunciation and not being one he's used to, but he forces it fairly smoothly. "I cannot let you harm this man. You started with the other before anyone could stop you. Personally, I think your methods are... functional. But only with the one man. And if I have the chance to stop you from flaying this man, and I do not, what does that say of me?" The Romanian pauses for a moment and then flicks the earpiece off. He drops his arms and regards the woman with a look that's understanding, if no softer. "I have a feeling you've seen what this kind of men do first-hand. The way you move, the way you act with them... I am not a psychologist. I will not diagnose you. But I will help you." He holds Jackalyn's gaze for a moment, and then calmly rolls up one sleeve. "I counted ten centimeters while you were in there. I assume you know what you're doing." - - - - - A few seconds later, the door to the second interrogation room opens, and Gavril steps in. His jaw clenches slightly as he closes the door, and over the earpiece the team can hear a quiet inhale. His sleeves are both fully rolled down, and it may just be a trick of the light but one looks to have a dark patch. It's impossible to tell once he sits down and folds his arms together, the sleeve hidden behind its partner. The Romanian just looks at the terrorist leader for some time, letting him sweat and stew. After almost three minutes, Gavril breathes and taps his fingers on the table, then begins speaking in Arabic. "I hope you're coming to terms with your situation here. Whatever you were attempting to do, you didn't succeed. We've captured you, your brother, and several of your men. We are already aware of most of your plans, so I'd give you a chance to explain what you wish, but I doubt you'd take it. Even if I spoke to you in a native tongue. But then..." Gavril pauses, leans forward, and switches to French with barely a beat. "To do that, I would speak like this, would I not?" He doesn't say any more, waiting for a reaction.
Apologies--this one slipped under while I was checking for games to update yesterday, and today I'm looking to be busy for quite some time. Hopefully by tonight I'll have time to post in.
That all sounds to be pretty much what I'd expect and be fine with, Borax. Sounds good to me--including the bit on our group being a little rough IC at the moment and that making sense. Sooner or later we'll have our bonding, but any good ensemble like this will have its bit of working things out.
"If we're ready to start. I'll speak with the brother. Leave the first man to Jackalyn, it will... chafe him." Gavril pauses and checks that his earpiece is still working. "If we're ready, I can go in."
Usually, yes, although it's up to the GM to decide exactly what. Usually it's some small but very problematic setback compared to what you were trying to do, like a gun jamming, or leaving yourself open to attack, or accidentally causing more damage to someone you're trying to heal (more likely a temporary Fatigue level than a Wound).
Gavril nods at Jacob's comment on the men's nationality, and prepares to enter the room, but when Jackalyn comes out he shrugs and goes back to the prep room in the middle. At Borax's comment of 'they,' he raises a finger. "That could be linguistic, actually," he says. "Your English does not have a good single pronoun without gender like most. Probably 'they' is the best he could do, if he does not want to reveal the sex of the mole?" The Romanian shrugs. "There could be more than one, though. We must be careful." He also shrugs at Sebastian's comments. "I would guess they infiltrated the Peacekeepers, not XCOM. Everyone here knows something about strange artifacts being here. He did not say alien--and this is what XCOM knows, yes?" Gavril taps a finger on the table. "But again. We do not know what they know. But we should not, how you say, play the hand too soon?" He looks in on the man Jackalyn just visited. "He might work well with someone else now, yes. But maybe if we wait for her to return, he will be even more receptive? I can try to make a deal with the other." The way he says it, it isn't clear if Gavril intends to follow through on the suggested deal.
Gavril steps into the briefing and is ready to plan things out, even if he isn't really used to such, but then he too notices Jackalyn in one of the rooms. Oh... câcat." The Romanian shakes his head. "Let her keep going, but I will be ready to get her out if needed. He won't like a woman showing such strength... Might make him talk. But I guess she knew that." He shakes his head and steps outside, ready to enter the interrogation room with Jackalyn at a moment's notice.
I don't know about experience, but all modifiers apply to both dice in Savage Worlds. It's part of why bonuses can be hard to come by, and are very nice to have, and penalties so quickly cause trouble.
Gavril nods and breathes easy once he hears that Kristophe will indeed survive. The damage is regrettable, and it's a deep shame that he'll be out of the field, but at least he survived. Once the group is left to their devices he watches Jackalyn go and then turns to Rosa. "I can speak their language, might make them more willing to talk. I did not receive training as an interrogator, but I might be able to get something."
"Gavril Vasilescu. You did well." The Romanian is still clearly bothered, likely by Kristophe's wounding, but he's calmed down since the incident itself. "It will be good to have you on the team."
When Gavril catches the man, for a moment his eyes burn with hate and rage, and his axe hand rises up as if to strike. He bares his teeth, his jaw clenched, and then slams the tomahawk down into the ground next to the man's head, and hauls him forward by the collar of his shirt. Their noses are almost touching as Gavril stares into his eyes. "وكنت أفضل أمل يعيش، أو أنني سوف أعرض لكم إلى أعمق طبقات من الجحيم." The insult in nearly-perfect Arabic is snarled out, and then Gavril slams his fist once into the man's solar plexus to stun him and drag him back to the group. The Romanian insists on Rosa patching him up last, saying the wound doesn't bother him, and he keeps his eyes fixed between Kristophe and his shooter until the Norwegian looks to be stabilized. When Rosa stands from his body, Gavril looks at the terrorist. "So you live for now."
As soon as the leader goes down, Gavril spins to assess things. He catches sight of Kristophe's fallen body--or at least the lack of his appearance--and the final terrorist, looking shocked for a moment before dropping his gun. The Romanian puts two and two together, perhaps jumping to conclusions slightly, and roars "Help Kristophson!" as he bounds after the fleeing man, tomahawk in hand.
Gavril hears the gunshots that drop Kristophe, but he doesn't have the time to turn around and see what's happening, with the knife-wielding leader continuing to stab at him. He jumps back as the rifle shot cracks between them, and he takes a moment to recover before once more grabbing and wrenching on the man's knife arm, hoping to disarm him while Sebastian distracts and incapacitates.
Gavril continues his assault, capitalizing on disarming the other man by hooking in with his tomahawk once more and following it up with a vicious kick when the man goes for his knife.
Gavril grits his teeth as he feels the burning impact of the bullet in his thigh, and he knows that'll need looked at later. For now, though, he fights through the pain, and quickly reverses the other man's knife, wrenching his wrist as he does so--looks like the Krav Maga lessons are paying off. Wanting to finish this up, Gavril capitalizes on his last twist, trying to fully disarm the terrorist, before spinning to slash with the tomahawk once more.
Gavril finally gives a shout as he closes in on the target, swinging in with his tomahawk. The attack is aimed at what looks to be his primary arm, hoping to wound--heavily--but not kill outright.
Gavril ignores the other gunfire and stays focused on the apparent leader, with his heavier armor. He moves up again, firing his shotgun once more--this time aiming for the man's leg--before drawing his tomahawk as he readies to close into melee.
|