Rick 'Slate' Slater's page

“My Prince.” Slate inclines his head slightly – he may have something of a lack of respect for authority, but he’s not stupid enough to insult the prince. “It’s been a good while since I was in the military … I don’t think I’ve lost those skills, but no, I didn’t expect I’d need them here tonight.” He tries to think of what to say next, aware that some small talk is probably expected. “Thanks for the invitation,” he says. “I wasn’t sure of the dress code … I don’t get invited to many parties … anymore.” He scratches his neck unconsciously, aware that he probably sounds awkward. “Uh … in fact I wasn’t aware that you still threw these new years eve parties either?”

Suddenly he’s interested, wondering if the Prince might have some motive for hosting this shindig beyond the simple enjoyment of company.

Not sure what to roll against to ‘sense motive’.

Slate pulls over on the street outside the Prince’s mansion and turns the key, turning off the engine of his ’69 Mustang Mach 1. Pulling on his black leather biker jacket over his black and white Killing Joke t-shirt, he steps out of the car and strides through the gates of the mansion, his Doc Martin’s clapping loudly on the cracked concrete path.

He doesn’t acknowledge the men standing watch outside the doors, but strides inside. Inside the doorway, he rubs the stubble on his jaw and looks around for a dark corner to lounge in, and scans the room, looking for anyone he knows – friend or foe.

Rolling Perception + Altertness:
Perception: 1d10 ⇒ 7
Perception: 1d10 ⇒ 9
Perception: 1d10 ⇒ 3
Alterness: 1d10 ⇒ 1