Board Thread:Role Plays/@comment-26104528-20150531022109/@comment-26130256-20150731061502

(Thank you kindly. I'll get to it when I can find some time.) Azulius gave Fritz his usual I respectfully admit defeat smiles. "And here I thought that parkour and wall-running act was diet and exercise. This makes much more sense.  But I've always been a little curious about that cyberware." He gestured to Roaring Moxie on his back before taking another gulp of screwdriver. "When I first made Moxie here, I was a little paranoid about her breaking during a job and me not knowing how to fix her. Purely mechanical, from the action to the transformative parts.  Not even an LED to shake loose.  So how are those legs protected?  What happens if you stand too close to an EMP?  Or if someone drills you just right with some Lightning Dust?" "Ordinarily, yes," Ochre agreed, admiring how easily his grandson concealed his personal arsenal in the new clothes. "But this series of combat suits is exclusive to the family, and the fewer people that know we have them, the better, I say." "We have them custom-made by a family of Mistrali immigrant armorers," Trigo continued. "And we pay them very good money to sell to us and only us. Armor-weave resists just about anything, modified cuts and sewing to not restrict freedom of movement, and enough hidden pockets to satisfy even the most paranoid enforcer.  Not to mention the psychological edge of looking your best." Back on the movie screen, Fritz had reached his rocket locker, and was loading for the proverbial Ursa. As he finished, Violet and her pilot soared overhead towards the Dawnies, unloading her handful of RPGs towards the ghetto-inspired armor. "If their mother finds out about this..." Ochre's jaw dropped in shock. "Opal must never find out about this." Trigo cut off his father, a note of genuine fear in his voice.