Recent content by Emer Tor

Jackie Stewart in all his podium glory sailed right over her head. “Right.” She dragged a hand through her hair and glanced across the assorted strays. Her blue gaze started with soused Scottish spunk, slid across overcompensating erstwhile middle-class, and landed hard on the walking anger...

If pressed, Emer would’ve described her life in phases, emotions waning and waxing like the moon. They were drowned first in her childhood in the tumult of terror. She’d spent decades with that demon perched on her shoulders, its claws sunk deep, its wings spread wide. Under its numb cloak she...

Four total, then: Cat, Tripz, Sock, and nameless short fuse. Not her preferred odds, but doable if shit went sideways fast. And Tripz apparently only half-counted. "Spider Murphy shot it out with the best of 'em," Emer pointed out blithely as she straightened. Moments like these she was glad...

The smoke nearly fell out of her mouth as her smile cracked wider. "You run a tight crew here, huh?" That arsecheek tattoo really was something else. And the walking anger management issue had a nose that looked even more broken than her own. Quite a feat, given her youth. "Gotta say though...

“No problem.” Emer smiled and offered the flame of her lighter. “Pleasure to meet you, then, …?” Though her senses weren’t as keen as they once were, Emer had made up the difference by becoming a people person instead. It was easy to wait, easy to make small talk, easy to keep her finger off...

“The wheels.” Emer confirmed and slouched forward from her casual lean. The woman looked like she’d wandered in from a different story entirely; a cross between ‘Succession’ and ‘Desperate Housewives’, maybe a touch of ‘Skins’ for flavour. Inflection, face, outfit: all out of place for the...

Northside. Fucking ass. The coords pointed to one in a mile-long stretch of dilapidated warehouses. The district had died the day the corpos had cut their losses and left the factories to rot. Its corpse somehow shambled on, animated by roaches and squatters. And Maelstrom. Emer tugged on her...

Halfway through contemplating a destressing visit to the range, Emer’s deck pinged with a response. She furrowed her brow at the message and stubbed out her fifth cigarette. Now these punks were trying to fleece her? The fucking audacity. The entire car was barely worth 10k at this point. With...

Rare that the sun pierced the thick blanket of NC smog. Rarer still that it reached its warm fingers all the way down to street-level Westbrook, gilding the rubbish that coated every surface like a particularly persistent mould. This extraordinary sunlight roused Emer early on a Friday morning...

One of the bouncers pinged her when Queenie set foot into Nadir. Emer waited for the ripperdoc outside Dima's room, arms folded across her chest. With a nod of greeting, she followed her inside. She could've had one of her lieutenants handle it, head on to her flat to catch some shut-eye, but...

Posts written in other environments (Word, Google docs, etc.) use the correct (so-called 'smart') quotation marks. These glyphs persist upon copy-paste into the text window. But when the text is posted, they get converted to the incorrect (so-called 'dumb') quotation marks. The same applies...

Club Nadir, Westbrook 0238, 2081-02-14 The wind was howling, because NC had shit weather most days. In fact, most everywhere had shit weather most days. Par for the course for ‘81. And ‘80. And ‘79, and— She was nostalgic for the wilder pace of her youth. Again. Used to be it was a common...

Name: Unknown Alias/Handle: Emer Tor Age: Late forties? Early fifties? Ethnicity: Somewhere from the old world Birthplace: Unknown Appearance: She cuts a tall figure, lean muscle tempered by a flashy jacket and an easy smile. Her piercing blues will find you across the club floor. You'll look...