Bay 12 Games Forum

Well, 'not trans' is sorta clunky, and you can't very well say 'normal'.

the proper response would be to point out that it was poorly phrased

That's what they're doing.

Put on Sharksuit, take an electrostick (set to stun), a couple electronades (set to 1 second, at 20%), a goop grenade, aster-x, and a flare gun. Scan the ground outside, looking for any potential threats.

Oh, lord. I blame math.

Nix the 'nades, and yes please!

Name: Valentina Yankovichy
Age: 27
Gender: Female
Appearance: A tall woman, Valentina's dazzling green eyes tend to throw people off balance. Her black hair is cut short, and twin scars running across her face tell of a hard life.
Personal information: Valentina was not a bad person. She spent most of her life on the streets, stealing just to survive. A few years ago, a man attacked her, leaving her cut and bloodied in an alley. He turned up a week later, dead. Her brother, the one she had always been able to rely on, went away for his murder, and disappeared. She's been looking for him ever since.
Reason assigned to HMRC OR Reason to join ARM: It's been a long time since Valentina has seen her brother. He was assigned back when it was a prison camp, and all communication promptly broke off. It's taken her till now to track him down, and now she wants to know what's happened to him.
Stats
Strength: 0
Dexterity: 1
Endurance: 1
Charisma: -1
Mind: 0
Fate: 0
Intuition: -1
Skills
Handiwork: 1
Conventional Weapons: 1
Unconventional Weapons: 0
Exotic weapons: -1
Auxiliary systems: 0
Medical tech: -1
General Knowledge: 0

"Au Revoir, my friends." The Doctor strolled out of the bar. Anxious to be away from those who meant harm. He was going to Suburbia, of course. Plenty of wrongdoers lined those perfect streets.

Walter watched the pilot go, and sighed. A twinge went through him as he took a step, the ripped and burned flesh of his legs protesting. He walked to the hangar, and after a few muttered words to one of the mechanics, reemerged with an empty ammunition box. He strolled back into the bar, produced paper and a pencil from his pocket, and slammed the box down onto a table.
"Votes go in here," He grunted to anyone still in the bar, "Sign them."
He scribbled his own name, signed it with a flourish and dropped it into the box. Leaving the pencil and paper, he limped out of the bar, and headed for his tent.

((PTW. This is beautiful.))