Welcome, it looks like we are about to start our game and discover what exactly is going on in Cixtoatl and much more, the connection to Willoughby High. I'll post as frequently as I can, but I'm going to set an official post day as Thursday. I'll probably get posts in between though, especially if you're taking individual actions, but Thursday will be big posts and the most "movement" within the game. Again you can sign up and use Orokos or InvisibleCastle to log/link your rolls. Standard roll is 2d6 + any relevant bonuses. If you want to try something that doesn't fit your ordinary character description, just describe it and I'll let you know what you can roll or if it is possible.
In posting be sure to bold your name and in your opening post, link or quote your sheet. If you have any questions or anything, post it in italics to indicate OOC text here or just post it in the recruitment thread. Also I can be reached via PMs. I have my phone with me throughout the work day and I sometimes try to get posts in if work is slow, but at the bare minimum I'll be able to respond to questions and stuff. That said and done, let us begin...
This is important, I have given you initial agendas to just get a feel for your post style and how you would respond, but feel free to set your own AGENDA in your responses. At any time, you can investigate, propose a plan or just do something without being prompted so get creative in your problem solving, hell, cause problems, but just do what you feel.
On the off chance, that your likeness or the likeness of someone you know is portrayed in the pictures below, it is not in jest, simply for visualization purposes. Once we move into the horror... well, we'll see what we find for that.
The Unending Agony of Willoughby High
The pantomime paradox, a relentless, unwilling performance to appease the endless thirst of mocking Gods who have hence since either forgotten their purpose or no longer care. Remnants of some creeping darkness, some unanswerable longing that spreads across the surface of reality, penetrating all facets of existence. The cacophonous echo of desperate cries for recognition, for understanding, for sense of purpose, something more than the shallow constructs of our minds that are in all actuality the totality of what is. The maw of madness consuming and masking, the glimpses of truth that seep through the neatly woven lie. Do they seep, or are they let in? The only answer is ...
"Xavier looked on high as the clouds drifted through the sky in long, stretched rows. The sun cresting over the horizon, he looked down at the cracked, dried basin that formed at the foot of Bloodmoon Ridge and then over his shoulder to someone else..."
"...and? Well what happened next?"
"Well, that's where the dream ends. I wake up and all I can think about is that twisted look he had on his face as he turned back to what I guess is me or whatever? It was chilling..."
"Did he jump?! I bet that freak jumped!"
The incessant chatter of voices fill the auditorium as Cixtoatl police officer Elton Lowe takes the podium.
"As you all know, a tragedy has occurred here in the peaceful town of Cixtoatl, one of your own, student and dedicated member to our community, Xavier Killian was found dead on Bloodmoon ridge just outside of the Matehuixl mountain range. There have been no signs to indicate that there was foul play, so let's just clear the air of that, but we are conducting a private investigation into the life of Xavier, if you have something to say that you think might be beneficial in our investigation, you can reach out to me directly as I'll be heading the case or you can reach out to your principal Mr. Berk. If you or anyone you know, were close to Xavier, there are trained professionals in your guidance office who are here to assist you in your time of grief, we will get through this together. Thank you."
Assistant principal Rutledge takes the stage, "Alright students, if you would please form a single-file line out of the front and rear exits as we dismiss rows, you may return to your classes. Also don't forget, home-game tonight! LET'S GO JAGUARS!"
Shifting in your seat, somewhat ostracized from the bulk of the faculty and student body, overweight office attendant Dana Idom hobbles over to antagonize you yet again, high-strung on whatever bullshit she's fed herself for the day. "C'mon now Rick, let's not make this difficult." She says, forcing the words through a pulse like stream of sour cream & onion flavored breaths that burn your nostrils as she leans in your face obnoxiously.
You couldn't help but overhear that freshman girl talking about a dream about Xavier and that had your mind preoccupied for whatever reason.
"Earth to burnout Rick, anyone in there?" Dana says before lightly knocking on your head, far overstepping her boundaries as a person, much more a member of the Willoughby High school Faculty.
1. Back to Class - its third period, so what class was that again...? But first, this corpulent, mass of underachieving flesh was in your way.
"He was soooo weird, like, he would just spend all his time working on those graphs and writing in those weird books, it's not surprising that he turned up dead."
"You're right!! ...and didn't he like, just stop showing up all together, what was that stuff about his family coming from out of the country?"
"No, he was adopted right? Isn't he from another country?"
You sit amongst a group of girls about your age, many of which you recognize from the volleyball team or your other classes. Among the group currently discussing Xavier, was Blanche, captain of your Volleyball team and Courtney Dayridge, the homecoming queen and overall bitch. Courtney presided over the girls who flocked to her as if she was royalty with a fleet of servants to tend to her every whim and agree with her every word which might as well have the value of gold. You smiled indifferently, half-absorbed in the conversation, yet not trying to leave an inkling of inclination any which way. The situation in your mind, was something not unexpected, nor tragic. Just an event, no weirder than anything else that happened around Cixtoatl, but you knew you would continue to hear about it to the point of exhaustion.
Assistant Principal Rutledge
"Alright ladies, let's go, file out one at a time." Assistant Principal Rutledge comes over and escorts you all out of your row one by one.
1. Third Period - First Lunch! Its lunch time - What's for lunch today and who do we want to sit with?
You sit in the auditorium, mixed in with the faces of strangers and people you weren't yet acquainted with. Although you had been here long enough to at least meet Xavier, you had no idea as to what type of boy he was or who he associated with. Even more so, you felt detached from the situation due to your apathetic, unfazed attitude that reflected in many aspects of your life.
"Sofia right?," A tall boy with brown hair approaches you and tries to get your attention.
"My name is Garrett Pikeman, I actually have you in a few of my classes, I believe you transferred here recently? I got here just a few months before you... I was wondering if maybe you'd want to hang out with me, I mean... I can't shake this feeling that something is wrong with this school. Well, here's my number, text me or something."
Garrett doesn't wait for your response, as assistant principal Rutledge makes his way over shuffling the students out of the rows.
1. He seems nice enough? - Do you care to reach back out to Garrett?
2. Class time - What class do you have? Its third period and class would start in the next 5 minutes.
William "Dallas" Berk
You were sitting in an uncomfortable chair on the auditorium stage just behind Officer Lowe. He steps down from the podium and turns to you with a burdened look etched on his face. The kind of look that you were all too familiar with...
In your 60 years, you had come across a number of "broken" individuals, especially given your time at the monastery where you would lend shelter to the homeless and desperate. The look officer Lowe had was one of longing, some type of archetypal sadness had struck him deep in his core and it was apparent, although you weren't sure even he knew why.
Officer Elton Lowe
"It's been a while since we've had anything like this happen in the town. What we saw out there just didn't make any sense you know? Kind of makes us wonder what the kid was getting into. Well, thank you for your time Principal Berk. I'll be in touch if I figure anything else out on the case."
You exit from the auditorium and catch some students making out under the stairwell, looks like they ditched the conference for a more intimate conversation.
1. To be young - But! There is a time and a place for all of that and you couldn't exactly turn a blind eye with other teachers watching.
You got to come in late and leave early for the rest of the year with this schedule, so you were still a bit groggy after sleeping through most of English 12. You managed to skip out on the conference, only because you had a newspaper deadline to meet.
A couple of familiar faces spill back into the room, talking about that kid Xavier Killian. Didn't you smoke him out once? It really didn't matter, you were being hounded for a review on the Visual Arts Student Showcase and Mr. Leitrich kept sending you IM reminders as you sat stuck, slowly tapping away at the keyboard. 45 minutes left to get it done.
You can't help but overhear Kyle and Eloisa talk about the conference though and it's enough to impede your progress on the article.
"I heard that he lured animals in, to tear him apart."
"No way, that's bullshit, you know it and I know it."
"Nooo, seriously, I heard that he was some, weird wizard wanna be or something like that and he willingly got himself gnarled up by bears and lions."
"Ok... now I know you are full of it... Bears and lions?! In the Matehuixl mountain range?! At best, and this is a stretch, you'd have some big bob cats, maybe some nasty lizards, but there is no way that he "summoned" bears and lions to come and tear him a new hell. You act like he was some biblical prophet or something."
"Nah, nah, the opposite, some dark occultist brimming with power from ancient knowleeeddgeee" Kyle says before leaping up from his seat making annoying ghost noises before he settles into a computer to work on his own deadline.
Mr. Leitrich paces back and forth in his office on call with the printing press. "Yeah, we'll have the print over there by 2:00, what?! God damnit, I told you by 2:00, what's this surcharge. Errrgghh!" He slams the phone on the desk.
"SMITH! BLACKLOCK! ARE YOUR ARTICLES READY FOR PRINT?" he shouts in frustration.
"Uh.. Yeah, Mr. Leitrich, I'll send it to you now." Kyle says.
"Smiiitth? What about you?"
1. Uh oh - Your article isn't done and you're probably going to catch some poo poo about this. Better come up with an excuse or explanation.
The students were all settled back into class after the conference in the auditorium and the third period bell had rung.
Much to your dismay, the students were all worked up from the conference and having second lunch, they were restless as they waited.
Two boys, Caveon and Mark, were in the back of the class, on the brink of an altercation over what appears to be a spiral belonging to neither of them. Between the two was Cynthia Carter who was cradling her head in her hands in frustration, more than likely the spiral was hers.
Caveon normally wasn't a trouble maker, but Mark was another story, an idiotic troublemaker that got away with a lot because he was on the state baseball team.
"Give me the spiral man, quit acting like a jackass." Caveon says as Mark lifts it higher above his head right before Caveon shoves him knocking him against a seated student.
"You little poo poo, you want it?! HERE TAKE IT!" Mark tears out pages and crumples them throwing them at Caveon and Cynthia, Caveon looks like he's about to throw down fisticuffs as Cynthia starts to cry, but the torn pages floating and being tossed to the ground are what manages to catch your eye.
Strange cryptic drawings, symbols and shapes, elaborate patterns that seem to be too perfect to have been hand drawn are displayed.
"You and your freak bitch take the stupid book, I don't want it." Mark shoves the remainder of the book into Caveon's arms before he storms out the room.
1. That is not ok - You need to get Mark under control and probably have words with Caveon and Cynthia too, but what is going on with those pages, some vague familiarity is there, as if... no, you couldn't have possibly seen those images before.
Dr.Idle fucked around with this message at Feb 14, 2013 around 18:56
|# ? Feb 14, 2013 16:38|
|# ? May 24, 2013 07:47|
Kim shuffles out, a little dazed, mind searching ahead to her afternoon classes. She wasn't forgetting a test or assignment or something, right? She'd gotten through those problem sets last night... Stan had implied there'd be a pop quiz, so she'd read the chapter through again... hmm... no, there wasn't anything in particular.
With that, she perks up a little. Oh, today's spaghetti day! Mmm, spaghetti was the best. The lunch-ladies tended to overcook things a little, obviously, and really who could blame them considering how much food they had to produce, but the spag was actually pretty alright. She smiles, going off to the right as Courtney and her friends head off left.
It was sort of a bummer that she didn't have lunch with Blanche and the others, but this was alright too.
She shuffles through the line, gives up a ticket (oh better buy a new roll), and sits down in her usual spot, by the window. Yesss spaghetti day. :D
Soon, Josh sits down, smiles and waves, then Tim and Deb. They start chatting about whatever, but their conversation quickly slides towards... Xavier. Ugh, again.
Brett and Sally join, and the conversation snowballs. The whole lunchroom's talking about it, pretty much.
"So it had to have been suicide, right?"
"Well that doesn't make sense, he wasn't really like that."
"I had a presentation with him once, he seemed fine."
"Why would he be up in the mountains?"
Kim frowns. Ugh, just ignore it. Focus on spaghetti.
zachol fucked around with this message at Feb 15, 2013 around 01:44
|# ? Feb 15, 2013 00:18|
"Ah, jeez, seriously?" Rick scowls at Ms. Idom (who he calls 'Dana' because he knows it irritates her even though she tells herself it's a sign that he trusts her, which he doesn't). "C'mon. You're gonna screw up my hair. I got wood shop to go to." It's shop next, right? Probably.
Shop's one of the only classes Rick actually likes; no matter what kind of safety equipment they make the kids use, there's no getting around the fact that wood shop is dangerous. Mostly it's the band saw. You shove a piece of wood into a circular saw or a jigsaw or something and there's some resistance; you can feel the thing slowing down, having to actually work to hack through the wood. The band saw doesn't have that problem. There's no slowing down, no resistance, no sign that the band saw even notices that it's cutting through wood. That blade is like a giant vibrating band of energy; it'll cut anything. gently caress up and get your hand in a band saw and you're losing that hand, no ifs ands or buts. There's something about that danger - that sense of grappling with a force that could kill you and embracing that risk in order to make something - that appeals to Rick, not that he could ever put that into words (the closest he's ever come is 'yeah, that saw's bitching'). Mister Franklin, the shop teacher, doesn't seem to mind when Rick shows up even though he's supposed to be in another class; maybe he's just glad the kid's interested in something.
So there's a band saw to get to and Dana the Dirigible is in his way and this isn't making Rick a happy camper. Plus she's, you know, touching him, and he's pretty sure that isn't the way it's supposed to be. "Yer interferin' with my ability to get an education, Dana, move, willya?" Hell, these people are lucky he even bothered to show up today. When asked, Rick tends to tell people that he intends to graduate just to spite all the people who say he can't. "Plus I'm all emotionally traumatized by the dead kid, whatshisname. I could snap and act out at any minute. Wouldn't even be responsible for my actions."
Man, maybe he should just head-butt her and claim he was distraught by the dead kid.
Would you believe I didn't see your note on tweaking my Traits until today? I changed 'play three chords' to 'Bitchin' Van' - tell me if that's gonna cut it or not, huh? Anyways, just trying to get Dana out of the way so Rick can go to shop class and make large pieces of wood into a bunch of tiny pieces of wood.
|# ? Feb 15, 2013 01:36|
gently caress. “Chill Mr. Leitrich, almost done.” That was a total lie, but would probably buy her a minute or two. She'd had three days to do the assignment, plus forty five minutes in class today; Sarah had managed to write about a paragraph and a half so far. The odds of the Visual Arts Student Showcase getting a quality review weren’t good, but at least the pictures she’d taken of it were ok. Sarah had spent most of the class napping or listening to the kids who’d finished their assignments and gone to the conference talk about Xavier. Him dying was crazy – she didn’t know much about him, but she was pretty certain she’d smoked with him at least once, though her memory of it was a little hazy. But it was really hosed up that she’d watched Adult Swim twice yesterday night / this morning while someone she knew was all dying in the woods and getting eaten by lions and wolves like Kyle said. That gruesome idea had given her a good, non-gruesome one. She had realized the best chance she had of getting out of her assignment was the modern spin on the "dog ate my homework" trick.
She pointed at her monitor accusatorily, and looked to the waiting Mr. Leitrich before sort of mumbling “I think this computer like, ate most of my assignment or something. It’s not there anymore.” She was trying really hard to keep a straight face - there was no way he was gonna buy this, but it was hilarious - before regaining her composure and adding, “Like one paragraph still there and the rest got formatted out or something. I have an earlier version on a flash drive in my locker, should I go get it or something?” She stood up and grabbed her bag really quick, to try and put impetus behind the idea. Hopefully he bought the computer thing.
If Mr. Leitrich is dumb enough to let Sarah leave, she fully intends on heading to her locker to retrieve not her flash drive (which is at home probably, she has no idea where it actually is) but her pink tinted John Lennon glasses. The glasses aren't prescription or anything, she only wears ‘em since Willoughby’s policy is no indoor sunglasses and she needs something to conceal her eyes when she comes to school super-stoned or super-tired, and today she happens to be both. Once she has her glasses, she intends on heading over to her Art 4 class, telling her teacher she got permission to come in early to work on a piece for her portfolio, and asking if she can work on it outside since it’s such a great day outside.
Rauri fucked around with this message at Feb 15, 2013 around 13:44
|# ? Feb 15, 2013 13:33|
Stan darted out into the hall after the retreating Jock yelling to him "Go to the Principal's office, and if you aren't there when lunch starts he will be very angry!" He didn't have he means to confront an angry student with twice his muscle power, and he had a situation to contain within his classroom first. Definitely not excuses to not deal with Mark; definitely.
Ducking back into the room, he quickly pulled aside one of his favorite students, Molly Keenan (a rather nerdy girl, but a student leader nonetheless) to take a hastily scrawled note to the Principal in regards to Mr. Peter's actions and to expect him in lunch period. The girl quickly walked off with the note, a hint of pride and importance in her step.
With that finished he moved to Cynthia's side, picking up pages along the way. He stared at the drawings on the pages, feeling they were familiar to him. Perhaps Iroqouis, Aztec, or Cherokee? No, thats not it. The girl wouldn't be able to recall local Native American art! Maybe some band's icon or a video game symbol.
But putting the sheets on the student's table for the moment, he gingerly took the girl's arm. "Now now, don't cry. I'm sure Mr. Peters and Mr. Smithy didn't mean to ruin your drawings," he quickly threw a glance at Caveon, "did they Caveon?" Why don't you two stay a couple minutes after the lunch bell rings and we can talk about it and salvage the notebook, hmm? Does that sound find?"
Getting a quick, tearful nod from Cynthia, Stan returned to the board and began writing down the elements of a basic thesis paper on a religious argument. The quarter's deadline was coming up, and he felt the students needed a refresher- if they have been taught how to write in the first place.
Name: Stan Danesson
|# ? Feb 15, 2013 16:37|
Time to get stuff happening, slowly but surely, slowly but surely, slowly but surely.
You stare down at the steaming pile of spaghetti that was on your tray trying to avoid hearing more about Xavier Killian. You start whirling the pasta around the teeth of the fork, dragging each noodle slowly through the slightly-viscous, red sauce. The strands wrapping row by row upon the fork continuously stacking one strand on top of another on the cold stainless steel clutched in your hand.
"That kid was weird, I mean did you ever look at the stuff he drew in those books of his?"
"Yeah and where were his parents, I thought he was adopted, but I never saw any family or anything for him."
"The police haven't said too much about what actually happened out there, but you know Jeff's brother was one of the EMTs who responded to the call, Jeff has been acting all weird about it too, I asked him if his brother said anything about it and he got all pissed off about it."
The conversation comes to an abrupt halt as you see people start turning your direction out of the corner of your eye.
"Having fun their Kim?" Tim says to you, but you aren't sure at what he's getting at until you realize, that you've gathered all the spaghetti on your plate into a mound and the bulk of it had made its way up the fork from your drone-like spinning of the utensil.
You stare at your friends at the table before looking back down at the spaghetti and you begin to sweat profusely, perspiration visibly running down your face and arms, yet you feel an immense cold creeping into your flesh that causes you to tremble violently, flinging spaghetti and sauce all around the table as your eyes widen at the mass of food that appears to be writhing in a serpentine fashion on your plate.
"Kim... Are you ok?" Brett says now with concern in his voice. You look down at your plate and see the spaghetti still wrapped "neatly" in the mound you had created, you aren't sweating or trembling, but you have been awkwardly silent staring at Tim and the rest of your friends.
1. What's going on?! - Roll 2d6 -2 for unweird + 1 for Loosely Wound
Dana backs away cautiously as you mention the possibility of you snapping and acting out. "J-just get to class alright! You're going to be late again." she says angrily, before waddling back the other direction mumbling unpleasant insults under heavy breaths.
You exit out of the auditorium and head down the hall towards the outer-buildings to get to Shop, but something seems off about the corridors of the hall and you begin to feel disoriented, even nauseous as the hall contorts in and out of focus at a distance.
You aren't sure exactly when it happened, but the hall has emptied and all the hall behind you seems to gradually dim. The hall also dims too far out in front of you. Suddenly the hall grows colder, as if someone had cranked up the air conditioning in the school, even in your jacket, you still started to shiver as you navigated through an eerie maze of twists and turns, through the inexplicably changed corridors of Willoughby High.
1. Lost - Roll 2d6
"HOW STUPID DO YOU THINK I AM?! YOU HAD THREE DAYS TO ACCOMPLISH THIS SIMPLE STORY. EMPTY YOUR BAG RIGHT NOW SARAH!"
Mr. Leitrich looked at first like he might fall for it, but that was probably just his astonishment at your claim. He looks like he's seconds away from popping a blood vessel and is demanding that you empty your bag onto the table.
Leitrich calls Sarah's Bluff: 2d6+1 8
Now you know that would be incredibly stupid to have a piece or any herb in your bag, but gently caress... is there anything in your bag?
1. Are you holding? - Roll 2d6 + (+2 Druggie), you'll know how to hide your good, and you probably didn't put it in your bag.
|# ? Feb 15, 2013 16:48|
Kim grins, weakly.
"Eheh. Uh, just... I dunno guys, I'm a little distracted. I mean, the whole deal with Xavi, it's... well, I mean, I think it's a little weird... how..."
She trails off.
She wants to say "how everyone's talking about it," but... well, you know what? Sometimes you gotta fib, right? Hopefully they'll all just, like, calm down. Or maybe she's the one that needs to calm down?
"Just weird how everything happened. I mean, how nobody really knows what happened, yeah?"
See? That wasn't even a fib. That was weird, they should've figured it out by now. That was the detectives' jobs. Yeah.
She leans back.
"I mean... it's not like it's that unusual or anything. Like, couple months ago, my uncle died sort of the same way. He was out hiking on the ridge, and he apparently went off the trail and ran into this pack of wolves."
She shrugs. "I bet it was like that. Like, even if it wasn't wolves, still an accident. Yeah?"
She grins again, nervously, glancing down at her plate.
What was that, even? She didn't have shakes. Nobody had shakes, that was silly. Only happened in movies.
Roll 2d6-1=7. Not sure how to interpret that?
|# ? Feb 15, 2013 17:08|
You look at the images and although you are unable to pinpoint where the familiarity stems from, you know that it isn't something a High School student would typically be familiar with.
"Nah, Mr. Danesson, it's not like that. Mark snatched it and--" Caveon tried to explain, being interrupted by Cynthia.
"It's ok Caveon" Cynthia says, "We'll talk to Mr. Danesson after class."
The other students are relatively quiet, the usual chatter and gossip is there, but nothing too distracting.
You return to board and begin writing down the elements, mindfully thinking about the students' preparation for the quarter deadline, but your mind quickly wanders back to those strange drawings.
Having looked directly at them, you find the images flashing in front of your minds eye and your compelled to try and replicate one of the symbols you saw on the board. The urge you are left with is nearly insatiable, as you find yourself frustrated to stay on task.
Class ends and Cynthia and Caveon come to your desk to discuss what exactly had happened.
"Ok, Mr. Danesson, like I said... it's not like you think. We were... well we were talking about Xavier and.."
"The spiral belonged to him. He gave it to me before he went missing, and Mark snatched it away from me to look at it and that's when Caveon jumped up to try and get it back."
The explanation continues and seems sound, but then Cynthia makes a suggestion that you found unexpected.
"You should probably hold onto this... I figure it might help answer some of the questions or something." Cynthia says, handing you the worn black spiral.
They exit the room and the door closes behind them, the bell for lunch sounds and you have 30 minutes before your next class starts.
1. Do you willingly peruse the spiral? - If so, roll 2d6 + 2 Historian.
2. (Conditional)If you try to NOT look at the spiral - Roll 2d6 - 2 Oooh, what's that to see if your compelled against your own will.
|# ? Feb 15, 2013 17:17|
"Thanks for the explanations guys. I'll talk to Mark later, though I'm tempted to give him a pass because of the tragedy. And its a good idea to keep this spiral if Xavier gave it to you. I don't think it'll end up being important, but who knows?" He smiled to show them there was no harm done in class, "Now get to lunch. And remember that the paper is due in just a few more classes!"
With the door swinging shut as the students ran off to lunch, he looked down at the paper on his desk. Hmmm, curious. Perhaps it was something aboriginale after all? Perhaps Xavier copied it off of a Mound or was partly Native-American or something?
He took out a reference book from the shelf at the back of the classroom, Encyclopedia America- Natives, Animals and Arts, by Dr. Sarah Bronstein, quickly flipping through it to see if there was anything similar within. It wasn't the most detailed work, but a good starting point?
Perhaps we should start with the Navajo? 2d6+2: 8 [2d6=3, 3]
|# ? Feb 15, 2013 17:30|
"Oh, Kim... Sorry, I guess it was kind of insensitive to talk about it and that whole business with your uncle... this probably brings that up for you."
The students at the table around you look sullen, but they aren't freaked out by your actions. Your spaghetti has gotten a bit cold, but it's still pretty tasty.
You finish up your lunch, but are silently stirred by what happened. You can't shake the visualization of the writhing spaghetti though. Although you know you had whirled it up your fork in your daze, you can't help but feel as if it was... reaching out to you. That's silly though right? Food doesn't attack people.
You had 15 minutes before roll-call in the next class though, so you had some time to bide.
1. What do you do until class, and what class are you headed to?
Sorry I wasn't clear on the roll, 7+ is pretty much a gradual success and 6 or less is a gradual failure. This isn't always the case, but generally. So in this case, you managed to regain composure and disuade the students from being freaked out by you.
|# ? Feb 15, 2013 17:44|
[Using italics as thoughts, any OOC will be posted in the OOC thread.]
Sofia stared dumbly at the scrap of paper Garret had pressed into her hand. Was this…did he just … ? Her thoughts were interrupted by loud voices behind her. Turning, she saw a rather large woman standing over the Mohawk-sporting hooligan she had seen around the school a couple times. He looked like he was in a “musical group” or something. They were arguing loudly about class.
There were only a few minutes left until AP Biology! Sofia scrambled to grab her things and gingerly made her way into the crowded line of students leaving the auditorium. Part of the arrangement for the Exchange Program was that all of her classes would be AP. She’d been looking forward to the challenge of a new educational system, but so far had been quite disappointed in the mediocrity of her lessons. In fact, she’d already learned much of the material during her Primary in private school. Mrs. Herring was the Biology instructor, and though she’d seemed to have taken a shine to Sofia’s exemplary competence, she wasn’t one to abide tardiness with any of her pupils.
The well-dressed British girl hurried along with the throngs of other students. Out of the large, acoustic auditorium, where the echoes of chatter rung in her ears. Over the walkway through the large courtyard towards Building C. She felt as if she stood out, wearing her English uniform dress, all the other kids were casual; however, the outfit made her feel comfortable, somehow. Something to remind her of her homeland, far away. No one seemed to notice her, anyways, which was fine with her. She turned her thoughts briefly to the lecture from the Bobby. People were whispering near her about the nightmares they’d had; and apparently the dead boy had also been a foreigner. Sofia wondered if he had felt alienated, as she did. Maybe she might have even made friends with him, had they gotten to know each other. Too late now, anyhow -- best not to bother with these things.
Making her way into the building and up the stairs to the 3rd floor, she went over the previous lesson in her head. Rudimentary chordate anatomy: cutting up frogs. She’d already made the initial linea alba from cloacal region to throat, and they were supposed to examine the digestive system today. How quaint.
Sofia found her seat and opened her satchel to retrieve the appropriate textbook.
“Ohhh, what’s this?!”
She looked up to see a group of older girls behind her, giggling. One of them, a pretty blonde with a wicked grin, was holding a small scrap of paper.
“Garret, hmm? He’s that cute new guy. How’d you get his number? Sneak it from his phone or something?”
Sofia’s eyes widened as she noticed that she had dropped the piece of paper the tall boy had given her. It must’ve fluttered down to the desk behind her, where these girls were sitting. “Sorry, would you be kind and hand that back?”, she asked tentatively. She held out her hand and looked down as she spoke, a funny rush of blood hitting her face.
The girls laughed loudly, mocking her accent. “Sooory! Soooory!” A smiling brunette looked over the blonde’s shoulder, “Courtney, maybe you should give it back to that guy? I mean, it’s all one big misunderstanding, right?”
Courtney smirked and looked down at Sofia (who was a good five inches shorter), “I think I’ll just hold onto it for now.” The senior folded the scrap and slipped it into the back pocket of her skinny jeans, then patted Sofia on the top of her head, “It’s OK. Be a good girl and maybe I’ll give it back!”
“CLASSTAKEYOURSEATS!” Mrs. Herring bellowed from her desk, in her usual hurried tone.
Sofia’s cheeks burned hotly, she wasn’t unfamiliar with the sensation. She turned back to her desk as her upperclassmen snickered behind her. For some reason, she seemed a bit more bothered than usual about this. Then again, she’d never had a boy give her his number before. How was she going to get it back? Sitting down, she tried to push concern from her mind and waited to be called up to get her frog.
Name: Sofia Ashdown
hctibyllis fucked around with this message at Feb 17, 2013 around 03:45
|# ? Feb 15, 2013 18:49|
"Holy poo poo," Rick mutters under his breath, "it worked. That never happens. Nice."
His good mood ends rather rapidly as the world goes all strange... did someone dose him? It's gotta be that, right? The halls are... when did they get so fuckin' windy...
Lost!: 2d6 5
The young punk's hands clench and unclench into fists as he navigates the oddly-changed corridors. Someone fuckin' dosed him! It's not as though Rick has a problem with taking drugs, but he certainly has a problem with taking drugs he didn't know he was taking. Oh, someone's gonna get such a beating for this poo poo.
Yeah, pretty sure a 5 ain't gonna help poor Rick much... and his Angry drawback is starting to flare up. Uh oh.
|# ? Feb 15, 2013 19:12|
You've probably noticed that I'm posting a lot today. Work is slow and I'm excited to drive you insane so I'll be responding when I can over these next few days, but so far so good.
Feeling embarrassed and outraged by the actions of your classmates, you sit down at your desk trying to move the offense from your mind, but you find it doesn't come easily. You looked at the number long enough however that you think you can recall it and try jotting it down a few times in your notebook trying to detail his handwriting in your mind.
2d6 + Observant Ollie to recall #
Class starts slowly at first as Mrs. Herring gets settled in and finds a notice on her desk that she reads silently to herself, her facial expressions quickly moving to abject horror. She had been out that Thursday and Friday before Xavier was found dead and she only had afternoon classes given her part-time occupation at the community college. Judging by her response, you're guessing she is reading about Xavier. A physical memo was issued out, but her response seems a little too affected.
Nevertheless, she regains her composure as best she can and begins with the lecture. "Sorry about that class, if you would turn with me to page 236 in your text book, today we will be going over the processes of the digestive system."
Reviewing the information was dull as you were already well prepared for the lesson, but finally she proceeds to call your names to get your frogs. "Alright, when I call your name, please come and retrieve your specimen, before proceeding to your assigned group and lab table. Gloves and eyewear on! I don't want another accident. Lynn Albrecht, Sofia Ashdown, John Michaels, please obtain your specimens."
You retrieve your frog and proceed to the lab table, you were grouped with Lynn and John who didn't particularly care about you or the assignment, but they weren't rude and at least managed to do their share of the work, no matter how lackluster.
Carlos the Frog
Making the necessary incisions you examine the innards of the creature while your group turns away a bit squeamish to the display.
The air in the room has become stale and slightly putrid. As you begin moving around the intestines with small forceps, you hit something hard that seems to be distending the organs.
1. What's that? - [2d6 + 3 from Betty Bookworm] to determine what the object is.
Clever, suggesting she keep the book and you only keep the tossed papers.
You uncrumple one of the sheets of papers Mark had ripped from the spiral and examine the symbols on the sheet.
Cross-referencing the symbols on the sheet, you find that they reflect some common symbols from different tribes, initially you thought there was a symbol for fertility on there, but upon closer examination, you see that there are serpents held within the circle symbolizing defiance, the other patterns however seem foreign, either just random doodlings or depictions of madness judging by markings on other sheets that carry a similar likeness.
You come across one other sheet of paper, but it is all scratched out in black ink. Something about it seems... inviting.
Holding the paper in your hand, you look at the scribbled madness trying to decipher anything that you can when you notice that the ink seems to run or is wet, you remove a hand from the sheet and find that it is covered in ink. Much more alarming, you find that the ink is spreading over your hands rapidly making a path up your arms.
You look at the spreading lines and fine that they are moving, scribbles covering the entirety of your hands and arms, quickly making it's way along your clothing. You drop the paper and the ink floods from it endlessly, spreading over your desk and belongings.
Panic floods your mind as you desperately try to wipe the consuming darkness off of your person.
1. Madness - Your body is being covered in a scribbled, convulsing, darkness. Before too long, you'll be entirely covered. - [ 2d6 + 1 for World Religions to try and improve your temperament in dealing with the supernatural since you don't believe in that stuff], if you roll 6 or lower, roll 1d6 for your insanity die, if the value is higher than 1, your insanity rank will be at 2.
Although the Bitchin' Van would be sweet, you can still have it by the way, I would recommend taking on something physical or reflective of your own abilities. Perhaps, being good with tools or something.
The hallway grows colder as you navigate through the twists and turns of the building. Still no signs of students or faculty, but you were almost certain that you had been drugged and that pissed you off.
The lockers look frosted and your fingertips stick to them at the touch. A low rumbling sound is heard as if the building itself was moving, static starts to play over the intercomm and you see a figure just out in the distance and hear a series of laughs that switch octaves, going from high pitched to low pitched warping maniacally as the laugh turns into a twisted cackle.
You're more pissed than scared and go berserk at the sight of the figure.
Raged into the darkness. (Angry penalty): 2d6-2 1
You leap at the figure and get your hands around it, you feel in the darkness for what feels like a throat and begin strangling whatever is taunting you.
You're full on slamming the creature or persons head into the ground while cloaked in darkness. You are freezing, but your rage has your blood boiling.
At last, you feel tugs and grips at you as you are pulled away from the creature.
The darkness fades away and reality pours back in as quickly as it had left.
You look down at the ground and see Mr. Mitchell, the chemistry teacher, clutching at his throat, struggling to breathe. You turn around just in enough time to see the two electric nodes break free from Officer Pretlow's stungun, they plunge into your chest and you hit the ground.
The sensation that spills in next is a burning one, as if your entire body had been immolated. After the pain subsides you open your eyes and the world has an indescribable glow to it. It would appear as if you were out at the Matehuixl mountain range, particularly by Bloodmoon Ridge.
1. gently caress it, I better look around - You can do whatever you want, but if you decide to investigate, roll [ 2d6 + 2 for smarter than he lets on. ]
2. Slipping away - Roll 1d6 for your insanity die, if it's higher than one, you're now at rank 2.
|# ? Feb 15, 2013 22:42|
I was thinking the Bitchin' Van would also qualify as a Driving skill; would that cover the ability shift you're looking for?
"Okay. What. The. gently caress?"
Insanity!: 1d6 3
Rick was... not handling this well. Under normal circumstances he'd be thinking 'oh, it's just a dream,' but it doesn't feel like a dream, and besides, who has a dream about mountain ranges? Hey - isn't this where Dead Kid got Dead? Yeah, this merits some - dammit, he still wants to hit something - some looking around. Wonder if there're still bloodstains or something.
Still bubbling over with rage he can't quite comprehend (fuckin' Mitchell, he's the one always saying 'get a real haircut, Carter,' how about you get real choked out, bitch?), Rick starts searching the area, looking for some clue as to why Dead Kid is dead. Or possibly how the gently caress he got here. That would be nice too.
Investigation!: 2d6+2 7
Man, the dice don't love me today. That's okay! If I go crazy and psycho, I'll at least do it entertainingly!
|# ? Feb 15, 2013 23:27|
Stan stared at the page, flipping quickly through the pages in his book searching intently for what the hell this symbol is. He knew that he had seen this kind of symbol somewhere before; it was driving him insane!
Eureka! He stopped and found symbols which were very similar to the drawings in the kid's notebook. Yes, yes! This is a Navajo symbol, and this Iroqious, and this was... Choctaw? Wait, that can't be right. How would a kid in high school even know the names of these tribes, nonetheless their common symbols and mix them in a way that seems to exude... displeasure? defiance?
Stan snapped out of his frenzy. This was obviously just a red herring. "Heh, silly me. I am just trying not to head to the Principal's office. I hate getting my students in trouble, and inviting attention towards me." He spoke to himself and turned to leave the room, barely glancing at the second sheet of paper on his task as he grabbed it up to toss in the trash.
Erase the Ink! 2d6+1: 10 [2d6=6, 3]
But the shadows from the trees outside the window made him jump. For a moment it seemed that the ink was coming alive and covering him whole in a wave of inky-black darkness. Hah, it was amazing what tricks our minds can play on us when we are emotionally unstable. Like dreading the upcoming conference... hopefully Mark would not appear? "No more stalling, mind. I know where you live." He quickly glanced through the room hoping nobody heard him speaking to himself.
With his mind sufficiently threatened, he put on his coat and tie and walked out the door towards the Principal's office. But as he was crossing in front of the cafeteria, he stopped at the vending machines to grab some much needed Caffeine. But he wasn't sure if a Sprite or a Mountain Dew would be a better choice. So Stan called to one of his nearby students, Mary Maria Mariah? He could never remember, she was completely average. "So... uh Mary," he spoke her name under his breath in case he was wrong, "heads or tails? Heads is Sprite, Tails is Mountain Dew."
Slaan fucked around with this message at Feb 16, 2013 around 00:22
|# ? Feb 16, 2013 00:19|
"The Flash Drive's not in there, Mr. Leit..." Normally Sarah would have been pissed - really, yet another bag search? But it was easier to just go along with it. She was pretty certain she'd ditched the last half of her joint from earlier that day in a storm drain outside the School, but had she actually? Sarah was waaaay too tired to put up that much fuss, at any rate.
She thrust the bag to Mr Leitrich; if he wanted to spend the ten minutes it'd take to search it rather than dealing with the whole printing fiasco, that was fine. She'd just text people while he was looking through it - she needed to smoke again, and a quick text exchange with Trey and Daniel confirmed they were down. Sarah rolled her chair back across the classroom to where Mr. Leitrich was basically dumping the contents of her jumbo-sized purse onto his desk.
"What are you looking for, Mr. Leitrich? Sorry about the assignment, but there's really nothing in there." Both flash drive and weed, hopefully.
Rolled an 8, guess she doesn't have anything on her. gently caress this suspicious guy.
|# ? Feb 16, 2013 02:30|
Biting her pencil, as she was often wont to do, Sofia's thoughts raced seemingly on their own. She was obsessing over that note. Mrs. Herring seemed to be reading something with great distress, no doubt catching up with the rest of the faculty on the tragic news. There was time yet, before the lady set about the lecture. Time to think. Garret's handwriting was not as sloppy as most guys. She remembered his peculiar '8''s, it was like he had drawn two circles, one on top of the other, instead of the more common method of swooping them together. The '4' was also a bit off of the normal style of penmanship, like it was a crooked A-frame about ready to collapse. Let's see then. Two eights in the last three digits, a four in the first two... She closed her eyes and concentrated.
< ...so call me maybe? - [2d6=2,3 +2 = 7] >
She opened her eyes and smiled faintly, any concern over the loss of her note was gone. Tidy. She discretely keyed the numbers into her cell and saved them, dropping the phone into her satchel just as Mrs. Herring started up.
A few minutes later she was back at the table with her weak-stomached (and thankfully temporary) partners. Carlos (named after Carlos Oliva Castillo, a violent cartel boss she'd read about somewhere) was back under her careful blade, and as she separated tissue and organs per instruction, she noticed what was no doubt a foreign object lodged in the small intestine. There had been some swelling.
“Ugh, what is that, like a gut wart or something?”, John offered astutely. Lynn hit him.
“Gross! Ohmygod don't make this any worse, you rear end in a top hat. We have lunch next, remember?” She looked at Sofia, her upper lip curled with disgust. “So uh, what's wrong with our froggy?”
< More than he could chew. - [2d6=4,5 +3 = 12] >
Sofia looked up, expressionless. “Impaction. Not uncommon for an overzealous amphibian who's had as much sand or rocks as he's had supper.”
“Outstanding, Sofia!” Sofia was surprised to see Mrs Herring standing over her, beaming. “I think someone's a bit ahead of the class!”
Sofia heard a snort, no doubt from the Evil Girls Club in the back. But what did they matter anyways? They couldn't take Garret's number from her after all. As Mrs. Herring took Carlos around the room to show the other students the late misfortune of his appetite, Sofia remembered Garret's bold, green eyes and his broad shoulders...
Maybe a little text during lunch wouldn't hurt.
hctibyllis fucked around with this message at Feb 17, 2013 around 03:45
|# ? Feb 16, 2013 02:50|
Kim wanders to math class. Geometry. Mr. Smail had assigned a big thing of problem sets, and she gets them out, checking them over.
She glances up. Hm, room's empty? Where's Smail? He's usually in here all the time.
She checks the sets again. Yeah, still done. No problems.
She starts tapping at her desk with her pencil, thinking.
They'd said... insensitive? Because of what happened with her uncle? Well she wasn't torn up about it, that had all settled months ago. Or maybe she was still hurting from that?
Oh, and that would explain why she was bothered by Xavi, and how everyone was talking about it. Right, okay, that makes sense. So she was bothered about it, just not really in a clear way, and, like, that hallucination was the stress of it getting to her. Because she was bottling it up. She just needed to relax, and deal with it.
She grins, leaning back in her seat. Well, that was much better, now that she'd figured it out.
|# ? Feb 16, 2013 02:53|
Slightly intoxicated and ready to get weird.
Yeah, that works for me!
Your grip on reality begins to slip as you awaken from your bizarre, enraged assault in the frozen darkness of the "hallway". The jolts of electricity that surged through your body from the stun gun however, sent wave upon wave of crashing shock throughout your extremities and you sunk out of consciousness, reawakening near the alleged death site of Xavier Killian.
The clouds floated majestically and the sun shone vibrantly, the rays filling you with unnatural vigor. You stumble through the bluffs and ridges unknowingly as if in a daze and finally arrive under Bloodmoon Ridge. You look up and see Xavier Killian probably 75 ft. up, it looks like he is talking to someone, but then he turns your attention towards you, looking down at you with a crooked looking smile on his face.
His torso elongates suddenly, stretching obscenely causing the skin and muscle to tear and bleed. His ribs break, puncturing his sides, the fragments piercing through his shirt as he continues to swivel and contort in your overall direction. His smile still emblazoned upon his face even as blood forms up in the corner of his mouth, his eyes red from blood vessels that have burst. The crimson liquid pours out of his nostrils and ears as he finally arrives in front of your face, his lower body still firmly planted up on the top of the ridge, but his torso mutilated and grotesquely strung like a towel in front of you.
He opens his mouth, maybe five feet from your face and maggots and blood pour forth from it, splattering along the cracked soil of the Matehuixl mountain ground. The maggots wriggle their way into the crevices, rotting the land and fauna around them.
He speaks, but his voice is not there, only twisted gurgles followed by rigid snaps are heard, punctuated by the heavy crash of his clacking teeth. He opens his mouth once more, vomiting blood over your person.
You awake once again, this time handcuffed to an old steel heater inside the main office. Dana looks at you from the reception desk with a vapid look in her eyes. "MomaxmeiUSn aonof eoamfoe?" she says to you, but it makes no sense, she spouts the gibberish once more this time with visible frustration. "MomaxmeiUSn aonof eoamfoe?!"
Officer Pretlow walks in rigidly and points his finger in your face and proceeds to shout similar nonsense. "FAasmxaoEInx!! AYgxmoeIU Ins NUSAn eMOmsie."
1. Xxamgoae - ASmgoeasenigi e amasfioe o dfmle a - [ 2d6 - 2(Angry) ] - All this nonsense talk is going to piss you right the hell off.
2. Get your story together - Whenever people start making sense again, you're going to want to have an explanation and probably an apology lined up if you don't want to go to juvie again, besides, Dad is probably drinking and you know how he likes to use more than his hands when he drinks... - [ 2d6 + 2 Smarter ]
3. (Conditional)Insanity Check - If you roll 6 or less on 'Xxamgoae' roll your insanity die to see if you proceed to rank '3'. 4+ is an increase in rank.
You grab at your person as the ink seems to spread across you and the room, but you take a deep breath and close your eyes. Upon exhaling, you find things back to normal. You wipe your eyes and take a moment to recollect your wit, laughing lightly at the ordeal, chocking it to the delusions of an emotionally compromised mentality. It was a stressful day after all, and you had to get to the principal's office to discuss the situation with mark before your next class.
You decide you need a caffeinated pick me up though and make a detour through the student courtyard just outside of the cafeteria. You call out to "Mary", but you are corrected, "Uh... it's Marie, Mr. Danesson, geesh. You're lucky you're my favorite teacher." the sass was unexpected, but the compliment bought your favor. "If you're wanting a pick me up, I'd suggest the Mountain Dew, but let's leave it to the coin toss."
Sprite or Mountain Dew: 1d2 2
"Looks like it's Mountain Dew, Mr. Danesson. Try to remember my name next time!" She walks away, slinging her backpack over her shoulder, mussing her plain looking hair out of her average looking face.
Your visit to the office could be delayed no more. Mr. Berk pulled down his blind signalling you in, you could see Mark was there waiting.
You see Rick Carter handcuffed to a heater as you enter into the office, he looks pale and is sweating.(Probably because he is hooked to a heater, or the fact that he got electrocuted only minutes ago.)
You pass him and enter into the office. "Aah, Mr. Danesson, Mr. Peters was just filling me in on what happened in the classroom. How about we get your side of the story."
1. You hate conference... - [ 2d6 - 2 Non-confrontational ] to explain what happened competently.
Mr. Leitrich rifles through your possessions without care for the order of things. He scatters your belongings on the table, meticulously checking every pocket, shaking the bag for even a trace of something illicit.
He tosses it back on the table and storms back to his office without saying a word to you and slams the door before picking up the phone. What a dick.
You get out of there to clear your head and you make your way to the art barn to "work on your assignment". Unfortunately, the talk of Xavier Killian persists throughout the school and the chatter causes you to vividly remember your smoke session with him and some other students from the school. It was in May, or maybe April?
As you make sketches against a partially painted canvas for an alteration to the original design you had implemented, your mind drifts to the past, doting on the memory you have of smoking with Xavier months before his death.
You're all in the basement of your parents house passing around an iced bong, taking rips, blowing smoke towards a silent-running air purifier. The pleasant laundry scented aroma of a plugin, masking what traces remained of the scent.
It is not long before you all engage in navel gazing, speculation about the nature of things. Some of the statements are funnier than other, but as Xavier comes to the foray to present his outlook, the room grows grim.
He exhales a lung's worth of smoke into the open area you all lounged around, and begins to speak, smoke still trailing from his mouth as if he was an ancient beast. "What if I told you all, that there were creatures that existed only to feed on human ennui and suffering. Ridiculous right? You'd think I was crazy... but what if I said that I could become like that? Something transcendent, something powerful, something with absolute purpose. An engineer of misfortune, an architect of misery, powerful... what if I could become the strongest of all these creatures. Strong enough to end the illusion, t change things, to make things the way they should be."
"I think you need to lay off the pot." One of your so-called friends says, laughing to break the awkward silence that followed.
There is something else missing there, what did Xavier say in response to that? Something he said that made it all make an eerie sense... what did he say?
1. Jog your memory - [ 2d6 + 2 stoner ] short-term usually gets purged, but impacting things that make it to long-term memory are usually detailed and stored. Let's just hope your thoughts weren't too abstract in your high.
'505 - 436 - 1828' Got it! You smile as you write down the number, you're fairly certain this was correct and wince over in the direction of the girls who had taken the number from you masking their own adolescent insecurities through overt bullying.
As you note the impaction in the frog's intestine, you can't help but glow a little as Mrs. Herring gives you praise, even with the Princess Battalion's mockery from the back of the room. Taking a scalpel, you make a small incision along the distended section of intestine and use small tweezers to retrieve the matter from within. You pull out what looks like an egg of some sort, more insect like in nature than anything, but far too hard and durable to belong to any type of insect that you knew of. As you still hold the egg in the tweezers, it bursts with a frothing grey substance leaking out of it, that foams and bubbles up. As you look closer, you see tiny hands and arms sprouting from the individual bubbles that have welled up in the froth. The arms extend long like strings, the fingers like filaments even smaller and they reach over the table like a network of veins. You drop the tweezers and the "egg" and more insect like figures bubble up from the remains of the object taking on bizarre organic shapes. The insects twist and stretch desperately at something before falling lifeless in a mess on the table.
Lynn shrieks in horror, "What the hell are you doing freak!?"
You re-examine the table after directing your attention towards her and find that the frogs innards are scattered all along the table, the intestines unraveled and segments of it's organs crushed to disgusting pulps by the tweezers and tools you had been using. Mrs. Herring looks on in shock as well and excuses you from the class, disgusted, but still trying to make excuses for you since you were her favorite. "J-just go to the councilor or maybe the nurse... I-I'll take care of this."
1. Did you... did you pull that frog apart? - Roll 1d6 for your insanity die, if it's higher than 1, you're at rank 2 insanity.
2. Text Garrett - You remembered his number after all and given what just happened, you need something, anything normal.
Dwelling on the realization that all of your reaction was probably just a response to your uncle's own untimely death, you relax removing the thoughts from your mind with a grin. The bell rings for class and still no signs of Mr. Smail. The assistant-head of the math department, Ms. Connors walks in with a slack-jawed substitute teacher.
"Hello students, Mr. Smail is out ill today, but he said he left some graphs for you all to complete on his computer. I've instructed Mr. Landon here how to get those to you all and he'll be watching the class for today. Everyone give him a warm welcome and show him how brilliant the Jaguars are."
"Hey, uh, kids, I've got these graphs for you, looks confusing... but uh, I guess you all know how to do them so... I'll be here up front if you need anything. Just complete them and turn them in by the end of class. Probably just some lame completion grade anyhow."
He passes them out and students groan and complain, "This stuff doesn't even make sense or go with the problem set. Are you sure this is right?"
"Look, it's what he left... just uh, try your best and you should be fine alright, geez." Mr. Landon says, raising his head from his school inappropriate magazine. Is that a woman holding her exposed breasts on the cover?
Regardless of his perversion or the off-topic assignment, you give it your best shot and find the graph comes with instructions, although they are somewhat cryptic. You manage to outline a pattern that seems to follow the Fibonacci sequence and goes inwardly forever as a fractal, of course you couldn't draw forever, but you manage to draw several rows.
1. This looks... - [ Roll 2d6 ] to determine just how complete an image you see.
|# ? Feb 17, 2013 07:28|
Walking into the Principal's office, Stan was taken aback by the student chained to the radiator. He stopped by to look him in the eyes to check for damage. He wasn't a med student but he is a Doctor. That had to count for something and the history texts are surprisingly full of what people look like when they are injured! And he is also a coach, so he knew a basic amount of first aid and sports medicine.
Check on Rick (to put off conference) 2d6: 8 [2d6=2, 6] Might be 9 or 10 if you accept +1 Racquetball/Tennis or +2 Historian.
"Umm, are you okay dude? Your eyes are slightly bloodshot and unfocused, not to mention the sweating. Are you able to hear me? I think you must be concussed and we should get you to a medical center immediately."
But before going on, Danesson called into the Principal's office. "Just take his story, it wasn't that big of a deal. I only sent him in here so that I could keep teaching class. But this kid out here looks to be in need of medical care. As a coach, I think I should take him to the school nurse. Can you uncuff him?"
Get away from the Conference! 2d6-2: 6 [2d6=2, 6]
AGENDA: Trying to get out of the conference by helping another student. Its a medical emergency!
|# ? Feb 17, 2013 08:37|
Kim frowns, biting her lip.
She'd been really hoping to get those problems set turned in, but... well, whatever. Smail was gone anyway. Not that big a deal.
Now this... graph... thing. Why were they doing this? Didn't have anything to do with what they were on.
She frowns again, clicking at her pencil a little to work at the center bits, then pulls back to get a better look at it.
Looks like a parrot? No. More like... hmm...
Rolling: 2d6=3 uh maybe that's bad.
zachol fucked around with this message at Feb 17, 2013 around 12:21
|# ? Feb 17, 2013 10:04|
Xxamgoae: 2d6-2 2
Insanity: 1d6 3
I think I hate Orokos. Least I didn't go even crazier.
"Fuckin' talk English, you fuckin' whatever-the-gently caress!" Rick is less than eloquent when he's angry. He lurches at the pig, Pretlow, but is pulled up short by the cuffs, his eyes wide and round and not terribly focused, his teeth gritting angrily. "Was it you, you gently caress? Were you the one he was fuckin' talking to? What'd you say to make him jump before the maggots came out of his eyes, huh?"
....so, yeah, probably this isn't a good sign. He could even run with the excuses that Danesson is trying to pitch him if he could understand the words that were being said. Still, some part of Rick, some saner, calmer part, understands that he's probably boned, but maybe he can come up with something. It better be something good.
Excuses, excuses: 2d6+2 13
I take it back, orokos!
Something like admitting he had a drink or two this morning - because he did - and he knows that's against the law and also wrong but he just can't help himself, he always drinks on the days after Dad sneaks into his room at night and does... *sob* things... horrible, terrible things... He'll probably have to spend the day talking to shrinks and pointing out on the doll where the bad touches happen, but that beats a cell any day of the week.
You know what's better than juvie and getting hit by your rear end in a top hat of a father? Getting the rear end in a top hat father sent to prison on a molestation charge. It's the nuclear option of bullshit, but hell, it beats an attempted murder rap. Desperate times, desperate measures.
P.S. I am a terrible human being for playing a character willing to be just this awful.
DivineCoffeeBinge fucked around with this message at Feb 17, 2013 around 10:40
|# ? Feb 17, 2013 10:38|
Hunched over the canvas she was painting on, Sarah was too tired to be angry and had settled for a kind of resigned outrage about the whole bag search. Getting to work on a new piece with no content specifics was a wonderful treat after that whole shitshow, but try as she might she couldn't enjoy it. She made small talk with a few people nearby for a minute or two, mostly more stuff about Xavier and the conference, before secluding herself to the project she was working on. All the while, the one time she'd ever hung out with Kyle was replaying itself in her head, especially a part when he'd harshed everyone's mellow. She wasn't certain why she remembered it as well as she did, but for whatever reason it'd stayed lodged in her brain.
Sarah painted on autopilot while she daydreamed about Xavier's whole "I'm gonna be a God guys" creepo speech. He'd reminded her of the Gmork from the Neverending Story, though at the time she was certain it was just her being stoned and paranoid. He'd come over with Mike M, or Kelly maybe, and had left on his own maybe an hour or so later. When he first started talking, she'd thought he was talking about aliens or some other conspiracy theory, but as he went on and the smoke kept coming out the whole time I think his words had taken a decidedly surreal and macabre tone. Sarah had just cocked an eyebrow at him when he'd finished talking and sat back on the couch, the majority of her limited focus was currently tasked with operating her newest bong (named Charmander) and holding the massive hit she was taking in her lungs. A dramatically long exhalation of smoke and two coughs later and Sarah had opened her mouth to chip in following one of her "friends" telling Xavier to stop smoking, when he'd cut her off and said something chilling...
Recalling smoke session w/ Xavier: 2d6+2 14
Sarah recalls the poo poo out of it. Not certain that's gonna be a good thing though
Rauri fucked around with this message at Feb 17, 2013 around 13:29
|# ? Feb 17, 2013 11:37|
The class was frozen in awkward silence. Sofia looked pitifully at Mrs. Herring, but the teacher's expression was positively narked. There was nothing for it but to belt up and make a hasty exit. She shoved her books back in the old leather satchel and quickly scurried out of the room.
What. The. Bleeding. Hell. She had no words to describe what just happened in there. That's not true. It can't possibly have happened. Little bug-men having a do inside a dead frog. Bit of barmy pie, innit?
< Batty for Bug-Men - [1d6=4] >
Sofia ducked quickly into the girls room, grabbed a sink and looked at herself in the mirror. Come on now. Get it together.
But she just couldn't shake the image of those tiny buggers pouring out of Carlos. Was she having one of those again? Turning on the cold water full blast, she splashed water against her face and took several deep breaths. No. Just... just please don't.
After a few minutes, she slumped out of the bathroom and sank onto the top of the stairs at the end of the hall. Resting her head against the wall, she pulled her cellular (given to her by the nice American family she was with) from the satchel and looked at Garret's number. Nosh was in ten minutes. She remembered seeing him in-queue in the caff before, now that she thought about it, so they had the same lunch break. Perhaps he might want to rendezvous for that? She needed someone to talk to, to help clear her head. Hallucinations could be related to stress, and she had her fair share of it to be sure. If she wasn't ace in her performance during the Exchange Program, there's no telling what her parents would do. She shuddered subconsciously and began typing out a text.
Alright? This is Sofia
Gods. That sounded like arse. She had no idea how to talk to a boy, much less an American one. Best keep things simple, lest she make some horrid faux pas.
Meet for Lunch period, then? Bench on the south side of the courtyard.
She frowned at the display for a moment, then hit 'SEND'. She'd better make a quick visit to the nurses office first for an alibi. Could just say she's having a row with her 'visitor', or the like. Tedious, but mind we keep our head about this. Everything will be alright. She slung the satchel over her arm and headed down the steps.
hctibyllis fucked around with this message at Feb 18, 2013 around 00:01
|# ? Feb 17, 2013 18:19|
"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Yet there are those who
open many eyes. Eyes are the mirror of the soul, someone has said.
So we look closely at the eyes to see the nature of the soul.
Sometimes when we see the eyes--those horrible times when we see
the eyes, eyes that ... that have no soul--then we know a darkness,
then we wonder: where is the beauty? There is none if the eyes
~ Log Lady, Twin Peaks ~
Remember that at any point in time, you can try to set your own agenda and make any relevant rolls that would affect what you're trying to accomplish.
You stop to try and attend to the handcuffed student, buying any possible time that you can to avoid the conference with Mark Peters and Principal Berk.
You peek in briefly to try and dismiss the event claiming that you need to see that Rick is treated for properly, but Principal Berk insists.
"I'll see to it that he has the proper medical attention, I'll have you know that man committed an assault and Officer Pretlow took the necessary measures to detain the boy. I'll have Carolyn take a look at him, Pretlow uncuff him and keep an eye on him. Danesson, I'll need to have words with you and Mr. Peters now."
With that said, you are drawn into the office unhappily.
"Now, Mr. Peters here has disclosed to me his side of the story, but I would like to adequately understand all aspects of the situation, so if I could just hear your account in Mr. Peters presence Stan."
1. Damnit! There's no avoiding this... - [2d6 - 2 Non-Confrontational] - Just explain it as best you can without choking or letting Mr. Peters get the best of you. The last thing you need is Berk breathing down your neck.
2. (CONDITIONAL) If less than 6 on 'Damnit! There's no avoiding this...' - Your mind wonders back to the symbols and the "ink" incident. Roll [2d6 + 2 Historian] for your forced revelation.
You look at the drawing, but it doesn't look like more than a complex series of inwardly spinning lines. You could keep making iterations of the pattern within the graph, but eventually the page would just look a mess of scribbles. You put the paper aside and consider the assignment complete.
It is at this point that Jamison, that goofy nerd who always turned beet red when you talked to him, flips out, knocking all of the materials off of his desk. He starts to foam at the mouth as he starts speaking in horrible screeches. The other students move from him as he reaches for his scissors, his eyes rolled in the back of his head only exposing white, and he tries to reach out at anyone, trying to stab at them with the fiskars in his hand. The other students back away, but the substitute freaks out in the same manner. His eyes all whitened, frothing at the mouth, speaking only in unintelligible grunts and howls. He snatches the computer monitor from the desk and tosses it at the kids gathering in the corner and manages to injure Darius who lept in front of his friends to shield them from the attack.
The substitute runs towards the door, raving madly at anyone who gets near.
Jamison turns his attention towards you and starts pacing at you, snapping the scissors open and shut as he approaches, laughing and shrieking all the while.
If that wasn't bad enough, other students start to descend into this crazed state, attacking one another or themselves. Ms. Connors comes to check on the noise, but substitute Landon is at the door and he pulls her in and slits her throat with a pocket knife he must of had on his person.
She grabs at her throat as her eyes widen, she tries to scream, but her voice is not there. Blood runs over her fingers and out of her mouth as she struggles to stay balanced, inevitably crashing to the ground, twitching ever so faintly as the blood pulses out of her open neck. The students not attacked or insane begin to scream and try to flee the room but are chased by Mr. Landon who runs at them as they draw near the door.
1. Don't get shanked - [2d6 + 3 Effortless + 1 Loosely Wound] - 6 or lower is stabbed.
2. (CONDITIONAL)What the hell?! - Roll 1d6 for your insanity die if you manage to get yourself stabbed.
I was messed up and I meant anything 3+ puts you at rank 3 insanity, but since I goofed. I'll let you keep your grip a little longer haha
Officer Pretlow backs away from you as you spout your apparent madness at him, going on about maggots coming out of eyes, but you manage to expertly quell your rage and calm yourself long enough to come up with an explanation.
You go with a story about your alcoholic dad who beats you, this much is true, but then to seal the deal you suggest he takes other actions against your person... Dana and Officer Pretlow gasp at your confession, but they seem to buy it taking immediate pity on you. Nurse Carolyn comes in to check on you after Mr. Danesson expresses concern about your overall well being and she is nearly brought to tears by your story.
They unhook you completely from the radiator and take you to the teachers lounge where you meet with the councilor who is offering you coffee and lunch, much better than the poo poo you'd find in the cafeteria. The little white lie you've created seems to strike sympathy chords, you could probably make the whole thing into a pretty nasty punk song in hindsight, but as you are going over the details of your "home life", you can't help but feel like something is up with councilor nick. Officer Pretlow sat outside the room just incase you relapsed into a psychotic rage, but you're more worried about your own safety.
Nick goes from taking notes, to digging lines into his pad of paper with his pen, tearing the page with each remark, yet he just nods and mumbles "mm hmm" at you as you continue to explain your story. Eventually his marking comes to a full-fledged stabbing of the pen into the pad, tearing rows several pages deep into the paper. "So Rick, you didn't listen to me last time we talked." He says with a vacant look in his eyes.
Something was there, but... it was empty, something cold, yet familiar. "I still don't think you're listening Rick. How can I make you listen, how can I make you listen, hhooww Ccan I MAKE yyOU LIStxuia?! Exi Aos j PLEI zsd GAIOMA?! EXI AOS J PLEI ZSD GAIOMA?! EXI AOS PLEI ZSD GAIOMA!!?! EXI AOS PLEI ZSD GAIOMA!!?! EXI AOS PLEI ZSD GAIOMAexiaospleizsdgaiomaexismagoemxigebuyenmzmlgneitbnIAStnmgoeOEmAoenAI!INAkNEmAoOEALAOgm" He shouts his gibberish at you, but Officer Pretlow just stood at the door as if he didn't hear the unintelligible shouts coming from Nick who was now burrowing the pen into his arms, smearing the spilled blood on the table, drawing archaic depictions that seem far more terrible to you than they should.
He continues stabbing into himself shouting as Pretlow stands outside of the door.
1. Uhhh? - Stop him, escape, get help, do something, anything! - Describe what you want to do and attempt any roll you think suitable [2d6 + relevant bonuses or penalties to your action] - You are not yet angry, but kind of freaked out so [-1]Freaked Out on this roll, so [2d6 + relevant bonuses - 1].
2. (CONDITIONAL)Slipping away - Less than 6 on 'uhhh?' and it's time to jingle-jangle that insanity die again, 3+ takes you to rank 3 insanity.
As you paint, you intensely recollect the session with Xavier, and you remember what made you so uncomfortable about the whole ordeal.
He continues on with his spiel about trying to become some sorrow harvesting god, but he describes with a great detail an unexplainable phenomenon that you were just high enough to rationalize.
"Consider for example, that feeling you get when something bad happens to you. That almost "physical" pain you get in the core of your being when you are forced into apprehension or dread. That knotting sensation in the pit of your stomach at some grim revelation. That itching uncertainty at the back of your mind. How do you think it got there? Why would it be there? Various cultures and religions from all around the world throughout time have referenced the phenomenon, the great philosophers discuss it at lengths even attributing in some theories to some malevolent creating force that exists in its own state of perpetual confusion and darkness, only thirsting for the agony of us lesser creatures. I mean, of course that is just all hokey shamanic speculation right? The tribes native to this region called it "a-ni-s-gi-na" probably not pronounced that way mind you, but... it means bad spirits, which often gets interpreted as something dead and beyond, but the school of belief I prescribe to is that, we are all the bad spirits or rather apart of some encompassing bad spirit and the e-e-e or sadness that wells up in us is our punishment and our reward. A reminder of something real in the otherwise dismal illusion of choice and certainty. There is a contrast, don't get me wrong, but... it's much harder to explain, maybe I don't understand it well enough. I'm just really baked, sorry about the diatribe."
He gets up, bagging up the remains of a nug he bought off of you and leaves. The tone of the room much more contemplative and pessimistic than before. You don't know if it was that dank herb that had you understanding what he was saying or maybe it just all made a little sense in all the wrong ways, but you felt uncomfortable, almost violated. He left the very feeling he described in you and your stomach sort of ached in your inexplicable nervousness.
You snap back to reality and find things a bit stranger than you had left them in your daze.
1. Examine your painting - [2d6 base roll]
As you examine the now mutilated Carlos, you shudder realizing that you were responsible for the entire incident. You can't help but feel some inexpressible horror lurking within you, something guiding your actions down some dark avenue.
The realization that this may reach your parents, makes you quiver nervously.
Q&A: What would they do if they found out about this?
You send a text to Garrett to meet up for lunch, but still haven't heard from him by the time you make your way to the nurses office.
Sitting on the angled bed, the nurse examines you as you give her a brief recollection of what had transpired without getting into the literally gory details. She asks you questions about having a history of mental illness or anxiety issues that leave you feeling partially offended and somewhat embarrased.
Answering your questions as best you can, she turns away from you as you lie there on the cot while she types into her computer.
"Why don't you just nap until lunch dear, I'll wake you then."
Taking assurance in Nurse Carolyn's words, you drift off into sleep.
The wind blows carrying dust and all manner of debris with it as you navigate what would appear to be the decayed remains of the town of Cixtoatl. Windows are broken, metal rusted, and most uncomfortable is the fact that no matter how far you go, you can find no signs of life, animal or human. You wander and wander until you reach the outskirts of town and are seemingly transported to the Matehuixl Mountain range. Etched visibly into the mountains are large cryptic symbols, at least twice your size, but you cannot interpret them.
Finally after what seemed like endless wandering, you see for the first time something that seems like it might be alive. It's off in the distance, but it looks like an animal, a dog or wolf perhaps?
1. Investigate or Flee - If you decide to investigate, roll [2d6 + 2 observant ollie + 1 all grown up] if you flee, roll [2d6 - 1 pencil neck]
|# ? Feb 18, 2013 18:45|
William "Dallas" Berk" post="412378166 posted:
Name: William "Dallas" Berk
"The bliss and ignorance of youth" he thought. "Here a classmate is dead, a wretched way, and yet a few minutes of loose lips calls them away. They can't help it. God knows you have seen enough teenagers to know they have few true desires and they all succumb to the primal cry, not a thought or question enters their mind. In a way I envy them, but rules are rules." You two, he struggled to remember their names but couldn't muster, lunch detention and after school. He lightly tapped Ofc Lowe on the shoulder to indicate he wanted to talk to him, but not in this crowd. Catching the eye of Rutledge, he instructs the VP to check with Xavier's teachers, gather up any recent work they might have, double check his attendance, make sure everything seems to be in order.
Dallas and Elton head for the principal's office. "What a shame. What a god damned shame. We've been in this office many times my friend. Truancy, a vodka filled coke bottle, a dime bag, hell even a gun. But never like this. I just never saw this as the problem we have here. Not that it's a big city thing, just these things happen somewhere else, not at home. Not here."
Starting tho choke up, it was time to shift the conversation, there is plenty of time for soul searching tonight, the kind that opens the dusty bottles. The bottle for celebration, or for great sadness.
"Elton, I'll have the teachers do the usual, and I'll send his papers and records over to your office (That should give me enough time to go over them myself). You really look shook up by this one. I didn't think you knew the boy much, some reason this hits home?" "We don't have to do this here, I can always swing by the station after the bell."
|# ? Feb 18, 2013 19:41|
XmasGiftFromWife, glad to have you! I'll get you caught up to more or less where everyone else is at. I've spoken for you on a few occasions, Slaan is directly involved with you currently so after this turn, I'll get you busy with that.
William "Dallas" Berk
"No, no it's fine Dallas. You're right... I didn't know the boy, which is why this makes it all the more terrifying what I saw out there on that ridge."
Officer Lowe pulls up a chair to your desk and sits down, enjoying his respite from the recent chaos of his typically, "normal" beat.
"It looked like some animal had gotten a hold of him, the way his insides were all turned out, but... but..." He chokes up and stares at you with a disgusted, confused, even angry look in his eye before he finally gets his words together. "The morgue is convinced these wounds were self-inflicted, but it's not possible, it can't be. How could anyone do that to themselves?! He was ripped apart, but the flesh under his nails, the injuries on his hands and abdomen, they all appear to have come from him. What no one can seem to understand, is how it was even physically possible, how he managed to stay alive long enough to even do the type of damage that he did. Even more alarming is that no animal wants to get near the body, only the flies took to the meat."
"Ah, hell... I'm sorry Dallas, I didn't mean to get into it like that, but... every once in a while, you come across something like this and it... it just changes you; often in ways you'll never be able to put into words or understand. I appreciate your cooperation with this, as is usual. Just drop by the station later on once you have it all put together."
Officer Lowe gets up from the chair before tucking it back against the wall neatly and exits your office, nodding at Dana, the receptionist as he leaves.
You wring your hands looking over your itinerary for the day sometime after Officer Lowe departs and Molly Keenan, an honor roll student comes in cheerfully bringing you a note from Stan Danesson about an outburst from student Mark Peters who was scheduled to meet with you during his lunch.
1. Aside from having conference at lunch... - What as on your agenda for the day, it was only third period afterall.
|# ? Feb 18, 2013 20:29|
[Q&A: Guess I'll just use italicized brackets for OOC. Her parents are based on actual, horrible people. Sofia would remember one of her parents' favorite methods of “correction”: cuffing her to the stairs of their cold storage cellar and beating her repeatedly with a large extension cord. She would be made to stay down there for days at a time, fed just bread and water, the only communication being her parents' constant reminder that she “put herself there” with her “worthless apathetic attitude”. Sofia managed to convince herself in the girls room that what happened with the frog was just because of another blackout related to the flashbacks she has of her abuse (though it obviously wasn't in this case). ]
[Having a recreational interest in Psychology, Sofia has read a few medical journals describing the treatment of mentally-ill individuals. She knows that stress can cause hallucinations and so tries to convince Nurse Carolyn that she is having issues dealing with being in a new country, the pressures of the program and also having her monthly 'visitor' (she's not, but anything to help sell the story).[+3 Betty Bookworm]]
< Off her rocker or on the rag? – [2d6=3,6 +3 = 12] >
Lying down on the cot, she was suddenly hit with an overwhelming fatigue. She shook her head to clear it, but the room just went blurry. Her eyelids felt like iron curtains, her neck fixed to a heavy chain. Strange shapes and distorted sounds replaced the neat and quiet nursing room. “Really, Ma'am, I'm just... really...” she mumbled listlessly as an odd humming sensation overwhelmed her. Everything became like the static 'snow' on the TV, formless figures twisting in the picture as her ears rang and she slowly slipped into darkness.
She was walking through a dusty ghost town, wind whipped the air around her and she hugged herself for warmth. Isn't this supposed to be a warm climate? She thought absently. Making her way down the street, her skinny legs wobbling forward of their own accord like a zombie's, she noticed the surrounding architecture of the town's ruined buildings was a bit off. In fact, upon closer inspection, it looked impossible, like some far fetched non-Euclidean geometry. She'd only been into Cixtoatl a couple of times since her arrival, but she knew it hadn't looked like this. Her legs wouldn't allow her to stop and investigate, she just continued to lurch forward down the endless, bizarre avenue. The rows of buildings seemed to stretch into the distance infinitely. The sun was a dull red that desaturated all earthly colors, making everything in the desolate environment appear surreal. Where is everyone?
It might have been hours or even days before Sofia's feet finally stopped and she sank wearily to the ground. Looking around, she noticed she was out of Bizarro- Cixtoatl and in the mountains on some trail. tHiS iS hOmE. Barely hearing her own thoughts, she looked upon the landscape: massive cliffs jutting up like claws into the lifeless skies, twisted trees clinging to rock faces adorned with unrecognizable symbols. Everything was still, so still and quiet. She leaned forward and pushed herself up to a hands and knees position. Then she saw it.
< A furry friend? – [2d6=3,4 +2 +1 = 10] >
About 120 yards away was a wolf. Its fur was matted and it looked a bit scrawny. She guessed it was an adolescent Mexican Gray Wolf. She'd read enough National Geographic to know they were quite endangered and should be left alone. Adolescent males typically traveled in packs together, so others may not be far behind. Sofia froze, hoping not to attract its attention.
Her thoughts were strangely muddy. yOu cOuLd sEEEEE wHaT iT wAnTs.
“No!” She whispered harshly to herself, then sucked in her breath and clapped a hand over her mouth. Did it hear her? She looked up at the wolf. It seemed to be looking in her direction, but still not moving. Perhaps... Perhaps if she were to climb a tree she could see if there were any other wolves in the area, or at least gain some perspective as to where she was. [-1 Pencil Neck]
< Prey or perch – [2d6=6,5 -1 = 10] >
Prey or perch - Sofia is trying to climb a tree to gain a vantage point. Her mind is apparently playing tricks on her, but she has enough common sense to know that wild wolves are not friends.
hctibyllis fucked around with this message at Feb 20, 2013 around 16:33
|# ? Feb 18, 2013 22:39|
"Heeeyyy Jamie... heyy it's okay... put down the scissors... put down--"
As Jamison charges her, she grabs his hand, leading him up over her shoulder and down into some desks.
2d6+4=6 ha ha great
had it at +3 but +4 still gets me 6 with the snake eyes
She pulls back, confused, then looks down at her arm. Oh jeez that's a lot of blood. Uh. Okay um what's going on. This isn't a joke. This has to be a joke. Landon just killed Ms. Connors. This isn't a joke.
1d6=6 great; sanity at 2 now?
Her (good) hand darts to her mouth, stunned. Oh no. No no no. Whatever it is, not time to... get all... weird. Or something. Not time for laughs. I mean, this is... pretty funny... no... no it's not. This isn't funny. Why would this be funny? This isn't funny at all.
She turns to face the door. Landon's stabbing Beth. Right, okay, because... because this is just... how things are. Right. Beth's dead, okay. Right. Not funny.
She runs forward, at Landon, who looks up, starts screaming some nonsense, and leaps at her.
2d6+4=15 that's more like it
Landon goes sailing over some desks, coughing and sputtering, and Kim flicks the knife closed, slipping it in a pocket. She takes a look at the room, the chaos, shakes her head, then goes out into the hallway.
Okay, nurse's office. Where's the nurse's office. Other end of the school, near the gym and the administration. Alright. Yeah. Okay, halls are clear. Right, because there's class. Still. Still class. She's still at school.
She's at school and people are dying. They're murdering each other in the room. Right behind her. Students are murdering each other. Sweet Ms. Connors is dead. Landon killed her, then tried to kill Kim. Jamie stabbed her. She has a bloody knife in her pocket. The knife that killed Ms. Connors. Her arm is bleeding.
Her arm is bleeding. Need to get to the nurse's office. Yes. Nurse's office. Nurse's office. Nurse's office. Nurse's office. Nurse's office.
"Hello dear oh my god..."
"Ha ha, uh, there was an accident? Um, in class, with some scissors."
"I think I'm in shock, maybe? Not really sure what happened."
|# ? Feb 18, 2013 23:58|
Stan drooped slightly in defeat and, metaphorically, limped into the Principal's office to take a chair next to his student in front of the desk.
"Well, uh, sir, what happened was, uh. Uhm, let me start over. Three of my students, including Mark here, got into a confrontation over a notebook. During the altercation, Mark destroyed the notebook sending pages flying all over class, causing the owner of the notebook to burst into tears.
Mark stormed out into the hallway, so I called out to him to come here for a meeting, just wanting to get my class back under control. I don't actually really want to get anyone in trouble over a little notebook. Though the notebook's owner did say that she was given the notebook by poor Xavier..."
Failed it like a pro
He took the remaining page of the notebook out of his pocket to show the Principal. "You can see this spiral here. This... spiral here. Ahem, well this... spiral here that Miss Carter told me was Xaviers is actually an amalgamation of several local Indian deSIGNS. HeRe let me show you these local SPIRals, I did my thesis on the SPIRALS you know. The Moundbuilders made big SPiraLS with their mounds."
10 means I passed it without really going insane right?
He stopped a got a hold of himself, just passing his verbal ticks as part of his nervousness. He grabbed a post-it note from the Principal's desk and drew several designs on it, pointing out the similarities between the old Native American symbols and Xavier's design. "So, sir, I honestly don't care about Peter's behavir in class after the tragedy, but I think this here may be a clue for the police. I would like to talk to the Officer out there to show them this items. It could be a clue as to Xavier's death. Maybe he was involved in some sort of local retro-worshipping cult or something?" Danesson scooted to the edge of his seat, making it obvious he wanted to go (not to mention the nervous sweat on his brow). "If there is nothing else..?"
1. Get the hell out of this room
2. Tell someone about the link between Xavier and local Indians
|# ? Feb 19, 2013 08:41|
Sarah couldn't tell if she'd been sleeping in her chair or just daydreaming. Ryan Kurtis had knocked a chair over and the clamor it'd produced had woken her from her unpleasant reverie, nearly causing her to fall out of her own seat. Her vision tunneling for a second - seven hours of sleep in the past three days catching up with her, surely - the disoriented stoner blinked a couple times and rubbed her eyes. The sight before her made her wish she'd stayed dreaming.
The painting she'd finished while thinking back on that unpleasant encounter was truly ghastly. Squatting at the center and composed of swirls of purple, red and black, Xavier's tortured (or maybe triumphant) face twisting and transforming into a brackish mist that permeated the rest of the painting. Beneath him was a craggy and broken hill, and above him a night sky filled with a hundred angry stars. She'd applied so much paint to each star that they seemed to jut up from the paper, and it looked almost as if she'd adorned the painting with tiny (teeth) candles. A series of strange symbols seemed to be repeated diagonal to the rest of the piece, and just glancing them over made Sarah feel as if she was covered in snakes, and hear the word Anisgina echo in low tones after. She'd even spelled her name peculiarly - sArAH smITh. It was easily the most unsettling thing she'd ever painted, even worse than her sketches during the acid trip right after her first breakup.
Painting Check: 2d6 7 [Figured 7 means narrow pass, so creepy but not not immediately san score increasing? Sorry if I got it wrong.]
Xavier mentioned the Anisgina were a local myth. Maybe Mr. Danesson might know something? She'd had him her sophomore year, and of the scant few lectures of his she hadn't either slept through or been totally blazed for that she could recall, they were all about local Indian tribes. He might know something about what Xavier's Anisgina were, and maybe even why this was upsetting her so much. Plus, he'd given her a C and she knows she deserved an F, and that makes him alright in her book.
After the bell rang, Sarah raced off to see if Mr. Danesson was in his classroom, with speed that only an unmotivated, tired stoner can manage. That is to say, she found herself lost twenty minutes (five after the late bell already) in a hallway somewhere near where she was pretty sure his class was. The empty echoing corridors and sense of pervading wrongness was doing wonders for her stoned paranoia. She giggled weakly to break the silence at one point during her walk, but it had come out sounding all wrong "hEhEhE," and she'd been walking the rest of the way in silence.
Finding Mr. Danesson: 2d6-2 1 [I take solace in that I didn't roll a 0.]
1) Get unlost, find Mr. Danesson, and ask him about Xavier's freaky beliefs / the Anisgina.
2) Smoke weed everyday.
Rauri fucked around with this message at Feb 19, 2013 around 10:44
|# ? Feb 19, 2013 10:39|
Stan, Dont be to hasty with these things. I understand that you think this falls right in line with your graduate work. And I understand your excitement about this, but I really need you to leave this to me and Officer Lowe. Why don't you give me everything you have collected, including that notebook from Xavier. You should get back to class, and teaching your students rather than get wrapped up playing detective. When we need your input I will ask you for it. Understand?
Leadership- 2d6+2: 8
And do try to keep better control over your classroom.
With his office cleared of pests, Dallas started reflecting on what Elton had told him. A student ripping apart his body, tearing his own insides. Just the thought made him cringe. It has to be drugs, why else.
Yes, Mr. Berk?
Send an email out to the teachers to let them know we are showing the 'Say No To Drugs' video during last period. ok?
Will do. bzzzzt
bzzzt Linda one more thing.
Can you grab me Xavier's PERMANENT RECORD?
Reflecting trying to fit the pieces together, Principal Berk, turned around the post-it pad to look at Stan's scribbles. "A dead students, in a gruesome way, and a teacher that is inciting fear and paranoia about it" he thought. Resting his head in his hands, rubbing his eyes he tried to make some sense of it all. It was sickly familiar, though he couldn't put his finger on it.
But somehow it seemed like he had heard the story before..
Old World Knowledge 2d6+2: 13
a)Read through all the collected papers and records for Xavier.
b)Walk the halls to get a feel for how the students were handling the news. And more importantly try to discourage inappropriate behavior as it seems his teachers are incapable of this task on their own.
c)Arrange for a late lunch with Elton under the guise of handing over Xavier's records, but really to make sure his friend was able to get a grasp on his distress.
|# ? Feb 20, 2013 15:58|
"Letters are symbols. They are building blocks of words which
form our languages. Languages help us communicate. Even with
complicated languages used by intelligent people, misunderstanding
is a common occurrence.
We write things down sometimes--letters, words--hoping they will
serve us and those with whom we wish to communicate. Letters and
words, calling out for understanding."
~ Log Lady, Twin Peaks ~
I am really digging the flavor of the text you all have presented in solving the problems you've encountered so far. I really like how you've all helped to give your backgrounds and experiences a life of their own as well so, thanks for that. Your descent into madness has been entertaining. Who'll crack first though?!
I figured Sofia probably had it pretty bad with her abuse, but come to find out after the Q&A lol, it's pretty bad! Good stuff to work with. Also loving that Cthulhu appropriate description of the ghost town.
You do well to convince nurse Carolyn that you aren't mentally ill, providing her with a number of excuses that immediately cause her to take sympathy on you. She is reassured that you're well and that will help if anyone questions the incident at all, but as you get comfortable you drifted off into that sleep.
After navigating through the town and spotting what looks like the first signs of life that you've seen since you arrived at this bizarre place.
Instead of approaching it directly, panic creeps in as the coercive thoughts force their way into your mind, you scramble as fast as you can up one of the contorted looking trees that decorated the arid wasteland and look at the wolf.
Wait, what's wrong with that wolf?!
Ignore the Japanese onomatopoeia and the speech bubble that says, It's a dog. It's not a dog, It's a crazy wolf with a split mandible, eating on a smaller animal.
The tree dries out turning brittle at first and then into dust causing you to collapse onto the soil. The buildings and mountains around you erode into nothing as the sun is eclipsed and the wolf turns its attention towards you, beginning a slow, deliberate pace in your direction.
Trapped in darkness, with nowhere to hide, all you can do is run.
1. RUN!! or ... - [2d6 - 1] if you run, otherwise you can try your hand at some other roll. - Less than 6, roll that insanity die and 3+ puts you at rank 3 insanity!
The scissors dig deep into your arm from the force of Jamison's attack. Your mind slips at the realization as you struggle to deal with the pandemonium being unleashed all around you.
You manage to secure the knife away from Landon and break out into the hallway planning to make your way to the nurse�s office.
The scene in the hallway is far worse than anything you could have expected. You dart through the hallways and end up in nurse�s office and she seems unaware of the hell that was transpiring in the school.
"An accident you say? No, no dear, everything happening here is filled with intent, filled with purpose, filled with... filled with... filled with... filled with... filled with..." She repeats the last bit of her sentence as she reaches for the sharpest object she can find and plunges it into her abdomen, disemboweling herself. She pulls her intestines out like yarn and presents them to you.
You backtrack out of the office and are confronted by a humanoid monstrosity of flesh. The face, entirely sinister; its muscular body, skinless and terrifying.
The Flesh Man
The mutilated bodies, animate and lurch towards you. Bits of meat being torn from their already devastated bodies as they lurch your direction at the heels of the flesh man who takes slow steps towards you.
1. Flee or ... - [2d6 + 3 effortless] - This is too much even for loosely wound to apply, plus you've been stabbed. Less than 6, roll 1d6 for insanity die to see if you slip further.
2. Cut, stab, maim, kill - Take that [+1]Pocket Knife and destroy it all. Kill everything. [2d6 + 3 effortless + 1 Pocket Knife - 2 Unweird]
You struggle to clearly explain what happened in the class. Although it logically made sound sense in your mind, as the words escape your mouth, you cannot help but stammer and leave out details and in your nervousness, your mind returns to the ordeal with the ink, but instead of dwelling on the darkness that almost consumed you and your classroom, you use your knowledge to explain, rather quirkily, the connection between Xavier and Native American tribes present in this region hundreds of years ago.
Mark and Principal Berk are displeased by your failure to relay the events that had transpired in a way that made sense, but they both lean in when you are able to shed some light on the symbolic depictions Xavier had scrawled in his many journals. Things go poorly as you expected though and Principal Berk seems a little bit upset with you getting so involved in this investigation, all the while, letting your control of your class slip.
It is at this point that Mark presents to the both of you another page of the journal that he had stowed away during the altercation. "Mr. Danesson... I think you should take a look at this."
What on earth?!
If you thought the first note was weird even in the slightest, this takes the cake. Through the apparent random scribblings and markings, you begin to see a pattern and is that...? It is, your name is on here stretched out in repetitions of letters, it looks like a message is hidden on the page.
1. Study the page - [2d6 + 2 Historian + 1 World Religions] - 6 or less, roll 1d6 for your insanity.
2. If you don't study the page, what do you do instead?
You narrowly avoid having a mental breakdown as you upon the twisted countenance of Xavier Killian. The image you had created was so intricately detailed, but the texture of it seems to leap off of the canvas. As if Xavier had tried to manifest himself in the painting. You back away dropping the paint brush and set out to find Mr. Danesson.
The school grows dim as you navigate down the surprisingly empty hallways, was something wrong with the lights? The building churns with a low-rumble as if it was growing, moving, breathing. The halls extend out in the distance in front of your eyes, you turn around behind you and are faced with a wall. The lockers have become frosted, you shiver and can see your breath as you walk down the empty twisting corridor. The growl like rumble of the school grows louder as you walk the hall. Every time you look over your shoulder, the hall seems to disappear a little more, wrapped in a cloak of darkness.
Static begins to play on the intercom and several figures of persons are visible out in the distance for first time in what seems like an eternity. As you approach them however, they crumble into nothingness, remnants of what was once there. Perhaps they were never there, perhaps you were all alone here, and maybe you've always been alone here.
How long have you been trapped here now, minutes? hours? days? years?
You look at your body and find yourself to be a weak withered husk of human being, your flesh cracked and discolored, your clothes tattered and eroded from your person. Your voice is nothing but gurgled gasps and you are confronted by a skinless humanoid monstrosity of flesh, which cackles at you as it approaches from the far end of the hall.
The Flesh Man
As he draws nearer, the halls become coated in a disgusting organic growth that contains organs and flesh, eyes, mouths, limbs and other human body parts that have forced their way to the surface of the growth in various regions, twisting, biting and gazing at the flesh man as it passes them. The walls ooze fluids as rows of serrated teeth pierce the mass, sawing in and out almost as if they were praising the flesh man�s presence.
The building shouts and shrieks a droning madness that encompasses the entirety of what you hear.
1. Escape the flesh man - Your body is withered and near broken, [2d6 - 2] Less than 6, roll the insanity die.
2. Try anything else and attempt relevant rolls?
William "Dallas" Berk
The conference was more neurotic than you had anticipated and left you concerned about the overall handling of the news of Xavier's death.
Setting a plan to play the anti-drug promotional in the last period of the day, you buzz Linda again to retrieve Xavier's permanent record.
While you wait for the permanent record, you review the symbols that Stan had left for you on the post-it pad and you remember seeing symbols like this once before, during your time at the monastery.
The symbols weren't exact duplicates, but you remember seeing tattoos all along one homeless man's arms that had come to the monastery near death from starvation. He had drawn them himself in ink, but he was a shell of a man, only muttering bizarre nonsensical sentences. A jumble of words that didn't quite fit anything that you knew or understood. Something about the symbols had piqued your curiosity however and you began to research them in the library of the monastery.
Patterns of the occult, symbols spanning across several religions and cultures. The more elaborate tattoos just seemed like madness, but something about them left a terrible sense of dread in you. Looking at the post-it note and reflecting on what you knew about Xavier's death, you can't help but feel an eerie, disconcerting connection between the two cases.
Linda enters into your office with Xavier's record, she places it on your desk with a smile as you still study the post-it.
You open the folder reviewing his transcript, personal information and family information that you had available.
You find that he has had a bizarre childhood, transferred from one school to the next, being moved from family members and adopted families all throughout his early life. Ultimately, he ended up with his brother, James Killian here in Cixtoatl after his aunt passed away.
Nothing about it seems necessarily out of the ordinary, it is simply sad.
You leave a voice mail on Officer Lowe's cellphone to meet up for lunch and discuss the case.
1. Keeping the Peace - You may want to try and issue a motivating announcement to ease minds, spread sympathy and decrease tensions that were apparently rising in the school. - [2d6 + 2 Respected Leader + 1 Great Communicator]
|# ? Feb 20, 2013 19:09|
Kim runs. This is insane, this is... this can't be real. Just run, just get out. Try to understand later. First now run. Run first. Run, escape, out. Run run run.
Kim slips on a long smear of gore, coming down hard on her bad arm. She scrambles to her feet, looking around. Oh god zombies. Or something, but dead bodies walking around. When did this all happen? Everything was normal like a half-hour ago.
Has to be a dream.
1d6=5 sanity up to 3
Eheheh. Yeah, just a dream. Everything's a dream, just floating free and--
"Agh get off!"
Kim throws one of the... zombies, one of the zombies off, into some lockers. Ohmigod, is that Brett? She was talking with Brett at lunch! How did this all happen so fast? None of this feels like a dream. Feels too real. How can this be real?
She looks up, into the face of that skinless thing. She'd just been standing there.
|# ? Feb 20, 2013 22:21|
Looking over Xavier's papers on the desk, he knew there was nothing more he could do for this child. As he blindly fumbled to grab a manila envelope, the principal couldn't help but feel that he had failed this child. Failed to notice the history, failed to notice change in behavior, failed to save a life. He shoved all of the papers into the envelope, a physical display matching how he repressed his thoughts for Xavier. Sealing the paper, he wrote OFC LOWE in thick black letters across the seal.
The bell rang, only two classes left in the day. He decided it was best to wait until the bell had rung and give the students a minute to settle before he tried to calm everyone down, and eliminate any potential copy-cats.
The King's Speech: 2d6+3 10
The microphone button is always cold, even in the middle of summer. It is as if it begins to such the life out of you, tears you apart before you even begin. The image of Xavier, found, entrails rend. He shook his head to push away the dark thoughts. it is time for you to be a leader.
"Students, teachers, staff. We have all lost someone this week. You may have only known his face passing in the hall, you may have been his friend, or his mentor. Whatever your relation as part of the Willoughby family you experience the loss. Let's take the last few hours in the day to discuss this issue, as peers, as teachers, as friends. The school counselors are, and will be, available to you all week. They are there to listen and help you with what you are feeling, even if you feel nothing at all.
In dark times, in sadness, we must continue on, we must burn brightly and strive for our best. We learn from these experiences and we become better people."
Worried about Xavier, though the time for worry has passed, Dallas feels a tie between them. What drove him to do this? Was he bullied? Did he too have something he couldn't share.
a)Check messages, attend to any concerned parent calls, etc.
b)will the day to end faster by staring at the clock. It will be nice to get home and out of this suit.
|# ? Feb 21, 2013 01:06|
After a few moments of shock, Sofia reminded herself to start breathing again. The wolf, if she could even describe the beast as such, was afflicted with what appeared to be a horrible mutation. Filthy gray fur bristled up around its neck as it burrowed into its meal. Whatever had been its prey was now far from recognition; what remained was simply a wasted heap of red tissue, mashed organs and snapped bones. The wolf smacked its jaws loudly Oh lord I can hear it eating from here, split mandible flapping freakishly as it turned to look in her direction. She could see the fur of its throat was blood-soaked, gore was splattered all over its snout and oozing from the corners of its colossal mouth. Her skin felt clammy and cold, and droplets of sweat rolled slowly down her face. She gripped the branch she was hanging from as tightly as she could, remaining as still as possible. Looking down at the ground she guessed she was about 12 feet high. Be calm now. No need to get all out of sorts. Wolves can’t climb trees.
Her eyes met the wolf’s. It stared at her, flesh hanging from it’s teeth. Its eyes weren’t eyes at all: they were sockets filled with a blackness that crawled out of the creatures skull. Her vision began to darken, and she turned to the sky to see the pale disc of the moon slipping over the mad, red sun. That’s impossible. There was no eclipse in the forecast!
cOmE dOWn, dEEEEEEEar
The wolf bared its dark, red fangs, smiling as the swirling black vortex of its eyes slowly expanded and became part of the growing darkness around it. Just as Sofia felt the branch she was holding come loose, a heap of dust blanketed her face. Part of her mind managed to realize that the tree was dissolving underneath her before she crashed to the ground.
Choking on the massive amount of dust that billowed around her, Sofia scrambled to her feet as everything faded under the veil of the eclipse. Her eyes wide with panic, she looked up at the dark figure of the monster. There were no more trees or brush in between the two of them, just an empty path lit with an orange, otherworldly glow. It was coming.
< Shortcut to Grandma's house – [2d6-1 = 3] >
She spun as fast as she could, put one foot down and promptly smashed face first into the ground. Pain flared up in her right ankle. She tried to scream but instead coughed wretchedly on more tree dust as she pushed herself upright and began limping away as fast as she could. The eerie orange glow played with the shadows over the trail so that it looked as if the path were licked with flame.
tRUe SUFferInG Is nOT yEt kNoWn. EmbRaCe yOUr PuRpoSE...
She looked back with sheer horror at the thing chasing her. Its black hole eyes were now writhing tentacles of dark matter, its mouth a jagged maw of countless teeth. She screamed again, this time successfully, her breaking voice echoed into the chilled air, resounding louder each time. Louder and louder until she couldn't hear anything else. She ran, not feeling the pain of her injuries, not feeling anything but the desperate plea of her frantic heartbeat, pounding itself against her chest as if trying to flee her cursed body; and the hot breath of the wolf-thing on her back. She smelled the sickly stench of rotten meat, and something worse. Something dead.
LEt gO. leT GO. eMBraCe tHE hUmAN PurpOSe.
< Shortcut to Insanity – [1d6 = 1] >
“No!!” She screamed breathlessly into the darkness. “Shut it! I won't listen!”
Her legs were exhausted, she staggered over a root and almost fell again. She faintly noticed hot blood bubbling out of her nose and onto her (now filthy) dress. Tears welled up and made the air she managed to suck down burn her throat. The monster was so close it was almost on top of her now. You have to wake up. Wake up or we die. Wake up, now! Pushing herself forward down the endless burning trail she cried out over the deafening echoes of her own screams:
“SHUT UP WAKE UP SHUT UP WAKE UP SHUT...!!!” [[+1 All Grown Up]: using reason as the rope to pull ourselves back into reality]
< Could really use an alarm clock. – [2d6 +1= 7] >
Could really use an alarm clock – Sofia tries to convince herself it's all just a really, really (like really) bad dream.
hctibyllis fucked around with this message at Feb 21, 2013 around 03:09
|# ? Feb 21, 2013 02:24|
"Oh, seriously with the gibberish? How about you HOLY gently caress DUDE!"
Rick is seriously having a bad fuckin' day. His head is going a million miles a minute, those brain cells that he usually tries to hide from the other people in his life firing away. This isn't Nick talking. Rick's been sent in to talk to the Counselor more times than he can shake a stick at, and this ain't him. Nick's usually about 'tell me about your feelings' and 'don't you see you're being self-destructive.' Sometimes he even lets Rick sneak a smoke in his office. Hell, Nick's usually the guy Rick can count on - this one time Rick got into it with the gym teacher and said a very unkind thing about the guy's wife before running into Nick's office and Coach came in all set to beat the living gently caress out of Rick, job be damned, and Nick actually stood up and got in the guy's way and threw him out. It was pretty sweet.
Point is, this ain't him. This is the thing from the dream, innit? Well, dream-slash-psychotic-break. Same thing. And it's... what is it, possessing Nick? Riding him? Or just impersonating him? Has to be possessing him. If it was impersonating him he wouldn't be cutting himself like that.
All this flashes through Rick's mind faster than he can process it; the thoughts are still reeling as he jumps up, tries to restrain the Counselor, keep him from cutting himself. Nick's a dink, but his heart's in the right place. He doesn't deserve this poo poo. "HEY!" he bellows over his shoulder, towards the door. "GET IN HERE AND GIMME A HAND, HE'S CUTTING HIMSELF!"
Using Mosh [+1] to try and restrain Nick, with the Freaked Out [-1] penalty balancing out my bonus:
restraining Nick: 2d6 6
Bah! Well, at least I didn't screw up so badly I have to roll the crazy die again.
Also attempting to get Officer Pretlow to come in and help out, which is bound to work out poorly for him what with his Outcast [-2] drawback:
Help, Officer!: 2d6-2 5
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA I'm gonna get tazed again unless I've got some kind of mondo sympathy bonus from my earlier 'confession.' Welp.
Also, sorry for taking so long on this action! Mea maxima culpa.
|# ? Feb 21, 2013 08:03|
God that sheet freaks me out
"Yes sir..." Dane got up and left with Mark. Mark wasn't really a bad kid and the Principal wasn't normally this... abrupt. Perhaps... something in the... school... Was causing this..?
He could feel his thoughts slowing down, surely just the after-effects of adrenaline on his body? "Thank you Mark... let me... look over this new sheet." Dane brought Mark into an empty classroom nearby to look at the paper.
mY NAmee iS oN.... tHe shEEt? 4,5,+3: 12
Dane became engrossed in the sheet, so much so that his little episode in the Principal's office ceased to effect him for the moment. Spirals? Slow thoughts? Bah, just silly lizard-brain nonsense. Mind was just playing tricks on him, thats all.
But his name was on this sheet. He did have Xavier in his class last year, though he wasn't all that noteworthy other than being particularly interested when he put in a week-long module on 'artificial religions,' like Cthulu or Scientology or D&D gods. Then again, most people liked that module, he would need to do it again this semester.
"This fell out of the notebook Mark? This... is interesting to say the least. Look at how the thing has my name scrabbled everywhere, and the shape of the... face? It looks just like a Mound, Mound with a big M, nearby the school along with what is apparently an old meeting house. Lines up with my dissertation quite nicely!
But how would Xavier know these things? I don't like it Mark, not at all. I don't have class for another 3 hours between lunch and my rest period. And aren't you done for the day thanks to sports classes being canceled because of Xavier's... incident? What say you we go check out this mound?
We'll take my car... if you are interested?"
Sneak out of school (+1 Racquetball- Can get out the back) 4,6,+1: 11
1. Find the Mound nearby located on the... map
2. Don't die in a car crash
3. Pick up some Wendy's on the way, I missed lunch due to Principal Berk!
Let me know if you want me to stay on school grounds, at least for now. And Mark is an NPC, right?
|# ? Feb 21, 2013 14:38|
Things had gone very wrong, very fast. Getting lost was bad enough – she’d been attending Willoughby for almost four years, she should know her way around by now – but the total absence of anybody else in the deficiently lit halls had really started to freak her out. It felt like she’d been wandering for days somehow, and every twist and turn she took somehow led her further from Mr. Danesson’s class. The school has abandoned hallways? Since when? That last left pointed towards the parking lot, how the gently caress is this corridor even here? The air was becoming damp, and the rumble of the air conditioners sounded suspiciously like breathing. To top things off, her phone had died somehow. She’d seen a few shadows of what she could swear were people, but by the time she made it to where she’d thought she saw them there was no trace, and no footprints other than hers on the filthy floors. If she was hallucinating, it was incredibly convincing, and she certainly felt everything… Horror Movies aren’t real, you’re just stoned. Calm… down. Calm… down.
Every tired step seemed to take forever, every hall traveled a decade off her life. It wasn’t until she caught sight of herself in a dusty mirror hanging from the door of one of the empty classrooms that surrounded her that the horror of the day came crashing down upon her. She was ancient, emaciated – wasted away almost to the point of death. Her skin was leathery, her hair matted and gray, and when she tried to shriek after comprehending that the old woman in the mirror was her, she found herself feebly coughing out a bit of smoke and ash. Nightmare, tripping, hallucinating, or real... nightmare lets hope. A deep laugh seemed to echo all around her, like the (world) school itself found her shock and terror quite amusing.
And that’s when she noticed the Flesh Man, and reality gave way to madness.
Oh gently caress, Flesh Man: 2d6-2 5 [Not so great.]
Sanity: 1d6 3 [At San 2 now.]
The gently caress… oh no, no no, run now run run run run –
The halls were alive, and they blossomed with blasphemous limbs and teeth and mouths that gibbered danced and chanted around the abomination advancing towards her. Sarah needed to run, move, get out of there… but found herself rooted to the floor, too weak to run and seemingly unable to cope with the gruesome and surreal circumstances she found herself in. She could somehow hear her brain shrieking at her legs to move, the noise nearly drowned out by the cacophonous din of the halls. Finally, blessedly, mercifully, her legs responded – the cackling skinless monster was nearly upon her now – and she spun around, her decrepit body moving solely due to the incredible amount of adrenaline surging through Sarah. And ran face first into a wall that had somehow materialized behind her, slicing herself on a few canine teeth jutting from the fleshy surface.
“..f-*Cough*…” Smoke exhaled from her lungs choked off her attempt at profanity. She couldn’t run, there was nowhere to hide, her mind was reeling… curling up almost into a fetal position, Sarah started giggling, far gone enough to not care that the laugh that came out was the Flesh Man’s . There was something deeply, troublingly amusing to her about dying like this, and she reached for the lighter in her pocket. You goTTa hoLd Up a LIGhtEr dURInG tHe LaSt sONg . The withered stoner tried to hold the flame aloft, hoping that it had retained its lighter fluid during her years of wandering the hallways. lIgHters aRE hOpEFul oBJeCts.
1) Can’t really run, certainly can’t hide – maybe, just maybe, a lighter will scare this thing off?
2) Must. Smoke. Weed. Immediately. gently caress this school for reals.
Rauri fucked around with this message at Feb 22, 2013 around 03:23
|# ? Feb 22, 2013 03:05|
|# ? May 24, 2013 07:47|
There is a REAL sadness.
I wonder what can make a human being break; to extend beyond the social constructs of standardized norms, becoming aberrantly 'evil' in action or appearance. What is evil? What is the phenomenon that is archetypically portrayed as 'bad'? What are these emotions that pervade all facets of existence, and how is it that we have come to describe and identify them? We categorize these things as unnatural, but for them to exist, it must be natural, ingrained in the fiber of our beings, clawing beneath the surface looking to expose any sign of weakness.
There is an indescribable sorrow, a pain, a miscommunication, that these words and all other words will never fully encapsulate or describe. More terrifying than any amount of fiction, is the horror that lies dormant in each and everyone of us, waiting for the right stimuli to trigger the break.
Are good and evil real? Who is entitled to distinguish between the two? When does subjective become objective? Where does personal accountability begin or end? Do we choose who we are or who we will become? The futility of questions without answers.
Sidenotes - You all are doing pretty good at avoiding my traps! TOO GOOD!! lol
Link to the OOC Thread.
You shove the shambling individual away from you and into a locker as you are confronted by the Flesh Man.
He opens his mouth and sounds form, but you are unable to understand what he is communicating to you.
He reaches out to you extending his arm and he simply places his hand on your shoulder.
The hall hazes away, the gore and viscera that was there gone, better yet, perhaps it was never there.
There is an excruciating pain in your arm however, You look down and see a puncture, blood trailing through the hall behind you. Clutched in your right hand is a pair of scissors, clutched in the left is the graph you had completed, but it looks different, this couldn't be your work can it?
You look up at the man who has his hand on your shoulder and you see that it is the substitute Mr. Landon.
"A-Are you ok?! How did this happen?" He says in a panic, the halls relatively quiet with class currently going on.
"We need to get you to the nurse!"
He escorts you to Nurse Carolyn's office, inside you see a student you recognize, the foreign exchange girl, napping on the bad. She looks like she is having a bad dream, she is sweating and scrunching up her face, making uncomfortable murmurs.
"Oh my goodness dear, what happened?!" Nurse Carolyn says before taking the scissors from you.
She treats your arm with antiseptic and bandages your wound.
"You rest here for now dear."
The foreign exchange student leaps up from her cot and startles you and Ms. Carolyn.
1. What did the flesh man say to you? [2d6 - 2 Unweird], 7+ you'll find out.
2. What next? - Lunch is over, something happened in class although you're not sure exactly what, this graph looks... immaculate. What do you do from here? There were still 45 minutes in the lunch block, although your lunch was over. What classes remained in the day? Are you even staying for class?
3. ...and What's up with So-So, What was her name? Sofia! What's up with her?
William "Dallas" Berk
As you release the microphone button, you glance solemnly at the manilla envelope that sat on your desk.
There wasn't much left to do in the day. Attend to your messages, rendezvous with Officer Lowe and hope for some time to relax.
The light on your phones receiver was illuminated red, indicating that you had at least one voicemail. You pick up the handset and punch in your passcode.
'you havE two nEw mEssagEs. mEssagE onE, "uhh, hEllo principal bErk, my namE is alfonzE maccarthur and i am calling you today, bEcausE i havE somE concErns on how thE school is addrEssing thE studEnts dEath and was hoping you could shEd somE light on that. you can givE mE a call back at 512-854-1425. I'll bE availablE all day and anticipatE your call. thank you.", 'mEssagE two, "HeLLO DALLAS, BABY." 'THeRe ARe NO MORe MeSSAGeS. PReSS ONe TO RePLAY MeSSAGeS, TWO TO CHANGe PASSCODe, THRee TO ReCORD NeW GReeTING.'
The phone continues to sputter out options, but the second message causes you stop in your tracks. The voice was familiar, a mans, but you couldn't quite put a finger on whose voice it was. An unsettling high pitched ringing pours in, you begin to tremble as you realize, that your past might be catching up with you.
You grab your coat and head out to meet with Officer Lowe, the message still sending a chill down your spine.
Arriving at the Big Toe Diner, a favorite in the town, you see Officer Lowe enjoying a cup of coffee in the booth that the two of you normally used to discuss the happenings at the school or cases where your input was required.
You grab the manilla envelope and head in and get situated. Diane winks at you from the counter and brings you over a cup. Coffee Dallas?
Time passes and you and Lowe enjoy a meal, discussing your days and waxing nostalgic on times past. Finally Lowe gets down to business.
You both review the file and abruptly, your conversation is halted by a startling confession from Officer Lowe.
"I'm thinking about killing myself, Dallas. I don't want to, everything was fine before I went out on that bluff and saw that boy all mangled up, I can't stop these voices or images from coming to my mind and it's too much to bear. I don't know how to tell anyone about it, there aren't enough words there to describe this... this... agony that has penetrated my soul and I'm lost. I just, I don't know anymore. What do I do Dallas? How do I regain normalcy while I'm adrift in this entropic madness?"
1. Talk him down - [2d6 + 2 Respected Leader + 1 Great Communicator] 7+ has a positive effect on Officer Lowe's demeanor.
2. Who left you that message?! - [2d6 - 2 Dark Secret]
As you struggle with the wolf like creature that hounded you in the darkness of that place. You manage to regain a modicum of composure, and find the willpower to force yourself back to reality and consciousness.
You leap up from the cot in the nurse's office, startling Ms. Carolyn and another student, you think her name was... Kim?
Your heart is pounding in your chest and your body is clammy from perspiration, something about those darkened eyes on that wolf. Therein lied the visage of a skinless man. Though terrifying, something about that man seemed... welcoming.
A hell of a welcome though, if that was truly what that was.
"Are you alright Sofia darling? Here take this water." Nurse Carolyn says offering you water from a Sparkletts dispenser.
Having retained your wits and sensibilities, you reflect on the dream.
1. Total Recall - [2d6 + 2 Observant Ollie] - What exactly happened in that dream, something was there, something familiar?
2. Kim's in here, I wonder what's wrong with... Her arm is bleeding, how did that happen?
No Worries, your response time is good. I've been posting with no regard for the Thursday schedule I set in place, because I was excited to get the game going, so you're good.
You lunge over the table to try and restrain Nick from stabbing himself, but his maddened fervor was only turned against you as he plunges the pen into your gut.
Staggering back from the attack, you struggle to control yourself as rage wells up inside of you.
Nick, drenched in blood, has entered into a crazed rage of his own and forces himself on you, plunging the pen into your flesh again and again.
He knocks your hands away as you attempt to fight him off of you.
The officer stands at the door, firmly planted in place. Did he not hear your call for help, was he not hearing your screams as the counselor pierced your body repeatedly with his inkpen that was coated in blood.
Crazy Pen Stabbing: 2d6 8
I didn't even put bonuses on the roll, trying to cut you some slack...
You tried to get Nick off of you and managed to grab his weaponized hand, but he still had you pinned down.
You look at the door shouting futiley once again in the direction of Officer Pretlow.
His hair begins to part in the back of his head, something was coming through.
A nose emerges from the bushels of hair on his head, followed by lips and eyes and all the features of a human face, with one terrifying exception, there is no skin. Just a flesh covered face protrudes from the hair and it looks through the window, speaking words you can't hear. A terrifying grin stretched across the muscle striations in it's face.
The Flesh Man
1. Don't get stabbed to death with a pen - [2d6 + 1 Mosh (Conditional + 2 Rage)] - ARE YOU GOING TO LET THIS PRICK gently caress YOUR poo poo UP?!
2. There's a Flesh Monster at the door! - If you roll less than 6 on 'Don't get stabbed to death with a pen' then roll your insanity die.
Sort of freaks me out too... I drew it while it was slow at work and I probably looked like a looney toon.
You examine the sheet and find a message hidden within the apparent madness.
'Look closer Stan', provoked by the page you begin analyzing for more patterns and find the names of various students and faculty members on the page.
The page continues to list at least 30 other students of faculty members. What did it all mean? How did he know you would even get this sheet of paper? 'Look closer Stan'?!
Disbelief and panic creeps in, surging discomfort throughout your entire body.
"You're starting to freak me out Mr. Danesson, I don't see any names on this sheet, just a bunch of weird drawings and letters. I-- I think I'm going to head back to class Mr. Danesson. If you have three hours, you may just want to get some rest, you aren't looking too good."
Mark walks away looking over his shoulder at you, as you creep out the back of the school into the teacher's parking lot. No one questions your departure, but you catch strange looks on the way out.
You hop into your car and take off, your mind occupied with the drawings and information contained on that paper.
You're headed towards the Cohuipl mounds located just outside of the Matehuixl mountain range. The mounds had served as entrances to an alleged underground city, but excavation around the area had proved fruitless, no signs indicated a city actually existed there. You wrote about it extensively in your thesis.
1. Get to Cohuipl - [2d6 - 1 Preoccupied] - To arrive safely at Cohuipl, 7+ Success. 3 or lower, roll [2d6] base to determine the severity of what happens.
2. Look for Signs - [2d6 + 2 Historian + 2 Archeology + 1 World Religions] to investigate the mounds. You're guaranteed to find some connection between the page and the mounds, but how much can you find. (You can risk your insanity to increase the chances of finding something.)
You hold up the lighter in a last ditch effort to cast some illumination on the darkness, perhaps to even stave off the creature that advanced on you.
You struggle to activate it, your hands trembled and grew weaker by the second as you flicked the wheel on the lighter to try and create a flame.
You watch as your hand crumbles to dust as you hold it out in front of you, the lighter turning to dust shortly thereafter.
The Flesh Man was at you now, standing above you speaking in some horrible language as the ground opens up beneath you. You look down as you fall into a closing maw, you only manage to catch a glimpse of what awaited you in this crevice that had opened up in the hall, but a glimpse was more than sufficient to impart terror in your mind.
The walls were nothing but masses of teeth penetrating out of a moist lump of flesh. Tendrils between the teeth wriggle wildly, flinging what would appear to be saliva all around.
The crevice closes as you continue to fall, trapped in darkness.
Your stop is immediate and excruciating, as the walls slam into your body, teeth puncturing your entirety, tendrils sliding around the meat, rending it from the bone, tasting your flesh.
The walls pull apart and close again, crushing your body further. Your consciousness fades.
A bright light, beautiful in all ways, stretches thinly and horizontally across a blackened void infinitely. You are a part of that light, everything is that light, there is nothing that is not that light, there is a ringing that seems to grow louder, but remains constant in it's volume and pitch. It is perfect, you are perfect, this light is perfect, this is everything and nothing and it is perfe-e-ect.
Voices begin to spill in, "clear! --- 1, 2, 3 --- CLEAR! --- clear! --- 1, 2, 3 --- CLEAR!" An EMT hovers over your body, teachers and another EMT surround you. Students peer out from other classrooms and see you collapsed.
1. D-did you die? - [2d6 base] to see how you react, 7+ positively, 6 or lower, roll Insanity die.
2. You're going to the hospital - Once that was done, you could head home and smoke some herb, free pass to get the hell out of the school, but at what cost... the images of your own death and that comfortable darkness that had come after leave you emotionally distraught. [2d6 - 1 Lonely] To see if your parents show up or if you have any kind of support.
|# ? Feb 22, 2013 20:47|