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 Portland, Oregon. It's more than just the 28th most populous city in the US, or the City of Roses, or the place where young people go to retire. For you, it's (at least temporarily) home. And how perfect it is! You just happen to be a 20-something, living in a city designed for you. I mean, with all the distractions, the fun to be had, the mistakes to be made... that's why you're just sort of drifting through life, right? It's why your novel's been in the planning stages for five years, why you've got a graduate degree but no job, a band that never seems to get any gigs, a blog that's never even almost famous. You're a slacker. And, probably a monster of some stripe. That's right. "Keep Portland Weird," the unofficial slogan of the city - you're definitely doing your part. Whether you're a blood-sucking vampire barista or a werewolf with a waxed mustache, you're part of what makes Portland so bizarre yet awesome. At the minimum you and your ilk definitely add to the nightlife.  At the edge of Portland, near a state college and some affordable housing, there's a bar - the Flying Monkey. And there's just something about the place. Maybe it's because you're working there to afford your apartment, sure. But it could be that you play music there in a band that's not quite going anywhere, or do stand-up or trivia. Maybe you've got a bunch of friends there, or maybe you just like to get drunk. Whatever the case, it's the local hangout spot. You're known to the staff, the Cheers theme probably plays as you walk in the door - for whatever the reason, you and a flock of other young people like you attend the otherwise seemingly unremarkable bar all the time. How do you plan on juggling your responsibilities, keeping your monstrous secrets, and still finding time to grow as a person? Can you both make rent, and pick up the tab this evening? Can you Netflix and chill with the best of them? What's your favorite drink, and why can't the bartender ever make it right? The answer to these questions and more, if you app a character anyways! What This Is: This is a Monsterhearts game. You pick a skin (class), and act out some shameless If you feel like signing up, write up a brief description of your character (most people like to do these in first person, in-character), fill out you character sheet and post them both here. Once you’ve posted this, I’ll ask some questions to help get a feel for the character, before making final picks. I'm looking for around six characters, which means I'll probably end up taking eight. Submissions will probably be open for about a week. If you can't have an app out by then, just let me know ahead of time and we should be able to work out an extension. My phone is basically always in #swampthings (general MH chat) on SYNIRC as Rauri or Rauri-phone, so if I'm not actually on but I'm still in there, feel free to either PM or just tag me with a question and I'll get back to you as soon as I get on. I'd highly recommend joining the channel, as people in #swampthings are happy to help with any MH questions, and having the game group actively talking about the game in IRC is crucial to keeping games alive in my experience. When you make your character, if you'd like, you can take one move from another skin for free to enhance your idea. A clingy Chosen with the Mortal's True Love, an Unseelie Fae with the Infernal's Dark Pact, a Unicorn with a Queen's Gang to help them uphold purity in Portland. Or just take one that you think works well with your idea, an excessively shy Ghost who takes one of the Cuckoo's moves. A Werewolf that sweats a lot and has Musk. You don't need to take the move if nothing strikes your fancy, I'll be picking based on characters, not moves, and similarly if you think for your concept you really need two moves from another skin, or the sex move from one and the darkest self from another, just talk it out with me and it'll probably be fine. The idea is to come up with cool ideas for fun characters. Along with your character application, please include: 1. Another frequent attendee of the Flying Monkey Bar. 2. A person or place with a reputation in or around Portland. 3. A rumor going around that your character finds interesting. 4. Why DO you hang out at the Flying Monkey so much, and why would it be difficult for you to stop doing so? 5. Optionally, a title for the game thread, because otherwise it's gonna be Slackerhearts and we (collectively) can do better than that. Reference Pictures are not required, but they'll help me remember your character better, so I'd recommend doing it. Skins: A helpful goon has compiled a list of skins with links to everything but the Second Skins (kickstarter backer only for the moment -but friendly goons might share if you ask) -Of these, all Skins for the Skinless are banned. -I'm not banning anything from the Standard, Official and Second Skins, but I'll be slightly more hesitant to take A Ghoul, Cuckoo, or Heir, based either on that I think I'd do a worse job MCing for them than other skins, or that I just plain hate the skin in question (Cuckoo). That said, if you have a good idea, don't let that stop you - I'm a reasonable person, and if you've got an awesome concept I'm totally willing to listen. -From the Third Party Skins, please ask before apping any of them except the Gentry, Djinni, Coyote and Anansi (V2), they're all fine. General Considerations: Monsterhearts is a game that frequently involves tricky subject matter (racism, homophobia and other forms of shittiness, physical/emotional abuse), just kind of by definition. If any of you get freaked out during play, please talk to me about it. It’s important people feel safe here -- I care more about your emotional well-being than I do about this storygame topic. After doing selections, I'll be bringing up any boundaries players have to try and make sure nothing comes up before hand, but again, if at any time something makes you uncomfortable, just say so, no need to explain why. Basically, everyone's fun and well-being is important, so we'll all collectively avoid being creeps or jerks, alright? New players are more than welcome to app - I'll be more than happy to help guide people through the character creation process. Please don't let all these  intimidate you - if this game looks fun to you and you've got both an idea and time, you should totally app a character!Thanks to godfish / AdjectiveNoun / gazetter for most of this OP. In true slacker fashion, most of it's copy and pasted from them. This thread is absolutely going to butcher the geography of Oregon / Portland, feel free to not do a ton of research. The game already features monsters and so on, getting the streets right in a place I've never been is pretty low on my list of priorities. The point is to have fun. Please be active! Try to post at least once every other day - I can’t guarantee the thread will always move that quickly, but if someone is habitually slow and holding things up, I may very well replace them for someone quicker! If you have RL stuff, that’s cool, and obviously takes priority, but if possible, please let me know in advance so I can try and work the game around it. Rauri fucked around with this message at 11:55 on Nov 28, 2015 |
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Nov 28, 2015 06:21
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Kloe Caballero I was going to become a cop, you know? That's on hold now. Forever, probably. I could do a good job, I think, up until I had to go to a crime scene, or a shootout. Can't think I'd keep my job long when halfway through I'd start licking the blood off the floor. You know, vampires in the stories never got this kind of lovely deal. They all had massive estates and fortunes and noble titles. Or at least a sire who had some. Not me. Couldn't expect something cushy like that for Kloe Caballero, life never took the easy rode, so why would I expect death to? Yeah, I'm a Vampire. No, I don't sparkle. But am much more powerful after I've fed. It isn't sexy swooning maidens (or whatever the male equivalent of a maiden is) on balconies in skimpy night gowns, more overly drunk people my age stumbling back from the bar, reeking of alcohol. Yeah, was going to be a cop. Now days I get a bit of cash by doing part time security guard/bouncer/threatening looking person work at the bar. Enough to keep the drinks flowing. Not that they help much. If I get too drunk I lose control and start going after necks, and if I don't drink enough I get thirsty and start going after necks. Of course if I go too long without going after necks or drinking, then I just start remembering dying and I'd rather avoid that if at all possible. Or if I bring it up, then I start remembering as well. Thanks for that. You want to know? Really? Fine, you asked. I was on my bike. Not in the bike lane, motorcycles can't use those, poo poo, don't you know anything about traffic laws? On my bike, going across the bridge. Used to have a place across the river (The river is the border- our side has no sales tax but a higher income tax, otherwise has a lower income but a sales tax. And last year it was where you could get legal weed) now that I'm making gently caress all I'm over here because it doesn't matter. I'm not on the books on either side, except the obituary listing. Plus I don't know if I can cross the water. Anyway. Driving across the bridge. Snowing that night. Fuckers don't have a clue how to drive in the snow here. Car comes swerving out of nowhere -well, out of the other lane, really- head on into our lane. Hit a truck first, I just got caught in the metal sandwich. I remember... I was looking at my arm, thinking it wasn't so bad, just a loooong cut along the length, blood everywhere. It didn't hurt, that was the odd thing. And even though it was snowing, it felt... warm. Then I looked down. I tried to laugh then. All that came out was a sort of gurgling. And a lot of blood. Some...thing metal. Parts of a car. Sticking out of my chest. I... tried to pull it out. Nothing. I laughed again, and this time I coughed up enough blood that I could actually make the croaking noise. The warmth was spreading through me, my vision was getting blurry. The last thing I remembered was... tipping my head down, the biggest piece of metal was far enough through that I could reach it with my face. I... licked the blood up. That's what I remember the most. The salty taste on my lips as everything went black. ... ... ... It helps if someone causes trouble. Or tries to drag off a drunk chick. Or drunk guy really, both genders do it. But then I don't have to feel so bad about dragging them into a dark alley and having a drink myself. That doesn't happen often enough though. Most of the crowd are regulars, and most of the bad ones have been driven off by now. Maybe I should try pulling some of the classic moves out of the vampire book. Ugh. The Ghoul posted:Name: Kloe Caballero 1. Another frequent attendee of the Flying Monkey Bar.  Janis, not sure what her last name is. She's there almost every night, sitting in the same seat at the end of the bar, writing. I think she probably takes classes at one of the campuses, but I've never talked to her. Actually, I've never seen anyone talk to her, except the bartender to give her a fresh drink. I've seen people look, but never do anything. She has this... aura... of distance. Like she's out of reach. ... I've never talked to her. But I know her name is Janis. Did someone tell me that? Everyone knows it. But how? 2. A person or place with a reputation in or around Portland.  This... place. The Aristocrats. Ugh. I don't even know how anyone can stand to go in there, let alone eat. Just looking in the window is enough to make my sick to my stomach and I don't even eat food anymore. But, its a really popular place with the remaining elderly population of Portland. Apparently its 'quirky'. Which is old person for weird, I guess. The odd thing is the people you see inside are always there. Uh. They don't live there. But if you go by at say, noon, you'll see the same group of people, same seats, every noon. If you go by at 6, no matter what day, it'll be the same different group of people, same seats. Sometimes a new person will show up, but they'll be there with the rest of their group from then on. Maybe the food is actually really good? 3. A rumor going around that your character finds interesting. Tomorrow 4. Why DO you hang out at the Flying Monkey so much, and why would it be difficult for you to stop doing so? I've sort of said it already, but, well. Most places are keen on handing over cash to a regular patron for helping security if it comes to it. So I'd be out my money for one. Second, people know me. Most bars around here, a heavy drinking 24 year old girl shows up with no one she knows, theres going to be trouble. And I prefer to keep my trouble outside of the bar. Third, I know people. So a new person shows up, I know they're a safer target if I really need to drink. And I know if a regular is looking to get blacked out. Finally, I just feel more at home here. I've spent most of my 'new' life here, so... I don't really know what I'd do, or where I'd go if I left. 5. Optionally, a title for the game thread, because otherwise it's gonna be Slackerhearts and we (collectively) can do better than that. Monsters vs The World GodFish fucked around with this message at 07:10 on Mar 13, 2016 |
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Nov 28, 2015 06:27
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Gonna put a Fae here.
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Nov 28, 2015 06:28
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Going to app to this game! Woo! Going to Go Infernal/Witch Hybrid
Axe-man fucked around with this message at 06:57 on Nov 28, 2015 |
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Nov 28, 2015 06:28
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 Here be Neighbor. Waffleman_ fucked around with this message at 06:46 on Nov 28, 2015 |
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Nov 28, 2015 06:30
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Interested, thinking of going with a Troll. Finn O'Keefe, the Troll  Have you every been hit in the face before? Like, busted nose, blood everywhere? Real gross poo poo, right? Well, that's pretty much my job description. See, you can say what you want about Portland, but people hate it when they look like the rear end in a top hat. That's why I moved here from Pendleton. And when you can sit there and smile after something like that, still bleeding, ask someone to leave, they feel like a really, really big rear end in a top hat. Like, loving The Blob's rear end in a top hat rear end in a top hat. So, owner here at the Flying Monkey hired me as a bouncer. Well, and a janitor. You don't really need a full-time bouncer anyways. Portland, man. Other than the occasional douchebag, everyone pretty much keeps to themselves. So, I clean. Pays the bills and then some. Keeps me away from my folks, which is good because I get yelled at enough by old customers at work. Gets me all the booze and pot I need. Not like they're gonna piss-test me or anything, it's legal and I clean. Like I'm gonna crash my mop into some of the lunch crowd and kill someone or something. Cleaning's easy, too. Just takes time and isn't that what we've all got? Plus, I get paid by the hour, so if it isn't in the middle of the night, I'm gonna take it slow, listen to whatever's on Pandora and take it easy. People don't tend to throw up or bleed as much during lunch anyways, so, I've got that going for me. Plus, have you ever been to Pendleton? They've got a rodeo, a whiskey, some blankets and enough dumb rednecks to fill a football stadium. The rest is desert. I may be regenerating and all that, but it's just -boring- out there. Not Boring the city. Pendleton's its own thing. Finn The Troll posted:Look: Scrappy, Inebriated Eyes, Sloppy clothes 1. Another frequent attendee of the Flying Monkey Bar.  Yeah, there's this guy, McNulty. Well, that's not his name, but he looks like that cop from The Wire, except his hair's all curly and he's got a British accent. He's a pretty cool guy, mostly part of the lunch crowd. Pretty sure he's a professor at the college, some sort of mythology teacher. Either that or he really likes his mythology. Saw him in here with all sorts of different, weird books. But hell, if he's decent people, I'm not gonna judge. 2. A person or place with a reputation in or around Portland. Okay, check this out. You guys ever been to the Chrystal Ballroom? It's like some ancient ballroom that they fixed up for concerts nowadays, but I heard it's haunted. Well, not like the spooky kind of haunted, think more Casper and less Poltergeist. There's been some weird stories about unplugged speakers working, near misses when it comes to people falling off stage.. weird, weird poo poo. I haven't been there sober, and I'm not gonna go looking for ghosts or whatever. 3. A rumor going around that your character finds interesting. There's a reason there's all sorts of homeless in Portland, and it isn't because Seattle believes in Greyhound Therapy. There's like a compulsion for people on the west coast to come up here. I mean, I dunno why you'd want homeless people unless you're one of those weirdos who eats people. But that'd take a lot of mojo to pull off, ya know? I don't have any idea how mojo works, but this would be big and scary if it's true. I did hear it from a random homeless guy late at night on the bus, though, so I dunno. 4. Why DO you hang out at the Flying Monkey so much, and why would it be difficult for you to stop doing so? When I'm on shift, obviously it's because I'm on shift. They give me money, I give them clean floors. But I swing by all the time because I think I belong there, ya know? Can't tell if it's because of all the others who work there, or because the bosses treat me somewhat respectful for the guy who's cleaning their floors, whatever it is, it's like the family I never had. I mean, we don't get along perfectly, we're still people and all, but it's a whole lot better than what I had before. Like, I don't want to move back to the desert. I belong here, with my friends. Hell, I'd take a Portlander hating me 'cause I'm a hippy rather than back home hating me 'cause I'm a human being queer. Which is redundant and offensive. 5. Optionally, a title for the game thread, because otherwise it's gonna be Slackerhearts and we (collectively) can do better than that. The Lore Bear fucked around with this message at 00:39 on Nov 29, 2015 |
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Nov 28, 2015 06:48
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Interest: Have.
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Nov 28, 2015 06:50
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Katherine “Kat” Welles, the Queen post id:21891238 posted:I write the songs that make the whole world sing. I write the songs of love and special things. I write the songs that make the young girls cry. I write the songs. I've been alive forever, and I wrote the very first song. My home lies deep within you, and I've got my own place in your soul. Now, when I look out through your eyes, I'm young again, even though I'm very old. So, yeah. That's the ad we saw on Craigslist. I guess not many bands would have answered it, but then again, not many bands were as desperate as we were for a music coach. Naked Soul Rat was struggling to find an audience for our proprietary blend of lo-fi alternative post-punk mandolin-core music, and we needed some help. So we answered the ad. Turned out to be the address to a sketchy-rear end bank of storage units. There was a key taped to the door of Lot 23 that opened door 4b. The inside was totally empty except for a battery powered radio sitting on an upturned milk crate. When we turned it on, we heard... The Song. It was transformative; soul-searing. After that, we were no longer Kat, Dez, Akiko, and Jeff. We were Naked Soul Rat. Like, in our souls. I'm still not crazy about the name, but Dez ordered 1500 t-shirts already, so I guess we'll have to own it. So I guess some explanatory background is probably necessary. I'm Katherine “Kat” Welles; Portland born and raised. I've got about half an associates degree in fashion design from the Art Institute of Portland. While I was failing to advance my scholastic career and working at a vegan coffee shop, I became roomates with Dez (music major) and Jeff (culinary arts degree) and Dez's boyfriend Steve (pre-med),and we formed a band; Jet Fuel. To make a long story short, we sucked. But we sucked in an interesting enough way to convince this girl who Jeff had a mad crush on – Akiko (pre-law, minor in digital film-making and video production)-- to make a youtube video of our first demo “Can't melt steel beams”, which got, like, thousands of likes. Definitely more than one thousand likes. Then the band got really experimental, and Dez and Steve broke up, and poo poo got messy, and we took on Akiko as a bassist, and poo poo gelled again. Now we've got this sort of neo-retro sound, like Neutral Milk Hotel filtered through Mumford and Sons with hints of Punch Brothers and Dutch Uncles. No, I don't think that sounds the least bit loving pretentious. Seriously, let me send you some links to our facebook page; we've got some soundclouds. Or find me on Twitter at @KatWellness. Avoid the Pitchfork reviews like the plague; they are totes unflattering because the local music critic is one of my exes. Oh, right. You wanted to know about The Song? Well, it's... The Song. Capital T, capital S. The primordial song; the platonic form of sex and drugs and rock n'roll, or poo poo along those lines. It was in the radio waves, and the wi-fi signal, and the bits and bytes of Craigslist. It wanted someone to listen to it. It needed an outlet. And now it's in us. Is us. I seriously question whether you're stoned enough to be having this conversation. Look, it's simple. You know all those stories about the guitarist in New Orleans who meets the Devil at a crossroads and sells his soul to be able to play amazing music? Well, this time the music cut out the middle man. Souls weren't sold, they were loving strummed. Now the Song wants to be heard. No, I don't think this sounds creepy at all. Look, the Song isn't evil, just different. It wants sex, drugs, and rock and roll, or the local Portland equivalent. And it helps us help it get those things. It let us step up our game, musically, and... well, there's other little perks that it gives us in exchange for playing it. And that's all it wants; to be played. Like it says, sometimes; it IS music. Is that so bad? Isn't that why we signed up for this gig? quote:Name: Katherine “Kat” Welles So I took the Infernal's bargain for her out of skin move to represent the whole musical deal-with-the-devil thing. I also switched out the Queen's Darkest Self for the infernal's, because without that there's no intrinsic way to get rid of the Dark Power's strings which would make the skin unplayable. I hope that's okay; if anything, it's a hideous drawback more than an advantage. Naked Soul Rat:  Vocals, Guitar: Katherine "Kat" Welles. The Face. Also, the front-woman, ego, spleen, sarcasm-generator, token ethnicity, musical historian, and seamstress of the band. Lead Guitar, Backup vocals: Desmond "Dez" Berkeley. The Talent. The band's intellect, money-guy, and token purist. Books the gigs. Bass: Akiko Harakami. The Quiet One. A tiny dynamo of rage and physical energy. Has been thrown out of every bar in Portland. Provides legal counsel and tech support. Enjoys gardening and produces her own brand of artisanal blackstrap molasses, Black Tar. Drums: Jeff. Is a drummer. Both supplies and consumes an enormous amount of weed. Eats. Farts. Drums. Advanced Beardologist. Keyboards: keyboardist wanted. Apply via Facebook or by email at Nakedsoulrat@yahoo.com. 1. Another frequent attendee of the Flying Monkey Bar. Dean Everett is the Flying Monkey's local issues-guy and resident Sandersista. Pick a cause and he's proudly trumpeted it at one time or another. He's also been trying to set up a Poetry Jam night at the Flying Monkey for several years now, with occasional success. He's sweet, in a desperate, sweaty kind of way. Lately he's been turning his manic attentions our direction, and I think he maybe wants to join the band. I'm not so sure that's a good idea. he's a little weird, and he doesn't have much talent, although, to The Song, that doesn't necessarily matter. I don't know, maybe he can be a roadie. If we ever managed to go on the road, anyway. 2. A person or place with a reputation in or around Portland. Man, have you ever been to "Bark Twain's", the book/pet store on Barton Way? No, shut up. I know how it sounds, but that place is great. You can take a break from walking your dog to enjoy the latest John Green while drinking a Holden Pawfield vanilla chai with almond milk. Also, the owner is like the most amazing person with animals I've ever seen. Dogs, cats, gerbils, iguanas, this pet giant tortoise one time, whatever; they all just love him. Like they're entranced. 3. A rumor going around that your character finds interesting. So, there's zombies in Pearl district. No, seriously. I heard it from this guy that, when they were doing the latest batch of urban renewal and converting defunct warehouses to upscale establishments, they knocked through a floor into a basement and discovered zombies. And then they went and made it into a brewpub anyway. Just, like, corralled the zombies off and made them an attraction. Supposedly, if you know where to find the stairwell leading to the un-marked speakeasy, you can get craft beer and poke a zombie with a stick. 4. Why DO you hang out at the Flying Monkey so much, and why would it be difficult for you to stop doing so? Because this is, like, our venue. This is where we first made it big. Well, sort of big. This is where our fans know to come find us. We've got a sort of unofficially regular gig here two nights a week, and the owner let us set up a little merch stand near the register. Dez whipped up some t-shirts, hand-forged wooden key-chains, and junk. You can buy them there or at our Etsy store, all proceeds go to support local artists. We're building a buzz here, establishing authenticity. It's our place. 5. Optionally, a title for the game thread, because otherwise it's gonna be Slackerhearts and we (collectively) can do better than that. IronicHearts: Vampires May Be Turned by Genuine Emotion Old Kentucky Shark fucked around with this message at 14:48 on Nov 29, 2015 |
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Nov 28, 2015 07:50
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 Joanna Rushman, The Werewolf You know the worst thing about serving coffee for a living? Everything, it's everything. This wasn't supposed to be a forever sort of thing, you know? I suppose it still isn't, but, well... Okay, so picture me at eighteen: less tattoos, thicker glasses, an incoming freshman, trying for a pre-law degree, and enjoying life. Right? So - everything was fine, really, until my second year, and specifically a month-ish before the winter break. And it would have been fine, except for the one evening I went out to smoke and got attacked by what I thought was a bear, but apparently wasn't. I got off with just being bitten on the arm as I ran back to the dorm and locked the door, and I figured other than bandaging myself up (the cuts weren't even deep they just stung), I'd be good. I wasn't though. At all. My family's always been explorers, snowbirds, that sort of thing. And this year had been no different: we went up to the Rockies for skiing, and rented a cabin and all that good stuff. But, three nights after we got there, when the moon was full, I turned into a werewolf. Stop laughing, I did. A werewolf, yes - which was...super not great really. For one thing - the hair. Try explaining why you have dog hair all over everything when you don't own a dog, because I can't! And oh yes, the other thing, namely the turning into a big murderous wolf-beast every so often. I panicked, I really did. Well, I almost caught frostbite after the first time it happened, and I panicked about that first because getting back to my cabin in the snow in the nude, covered in deer blood, the next morning was...an adventure, especially since some high school ski club had shown up that day before I woke up (at least my stomach was full? Ugh, gross, bad joke Jo!) So I dropped out of school, much to my parents' chagrin - or well, it would've been except I have uh, cut off contact with them, too. How can I tell them what's going on with me? How can I even tell anybody? So yes, Buzz's Beans has become my full time employment. Isn't it great? All that school to become a shift manager/barista at some lovely coffee shop. Hurray (pretend I am making a really unenthusiastic face when you're reading this part). But, at least I get to set my own hours, which means that I take off every full moon. I have a system. I drive myself out to the edge of town and...well there's a...an abandoned cabin or something in the woods, and I padlock myself in and just wreck up the joint until the next morning, where I go out and retrieve the clothes that I leave hanging from the tree the evening before. Go home, lather, rinse, and repeat. So far, no real slip ups. But...okay, do you know if there's any way to fix this? I've looked but, try and figure out an actual factual remedy for something that is supposed to only exist in old stories and bad dreams - I haven't found a fix for it. I really could use one. Like, any fix, short of suicide, that works. I've tried the wolfsbane thing, which, by the way, is disgusting. I wear plenty of silver, which, by the way, does nothing. And, I'm not about to try the silver bullet thing because again, suicide. And the aggression responses. Holy poo poo, that's been rough to avoid. I keep wanting to...throw punches or scratch...or really...bite. As much as I know that's a real bad idea, or whatever. Maybe if I don't when I'm having a bad hair night, it won't be so bad, but still...I was never like this before. I definitely don't drink coffee, anyway, because really I don't need to be further wound up. So thus far it's just been slinging coffee, enduring people in Portland being pretentious, and...drinking (booze). Lots of drinking (because bar stink isn't the same as coffee stink and let me tell you coffee stink is the WORST especially the week of the full moon.) Oh, and resisting the urge to like...pee on trees or whatever. quote:Name Joanna Rushman 1. Another frequent attendee of the Flying Monkey Bar. There's this girl who shows up every so often, well, by my count at least. Her name's Mary Garfield. She's a sweetheart, and she's funny, and she's cute. I've uh, talked her up once or twice, and maybe we've even gone shopping once or twice more. I am reluctant to go any further than that though, only because...well...I'm not sure how...communicable my...problem is and I don't want to...I couldn't...condemn anyone else to living like this. So for now she's just a friend, albeit one I flirt with.  2. A person or place with a reputation in or around Portland. So there's roughly a billion and a half "old" independent places in Portland. Record stores, toy stores, parks, restaurants, you name it. If anybody opens a little hole in the wall in the city, and they think they can attract hipsters, they'll immediately claim it was around for a gazillion years and only serves the most exclusive clientele. Normally, it's all bullshit, of course. But there's the 4 Seasons Cinemas downtown, around a blind alley and not even on google maps, that has got to be authentic as poo poo. For one thing it's hard as gently caress to find. Secondly, they only take cash. Thirdly, the atmosphere is like, legit authentic. Only 4 screens, they're always playing old as gently caress films too, like Bogart and Hitchcock and poo poo like that, and on film, too! Not a lot of traffic, but they keep open and keep the place clean, so I guess it's just kind of empty when I'm there. Funny thing is: other than the old dude whose always taking my tickets and the old lady running the popcorn stand (cuz they only do popcorn, for whatever reason, and with real butter too, which is great), I never see anybody else working there. Not sure why that is, but the old couple's cute as buttons, so it's fine.  3. A rumor going around that your character finds interesting. So you know that sustainable living community outside of town, the uh...what's it called...oh! The Friends of the Harvest? Yeah, those guys. Just a bunch of hippy farmers right? Only, a bunch of people around town are saying they're up to some weird poo poo. Like, bizarre rituals and chanting and poo poo like that, like uh, dancing naked in the moonlight and some drunk old doofus at the bar once said they were up to cannibalistic sacrifices or whatever. Frankly, I'm not sure how true it is, but did you catch the head of the commune - Dennis Sneed's radio interview last weekend? Holy poo poo does he sound like a loving weirdo - just his tone is very...out of it. Like he's on some serious poo poo and it's not really working to curb whatever paranoid psychosis he's suffering from. And yeah, he doesn't not look weird either, I mean, look him up, really. Oh hell, just look at him:  4. Why DO you hang out at the Flying Monkey so much, and why would it be difficult for you to stop doing so? Ok, every day leading up to the full moon gets harder and harder. Every drat day I can feel my control slipping just a little bit, like a countdown. Every god damned day I get clearer and clearer visualizations about just which one of my rear end in a top hat customers I'd love to beat the snot out of, which is unlike me...or used to be anyway. Every god damned loving poo poo eating day before the bastard loving full moon shows up I get worse and worse to deal with, and it seems like I'm stuck somewhere between sarcastic bitch and literal loving psychopath depending on the day. Drinking helps. It helps a lot to throw that off, I guess. Not forever, and maybe less than I think it does but...christ, alcoholism's better than snapping at any available moment, right? And the FM's pretty cheap and the clientele doesn't ask too many questions. Plus uh, my apartment's in the same building, like, two floors up. So... 5. Optionally, a title for the game thread, because otherwise it's gonna be Slackerhearts and we (collectively) can do better than that. Slackerhearts - A Game Thread About Nothing LifeGetsWorser fucked around with this message at 05:07 on Jan 28, 2016 |
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Nov 28, 2015 07:59
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Cynthia "Sin" Larson I was a vegan, this is important. It meant a lot to me to be vegan, I didn't even eat eggs! I learned how to cook all on my own because my parents couldn't be hosed to teach me let alone be sympathetic to my dietary restrictions. Sometimes I'd cook for my friends if I felt up to it, and they were all really impressed by my cooking and presentation. They suggested I start a food blog, so I did. I call it the Green Dish. It's not super popular but I have a little over a hundred followers. Personally I'd like to make a profession out of this but how do you monetize something like this? I don't really get enough revenue from ads and seriously gently caress working for a living. I don't really try to promote myself or make a brand, that's just too much effort. This stuff should be easy! I mean come on how hard is it to go viral? Sigh, whatever. So like I've been coming to the Flying Monkey for years. I come here to drink, chill and write on my laptop. I like the atmosphere! And most of the people are alright too. I've also been going to college in the area too, majoring in Humanities because gently caress doing any actual work. That's kind of my credo, if it's worth doing it's worth procrastinating. College life is... harrowing. I didn't mean to but I got caught up in some overly dramatic tiff with this mega bitch Tiffany Davies. She's a Political Science major who thinks she's so much smarter than everyone else. I didn't even want to be caught up in her poo poo and told her as such, but she was insistent in starting poo poo and I'm not one to be trifled with. So now we're in this feud, talking poo poo about each other and it's such a pain in the rear end. On the plus side I've gotten really good at talking poo poo. Oh yeah I guess this is the part where I tell you I'm a vampire. It's no big deal but yeah I was a vegan. Now I have to eat people, well not eat people, just suck their blood. I try not to hurt anyone permanently. But my sire is obnoxiously involved in my life. I don't know why he picked me or why he bothers with me because I just want to be left alone to my own devices. My sire takes the role of just one more perpetually disappointed adult in my life and I don't really care what he thinks. I bet he regrets making me what I am. Other than the drinking blood thing, and the sun sensitivity thing, my life hasn't really changed. I cook, I write my blog, I go to class, I feud with catty bitches. It's not an amazing life but it's my life to waste. I'm just here to have a good time and experience life, don't expect too much from me. quote:Name: Cynthia "Sin" Larson quote:Another frequent attendee of the Flying Monkey Bar. Micheal Hayes comes here every day to play guitar during open mic. He's pretty hot in that rugged, I don't give a gently caress way. When he's not playing guitar he's drinking and shooting pool. He seems pretty cool, he's warmly received here and seems to get along with everyone. He's trying to start a band but he mostly plays covers with only a handful of original songs. We talk from time to time and he's pretty laid back. We get along. quote:A person or place with a reputation in or around Portland. Sam's Arcade is another joint I frequent. Portland has a way of letting niche dying markets like arcades still thrive in its locale. If you're down for some House of the Dead or Street Fighter II Sam's is the place to go. A lot of the "geek" and "nerd" kids hang out there but the place is really cool. It's a real fun place to hang out and you can win prizes which is always fun. quote:A rumor going around that your character finds interesting. Tiffany Davies has herpes. It's true, I talked to an ex boyfriend of hers about it. So steer clear of her unless you want it too. But seriously, I hear Sean McCoy, the owner of the Hardware Store on Canton Avenue, is in financial distress. It's because of the big mega store 15 minutes away from it. It's hard to compete with that, and I feel for him if it's true. It would be really sad to lose one of the Mom and Pops in the area, it gives the town so much character. I hear he's pretty desperate. quote:Why DO you hang out at the Flying Monkey so much, and why would it be difficult for you to stop doing so? Like I said, I like the atmosphere. It's a pretty cool place. Nobody expects anything of you and it's a great place to write. It's also in walking distance from the school campus so it's just easy to get to. Honestly I've been coming here for so long now it's become a habit. I don't know what I'd do without the place.
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Nov 28, 2015 08:02
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 Crow Brooks, Fae Hey there. Name's Crow. Yeah, I know it's a stupid name. Parents were loving hippies. Let me tell you, that was reaaal great growing up. If it wasn't the name, I got to be embarrassed whenever someone from school saw them. Ugh, the loving worst. I wish I had been in a real home, a NORMAL one. On my 18th birthday, one good thing happened. So maybe it was our family background that made it so most of them were idiots running around wearing flowers and getting high and being all lovely dovey and peace and blah blah blah whatever. Because on my 18th birthday my faery godmother arrived. I poo poo you not, an honest to god actual fae. She told me that now I would now be able to use some of the fae magic. The big one was being able to tell when people broke a promise they made to me. Fae love their promise magic poo poo for some reason. And I suppose it kind of made sense - I've always felt this instinctual dislike whenever someone would promise something and then never deliver, not mention I've always felt hesitant to break my own promises. It's not an impulse or anything like that - I can break promises if I want to. I just don't like doing it. The thing is, I could never really do anything when people broke a promise to me. Or, I suppose, I couldn't before. Now? Now I can use magic to even things out. Make it so that they have a bit of bad luck, or I get lucky getting back at them, or even hurt them. Not that I usually do that last one, but the option's there. As for my faery godmother? She doesn't actually show up much. She'll pop in on my birthday (and randomly throughout the year), checks in to see how I'm doing, asks me what's going on. You know, typical poo poo that family always asks. Except that sometimes she already knows the answer to what she's asking and helpfully lets me know she can tell if I'm lying. Kind of a little creepy honestly, but gently caress it. Maybe that's just part of being a faery godmother? Not like I've ever met another fae. Eventually, I managed to save enough money to move out. Turns out that a commune of well meaning people who sit around and constantly getting high while telling each other how great they are tend to have jack poo poo for money, so that I had to do on my own. And forget about paying for college. So I was on my own in order to get a bus ride out and into Portland, which I chose because it was the nearest large city. My savings was only enough for about a month, so I went around looking for work. Luckily, the Flying Monkey Bar was hiring and I managed to charm the owner enough to get a job and start learning how to mix drinks. I might have exaggerated a bit about my previous work experiences as well, but let's that keep that between you and me okay? So now I've got a place to live, a good job, a bunch of great people to hang out with, and I also have god drat magic powers from my fae ancestors. Shouldn't be too hard to get along in Portland with all of that going for me, and things are going just fine. I do wonder if maybe there are some other supernatural people in this big city but I'll take my time finding that out. For now, I'm just going to take it easy and have some fun. quote:
Another frequent attendee of the Flying Monkey Bar. Stacey Hogarth is someone who knows where to get drugs of all kinds. Weed's legal, but sometimes you want something a bit stronger right? She's who I go to when that's the case. I can even meet up with her right after a shift, so it's super convenient as well. A person or place with a reputation in or around Portland. So there's this abandoned amusement park a short bus ride from the bar. From what I've heard, it closed due to lack of attendance. I can see why - not a whole lot going on there. So being an abandoned amusement park, there's all sorts of rumors about it being haunted or whatever. Most interesting thing I heard was how the hall of mirrors is supposedly magical or extra haunted or whatever - from what people say, you can see all sorts of things if you go there in the dead of night. Might have to check it out one of these days. A rumor going around that your character finds interesting. WIP Why DO you hang out at the Flying Monkey so much, and why would it be difficult for you to stop doing so? For the first part, I work here. As for why I keep doing it? It's not a bad job and if I may flatter myself (I will), I'm very good at getting tips. As long as you can act like the customer is a fascinating and attractive individual, they'll love you for it. To be fair though, there are a lot of interesting people who drink here. And hey, it's a pretty nice place. I'll hang out here a little after my shift is over and sometimes come in on my days off. I suppose I could get another job if I REALLY wanted to for some reason, but why would I? Not too hard a job, decent money, requires skills I have plenty of...So no real reason to bail on them. Heliotrope fucked around with this message at 07:53 on Dec 8, 2015 |
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Nov 28, 2015 08:53
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 Nikki Lockwood The Chosen I woke up this morning wishing I was dead again. Yeah that's usually a sign that it's not going to be a good day. If I'd had the choice I would've stayed in bed but I have bills to pay and shifts to work. So I have to get up and get on. I find myself obsessing over everything that happened. What could I have done differently? If I'd been faster or stronger or smarter would I have been able to save them. They were counting on me and I failed them. And now I have to live with the consequences of my failure. See it all started when I was in high-school. I was a pretty average student with a pretty average life. Two parents one older brother on the verge of going to college. A couple of friends I'd known for years the usual and I expected to have a pretty normal life. You know. I'd had my eyes on a couple of guys I'd been doing ok with my school work and that was it. That was until they came for me. The Order of St Giles. I thought they were joking at first when they wanted to recruit me to fight some ancient demon. They told me I was "marked by destiny" to be the one to destroy him. I didn't believe them at first. But they showed me the truth. The victims he'd left in his wake. The terror and chaos he'd sown in his passage. So I joined up. I don't know even now after everything that happened if I believe all their prophecies about the "chosen one" Yet I can't deny the work came easy to me. I was a natural with the sword. I found myself willing to study the ancient texts with more vigour than I put into my algebra homework and I learnt what I need to know to fight our invisible war. We tracked down cells of cultists across the state and beyond and we brought them down with fire and sword. I had friends allies comrades, they were closer to me than my own family. We eventually succeeded in tracking him down. I will not say his name even now. Because names have power. Let's just call him the Tyrant. He was possessing the body of the local police chief. Willingly or not I don't know and I didn't care. We tracked him to his lair an old farm on the edge of town. He was opening a gate to hell and summoning in a legion. What for I do not know but I doubt it was good. We threw everything we had at him. I had to watch as my friends sacrificed themselves as they died fighting. Giving me the chance to do my job the one I was born to do. I remember his mockery and then how it turned to fear as I got the best of him. I remember removing his head. His last mocking laugh haunting my dreams still. I burnt it all in the end. That farmhouse. All those bodies. Some of them belonging to people I cared about. All up in smoke. I think I'd went on that mission expecting to die. I'd wanted to die. It certainly would have been better than living while my friends were dead. Afterwards I tried to put what was left of my life back together. But it was all wrong. My grades had suffered badly. I'd fallen out with my parents. I'd never had a boyfriend I'm not sure I'd have dared as it would've been one more weapon to use against me. I tried getting a job. But I had days when I wouldn't be able to work. Or I'd duck for cover when someone slammed a door. Or hit someone talking in a foreign language because I thought just for a moment they were trying to summon a demon. I drifted from dead end job to dead end job. Until I ended up here. Waitress at the Flying Monkey. Yeah that looks like my destiny now. Maybe I was chosen by fate to wash dishes. Still it pays the rent. And at least working in a bar means there's plenty of booze to drown the memories when it gets too bad. I just wish I could've done better.... quote:Name: Nicola "Nikki" Lockwood Rauri posted:1. Another frequent attendee of the Flying Monkey Bar. Old Man Monckton He's the first customer in on a morning and the last one to leave on a night. I think his wife died a while back and he comes here as much for the company as anyone else. I've seen him nurse a drink all day. According to my boss he's been coming in for years and despite the fact that the bar has changed hands a couple of times he still keeps coming. He's some sort of war vet. Vietnam I think from the stories he tells. And he has that look in his eye where he goes quiet and I can tell he's remembering the friends who died and aren't with him. Makes me feel a sort of kinship with him so I try and see that he's well looked after. Rauri posted:2. A person or place with a reputation in or around Portland. Portland's well known for attracting weirdos and strangers and producing some odd businesses. Probably the weirdest is two blocks over. McBride's Chippy. Advertised as genuine Scottish cuisine it sells fish and fries and has some pretty weird stuff on the menu. I sometimes call in on my way home from work to pick something up to eat when I can't be bothered to cook. Rumour has it though that the owner has a "special stock" that he shares with only select clients. I bet it's drugs. Because that's the only way the place can keep running. Rauri posted:3. A rumor going around that your character finds interesting. Rumour has it the police have arrested someone for the murder of their police chief. And since I'm still walking around it's clearly not me. I wonder who it is and why they suspect them. Could he have been up to more than just simple demon summoning? Rauri posted:4. Why DO you hang out at the Flying Monkey so much, and why would it be difficult for you to stop doing so? Well either I'm working here. Or drinking here. The alternative is going back alone to my tiny apartment with it's paper thin walls and neighbours who quarrel and argue all day. And being around other people makes me feel a little better. A little bit more like my old self. If I didn't have that slight relief I dunno I might actually do something.... silly. I know I know. I need help it's just you try going to a psychologist and explaining that you murdered a bunch of guys and saw some friends murdered in exchange. They'd call the cops or the guys with straitjackets straight away. Especially if I started talking about demons. This is the only healing I can get the only one I can afford. Rauri posted:5. Optionally, a title for the game thread, because otherwise it's gonna be Slackerhearts and we (collectively) can do better than that. I got nothing. Ferrosol fucked around with this message at 02:16 on Nov 29, 2015 |
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Nov 28, 2015 11:31
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Jennifer Harewood Hi! Do you want to buy my art? ... No, I won't just 'draw you really quick'. Not unlike you pay like everyone else. No? Okay, bye, then. Ugh, seriously, people, no one in their right mind is going to give you their work for free, why should artists be different? But man, screw Portland. Nobody here really appreciates my art, or has money to pay for it. With one exception of course, but anyway! Seriously, how's a teen who just moved out supposed to make a living here?! This goddamn art degree is useless! quote:1. Another frequent attendee of the Flying Monkey Bar.  Huh? Oh, that's Mr. Gray. We met at some newbie art expo back when I still bothered going to those. Turns out, he actually lives here too! He's, like, my only patron. Which is weird because he's constantly criticizing my stuff, but he always ends up buying it anyway. At a pretty low price, of course, otherwise I wouldn't be stuck in here. quote:2. A person or place with a reputation in or around Portland. quote:3. A rumor going around that your character finds interesting. quote:4. Why DO you hang out at the Flying Monkey so much, and why would it be difficult for you to stop doing so? quote:Look: quiet, sad Eyes Yami Fenrir fucked around with this message at 18:04 on Dec 1, 2015 |
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Nov 28, 2015 12:45
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A Cuckoo will appear here soonish.
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Nov 28, 2015 15:12
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  It's funny, y'know? You'd think that getting out of the dying small town you grew up in and moving across the country to go to college would let you leave things behind. Things like high school drama, or waiting tables. Or people thinking you're crazy/being abused/on 'the drugs' because you show up every now and again with a few bruises. At the very least it would have been nice to leave the monsters back home. Maybe I should start over. Hi, I'm Anne, and I get messages from God and kill monsters. Yeah, there's that look that says 'oh poo poo, psycho alert!' Look, you asked, I'm telling, so just...try not to call the cops or whatever for five minutes. The whole story would take forever, but the cliff notes go like this: a few years ago I'm in high school in Salvation, West Virginia, when the refinery that's like the only employer in town blows the hell up. Now my Dad was the safety guy and he got the official blame, but the actual culprit was the angry ghost of a bunch of miners who got killed a century earlier. I'm the only one who saw it, and after that I started seeing monsters everywhere and I...fight them. Partly because I can't look away, partly because I keep getting terrifying apocalyptic hallucinations at the worst possible time if I try and stop. Turns out Salvation was hella haunted, and I kinda had to burn the town in order to save it. Some good people helped me, some of them were monsters as well. When the smoke cleared the Burning Man (that's what we called the ghost) had been, uh, laid to rest, and the cops didn't have enough to charge anyone with anything - but Salvation was a small town, and rumors have a power that the law can't touch. Everyone knew that crazy Anne had something to do with the mess, and so Dad sent me to live with Mom in Seattle and he sold up and went to Florida. After that the story's a bit more normal. Finished school, went to college, majored in PolSci, graduated, got into and dropped out of law school, drifted up and down the coast and ended up here. A couple of loser boyfriends, a handful of dead-end jobs. I try to keep out of trouble, but the voices and visions don't leave me alone. I guess I drink too much. I should call my parents more often. I dress vintage and listen to hick music. Mostly I'm just treading water these days, keeping ahead of my student loans and waiting for the other shoe to drop, or another freak to show up and start trying to eat people or something. That's my story, I guess. Have I scared you off, or are you going to buy me another drink? Character Sheet posted:Anne Andrews, The Chosen 1. Another frequent attendee of the Flying Monkey Bar. Detective Jean Carpenter, a cop with the bad judgement to be honest and decent. As a result her career has stalled out, her colleagues hate her, she gets all the poo poo details and crank calls, and she drinks in a bar full of millennial freaks. She's tuned in to the world of monsters, but only has a badge, gun, and foul temper to do anything about it. 2. A person or place with a reputation in or around Portland. Lewis and Clark Law School have been developing a strange reputation for altruism on the part of the staff. A lot of pro-bono work, community legal consultation, that sort of thing. Rumor has it that Dean Jennifer J. Johnson (not even joking, that's her name) is trying to make up for having done something less than moral. A shame none of that generosity is going towards some kind of fee amnesty for former students... 3. A rumor going around that your character finds interesting. The Portland Japanese Garden has been closed for 'maintenance works' for a strangely long time. Add to that a touring celebrity Zen master who canceled a bunch of appearances and you have...something, I guess. The sound of one mystery clapping? 4. Why DO you hang out at the Flying Monkey so much, and why would it be difficult for you to stop doing so? Well, I'm pretty close to being a functioning alcoholic, and this place is real generous with the tab. Also I live upstairs, work down the road, and a bunch of people I know come here all the time. Plus this place draws monsters like poo poo draws flies, and that makes it easier to keep an eye on them. 5. Optionally, a title for the game thread, because otherwise it's gonna be Slackerhearts and we (collectively) can do better than that. Portland Trail: You Have Died of Vampirism. Continue? thatbastardken fucked around with this message at 16:50 on Dec 10, 2015 |
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Nov 28, 2015 15:39
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Zachariah Abel I remember the story of the clever monarch’s advisor holding secret sway in the court with wise and charming council, holding the strings of power with nobody, especially the weak-willed king, the wiser who was the real sovereign of the kingdom. I remember the tale of the powerful travelling sorcerer, keeping secret the true depth of his control over the hidden laws of the world from the superstitious folk of the country, gathering coin and favors with just the tiniest proof of power. And I remember the saga of the lesser species of the earth subjugated by their betters, vanquished by mighty fang and coil. And the mammals truly knowing their place, as they actually craved in their secret heart, and thus loving their masters – us – for it. These and other stories my parents used to tell me when I was a hatchling, and like a child, I loved them. Imagined myself in them, as the clever advisor. The powerful sorcerer. The undefeated conqueror. I wonder now, does a child ever ask itself why its parents do the things they do? Fill their children’s’ heads with the dreams they pick out? I think not. The stories delighted my childish heart and thus my childish heart paid it no more mind. Oh, but they were not just tales, were they? Oh no. At least for me they weren’t, not if my family had their way. And my family always gets their way – or so it seemed when I was told I would have to go out into the world. As if I knew what that meant! At the time, it was parts terrifying and parts thrilling – these stories that had been told to me, my parents told me they were to prepare me for something greater! Something not even my brothers and sisters could accomplish – I was to be the hero in those tales! You see, I was different from my siblings – special, they said at the time, and I wanted to believe it. I could walk amongst the mammals without difficulty with but a simple ritual casting me into a form pleasing to the humans for as long as I liked, a skill that seemed to elude my siblings – though I did not find out why until later. So I was to set out and bring glory and power to my family, to my kind – and what would be simpler? For after all, the mammals in the stories were simple folk easily lead – needing to be lead, really – and did not have an inkling of the secret arts we wielded. Ah, innocent and heady days. Well. The first week in the human world turned out to be quite the education, And not because I was sent to a school, to learn the ways of the human world, oh no. It was an education in shortcomings, the shattering of lies and illusions. Such as the illusion that my family had any idea what was really going on in the human world. Or really, the world, as I have taken to calling it to my parent’s irritation – because it was our world that was a small little bubble, cut off from the rest of everything. Ughh. Of course, I am getting ahead of myself. I did not see it like this at the time, naturally, the fault had to be with me, it was just that I was not as good and clever as the heroes in the tales. So I tried harder, so convinced in my own power, trying to lord over something I didn’t really understand. And you know what happened? What happened when I tried to start a congregation – they called it a cult – with me as their leader? When I tried to find something to blackmail the master of the school with – because at the time, oh yes, taking over the school was of course the natural first step for taking over, well, everything? Well, I got detention. They did not even take me seriously, did not even think I was a threat, only a ‘little unbalanced’! Oh, looking back, it could make you laugh. But really, I do not feel like laughing, as that was only the first step in a long line of embarrassments. Like me mewling, begging for my family to take me back, away from the horrible human world – I am still here, so it should be obvious what my family’s decision was – my growing juvenile resentment towards my family – rather an unexpected development, on both my and my family’s part – and certain revelations regarding my parentage. Because, ah, yes, I was special indeed. While my father was my father, my mother was only my stepmother – apparently my father indulged in certain indiscretions when my family came to the US, from the Old Country. Which is a whole tale by itself and for another time. In any case, it was not just me feeling the sting of disappointment regarding the fruits of my youthful labor – though I suppose my family was not cursed by such inconveniences of being the one to have to actually do something, so I suppose it was only natural that the directed their ire and venom at me. It turns out that often, absence does not make the heart grow fonder, not when one’s son is not even one’s own flesh and blood, why, any stepmother would be expected to needle her son about not being a man of worldly power yet, or at least the advisor to one. Why, it would only proper to point out that her other sons and daughters would do a much better job of it if only they found it as easy to walk about the human world undetected, if not the unpure blood of someone weaker was flowing within my veins. Yes, mother, if only. My siblings are no help at all of course – at best they shrug their shoulders when hearing my troubles and tell me about some new insane machination for power within our family, something I find myself increasingly bored and disconnected from these days. At worst, they agree that they would do a much better job in my position, and I have not grown so dull to their plots not to know that they are planning for just this event – though whether they have any idea how to go about it, I doubt. And father… well, he tries. Sometimes, he even gets mother on his side and they tell me the old stories, the ones I so loved as a hatchling. But they are bitter now, just a reminder what I was supposed to be, an accusation why it isn’t so yet. And, ugghhh, the ‘suggestions’ they make! It is not like in the Old Country, father! There are no ‘village elders’ to ensnare with promises of power – power, which, by the way, the humans seem to have quite enough of! And no, they are not enticed by promises of ensuring their crops do not wither or that their babes will not die in their sleep – the humans seem to have come up with solutions to these problems all by themselves! But still, they needle me. Have I gained the ear of a local lord yet? Have I wrapped a trusting soul in my coils without them ever knowing, even thanking me for it? Have I done anything? Even the reassurances that they care about me, that even though they know it must be hard they are sure I am doing my best feel like an accusation, and if I am honest, it is because I know it is a lie. Because I am not doing my best. Or if I did, if this is what my best can give me – what a sad state of affairs. Ah, but listen to my babble on and on. Don’t you hate people that just assault you with their problems, their tiny, insignificant woes? Oh, my parents that, oh, the multitude of pressures on my shoulders this – and voila, that is why my life has not amounted to anything, no intention or responsibility of yours truly required and thus I am entirely blameless in the affair. I hate people like that. Not that I would tell them, of course. Oh, you thought I was talking about myself? Why, the notion of one the true rulers of the Earth – never mind the inconvenience of the actual state of reality – not thinking the world of himself is patently ridiculous. So what if all that human education and the fiendish plots – which, in retrospect, were maybe not so fiendish after all, but rather, pedestrian and idiotic – did not amount to much at all. So what if all of that didn’t amount to much not even in terms of the expectation of my dear family, but also in terms of the expectation of the human world towards what a young man of my age is supposed to have accomplished – and the mantle of a young human man I have worn for quite a bit now. Not that one should compare oneself to human accomplishments, oh no, inferior to us as they are, never mind them being masters of the entire planet and our kind hiding in the few dark places still left on Earth. So what if I am thinking all of this while gazing into my half-empty glass of – did I order Bourbon? I think it’s Bourbon – in some bar with a ridiculous name with some ridiculous patrons that for some reason I return to again and again? What if indeed. Why, if one thought and felt these things, one would certainly not be able to tell one’s family. Oh no, they had quite enough disappointment already – and, if the mood would strike them to be unkind, they also had quite enough ammunition against me already. Against one. As I am still speaking hypothetically. Certainly not about me sitting in the Flying Monkey, my eye perhaps searching for someone more pathetic than me, or maybe someone gullible, both to be lent my ear and my most well-meaning advise and both offering an opportunity to cheer me up, albeit in an unfulfilling way such as these disgusting salted peanuts I cannot stop myself from eating. Certainly I am not searching for someone to share my troubles with, oh no. If I were to take someone in my confidence, of course it would be to be part of another plot of mine – refined, more subtle than the ones before. And I am sure it will work out this time and all the other times I thought that before, why, that is all in the past. Certainly it will not all crash horribly again and leave me embarrassed in front of my family, again. Because yes, even after all these years, I keep trying and trying, though sometimes I wonder why. Oh, I suppose there is the matter of my family paying for my livelihood and yes, these gentle and not so gentle ways they have perfected to drive me into guilt over my many shortcomings. But really, when all is said and done – what else am I going to do with my life? What else have I done with my life? quote:Name: Zachariah Abel quote:Another frequent attendee of the Flying Monkey Bar. quote:A person or place with a reputation in or around Portland. quote:A rumor going around that your character finds interesting. quote:Why DO you hang out at the Flying Monkey so much, and why would it be difficult for you to stop doing so? Oh. And maybe it is the prophecy. Urgh. Prophecies. Grandmother follows the old ways, though to the casual observer it may seem the old ways consist of her using various hallucinogens and rambling on with whatever comes into her mind, presenting it as deep wisdom from beyond. Which is quite funny, really, as she is these days not particularly coherent even when not in a ritual – i.e. high – though nobody seems to pay her mutterings any mind then. But, I suppose there was a prophecy on the day I left for the human world, about flying monkeys – it seemed safe to ignore at the time – and great potential without guidance and ambition. When I manage to ignore the questions from my parents long enough insinuating that it is my great potential that is lacking guidance and ambition, I like to imagine there is more to this bar than meets the eye. Or maybe to one of its attendees. Someone with potential but without the wisdom to use it. Which is where I would come in. An intriguing idea. quote:Where do you live, and do you have any roommates? quote:How do you usually get around town? quote:How old are you? nil. fucked around with this message at 12:36 on Feb 10, 2016 |
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Nov 28, 2015 19:18
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A Wyrm/Gentry shall appear in this post later!
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Nov 28, 2015 19:41
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 There is magic in this city. ...No, seriously, there is. That's why I'm here, it's safe here. There's a little sputtering candle holding the darkness at bay, and I don't have to worry that the monsters living there will reach out and... Trust me, there's way more to my 'pasty rear end' than meets the eye. I'm not just the Whitest Girl In The World, I'm albino, and no, it's not cool or exotic, it loving sucks. Even ignoring the fact that some creeps I've never met want to mount my head as a trophy on their wall or something, I sunburn quicker than a vampire, get sick super-easily, and have people stare at me like I just walked out of someone's stupid Mary Sue fanfiction. But it's okay. As far as sucky things go, this is still like, first world problems (creepy hunters aside). At least I have some sweet magic out of this whole deal, and it's like, the best kind - the better a person you are, the stronger your magic is. As if I needed a reason to be a good person, right? But that's one step at a time. Like, this whole thing is hard, and I'm not like, a monk or anything. I can relax a bit, slack off, focus on my studies... figure out a way to fend off these hunters, before I go throw myself into the lion's den that's the world. Easy, right? quote:Name Avery Danvers, the Unicorn 1. Another frequent attendee of the Flying Monkey Bar. Most people wouldn't really call him an 'attendee', but Reggie - don't know his last name, and if he knows it, he's not telling anyone. Poor guy's homeless, and every night he sets himself up outside the bar, begging for change. I give him my tips when I can, when my boss isn't looking. 2. A person or place with a reputation in or around Portland. So I'm staying at a nice little apartment, close to work and school, with Roxana Ketter, who's like... the opposite of me, in a lot of ways. She knows exactly what she wants, at all times, and works to the bone to get it. Plus she's going to be like, some corporate lawyer or something, just like her mom. Already got a reputation and she hasn't even passed the bar exam yet! I try not to spend time at the apartment until I need to sleep, because whenever we're in the same room, she gets on my case, like she can't help herself... 3. A rumor going around that your character finds interesting. TBD 4. Why DO you hang out at the Flying Monkey so much, and why would it be difficult for you to stop doing so? Money, partly. I work here as a waitress, part time, and holla holla get dolla etc. Seriously, I'm treading water just trying to pay my share of the rent, let alone the student debt avalanche that's waiting for me when I graduate... Besides, most of the people here are fun, interesting, even if they're, uh... less than perfect. AdjectiveNoun fucked around with this message at 19:41 on Jan 28, 2016 |
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Nov 28, 2015 20:20
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Interest post. Thinking Ghost right now.
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Nov 29, 2015 00:16
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EVERYONE Where do you live, and do you have any roommates? How do you usually get around town? How old are you? (Feel free to leave roommate slots open if you’re hoping to room with another PC or something, but some people have already described and I’d like to get a general idea of what you have in mind for your PC.) and now individual PCs. Kloe Caballero, the Ghoul What’s the worst you’ve ever hurt someone at the bar? How about not at the bar? What helps you relax? What do you think most people at the bar think of you? Finn O'Keefe, the Troll What’s your least favorite chore at the bar? What’s the worst beating you’ve ever taken, and how long did it take you to recover? Which is more important to you, alcohol or weed? What's it like being a Troll? Katherine “Kat” Welles, the Queen What are some of the perks The Song has provided you already? Is there a demand it’s made of Naked Soul Rat, or you, that you disliked? What’s your favorite NSR song, and why? Joanna Rushman, the Werewolf Is there anything at all you like about being a Werewolf? What’s the worst ‘anger-management incident’ you’ve had at work? Who do you know that most deserves a beating? Cynthia "Sin" Larson, the Vampire When were you turned into a vampire, and did it impact your food blog? What do you know about your sire? What do they most seem to want to change about you? How close are you to graduating? Crow Brooks, the Fae What’s your Faerie Godmother’s name? Is there anything you lied to her about last time she visited, and if so, why? Have you met any Fae among the hippies of Portland? What did you do last time someone broke a promise to you? Nikki Lockwood, the Chosen Have you noticed any monsters since arriving in Portland? Hunted any? Has the Order of St. Giles contacted you since the incident at the farmhouse? Do you think The Tyrant is dead and gone forever? Anne Andrews, the Chosen What restaurant do you work at, and how tolerable is your job? What was the last monster you hunted, and how did it go? What was the last excuse you gave for looking thrashed to your bosses or friends, and did they believe you?
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Nov 30, 2015 08:12
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Rauri posted:EVERYONE Wow, leading with the personal questions! I live two stories up from the Flying Monkey, in a studio apartment whose main attraction is that I don't have to share it, ha! Rent is cheap because the previous occupant was murdered (not monsters, btw! just a drug deal gone bad. I checked.) and also there's a noisy pub just downstairs. No parking, but I ride a pushbike pretty much everywhere anyway (and couldn't afford a car if I wanted one) so that's not an issue. I could probably squeeze a flatmate in, but we'd have to be super friendly (and they would need to be terminally incurious about why I come home late covered in gore.) And since you I ask, I'm (counting on fingers) 24. Which is way older than I thought I would live to be if you asked me a few years ago. Rauri posted:Anne Andrews, the Chosen Which, haha, is going loving amazeballs, thanks for asking. I just spent a week of late nights mucking about in the loving swamp around Smith Lake because of a story on conspiracy blog Free Portlandia! about 'fish-people' being responsible for some homeless kids going missing. Eventually found the walking corpse of a guy who died diving in the lake and put him down but it was just a sad walker, not smart enough to be abducting anything warm enough to fight back. Net result - lots of laundry, something is still going after kids (probably), but at least the police found the body so the family can get closure. Waterlogged corpses are the absolute loving worst, though. Mess or no mess it was a step up on the encounter before that, which was...I'm honestly not sure. Something big and fast with fangs and claws. Maybe a shapeshifter of some kind? Whatever it was the thing was hunting me more than the other way around, lured me into an alley and then hit me from behind. I was lucky that a stray cat freaked out and I guess distracted it long enough for me to get up and stick it with a broken bottle. Never got a good look at it, but it ran and I limped home. Told everyone at work who asked I had fallen off my bike, but I caught Amy Poll giving me that sort of 'sad but supportive' look like they're working up courage to tell me to leave that man cause he's no good. Even when she knows I'm single. gently caress that. I don't do what I do to make people like her comfortable, just to keep them alive. thatbastardken fucked around with this message at 00:50 on Dec 1, 2015 |
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Nov 30, 2015 11:59
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Post has Violence and Suicide in it.Rauri posted:EVERYONE How old am I? Twenty.... four... Kind of. It took a bit to work out, but the first time I came back I'd been dead for about... four months. So if we just count time I've spent alive, I'm still in year twenty three. But I don't really want to start counting from four months after my birthday since that'd be really confusing. And a little unsettling to be doing like a death date count or something. But yeah, the first time I died -in the accident- I got a full funeral, burial, all that, and woke up in a cemetery four months later. You know -gimme another drink will you- dying in a car accident is pretty low, but I'm not sure if was nearly as bad as waking up in the dark, in a casket, under six feet of earth, and having to dig your way out, starving and confused. Another drink. Thanks. So I pulled myself out of the ground and went stumbling off to find something to eat. Didn't get far- maybe a block from the graveyard, when I found someone. Must have looked scary, covered in gravemud, blood dripping off my hands where I cut them open bashing my way out of my coffin. The first person to see me stared, screamed, started to run. Tripped, scraped their knees. Got up and ran again. And I... oh god, they smelled so good. The blood from the scrap it smelled so good and I was so hungry. So hungry. Four months in the grave. I chased him down. That first bite tasted so good. I accidentally let go after the first taste. He ran again. I caught him. Got free again. Smashed me in the head with a lead pipe. I barely even felt it, the taste of his blood in my mouth was so wonderful. I drank and drank and didn't notice how weak he was getting until it was almost too late. Found his phone, called 911 and ran, blood soaking my mouth and clothes. Found a building. Climbed the fire escape. Tossed myself off- I landed on a wooden fence. Guess it isn't true about stakes. Didn't take four months that time. Couple days, maybe a week. Gets shorter every time. Double. Gimme a double. ... ... What else? Something normal. Get around, yeah. Well my old bike -motorcycle- got flattened in the accident. Tried the buses once. Mistake. Too many people, too likely someone has a fresh cut. The smell. Went on foot for awhile, until I saved up enough for another bike. When I put the helmet on, flap the visor down and start burning rubber, the world melts away. The person in the car next to me could be bleeding all over and I wouldn't notice. Just me and the blur of lights going by. Worst I've hurt someone at the bar? Hmm. Glenda. Used to think she was Top Dog around here. Top Monkey? Wicked Witch, I guess if we're sticking with the theme. I'd been going here, what, a couple weeks maybe? I think so. Anyway- stuck the back or sides, kept quiet. Just wanted to drown my troubles, not go looking for more. Well, people like her think people like that can't take trouble. Easy pickings, yeah? Well I was playing a game of pool with someone else, dunno who. Glenda comes over, thinking she can shove us out of the way, get her on game on. My drinking buddy was all for it. Nah. I was on edge, I'd stolen some blood from a blood drive. Doesn't help much. Sort of like eating chips? You feel full but still have that hungry edge. Bloods gotta be warm and fresh to really do the job. Maybe if I'd heated it up... Point is. On edge. She tries to gently caress with me, play a little Kloe in the middle. I'd had it after about three shoves. Broke the pool cue over her stupid face. Chucked the 8 ball into the head of one of her friends, smashed a second into the pool table, tossed my drink into the eyes of the third one and added a knee to his crotch for good measure. Glenda was getting to her feet, I grabbed her by the collar, held her up to my face. The cue had broken when I hit her, cuts on her cheek. I licked the blood off nice and slow, savoring the taste. I could barely hold myself back, if I hadn't had that cold blood before, I don't think I could have. She could see it in my eyes, the urges I was forcing down. I told her to run and never to come back. She did. I took their drinks and went off back to my corner to finish them. Driving off Glenda got me a few friends, and the show I'd made of it lost me a few. Well, not that they'd been them before, but it salted the earth anyway. Expect most people at the bar thing I'm a bit nutty. "Oh, Kloe, she's alright, just don't get on her bad side." Sorta thing. But you know, none of us are really here for choosing, are we? And most of us have plenty of troubles to drown. So long as I don't go picking the fights no one has much to complain about. Still, the story hangs around, which is probably why most of the people giving me looks (the good and the bad kinds) don't try to make a move. Sure do like to look though. I live a couple blocks from the bar. Ratty place, but not a bad enough neighborhood that I have to worry about someone killing someone out side my window and the blood driving me mad or something. Sharing an apartment with a couple roommates, we've got our own rooms thank god and I told them the smell of blood makes me ill so to be sure to clean up if they cut themselves or anything. Second floor room, I managed to snag the room with the little balcony, even though it comes with the smallest bedroom area (about big enough for a bed and nothing else). That way if I come in a mess I can just leap up to my room and let myself in. Don't have to trouble the others with a bloody Kloe coming through.
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Nov 30, 2015 12:06
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E: gently caress it, there's already so many apps and I don't have a strong enough idea.
Waffleman_ fucked around with this message at 18:40 on Dec 1, 2015 |
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Nov 30, 2015 18:02
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Rauri posted:EVERYONE I live on off campus housing, my financial aid covers it. I walk most places, if it's too far to walk I usually just take the bus. I'm twenty-two years old. Rauri posted:Cynthia "Sin" Larson, the Vampire Well I still cook vegan and I still cook! I can still eat it too and drat it it still looks good. My presentation is still on point. So I'm still blogging, I hope eating when I don't need to doesn't make me gain weight. I'm never hungry for food anymore so it's just habit and necessity. I like cooking! Rauri posted:What do you know about your sire? What do they most seem to want to change about you? My sire's name is Daniel Addison, he's a sociologist he does statistical analysis all day. Data management, it sounds really boring. I asked him why he turned me and he snidely told me it was a social experiment. I think he was just lonely. He is pretty cool but kinda grumpy. He works long hours and further proves my point that working is for chumps. He wants me to go into Culinary Arts but being a chef sounds like a lot of work. I cook for me, and for my blog, not for tons of other people. I don't want the rush or the stress. I already have enough problems with that bitch messing with me. Rauri posted:How close are you to graduating? I'm still a sophmore so I have some time yet to go. I don't do a full course load either, that's just too much effort.
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Nov 30, 2015 22:33
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Ooh, gonna try and make a Hollow if it's not too late to get in on this!
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Nov 30, 2015 23:02
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SuddenConsequences posted:Ooh, gonna try and make a Hollow if it's not too late to get in on this! It's definitely not too late, I'll be closing apps on Friday / making picks over the weekend.
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Nov 30, 2015 23:08
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Rauri posted:EVERYONE Like I already said, I live in the same building as the Flying Monkey, two floors up. Maybe it's karma or whatever. The shower leaks, there's a burnt out socket in the front hall, and I'm pretty sure my neighbor next door thinks he's running an italian eatery given the amount of garlic stink that comes from his apartment at all hours of the day, but it's home, I guess. It's technically a two bedroom - really it could be three, I don't really use the living room (not like I've got any more furniture than an old chair and curbed loveseat that smells like old leather), but I'm not sure if I want roommates because...well...I'm a secret fuzzy rage monster and I'm pretty sure I've already voided the deposit, somehow. Normally, I'm either walking or bussing. I can drive, but owning a car requires making more money than is strictly speaking necessary to survive, which is not the case here. Surprisingly a barista's wages aren't really high. I'm 23 - was going on 20 when the whole "bitten by a werewolf" thing happened, and it's taken me about 'til now until I've felt like I've started to get a handle on things (as much as I've gotten any sort of handle on things, that is). Rauri posted:Joanna Rushman, the Werewolf What...is even there to like, really? The completely losing control to a vicious monstrosity that wants to kill and eat everything around it? The fact that it's completely upended my life and ruined all the relationships or chances to have relationships or anything? Maybe the constant insanely intense seething anger around everything? No, there's...really nothing to like. If I had a to pick a random benefit, I guess it's that I kind of heal quickly. In a way. I suppose the whole turning into...that thing...requires breaking everything and shifting it around and then unbreaking it and then rebreaking it again and putting it back into place, right? So...if I'm hurt or anything when the Full Moon rolls around, the next morning the owies tend to be gone. Seriously, I broke my foot the day of the full moon once (kicking through a door because I was pissed off) and the next morning I was A-ok. I mean, as much as waking up naked on a pile on broken splinters that resulted from you literally losing your mind in a dilapidated shack in the middle of the woods the entire night is okay, that is. No broken foot anyway. Thankfully the door kicking incident is sort of the rarity, most of the time I tend to express my unwelcome anger-spikes in a more vocal and less physical form of violence. I've uh, told the GM that I have Tourette's, just to cover my rear end, but apparently he didn't bother to tell the owner, who most of the time doesn't bother to come in. Her name's Camille Forrester, and she's a bitch (but don't let her know I told you that). Okay, story time. It was like, two days before a FM, so I was kind of tweaking. And there's this...woman....this old bat who is just...gently caress. She's the most anal-retentive customer anyone has ever had. I'm pretty sure she's spawned from Satan's leavings, if you catch my drift. Like, nothing's good enough from her, she always wants some finnicky off-the-menu BS and she always, always finds something to complain about how her drinks are made, or handed to her, or what kind of pen is used to write her name on the cup, or that the barista serving her didn't smile convincingly enough, or some other drat thing. Her name's Mrs. Weatherton, so named because demons don't give their first names out - honestly I doubt she's actually married so the Missus honorific is likely just so she can feel superior and smug, too. Well anyway, one day the Weatherton didn't like her frappe and complained that there was too much cinnamon in it (by the way normally you don't get cinnamon on the frappes, right? She needed it special but "just a peeench", which is how she says it), so she needed it made again but with the "right amount" of cinnamon. It took three tries before she was happy. And since, like always, no one else was willing to deal with the she-beast, I kept having to bring her a new mug, too. By the third time, I wasn't smiling at all. She took that as a personal offence and asked to speak to my manager. But of course, today was the one day of the month that Forrester decided she was going to actually be in the store, so instead of telling her I was the manager and getting away with it, I had to go get Forrester. Who doesn't like to be bothered. Which means I got chewed out and couldn't say anything. So I walked back into the walk in and swore for like...three hours. And I'm pretty sure everybody in the store heard me. And oh, I got purple, too. Real purple. Like, I was making curse words up and defining them vocally. I might have also smashed some poo poo up, too. Maybe. Probably. So I got suspended, without pay, for the next two weeks. Because my paycheck was going to repairing the poo poo. Why I didn't get fired is beyond me, other than I think the GM's got a crush on me so he probably begged Forrester to keep me on. Anyway, if I ever felt the urge to actually beat the tar out of someone, it'd be Weatherton. Wait...ur...was that the question though?
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Nov 30, 2015 23:46
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Rauri posted:EVERYONE I live a few blocks off campus, in this place called The Brick. It's not what's plastered on the side of the building, but it's a brick building in Portland, which means it stands out a bit. It's huge, got lots of roommates that sort of come and go. It's month to month too, so it's all pretty chill. Students, people who've got jobs, all sorts find their way there. Seeing how I'm close to work and most of the social world around, I mostly walk. Sometimes take the bus or the MAX. It's pretty cheap, better than paying for a taxi if you've got the time to wait. I'm 25, but part of the whole troll thing means I'm probably not going to age all that much. Look, when I talk about chores, it's gotta be bathroom cleanup. Someone's turning 21 nearly every day, and the rainbow-colored vomit somehow smells worse and is harder to clean up than your usual stuff people put in the bathroom. Doesn't help that we're like the third or fourth closest bar to the school, so we don't tend to get the just starting out kind of drunks, usually in pretty deep. Whoever came up with the phrase puke and rally was either not human figuratively or not human literally. Plus, their aim is completely poo poo. Just gross, gross stuff that seems to have a life of it's own. Worst beating I ever took was back home, about the time I was finding out I was not quite human. Buncha redneck fuckheads thought I was, and you'll hear this one often, a human being homo because of my hair, and decided to solve that problem with their fists and feet. Dumb football fuckers probably would've killed me if I wasn't weird like I am. Took me a few days, but it was pretty much spent in my room, like maximum recovery mode. Parents told me what I was, like I'm the family freak when I'm pretty sure I've got married cousins on my mom's side. It's a known thing in the family tree, every so often. Good news was that my parents barely gave a poo poo otherwise, so I was taking all sorts of poo poo for it. Alcohol is nice and all, but with legalization and all, weed's so much cleaner. No real hangovers, can relax, plus most of the stuff is pretty high grade. Sure, it's a little more expensive, but I don't gotta talk to people who're trying to sell me other stuff anymore. Like, I just want to enjoy some time with things numbed out for a bit, not trying to see pink faeries or whatever. So, weed, I guess? They're both fun, though. Being a troll? Eh, it is what it is. It's nice because being hurt kinda sucks and if I had to keep a cast on for weeks every time I got hurt, I'd go nuts. Kinda sucks because I get territorial every once in a while. Like, it's not just bridges, even though Portland's got a lot of them. Just some sort of natural roosting poo poo or whatever. I'd ask McNulty, but he's usually grading papers. Plus, still not sure how to bring up trolls without telling him I'm a troll. He'd think I'm high at work or something. It's like most things, there's some good and some bad with it, and you learn to ignore the bad and enjoy the good. Finding out more and more like everyday, though. I did this thing with my finger after the tip got cut off, just taped it back and it healed like new overnight. I just told everyone we had really good health insurance there. We don't but it's better than being too honest.
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Nov 30, 2015 23:58
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Rauri posted:EVERYONE Where do I live? about six blocks over in the bad part of town. It's not too bad. Well it is too bad. Just most of the mortal predators are smart enough not to mess with me. I have a tiny little apartment. Two bedrooms which the rent for is just this side of extortionate for where I am. I should get a roommate to help pay the bills. It's just well I keep all my stuff in one of the rooms. My weapons. A few of the more potent artefact's that I didn't want to chance leaving behind. And the books. God Stevie would rise up from the pits of hell if I let someone damage his precious books. But yeah I usually walk around town. Everywhere I need to be is in walking distance and it keeps me in shape. But yeah in general I think I'm just marking time until I drink myself to death. 24 and my life is already over. Rauri posted:Nikki Lockwood, the Chosen Are there monsters in Portland. Almost certainly a city this size is bound to have predators and every so often those old reflexes of mine kick in and I glance at something in a dark alley. Werwolf, vampire mainly and occasionally something else. But if I can't save myself how am I supposed to save anyone else. If I try to help I'll only end up making things worse again. Getting more good people killed for nothing. As for the order. They---we I suppose technically operated on a cellular basis. I knew my friends. My comrades but that was it. If anyone knew it would have been Adam. But to contact anyone further up the chain would have required codes and passphrases I was never given. I wonder if anyone from higher up bothered to check. I hope that they get whatever small memorial goes to those who make the supreme sacrifice. They deserve all the plaudits. Martyrs and saints the lot of them. Not me the coward who survived. But no no one from the brotherhood has reached out to me as of yet. Assuming there is a cell somewhere in portland. I don't know. I really don't. The Tyrant is gone for now... I think. I could never wrap my head fully around the metaphysics involved. But as it was explained to me. Most demons of that power need a host. He wouldn't be able to manifest on this plane of existence without losing most of his power. So he had to have a host right. Now taking him and the host he was bound to. Means he should lose what power he invested in his host. Which had to have been substantial to pull off the crap I saw him do. If and this is a big if we did our jobs right he should have been banished for at least the next couple of hundred years till he can gather that kind of power again. Also that kind of defeat should make him a target for all the other rulers of the demons. They love nothing more than a success and hate nothing more than a failure. And he failed spectacularly . Still someone else might absorb his power. Someone smarter and more cunning. But it's not my problem anymore. I've had my destiny now I just want to be left alone... To never have to see that poo poo again. To never see friends die for me.
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Dec 1, 2015 00:19
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 Thea the Hollow I'm Dorothea. Well, not really. The girl called Dorothea, or Thea, is not in here anymore. Instead it's just me. I don't really remember my actual name. It's there, on the edge of my mind and the tip of my tongue sometimes, but I can never quite grasp it. I don't think I could pronounce it anyway with this mouth. When I woke up they called me Shoth'Krlogya but that wasn't right. In fact it made the people in the black robes pretty upset when I told them that wasn't my name. They were yelling all kinds of things and started shoving and yanking me around. I didn't really know what was happening, so I just shoved back until they stopped moving. I still remember just lieing on the floor next to them, staring at the wooden ceiling and just kind of... waiting for them to get back up or something. They never did stand back up. After a while my stomach started to hurt, so I just left them lieing there and wandered through the house. It's funny, I didn't really know what a house was but I guess this body knew the right word for it. It's really helpful like that sometimes. Like how it helped me figure out that I had to eat and that I was cold, so I found some food and some clothes and just... wandered out into the night. I don't really know what I'm supposed to be doing. I figured out that the girl went to some sort of large school and had a room to sleep in. They don't really teach anything helpful though, I had to figure out a lot of stuff by myself and when I ask people they tend to look at me oddly. How am I supposed to know how elevators work if my body doesn't tell me? Anyway, it's not all bad. There are a lot of people here and I think I'm getting better at pretending to be one from watching them. I even found a place where they drink and talk and act more like themselves. But none of this is really helping me figure out what's going on. I feel like I'm locked into this body. I don't really belong here and there's always this feeling in the back of my head, especially at night. This huge thing that twists and turns and is made from all kinds of things that this body just can't imagine properly. Only sometimes just as I fall asleep I think I can almost get a glimpse of what I really am, but then in the morning it doesn't make any sense anymore and the real me is just a distant shadow. quote:Thea, the Hollow 1. Another frequent attendee of the Flying Monkey Bar. Sean Willis. He's very helpful and always answers my questions when he's not playing on his tiny guitar in one of the corner booths. He seems to think I'm kind of slow, despite me trying to explain to him that I'm from a different country. It's a lie, so I guess it's only fair that he saw through it, even if he's still wrong. Sometimes it bothers me, because I'm pretty sure I'm smarter than him. I'd like to see him wake up in a strange land in a weird body and do as well as me. But he's nice so I'm not supposed to be too mad at him, I think. 2. A person or place with a reputation in or around Portland. There's this tiny little fast-food place that has all kinds of different stuff to eat. Burgers or gyro or Chinese or pizza or tacos or polish sausages. And none of it is really good but it's open all night and you can get pretty much whatever you want as long as you don't mind it being kinda greasy and served in a wobbly styrofoam dish. Plus there's always people there at night, although they're usually intoxicated. 3. A rumor going around that your character finds interesting. People keep saying that if you go out past the trainyard you sometimes just... disappear without a trace. Someone said it's just drifters and homeless people skipping town but I heard it happens to anybody. Nobody really agrees on what it is. Serial killer, weak fabric of reality, some brainwashing cult, UFOs, giant sewer rats. It's probably a feeding ground for giant worms from Dimension X. There was a documentary about them on the picture box at night once. 4. Why DO you hang out at the Flying Monkey so much, and why would it be difficult for you to stop doing so? It's so much easier to just be somebody when you have people who are showing you how to do that. They say 'Be yourself' but I don't think I can. And even if I could I don't think the people who say that would be very happy with that. So instead I watch people and how they behave and it makes me feel better. I'm not mimicking them or anything! It just... helps to see what it's like to be happy or sad or in love or drunk or angry. It makes this body remember and I think I enjoy that. 5. Optionally, a title for the game thread. Obscure Monsters You've Probably Never Heard Of Questions quote:"Thea", the Hollow I live in the big building with all the little rooms. Just rows and rows of rooms. Like a hive. People always correct me and say it's called the 'dorms' but I think that's dumb. It's clearly a hive for students. When I have to get around I just walk or I take the bus. I have a little card that tells them they have to let me on, but only when they're stopped at the right spot. No running after them and trying to jump on. They made that very clear. I have another little card that says I'm 20 and then one that says I'm 23. They look almost the same. I think they're both wrong though, I think I'm actually much older than that, but the cards belonged to the body, so I guess that's how old it is? They kicked me out of the dorms, so now I sleep on Joanna and Kloe's couch. Rauri posted:What is your favorite part about living among humans? I think it's the fact that everything is so... pointless. No, really, it's great! There's no point at all to any of the things they do and they don't even know it! But they think it's all super important and that's kind of cool, you know? It's like a joke and I'm the only one who's in on it. Well, almost. Every once in a while you see someone on a streetcorner or in the park shouting the truth or part of it at people but they just don't wanna hear it. Anyway, it makes me feel better about being stuck like this because none of this matters! It's like a vacation from... uhm... I'm not entirely sure from what, but I can just kind of hang around and enjoy all the weird stuff they came up with to fill the meaningless void of their existence. Like emotions and late-night TV. So yeah, I think what I like most is how they can always come up with something interesting to do or eat or feel. Rauri posted:What about them most often trips you up? Aside from getting the names of things wrong, I think it's all the unspoken rules they have about everything. You can be weird but when you cut in line or start talking to strangers or touch somebody the wrong way or you're too honest with somebody or you lie too much they get really angry. Just a million tiny holes to fall into everywhere. Don't eat noodles with your fingers. Don't use a fork on a hotdog. Don't pet that child. Do pet that dog. You can't walk into the street without being yelled at by people and cars but plenty of other people can. Staring at somebody is creepy. Except when it's romantic. Make up your drat minds! Rauri posted:What's the "weirdest" you've ever behaved, and how did you cover for it? This is difficult because I'm not sure what the scale is. It probably depends on who you ask. I asked Sean and he said definitely that time I first tried drinking alcohols in the bar and had a whole bunch of cranberry juice with some other stuff. It's all a bit blurry but at some point I got super excited about some song that came on and climbed onto the table shouting "I'm Inebrietas, Daughter of the Cosmopolitans!" until he pulled me down. I tried to explain it to him but that's all kinda foggy now. Something about the stars and how human brains are all wrong to properly understand, like, a lot of things. And that alcohols help but they just make other things hard, like walking and stuff. I told him it'd probably make more sense if he'd let me drill a hole in his skull and at that point he got really weird. I was just trying to help! I read that some humans do that to open their minds and it makes a lot of sense. They said it's to increase blood volume or something and of course that's just completely stupid, but trying to change these dumb meat brains to let them see the true nature of the universe just sounds right to me. You're just trying to fix something that's broken! But Sean just looked at me like I was completely insane. Next time I saw him I just pretended I didn't remember and that it must have been the alcohols. That seems to be a pretty accepted excuse for all kinds of things around here. Rauri posted:What do you remember of your last dream? There were stars. Lots and lots of them everywhere and I was just kind of floating among them until something streaked across the void and just sliced everything open and all the stars spilled out into my lap and I tried really hard to put them all back together but they were all in pieces scattered around and they kept changing and I panicked because I knew this was really important somehow and that I had to fix this somehow. But I kept messing up and more stars kept spilling out all the time and it just kept getting worse and worse until I finally woke up! Rauri posted:Who are you closest to, and what do you like most about them? Oh that's easy. It's Frank! He's this guy I met on the bus one day. It was really cramped but there was an empty seat next to him. He looked real surprised when I sat down and when we got talking he mentioned that no one ever wants to sit with him. That's so strange! He has lots of interesting stories. Apparently he fought some kind of war in the desert sands, which sounded vaguely familiar. I think I used to know a crazy man from Arabia who fought a war... But then he mentioned guns and jeeps and I don't think they're the same person. I asked him anyway, just in case, but he wasn't. He didn't laugh either though when I told him that I kind of sort of remember shadows beneath ruins in the shifting sands. Usually people look at me like I'm an idiot or insane when I mention those kind of things. Since then every time I see him on the bus and we talk about all kinds of things. I've told him about some of my dreams and how I don't think I'm human and he's told me how the government tracks people through secret chips in credit cards and about the demon that ate his foot. I don't know why he was so upset about that, since he got a metal one now, but humans are strange like that. I pretended I got it though, since he's such a nice guy. Once he said he swore he saw a ghost at the Starbucks on Morrison Street and we started talking about life and death and how we're surrounded by the unknown all the time. He just really seems to understand things. Talking to him makes sense, you know? I'd say he's probably my best friend, even if he smells real bad most of the time. Rauri posted:Who at the Flying Monkey can you simply not stand? There's a guy there sometimes who just hates me. His name is Alton, I think. I swear, every time he's there he always glares at me and he's obnoxious and loud and yells about timber a lot. I don't know why he's so into lumber but it's annoying. And now he's angry at me all because I ran out of shirts one day (that was before I figured out the mysteries of the laundry room) so I dug out one that had been in the back of the closet. It was too big, so maybe that's what made him angry? So many confusing rules about every tiny thing. It was green and blue and had a shield with a tower on it and something about sound on it? And he was just furious when he saw me. He came right over, yelling and shoved me away so I clocked him right in the face like I've seen humans do in those picture box things. He was so surprised he went backwards right over a table! It was great! But now he hates me and I hate him. Rauri posted:What spot in town gives you a feeling of incredible deja vu? There's a fountain that's all geometric and squares that feels really familiar. Especially at night when you can only see some of the shapes in the shadows it feels like I can almost make sense of things sometimes. Like I can remember something important. But then during the day it's more that I feel like I know the layout and how to climb and walk around on it and maybe it's just that this body used to come here and remembers this place? Atropha fucked around with this message at 07:18 on Dec 12, 2015 |
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Dec 1, 2015 02:06
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   I use to be a programmer. A good one, some might say, I was going to bring down the government and all the corporations that were attempting to make us their slaves. Being a kid, it seemed like anything was possible and I was going to do it. That lead to me the deep dark world of becoming a hacker. It was exciting and I saw things that people shouldn't know about their government and their world, but that was nothing until I decided I was going to take on the phone company. QwestPort was an old company that came from the break up of Ma Bell, was giving information to the NSA about every single phone call that went through it. This was the enemy I was looking for, just got out of college, and was expecting to become a hacking superstar. Anonymous and I were going to start a revolution and reveal all the secrets like they had revealed all our information to the government. It was going to be glorious and being just 22, I thought that anything was possible. Hell, I could be the next Bill Gates, start a digital revolution, or some such idiotic poo poo, you know how kids are. Instead, I discovered that my company was directed literally by The Fallen Angel, The One of the Many Head, The- You get the idea. So yeah, they gave me a choice, either being exploded into a bloody pulp or working for them in their IT department, and well, it was the least satisfying job I could ever imagine. I took it anyway, and that was seven years ago, so, there we are. Now, I have a lovely job, enough money to keep my head above water from month to month and a lovely car. Not that it is all bad, I have a few powers that working with the demonic phone system gives, me, but it comes at a cost. It comes at a very very high cost, but hey, who knows, maybe they will promote me to lead next year? Pay raise, Hell Yeah! quote:Name: Herc McKenzie quote:1. Another frequent attendee of the Flying Monkey Bar.  Max Hetfield Another employee at QwestPort, he is a line tech and is in on the secret. Sadly, he has to work for them, because Max is actually dead and raised from Hell. Whenever, I ask him what Hell was like he says, "Pretty much like this job." God drat, this is not going to be good is it? He has a curse, as all the dead do, he is bound to the company, and therefore other than the few minutes he steals between jobs or when it is a slow day, he never stops working. To be fair, it seems a rather consistent source of income. He refuses to say why he was sent to hell, and really, it seems like an intensely personal question. I did ask him if becoming a hermit, or Mormon or something would help and he just shook his head no. drat. No easy out is there assholes? quote:2. A person or place with a reputation in or around Portland.  Adramelech AKA Keith Osborn My boss the great demonic lord of IT or something or other. He gets a mention in Paradise Lost, which he never loving ever shuts up about, and let me tell you it is annoying as gently caress. Either way, unlike the other bosses, he likes to throw his money around and throws fabulous parties in vague locations in town. Normally known for being filled with sex and drugs, and I am sure other things, he never mentions that the goal is to get everyone into hells grasp as soon as possible. So, I would drink the bottled water, and not bother with kissing the most likely toothy tempter/ess that will literally eat you for dessert. No that was not a sex pun. quote:3. A rumor going around that your character finds interesting. Big news on the HellVine is that a new evil has moved into town, and is looking to push us out. Not with cheaper prices, nor better product, in terms of pure corruption and evilness. It never ceases to amaze me that the bottom line is always calculated in human souls and deaths. It seems counter productive as a company, but hey, we are part of a weird Satanic company thing. The real meat of the rumor is the evil company is Google! poo poo, cheap fiber? Sign me the gently caress up, I hope that isn't a conflict of interest or anything. Okay, scratch that. I REALLY hope that isn't a conflict of interest. poo poo dude, would you risk death for 1 GB down and UP? I mean seriously, I have a lovely DSL from like 2000 here. quote:4. Why DO you hang out at the Flying Monkey so much, and why would it be difficult for you to stop doing so? It was my college bar, and in college, I had a ton of friends there from everywhere, it was great time. Really, it was like being surrounded by friends constantly mingling getting in petty dramas involving sex, drugs, cheating, and other debauchery that happens when young people are first free to explore what it means to be young. I wasn't too much of a hell raiser, but I had my moments, I think we all do. It is a matter of seeking those moments out and deciding if it is something that you would want to do for the rest of your life, or something more of a passing phrase. It was in this lovely used bar that I met the first person I ever loved, and lost her, and many more storied moments. Those days are gone, they all moved out of Portland, at least the ones that didn't mind the high unemployment and the hipsterism that seemed to flourish more as the years went on. Really, that in a single phrase is what I could describe the bar to me, "As the years went on." The faces started to change and get less frequent until it was me and a die hard group of people. Free time and free love were overtaken by reality of the world and the hard life that can be thrown at you. You no longer looked for that momentary moment or pleasure with someone half drunk with lust and totally drunk with beer. Basically you look for a single moment to hold on to, and even if you tell yourself that the memory is fake and the reality was much more awkward and fumbling those days long ago seem more real than the experience now. I couldn't tell you why I didn't move to an old people bar, but I can tell you that it was hard not too stay and to finally let go of the dreams I had. quote:5. Optionally, a title for the game thread, because otherwise it's gonna be Slackerhearts and we (collectively) can do better than that. Fear and Loathing In Portland But only if you start the Thread: "We were somewhere around Beaverton on the edge of the mountains when the drugs began to take hold. " Axe-man fucked around with this message at 03:28 on Dec 1, 2015 |
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Dec 1, 2015 03:09
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quote:EVERYONE We get around town in Jeff's van, which is actually a converted commercial service van; like, the kind that comes with a wheelchair lift? Plenty of room for equipment. Anyway, we're getting the side painted with our band's logo, as soon as we agree on a logo. I've also got pastel-blue moped that works... sometimes. Oh, and I'm 23. So is Dez. Akiko's a year older, Jeff's a year younger. quote:
Well, the thing is... I'd been the shoulder Dez cried on after the breakup –okay, a little more than a shoulder to cry on; I'm not proud of being the rebound, but there it is -- which meant I knew more about Steve than I ever really wanted to. And one of the things I knew was this incident that had happened at Steve's job. See, Steve was working part-time as a lab technician while he was in school, and he was partially responsible for the pharmaceutical cabinet. One night he discovered an entire case of morphine was missing; had been for weeks. And Steve had signed off on it. Someone else at the office had almost certainly stolen it, but when it was uncovered, Steve would get the blame. So Steve scrimped and saved and put together some money and figured out a way to purchase an extra case of morphine through a different supplier, then forged fake purchase invoices to cover it. He was out a ton of money, but at least he still had his job, and no one would notice the missing morphine unless they looked really, really hard. Or if I pointed them to it. I'm still not sure how I knew exactly how to do that: what the gently caress do I know about pharmaceutical invoicing? I guess the Song sang it to me, because all of a sudden, I just knew the right words to say, and it didn't take a lot of digging to find the right phone number to say them to. One fake report of an empty vial of morphine registered to such and such number being found at a crime scene, and Steve was out of a job. Out of med-school too, actually. They take that poo poo very seriously. Was that an incredibly lovely thing to do? Yeah. Okay. Granted. But he did lose the morphine. Maybe he didn't steal it, but he was responsible for it. And it eliminated our problem neatly. Think how much better the world would be if someone had done the same thing to Yoko back in the day. So, really, in the long run, it was a good thing. Probably. I think. You know the weirdest thing? There must have been a payroll error at Steve's lab, because they keep sending him paychecks. They send them to his last known address, too; our place. And they're made out to the band's LLC account. So, you know... I don't really need to work anymore. I quit my part-time job waiting tables at the Coba Confection's. Now I can devote my full time to the music. Funny, huh? Our best song is “gently caress the Whiskey Library”, which is based on a true story about how we're barred from that bar's premises for life, but is also a metaphor for transitioning into adulthood and admitting your faults. It's the closest we have to a crowd favorite, maybe because they get to chant “gently caress!” a lot when we hit the chorus.
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Dec 1, 2015 05:02
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Mark Fóre The spec manual states that my heuristic processing cluster is capable of 23 million giga-flops per second. But I have often been asked by my creator, am I actually capable of thought? I possess an extensive application library with the most advanced facial and emotive recognition software, social-media data-mining scripts for adaptive learning, an array of sophisticated artificial intelligence reasoning algorithms, and four thousand tetra-bytes of cloud-based memory storage (albeit half of which is occupied by pornographic media files; timestamps predate my activation). But with all of that tech, networked together and wired into a plastic body designed by focus group and committee, am I capable of emotion? Or more importantly, can I pass the Turing test? My creator believes so. And here I am in Portland, the perfect controlled environment, putting that theory to the test. Even if there are ultimately gaps, corner cases even, in my behavioral logic or I just appear to be a little off so to speak, it would go unnoticed here. I’m just another eccentric soul. And weird is part of the city’s unique ambiance. UrbanDictionary.com defines love as “The most spectacular, indescribable, deep euphoric feeling for someone. Love is an incredibly powerful word. When you're in love, you always want to be together, and when you're not, you're thinking about being together because you need that person and without them your life is incomplete.” Seems harmless and easy enough which is why the creator selected it as the focus of this simple experiment. The exact parameters for evaluation are unknown to me, but I have been instructed to achieve the following objectives. 1) Establish a relationship of romantic nature with a human being. 2) Maintain the relationship until a verbal profession of love is obtain. 3) <<ERROR CODE 1114: VARIABLE NOT FOUND. RESTORING FROM BACKUPS.>> 4) Make that bitch pay. Rip out her heart and destroy her life from the inside like she did to me. I will show her. Oh yes, I will. quote:The Hollow Mortal 1. Another frequent attendee of the Flying Monkey Bar. Mygyn Yes, it’s pronounced like Megan but with a y’s instead. She was quick and adamant to point that out at our initial introduction as a demonstration of her own uniqueness. It just made her easier to google. And according to Mygyn’s completely unlocked Facebook page, she is a “free spirited” woman of 37 years with a former relationship status of “Committed Polyamory” that was just recently changed last month to “It’s Complicated.” She also likes cat-based memes, meaningless affirmations of faux-spirituality, and Bernie Sanders. Her status updates have her checking in at the Flying Monkey almost every other day and my on-site observations can concur this activity. She claims to be between jobs and solicits just about every patron for free drinks and more with an overly friendly invasion of their personal space. I submitted her profile to the creator for consideration but was instructed to “Stay the gently caress away from that hot mess. Jesus.” 2. A person or place with a reputation in or around Portland. Powell's Books is the city’s largest and most famous independent new and used book store. According to some dumb CNN.com leisure and world travel trash piece, it is listed as merely the 4th “coolest” bookstore in the world to visit. But did you know that they have a smaller completely unadvertised branch in an unmarked warehouse by the water front? Customers are by invite only and here they keep their most rare and antique tomes and curiosities. It’s also rumored that they house the largest collection of occult materials this side of the Mississippi. 3. A rumor going around that your character finds interesting. Seems like Voodoo Donuts has some new competition. Black Magic Muffins. They just opened recently or so I’ve heard. I wouldn’t know. I am programmed to hate carbs. But everyone I know who has tried them just raves endlessly about them. They say, and I quote, “It’s the best bloody pastry I’ve had. gently caress Voodoo Donuts. No need to go back there like ever.” Actually, now that I think of it, they all say that exact same line, word for word. Weird. 4. Why DO you hang out at the Flying Monkey so much, and why would it be difficult for you to stop doing so? The Flying Monkey is the quintessential ideal bar setting in which to socialize, mingle, and meet other people for the purposes of falling in love. At least that is my working hypothesis which seems fitting thus far. In reality, my creator chose this establishment as the base of operations and insists that I use it. To enforce my supposedly independent computational consciousness to follow this directive, the creator has arranged for courier services to find me here. Financial resources for living expenses are regularly delivered to me at this address and only in person. 5. Optionally, a title for the game thread. Monsters & Monsters First Bookstore, North-East Portland
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Dec 1, 2015 07:41
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Slackerhearts discussion in #Slackerhearts now as well. EVERYONE (That hasn't already answered it) Where do you live, and do you have any roommates? How do you usually get around town? How old are you? (Feel free to leave roommate slots open if you’re hoping to room with another PC or something, but some people have already described and I’d like to get a general idea of what you have in mind for your PC.) Round 1 Questions Jennifer Harewood, the Mortal What sort of art are you best at? Do you have a particular style or theme you like to incorporate? What was life like for you before now? Any past relationships? Has anyone ever had a strange reaction to your art? Zachariah Abel, the Serpentine What's the last thing your family asked you to do? Did you do it, or did you refuse, and how did it go? What's your favorite part about living in the human world? What do you think most people think of you? Avery Danvers, the Unicorn What's your degree going to be in, and how close are you to getting it? What's the biggest difference you've ever made in someone's life? When did the hunters last appear to you? What are they like, and what do you think they want? "Thea", the Hollow What is your favorite part about living among humans? What about them most often trips you up? What's the "weirdest" you've ever behaved, and how did you cover for it? What do you remember of your last dream? Herc McKenzie, the Witch What's the worst job Keith has ever assigned you? What's the worst diabolic deed you've done? What are some of the advantages to working in Satan's Server Room? What's the one thing you most want that you can't get without Adramalech's help? Mark Fóre, the Hollow Mortal Are your patches and security updates current? When was the last time you encountered an error in a social situation, and what happened? How close have you gotten to completing step two in your programming? What do you know of your creator? Round 2 Questions Anne Andrews, the Chosen What do you make of your infernal pact / dark power? When was the last time you called upon them? What do you most want out of life? Which of your friends from Salvation have you kept in contact with? What did they last say to you? Nikki Lockwood, the Chosen If you could re-do things, what's the first thing you'd do differently? Who are you most close to now, and what would you be willing to do to keep them safe? Which friend do you miss most? Who in the bar do you suspect of being in thrall to dark powers? Cynthia "Sin" Larson, the Vampire Is there anything you like about being a vampire? Other than your dietary change, what's your least favorite part? Are you afraid of ending up like your sire? What would you be willing to do to avoid that? What's your favorite vegan dish? Joanna Rushman, the Werewolf Do you have any pet peeves? How do you feel about dog puns? Is walking one of your favorite hobbies? Do you mark your territory? Do the plastic lids keep you from shedding into the drinks? Have you tried reclaiming 'bitch'? Katherine “Kat” Welles, the Queen Do you have a plan for promoting the band and getting noticed? What's the best gig you've ever had? What's the worst? Are there any other local bands that've earned your ire? What are the details about the next Battle of the Bands? Finn O'Keefe, the Troll What've you noticed as janitor that's escaped everyone else's notice? Are you planning on telling anyone about it? What's the weirdest thing you've ever seen McNulty do? What about yourself are you most proud of? Kloe Caballero, the Ghoul What would you be willing to do to go back to normal, somehow? Do you ever find yourself rooting for horror movie antagonists? What's your lovelife been like since the incident? What's your most melancholy memory?
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Dec 2, 2015 08:04
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Joanna Rushman, the WerewolfRauri posted:Do you have any pet peeves? Oh, well, where to start? I've already talked about what bothers me about the coffee shop, but there's a couple things otherwise that sort of annoy me, like... Rauri posted:How do you feel about dog puns? ...w-what? Oh, oh yes I see. Well, no one's ever tried them out on me because I keep it secret. And besides they wouldn't really fit would they? Since I'm not a were dog I'm a werew Rauri posted:Is walking one of your favorite hobbies? Oh. Yes, haha, very funny. I'm not really sure why you'd Rauri posted:Do you mark your territory? Okay, see? That's just rude, really. Why would you even sugges- Rauri posted:Do the plastic lids keep you from shedding into the drinks? I DON'T SHE...s-sorry. I don't shed like that! And it's only once a month that I even tra- Rauri posted:Have you tried reclaiming 'bitch'? gently caress YOU, YOU COCKSUCKING PIECE OF poo poo rear end in a top hat MOTHERFUCKER DUMBSHIT! THIS INTERVIEW IS loving OVER!!! LifeGetsWorser fucked around with this message at 17:45 on Dec 2, 2015 |
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Dec 2, 2015 14:43
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Rauri posted:Zachariah Abel, the Serpentine So no, most of the time, I do not refuse, not without good reason. It would be something of a scandal. I do, however, interpret. Readjust the goals to something that might just be possible. With my knowledge of the actual world - pardon, the human world - try to divine what they really want, what they really meant. Because, no, brother, more fluoride in the water supply does not make humans susceptible to suggestion! Where did you even pick up this ridiculous notion?! Ahem. So if my brother were to make such a demand, or rather, suggestion, what he obliviously wanted was for me to hold sway over some group of humans - he would much prefer to be the one to hold sways himself, of course - no doubt to hold it over one of my younger sisters in whatever insane squabble is currently going on in the hallowed halls of my family. So yes, even though I am far away from it, I am still continuously pulled into the power struggles of my family like I am some errand boy. But, in any case, all the more reason to keep my methods flexible, just in case it turns out that, oh, I was not supposed to do what my brother told me, he has been brought to heel and of course, father, I did not in fact do what he told me but instead, if you look at it just so, I naturally was working hard on realizing your request from a month ago, you remember, your ever faithful servant. Well. To be honest, it only works sometimes. And I suspect mother knows what I am doing. But what are they going to do? Take me back? I do not think so. I asked once, in the beginning, and they made their opinion clear to me. Although the demands... apologies, the suggestions have been more explicit and thus harder to... interpret lately. Hm? Oh, you still want to know what I actually did? Mere detail, surely. No? Well, you must understand that one cannot simply grasp the reins of power, it is not as if they are just laying about, metaphorically speaking. One has to keep in mind one's capabilities and limitations, rash action would jeopardize the entire plan and a small pebble moved can start an avalanche and - and now I have run out of platitudes. Very well, if you insist. I impersonated a preacher - the real one had to leave in a hurry after an upsetting call about him potentially having some sort of cancer - and mixed Ecstasy into the communion wine. My original plan was for the enraptured crowd to recognise me as the true representative of God on Earth - as well as the provider of the intoxicating blood of Christ - perhaps with some swearing of undying allegiance and even, if things went perfectly, with a reveal of my true form and some clarification about how misunderstood that third player in their story of Adam and Eve was. Things did not go perfectly. I think it was the dose - instead of paying attention to my very special sermon - suddenly it was all about why their elderly mothers or young offspring were feeling unwell. I could tell that given a minute more, inquiring eyes would focus on me so I felt it best to leave in a hurry - an important skill to cultivate. Now, in retrospect, the plan seems somewhat... ill-advised. But I just wanted to do something - I could not very well continue to simply sit in the Flying Monkey nursing my drink! Or could I? Perhaps the plan was too... large in scale - no pun intended - again. I would have to readjust my goals for the more... manageable. Again. Ah. It drives one to drink. quote:What's your favorite part about living in the human world? What do you think most people think of you? Now to my view on others' view of me - what an interplay of mirrors! And a mirror I try to be, showing others themselves when they look at me - only better, more content if only they would listen to me. That is, if I can be bothered, of course. I try to be mostly polite in all cases, though, and I would hope it is appreciated. This still does not answer the question, mind. So, how do others see me? Or how do I think they see me - though I cannot fathom the difference, how can I base what I say in response on something other than what I think? Well. Of my positive qualities, I would hope to be considered polite, as discussed, or at least possessed of a cool head, an attentive listener and provider of good advise, advise that naturally I cannot be blamed for should something go astray should it be followed. Naturally. Ah, and I cannot forget my air of mystery, of course - I pride myself to not let myself interfere too much when talking with others. Of my negative qualities - but, hah, how should someone of my breeding have any negative qualities? Preposterous, really, the next thing you shall tell me is that the inferior mammals have taken over the planet and a clearly superior being such as me should need to hide in plain sight, with the knowledge that it lives or dies on the sufferance of these supposed lesser beings keeping it up some nights. Haha, yes, preposterous. As I was saying, my negative qualities would be - well, I suppose occasionally my practised masks slips somewhat and I reveal a glimpse of how insufferable these miserable creatures can be and the depth of my loathing for their small-minded, irrelevant woes. Ahem. So, I may have a reputation for the occasional acidic remark. People apparently also find it odd how much importance I assign to certain things - take my name, for instance. Is it really so difficult to say my whole human name, such as it is? Zachariah. I know the human tongue and brain are capable of saying and memorizing it, so I am only left with the conclusion that this idiotic insistence to try to call me "Zack" is a matter of a lack of respectfulness. But apparently to others it is the most natural thing in the world! Along the same lines, some enterprising jokester has taken it upon themselves to diagnose me with mental health issues, the lack of a formal education in that area apparently no hindrance for such a delightful pastime. I am quite sure just because I always require my glass on the right side of me and my bottle of Bourbon on the left side - in that exact position, and I do not take kindly to someone messing with the arrangement for some insipid reason, in fact, it is not so much about the arrangement, it is about someone wilfully disrupting what I did - just because of that, I do not have OCD! Urgh. Humans. Oh. And people may be of the opinion I talk quite a bit. nil. fucked around with this message at 17:57 on Dec 2, 2015 |
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Dec 2, 2015 15:16
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Rauri posted:Round 2 Questions What do I make of having the Voice of God (I guess? I'm not a theologian but what the hell else can it be? (Don't say schizophrenia)) interrupt my life and demand that I go forth and slay poo poo? It's loving inconvenient, that's what. It communicates in cryptic visions and riddles that make only sense after the event and that have a history of leaving me spacing out at the worst possible times, like when I'm driving or working or making out with someone. I've tried to ask questions, tried praying, spoke to a couple of different kinds of priests, but it remains stubbornly enigmatic. Mysterious ways, I guess. I was never exactly religious before, and maybe I'm still not. Faith and knowledge are kind of different things, y'know? All I can really say is that it wants me to oppose 'evil' at all times, and holy poo poo I do not want to ignore it. Just makes things worse. I don't like asking it for help, mostly because it seems to get me in trouble and then charge me to get out again. But when you get bushwhacked in an alley and something has put it's claws three inches into your back you grab any lifeline available. The beating I took should have put me in hospital, maybe the morgue. Instead I walk away with painful but mostly cosmetic damage, and a nagging feeling that I'll pay for it later. I always do. The hell kind of question is 'what do you want most out of life?' I didn't know when I was 18, I don't know now, I probably won't know when I'm 30. I can name a few things that I'd like - a break on my rent, a hot boyfriend who doesn't ask questions, a cold beer - but to get anything that lasts I'd have to stop seeing monsters. The reason I've never been able to hold a real job, and had to drop my JD, and haven't spoken to anyone from my home town in years, is that sooner or later I have to fight things no-one else can see. If I stopped people would die, and I'd have to live knowing I could have saved them. The best I can hope for out of life is that I get to see other people be happy. loving hell, what a mood killer. The last person from Salvation I spoke to in person was Zoe Haven. We'd kept in touch online even when my phone got confiscated or when she went on a Peace Corp trip for a year or so, but I hadn't heard anything in a while until last week, when a package got dropped off at my apartment while I was working. She sent me a late birthday present, a little silver angel on a chain and a note telling me to keep up the good work and not to lose hope. I don't remember giving her my address, but she always did have a weird way of finding things out like that. thatbastardken fucked around with this message at 10:59 on Dec 8, 2015 |
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Dec 2, 2015 17:33
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Rauri posted:Slackerhearts discussion in #Slackerhearts now as well. I'm 23 and I live in a small apartment. Not much space and the view reaches all the way to the next street, but it works for me. I got enough enough space to draw my stuff, which is nice. Could do without the smell of garbage from the street, but hey. As for getting around, I usually use the subway or walk. Taxis are too much hassle for me, and while I can drive, I wasn't able to finance a car with the meager income I have, so... yeah. (Keeping roommate slot open) I'm best at drawing large landscapes filled with details, such as trees shedding leaves, or a kid flying a kite waaaay in the background, that kind of thing. My general style is baroque. Thing is, most people apparently think they're fakes from famous artists, so they don't buy it. Ugh.... Huh? Well, I lived with my parents until I got into art school. For that, I've rented this apartment floor, and I've just remained here. Mostly because I don't wanna get back to the family drama. It's nothing serious, but the constant bickering between like every other family member really got onto my nerves. Kind of miss my old friends, though, especially my childhood friend George. Kind of sad it didn't ever 'spark' between us. I really liked him. Strange reaction? Well, uhm... Apart my the whole thing with my only patron, who just always finds something to criticize (often a whole grocery list), but still buying it, there was this weird woman once. I don't remember all the details, but a few years ago, I showed her some phone pictures of my works. At the third one, which was... I think a man sitting under a leaf-filled three, reading a book, and on the other side the grim reaper read a book as well, but the tree was dead. Something like that. Anyway, she got really, really interested in that one. She even gave me some serious cash for it, in advance! I told her I'd have it ready for pick up the next day... But she never actually showed up to get it. I haven't heard anything from her, not even her lawyers. Hell if I know what's going on there.
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Dec 2, 2015 17:39
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Rauri posted:"Thea", the Hollow I think it's the fact that everything is so... pointless. No, really, it's great! There's no point at all to any of the things they do and they don't even know it! But they think it's all super important and that's kind of cool, you know? It's like a joke and I'm the only one who's in on it. Well, almost. Every once in a while you see someone on a streetcorner or in the park shouting the truth or part of it at people but they just don't wanna hear it. Anyway, it makes me feel better about being stuck like this because none of this matters! It's like a vacation from... uhm... I'm not entirely sure from what, but I can just kind of hang around and enjoy all the weird stuff they came up with to fill the meaningless void of their existence. Like emotions and late-night TV. So yeah, I think what I like most is how they can always come up with something interesting to do or eat or feel. Rauri posted:What about them most often trips you up? Aside from getting the names of things wrong, I think it's all the unspoken rules they have about everything. You can be weird but when you cut in line or start talking to strangers or touch somebody the wrong way or you're too honest with somebody or you lie too much they get really angry. Just a million tiny holes to fall into everywhere. Don't eat noodles with your fingers. Don't use a fork on a hotdog. Don't pet that child. Do pet that dog. You can't walk into the street without being yelled at by people and cars but plenty of other people can. Staring at somebody is creepy. Except when it's romantic. Make up your drat minds! Rauri posted:What's the "weirdest" you've ever behaved, and how did you cover for it? This is difficult because I'm not sure what the scale is. It probably depends on who you ask. I asked Sean and he said definitely that time I first tried drinking alcohols in the bar and had a whole bunch of cranberry juice with some other stuff. It's all a bit blurry but at some point I got super excited about some song that came on and climbed onto the table shouting "I'm Inebrietas, Daughter of the Cosmopolitans!" until he pulled me down. I tried to explain it to him but that's all kinda foggy now. Something about the stars and how human brains are all wrong to properly understand, like, a lot of things. And that alcohols help but they just make other things hard, like walking and stuff. I told him it'd probably make more sense if he'd let me drill a hole in his skull and at that point he got really weird. I was just trying to help! I read that some humans do that to open their minds and it makes a lot of sense. They said it's to increase blood volume or something and of course that's just completely stupid, but trying to change these dumb meat brains to let them see the true nature of the universe just sounds right to me. You're just trying to fix something that's broken! But Sean just looked at me like I was completely insane. Next time I saw him I just pretended I didn't remember and that it must have been the alcohols. That seems to be a pretty accepted excuse for all kinds of things around here. Rauri posted:What do you remember of your last dream? There were stars. Lots and lots of them everywhere and I was just kind of floating among them until something streaked across the void and just sliced everything open and all the stars spilled out into my lap and I tried really hard to put them all back together but they were all in pieces scattered around and they kept changing and I panicked because I knew this was really important somehow and that I had to fix this somehow. But I kept messing up and more stars kept spilling out all the time and it just kept getting worse and worse until I finally woke up!
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Dec 2, 2015 17:51
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Rauri posted:EVERYONE There's an apartment real close by to work. It's not the best, but things work most of the time and the person who owns it doesn't really care too much about what we do as long as there's no noise complaints or damage done. For traveling to work, I just walk. Otherwise I use public transportation or see if I can get someone to give me a ride. I'm hoping to save up enough for a car eventually but that's going to take a while. I'm 21. Almost going to be 22 soon. Thankfully I hit that before moving here, don't think I could have landed this job otherwise. Rauri posted:Crow Brooks, the Fae Funny thing - the second time she showed up I asked her that. When she first showed up, she introduced herself by saying "Just call me your Faerie Godmother!" Also, I was kind of too surprised to really say much. Anyway, since I figured it would be odd to refer to her as "Faerie Godmother" all the time I brought it up. When I did, she pretended not to hear me and continued talking. When I asked again she paused and said "I may not lie to you Crow, but that doesn't mean I have to tell you everything." So looks like it's just "Faerie Godmother" for now. I know there's this whole thing about true names in mythology and magic and poo poo, maybe that's why? gently caress if I know. When she showed up last time, she asked me what I did on the previous Saturday night. Not like that's a hard question at all, but, well...I was sort of drunk. Okay, I got really loving drunk. Also high. I had this weird vision of walking among this...field, I think? Except the grass was blue, and the night sky was dark purple, and there was no moon but I could still see. And when I woke up the next day, I was in a library for some reason. Which was practically across the city from where I lived and I had to take a bus to get back home. Anyway, despite her being a Faery Godmother it still felt like the kind of thing you lie to your relatives about. So I started saying that nothing much happened, but then she gave me this look and I knew she knew I wasn't telling the truth. So I told her what actually happened, and she just nodded. Didn't seem too concerned about it really. Rauri posted:Have you met any Fae among the hippies of Portland? As for the hippies here? Who knows. I avoid them like the plague. I spent a lot of time and money getting away from the hippies in my life. I don't want to go back to being around them now. I haven't seen any other Fae here or elsewhere actually. poo poo, I hope they don't have a tendency to gather near hippies. That would loving suck. I mean, I guess it might be worth hanging out with them if there was someone like me - with a Fae ancestor - but I'm not sure how I'd find that out. Rauri posted:What did you do last time someone broke a promise to you? There's this other guy, Sam, who works here. I wanted to hang out with some people on a night when I'm usually working, so I managed to get him to agree to cover my shift and I'd do the same for him. No problem, right? Except that on the day he's supposed to show up he doesn't. Turns out he completely forgot. Which is total bullshit. So the next day, when he's flirting with some girl who showed up I just think about something bad happening to him. When he was moved to get closer, his belt had apparently gotten stuck on something close by and it came off. Along with his pants and dignity. I didn't plan on making that exact thing happen, but it worked. Besides, it's not like he had to promise to cover for me if he wasn't going to go through the effort of remembering the promise in the first place.
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Dec 2, 2015 23:06
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