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Benny the Snake posted:So just to make sure, can we borrow another person's character ask for a character request or can we only do one? If the latter, Todd would like to cancel his date with Goldie and post something in the personals.
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Jul 2, 2014 07:39
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Bad Seafood posted:You can answer as many requests and include as many characters as you find feasible, judge characters are just a limited quantity. SWM Seeks Femme Fatale for backstabbing, subterfuge, and good old fashioned seduction Hello, ladies. My name is Todd Templeton and I'm a fortune hunter looking for lady luck. I need a Carmen Sternwood to my Philip Marlowe, a Tatiana Romanova to my James Bond, a Catwoman to my Batman. If interested, please respond.
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Jul 2, 2014 07:54
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That is one intriguing prompt. I'll post the character a bit later today.
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Jul 2, 2014 13:44
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Tyrannosaurus posted:The title was obscured so you get the actual picture I took TD Redemption from week 96. I wrote this on time, my brain just broke so i didn't post it.  The Midway Solution 1003 words My dad sat down on the edge of my bed and nervously fiddled with his iron cross. “It’s time we had the talk.” I groaned. I’d been through sex ed three times already. Hell, after the last one Maria Silva let a group of us look at her private parts through her unzipped jeans during recess. Just pulled it open like it was nothing. I didn’t see much because it was dark, but I think that moves me past needing a talk. “Now son, hear me out. This is important, and it’s better if you hear it from me.” I flopped back on my bed. My dad turned toward me; his medals clanked against each other. “There’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just going to say it. You’re half Nazi.” I sat back up. “Wait, what?” My father buried his chin into his chest. “You know how last year we made that family tree, and we traced back your heritage on your mother’s side? Her father is full-blooded Native, and she is half?” I nodded, but don’t know if I understood. He continued: “Well, that makes you a quarter Native on your mom’s side, and half Nazi from my side.” My father hadn’t told me about his family. Said they all died before he moved to Brazil. I looked at the family tree I’d tacked to the wall. Above my mother’s head I had crude drawings of my abuelos in crayon. Above my dad’s head were just a few stylized question marks. Whenever I tried to press the issue, he would start shouting at me in German, and I quickly dropped it. “But I don’t want to be a Nazi,” I said. My dad put his hand on my shoulder. “It will take some getting used to, son. You’ll understand when you’re older, but I thought it was better to tell you now, so you could prepare.” There had been whispers of Nazis moving to Brazil after the war, but I had never suspected that it was me all along. I mean, as far as I knew I hadn’t participated in any genocides. Heck, I even thought some of the Brazilian girls were cute. “What if I….” He took off his hat and polished the parteiadler with his thumb. “It’s not your fault, kid. I knew if I ever had kids, this would be a problem, but well, a night of schnapps and here you are.” “I hate you!” I screamed, and ran out the door. I made my way down to the beach where my dad used to make me practice crushing amphibious landings as a child. I stood staring out at the water with my hands in my pockets. The breeze roughed up my hair. I tried to sweep it out of my eyes, but it blew right back. I made my way along the beach, kicking seashells passed over by beachcombers. A lone seagull followed me. When I stopped, he stopped. When I walked, he followed. “I don’t have any food!” I screamed at it. He looked at me, confused. “I don’t have anything, and I never will. I don’t deserve anything. Not as a half Nazi. I should go find a cave and crawl into it and die.” The seagull didn’t leave. “Go, go fly up into the sky!” I realized I was standing with my arm stretched out, pointed at the clouds in a perfect Nazi salute. “No! It’s already happening!” I ran back to the house and locked myself in my room. Over the next few years, I struggled to keep my wretched urges secrets from everybody around me. I’d lock myself in my room and ignore anybody who tried to rouse me. “Go away!” I’d shout through the painful spasms. “I’m busy!” At night, I’d sneak out and go to the beach. I’d goose step in the dark until my legs were sore, and I’d fall into a heap and cry my half-Nazi tears. Then one day, it all went away as suddenly as it’d come. I finished high school, started dating Mary, and move away. My father was moved into an old-folks home, and I never visited. Then I got a call: “Your father is dying.” We made the trip to the coast to see him and say our goodbyes. Mary, Me, and our son. My father lay propped up on a pillow, his face sallow, his wispy white hair peaked out from his Nazi hat. In his eyes still burned that passion I’d known as a boy, and I could tell that if he still had the energy he’d give me a lecture about the sin of race mixing. Instead, he just grumbled and looked out the window. I told Mary to take the boy to get ice cream, and sat down by my father’s side. “I’m glad you’re dying,” I said. He couldn’t talk back, on account of the tubes. “I was always afraid I’d grow up to be like you: A Nazi. But I beat you. I’m better than you.” My father didn’t say a word. “I’ll never try to annex any nation. I’ll never be the son you wanted me to be.” My father turned to me, smiled, and whispered: “He’s a quarter Nazi you know.” He closed his eyes and slipped away. I met Mary and my son in the cafeteria, and we all went out to the beach. A seagull landed near us and looked at me as if it wanted something. I thought back to that seagull I met on the day I learned about my tainted blood. Maybe seagulls prefer the ocean because they are attracted to doom. They hover on the breeze, waiting for a shipwreck. Not because they get anything from it; they just like to see others suffer. I fume thinking about how seagulls are sullying the reputation of birds with their constant begging and stealing. Somebody should do something about that. If I had my way, I’d kill every seagull.
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Jul 2, 2014 17:29
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In. Morris Aram is a homeless ex-standup comedian with a scraggly blonde beard who’s currently trying on alcoholism to see how well it fits. He left the business two years ago after clubs wouldn’t hire him because he pissed off a linchpin in the East Coast scene by telling her to “go buy a sex toy with a name that ends in –tron.” Has read the tattered copy of From Those Wonderful Folks Who Brought You Pearl Harbor he keeps in his back pocket fourteen times. Has fantasies of being a 70’s ad exec, living and dying by his wit and wordplay. Cannot be fake-nice to people he doesn’t like or respect. Came to Los Granos D’Oro because nobody knows who he is. Yet.
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Jul 2, 2014 22:31
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My character is a trash collector. You don't know anything about him other than that though, because who knows anything about their trash collectors? However, he may be seen around town/getting in the way/picking up the trash, but you don't talk to him and he doesn't talk to you. He is average build/overweight, dirty, salt & peppered unkempt hair, gruff, and stinks to high hell when he's on the job.
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Jul 2, 2014 23:26
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Cashing in on a long-standing debt, WeLandedOnTheMoon! is allotted an additional 500 words with which to make his story suck less.
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Jul 2, 2014 23:52
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Meet a simple Polish locksmith Jacek Skwarek, age 32. He's visiting his nouveau riche of a childhood friend* who resides in an opulent penthouse right in the middle of the city's Soho. The two didn't see each other since uni, and learning about his mate's glamorous and adventurous lifestyle fills Jacek with remorse about his average uneventful life in Poland. Nevertheless, without much experience in traveling abroad and with little knowledge of foreign languages Jacek feels alien in Los Granos D'Oro and wouldn't even want to try his luck in exploring the city without a guide. Jacek is reasonably thin and is always slouched standing at 6'5 (2 m). His shaved head complements an unmemorable face of a Slavic working man. * It shouldn't count as two characters, right? But if someone's interested in using this guy for whatever purpose, you know where to find me (here or email to 'paladinussp at gmail.com').
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Jul 3, 2014 00:27
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Looking for someone who's gonna handle/lose the case to gangsters in a bad neighbourhood, or, alternately, by catapulting/hang-gliding/droning it into the sky. Seriously. Find me at IRC if you plan on ending your story kinda like this. EDIT: Not looking anymore. D.O.G.O.G.B.Y.N. fucked around with this message at 03:06 on Jul 3, 2014 |
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Jul 3, 2014 02:36
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“Candy” Ashley is about 18 years old and living in Los Grano D'oro because poo poo, it's there and she's there and she found a place. She has heavy lidded olive-gray eyes, is tiny (about 5'2") with a sleek, slim build, and has pale skin that can let her pass as about four races/ethnicities, but especially black and Latina. Her silky, straight, jet black hair is worn in a high ponytail that reminds people of a flowing stream. Her street wear is weird enough to make someone do a double take but nothing overly flashy: dark grey tank, red mesh overshirt, blue jeans with black patches, big silver loop earrings, a red stone pendant, and grey sneakers. Unless she has her rollerblades on (which she always does on the streets) and those are black and red roller blades, the old 90s looking ones. Her attitude in passing or quick views by others? She makes you think of a deadly, chaotic, unpredictable eel. Nethilia fucked around with this message at 02:40 on Jul 3, 2014 |
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Jul 3, 2014 02:38
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My entry for the Docbeard/Muffin vs Entenzahn/Meeple Tag Team Thunderbrawl: Unnatural Disaster or This Is How World War I Started, You Know. Ash (1029 Words) I don’t know a damned thing about Java. I bought a guidebook, one of those “Indonesia For Idiot Tourists” things, back in the States. I skimmed it during the flight. I don’t remember a word of it now. Julia had always wanted to come here, for as long as I’d known her. I wish I had paid more attention to her when she brought it up.. I could start so many sentences with “I wish” right now, each as useful as the last. The woman jammed into this backwards tricycle thing with me starts to cough. We’re on a side street, I think, it’s too crowded to tell. It’s a run-down neighborhood, there’s an open sewer that I’ve just about managed to stop smelling, but I can see high-rises a block away, and mosques in every direction, and buildings older than I have ever imagined buildings could be. Everywhere I look, there’s a new sort of animal, lizards and feral cats and things I can’t put a name to. Recent damage mingles with the way things always have been. I can’t make sense of Jakarta, there’s too much of it, and I don’t have it in me to try. I’m here to make a grand, meaningless gesture. I’m here to mourn my friend. I don’t know why I’m here at all. I fish a scarf out of my bag. I bought it earlier from a street vendor who must have been praying for an idiot Western tourist like me. I bought five of them. I don’t know why. Julia had liked bright colors, but who the hell doesn’t? One’s tied around my face now. I offer this one to the woman next to me. She waves it away, starts to cough again, and takes it. She dabs at her face before she ties it around her mouth and nose. Through all this, she says nothing. I couldn’t understand her if she did, and this isn’t a time to open your mouth. There were tremors a few hours ago, and the air turned gray and ash is everywhere, everything. I thought it was an earthquake, or maybe we were being bombed, though I don’t know what gave me that idea. It turns out that I don’t know a drat thing about volcanoes, either. I’m getting an education today. The woman sat down next to me right after the eruption. I didn’t, I still don’t, want company. I had, I still have, no way to tell her to leave, no way to live with myself if I could make her understand. Our driver, whose name is Blue or Blow or Blau or something similar that I wasn’t paying attention to this morning does some kind of magic to avoid a car that can’t possibly fit on this street. As far as I can tell, he knows about thirty words of English and has been using them more-or-less at random all day. If he gets me back to my hotel, I’m going to give him every cent I have left. He starts coughing, too. We’ve all been coughing since the eruption began. The air is gray, everything is gray. Julia liked bright colors. The woman tugs at my arm. I don’t know her name. I don’t know how to ask her her name. I don’t think she understood when I told her my name was Jason. She points, and I see a boy, maybe a teenager, maybe younger, sitting up against a wall at the edge of the crowd. I thought they were fleeing. They should be fleeing. Buildings have collapsed. I can see fires. I can barely breathe. This is the calmest evacuation I have ever seen. I’m not even sure if it is an evacuation. I see blood. He’s hurt, and there’s no way an ambulance is getting in here. She expects me to leap into action like I’m some kind of damned superhero. Or maybe she’s just playing tour guide. And on your right you can see an injured young man. Maybe he’ll die today, maybe he’ll just sit in pain, alone, surrounded by people. I’m not a superhero. “Come on, kid,” I say, lifting him. He can’t walk, but he can support himself on one leg. “I think there’s room for all three of us on that...thing.” “Becak,” he says, and I don’t know if he’s telling me his name or cursing me or naming the tricycle thing. But he smiles, a little. And then he coughs, and becomes the inheritor of another of my scarves. The three of us would have fit, with a tight squeeze. The four other people who got aboard before Blue got us underway again are another story. I don’t know how he’s moving this thing. Every loving cent I have. “She wasn’t my wife,” I say to the woman, to the boy, to the two girls I imagine are university students but may be nothing of the sort, to the two older European gentlemen, to Blue. None of them give me any sign they’re listening, that they can hear, much less understand, which is why I can continue. “Or my girlfriend. We circled around each other for years, and I think we both wanted it, but never at the same time. Funny, huh?” It took time to say, because of coughing every three words. One of the old men pats me on the shoulder, or maybe it’s just a nudge. I stop talking. I don’t want comfort. I don’t want a sympathetic ear, a shoulder to cry on, any of those goddamned cliches. I want the words to leave me and be lost in a city I know nothing about. I want to spill everything I’m feeling like the ashes I came here to scatter into a world of ash. The world won’t notice or care, and that’s what I want today. Except that right now, all I want is to get back to my hotel and give Blue everything I own and shut the door and shower for a week. Julia loved people, so today I hate them a little. I give the two old men my last two scarves.
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Jul 3, 2014 03:30
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I'm in! Ruth Lin is 21 years old, and wears her straight black hair in a ponytail. Completely blind without her glasses. Somewhat short and slightly overweight, she silently judges anybody who comments on it. Sticks to casual clothes in order to blend in with the crowd. Anybody who either manages to touch a nerve or mention photography, celebrities, or programming has their ear talked off. She mans a cash register at a nearby hardware store while looking for a job that uses her newly-obtained community college degree. She hates the job, but is good at hiding it. Her main hobby is street photography, and she has absolutely no qualms about possible invasions of privacy. Has become proficient at hiding her printed porny romance novels from her fellow bus passengers.
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Jul 3, 2014 03:32
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In Austin Stevens is a dirty, smelly, washed up wreck of a man who panhandles on streetcorners. He has a seemingly endless collection of Apocalyptic signs, warning of the end of the world, the coming of the beast, the fall of Babylon etc. Every single one of them is lettered with exquisite calligraphy. If you ever see him standing up rather than hunched beside a wall, bottle beside him and rambling almost incomprehensibly, you will discover he is infeasibly tall. He does not write personal ads - but he does clip interesting ones from the personals section of the city's last remaining newspaper after he's finished sleeping under it.
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Jul 3, 2014 05:52
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So I've set my entry up as a cliffhanger. Anybody who's interested in spiking my serve drop me a line.
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Jul 3, 2014 06:24
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Adelmo Concepción is a quiet man with a disposition that leans toward cheerful. He's a native of Los Grano D'oro, getting into his fifties, and for twenty some-odd years in his youth, he was curator of La Galería Sinsonte. He ran the Galería with his high school sweetheart, Carminda, who was the artistic brains behind the operation. They married in their late teens and he happily sold Carminda's work into their middle years. He was forced to close the Galería when his wife fell ill, and after nursing her through a slow and agonising death at the hands of kidney failure, he was left to raise their daughter alone. Adelmo presently works as a cab driver, and since he works nights on weekends, the pay is usually enough. But he's just found out that little Rosalinde has been accepted into a prestigious arts school. How is he going to afford tuition? -- 52/m/LGD'o seeks moron to accidentally leave briefcase in back of cab, PM if interested.
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Jul 3, 2014 06:48
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I keep reading your username as Anonymous Blowjob.
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Jul 3, 2014 07:24
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SurreptitiousMuffin posted:I keep reading your username as Anonymous Blowjob. It's the avatar, isn't it.
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Jul 3, 2014 07:49
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All right, this is moderately confusing but I'm in and will do my best. Kurt Geyser is a failing stand-up comedian whose life has gone downhill ever since he left his cosy, secure gig as an entertainer at a middling holiday park on the coast of Devon. He thought he was on the up and up after his agent booked him a gig headlining at the Los Grano D'oro Improv, but as he got off the aeroplane and checking his phone it turned out he had mistakenly been booked instead of Burt Geyser, a regular on UK comedy panels shows. He's now replacing Kurt at the Improv, but the comedy club has been kind of enough to let Kurt keep the hotel room for the few days he had been booked. He decides to stay on and check out Los Grano D'oro, the furthest away from home he's ever been. Maybe he can find somewhere to network or hit up a couple of open mics. Maybe he can just enjoy himself for the time in forever. M/42 Funny, wacky guy looking for someone to show me the sights of Los Grano D'oro, have a good time, and talk about the meaningless of life. e: I think somebody messed up my Thunderdome loser title?
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Jul 3, 2014 16:25
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Alyssa, 19 years old. Sits at 5'3, with a beefy build and deathly pale skin. She has dull brown eyes with heavy bags underneath, a big pugdog nose, and short, curly brown hair. Her clothes are nothing to really write home about : a baggy red hoodie, white undershirt stained with Los Grano D'oro's equivalent of buffalo sauce, baggy jeans and white sneakers. Complete loser who works as a programmer who contracts out from her basement. The type of person who posts on the Los Grano D'oro's equivalent of Troper Tales, complaining about why she has no friends and why boys don't like her and 'oh people are so annoying right?'. She always speaks in monotone like she has a perpetual eyeroll going on and uses big words that she clearly does not understand. Considers herself asexual except for mack truck drivers who just so happen to be her fetish, along with boys with glasses and redheaded roller derby girls. She also keeps a folding Karambit in her back pocket. ( Please come to me with your character crossovers. Have an idea to kill her already but chuck them at me anyway because I'm a good guy and I'm not aiming to go completely camp with this. I love you guys, smooches. ) Honestly? Cards on the table. Here's what I want to do, I don't have to hit all of these points but this is a shared universe and I want to sneak in as many crossovers as I can.
Contact me if you want to do crossovers, either in this particular story or otherwise. I also want to request an extension of the word count but I'm not holding my breath and I will talk to the judges privately about that. Phobia fucked around with this message at 19:59 on Jul 3, 2014 |
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Jul 3, 2014 19:10
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I'm in. If you end up (or live) in Polyside feel free to crossover. ... Given that Los Grano D’Oro is a place "halfway between Hong Kong and Los Angeles" it’s no surprise that there is a large islander community in the city. Some cities might have a Little Italy. The LGD has Polyside. And Polyside has a little bit of everything. Samoans, Tongans, Filipinos, Micronesians. A thousand different peoples and a thousand different languages and a thousand different problems. Zeke Taukave immigrated with his family from Fiji when he was just a baby. Fast forward a couple years and all of a sudden that little baby has become a big dude. And I do mean big. Built like a mix between a pro football player and an 18-wheeler. Lots of dark, curly hair that he keeps tied back in a ponytail. Heavily tattooed. He played football in highschool until he was arrested and dropped out. Now, free of the education system, he works as a bouncer and sells prescription pills and occasionally gets his hand dirty.
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Jul 3, 2014 20:14
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Mercedes posted:Elementary Story Power Hour 'one week' lol The Clouds and the Crow 1981 words Djeser fucked around with this message at 20:58 on Dec 31, 2014 |
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Jul 3, 2014 20:18
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 Adrian Stepwater has never been much of a people person. A former cop turned private investigator, he lives by himself in a modest apartment where he lavishes affection on his windowsill garden. Surprisingly articulate, he disapproves of swearing and is prone to long, rambling conversations - just not with other people. Perpetually tired and vaguely irritated, there isn't much color in his life. Just his flowers and his trademark red jacket. But even a man like Adrian can't work alone. His darling Elizabeth is ever at his side, a magnum revolver he inherited from his father. He calls her Elizabeth because he considers it a classy woman's name. He always refers to her as though she were a person. In truth, Adrian couldn't care less about the case, but he's got a hunch it's the ticket he needs to blow the forces that lurk beneath Los Grano D'oro wide open. But whatever you do, don't call him a hero. He's not doing it for you. He's doing it for the houseplants. Currently waiting on Bad Seafood fucked around with this message at 18:31 on Jul 4, 2014 |
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Jul 3, 2014 22:22
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I would very much like to be one of these five authors. I'll be in contact soon.
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Jul 3, 2014 22:26
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God Over Djinn posted:
Savior 1199 words The drop pod shook and rattled like a box of loose screws. “I should’ve stayed on the ship,” Jerryck said to the wall. Static burst into his ear and a voice said: “To be honest, you really should. This is a stupid idea. And illegal.” “Well, you know how it is,” Jerryck said. “No, I don’t. You’re an idiot.” “She’s my daughter, John. I have to get her out of there.” The voice sighed. “For the record, if this goes south, I didn’t know about any of this. You’re almost there now. Good luck.” The antigrav thrusters activated and the ground pressed against him as the vessel slowed. There was a loud crash, and Jerryck fell over. The pod had landed, but he still felt it move. A few more seconds, then gravity was gone and a moment later he found himself lying on a side wall. The pod had finally stopped. Above him, the door popped open, and he climbed out. He had slid down all the way from the peak of a low hill. On top, Jerryck got out his visor and observed the carnage. Fires burned in a distant city, monoliths of glass, rock and steel melting away in the flames. The rebellion had been going on for months. On some buildings old federation banners were replaced by that of the Freedom of Self movement. Occasional gunshots rang in the distance. The fiery red of the Obnavrian suns made the whole scene look like one of those ancient war films, bloody and raw, the way it’s supposed to be. He had dropped down close to the main battlefront. Alyssa’s headquarters would be nearby. The Eagle Tower had been in the background of her video message. A towering spire of gold-engraved marble adorned with video walls, thousands of feet high. It was now on fire, the screens broken and fizzling with sparks. “We assume the rebel camp to be about five miles northeast,” John said in his ear. “Anything more concrete?” “We don’t really bother keeping up to date anymore.” “Think you can get one of our fancy psykers to taxi me?” John chuckled. “I think they’re busy locking down the planet.” “Never say the federation doesn’t take care of its people.” “To be fair, the whole bombardment protocol was your idea.” “gently caress it,” Jerryck said and walked towards the gunshots. # The rebels found him after fifteen minutes. A group of five had just appeared out of nowhere and trained their guns on him. They were probably recon, and definitely good. They were also mad as hell. Their leader stepped forward, and Jerryck recognized him. “You went to school with my daughter. Norm?” Jerryck said. Norm slammed the butt of his rifle into Jerryck’s face. The impact knocked him clear off his feet, into the dirt. He cursed under his breath. Ten years ago that guy just had been some little twerp with a crush on Alyssa and now Mr. Tough Guy wanted to play rough. The bombardment would take care of that rear end in a top hat. “Looks like we got ourselves a federation general,” Norm said to his group, and they laughed. “I need to speak to Alyssa,” Jerryck said. “Go gently caress yourself.” “Come on now, let’s be civil.” “Civil, he says.” Norm spat on the ground. “Our psykers can’t jump through space anymore and now the federation has surrounded the planet with Class A bombardment behemoths. I heard that someone had given them the idea to lock the barn and set it on fire. And I heard that someone was you. Talk about loving civil.” “I didn’t think--” “This was your home once,” Norm said with eerie calm in his voice. “But it’s fine. At least I get to thank you in person before it ends.” He raised his gun and pointed it at Jerryck and his finger squeezed a little. And then Alyssa was there, between them. Norm reeled back, jerked his rifle down. “Alyssa, I…” “I know.” She stroked his cheek. “But this man is my father. And killing him won’t change things. Not anymore.” Norm looked at her for a long time. Then he waved his hand, and the others lowered their guns. He nodded, and went to his group who huddled together a few feet away. Alyssa turned to help Jerryck up. She was still so beautiful. Twenty-three, brown locks and eyes. An honest smile that reminded him of the old days, when people were still sane and this rebellion had been nothing more than conspiracy theorists doing involuntary stand-up comedy. Her hands were soft. He stood, and she touched his shoulder gently. “Dad,” she said. “Can you bring us back to the ship? The federation wants to negotiate with you.” She looked up to the sky. The behemoths in orbit were tiny specks, but clearly visible. “The federation isn’t here to negotiate,” she said. “The bombardment is a bluff,” Jerryck said. “Dad...” “Still would be safer if you were up on the ship.” In the distance, the Eagle Tower finally collapsed. There was an aching yawn from the building, and cords snapped and the top fell over, the former government central folding in on itself from the middle. “Dad. I’m not a child.” She folded her hands, closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I know what will happen. And I’m not leaving my people behind.” John’s voice chipped in: “Hate to interrupt, but--” There was a droning noise above. Norm’s crew looked up and their expressions changed, and bitter faces turned towards Jerryck. The ships were not more than tiny specks in the sky, but the lights were clearly visible, and getting stronger. “No...” Jerryck said. “This is goodbye dad. I’m sorry” “Come with me. Please.” She smiled a sad smile. Her eyes teared up. “It’s not like I’m not afraid. But this is a sacrifice we have to make. I hope you will understand one day.” She gave him a kiss on the cheek and hugged him. Jerryck stroked the back of her head. His fingers glided through chestnut hair. He tried not to choke up. “Alyssa, you have to come with--” “I love you dad,” she said. There was a spark, and then he was back on the ship, in an empty room, and all he had left of her was a lock of hair. “No.” He started towards the metal door and it slid out of his way. He ran. Signs pointed him towards the bridge. “Abort the bombardment,” he said into his headset. There was no response. “Abort,” he yelled. Heads turned towards him. “Abort! Abort the bombardment!” He reached the bridge, shouting like a maniac. Staffers looked at each other uneasily. Some had their hands on their pistols. Supreme Commander Oden threw him an annoyed look from the other end of the room. Next to him, General John Grenlock murmured: “Crazy. Absolutely crazy.” “Abort the loving bombardment,” Jerryck screamed, and went for his gun, but strong hands grabbed him by the arms. He was pushed to the ground, kicking and thrashing. The butt of a rifle rushed up to Jerryck. The world turned black, and then there was only the dull sound of cannons, raining hellfire.
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Jul 3, 2014 22:50
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Docbeard/Muffin vs Entenzahn/Meeple Tag Team Thunderbrawl: Unnatural Disaster
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Given to the Stars 1,301 words The hand Natalia held was damp with sweat. It wasn’t like her dad’s hand - it was rough and worn, with callouses in unfamiliar places, and dad never gripped her hand with such intensity - but it was the only comforting thing amidst the crush and the noise and the stench. Line after line of weary people, their lives bundled on their backs, snaked back and forth across floor of the enormous terminal building. An argument started on the other side of the room, voices raised in anger and fear; Natalia ducked back behind the man’s legs until it was hidden from sight. “Papers, please,” said a tired monotone in front of them. The legs stopped and Natalia bumped into them. She peered out to see two soldiers, one holding his hand out. The man who wasn’t dad reached into his jacket and handed the soldier a sheaf of papers and identity cards. The soldier leafed through them. “Oh!” he said when he got to the cards. “General Malten, sir! I didn’t recognise you!” He stood to attention and saluted. “I served under you on the Malabriggo, sir.” Natalia felt the man’s hand tense where it held hers. “I’m retired now, private,” he said wearily. “It’s just Rick.” “Right,” he said. “Sorry you have to come through with all the dregs now, sir.” “The dregs, private, are refugees. And these ones,” he gestured to the line behind him, “are with coming off-world with me, on my ship.” The soldier took a step backwards. “Sorry sir. Um. Through the scanner then, please.” Rick gave Natalia’s hand a squeeze and led her toward the archway, a white plastic frame studded with polished metal domes. As they neared it, she felt the machine like a tickle inside her head. She could feel it sniffing at the part of her brain that always wanted to stretch out and reach for distant hills, the part that let her leap and hop in the blink of an eye no matter how often mum and dad told her not to let anyone see her. It felt cold and cruel in her mind, and she shrank against Rick’s side. When it let out a blaring alarm she almost jumped out of her skin. Soldiers rushed towards them both in a thump and a clatter of boots and guns. All around eyes turned towards them in terror, people shrank away, mothers shielded their children. “Psyker,” she heard the whispers. “General?” The soldier who’d spoken to Rick walked through the arch, hand hovering over his holstered pistol. “drat!” Rick slapped his forehead. “It’s me, Private, don’t worry! You can turn that thing off!” He pulled a locket out from under his shirt. “Here,” he said, “let me show you.” The soldier frowned, but waved his arm and the alarm cut off. Rick let go of Natalia’s hand to unclasp the locket. Holding it in his hand, he pressed the edge and the pendant flipped open to show a photo of a young girl and a lock of hair, coiled tightly. “Me and my sentimentality. Sometimes this thing sets off the detectors, they pick up the hair if they’re set too sensitive. You know how it is.” He closed it back up and waved his hand through the archway. The alarm went off again. “See?” he said. “Sir?” the soldier asked when the alarm had been silenced for a second time, his expression puzzled. “Just a keepsake, Private,” Rick said, closing his hand around the locket. “She… was a psyker. Registered, of course. She’s gone now. I hope you understand.” The soldier nodded hesitantly. “Thank you, Private. We won’t keep you any longer.” He walked quickly away from the soldiers, towards the big door to the outside. Natalia ran after him and grabbed his closed fist, clutching his hand in both of hers. His knuckles were white. === Space went on forever. Natalia stood in the corner of the observation lounge, nose pressed up against the windows, and stared at the distant points of light. There was a little pink one that felt fuzzy and a big fat green one that tasted of apples and hundreds and hundreds more, more than she’d ever seen before in her life. It felt like she’d been staring at them forever when a little fast star that felt like the smell of wet dogs drifted across the sky. She watched as it grew bigger, not a star at all but an approaching ship that turned from a point into a blurry blob into a wall of machinery and blinking running lights. The wet-dog-feeling settled over her like a horrible, heavy blanket. === Rick walked between the soldiers as they led him across the docking tube and onto the interdictor SS Branhaum. More armed soldiers lined the docking bay, amidst them a tall, skinny man in a captain's uniform. “Welcome aboard, Mister Maltern,” the captain said, the scorn unmistakable. Rick’s escort spread out to block the door behind him. Rick sighed. “What’s this about, captain?” “Orders of SpecInt,” said the captain with a smug smile. “Investigating rumours of smuggling unregistered psykers. Or perhaps they just wanted to know why a retired federation general is running around like some bleeding-heart do-gooder shuttling so-called Obnavrian ‘refugees’ off-world.” Rick clenched his fists. “Those people have no homes left! Off-world, to haven planets, is the only chance they have.” “Then they shouldn’t have harboured rebels, should they?” the captain said. “Not that they’ll reach another planet anyway, if SpecInt find any psykers aboard.” He sneered and turned away. “Confine him to an empty cabin until SpecInt arrive.” Rick felt heavy hands descend on his shoulders. === Natalia sat buried in the bulk of the padded chair, the headset huge and heavy over her ears. Through it she could hear the voice of the pilot whispering soothingly. Emma, her name was. Natalia was proud she remembered. “Remember what I showed you, Nat. Take us to Altoria and we’re safe home, untraceable. They can’t follow us if you do the jump because they won’t know where we’ve gone. You got it?” “Yes,” Natalia said. “You can see the star now, right?” Natalia peered through the viewport. One faint star lay in the dead centre of it. “Yes. Smells a bit like grass.” Emma laughed. “Good girl. Okay, keep smelling the grass then, and as soon as the interdiction field…” “The dog blanket!” Natalia corrected her. “Sorry, the dog blanket. As soon as the dog blanket goes away, you take us to that star. It’s like hopping yourself, only it’ll be a lot slower and a lot heavier. The ship’s engines will help, so don’t worry. I know you can do it.” Natalia nodded enthusiastically, staring at the distant star and willing the smelly dog blanket to leave. “Got it?” asked Emma after a long moment. Natalia nodded again, the headset almost slipping off. “Oh, um, yes,” she said eventually. Around her the engines thrummed expectantly. === A small explosion shook the SS Branhaum. It wasn’t much, compared to the bulk of the warship, but given its location it didn’t need to be. It rocked Jerryck Malten as he stood on the observation deck, hands in his pockets, and smiled. It had been decades since he’d last had to sneak out of a cabin through the ventilation ducts; it was gratifying to know that federation warship design hadn’t changed much in the intervening years. The smile broadened as he listened to the ever-present background hum of the interdiction engines abruptly trail off. Outside, through the viewports, he watched the ungainly bulk of the refugee transport pivot in space and suddenly become a streak of light, lancing out towards a distant star and vanishing again just as fast. He smiled and waited for the soldiers to find him again.
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Jul 3, 2014 22:51
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Bad Seafood posted:
I'd like to use him. Nevermind that last bit. RunningIntoWalls fucked around with this message at 00:53 on Jul 4, 2014 |
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Jul 3, 2014 23:14
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I'm in. Kendrick Morris is a forty-something stick-thin African-American man with a scraggly beard and a ratty coat. He's not homeless, but he's not far from it, either. He pays for his apartment by performing marriages on the cheap, and hearing and absolving confessions once in a while. Sometimes people can't get married the right proper movie way, for one reason or another, and Kendrick's happy to do what he can for those people. Ditto with the folks who've got secrets weighing heavy on their hearts; Lord knows there's plenty of them. Life isn't much like the movies, he hates having to tell his patrons, whether they be an interracial couple about to elope or a teenaged murderer with an attack of conscience. Growing up in Los Grano D'oro is enough to tell most folks that, but a lot of the time they don't really learn it until it's already too late. He knows he didn't. He's still licensed to marry, and he's still technically a Catholic priest, although he separated from the church a couple years back because of certain ideological differences. What matters, though, is that he's still faithful. His most prized possession is his cassock, a far cry from his street clothes, tucked away in his closet for the times when it's needed. I'm looking for two people: 1. for someone to either attempt to kill Kendrick or actually kill him, depending on what you think works. 2. for someone to unknowingly receive the briefcase from Kendrick, like by stashing it in their car while they're not looking. I don't have PMs, so contact me on IRC if you want to get involved! King Cohort fucked around with this message at 00:04 on Jul 4, 2014 |
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Jul 3, 2014 23:48
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Phobia posted:
Missed you on IRC but I'm down to do a crossover, I'll try to catch you next time you are on.
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Jul 4, 2014 00:06
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God Over Djinn posted:
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Jul 4, 2014 01:08
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*ALL POINTS WARNING* Officers in all precincts in Los Grano D'Oro are advised to be on the lookout for the following individuals. All individuals listed are members of the street gang known as 'La Niñas' and are wanted for questioning in a number of cases including the Jinggouzi Warehouse fire and a string of recent robberies in Jewish town. Members of La Niñas are known to associate with high ranking members of major crime syndicates both within and outside of Los Grano D'oro, including Hin Yan Duchene and Stavros Arvanatis. Approach with caution. Rajitha "Raj" Singh: Hanan Salumeh: "Honey": Xixi Fang: Georgette: *warning*warning*warning*warning* The home base of La Niñas is known to be located in Los Tumúlos aka The Barrows. Travel in this district by police officers is not recommended at any time, for any reason. Residents of Los Tumúlos are suspicious of outsiders and extremely hostile towards law enforcement. It is likely that members of La Niñas will attempt to lure officers into Los Tumúlos in order to escape apprehension. In the event that this occurs DO NOT, repeat, DO NOT, pursue suspects into this district. --------------------------------------------------------------- PLEASE NOTE: You may only claim one (1) gang member to use in your entry, and once a poster claims a gang member, said member may not be used by anyone else. Basically, if you want to use one of these fine, upstanding, ladies you have to call dibs, and if someone else beats you to it, tough poo poo. ETA: If you want to use a gang member, the judges have ruled that you cannot also use one of the other judge characters, because, since each gang member can only be used by one poster, it's not fair if you get to use one of them and one of the other judge characters. Fanky Malloons fucked around with this message at 20:17 on Jul 4, 2014 |
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Jul 4, 2014 03:31
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Bad Seafood posted:
Fanky Malloons posted:Xixi Fang:
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Jul 4, 2014 03:38
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Whalley posted:Using Adrian, and No it does not, I will decide which poster gets to decide their gang member's fate after the sign up deadline. Also, I am going to veto you taking both of these characters, because that's somewhat unfair when the gang members can't be used by multiple posters. Therefore, you can have Adrian or Xixi, but not both.
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Jul 4, 2014 03:52
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Fanky Malloons posted:Rajitha "Raj" Singh: I'd like to include Miss Singh. The way I'm intending to work her in, she would likely survive my story, though if the judges have something else in mind I'm open to revising.
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Jul 4, 2014 03:55
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Hey, King Cohort: I'm interested in your character stashing the case in my character's taxi cab. However I haven't seen you on IRC since you posted that (possibly because I'm on NZ time) so feel free to shoot me an email at casey.writes.things at gmail dot com.
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Jul 4, 2014 03:58
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Nikaer Drekin posted:I'd like to include Miss Singh. The way I'm intending to work her in, she would likely survive my story, though if the judges have something else in mind I'm open to revising. Done.
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Jul 4, 2014 03:59
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If someone would like to lose the case at, or in the vicinity of, an art auction, hit me up. Likewise, someone who needs a delivery mechanism for the case into their story, the wilder the better. PMs or 99berserkers at gmail are fine. Also, Bad Seafood posted:
shall appear in my story.
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Jul 4, 2014 04:22
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Fanky Malloons posted:Georgette: She seems fun. Can I can I can I can I?
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Jul 4, 2014 09:59
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Wait we're calling dibs? Black Jesus is mine, motherfuckers. Also, brawl story up in the next few hours sorry about the delay, blame my sickie-pulling coworker who has a name like a viking from a bad fantasy novel.
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Jul 4, 2014 11:04
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Anomalous Blowout posted:She seems fun. Can I can I can I can I? But of course!
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Jul 4, 2014 12:59
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| # ? Apr 16, 2024 16:14 |
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Fanky Malloons posted:No it does not, I will decide which poster gets to decide their gang member's fate after the sign up deadline. Also, I am going to veto you taking both of these characters, because that's somewhat unfair when the gang members can't be used by multiple posters. Therefore, you can have Adrian or Xixi, but not both. I choose Xixi
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Jul 4, 2014 13:22
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