|
New meat, reporting In.
|
#
¿
Jul 1, 2014 06:06
|
|
|
|
| # ¿ Apr 25, 2024 19:09 |
|
|
Phobia posted:Phobia dropped his bag with a thud and yelled towards DuckyB's ball pit. "YO SHITHEAD!" Pho? PHO! You're dumb and so's your face. Come at me. Character Submission: Phillip Clarion. Phillip Clarion is a thirty-six year old, French-American man, and the primary enforcer of an anonymous fixer-for-hire agency. His team specializes in digital security and acquisition, but he will not shy away from personally handling jobs that require a physical presence. At 5'4" and 130 lbs., his slim, brown-haired, brown-eyed, pale does not cut an imposing figure. This perceived weakness has become the core of his role as an enforcer. Phillip strives to achieve assigned objectives with stealth, efficiency, and minimal body count. On each job, Phillip a slim, false cigar wallet filled with dissoluble drugs, ranging from sedatives to lethal poisons, a burner, jailbroken smartphone connecting him to his team, and a 9mm Springfield XD-S for emergency use. To aid in infiltration and security detail assignments, he studies and practices both parkour and aikido, and recently attained the rank of Rokudan in the latter art. Training in these particular arts has given him a deep appreciation for patience and repetition in practice, as well as fluidity and intuition in implementation. During field observation he tends to dress and act as boringly as possible until his team confirms a target, and prefers to subtly sedate or poison any victims rather than use more direct methods of violence. Outside of work, he possesses a somber but relaxed disposition, rarely seeking out social contact on his own but willing to entertain a few co-workers and close friends. DuckyB fucked around with this message at 08:18 on Jul 1, 2014 |
|
#
¿
Jul 1, 2014 08:14
|
|
|
I'd also like to put a claim on Goldie.
|
|
#
¿
Jul 2, 2014 07:13
|
|
|
Link to Retirement Plan, 996 words: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1uNNMtp1wJAoMkvNQfEn_mnn_tk_LQw5doNf6LOvjRBM/edit?usp=sharing
|
|
#
¿
Jul 6, 2014 10:29
|
|
|
Shrink. I wanna kill. Count me in.
|
|
#
¿
Jul 7, 2014 18:01
|
|
|
The Alchemist's Churn, 134 words. It was a magic trick. Take a bucket of cream, stick some wood in it, plunge it for a spell, and there. Rich, creamy gold, fit right for the market. Pure, salt of the earth magic. He didn't remember much these days. Not since the accident. Couldn't remember his name, or his favorite color, or how he'd got in this little white room. He didn't even bother to ask who all the people who came in to poke and prod and question him were anymore. It didn't seem to matter. He'd forget them by the time they left anyway. He remembered how it felt, though, melting on his tongue, how it shined fresh from the bucket. Everything else slipped away, but the gold and its magic stayed with him. It was all he needed.
|
|
#
¿
Jul 10, 2014 06:39
|
|
|
Best In Show: Midnight Purple by We Landed On The Moon. Best Collaboration: T-Rex and Djinn. Most Interesting Character: Black Jesus.
|
|
#
¿
Jul 12, 2014 04:23
|
|
|
poo poo-TALKIN' WORD BOUNTY , 100 words. Sweet rig, Seb. Who can root against a cyborg? I mean, I get it. Your own poo poo wasn't hot enough for TD, so you chipped in an AI to do the heavy-lifting for you. No shame in that. A word of advice, though? I'd invest in two things: 1) A back-up, because when Guinness and I come out swinging, we're gonna crash the gently caress out of that antiquated piece of poo poo, and 2) an appointment for full mechanization, because once this brawl is over humanity ain't gonna want poo poo to do with your broken down rear end. Praise The Sun, bitches.
|
|
#
¿
Jul 13, 2014 04:20
|
|
|
Link to Kronus, Birth Your Children, 1178 Words: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1NPq2SNVmSpNYZPnafJZZ9Ut3OtM9mm3Fg0kE7xD9omI/edit?usp=sharing
|
|
#
¿
Jul 13, 2014 10:48
|
|
|
Now this is a prompt I can get behind. WHY DUCKS KICK ALL THE rear end EVER, 150 words. Let's just get real: Ducks are loving superheroes. They swim like a goddamn fish. They catch and devour said fish because actually gently caress that, they swim better. On top of all that, ducks can go from diving to the bottom of a lake straight to flappin' the gently caress out of that noise, at anywhere from anywhere from 50 to 60 miles per hour. Can you go 60 miles per goddamn hour? No. You can't. Because you're not a duck. They're like a submarine and an F-16 had a night of passionate bizarre mechanical love, and then their offspring was more kick-rear end than both of them combined. They can go just about anywhere. They're omnivores, so they can eat just about anything. When it's time to make a nest, they'll rip their own loving feathers out just for a personal touch. Metal. As. poo poo. Ducks are loving rad.
|
|
#
¿
Jul 13, 2014 18:44
|
|
|
Entenzahn posted:DuckyB comes closest to 150 words on duck magnificence. Pick my team. Man this would be a great moment for a heel turn. But I'mma stay face and say come join us for the glory of Team Sun.
|
|
#
¿
Jul 14, 2014 00:52
|
|
|
DuckyB posted:Link to Kronus, Birth Your Children, 1178 Words: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1NPq2SNVmSpNYZPnafJZZ9Ut3OtM9mm3Fg0kE7xD9omI/edit?usp=sharing Just wanted to quote and repost at deadline because Twist mentioned it wasn't in the archives, and I posted it at an odd time.
|
|
#
¿
Jul 14, 2014 05:06
|
|
|
Aw poo poo yes, let's do this. In.
|
|
#
¿
Jul 15, 2014 04:53
|
|
|
Phobia posted:
Save it. You're pretentious. This club sucks. I've got beef. Let's do it. Brawl me in the ballpit, Pho. Winner takes an eye.
|
|
#
¿
Jul 15, 2014 05:59
|
|
|
My card:  Mama's Girl, 1200 words. It was beautiful, once. Hub records indicated that this land used to be a peach tree orchard. The whole state was known for them, back before the invasion. Before they burned the South to a cinder, and left the Scar behind. Most people didn't think about that too much anymore. Life in the Scar didn't lend too well to navel-gazing and mulling over the past. The present had enough problems. I think I knew that better than most, at this point. If my eye wasn't buzzing in all the information about this place it could find in the hub into my brain, I wouldn't have stopped to reflect on the history lesson. I was a little too focused on scaling my way up the rotting, splintered facade of the ranch house and kill any rear end in a top hat I found inside. It took me three days to find this place. Three days wandering the Scar without transport, a plan, or even some loving supplies. I could have put a page out through the Hub, but I didn't have anything to barter with on me, and I didn't want debt on my ledger. Besides, there was something satisfying about clawing my way here on my own. It'd make getting back at the fuckers inside more enjoyable. A quick roll through the second floor window landed me in the middle of a meth lab. poo poo I needed my kit, and I needed to figure out what the hell was going on here. My eye could only do so much on its own. I crept through the rows of lovely, scattered equipment, following the signal coded into my tools until I reached a filthy brown curtain. Bingo. My kit. Creak. The stairs. It wasn't safe to be in the open. The curtain fluttered as I ducked behind it, and slowly, carefully slid the large, hollow knife from it's sheath within my stolen bag. One set of footsteps, wandering around inside the lab. They were coming closer. As soon as they passed by the curtain, my arms shot out, wrapping around the neck of a short, squat, squealing man in front of me and jamming the point under his chin. “My name is Ramona,” I rasped dryly. “You have my kit.” He wasn't one of the bandits that robbed me out in the wastes, though. That raised a few questions. “Where did you get it?” I whispered, teasing his neck with the tip of the blade. “P-please, I didn't know, I didn't do anythin-” A knee to his kidney might have helped remind him what I wanted. “The Bazaar,” he yelped, “black market, New Atlanta!” “Do you work for them?” “No!” I could feel him shivering in my arms. “I deal, a little, but I'm just a supplier!” A merchant, and a lovely one. He couldn't tell me who I wanted to find, but he could give me an in. That's all I needed him for. “Credentials. Now.” “W-what?” I drove the point up just deep enough into his skin to draw blood. “You bought my kit. That means you're smart enough to know your way around the Hub. You deal for them, so you've got to have secure vendor credentials to contact them with. I want them. Now.” “Halycon,” he yelped, “Access one-six-two-nine-zero!” My hand drifted around from his neck and gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Good man.” I'm sure he hardly felt the knife drive up into his throat. While he cooled on the floor, I walked back into the dingy closet and retrieved my bag. It was time to go to work. --- Halycon's access number barely scraped the surface of what the Bazaar's secure sector of the Hub. Still, I knew the name. They were a cocky bunch of loving rookies when it came to digital work, so it didn't take me long to crack in a little deeper now that I had a foot in the door. Within a couple hours, I had a full list of their contacts, recent customers, and recent acquisitions. That last one was where they hosed up. There was a whole list of high end com-tech that was way above their usual pay-grade. Word of a score like that got around. In fact, I had a pretty drat good idea where they got it. It was time to call Mama. --- After the invasion, when everything went to poo poo and half the country got fried into the Scar, tech infrastructure was pretty low on the list of priorities. Food, water, shelter, clothes, that's what everyone wanted. Everyone except Mama Belle and her crew. They took the long-shot, batshit insane bid of rebuilding communication from the ground up, and ate up every bolt of pre-invasion communication tech, from relics to prototypes, that they could get their hands on. It was bold, to be diplomatic, and loving crazy to be realistic. Never should have worked. Belle Communications practically owns half the Scar these days. Everything thing, from short-wave handsets to the long-distance, ever present Hub belonged to them, and nobody set up shop without their approval. They built my eye. They built my kit. They practically built me. Mama Belle swept me in from cracking ATMs on the street, cleaned the poo poo off my clothes and the drugs outta my head, and turned me into one of her girls on the ground. An eye and an ear plugged into the Hub at all times, helping her and the company stay ahead. Those stupid fucks had no idea who I was when they stole my poo poo and left me for dead in the wastes, but they sure as hell knew Mama. They knew Belle-Com. They'd manage to rip-off an on the sly lab in Austin and make off with a poo poo ton of Mama's new toys, and none of us had a goddamn clue about it because we kept waiting for something to surface on the market. We kept waiting for somebody to brag, or for an auction to go up, but we didn't get poo poo, because they weren't selling and they weren't talking. They were hoarding. It was such a stupid loving idea that we didn't even consider it, but they were looking to try and cut into the market. They didn't just steal Mama's property. They wanted to steal her customers. She wasn't gonna like that. She wasn't gonna like having to wait this long to hear about them. She sure as hell wasn't gonna like hearing that they tried to kill one of her girls. She'd like having me back, though. She'd like rallying up security and mapping out the hit. She'd like dancing on the ashes of the Bazaar with me before heading back to business. Yep. We'd have a grand old time, Mama and I. All because of some greedy bastards on the road who couldn't leave a girl and her bag alone. Maybe we'd have never found 'em if they'd let me on without any trouble. Call it karma. Call it fate. Call it whatever the gently caress you want. For me, it was just good old fashioned justice, served hot and ready. Delicious.
|
|
#
¿
Jul 21, 2014 05:28
|
|
|
|
| # ¿ Apr 25, 2024 19:09 |
|
|
Phobia posted:Hey Entenzahn, can we get an extension on the Ballpit Brawl? I want to knock my entry the gently caress out but I completely forgot both deadlines are on the same day. Seconding that an extension would be awesome, I'm dealing with some family stuff right now and a little bit of extra time would be really appreciated.
|
|
#
¿
Aug 2, 2014 02:16
|
|