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sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

On brawling, by Sebmojo:



brawling what so someone said something mean and your bottom lip is doing that quivery thing and you feel like you can't go a single second more without punching a motherfucker? thunderdome has just the thing.

you can't fight here it's the Thunderdome when two people hate each other very much, and one of them is you, you get to slap down a challenge. make it big, make it brassy; you're slapping your sex bits down on the bar, try and make 'em bounce a little.

help someone's slapped me with something help accepting brawl challenges isn't required, but if you like to sling the poo poo around (and you should) then failing to back up your bad words with good ones will be remembered.

how does it work? once you've thrown down a challenge, and had it accepted, a brawl judge will step up just like that weird bartender in The Shining. they'll give you a prompt, a word count and a deadline. they'll also, and this is real important, state the this means if you fail to submit by the deadline then you get banned. the judge doesn't need to give you an extension.

what do you mean banned brawl toxxes are obligatory. if you're actually a literal secret agent and you've just discovered you're parachuting into Syria in two hours time then get on irc, snivel at your judge and maybe they'll remove the from the prompt, but expect that to be a one-time mercy if you gently caress it up.

anything else? don't challenge anyone until you've done a few rounds, good grudges take time to fester, don't step up to judge a brawl unless you've at least got an HM or the participants have asked you to, and declining a random drive-by brawl is more acceptable than one with a grudge behind it. this place runs on words, and hatred, and you gotta fuel the fire

is that it yes, fight well you horrible monsters

sebmojo fucked around with this message at Jan 16, 2018 around 11:28

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sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk


sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

get your goddam fight on you babbling numpties

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

what

where

our prompt

the gently caress

WHERE

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

who by fire

vis a vis the fire imma use to burn all you're bitch asses

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

Antivehicular posted:

From IRC just now:

[01:24:48] <Antivehicular> MOTHERFUCKER
[01:24:59] <Antivehicular> my loving song got sniped

Anyway. In, and I guess if I can't have The Stranger Song, I'll take "Take This Waltz."

Guiness13 posted:

That's funny, Take This Waltz would have been my second choice, too.

that sounds like a villainous act, anti-v you probably want to get some satisfaction

750 words, the worst heist by the smartest criminals

due 18 Jan 2018 2359 pst

up and face to bloodshed

sebmojo fucked around with this message at Jan 8, 2018 around 08:22

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

flerp posted:

flerp is an idiot

a brutal truth we all grapple with daily

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

CantDecideOnAName posted:

Fine, stay as the bitch you are. Time waits for no man and neither do I.

I'll fight you.

.

Someone do the needful.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

In mortal chains
378 words

sebmojo fucked around with this message at Jan 1, 2019 around 23:25

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

Crow
14 words

Crow Crow

Crow

CrowCrowCrow Crow

Croooooow crow crow

Crow cr

Ow cr ow

Crow

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

yeah, in

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

Antivehicular posted:

Antivehicular vs. Guiness13 Leonard Cohen Song Selection Grudgematch 2k18 brawl post

Heavy Machinery
745 words
Prompt: the worst heist by the smartest criminals

Driving a forklift isn't like riding a bike, it turns out; it is't tsk, always proofread well for brawls coming back all that quickly, and going faster sure as Hell isn't making it easier. Jackson's warehouse-work days are longer ago than he realized, and the science-supply warehouse is way overstocked, with tight corridors and teetering pallets. An OSHA inspector would die on the spot. Jackson's not sure he's getting out alive, either, as he carefully negotiates the maze, trying to keep his cargo steady. this is a woefully tangled first para, for all it's an amusing image

The linchpin of the plan is the goddamn glassware. Professor Partridge's formulation is a sure winner: a euphoric, slightly sedative hallucinogenic, Baby's First Acid for the weed crowd. Not close enough to anything scheduled to be on the radar yet. The synthesis is a little tricky, but Jackson agrees with Partridge that that's a bonus -- keeps the kitchen chuds out of the market, hopefully for long enough for them to stack bank and get out. The reagents are all common and cheap enough that they can order them by the bucket on the Chem Department's dime without anyone blinking. But the glassware? Stuff for tricky synthesis, mostly -- too expensive to casually order, too esoteric to steal and write off as breakage from 100-level labs, and too regulated to just buy without sellers demanding permits. Partridge is not interested in loving around with shell companies. They've already wasted so much goddamn time in academia. Jackson got volunteered to lift it once Partridge heard about his undergraduate warehouse work, and he's trying to tell itself it'll be worth it once the darknet sales start up. a straight up infodump, goddam. for all that it's smoothly enough delivered and conveys some ok character, i'm not sure you couldn't have worked this into action better? also you're doing breaking bad with the lightest coat of paint, noone better say SCIENCE BITCHES K

LabStar Science Supply has a good selection and lovely security, the kind Jackson was able to buy off with a bag of prototype party powder, but they package like poo poo. Even as Jackson slows down and keeps the forklift steady, he can hear the crate of Erlenmeyer flasks at the bottom of the load clanking against one another. God knows how the Soxhlet extractors are faring. Christ, Jackson wishes he'd blazed up for this. The cold fry of anxiety is making his hands shake on the forklift controls, even as he rounds the last corner and sees the loading bay in sight, with the rental truck in position. Thank God. One last straightaway...

The glassware clanks. The shelves creak. Jackson's heart hammers. He drives the slowest, longest 100 feet of his life across the floor and up the loading ramp before he deposits the pallet of glassware in the truck. Partridge has already half-stocked the thing with Chem Department salvage, and there aren't any load straps left, but he manages to get things wedged in somewhere. Only five miles to the lab site, right? Once it's loaded and he's parked the forklift, Jackson climbs into the cab, anxiety dissolving into a runner's high. "Hey, Prof. We're good to go." you do a pretty good job of making driving a forklift slowly into a tense heist sorta thing, but it would have been much better if there was an actual time limit or a guard or something?

"Fantastic," says Partridge, and gets the rental truck lurching back to life. This thing is way too loving big. Why rent a tall panel truck when a U-Haul would have done the job? Maybe in a couple of trips, Jackson thinks as he stares out the window and listens to Partridge's GPS chirping out directions, but it's probably better if the university stuff shrinks slowly. They've got the goods, they've got the plans, and they've got all the time in the world. Now they just have to...

The GPS calls out a direction, a turn that sounds familiar. A Youtube video of a low overpass. "Um, Prof? Did you check the clearance on this thing?"

Partridge glances away from the road, pushes his glasses up his nose. "This is a heavy industrial traffic district, Jackson. There's no reason to assume --"

The roof of the truck hits the overpass, and the overpass wins. There's a crunch as metal shears away and the truck jerks to a stop, and then the thumps and crashes of the cargo following Newton's laws. No load straps. Jackson closes his eyes and tries to forget the sound of a dozen Soxhlet extractors breaking at once. this complication is straightforward but well delivered

"Goddammit," says Partridge, with a cold calm that Jackson knows from years of failed experiments. "I'm calling the emergency line." this is extremely walter white, too much i think

"If you do that, we're going completely to jail --"

"They're not going to look back there! Stay calm, Jackson." Partridge starts dialing, and Jackson bites down on his lip and tastes blood. Every instinct tells him to run, but reason wins out. What's he going to do if he runs? Find another thesis advisor? aaaand a final gag which is adequate if not inspired.

So this is a straight up segment from a breaking bad episode with the lightest coat of paint, but it's well delivered, hits the prompt well, and does a solid job of characterisation. It could have done with a little more challenge, and it's a snippet out of the middle of a story, but i guess 750 words doesn't leave you much to play with.

Guiness13 posted:

Guiness13 v. Antivehicular brawl
Prompt: The worst heist by the smartest criminals

Egress 743 words

You don’t hit the private vault of the Salvatore Family without being careful. You gently caress up, cops are the least of your worries. But after working for Vincent Salvatore for ten years, watching him let my friends get shot or arrested if it meant a better profit, I was willing to take the risk. tidy cliche opener, i'm prepped for criminals doing heist stuff w/out too much fuss or bother

“There’s no guard,” I said, “just a clerk that has access. We get in, have him open the vault, tie him up, get anything small enough to carry, and get out.”

Don rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, Tim. You only been over it fifty times.” i'd have this line with the prior one rather than in a separate para He got out of the car and crossed the street. I followed, jogging to catch up.

We walked in past the office front and hit the stairwell. Downstairs was a long hall. In a small room to the right was a desk and an oversized metal door. The clerk looked up with a raised eyebrow. I pulled my gun. i think the issue with cliche gangster writing is you want to make sure you're putting effort into teh details, so it's good zingy cliche - there's not a single interesting image or detail in this, which is a waste - an evocative image at the front of the story colours the rest, and it's not like you have dozens of years of heist films to crib off (that's a lie: you actually do)

“Open it up or die. Your choice.”

“You do know who owns this vault, don’t you?”

“I’m not an idiot. Last chance.” Oh. Not so progressive then.why not give this guy some flavour? make him an rear end in a top hat, a sweetheart, a snivelling dick.

He smirked, but got up and put in the code. A heavy grinding came from the door and it swung open an inch or two.

Don tied the guy to his chair while I pulled it open. One side of the vault was lined with drawers. The other held larger objects, paintings, sculptures. The only thing on the far wall was an air vent. i think you're going for clipped and laconic, which is fine (and your sentence level writing is competent) but you're again missing opportunities to make me care about the characters.

I rushed to the first row of drawers and yanked one open. Dozens of little velvet sacks lined it. I opened one. Diamonds. I scooped the bags into my duffle. Don hustled to the far end and started emptying a drawer down there. So far, so good.

Then the door swung shut, gave a mechanical clank, and the electric buzz of maglocks kicked in. Dim emergency lights flicked on.

“Don? How well did you tie that guy up?”

“Zip-tied his hands together and taped him to the chair.” His breath was coming in ragged gasps. “Tim, what the gently caress?”

“What about his feet?”

“Oh gently caress, Tim. Oh gently caress me. We’re dead.”

I scanned the vault. My eyes locked on the air vent. It was about seven feet off the ground.

“Look for a box, or maybe a sturdy statue.” I pointed to the larger items across the room.

“What?” Don paced the row of drawers, running his hands through his hair as he went.

“You want to wait for them to open the door? We need to see if we can get that vent cover open, see where it goes.”

Two minutes later, we’d dragged the bust of a woman over below the vent. It had a wide base, and her shoulders were about level. I hopped up while Don held it steady. The vent was flush with the wall with eight screws holding it in place. this is an exciting drama, i hope they get up to teh vent

“Got a dime?” I said. Don handed me one, and I began fighting the screws loose. With the last one gone, the cover popped out a bit. I flung it at the vault door.

The vent itself looked like a tight fit, but doable. We’d have to leave the bags, though.

“Don, get the tickets, but leave the receipt for the plane tickets. We want them watching the airport as long as possible.” I dropped down and stuffed as many little velvet bags into pockets as I felt I could, considering the squeeze. Don tucked the bus tickets - bought with fake ids - and the plane tickets - bought with the real thing - in his jacket. Then I climbed back up the statue, put my arms as far into the vent as I could, and wriggled my way in. I heard Don do the same as soon as he had room. ok i'm glad all the details of their vent entry have been established. You've spent a lot longer on this than the character of the door guy, fyi.

After twenty feet of pitch dark, scary! I saw a vent in the floor up ahead. phew! I climbed on top of it, braced my back against the roof, and pushed. It tore away from the ductwork with a screech and clattered to ground. I followed head first, half-falling from the sudden loss of support. Don dropped down after me. We were both streaked black.

The hall was empty. Ahead, I heard someone shout, “Get it the gently caress open!” I pulled my gun, motioned for Don to do the same.

“Remember, we get through this, get to the bus station. Don’t get followed.” I took a deep breath. “Let’s get out of here.” that sounds like a potentially interesting scene, but I have my doubts

Simple enough, right? I DON'T KNOW YOU'RE THE WRITER

This is competent enough in its words, but is fatally dull in the story it tells, which is: people walk into a room, and then leave it. i think you could have vastly improved it with some better descriptive details and some actual character/emotion. It's also a snippet out of a bigger story that doesn't really resolve anything.


Overall these weren't terrible, but one was decidedly less terrible even though it was a borderline actionable rip off of a famous tv show ANTIVEHICULAR TAKES THE PRIZE

thank you for participating in this completely not contrived face off god bless you both and I hope neither of you die in the next little while.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

Unfunny Poster posted:

Should mention that any critique on my entry is welcomed.

Thanks!

This is every story, all the time. You dont need to say it. Anyone who wants to crit should just do it like a crazy person, just fuckin do it.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

Towerfall
1332 words

sebmojo fucked around with this message at Jan 1, 2019 around 23:26

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

Exmond posted:

Flash rule: Your story must include a ghost instructing you on puberty

Inspired by Sabriel

Interprompt: write a story about this in 200 words

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

Unfunny Poster posted:

Just got to reading the comments about the piece and these were really helpful. I'll be sure to keep these in mind for my next entries and work to avoid the mistakes I made.

I won't lie or pretend otherwise, I felt a bit lost with the prompt. Which maybe caused some of the story specific errors I made (eg. telling a folktale within a story) and not my grammar/writing issues.

Thanks again.

Infinitely no-one cares

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

Deltasquid posted:

Snarf marf marf snarf glarf flarf blarf. Warf farf farf garf. Marf! Flarf, barf zarf (barf, lol).

Harf larf farf irc!

well put

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

Gravedancing
1005 words

It's a mistake to think the past has gone, just because it happened a long time ago. Like the ground under your feet, it's what you stand on.

Around 0940 the doorbell rang. I'd set it to the sound of distant gunfire, so I had to grip the bench for a moment as waves of nausea washed through it. PTSD, it's what's for breakfast – better than the four boxes of nano-enhanced cybercereal bullshit I'd been staring at for the last two minutes, anyway.

I ran metal fingers through suddenly sweaty hair and raised my voice for the arbeiter. “House, who is i--”. The answer from the house system came a little faster than instantly, overriding the last letter of the question. “Unknown. Female, 168 centimeters, armed.”

I took three shaky breaths, and the door bell went again, ratatat, tat. Tat. The sound was from a recording of a mission that went bad, Myanmar in 2041. It was a reminder not to take chances. I looked down and my arm was elbow-deep in the second drawer down, hand on the butt of a splinter pistol. I pulled it out and checked the clip.

“Give me a --”

The picture came up before I'd finished my sentence, projected onto the cupboard door. Black hair, red lips, long coat. I frowned at the proddings of memory, then shook my head.

Seven steps and I was at the door. I cracked it open.

“I think I'm supposed to say you've got some nerve coming back here,” I said.

Nancy Mulligan looked at me with cool violet eyes, hands deep in the pockets of her long coat.

“And what aren't you supposed to say?”

“Come in, Nancy.” I pushed open the door and gestured with the gun. “But slowly. Tea?”

Five minutes later we were sitting around a little table drinking herbal tea. My gun was on the table, hooked into the arbeiter's camera and the trembler switch in my limbic system.

“One last job,” she said. She reached into her coat, and time slowed down as the lenses put a red threat halo and pulsed a KILL Y/N? command at me. I shook my head infinitesimally, and she smiled as she pulled out a speakstick and tossed it on the table.

“Sure,” I said. “What you got. House, unfold that thing for us.” The glowing spot on the table blinked twice in acknowledgment and a spidery information lattice unfurled from it, filling the room with her scheme.

“It's Macready. He survived Myanmar. He's coming for you, for us. I figure we burn him first, and hard. He's laundering drug money through property transactions, here, and here...”

As she highlighted the junctions of her plan I watched her, instead. She'd had work done, we all had, but subtle. Pheromone enhancers, reflex boosters, an ominous fluidity to her movements.

She finished talking, looked expectantly at me. I shrugged, smiled.

“One more thing, Raul – are the recordings safe? It's what he's after, making sure no-one knows what he did.”

Her eyes were gleaming in the reflected light of the plan and I felt a remembered spurt of desire for her. Probably the pheromones, a part of me thought, but there had been something more. That hot, endless night in Akyab, waiting for the freighter to dock, calling of gulls and the diesel smoke in the moist sea air.

“They're safe. But, really, this is some incredibly elaborate bullshit. How much did he pay you?”

The room was silent as we stared at each other.

I could see, in the utter stilness of her expression, the branching plot of move and countermove, and I supposed she could see it in mine.

Finally she glanced down at her tea, then looked up and smiled. Mona Lisa-like.

“It wasn't cheap. I like you too much for that Raul.”

“Right back at you. Nancy.” I hesitated for a moment, then triggered the kill switch with a twitch of my ears.

Nothing happened.

In spite of myself I glanced at the gun, and Nancy guffawed.

“Seriously? Using an arbeiter?”

With a blurred whipcrack of her leg she hooked the table and sent it flying at me, then launched herself across the room. I blocked it with a whirring of metal arm and felt a shock of hot blood as her fingernails sliced through my shirt.

She was on top of me now, knees on both my arms, razor nails at my throat.

“He'll be here any minute. Tell me where the recordings are and we can take him. There's info in there that will bring him down cold. I don't want to have to do this, Raul. You mean a lot to me.”

I looked in her eyes and I truly believed it. I thought for a moment about what might have been, what might still be.

Then the door bell went, rat a tat a tat and she stiffened, caught by the same drat prison of memory I lived in day by day. I extended the carbon flexors in my metal arm, pincered the splinter gun to me and put fifteen slivers into her back.

Her eyes were beautiful dead, too, expensive Korean neurocrystal.

I closed them forever then stood up as the door bell rang, again, checked the camera. It was Macready.

I walked, stiff-legged, to put another shovel of dirt into the grave of my past.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

Inter prompt NEVER EAT ANYTHING LARGER THAN YOUR HEAD 200 words

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

Yeah I'm in also, inscribe my name on the list of the damned etc

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

Oh yeah and flerp, you simpering dweeb, put your goddam wordfists up. I feel like having a brawl that you don't judge, for once.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

Exmond posted:

Can I make this everyone's worst nightmare and judge?

Write a good story first

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

Castles in the clouds
1000 words

sebmojo fucked around with this message at Jan 1, 2019 around 23:26

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

Interprompt: the pirate who fell in love with the mermaid or vice versa
300 words

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

BeefSupreme posted:

wth no judgment??? this place has really gone to the weeds

Fast judging is bad judging, now

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

Exmond posted:

I am going to do LiveCrits, since it worked well last time. This will also be my second read of some drafts so huzza

https://docs.google.com/document/d/...dit?usp=sharing

Real nice crittin.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

So is judging but it has deserted us here is my judgment instead

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

In with one of these days

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

Sitting Here posted:

flerp i'm gonna need someone to vouch for your brawl real quick or your rear end is grass. Mojo was confirmed via irc

clint_nodding.gif but he's actually shaking his head real slow

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

One of these days

Boarded up on memory lane
900 words

sebmojo fucked around with this message at Jan 1, 2019 around 23:26

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

TheGreekOwl posted:

Before I offer to be in, I have issues.

I should mention, I am a young contemporary artist with an interest in the philosophy of art

What the prompt has done is inserted an element of visual aesthetics into the mix it seems. It's not just about the conceptual content of what is written, but also the optic compositional form that will be judged. As a result, I must ask: how far exactly can we go with this experimentation? Will totally avante-garde story form be accepted? (as in not disqualified, crits are welcome) Will this be just a regular story, just do some cool visual stuff with the composition of the words?

If it's left to me, I will be going all the way with the experimentation, to a level that I am not sure if the judges will appreciate. I can always write a complementary aesthetics text to justify what I am doing, but that would probably getting into pretentious territory.

Lol

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

Exmond posted:

I don't really understand this post. But since you highlighted part of Ironic Twist's crit, Ironic Twist I apologize if you took my crit badly. It was meant to be praising your story and damning my own reading comprehension.

Secondly, I guess I'll stop posting crits. The bit about my story was an experiment, since I need to spend more time analyzing and taking advice on my own stories.

Thank you for the crit!

jesus don't be such a snivelling weeble, crits are good, keep doing them, don't flounce

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

Sitting Here posted:

You sound like someone who wants to get brawled by me

Yeah I'll judge that, let's say 'the terminator' as a prompt (but with no violence) and 850 words. Due 24 feb, 2359pst. Toxx up.

Oh and doof and exmond probably need a fight, someone else can judge.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

Chairchucker posted:

Although reminder, if you think brawls are dumb just say no thanks, don't let these dumb tools pressure you into something you don't actually want to do, like has definitely happened in the past

We're here to make stories, chucker.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

DRAFT FLORPBRAWL

[i]The Midnight Zone
750 words

sebmojo fucked around with this message at Jan 1, 2019 around 23:27

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

flerp posted:

It’s black eyes

gently caress youuuuuuu

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

flerp posted:

wow its almost like drafts have mistakes in them

It's almost like u have a mistake in you

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

So things are getting fighty which is good especially when you are dumb and come from seattle -- oh wait I stuttered.

Wellington crew is calling out you seattle buttlords, fight us.

I mean lol space needle it is not even in space. It's on the ground. It is a ground needle.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

with the Akkorokamui

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sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

Fyi we are in a training montage to this tune at the moment, writing more and more elaborate sentences and sitting under waterfalls with keyboards etc seattle crew going down hard, when they bother to show lol

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