Are you guys telling me you don't save your stories on your computer?
Agent Orange Member
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Maximum Comics: Dawn of Justice | REBRANDING - PLEASE STAY TUNED
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9 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
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9 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
And on that rather trite cliffhanger I'm leaving you guys for probably a week. FIFA 16 is coming out tomorrow.
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9 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
GRAND JUNCTION, COLORADO
MARCH 26TH 08:03 AM
Bonnie’s directions had been scribbled so hastily and so nervously that they were barely legible, but fortunately for Greg, Tina’s place was easy to find. It was a brisk half hour walk to the homely looking, one bedroom house, not far from the Colorado Mesa University, where The Chinatown Kid’s letter told him Tina was studying film and animation. Top of her class, Jim had written proudly.
Taking a look through the windows, the elder cowboy saw nothing out of the ordinary. Everything seemed clean and tidy – or as clean and tidy as you could expect from a young, single college student. A few pizza boxes were strewn about, there was a ruffled blanket on the couch and a glass full of dried up tea leaves sat next to it. On the living room table dishes stood unattended and laundry littered chairs.
Greg turned and scanned the neighbourhood. Children were skateboarding off a ramp up the street, a woman was walking by with her dog and a man two houses over was lazily picking up his newspaper. Suburban paradise.
The urban cowboy knew what that meant, even if it had taken him a long time to get used to it. He walked around to the other side of the house, where there was a small garden and patio. By the backdoor there were a couple of empty wine bottles, one filled with about a dozen cigarette stubs. Standing against the wall was a locked up mountain bike. That seemed to cancel out Bonnie’s boyfriend’s theory.
Greg tried the door. Unlocked. Just like his wife had told him a thousand times after they had retired to Florida. “Leave it. This isn’t New York, this is a good neighbourhood.” The way she’d say ‘good neighbourhood’ always made him laugh. “What’s wrong with New York?” he’d ask and she’d shoot him a look.
He missed her.
Inside, Greg searched for signs of a struggle – and signs of something worse – but there was nothing to find except dust and dirty dishes. Then, the cowboy noticed something, lying in a chair under a mess of clothes. He pulled out a small, cardboard canvas covered in canvas. Drawn on it were little panels, a storyboard of sorts for an animation she must have been working on. In the sketches, Greg could make out two masked figures, brandishing guns. In the top right, it read: ‘The Vigilante and the Chinatown Kid’.
Greg smiled, proud, flattered. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
If the cowboy had been paying more attention, he’d he have noticed the man clad coming up behind him. He’d have noticed the cord held in the man’s hand, slowly reaching up and now violently across Greg’s neck.
“Hhuurgh!”
If he had noticed, it might not have been too late.
MARCH 26TH 08:03 AM
Bonnie’s directions had been scribbled so hastily and so nervously that they were barely legible, but fortunately for Greg, Tina’s place was easy to find. It was a brisk half hour walk to the homely looking, one bedroom house, not far from the Colorado Mesa University, where The Chinatown Kid’s letter told him Tina was studying film and animation. Top of her class, Jim had written proudly.
Taking a look through the windows, the elder cowboy saw nothing out of the ordinary. Everything seemed clean and tidy – or as clean and tidy as you could expect from a young, single college student. A few pizza boxes were strewn about, there was a ruffled blanket on the couch and a glass full of dried up tea leaves sat next to it. On the living room table dishes stood unattended and laundry littered chairs.
Greg turned and scanned the neighbourhood. Children were skateboarding off a ramp up the street, a woman was walking by with her dog and a man two houses over was lazily picking up his newspaper. Suburban paradise.
The urban cowboy knew what that meant, even if it had taken him a long time to get used to it. He walked around to the other side of the house, where there was a small garden and patio. By the backdoor there were a couple of empty wine bottles, one filled with about a dozen cigarette stubs. Standing against the wall was a locked up mountain bike. That seemed to cancel out Bonnie’s boyfriend’s theory.
Greg tried the door. Unlocked. Just like his wife had told him a thousand times after they had retired to Florida. “Leave it. This isn’t New York, this is a good neighbourhood.” The way she’d say ‘good neighbourhood’ always made him laugh. “What’s wrong with New York?” he’d ask and she’d shoot him a look.
He missed her.
Inside, Greg searched for signs of a struggle – and signs of something worse – but there was nothing to find except dust and dirty dishes. Then, the cowboy noticed something, lying in a chair under a mess of clothes. He pulled out a small, cardboard canvas covered in canvas. Drawn on it were little panels, a storyboard of sorts for an animation she must have been working on. In the sketches, Greg could make out two masked figures, brandishing guns. In the top right, it read: ‘The Vigilante and the Chinatown Kid’.
Greg smiled, proud, flattered. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
If the cowboy had been paying more attention, he’d he have noticed the man clad coming up behind him. He’d have noticed the cord held in the man’s hand, slowly reaching up and now violently across Greg’s neck.
“Hhuurgh!”
If he had noticed, it might not have been too late.
In
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9 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
GRAND JUNCTION, COLORADO
MARCH 26TH 07:21 AM
Coffee. Somewhat decent, real coffee. Greg Saunders cherished every sip. His wife had thrown out the old coffee maker years ago. They had started drinking different ‘blends’ instead, coffee you didn’t filter but got out of a pad. The lady behind the counter had tried to sell it to him, but Greg had been insistent. “Plain, regular old coffee will do me just fine.”
The elder cowboy looked over to Miguel, who was scarfing down his third plate of pancakes. Greg had barely been able to finish his eggs, toast and bacon.
While Greg looked at Miguel, Maria looked at Greg. She couldn’t figure him out. What he did for them on the bus, what he was doing now. A man in his seventies, dressed up like a cowboy with no luggage, travelling straight across the States. “What are you in town for Mr. Saunders?” she asked, one hand on her cup of coffee, the other gently stroking Miguel’s hair.
“An old friend asked for my help,” Greg replied and for a second, his hand went up to the letter, still resting in his shirt’s pocket.
“Your help?” Maria enquired further, but Greg just gave her a wry smile. He turned to Miguel, who all through breakfast had never actually looked down at what he was he eating. No, the kid sat transfixed, looking at the hat Greg had worn and which was now sitting on the table.
“You like that, don’t ya, kid?” Miguel nodded.
Greg handed him the hat and immediately, the young boy dropped everything to hold it. Setting the hat on his head, he was quickly lost in his imagination, fighting with and shooting at imaginary bad guys.
“My friend’s granddaughter disappeared a few days ago,” Greg said as he turned back to Maria. “She might be in trouble.”
She was about to express her concern when a waitress came up with a pot of coffee. “Refill?”
“Please,” Greg replied as he held out his cup.
“Do you know what happened?” Maria asked.
Greg thanked the waitress, who moved on to the next booth. “I’m afraid I haven’t a clue. From what her family has told me, she was fine one day, gone the next.” The waitress stopped moving and made some hasty small talk with the other patrons. “They haven’t heard from her in two weeks.”
Greg took a sip from his coffee and in the corner from her eyes, could see the waitress was still hovering. “Miss?” he asked.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” she replied as she returned to the table, “but you wouldn’t happen to be talking about Tina Leong, would you?”
“And if we were?” Greg asked.
“Oh, no, I mean,” the waitress was startled, “Tina’s a friend of mine and I’ve been worried sick. I didn’t think much of it at first, but nobody has seen or talked to her in a while. My boyfriend says maybe she’s down in the valley, camping by herself – y'know she likes biking there, but she never goes without telling anyone.”
Greg looked the waitress over – her nametag read Bonnie – and judged her to be sincere. “Miss, you wouldn’t happen to know where she lives, would you?”
“Oh, yeah, sure.”
“Would you mind giving me some directions?”
“Of course,” Bonnie replied and immediately started scribbling on her notepad.
Greg got up and noticing, Miguel offered him back his hat.
“Keep it, kid.”
“Won’t you need it?”
Bonnie handed Greg the directions, which he tucked into his jeans’ back pocket. In doing so, he grazed his revolver, still nestled snugly against his back, under his shirt.
“Don’t worry about me. I’ve got everything I need.”
MARCH 26TH 07:21 AM
Coffee. Somewhat decent, real coffee. Greg Saunders cherished every sip. His wife had thrown out the old coffee maker years ago. They had started drinking different ‘blends’ instead, coffee you didn’t filter but got out of a pad. The lady behind the counter had tried to sell it to him, but Greg had been insistent. “Plain, regular old coffee will do me just fine.”
The elder cowboy looked over to Miguel, who was scarfing down his third plate of pancakes. Greg had barely been able to finish his eggs, toast and bacon.
While Greg looked at Miguel, Maria looked at Greg. She couldn’t figure him out. What he did for them on the bus, what he was doing now. A man in his seventies, dressed up like a cowboy with no luggage, travelling straight across the States. “What are you in town for Mr. Saunders?” she asked, one hand on her cup of coffee, the other gently stroking Miguel’s hair.
“An old friend asked for my help,” Greg replied and for a second, his hand went up to the letter, still resting in his shirt’s pocket.
“Your help?” Maria enquired further, but Greg just gave her a wry smile. He turned to Miguel, who all through breakfast had never actually looked down at what he was he eating. No, the kid sat transfixed, looking at the hat Greg had worn and which was now sitting on the table.
“You like that, don’t ya, kid?” Miguel nodded.
Greg handed him the hat and immediately, the young boy dropped everything to hold it. Setting the hat on his head, he was quickly lost in his imagination, fighting with and shooting at imaginary bad guys.
“My friend’s granddaughter disappeared a few days ago,” Greg said as he turned back to Maria. “She might be in trouble.”
She was about to express her concern when a waitress came up with a pot of coffee. “Refill?”
“Please,” Greg replied as he held out his cup.
“Do you know what happened?” Maria asked.
Greg thanked the waitress, who moved on to the next booth. “I’m afraid I haven’t a clue. From what her family has told me, she was fine one day, gone the next.” The waitress stopped moving and made some hasty small talk with the other patrons. “They haven’t heard from her in two weeks.”
Greg took a sip from his coffee and in the corner from her eyes, could see the waitress was still hovering. “Miss?” he asked.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” she replied as she returned to the table, “but you wouldn’t happen to be talking about Tina Leong, would you?”
“And if we were?” Greg asked.
“Oh, no, I mean,” the waitress was startled, “Tina’s a friend of mine and I’ve been worried sick. I didn’t think much of it at first, but nobody has seen or talked to her in a while. My boyfriend says maybe she’s down in the valley, camping by herself – y'know she likes biking there, but she never goes without telling anyone.”
Greg looked the waitress over – her nametag read Bonnie – and judged her to be sincere. “Miss, you wouldn’t happen to know where she lives, would you?”
“Oh, yeah, sure.”
“Would you mind giving me some directions?”
“Of course,” Bonnie replied and immediately started scribbling on her notepad.
Greg got up and noticing, Miguel offered him back his hat.
“Keep it, kid.”
“Won’t you need it?”
Bonnie handed Greg the directions, which he tucked into his jeans’ back pocket. In doing so, he grazed his revolver, still nestled snugly against his back, under his shirt.
“Don’t worry about me. I’ve got everything I need.”
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Maximum Comics: Dawn of Justice | REBRANDING - PLEASE STAY TUNED
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9 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
So who wanted to do Kamen Rider again?
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9 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
It's not so much the character, it's the lack of appearances in comics? By that rule, I could play Bilbo Baggins because there's Hobbit graphic novels. I just think it depends on how well the character fits into the world. As long as it's not too out there (looking at you, manga) then it should be good to go. I didn't realize a middle-aged desk jockey would cause such a stir.
Why not both? He barely appears and is barely what you call a character. That he's a reference to George Smiley is likely, but it's not confirmed. So he's George, M's secretary.
And let's not call this is a stir. I'm just voicing my opinion - and without support at that. So again, I'm fine with whatever outcome. I certainly don't want to hinder you in the story you want to tell.
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9 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
It probably is a stretch without a doubt, yes, but if he’s mentioned in a comic continuity as a character that exists he definitely falls under the ‘indie comics’ clause we sort of added. Does he have a lot of stuff to go on? Maybe, maybe not; but I do trust Byrd to handle it and from my perspective I’m not sure what harm it would do to allow the inclusion?
He's George, M's secretary, that's the character. All the Le Carré stuff is ultimately conjecture. George Smiley is not in any real way, shape or form a comics character. And I'm fine with whatever you want, really. It's just my nature as a nosy, contrary son of a bitch to say: aren't you opening the gates a little too far? 'Comics' is in the title of the RPG for a reason.
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9 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
I hate to be that guy, especially to @Byrd Man (sorry, mate), but isn't George Smiley a bit of a stretch? I just pulled out my copy of the Black Dossier and if you count all the panels, I doubt 'George' gets to a full page. If you hadn't told me, I might well have missed the reference (I probably did before) and it's not like he resembles Le Carré's character in a way that matters. Considering there's so many spy characters that can be pulled from comics, it seems a bit to odd to take one from literature.
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9 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
George Smiley was in a comic?
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9 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
GRAND JUNCTION, COLORADO
MARCH 24TH 05:30 AM
It had been three days. Greg Saunders’ bones ached, creaked and protested at every move. Three days stuck in a bus, watching America roll by. Layovers at ungodly times. Dinners and breakfast in dingy roadside restaurants. Time spent reading, eating, sleeping and watching people come and go. Greg rarely exchanged a word with them.
Now, he was finally at his destination. Grand Junction, Colorado. It was where the Chinatown Kid’s letter had pointed him.
“Sir? Sir?”
Greg Saunders paid no heed to the voice behind him as he got off the bus.
“Sir? Sir!”
Now he turned around. It was the lady he’d helped ward off unwanted advances. Her son hid behind her leg, his face peeking out every so often to look at Greg, then hiding itself quickly again.
“I never thanked you for the help back there.” She said, a little ashamed of herself. Greg had seen her look back often to where he sat in the back of the bus. Sometimes he’d give her a courteous nod and she’d look away again. The process repeated itself at every major stop, as people filed out of the bus. When they had gone and she’d notice he was still there, she’d smile a little.
“That’s alright, ma’am.”
“No, really, thank you.” Greg wasn’t sure what to make of her. He could tell she had been in trouble before – and that she had fought back. She had been fighting back her whole life, really. Only Greg didn’t know this was the first time anyone had bothered to fight for her.
So he tipped his hat and said: “It was my pleasure.” Greg turned to walk away.
“Wait!”
“Yes?”
“Can we buy you breakfast?” she asked. Behind her leg, her son held his breath. “It’s the least we can do.”
Greg looked the two over, then heard his stomach rumble. He smiled. “Sure.”
Her son exhaled and now, in a flurry of excitement, ran up to Greg, extending his hand. “My name’s Miguel. That’s my mom, Maria.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Miguel, Maria. Greg Saunders.” The old cowboy tipped his hat again and Miguel stood in awe. “Wow,” he worded silently.
“Come on, kid, let’s find a Denny’s.”
MARCH 24TH 05:30 AM
It had been three days. Greg Saunders’ bones ached, creaked and protested at every move. Three days stuck in a bus, watching America roll by. Layovers at ungodly times. Dinners and breakfast in dingy roadside restaurants. Time spent reading, eating, sleeping and watching people come and go. Greg rarely exchanged a word with them.
Now, he was finally at his destination. Grand Junction, Colorado. It was where the Chinatown Kid’s letter had pointed him.
“Sir? Sir?”
Greg Saunders paid no heed to the voice behind him as he got off the bus.
“Sir? Sir!”
Now he turned around. It was the lady he’d helped ward off unwanted advances. Her son hid behind her leg, his face peeking out every so often to look at Greg, then hiding itself quickly again.
“I never thanked you for the help back there.” She said, a little ashamed of herself. Greg had seen her look back often to where he sat in the back of the bus. Sometimes he’d give her a courteous nod and she’d look away again. The process repeated itself at every major stop, as people filed out of the bus. When they had gone and she’d notice he was still there, she’d smile a little.
“That’s alright, ma’am.”
“No, really, thank you.” Greg wasn’t sure what to make of her. He could tell she had been in trouble before – and that she had fought back. She had been fighting back her whole life, really. Only Greg didn’t know this was the first time anyone had bothered to fight for her.
So he tipped his hat and said: “It was my pleasure.” Greg turned to walk away.
“Wait!”
“Yes?”
“Can we buy you breakfast?” she asked. Behind her leg, her son held his breath. “It’s the least we can do.”
Greg looked the two over, then heard his stomach rumble. He smiled. “Sure.”
Her son exhaled and now, in a flurry of excitement, ran up to Greg, extending his hand. “My name’s Miguel. That’s my mom, Maria.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Miguel, Maria. Greg Saunders.” The old cowboy tipped his hat again and Miguel stood in awe. “Wow,” he worded silently.
“Come on, kid, let’s find a Denny’s.”
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