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Gelatinous Overlord of the Sea
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Bio
ABOUT
Hey there! I'm a jellyfish, and you've just stumbled upon my trap bio, which is actually more of an info dump for prospective RP partners.
I'm a 28-year-old sea blob (ok, fine, I'm technically a woman) who is comfortable writing both male and female characters - usually one main alongside a whole cast of side-characters. If romance is a factor, I lean toward M x F and F x F pairings, but M x M isn't off the table. I'm interested in writing about different relationship styles and stages (maybe our characters just met, maybe they've been married for a decade, maybe they're polyamorous, or long-distance, or swingers, or friends with benefits), as well as non-romantic pairings (parent and child, siblings, close friends, rivals, mortal enemies, mentor and mentee - the possibilities are endless!)
I categorize myself as a high casual to advanced role-player, although my posts tend to vary wildly as far as length is concerned (rest assured you'll never get a one-liner from me.) I'm a fairly reclusive, so you won't catch me on the forums or participating in any kind of group. That being said, I have provided several writing samples below (three introductions and one mid-game post, to be specific), in case you're curious as to whether our writing styles are compatible.
I don't do fandoms - mostly because I'm very bad at it - but am more than happy to write something inspired by other works (in fact, I'll often reference movies or TV shows with similar plots when explaining an idea or concept to someone.)
I work 44+ hours a week, but will usually get in a post or two on the weekends at a bare minimum. My job is the sort of menial labour that allows me to OOC chat sporadically throughout the day without getting into shit for it, which usually happens over Discord (less so PMs, since this website is in no way formatted to be mobile friendly - sorry, not sorry.)
I'm interested in partners who are 21+, don't shy away from mature themes (including, but not limited to, graphic violence, strong language, sexuality, etc.), possess strong writing skills, and a solid understanding of the elements of good storytelling. If this sounds like you, and you have an idea for a plot (or want to hear one of mine), don't hesitate to drop me a line via PM!
GENRES
Action/adventure, crime, drama, fantasy (supernatural, urban, paranormal, Grimdark, and Gothic especially), historical (more so "recent" history - basically anything from the Industrial Revolution up until the Cold War Era, bonus points if it includes a paranormal or supernatural element), horror (one of my absolute favourites; demonic possession, bloodthirsty vampires, chainsaw-wielding maniacs, flesh-eating zombies - give it all to me), mystery, science fiction (particularly if it’s within the cyberpunk, space opera/Western, post-apocalyptic, or dystopian sub-genres), slice-of-life, and thriller (psychological and/or crime)
Mixing and matching of genres is highly encouraged!
SAMPLES
A collection of a handful of my RP writing samples (reader beware, strong language, violence, and a few mentions of drugs and nudity ahead)
It was the summer of 1959, and while a teenage boy in a bunker defiantly twisted the cap off of a bottle of coke with his mind, Andres Landeg lay sprawled out naked in a California King bed, at least three other bodies draped across his in various states of undress. All of them were dead.
The blackout curtains were drawn across the bedroom window, which, if opened, would reveal a panoramic view of the Pacific ocean, and several other bodies strewn across the beach. These were not his work, although he vaguely remembered his companions - wherever they were now - cackling amidst screams of horror. Subtlety was not required on a private beach, and they had all relished the opportunity to enjoy some long-anticipated bloodsport.
Andres, awake and smoking a cigarette, squinted up at the white stucco ceiling and tried to recall more details about the previous night's events.
All of his victims, cold and stiff, only now beginning to stink with the sickly sweet smell of decay, had been flush with the MDMA, quaaludes, marijuana, cocaine, and hard liquor his companions had plied them with when he had gorged himself on them, and his head still swam with the lingering effects of the dizzying combination of stimulants and depressants. As a result, his memory was an impressionist watercolour, most of it in varying shades of sticky, wet crimson.
He heard a crash down the hallway, and the door to his room was thrown open. Sofia, her long golden blonde hair in chaotic tangles framing her lipstick and blood-smeared face, also naked as the day she was born, swayed in the open doorway. "They're coming." She snarled, her icy blue eyes wide and bloodshot from the previous night's indulgences.
Andres sat up on his elbows with a groan, plucking the cigarette from his lips, extinguishing it on the pert grey ass of the woman draped across his lap, and flicked it across the room. "Listen, Sofia, sweetheart, we all warned you about overindulging last night-" I think "-But paranoia is just a side-effect of the drugs." He said, only a little worried, but mostly amused, to be witnessing the generally poised Sofia trembling like a rabid dog. "Now be a big girl and-"
"Shut the fuck up!" She hissed, her eyes darting wildly to the window, "They got the others. Rueben. Emilia. Vicky. Lit up the fucking boathouse with them all inside. Vicky tried to get away, but the sun..." There was the sound of movement outside, at least a dozen pairs of feet shuffling by the window, invisible behind the curtain. "I was under the house, I saw them load up the bodies into cadaver bags and...and take them." She said, her voice wavering with fear, a hoarse whisper now.
Another crash, this one coming from the front door being obliterated by a battering ram, and a male voice booming from an unseen source into the beach house. "Your friends are dead, you bloodsucking cunts! You better be flat on your fucking faces or you're fucking dust!"
Andres scrambled to his feet, unconcerned with covering his nakedness as he heard the scuffle of boots crossing the foyer, moving in a steady march toward the hallway.
Sofia choked back a sob. Andres had never once in a thousand years seen fear in her eyes like what he now saw, and it was enough to convince him to drop to his knees, then onto his belly, elbows splayed and fingers lacing over the back of his head. Sofia did the same. "We surrender." He croaked, his mouth dry. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
He saw the sand crusted black boots, military issue, begin to surround him, the cold barrel of a rifle poking the nape of his neck. "Christ! We fucking surrender!"
Sofia screamed, an angry, animalistic sound, somewhere to his left as she was dragged to her feet by the faceless men.
Andres thought of how much fun they had been having this decade, how much more fun they had planned to have, and then cursed himself for lacking the foresight to see this day coming.
Then the world plunged into darkness - a hood pulled over his head - and he felt himself being pulled up by his armpits and dragged toward an uncertain fate...
The blackout curtains were drawn across the bedroom window, which, if opened, would reveal a panoramic view of the Pacific ocean, and several other bodies strewn across the beach. These were not his work, although he vaguely remembered his companions - wherever they were now - cackling amidst screams of horror. Subtlety was not required on a private beach, and they had all relished the opportunity to enjoy some long-anticipated bloodsport.
Andres, awake and smoking a cigarette, squinted up at the white stucco ceiling and tried to recall more details about the previous night's events.
All of his victims, cold and stiff, only now beginning to stink with the sickly sweet smell of decay, had been flush with the MDMA, quaaludes, marijuana, cocaine, and hard liquor his companions had plied them with when he had gorged himself on them, and his head still swam with the lingering effects of the dizzying combination of stimulants and depressants. As a result, his memory was an impressionist watercolour, most of it in varying shades of sticky, wet crimson.
He heard a crash down the hallway, and the door to his room was thrown open. Sofia, her long golden blonde hair in chaotic tangles framing her lipstick and blood-smeared face, also naked as the day she was born, swayed in the open doorway. "They're coming." She snarled, her icy blue eyes wide and bloodshot from the previous night's indulgences.
Andres sat up on his elbows with a groan, plucking the cigarette from his lips, extinguishing it on the pert grey ass of the woman draped across his lap, and flicked it across the room. "Listen, Sofia, sweetheart, we all warned you about overindulging last night-" I think "-But paranoia is just a side-effect of the drugs." He said, only a little worried, but mostly amused, to be witnessing the generally poised Sofia trembling like a rabid dog. "Now be a big girl and-"
"Shut the fuck up!" She hissed, her eyes darting wildly to the window, "They got the others. Rueben. Emilia. Vicky. Lit up the fucking boathouse with them all inside. Vicky tried to get away, but the sun..." There was the sound of movement outside, at least a dozen pairs of feet shuffling by the window, invisible behind the curtain. "I was under the house, I saw them load up the bodies into cadaver bags and...and take them." She said, her voice wavering with fear, a hoarse whisper now.
Another crash, this one coming from the front door being obliterated by a battering ram, and a male voice booming from an unseen source into the beach house. "Your friends are dead, you bloodsucking cunts! You better be flat on your fucking faces or you're fucking dust!"
Andres scrambled to his feet, unconcerned with covering his nakedness as he heard the scuffle of boots crossing the foyer, moving in a steady march toward the hallway.
Sofia choked back a sob. Andres had never once in a thousand years seen fear in her eyes like what he now saw, and it was enough to convince him to drop to his knees, then onto his belly, elbows splayed and fingers lacing over the back of his head. Sofia did the same. "We surrender." He croaked, his mouth dry. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
He saw the sand crusted black boots, military issue, begin to surround him, the cold barrel of a rifle poking the nape of his neck. "Christ! We fucking surrender!"
Sofia screamed, an angry, animalistic sound, somewhere to his left as she was dragged to her feet by the faceless men.
Andres thought of how much fun they had been having this decade, how much more fun they had planned to have, and then cursed himself for lacking the foresight to see this day coming.
Then the world plunged into darkness - a hood pulled over his head - and he felt himself being pulled up by his armpits and dragged toward an uncertain fate...
Friday, February 23, 2018
If the weather was to be taken as an omen, Franklin Fournier's reluctant decision to return home had been a bad one.
It was just after 10:30 p.m., and he was throwing up his lunch in one of the cramped, metal walled stalls of the Salish Raven ferry's men's washroom.
His 5:15 p.m. ticket had been cancelled due to adverse weather conditions, but with the crowd of impatient passengers growing in the Westview terminal, and the captain eager to make it back to the Island for the start of his weekend, the 8:45 p.m. voyage had been given the green light by the powers that be of BC Ferries.
The waves rocking the shoreline had been so violent that it took the ferry almost an hour just to maneuver away from the dock, passengers and crew gripping railings or the arms of their chairs as the boat pitched and the saltwater crashed against the reinforced plexiglass windows.
Franklin had sat with his head between his knees for as long as he could stand to, before half running half stumbling to the nearest washroom, dropping to his knees to hug the brushed steel of the toilet bowl as the ferry pressed on through the tempest.
Franklin staggered back to his seat only after his stomach began to ache with emptiness. He was pale and shaken, his brow shiny with sweat, and when he sat down he quickly resigned himself to staring at his sneakers and the stained grey carpet beneath them, hugging himself with a suppressed groan as another wave made the passenger deck reel.
Truth be told, he hadn't taken a sober ferry ride since he had been a kid, which was also the last time he had been seasick in earnest.
Otherwise, flush with liquor, dope, or maybe an Oxy or two if he could get his hands on them, he had almost been able to enjoy voyages across the often temperamental Salish Sea that separated the Island from the mainland, although it had been years since his last journey.
Now, sober as a judge, and dreading what awaited him when he reached his destination, he felt his empty stomach lurch once more.
He debated eating something, just so he could purge again and distract his mind from the fear and anxiety that reared up inside of him like the many heads of a hydra.
"Frankie?" A hesitant female voice inquired, a shadow falling over him as a woman paused in the aisle beside his seat, "Frankie Fournier?"
He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, leaning back in his seat to squint up at the woman hovering over him. "Eh?" He croaked, his mouth dry and his tongue sour with the lingering taste of bile.
"I'll be damned, it is you!" The woman was tall and slender, with long black hair framing a round face, high cheekbones and dark eyes.
"Asher. Eloise Asher." Franklin said, feigning a smile as he gave her a thumbs-up, "Fancy seeing you-"
The boat lurched again, and he groaned, closing his eyes.
"Christ." He muttered, because he was seasick and because he did not in the least want to talk to Eloise Asher, or anyone else from the Valley as a matter of fact.
When he remembered her, he remembered her as a 17-year-old girl in a borrowed black dress, crying with all the other girls in black dresses and boys in black suits as his sister's casket was lowered into the dirt. He remembered his mother's wails and his father's silence. He remembered feeling numb and cold and sick. He remembered the sun, overbright in the sky above them as black storm clouds gathered on the horizon.
"I heard you were coming back to the Island." She said, sidling past his legs so she could sit in the seat next to his.
He sighed, "Yeah, if this tin can doesn't sink before it gets me there."
She laughed. He wasn't joking.
"I've seen worse. How was the Health Centre? My brother finished out the program a couple of years ago, said it was real nice up there." She said, beaming at him.
Franklin raised an eyebrow. Eloise had never been well known for her tact, but asking him how rehab was? He wanted to say, Oh yeah, it was a blast! I got to hang out with a bunch of other junkies. We held hands and sang kum ba ya in the woods. But the detox week from hell and daily emotional circle jerks were by far the best parts. Thanks for asking!
What he actually said was, "It was nice. Good food."
"Good. Good to have you back, too." Eloise said, patting his leg before she stood, finally taking the hint, "I bet your mom is going to be excited to see you. You're all she talks about."
"Can't wait." Franklin muttered.
-
Franklin's mother was not excited to see him.
She bolted upright when he tapped on the front passenger window of her red Maserati Levante, the Good Housekeeping magazine she had draped over her face tumbling into her lap.
She put a manicured hand over her heart, mouthed a curse word, and then unlocked the doors so he could climb in out of the rain, tossing his worn canvas backpack into the back seat as he did.
"You're soaked." She said, eyeing him up and down with a mixture of pity and concern. Whether it was for him or the Maserati's Italian leather upholstery was debatable.
"It's raining." He replied, shrugging as he tugged his seatbelt across his chest, "Sorry I'm late."
"That's fine, I saw the schedule change. It's a mess out there tonight. I'll get you a cell phone this weekend." She started the ignition, the "now breathe, in, out, in, and out" of some husky-voiced guru's meditation CD murmuring from the speakers as the vehicle hummed to life.
"Is that all you brought with you?" She asked, glancing at his backpack in the rearview.
"That's all I have, mom." Franklin said as he held his trembling hands up to the warm air piping through the vents on the dash.
His mother nodded, tucking bottle brunette strands behind her ear as she steered them out of the terminal parking lot, "We can get you clothes tomorrow, too. Anything you need."
He sighed shakily, still feeling weak from his tumultuous voyage, "I have AA in Courtenay tomorrow evening." He said, quickly adding, "I was going to meet up with some friends after." As always, he found it easy to lie to her.
"Oh?" She said, sounding disappointed, flicking on her brights as they left the parking lot and the glow of the lamplight that illuminated it. Now only rain-slicked pavement lay ahead of them, the swaying black silhouettes of trees looming up on either side of it.
They sat in silence for the remainder of the 20 minute trip to Black Creek.
Franklin felt sicker than ever, watching the familiar dark blur of the woods passing by through his rain-streaked window.
When they finally reached the collection of darkened shops and houses that made up the blink and you'll miss it hamlet of Black Creek, the SUV slowing to take the turnoff for Lalum Road, Franklin found himself chewing his lower lip until he tasted the warm copper of his own blood.
He could jump out here, hitchhike his way up Island Highway to a place where he was nobody and he knew nothing. At the very least, he could find somewhere to get a fucking drink.
His opportunity vanished in an instant, the hamlet disappearing along with the light it provided as they were plunged into the darkness of the backroad.
His mother broke the silence a few minutes later as they reached and passed through the tall iron gates of his childhood home, "I had Penny get the guest house ready for you. Your old room is an office now, I'm afraid." She didn't say it was David's office, but he could guess as much from the careful way she chose her words.
He didn't hate his stepfather per se. Franklin barely knew the man, nevermind the fact that he was a little old for a "you're not my real dad" complex. But imagining him taking up space in what was once his father's house had a bitter sort of sting to it.
"The guest house is fine. Thanks." He said, his heart rate climbing steadily as they approached the thick log facade of the main house, unchanged aside from the ostentatious yellow Lamborghini that had replaced his father's black Oldsmobile in the driveway.
"Mom!" He said suddenly, making his mother jump for the second time, slamming her foot down on the brakes reflexively, "Uh, sorry. I'm tired, just let me out here." He was already reaching into the back seat, searching blindly for his backpack, his eyes unable to tear away from the spiralling, ornate carvings of the front door.
"Yes, of course." His mother said, exhaling, "I'll have Penny bring you breakfast in the morning, if you want some time to… settle in? But David and I, well, we were hoping you would join us for dinner so we could..."
Franklin frowned at her as he pulled his damp backpack into his lap, "Mom, I-"
"Oh, right. AA. Friends. Sunday, then?" She cut him off, smiling forlornly.
He was halfway out of the vehicle now, peering across the dimly lit pavement of the driveway at the glowing orange of the guest house porch light, "Yeah, Sunday, sure thing."
He closed the door before she could say anything else, his legs feeling like they were filled with cement as he made the journey across the expansive driveway to the guest house, the rain soaking through his clothes all over again.
Inside, he felt another wave of tension grip him, his back pressed against the door, his stomach in knots. The guest house was a newer addition to the property, free from the stains of memories, good, bad, or ugly, or at least that had been the theory. But that wasn't enough to trick his mind into forgetting where he was.
After a few minutes of laboured but intentional breathing, he finally won out against the rising panic and moved unsteadily into the bathroom. He peeled off his wet clothes, tossing them into the bathtub, and decided naked was fine for tonight when he opened his backpack to discover the contents had been soaked like the rest of him.
Finally, the television filling the room with late-night infomercial white noise, Franklin curled up on the bed and gave in to the restless, shivering sleep exhaustion offered him.
"Goddamnit, Sterling!" Viper cried, throwing up her calloused hands in exasperation. "We don't have the resources for another one of your strays; especially not a fuckin' vegetable."
Sterling tensed, pushing down the anger inside of her that now threatened to boil over. Viper's frustration was not unexpected; Sterling had taken the entire caravan off their planned route, seemingly on a whim - Because I'm not telling them it was a vision. They'll think I've lost my goddamn mind... Christ, maybe I have. - and now the three of them, herself, Viper, and Ka-Bar were in an abandoned government lab, four stories underground, about to pull an unconscious man they knew nothing about out of a mystery chamber with HUMAN SPECIMEN, STASIS CHAMBER, CAUTION, DANGER, and STAY BACK stencilled all over it in bold red and black letters.
When they had arrived at the facility, a monolithic donut of a building that looked not unlike a sports stadium, strangely out of place in the middle of the Sonoran Desert, they had wondered at the size of the place, and the eerie quiet that surrounded it.
The swirling clouds overhead were especially dense and low here, and without their enhanced night vision the three of them would have had trouble navigating the airfield, broken-down military vehicles, and outbuildings that clustered around the central structure. Viper had wondered, aloud as she almost always did, if they should have brought more backup with them. But this place had been long-abandoned, the bones of what corpses remained picked clean by scavengers, and with no major population zones for over 100 miles it was unlikely the vampire hordes still hunted here.
It took them nearly half an hour to prise open the sealed steel doors that lead into the main building, Ka-Bar grunting and sweating while he threw all his ox-like strength into the crowbar he had jammed into the narrow seam of the doors. Finally inside, Sterling had led them briskly past the front reception desk, and the network of hallways and rooms that branched out on either side of the main foyer, until they stepped out into the dry, overgrown remains of what once must have been a lush, circular garden encased in the center of the building.
Huge steel beams crisscrossed overhead, giving the place a contained, cage-like feel, the vines of some long-dead tropical plant twisting and hanging down from them. In her vision, the garden had been very much alive, and Sterling had felt a sinking sort of disappointment to see it in its current state.
The three of them had separated, doing a sweep of the room with their figures hunched, the mounted flashlight beams of their M16 rifles probing the darkness. They circled inwards, and Sterling had stumbled backwards with a small cry of surprise when her boot caught the grate in the floor. Here. She had thought, but wasn't sure why, and let her rifle swing from the strap around her shoulder as she bent to pull the rusted grate up with a grunt. She tossed it aside with a metallic clatter, aiming her light down where it reflected off of the white pools below.
"Fuck. No." Viper had breathed, appearing at Sterling's side to stare down through the exposed hole in the floor. Sterling paid her no attention, and after directing them to secure their up-lines to the squat, skeleton trunk of an elephant tree, the three of them found themselves repelling down into the belly of the facility.
Ka-Bar was the only one to land in the milky liquid of one of the pools below, the splash of his boots, and weight on top of them, causing most of it to explode up and out, soaking his fatigues to the knees. He grumbled but said nothing as Viper stifled a chuckle with her hand, "Oh, honey.", and followed the women silently as they weaved their way around the pools to an open doorway.
They gathered medical supplies from the rooms as they explored the depths of the facility, steadily moving downwards. The straps of Sterling's army green backpack bit into her shoulders from the mounting weight of bottles of medication, antibiotics, isopropyl alcohol, packages of sterile gauze, bandages, syringes, and other supplies, and she shrugged it onto the floor when they stepped into the lowest room.
Here. The thought stabbed at her mind again, urgent. He's here.
She had slowly crept forward, shining the beam of her flashlight into each chamber that lined the walls, frowning at the slumped, sunken corpses she found within. And then, at the end of the room, his shallow breathing causing his bare chest to rise and fall softly beyond the window of his pod, her light illuminated the face of a man who looked very much alive, and her breath hitched in her throat. We found him.
"We don't even know what they were up to in this place." Back in the present, Viper continued to rant, approaching another stasis chamber so she could frown at the decaying corpse slumped inside "You remember what they told us growing up? The plague was a fuck-up, some lab accident." She tapped the glass. "Well what if this is the lab?"
"Did I ask for your fucking opinion?" Sterling snarled. She had swung her rifle over her shoulder and was twisting the coated metal tap that was labelled CHAMBER VENT. A hiss of steam flooded out as the front of the pod released it's seal, causing Sterling to step back. When nothing else happened, she gripped the bars protruding from the front of the pod and pulled, the door swinging out and up with a metallic groan.
The man inside was stark naked, thin from years - decades? - of being trapped inside, but handsome nonetheless. Sterling felt heat in her cheeks, trying to keep her eyes on his face as she leaned into him, hooking her arms under his so she could pull him out and onto the cool tile floor of the lab.
Viper's slight but muscular frame appeared at Sterling's side, her tattooed face fixed in a scowl. But she didn't say anything else, staring down at the man while Sterling fished a grey wool blanket from the bottom of her backpack, laying it out on the ground beside him. Together, the women rolled him onto the blanket, and Sterling tucked it around him.
"Ka-Bar, you're carrying him out." Sterling called, exchanging dagger glares with Viper across the man's limp body.
Ka-Bar approached the three of them warily, avoiding Viper's gaze. The monolith of muscle dwarfed his wife in every way, but after a few decades together, he had decided arguments with her were best avoided as much as possible. Unfortunately for him, he was also hard-pressed to ignore a direct order from his superior officer.
Sterling nodded down at the man. "He's drugged to high heaven and he's going to come down hard when he wakes up. I want to have a look around, see if I can't find some of whatever they were dosing him with so the shock doesn't kill him."
Ka-Bar nodded, stooping low so he could scoop the unconscious man up into his arms, grimacing a bit as his head lolled at an uncomfortable angle. He was going to have a sore neck when, or if, he woke up - but that was better than dead in Sterling's humble opinion.
Viper huffed, shaking her head, black braids swinging as she turned haughtily on her heel to leave. Ka-Bar spared Sterling one sheepish sideways glance - "Sorry." She mouthed back at him - before following his wife towards the exit.
Back in the garden, Sterling injected the man with a light dose of a heavy sedative she had found in the same room they had taken him from, brushing his mop of curly brown hair from his face. "You're going to make it." She whispered, and Viper scoffed laughter across the room.
The armoured vehicles that made up the caravan were parked 20 miles from the tall, chain-link fence that surrounded the facility. When Sterling, Ka-Bar, Viper, and their unconscious passenger, pulled into the centre of the encampment, people clustered around their Jeep to get a look.
"Who is he?"
"Is he dead?"
"What else did you find out there?"
Men, women and children called out their questions as the four of them piled out of the vehicle. Viper stayed behind, smiling warmly as she embraced several members of the caravan, requesting a stiff drink in exchange for the story of their recent adventure.
Ka-Bar followed Sterling up the steps and into the living-area of her armour-clad converted school bus, gently placing the man's body onto the ragged upholstery of her couch. "Thanks," Sterling said, her eyes transfixed on his sleeping face.
Ka-Bar grunted in reply, pausing in the door of the camper. "You should come celebrate. Everyone is going to be happy with the supplies we found today. They're going to have a lot of questions, too." He didn't like to answer questions, that was Sterling and Viper's department.
Sterling swallowed, checking the man's pulse. Not much more she could do for him now, not until he woke up. "Yeah… uh… yeah." She muttered and turned to follow Ka-Bar outside.
Sterling tensed, pushing down the anger inside of her that now threatened to boil over. Viper's frustration was not unexpected; Sterling had taken the entire caravan off their planned route, seemingly on a whim - Because I'm not telling them it was a vision. They'll think I've lost my goddamn mind... Christ, maybe I have. - and now the three of them, herself, Viper, and Ka-Bar were in an abandoned government lab, four stories underground, about to pull an unconscious man they knew nothing about out of a mystery chamber with HUMAN SPECIMEN, STASIS CHAMBER, CAUTION, DANGER, and STAY BACK stencilled all over it in bold red and black letters.
When they had arrived at the facility, a monolithic donut of a building that looked not unlike a sports stadium, strangely out of place in the middle of the Sonoran Desert, they had wondered at the size of the place, and the eerie quiet that surrounded it.
The swirling clouds overhead were especially dense and low here, and without their enhanced night vision the three of them would have had trouble navigating the airfield, broken-down military vehicles, and outbuildings that clustered around the central structure. Viper had wondered, aloud as she almost always did, if they should have brought more backup with them. But this place had been long-abandoned, the bones of what corpses remained picked clean by scavengers, and with no major population zones for over 100 miles it was unlikely the vampire hordes still hunted here.
It took them nearly half an hour to prise open the sealed steel doors that lead into the main building, Ka-Bar grunting and sweating while he threw all his ox-like strength into the crowbar he had jammed into the narrow seam of the doors. Finally inside, Sterling had led them briskly past the front reception desk, and the network of hallways and rooms that branched out on either side of the main foyer, until they stepped out into the dry, overgrown remains of what once must have been a lush, circular garden encased in the center of the building.
Huge steel beams crisscrossed overhead, giving the place a contained, cage-like feel, the vines of some long-dead tropical plant twisting and hanging down from them. In her vision, the garden had been very much alive, and Sterling had felt a sinking sort of disappointment to see it in its current state.
The three of them had separated, doing a sweep of the room with their figures hunched, the mounted flashlight beams of their M16 rifles probing the darkness. They circled inwards, and Sterling had stumbled backwards with a small cry of surprise when her boot caught the grate in the floor. Here. She had thought, but wasn't sure why, and let her rifle swing from the strap around her shoulder as she bent to pull the rusted grate up with a grunt. She tossed it aside with a metallic clatter, aiming her light down where it reflected off of the white pools below.
"Fuck. No." Viper had breathed, appearing at Sterling's side to stare down through the exposed hole in the floor. Sterling paid her no attention, and after directing them to secure their up-lines to the squat, skeleton trunk of an elephant tree, the three of them found themselves repelling down into the belly of the facility.
Ka-Bar was the only one to land in the milky liquid of one of the pools below, the splash of his boots, and weight on top of them, causing most of it to explode up and out, soaking his fatigues to the knees. He grumbled but said nothing as Viper stifled a chuckle with her hand, "Oh, honey.", and followed the women silently as they weaved their way around the pools to an open doorway.
They gathered medical supplies from the rooms as they explored the depths of the facility, steadily moving downwards. The straps of Sterling's army green backpack bit into her shoulders from the mounting weight of bottles of medication, antibiotics, isopropyl alcohol, packages of sterile gauze, bandages, syringes, and other supplies, and she shrugged it onto the floor when they stepped into the lowest room.
Here. The thought stabbed at her mind again, urgent. He's here.
She had slowly crept forward, shining the beam of her flashlight into each chamber that lined the walls, frowning at the slumped, sunken corpses she found within. And then, at the end of the room, his shallow breathing causing his bare chest to rise and fall softly beyond the window of his pod, her light illuminated the face of a man who looked very much alive, and her breath hitched in her throat. We found him.
"We don't even know what they were up to in this place." Back in the present, Viper continued to rant, approaching another stasis chamber so she could frown at the decaying corpse slumped inside "You remember what they told us growing up? The plague was a fuck-up, some lab accident." She tapped the glass. "Well what if this is the lab?"
"Did I ask for your fucking opinion?" Sterling snarled. She had swung her rifle over her shoulder and was twisting the coated metal tap that was labelled CHAMBER VENT. A hiss of steam flooded out as the front of the pod released it's seal, causing Sterling to step back. When nothing else happened, she gripped the bars protruding from the front of the pod and pulled, the door swinging out and up with a metallic groan.
The man inside was stark naked, thin from years - decades? - of being trapped inside, but handsome nonetheless. Sterling felt heat in her cheeks, trying to keep her eyes on his face as she leaned into him, hooking her arms under his so she could pull him out and onto the cool tile floor of the lab.
Viper's slight but muscular frame appeared at Sterling's side, her tattooed face fixed in a scowl. But she didn't say anything else, staring down at the man while Sterling fished a grey wool blanket from the bottom of her backpack, laying it out on the ground beside him. Together, the women rolled him onto the blanket, and Sterling tucked it around him.
"Ka-Bar, you're carrying him out." Sterling called, exchanging dagger glares with Viper across the man's limp body.
Ka-Bar approached the three of them warily, avoiding Viper's gaze. The monolith of muscle dwarfed his wife in every way, but after a few decades together, he had decided arguments with her were best avoided as much as possible. Unfortunately for him, he was also hard-pressed to ignore a direct order from his superior officer.
Sterling nodded down at the man. "He's drugged to high heaven and he's going to come down hard when he wakes up. I want to have a look around, see if I can't find some of whatever they were dosing him with so the shock doesn't kill him."
Ka-Bar nodded, stooping low so he could scoop the unconscious man up into his arms, grimacing a bit as his head lolled at an uncomfortable angle. He was going to have a sore neck when, or if, he woke up - but that was better than dead in Sterling's humble opinion.
Viper huffed, shaking her head, black braids swinging as she turned haughtily on her heel to leave. Ka-Bar spared Sterling one sheepish sideways glance - "Sorry." She mouthed back at him - before following his wife towards the exit.
Back in the garden, Sterling injected the man with a light dose of a heavy sedative she had found in the same room they had taken him from, brushing his mop of curly brown hair from his face. "You're going to make it." She whispered, and Viper scoffed laughter across the room.
The armoured vehicles that made up the caravan were parked 20 miles from the tall, chain-link fence that surrounded the facility. When Sterling, Ka-Bar, Viper, and their unconscious passenger, pulled into the centre of the encampment, people clustered around their Jeep to get a look.
"Who is he?"
"Is he dead?"
"What else did you find out there?"
Men, women and children called out their questions as the four of them piled out of the vehicle. Viper stayed behind, smiling warmly as she embraced several members of the caravan, requesting a stiff drink in exchange for the story of their recent adventure.
Ka-Bar followed Sterling up the steps and into the living-area of her armour-clad converted school bus, gently placing the man's body onto the ragged upholstery of her couch. "Thanks," Sterling said, her eyes transfixed on his sleeping face.
Ka-Bar grunted in reply, pausing in the door of the camper. "You should come celebrate. Everyone is going to be happy with the supplies we found today. They're going to have a lot of questions, too." He didn't like to answer questions, that was Sterling and Viper's department.
Sterling swallowed, checking the man's pulse. Not much more she could do for him now, not until he woke up. "Yeah… uh… yeah." She muttered and turned to follow Ka-Bar outside.
Sam was a little taken aback by Lucy's teasing, flirtatious smile, wondering if he was imagining a little extra swing in her hips as she sauntered off to the bathroom.
Feeling well-rested and less anxious with the sun now high in the sky - they had slept until nearly noon - Sam dressed and shrugged on his coat, stepping out into the brisk air of the day. There was a truck stop across the road from the motel, and he ventured inside to get them coffee. You still haven't asked her how she likes it. He scolded himself, filling two Styrofoam take-out cups with Colombian Dark Roast from one of the big carafes near the microwave. He half-filled a third cup with cream, popping it into the cardboard cup tray with the others, and pocketed several single-serving packages of sugar. There. Now she can show you how she likes it. The thought rang a little dirty, and he immediately thought of Lucy's body resting on top of his, her sweet scent still permeating up from his beard.
He approached the cashier with the tray in hand, faltering near the stand for the Klondike Sun.
RCMP continue to investigate a rash of unexplained disappearances; park rangers expanding search area. Below the headline was a picture of a young boy, two front teeth absent from his big smile, brown eyes squinting into the camera; the boy who had gone missing the night before. The caption underneath read:
An Amber Alert still remains in place for Daniel Bibber, 10, who disappeared from his family's property Sunday night. Anyone with information regarding his, or the other disappearances, is asked to contact the RCMP hotline.
"Damn shame," the cashier said, an elderly woman with stark white hair braided on either side of her dark, round face. "I've seen him in here before, in the summers when his dad takes him fishing." She tapped the picture with her bony, arthritic finger when Sam placed the paper on the counter. "I pray every night for the lost ones." She rang up his purchases, toying with the bones and charms hanging around her neck, one of them a long yellow canine. Witchy woman. His twin sister had used the term when they were kids; their own mother had dabbled in the practice, but the pack was taught to fear what they called "true witches," and for good reason. There weren't many left in this part of the world, but he sensed his sister would have been right about this one. Working in a gas station, of all places
Sam didn't know what to say, so he just nodded and handed her money for the coffee and newspaper. She smiled, the wrinkles around her eyes deepening and handed him his change. "Thank you, zhur."
Sam hesitated, recognizing the Hän word for "wolf," spoken so it might be mistaken as "sir" to the unfamiliar ear.
"You... Have a good day." He muttered, eyeing her with some suspicion. He picked up his tray of cups and tucked the folded newspaper under his arm. The anxiety he had shed so easily that morning had begun to rise up in him again. Witches did not often personally meddle in werewolf affairs, that would go against their tenet to follow what they called "the natural order," but they were known to associate with hunters under certain circumstances, like children being taken and-
He didn't want to think about it.
Back in the motel room, the shower was off but the door to the bathroom was still closed. "I have coffee." He called to Lucy, sliding the tray onto the nightstand and sitting on the edge of the bed, the newspaper flat in his lap. The boy was so young. Even growing up, his pack had rarely targeted children, and never intentionally; there was no morality in their reasons though - children were small, easy targets, like a rabbit. The Children of Fenrir relished the glory of a successful hunt as much as the kill, so taking down such an inconsequential, weak being held little appeal to them. Maybe it had been a random attack, Anna certainly seemed unhinged enough, but something about taking a child from his own backyard felt intentional to Sam.
He frowned, thinking about Anna's words, and her companion, waiting for her on the street below instead of doing his own dirty work. Why here? Why now?
Feeling well-rested and less anxious with the sun now high in the sky - they had slept until nearly noon - Sam dressed and shrugged on his coat, stepping out into the brisk air of the day. There was a truck stop across the road from the motel, and he ventured inside to get them coffee. You still haven't asked her how she likes it. He scolded himself, filling two Styrofoam take-out cups with Colombian Dark Roast from one of the big carafes near the microwave. He half-filled a third cup with cream, popping it into the cardboard cup tray with the others, and pocketed several single-serving packages of sugar. There. Now she can show you how she likes it. The thought rang a little dirty, and he immediately thought of Lucy's body resting on top of his, her sweet scent still permeating up from his beard.
He approached the cashier with the tray in hand, faltering near the stand for the Klondike Sun.
RCMP continue to investigate a rash of unexplained disappearances; park rangers expanding search area. Below the headline was a picture of a young boy, two front teeth absent from his big smile, brown eyes squinting into the camera; the boy who had gone missing the night before. The caption underneath read:
An Amber Alert still remains in place for Daniel Bibber, 10, who disappeared from his family's property Sunday night. Anyone with information regarding his, or the other disappearances, is asked to contact the RCMP hotline.
"Damn shame," the cashier said, an elderly woman with stark white hair braided on either side of her dark, round face. "I've seen him in here before, in the summers when his dad takes him fishing." She tapped the picture with her bony, arthritic finger when Sam placed the paper on the counter. "I pray every night for the lost ones." She rang up his purchases, toying with the bones and charms hanging around her neck, one of them a long yellow canine. Witchy woman. His twin sister had used the term when they were kids; their own mother had dabbled in the practice, but the pack was taught to fear what they called "true witches," and for good reason. There weren't many left in this part of the world, but he sensed his sister would have been right about this one. Working in a gas station, of all places
Sam didn't know what to say, so he just nodded and handed her money for the coffee and newspaper. She smiled, the wrinkles around her eyes deepening and handed him his change. "Thank you, zhur."
Sam hesitated, recognizing the Hän word for "wolf," spoken so it might be mistaken as "sir" to the unfamiliar ear.
"You... Have a good day." He muttered, eyeing her with some suspicion. He picked up his tray of cups and tucked the folded newspaper under his arm. The anxiety he had shed so easily that morning had begun to rise up in him again. Witches did not often personally meddle in werewolf affairs, that would go against their tenet to follow what they called "the natural order," but they were known to associate with hunters under certain circumstances, like children being taken and-
He didn't want to think about it.
Back in the motel room, the shower was off but the door to the bathroom was still closed. "I have coffee." He called to Lucy, sliding the tray onto the nightstand and sitting on the edge of the bed, the newspaper flat in his lap. The boy was so young. Even growing up, his pack had rarely targeted children, and never intentionally; there was no morality in their reasons though - children were small, easy targets, like a rabbit. The Children of Fenrir relished the glory of a successful hunt as much as the kill, so taking down such an inconsequential, weak being held little appeal to them. Maybe it had been a random attack, Anna certainly seemed unhinged enough, but something about taking a child from his own backyard felt intentional to Sam.
He frowned, thinking about Anna's words, and her companion, waiting for her on the street below instead of doing his own dirty work. Why here? Why now?
PLOTS
This spot is reserved for my weird and wonderful plot ideas (as you can see, I don't have anything listed right now, so sad...)
Most Recent Posts
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[right][h3]ABOUT[/h3][/right]
[hr]
Hey there! I'm a jellyfish, and you've just stumbled upon my [s]trap[/s] bio, which is actually more of an info dump for prospective RP partners.
I'm a 28-year-old sea blob (ok, fine, I'm [i]technically[/i] a woman) who is comfortable writing both male and female characters - usually one main alongside a whole cast of side-characters. If romance is a factor, I lean toward [i]M x F[/i] and [i]F x F[/i] pairings, but [i]M x M[/i] isn't off the table. I'm interested in writing about different relationship styles and stages (maybe our characters just met, maybe they've been married for a decade, maybe they're polyamorous, or long-distance, or swingers, or friends with benefits), as well as non-romantic pairings (parent and child, siblings, close friends, rivals, mortal enemies, mentor and mentee - the possibilities are endless!)
I categorize myself as a high casual to advanced role-player, although my posts tend to vary wildly as far as length is concerned (rest assured you'll never get a one-liner from me.) I'm a fairly reclusive, so you won't catch me on the forums or participating in any kind of group. That being said, I have provided several writing samples below (three introductions and one mid-game post, to be specific), in case you're curious as to whether our writing styles are compatible.
I don't do fandoms - mostly because I'm very bad at it - but am more than happy to write something inspired by other works (in fact, I'll often reference movies or TV shows with similar plots when explaining an idea or concept to someone.)
I work 44+ hours a week, but will usually get in a post or two on the weekends at a bare minimum. My job is the sort of menial labour that allows me to OOC chat sporadically throughout the day without getting into shit for it, which usually happens over Discord (less so PMs, since this website is in no way formatted to be mobile friendly - sorry, not sorry.)
I'm interested in partners who are 21+, don't shy away from mature themes (including, but not limited to, graphic violence, strong language, sexuality, etc.), possess strong writing skills, and a solid understanding of the elements of good storytelling. If this sounds like you, and you have an idea for a plot (or want to hear one of mine), don't hesitate to drop me a line via PM!
[right][h3]GENRES[/h3][/right]
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Action/adventure, crime, drama, fantasy (supernatural, urban, paranormal, Grimdark, and Gothic especially), historical (more so "recent" history - basically anything from the Industrial Revolution up until the Cold War Era, bonus points if it includes a paranormal or supernatural element), horror (one of my absolute favourites; demonic possession, bloodthirsty vampires, chainsaw-wielding maniacs, flesh-eating zombies - give it all to me), mystery, science fiction (particularly if it’s within the cyberpunk, space opera/Western, post-apocalyptic, or dystopian sub-genres), slice-of-life, and thriller (psychological and/or crime)
Mixing and matching of genres is [i]highly[/i] encouraged!
[right][h3]SAMPLES[/h3][/right]
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A collection of a handful of my RP writing samples (reader beware, strong language, violence, and a few mentions of drugs and nudity ahead)
[hider=Introduction: Andres Landeg]It was the summer of 1959, and while a teenage boy in a bunker defiantly twisted the cap off of a bottle of coke with his mind, Andres Landeg lay sprawled out naked in a California King bed, at least three other bodies draped across his in various states of undress. All of them were dead.
The blackout curtains were drawn across the bedroom window, which, if opened, would reveal a panoramic view of the Pacific ocean, and several other bodies strewn across the beach. These were not his work, although he vaguely remembered his companions - wherever they were now - cackling amidst screams of horror. Subtlety was not required on a private beach, and they had all relished the opportunity to enjoy some long-anticipated bloodsport.
Andres, awake and smoking a cigarette, squinted up at the white stucco ceiling and tried to recall more details about the previous night's events.
All of his victims, cold and stiff, only now beginning to stink with the sickly sweet smell of decay, had been flush with the MDMA, quaaludes, marijuana, cocaine, and hard liquor his companions had plied them with when he had gorged himself on them, and his head still swam with the lingering effects of the dizzying combination of stimulants and depressants. As a result, his memory was an impressionist watercolour, most of it in varying shades of sticky, wet crimson.
He heard a crash down the hallway, and the door to his room was thrown open. Sofia, her long golden blonde hair in chaotic tangles framing her lipstick and blood-smeared face, also naked as the day she was born, swayed in the open doorway. "They're coming." She snarled, her icy blue eyes wide and bloodshot from the previous night's indulgences.
Andres sat up on his elbows with a groan, plucking the cigarette from his lips, extinguishing it on the pert grey ass of the woman draped across his lap, and flicked it across the room. "Listen, Sofia, sweetheart, we all warned you about overindulging last night-" [i]I think[/i] "-But paranoia is just a side-effect of the drugs." He said, only a little worried, but mostly amused, to be witnessing the generally poised Sofia trembling like a rabid dog. "Now be a big girl and-"
"Shut the fuck up!" She hissed, her eyes darting wildly to the window, "They got the others. Rueben. Emilia. Vicky. Lit up the fucking boathouse with them all inside. Vicky tried to get away, but the sun..." There was the sound of movement outside, at least a dozen pairs of feet shuffling by the window, invisible behind the curtain. "I was under the house, I saw them load up the bodies into cadaver bags and...and take them." She said, her voice wavering with fear, a hoarse whisper now.
Another crash, this one coming from the front door being obliterated by a battering ram, and a male voice booming from an unseen source into the beach house. "Your friends are dead, you bloodsucking cunts! You better be flat on your fucking faces or you're fucking dust!"
Andres scrambled to his feet, unconcerned with covering his nakedness as he heard the scuffle of boots crossing the foyer, moving in a steady march toward the hallway.
Sofia choked back a sob. Andres had never once in a thousand years seen fear in her eyes like what he now saw, and it was enough to convince him to drop to his knees, then onto his belly, elbows splayed and fingers lacing over the back of his head. Sofia did the same. "We surrender." He croaked, his mouth dry. [i]Fuck, fuck, fuck. [/i]
He saw the sand crusted black boots, military issue, begin to surround him, the cold barrel of a rifle poking the nape of his neck. "[i]Christ[/i]! We fucking surrender!"
Sofia screamed, an angry, animalistic sound, somewhere to his left as she was dragged to her feet by the faceless men.
Andres thought of how much fun they had been having this decade, how much more fun they had planned to have, and then cursed himself for lacking the foresight to see this day coming.
Then the world plunged into darkness - a hood pulled over his head - and he felt himself being pulled up by his armpits and dragged toward an uncertain fate...
[/hider]
[hider=Introduction: Franklin Fournier][right][b]Friday, February 23, 2018[/b][/right]
If the weather was to be taken as an omen, Franklin Fournier's reluctant decision to return home had been a bad one.
It was just after 10:30 p.m., and he was throwing up his lunch in one of the cramped, metal walled stalls of the Salish Raven ferry's men's washroom.
His 5:15 p.m. ticket had been cancelled due to adverse weather conditions, but with the crowd of impatient passengers growing in the Westview terminal, and the captain eager to make it back to the Island for the start of his weekend, the 8:45 p.m. voyage had been given the green light by the powers that be of BC Ferries.
The waves rocking the shoreline had been so violent that it took the ferry almost an hour just to maneuver away from the dock, passengers and crew gripping railings or the arms of their chairs as the boat pitched and the saltwater crashed against the reinforced plexiglass windows.
Franklin had sat with his head between his knees for as long as he could stand to, before half running half stumbling to the nearest washroom, dropping to his knees to hug the brushed steel of the toilet bowl as the ferry pressed on through the tempest.
Franklin staggered back to his seat only after his stomach began to ache with emptiness. He was pale and shaken, his brow shiny with sweat, and when he sat down he quickly resigned himself to staring at his sneakers and the stained grey carpet beneath them, hugging himself with a suppressed groan as another wave made the passenger deck reel.
Truth be told, he hadn't taken a sober ferry ride since he had been a kid, which was also the last time he had been seasick in earnest.
Otherwise, flush with liquor, dope, or maybe an Oxy or two if he could get his hands on them, he had almost been able to enjoy voyages across the often temperamental Salish Sea that separated the Island from the mainland, although it had been years since his last journey.
Now, sober as a judge, and dreading what awaited him when he reached his destination, he felt his empty stomach lurch once more.
He debated eating something, just so he could purge again and distract his mind from the fear and anxiety that reared up inside of him like the many heads of a hydra.
"Frankie?" A hesitant female voice inquired, a shadow falling over him as a woman paused in the aisle beside his seat, "Frankie Fournier?"
He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, leaning back in his seat to squint up at the woman hovering over him. "Eh?" He croaked, his mouth dry and his tongue sour with the lingering taste of bile.
"I'll be damned, it [I]is[/I] you!" The woman was tall and slender, with long black hair framing a round face, high cheekbones and dark eyes.
"Asher. Eloise Asher." Franklin said, feigning a smile as he gave her a thumbs-up, "Fancy seeing you-"
The boat lurched again, and he groaned, closing his eyes.
"[I]Christ[/I]." He muttered, because he was seasick and because he did not in the least want to talk to Eloise Asher, or anyone else from the Valley as a matter of fact.
When he remembered her, he remembered her as a 17-year-old girl in a borrowed black dress, crying with all the other girls in black dresses and boys in black suits as his sister's casket was lowered into the dirt. He remembered his mother's wails and his father's silence. He remembered feeling numb and cold and sick. He remembered the sun, overbright in the sky above them as black storm clouds gathered on the horizon.
"I heard you were coming back to the Island." She said, sidling past his legs so she could sit in the seat next to his.
He sighed, "Yeah, if this tin can doesn't sink before it gets me there."
She laughed. He wasn't joking.
"I've seen worse. How was the Health Centre? My brother finished out the program a couple of years ago, said it was real nice up there." She said, beaming at him.
Franklin raised an eyebrow. Eloise had never been well known for her tact, but asking him how rehab was? He wanted to say, [I]Oh yeah, it was a blast! I got to hang out with a bunch of other junkies. We held hands and sang kum ba ya in the woods. But the detox week from hell and daily emotional circle jerks were by far the best parts. Thanks for asking![/I]
What he actually said was, "It was nice. Good food."
"Good. Good to have you back, too." Eloise said, patting his leg before she stood, finally taking the hint, "I bet your mom is going to be excited to see you. You're all she talks about."
"Can't wait." Franklin muttered.
-
Franklin's mother was not excited to see him.
She bolted upright when he tapped on the front passenger window of her red Maserati Levante, the [I]Good Housekeeping[/I] magazine she had draped over her face tumbling into her lap.
She put a manicured hand over her heart, mouthed a curse word, and then unlocked the doors so he could climb in out of the rain, tossing his worn canvas backpack into the back seat as he did.
"You're soaked." She said, eyeing him up and down with a mixture of pity and concern. Whether it was for him or the Maserati's Italian leather upholstery was debatable.
"It's raining." He replied, shrugging as he tugged his seatbelt across his chest, "Sorry I'm late."
"That's fine, I saw the schedule change. It's a mess out there tonight. I'll get you a cell phone this weekend." She started the ignition, the [I]"now breathe, in, out, in, and out"[/I] of some husky-voiced guru's meditation CD murmuring from the speakers as the vehicle hummed to life.
"Is that all you brought with you?" She asked, glancing at his backpack in the rearview.
"That's all I have, mom." Franklin said as he held his trembling hands up to the warm air piping through the vents on the dash.
His mother nodded, tucking bottle brunette strands behind her ear as she steered them out of the terminal parking lot, "We can get you clothes tomorrow, too. Anything you need."
He sighed shakily, still feeling weak from his tumultuous voyage, "I have AA in Courtenay tomorrow evening." He said, quickly adding, "I was going to meet up with some friends after." As always, he found it easy to lie to her.
"Oh?" She said, sounding disappointed, flicking on her brights as they left the parking lot and the glow of the lamplight that illuminated it. Now only rain-slicked pavement lay ahead of them, the swaying black silhouettes of trees looming up on either side of it.
They sat in silence for the remainder of the 20 minute trip to Black Creek.
Franklin felt sicker than ever, watching the familiar dark blur of the woods passing by through his rain-streaked window.
When they finally reached the collection of darkened shops and houses that made up the blink and you'll miss it hamlet of Black Creek, the SUV slowing to take the turnoff for Lalum Road, Franklin found himself chewing his lower lip until he tasted the warm copper of his own blood.
He could jump out here, hitchhike his way up Island Highway to a place where he was nobody and he knew nothing. At the very least, he could find somewhere to get a fucking drink.
His opportunity vanished in an instant, the hamlet disappearing along with the light it provided as they were plunged into the darkness of the backroad.
His mother broke the silence a few minutes later as they reached and passed through the tall iron gates of his childhood home, "I had Penny get the guest house ready for you. Your old room is an office now, I'm afraid." She didn't say it was David's office, but he could guess as much from the careful way she chose her words.
He didn't hate his stepfather per se. Franklin barely knew the man, nevermind the fact that he was a little old for a "you're not my real dad" complex. But imagining him taking up space in what was once his father's house had a bitter sort of sting to it.
"The guest house is fine. Thanks." He said, his heart rate climbing steadily as they approached the thick log facade of the main house, unchanged aside from the ostentatious yellow Lamborghini that had replaced his father's black Oldsmobile in the driveway.
"Mom!" He said suddenly, making his mother jump for the second time, slamming her foot down on the brakes reflexively, "Uh, sorry. I'm tired, just let me out here." He was already reaching into the back seat, searching blindly for his backpack, his eyes unable to tear away from the spiralling, ornate carvings of the front door.
"Yes, of course." His mother said, exhaling, "I'll have Penny bring you breakfast in the morning, if you want some time to… settle in? But David and I, well, we were hoping you would join us for dinner so we could..."
Franklin frowned at her as he pulled his damp backpack into his lap, "Mom, I-"
"Oh, right. AA. Friends. Sunday, then?" She cut him off, smiling forlornly.
He was halfway out of the vehicle now, peering across the dimly lit pavement of the driveway at the glowing orange of the guest house porch light, "Yeah, Sunday, sure thing."
He closed the door before she could say anything else, his legs feeling like they were filled with cement as he made the journey across the expansive driveway to the guest house, the rain soaking through his clothes all over again.
Inside, he felt another wave of tension grip him, his back pressed against the door, his stomach in knots. The guest house was a newer addition to the property, free from the stains of memories, good, bad, or ugly, or at least that had been the theory. But that wasn't enough to trick his mind into forgetting where he was.
After a few minutes of laboured but intentional breathing, he finally won out against the rising panic and moved unsteadily into the bathroom. He peeled off his wet clothes, tossing them into the bathtub, and decided naked was fine for tonight when he opened his backpack to discover the contents had been soaked like the rest of him.
Finally, the television filling the room with late-night infomercial white noise, Franklin curled up on the bed and gave in to the restless, shivering sleep exhaustion offered him. [/hider]
[hider=Introduction: Sterling]"Goddamnit, Sterling!" Viper cried, throwing up her calloused hands in exasperation. "We don't have the resources for another one of your strays; especially not a fuckin' vegetable."
Sterling tensed, pushing down the anger inside of her that now threatened to boil over. Viper's frustration was not unexpected; Sterling had taken the entire caravan off their planned route, seemingly on a whim - [i]Because I'm not telling them it was a vision. They'll think I've lost my goddamn mind... Christ, maybe I have.[/i] - and now the three of them, herself, Viper, and Ka-Bar were in an abandoned government lab, four stories underground, about to pull an unconscious man they knew nothing about out of a mystery chamber with [i]HUMAN SPECIMEN, STASIS CHAMBER, CAUTION, DANGER[/i], and [i]STAY BACK[/i] stencilled all over it in bold red and black letters.
When they had arrived at the facility, a monolithic donut of a building that looked not unlike a sports stadium, strangely out of place in the middle of the Sonoran Desert, they had wondered at the size of the place, and the eerie quiet that surrounded it.
The swirling clouds overhead were especially dense and low here, and without their enhanced night vision the three of them would have had trouble navigating the airfield, broken-down military vehicles, and outbuildings that clustered around the central structure. Viper had wondered, aloud as she almost always did, if they should have brought more backup with them. But this place had been long-abandoned, the bones of what corpses remained picked clean by scavengers, and with no major population zones for over 100 miles it was unlikely the vampire hordes still hunted here.
It took them nearly half an hour to prise open the sealed steel doors that lead into the main building, Ka-Bar grunting and sweating while he threw all his ox-like strength into the crowbar he had jammed into the narrow seam of the doors. Finally inside, Sterling had led them briskly past the front reception desk, and the network of hallways and rooms that branched out on either side of the main foyer, until they stepped out into the dry, overgrown remains of what once must have been a lush, circular garden encased in the center of the building.
Huge steel beams crisscrossed overhead, giving the place a contained, cage-like feel, the vines of some long-dead tropical plant twisting and hanging down from them. In her vision, the garden had been very much alive, and Sterling had felt a sinking sort of disappointment to see it in its current state.
The three of them had separated, doing a sweep of the room with their figures hunched, the mounted flashlight beams of their M16 rifles probing the darkness. They circled inwards, and Sterling had stumbled backwards with a small cry of surprise when her boot caught the grate in the floor. [i]Here[/i]. She had thought, but wasn't sure why, and let her rifle swing from the strap around her shoulder as she bent to pull the rusted grate up with a grunt. She tossed it aside with a metallic clatter, aiming her light down where it reflected off of the white pools below.
"Fuck. No." Viper had breathed, appearing at Sterling's side to stare down through the exposed hole in the floor. Sterling paid her no attention, and after directing them to secure their up-lines to the squat, skeleton trunk of an elephant tree, the three of them found themselves repelling down into the belly of the facility.
Ka-Bar was the only one to land in the milky liquid of one of the pools below, the splash of his boots, and weight on top of them, causing most of it to explode up and out, soaking his fatigues to the knees. He grumbled but said nothing as Viper stifled a chuckle with her hand, "Oh, [i]honey[/i].", and followed the women silently as they weaved their way around the pools to an open doorway.
They gathered medical supplies from the rooms as they explored the depths of the facility, steadily moving downwards. The straps of Sterling's army green backpack bit into her shoulders from the mounting weight of bottles of medication, antibiotics, isopropyl alcohol, packages of sterile gauze, bandages, syringes, and other supplies, and she shrugged it onto the floor when they stepped into the lowest room.
[i]Here[/i]. The thought stabbed at her mind again, urgent. [i]He's here[/i].
She had slowly crept forward, shining the beam of her flashlight into each chamber that lined the walls, frowning at the slumped, sunken corpses she found within. And then, at the end of the room, his shallow breathing causing his bare chest to rise and fall softly beyond the window of his pod, her light illuminated the face of a man who looked very much alive, and her breath hitched in her throat. [i]We found him[/i].
"We don't even know what they were up to in this place." Back in the present, Viper continued to rant, approaching another stasis chamber so she could frown at the decaying corpse slumped inside "You remember what they told us growing up? The plague was a fuck-up, some lab accident." She tapped the glass. "Well what if [i]this[/i] is the lab?"
"Did I ask for your fucking opinion?" Sterling snarled. She had swung her rifle over her shoulder and was twisting the coated metal tap that was labelled [i]CHAMBER VENT[/i]. A hiss of steam flooded out as the front of the pod released it's seal, causing Sterling to step back. When nothing else happened, she gripped the bars protruding from the front of the pod and pulled, the door swinging out and up with a metallic groan.
The man inside was stark naked, thin from years - decades? - of being trapped inside, but handsome nonetheless. Sterling felt heat in her cheeks, trying to keep her eyes on his face as she leaned into him, hooking her arms under his so she could pull him out and onto the cool tile floor of the lab.
Viper's slight but muscular frame appeared at Sterling's side, her tattooed face fixed in a scowl. But she didn't say anything else, staring down at the man while Sterling fished a grey wool blanket from the bottom of her backpack, laying it out on the ground beside him. Together, the women rolled him onto the blanket, and Sterling tucked it around him.
"Ka-Bar, you're carrying him out." Sterling called, exchanging dagger glares with Viper across the man's limp body.
Ka-Bar approached the three of them warily, avoiding Viper's gaze. The monolith of muscle dwarfed his wife in every way, but after a few decades together, he had decided arguments with her were best avoided as much as possible. Unfortunately for him, he was also hard-pressed to ignore a direct order from his superior officer.
Sterling nodded down at the man. "He's drugged to high heaven and he's going to come down [i]hard[/i] when he wakes up. I want to have a look around, see if I can't find some of whatever they were dosing him with so the shock doesn't kill him."
Ka-Bar nodded, stooping low so he could scoop the unconscious man up into his arms, grimacing a bit as his head lolled at an uncomfortable angle. He was going to have a sore neck when, or if, he woke up - but that was better than dead in Sterling's humble opinion.
Viper huffed, shaking her head, black braids swinging as she turned haughtily on her heel to leave. Ka-Bar spared Sterling one sheepish sideways glance - [i]"Sorry."[/i] She mouthed back at him - before following his wife towards the exit.
Back in the garden, Sterling injected the man with a light dose of a heavy sedative she had found in the same room they had taken him from, brushing his mop of curly brown hair from his face. "You're going to make it." She whispered, and Viper scoffed laughter across the room.
The armoured vehicles that made up the caravan were parked 20 miles from the tall, chain-link fence that surrounded the facility. When Sterling, Ka-Bar, Viper, and their unconscious passenger, pulled into the centre of the encampment, people clustered around their Jeep to get a look.
[i]"Who is he?"
"Is he dead?"
"What else did you find out there?"[/i]
Men, women and children called out their questions as the four of them piled out of the vehicle. Viper stayed behind, smiling warmly as she embraced several members of the caravan, requesting a stiff drink in exchange for the story of their recent adventure.
Ka-Bar followed Sterling up the steps and into the living-area of her armour-clad converted school bus, gently placing the man's body onto the ragged upholstery of her couch. "Thanks," Sterling said, her eyes transfixed on his sleeping face.
Ka-Bar grunted in reply, pausing in the door of the camper. "You should come celebrate. Everyone is going to be happy with the supplies we found today. They're going to have a lot of questions, too." He didn't like to answer questions, that was Sterling and Viper's department.
Sterling swallowed, checking the man's pulse. Not much more she could do for him now, not until he woke up. "Yeah… uh… yeah." She muttered and turned to follow Ka-Bar outside.
[/hider]
[hider=Mid-Game Post: Sam Lowell]Sam was a little taken aback by Lucy's teasing, flirtatious smile, wondering if he was imagining a little extra swing in her hips as she sauntered off to the bathroom.
Feeling well-rested and less anxious with the sun now high in the sky - they had slept until nearly noon - Sam dressed and shrugged on his coat, stepping out into the brisk air of the day. There was a truck stop across the road from the motel, and he ventured inside to get them coffee. [i]You still haven't asked her how she likes it[/i]. He scolded himself, filling two Styrofoam take-out cups with [i]Colombian Dark Roast[/i] from one of the big carafes near the microwave. He half-filled a third cup with cream, popping it into the cardboard cup tray with the others, and pocketed several single-serving packages of sugar. [i]There. Now she can show you how she likes it[/i]. The thought rang a little dirty, and he immediately thought of Lucy's body resting on top of his, her sweet scent still permeating up from his beard.
He approached the cashier with the tray in hand, faltering near the stand for the [i]Klondike Sun[/i].
[i]RCMP continue to investigate a rash of unexplained disappearances; park rangers expanding search area. [/i]Below the headline was a picture of a young boy, two front teeth absent from his big smile, brown eyes squinting into the camera; the boy who had gone missing the night before. The caption underneath read:
[i]An Amber Alert still remains in place for Daniel Bibber, 10, who disappeared from his family's property Sunday night. Anyone with information regarding his, or the other disappearances, is asked to contact the RCMP hotline.[/i]
"Damn shame," the cashier said, an elderly woman with stark white hair braided on either side of her dark, round face. "I've seen him in here before, in the summers when his dad takes him fishing." She tapped the picture with her bony, arthritic finger when Sam placed the paper on the counter. "I pray every night for the lost ones." She rang up his purchases, toying with the bones and charms hanging around her neck, one of them a long yellow canine. [i]Witchy woman[/i]. His twin sister had used the term when they were kids; their own mother had dabbled in the practice, but the pack was taught to fear what they called "true witches," and for good reason. There weren't many left in this part of the world, but he sensed his sister would have been right about this one. Working in a gas station, of all places
Sam didn't know what to say, so he just nodded and handed her money for the coffee and newspaper. She smiled, the wrinkles around her eyes deepening and handed him his change. "Thank you, [i]zhur[/i]."
Sam hesitated, recognizing the Hän word for "wolf," spoken so it might be mistaken as "sir" to the unfamiliar ear.
"You... Have a good day." He muttered, eyeing her with some suspicion. He picked up his tray of cups and tucked the folded newspaper under his arm. The anxiety he had shed so easily that morning had begun to rise up in him again. Witches did not often personally meddle in werewolf affairs, that would go against their tenet to follow what they called "the natural order," but they were known to associate with hunters under certain circumstances, like children being taken and-
He didn't want to think about it.
Back in the motel room, the shower was off but the door to the bathroom was still closed. "I have coffee." He called to Lucy, sliding the tray onto the nightstand and sitting on the edge of the bed, the newspaper flat in his lap. The boy was so young. Even growing up, his pack had rarely targeted children, and never intentionally; there was no morality in their reasons though - children were small, easy targets, like a rabbit. The Children of Fenrir relished the glory of a successful hunt as much as the kill, so taking down such an inconsequential, weak being held little appeal to them. Maybe it had been a random attack, Anna certainly seemed unhinged enough, but something about taking a child from his own backyard felt intentional to Sam.
He frowned, thinking about Anna's words, and her companion, waiting for her on the street below instead of doing his own dirty work. [i]Why here? Why now?[/i]
[/hider]
[right][h3]PLOTS[/h3][/right]
[hr]
This spot is reserved for my weird and wonderful plot ideas (as you can see, I don't have anything listed right now, so sad...)
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;"><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://i1142.photobucket.com/albums/n612/abucketofjellyfish/Misc%20Images/tumblr_ln91myH5ts1qewg7lo1_500.gif" /></div><br><div class="bb-right"><div class="bb-h3">ABOUT</div></div><br><hr class="bb-hr"><br>Hey there! I'm a jellyfish, and you've just stumbled upon my <span class="bb-s">trap</span> bio, which is actually more of an info dump for prospective RP partners. <br><br>I'm a 28-year-old sea blob (ok, fine, I'm <span class="bb-i">technically</span> a woman) who is comfortable writing both male and female characters - usually one main alongside a whole cast of side-characters. If romance is a factor, I lean toward <span class="bb-i">M x F</span> and <span class="bb-i">F x F</span> pairings, but <span class="bb-i">M x M</span> isn't off the table. I'm interested in writing about different relationship styles and stages (maybe our characters just met, maybe they've been married for a decade, maybe they're polyamorous, or long-distance, or swingers, or friends with benefits), as well as non-romantic pairings (parent and child, siblings, close friends, rivals, mortal enemies, mentor and mentee - the possibilities are endless!) <br><br>I categorize myself as a high casual to advanced role-player, although my posts tend to vary wildly as far as length is concerned (rest assured you'll never get a one-liner from me.) I'm a fairly reclusive, so you won't catch me on the forums or participating in any kind of group. That being said, I have provided several writing samples below (three introductions and one mid-game post, to be specific), in case you're curious as to whether our writing styles are compatible. <br><br>I don't do fandoms - mostly because I'm very bad at it - but am more than happy to write something inspired by other works (in fact, I'll often reference movies or TV shows with similar plots when explaining an idea or concept to someone.) <br><br>I work 44+ hours a week, but will usually get in a post or two on the weekends at a bare minimum. My job is the sort of menial labour that allows me to OOC chat sporadically throughout the day without getting into shit for it, which usually happens over Discord (less so PMs, since this website is in no way formatted to be mobile friendly - sorry, not sorry.)<br><br>I'm interested in partners who are 21+, don't shy away from mature themes (including, but not limited to, graphic violence, strong language, sexuality, etc.), possess strong writing skills, and a solid understanding of the elements of good storytelling. If this sounds like you, and you have an idea for a plot (or want to hear one of mine), don't hesitate to drop me a line via PM!<br><br><div class="bb-right"><div class="bb-h3">GENRES</div></div><br><hr class="bb-hr"><br>Action/adventure, crime, drama, fantasy (supernatural, urban, paranormal, Grimdark, and Gothic especially), historical (more so "recent" history - basically anything from the Industrial Revolution up until the Cold War Era, bonus points if it includes a paranormal or supernatural element), horror (one of my absolute favourites; demonic possession, bloodthirsty vampires, chainsaw-wielding maniacs, flesh-eating zombies - give it all to me), mystery, science fiction (particularly if it’s within the cyberpunk, space opera/Western, post-apocalyptic, or dystopian sub-genres), slice-of-life, and thriller (psychological and/or crime)<br><br>Mixing and matching of genres is <span class="bb-i">highly</span> encouraged!<br><br><div class="bb-right"><div class="bb-h3">SAMPLES</div></div><br><hr class="bb-hr"><br>A collection of a handful of my RP writing samples (reader beware, strong language, violence, and a few mentions of drugs and nudity ahead)<br><br><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Introduction: Andres Landeg">Introduction: Andres Landeg [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none">It was the summer of 1959, and while a teenage boy in a bunker defiantly twisted the cap off of a bottle of coke with his mind, Andres Landeg lay sprawled out naked in a California King bed, at least three other bodies draped across his in various states of undress. All of them were dead. <br><br>The blackout curtains were drawn across the bedroom window, which, if opened, would reveal a panoramic view of the Pacific ocean, and several other bodies strewn across the beach. These were not his work, although he vaguely remembered his companions - wherever they were now - cackling amidst screams of horror. Subtlety was not required on a private beach, and they had all relished the opportunity to enjoy some long-anticipated bloodsport. <br><br>Andres, awake and smoking a cigarette, squinted up at the white stucco ceiling and tried to recall more details about the previous night's events. <br><br>All of his victims, cold and stiff, only now beginning to stink with the sickly sweet smell of decay, had been flush with the MDMA, quaaludes, marijuana, cocaine, and hard liquor his companions had plied them with when he had gorged himself on them, and his head still swam with the lingering effects of the dizzying combination of stimulants and depressants. As a result, his memory was an impressionist watercolour, most of it in varying shades of sticky, wet crimson.<br><br>He heard a crash down the hallway, and the door to his room was thrown open. Sofia, her long golden blonde hair in chaotic tangles framing her lipstick and blood-smeared face, also naked as the day she was born, swayed in the open doorway. "They're coming." She snarled, her icy blue eyes wide and bloodshot from the previous night's indulgences. <br><br>Andres sat up on his elbows with a groan, plucking the cigarette from his lips, extinguishing it on the pert grey ass of the woman draped across his lap, and flicked it across the room. "Listen, Sofia, sweetheart, we all warned you about overindulging last night-" <span class="bb-i">I think</span> "-But paranoia is just a side-effect of the drugs." He said, only a little worried, but mostly amused, to be witnessing the generally poised Sofia trembling like a rabid dog. "Now be a big girl and-"<br><br>"Shut the fuck up!" She hissed, her eyes darting wildly to the window, "They got the others. Rueben. Emilia. Vicky. Lit up the fucking boathouse with them all inside. Vicky tried to get away, but the sun..." There was the sound of movement outside, at least a dozen pairs of feet shuffling by the window, invisible behind the curtain. "I was under the house, I saw them load up the bodies into cadaver bags and...and take them." She said, her voice wavering with fear, a hoarse whisper now.<br><br>Another crash, this one coming from the front door being obliterated by a battering ram, and a male voice booming from an unseen source into the beach house. "Your friends are dead, you bloodsucking cunts! You better be flat on your fucking faces or you're fucking dust!" <br><br>Andres scrambled to his feet, unconcerned with covering his nakedness as he heard the scuffle of boots crossing the foyer, moving in a steady march toward the hallway. <br><br>Sofia choked back a sob. Andres had never once in a thousand years seen fear in her eyes like what he now saw, and it was enough to convince him to drop to his knees, then onto his belly, elbows splayed and fingers lacing over the back of his head. Sofia did the same. "We surrender." He croaked, his mouth dry. <span class="bb-i">Fuck, fuck, fuck. </span><br><br>He saw the sand crusted black boots, military issue, begin to surround him, the cold barrel of a rifle poking the nape of his neck. "<span class="bb-i">Christ</span>! We fucking surrender!"<br><br>Sofia screamed, an angry, animalistic sound, somewhere to his left as she was dragged to her feet by the faceless men.<br><br>Andres thought of how much fun they had been having this decade, how much more fun they had planned to have, and then cursed himself for lacking the foresight to see this day coming. <br><br>Then the world plunged into darkness - a hood pulled over his head - and he felt himself being pulled up by his armpits and dragged toward an uncertain fate...</div></div><br><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Introduction: Franklin Fournier">Introduction: Franklin Fournier [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none"><div class="bb-right"><span class="bb-b">Friday, February 23, 2018</span></div><br>If the weather was to be taken as an omen, Franklin Fournier's reluctant decision to return home had been a bad one. <br><br>It was just after 10:30 p.m., and he was throwing up his lunch in one of the cramped, metal walled stalls of the Salish Raven ferry's men's washroom. <br><br>His 5:15 p.m. ticket had been cancelled due to adverse weather conditions, but with the crowd of impatient passengers growing in the Westview terminal, and the captain eager to make it back to the Island for the start of his weekend, the 8:45 p.m. voyage had been given the green light by the powers that be of BC Ferries.<br><br>The waves rocking the shoreline had been so violent that it took the ferry almost an hour just to maneuver away from the dock, passengers and crew gripping railings or the arms of their chairs as the boat pitched and the saltwater crashed against the reinforced plexiglass windows. <br><br>Franklin had sat with his head between his knees for as long as he could stand to, before half running half stumbling to the nearest washroom, dropping to his knees to hug the brushed steel of the toilet bowl as the ferry pressed on through the tempest. <br><br>Franklin staggered back to his seat only after his stomach began to ache with emptiness. He was pale and shaken, his brow shiny with sweat, and when he sat down he quickly resigned himself to staring at his sneakers and the stained grey carpet beneath them, hugging himself with a suppressed groan as another wave made the passenger deck reel.<br><br>Truth be told, he hadn't taken a sober ferry ride since he had been a kid, which was also the last time he had been seasick in earnest. <br><br>Otherwise, flush with liquor, dope, or maybe an Oxy or two if he could get his hands on them, he had almost been able to enjoy voyages across the often temperamental Salish Sea that separated the Island from the mainland, although it had been years since his last journey. <br><br>Now, sober as a judge, and dreading what awaited him when he reached his destination, he felt his empty stomach lurch once more. <br><br>He debated eating something, just so he could purge again and distract his mind from the fear and anxiety that reared up inside of him like the many heads of a hydra. <br><br>"Frankie?" A hesitant female voice inquired, a shadow falling over him as a woman paused in the aisle beside his seat, "Frankie Fournier?"<br><br>He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, leaning back in his seat to squint up at the woman hovering over him. "Eh?" He croaked, his mouth dry and his tongue sour with the lingering taste of bile.<br><br>"I'll be damned, it <span class="bb-i">is</span> you!" The woman was tall and slender, with long black hair framing a round face, high cheekbones and dark eyes. <br><br>"Asher. Eloise Asher." Franklin said, feigning a smile as he gave her a thumbs-up, "Fancy seeing you-"<br><br>The boat lurched again, and he groaned, closing his eyes. <br><br>"<span class="bb-i">Christ</span>." He muttered, because he was seasick and because he did not in the least want to talk to Eloise Asher, or anyone else from the Valley as a matter of fact.<br><br>When he remembered her, he remembered her as a 17-year-old girl in a borrowed black dress, crying with all the other girls in black dresses and boys in black suits as his sister's casket was lowered into the dirt. He remembered his mother's wails and his father's silence. He remembered feeling numb and cold and sick. He remembered the sun, overbright in the sky above them as black storm clouds gathered on the horizon.<br><br>"I heard you were coming back to the Island." She said, sidling past his legs so she could sit in the seat next to his. <br><br>He sighed, "Yeah, if this tin can doesn't sink before it gets me there."<br><br>She laughed. He wasn't joking. <br><br>"I've seen worse. How was the Health Centre? My brother finished out the program a couple of years ago, said it was real nice up there." She said, beaming at him.<br><br>Franklin raised an eyebrow. Eloise had never been well known for her tact, but asking him how rehab was? He wanted to say, <span class="bb-i">Oh yeah, it was a blast! I got to hang out with a bunch of other junkies. We held hands and sang kum ba ya in the woods. But the detox week from hell and daily emotional circle jerks were by far the best parts. Thanks for asking!</span><br><br>What he actually said was, "It was nice. Good food."<br><br>"Good. Good to have you back, too." Eloise said, patting his leg before she stood, finally taking the hint, "I bet your mom is going to be excited to see you. You're all she talks about."<br><br>"Can't wait." Franklin muttered.<br><br>-<br><br>Franklin's mother was not excited to see him. <br><br>She bolted upright when he tapped on the front passenger window of her red Maserati Levante, the <span class="bb-i">Good Housekeeping</span> magazine she had draped over her face tumbling into her lap. <br><br>She put a manicured hand over her heart, mouthed a curse word, and then unlocked the doors so he could climb in out of the rain, tossing his worn canvas backpack into the back seat as he did. <br><br>"You're soaked." She said, eyeing him up and down with a mixture of pity and concern. Whether it was for him or the Maserati's Italian leather upholstery was debatable. <br><br>"It's raining." He replied, shrugging as he tugged his seatbelt across his chest, "Sorry I'm late."<br><br>"That's fine, I saw the schedule change. It's a mess out there tonight. I'll get you a cell phone this weekend." She started the ignition, the <span class="bb-i">"now breathe, in, out, in, and out"</span> of some husky-voiced guru's meditation CD murmuring from the speakers as the vehicle hummed to life.<br><br>"Is that all you brought with you?" She asked, glancing at his backpack in the rearview. <br><br>"That's all I have, mom." Franklin said as he held his trembling hands up to the warm air piping through the vents on the dash. <br><br>His mother nodded, tucking bottle brunette strands behind her ear as she steered them out of the terminal parking lot, "We can get you clothes tomorrow, too. Anything you need."<br><br>He sighed shakily, still feeling weak from his tumultuous voyage, "I have AA in Courtenay tomorrow evening." He said, quickly adding, "I was going to meet up with some friends after." As always, he found it easy to lie to her. <br><br>"Oh?" She said, sounding disappointed, flicking on her brights as they left the parking lot and the glow of the lamplight that illuminated it. Now only rain-slicked pavement lay ahead of them, the swaying black silhouettes of trees looming up on either side of it.<br><br>They sat in silence for the remainder of the 20 minute trip to Black Creek. <br><br>Franklin felt sicker than ever, watching the familiar dark blur of the woods passing by through his rain-streaked window.<br><br>When they finally reached the collection of darkened shops and houses that made up the blink and you'll miss it hamlet of Black Creek, the SUV slowing to take the turnoff for Lalum Road, Franklin found himself chewing his lower lip until he tasted the warm copper of his own blood. <br><br>He could jump out here, hitchhike his way up Island Highway to a place where he was nobody and he knew nothing. At the very least, he could find somewhere to get a fucking drink.<br><br>His opportunity vanished in an instant, the hamlet disappearing along with the light it provided as they were plunged into the darkness of the backroad.<br><br>His mother broke the silence a few minutes later as they reached and passed through the tall iron gates of his childhood home, "I had Penny get the guest house ready for you. Your old room is an office now, I'm afraid." She didn't say it was David's office, but he could guess as much from the careful way she chose her words.<br><br>He didn't hate his stepfather per se. Franklin barely knew the man, nevermind the fact that he was a little old for a "you're not my real dad" complex. But imagining him taking up space in what was once his father's house had a bitter sort of sting to it. <br><br>"The guest house is fine. Thanks." He said, his heart rate climbing steadily as they approached the thick log facade of the main house, unchanged aside from the ostentatious yellow Lamborghini that had replaced his father's black Oldsmobile in the driveway. <br><br>"Mom!" He said suddenly, making his mother jump for the second time, slamming her foot down on the brakes reflexively, "Uh, sorry. I'm tired, just let me out here." He was already reaching into the back seat, searching blindly for his backpack, his eyes unable to tear away from the spiralling, ornate carvings of the front door.<br><br>"Yes, of course." His mother said, exhaling, "I'll have Penny bring you breakfast in the morning, if you want some time to… settle in? But David and I, well, we were hoping you would join us for dinner so we could..." <br><br>Franklin frowned at her as he pulled his damp backpack into his lap, "Mom, I-" <br><br>"Oh, right. AA. Friends. Sunday, then?" She cut him off, smiling forlornly. <br><br>He was halfway out of the vehicle now, peering across the dimly lit pavement of the driveway at the glowing orange of the guest house porch light, "Yeah, Sunday, sure thing."<br><br>He closed the door before she could say anything else, his legs feeling like they were filled with cement as he made the journey across the expansive driveway to the guest house, the rain soaking through his clothes all over again. <br><br>Inside, he felt another wave of tension grip him, his back pressed against the door, his stomach in knots. The guest house was a newer addition to the property, free from the stains of memories, good, bad, or ugly, or at least that had been the theory. But that wasn't enough to trick his mind into forgetting where he was.<br><br>After a few minutes of laboured but intentional breathing, he finally won out against the rising panic and moved unsteadily into the bathroom. He peeled off his wet clothes, tossing them into the bathtub, and decided naked was fine for tonight when he opened his backpack to discover the contents had been soaked like the rest of him. <br><br>Finally, the television filling the room with late-night infomercial white noise, Franklin curled up on the bed and gave in to the restless, shivering sleep exhaustion offered him.</div></div><br><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Introduction: Sterling">Introduction: Sterling [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none">"Goddamnit, Sterling!" Viper cried, throwing up her calloused hands in exasperation. "We don't have the resources for another one of your strays; especially not a fuckin' vegetable."<br><br>Sterling tensed, pushing down the anger inside of her that now threatened to boil over. Viper's frustration was not unexpected; Sterling had taken the entire caravan off their planned route, seemingly on a whim - <span class="bb-i">Because I'm not telling them it was a vision. They'll think I've lost my goddamn mind... Christ, maybe I have.</span> - and now the three of them, herself, Viper, and Ka-Bar were in an abandoned government lab, four stories underground, about to pull an unconscious man they knew nothing about out of a mystery chamber with <span class="bb-i">HUMAN SPECIMEN, STASIS CHAMBER, CAUTION, DANGER</span>, and <span class="bb-i">STAY BACK</span> stencilled all over it in bold red and black letters.<br><br>When they had arrived at the facility, a monolithic donut of a building that looked not unlike a sports stadium, strangely out of place in the middle of the Sonoran Desert, they had wondered at the size of the place, and the eerie quiet that surrounded it. <br><br>The swirling clouds overhead were especially dense and low here, and without their enhanced night vision the three of them would have had trouble navigating the airfield, broken-down military vehicles, and outbuildings that clustered around the central structure. Viper had wondered, aloud as she almost always did, if they should have brought more backup with them. But this place had been long-abandoned, the bones of what corpses remained picked clean by scavengers, and with no major population zones for over 100 miles it was unlikely the vampire hordes still hunted here.<br><br>It took them nearly half an hour to prise open the sealed steel doors that lead into the main building, Ka-Bar grunting and sweating while he threw all his ox-like strength into the crowbar he had jammed into the narrow seam of the doors. Finally inside, Sterling had led them briskly past the front reception desk, and the network of hallways and rooms that branched out on either side of the main foyer, until they stepped out into the dry, overgrown remains of what once must have been a lush, circular garden encased in the center of the building. <br><br>Huge steel beams crisscrossed overhead, giving the place a contained, cage-like feel, the vines of some long-dead tropical plant twisting and hanging down from them. In her vision, the garden had been very much alive, and Sterling had felt a sinking sort of disappointment to see it in its current state. <br><br>The three of them had separated, doing a sweep of the room with their figures hunched, the mounted flashlight beams of their M16 rifles probing the darkness. They circled inwards, and Sterling had stumbled backwards with a small cry of surprise when her boot caught the grate in the floor. <span class="bb-i">Here</span>. She had thought, but wasn't sure why, and let her rifle swing from the strap around her shoulder as she bent to pull the rusted grate up with a grunt. She tossed it aside with a metallic clatter, aiming her light down where it reflected off of the white pools below. <br><br>"Fuck. No." Viper had breathed, appearing at Sterling's side to stare down through the exposed hole in the floor. Sterling paid her no attention, and after directing them to secure their up-lines to the squat, skeleton trunk of an elephant tree, the three of them found themselves repelling down into the belly of the facility.<br><br>Ka-Bar was the only one to land in the milky liquid of one of the pools below, the splash of his boots, and weight on top of them, causing most of it to explode up and out, soaking his fatigues to the knees. He grumbled but said nothing as Viper stifled a chuckle with her hand, "Oh, <span class="bb-i">honey</span>.", and followed the women silently as they weaved their way around the pools to an open doorway. <br><br>They gathered medical supplies from the rooms as they explored the depths of the facility, steadily moving downwards. The straps of Sterling's army green backpack bit into her shoulders from the mounting weight of bottles of medication, antibiotics, isopropyl alcohol, packages of sterile gauze, bandages, syringes, and other supplies, and she shrugged it onto the floor when they stepped into the lowest room.<br><br><span class="bb-i">Here</span>. The thought stabbed at her mind again, urgent. <span class="bb-i">He's here</span>. <br><br>She had slowly crept forward, shining the beam of her flashlight into each chamber that lined the walls, frowning at the slumped, sunken corpses she found within. And then, at the end of the room, his shallow breathing causing his bare chest to rise and fall softly beyond the window of his pod, her light illuminated the face of a man who looked very much alive, and her breath hitched in her throat. <span class="bb-i">We found him</span>.<br><br>"We don't even know what they were up to in this place." Back in the present, Viper continued to rant, approaching another stasis chamber so she could frown at the decaying corpse slumped inside "You remember what they told us growing up? The plague was a fuck-up, some lab accident." She tapped the glass. "Well what if <span class="bb-i">this</span> is the lab?"<br><br>"Did I ask for your fucking opinion?" Sterling snarled. She had swung her rifle over her shoulder and was twisting the coated metal tap that was labelled <span class="bb-i">CHAMBER VENT</span>. A hiss of steam flooded out as the front of the pod released it's seal, causing Sterling to step back. When nothing else happened, she gripped the bars protruding from the front of the pod and pulled, the door swinging out and up with a metallic groan. <br><br>The man inside was stark naked, thin from years - decades? - of being trapped inside, but handsome nonetheless. Sterling felt heat in her cheeks, trying to keep her eyes on his face as she leaned into him, hooking her arms under his so she could pull him out and onto the cool tile floor of the lab. <br><br>Viper's slight but muscular frame appeared at Sterling's side, her tattooed face fixed in a scowl. But she didn't say anything else, staring down at the man while Sterling fished a grey wool blanket from the bottom of her backpack, laying it out on the ground beside him. Together, the women rolled him onto the blanket, and Sterling tucked it around him.<br><br>"Ka-Bar, you're carrying him out." Sterling called, exchanging dagger glares with Viper across the man's limp body. <br><br>Ka-Bar approached the three of them warily, avoiding Viper's gaze. The monolith of muscle dwarfed his wife in every way, but after a few decades together, he had decided arguments with her were best avoided as much as possible. Unfortunately for him, he was also hard-pressed to ignore a direct order from his superior officer. <br><br>Sterling nodded down at the man. "He's drugged to high heaven and he's going to come down <span class="bb-i">hard</span> when he wakes up. I want to have a look around, see if I can't find some of whatever they were dosing him with so the shock doesn't kill him."<br><br>Ka-Bar nodded, stooping low so he could scoop the unconscious man up into his arms, grimacing a bit as his head lolled at an uncomfortable angle. He was going to have a sore neck when, or if, he woke up - but that was better than dead in Sterling's humble opinion. <br><br>Viper huffed, shaking her head, black braids swinging as she turned haughtily on her heel to leave. Ka-Bar spared Sterling one sheepish sideways glance - <span class="bb-i">"Sorry."</span> She mouthed back at him - before following his wife towards the exit. <br><br>Back in the garden, Sterling injected the man with a light dose of a heavy sedative she had found in the same room they had taken him from, brushing his mop of curly brown hair from his face. "You're going to make it." She whispered, and Viper scoffed laughter across the room. <br><br>The armoured vehicles that made up the caravan were parked 20 miles from the tall, chain-link fence that surrounded the facility. When Sterling, Ka-Bar, Viper, and their unconscious passenger, pulled into the centre of the encampment, people clustered around their Jeep to get a look.<br><br><span class="bb-i">"Who is he?"<br>"Is he dead?"<br>"What else did you find out there?"</span><br><br>Men, women and children called out their questions as the four of them piled out of the vehicle. Viper stayed behind, smiling warmly as she embraced several members of the caravan, requesting a stiff drink in exchange for the story of their recent adventure. <br><br>Ka-Bar followed Sterling up the steps and into the living-area of her armour-clad converted school bus, gently placing the man's body onto the ragged upholstery of her couch. "Thanks," Sterling said, her eyes transfixed on his sleeping face. <br><br>Ka-Bar grunted in reply, pausing in the door of the camper. "You should come celebrate. Everyone is going to be happy with the supplies we found today. They're going to have a lot of questions, too." He didn't like to answer questions, that was Sterling and Viper's department. <br><br>Sterling swallowed, checking the man's pulse. Not much more she could do for him now, not until he woke up. "Yeah… uh… yeah." She muttered and turned to follow Ka-Bar outside.</div></div><br><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="Mid-Game Post: Sam Lowell">Mid-Game Post: Sam Lowell [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none">Sam was a little taken aback by Lucy's teasing, flirtatious smile, wondering if he was imagining a little extra swing in her hips as she sauntered off to the bathroom. <br><br>Feeling well-rested and less anxious with the sun now high in the sky - they had slept until nearly noon - Sam dressed and shrugged on his coat, stepping out into the brisk air of the day. There was a truck stop across the road from the motel, and he ventured inside to get them coffee. <span class="bb-i">You still haven't asked her how she likes it</span>. He scolded himself, filling two Styrofoam take-out cups with <span class="bb-i">Colombian Dark Roast</span> from one of the big carafes near the microwave. He half-filled a third cup with cream, popping it into the cardboard cup tray with the others, and pocketed several single-serving packages of sugar. <span class="bb-i">There. Now she can show you how she likes it</span>. The thought rang a little dirty, and he immediately thought of Lucy's body resting on top of his, her sweet scent still permeating up from his beard.<br><br>He approached the cashier with the tray in hand, faltering near the stand for the <span class="bb-i">Klondike Sun</span>. <br><br><span class="bb-i">RCMP continue to investigate a rash of unexplained disappearances; park rangers expanding search area. </span>Below the headline was a picture of a young boy, two front teeth absent from his big smile, brown eyes squinting into the camera; the boy who had gone missing the night before. The caption underneath read: <br><br><span class="bb-i">An Amber Alert still remains in place for Daniel Bibber, 10, who disappeared from his family's property Sunday night. Anyone with information regarding his, or the other disappearances, is asked to contact the RCMP hotline.</span><br><br>"Damn shame," the cashier said, an elderly woman with stark white hair braided on either side of her dark, round face. "I've seen him in here before, in the summers when his dad takes him fishing." She tapped the picture with her bony, arthritic finger when Sam placed the paper on the counter. "I pray every night for the lost ones." She rang up his purchases, toying with the bones and charms hanging around her neck, one of them a long yellow canine. <span class="bb-i">Witchy woman</span>. His twin sister had used the term when they were kids; their own mother had dabbled in the practice, but the pack was taught to fear what they called "true witches," and for good reason. There weren't many left in this part of the world, but he sensed his sister would have been right about this one. Working in a gas station, of all places <br><br>Sam didn't know what to say, so he just nodded and handed her money for the coffee and newspaper. She smiled, the wrinkles around her eyes deepening and handed him his change. "Thank you, <span class="bb-i">zhur</span>." <br><br>Sam hesitated, recognizing the Hän word for "wolf," spoken so it might be mistaken as "sir" to the unfamiliar ear. <br><br>"You... Have a good day." He muttered, eyeing her with some suspicion. He picked up his tray of cups and tucked the folded newspaper under his arm. The anxiety he had shed so easily that morning had begun to rise up in him again. Witches did not often personally meddle in werewolf affairs, that would go against their tenet to follow what they called "the natural order," but they were known to associate with hunters under certain circumstances, like children being taken and-<br><br>He didn't want to think about it. <br><br>Back in the motel room, the shower was off but the door to the bathroom was still closed. "I have coffee." He called to Lucy, sliding the tray onto the nightstand and sitting on the edge of the bed, the newspaper flat in his lap. The boy was so young. Even growing up, his pack had rarely targeted children, and never intentionally; there was no morality in their reasons though - children were small, easy targets, like a rabbit. The Children of Fenrir relished the glory of a successful hunt as much as the kill, so taking down such an inconsequential, weak being held little appeal to them. Maybe it had been a random attack, Anna certainly seemed unhinged enough, but something about taking a child from his own backyard felt intentional to Sam. <br><br>He frowned, thinking about Anna's words, and her companion, waiting for her on the street below instead of doing his own dirty work. <span class="bb-i">Why here? Why now?</span></div></div><br><br><div class="bb-right"><div class="bb-h3">PLOTS</div></div><br><hr class="bb-hr"><br>This spot is reserved for my weird and wonderful plot ideas (as you can see, I don't have anything listed right now, so sad...)</div>
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