Afro Samurai

California Love -- An L.A. 90's Crime RP

posting today or tomorrow

Monsters and Men: A One Universe Comics Presentation

Grandmaster Bushido Brown

Origin And Backstory (In A Maximum Of Four Paragraphs): Bushido Brown a.k.a. First Name Nobody Know, was born and raised in Harlem under the prestidiginatious tenure of the great Shogun of Lennox Avenue, Mamba Black, who ruled with iron fist across its four quarters: North, South, East, and West. For centuries, the title of Shogun was passed to any who could defeat the Lord of Lennox and could separate himself from the rest of the jive turkeys.

Prostitutin’, pimpin’, and simpin’ pervaded far and wide, with no place for the good and honest man to hide. Wont to feel, five rose from Amsterdam Avenue to Pleasant Hill and one starry night the Shogun was killed. And just when he thought things couldn’t get hot, turns out Bushido’s mama was part of the plot! Now ain’t no debt that goes unpaid, not even for the most righteous of maids--them cats from East Harlem sent the Hateocracy to settle the bargain!

Bushido’s mother was a bad mama jam, Master of the White Lotus school of ‘fu! But the Hateocracy proved too much for her to chew! Stinkmeaner, Crabmiser, Gripenasty, Pistofferson too, came into town and lo’, oh no! They burned the house down! Bushido’s mama, mean and brave, fought the Hateocracy and her son did escape! With his father, our young hero trained: karateka, judo, muay thai, many styles he used before he could take on the Lords of Lennox Avenue!

Now pick those lopsided afros, and sucka don’t frown, come follow the tale of Grandmaster Bushido Brown!

Powers and Abilities:

What amounts to a ‘peak human’ in traditional comicverses: he is faster than the average human, stronger, more agile, and has better stamina but he is not enhanced by anything mystical and breaks and bruises just the same when acted on by greater forces than what the human body can resist. Otherwise, he runs the gamut of martial arts mastery in some areas: Judo, Western Boxing, Muay Thai, Jiu Jitsu, Shotokan, and competency in several others.

Supporting Characters:

The Shogun of Harlem

• Elvira “Coffee” Mack (one bad bitty)

The White Lotus Clan

• Rattlesnake Joe Brown (Bushido’s father)
• Tai Pei
• Rashida Brown (deceased)

The Hateocracy

• Lord Rufus Crabmiser
• George Pistofferson
• Esmerelda Gripenasty
• Colonel H. Stinkmeaner

The Five Hands of Harlem

• Luna ‘Crazy Killer Kung Fu Wolf Chick’ Jones
• Antoine, Just Antoine
• Mr. Dolemite
• Mrs. Dolemite
• Little Thang

Playas Circle

• Sugarfoot Robinson
• Baby Bitty
• Doodoo Darrell
• Mr. ?

The Kumite

• Not a character but a far-out place where an annual karate tournament is held for the trippiest bitties and karate men to flex muscle and tussle.

Sample Post:

“Woooaah wooaahh, hol’ it there na’!” ordered Doodoo Darrell to the rest of the Playas Circle,
“you trynna tell Doodoo Darrell he gots ta give up half his earnin’s from his sweet babies? Who say?”

“I don’t make no rules, triple D, but we gotta foll’ em! You want Coffee to send Luna ass back here again? You memba what I told you she said?” chimed Sugarfoot,

“You say she said,”

A Week Ago
A black pump heel whipped the side of Sugarfoot Robinson’s face as far as his neck could swivel and sent him flying into the soft leather couch which, along with a few other dollar store quality items, served as the warehouse’s decor. A child like scream came from behind Luna--a child like scream she was all too familiar with.

Baby Bitty caught a freshly prepared backhand across his pudgy, round face and fell lump on his behind, shades of dust defaming his pink overalls,
“Gotdamn you, crazy ass kung fu--YEEEEEEE!” that same black pump heel made a good churning of Baby Bitty’s unsavory parts,

“Now you know I don’t like that name, Bitty,” she bent down “I-”

click, click! Sugarfoot had pulled his six shooter from his gold boot where it was always kept. A hampered mess on the ground, blood leaking from his mouth. Luna turned, her black leather trenchcoat wisping behind. From a hip holster she pulled a silver magnum, long barrel,

“Go ‘head, sucka, pull that trigga one mo’ time, see if I don’t blow yo jive ass back to Timbuktu.”

Away the weapon went. Mouse-like footsteps from Baby Bitty could be heard hitting the warehouse floor as Bitty tried to escape. Luna pulled her other silver magnum from the opposing holster as she turned to point both guns at her victims: the right gun pointed at Sugarfoot, the left and Baby Bitty’s back,

“Getcho li’l ass back here before I blow it off! Now,” she exchanged a look with them both, “you know why I’m here. Coffee ain’t havin’ no more of this holdin’ out shit. The deal was 25% of what y’all bring in. Last few kick ups been a li’l sho’t.”

Bitty emitted quiet as possible,

“well according to my recoll--”

“SPEAK UP, BITTY.” Bitty flinched, gasped, and then did as she commanded,

“W-well a-ccording to my recollection, the deal was not, as you say, fifty percent of our income. The deal was we take out Bushido Brown an--”

“Terms done changed, Bitty, baby.” she holstered the gun pointed at Bitty’s back and continued,

“Bushido Brown ain’t dead, and Coffee come to collect somehow. Maybe, just maybe, she said she might consider givin’ you back what is rightfully yours if you do this shit like it’s supposed to be done. You cats broke bad, now you eitha fix it or I’mma be ‘round here again--and it ain’t gonna be for just wreckin’ you fools, dig?”

“Yeah, Luna, gahtdamnit! Nah get gone, can’t do much thinkin’ wit’ a piece in my face!” Sugarfoot cried out, the crimson blood running down his lips blended with the similarly tinted red fur coat he had on and the ruby diamond ring on his left ring finger.

“That’s what I like to hear. Tell Doo’ his ass need to call me before I have to pay his ass a visit, too.” both guns holstered, she turned and made her exit. The door closed behind her,

“damn, Damn, DAMN! DAMN YOU BUSHIDO BROOOWWNN!” both men shouted in unison.

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG Season 2- New Horizons (Closed)

_{The Tempest of the Normal}

Amim House

---

”I believe it is time…”
“Time for what?” Pantheon laid atop the all-too-small Queen size bed which prevailed as the only clean item amid a sea of clothes: dirty, ripped, or more pertinent, ones which no longer fit.
”Time to get a job. I cannot stand to hear your. . . our mother’s daily reminders further.”

Hassan gave himself a good whollop. Regret was immediate.

“Don’t talk about her, shithead.”
”You persist physical violence knowing it hurts us both? We have been together how long?”
“Few months.”
”Are you sure I am the one who is, as you put it, ‘a shithead’?”
“Well… you can shut up, how about that?”

And Pantheon did. Hassan returned to his drawing: a poor rendition of certain people from the invasion of Sherman Square: Hex, Alchemyst, Icon, and a few others, all grouped together and waving, their four-fingered hands waving and each smiling at one another. He heard a door open, had to be Shati. A sly grin grew on Hassan face,

Presently in a teal hoodie which Rahna bought him, some black jeans (Rahna again), and some special ordered black Converse (hey, Rahna, thanks!) Hassan jumped up and scurried out his door to meet Shati at the top of the stairs. He leaned on the railing beside him and wiggled his eyebrows,

“Sooooooo?”

Shati, now a bit taller and mere days before her 16th birthday, stonewalled her elder cousin’s plea. She gave a glance to him from her phone, AirPods still sunk into her ears. A sigh, and then she shouted for Bibi, but Bibi had already left. Hassan did a jig.

“Fine. Fine, fine. FINE! But I swear if I die I’m coming back to haunt you and him. Also, could you not tell Michael you’re going to beat his ass if he doesn’t take me to prom?”

“Wasn’t me, it was--”

“Pantheon, yeah, whatever dude. Just cut it out, yeah?” Shati pattered her feet down the stairs, knee high socks and red and white Jordan Air Max rounding out her outfit of choice. Hassan towed behind and snatched the car keys from their hook next to the kitchen and the two hustled outside. 7:30? School at 8:15? Can do. Hassan hopped in the driver’s seat, Shati in the passenger’s.

“And this time make sure you use the blinkers, thanks.”

“Titi, who’s the one driving?”

Silence.

“Exxxaacctlyyyy.” Hassan mocked,

“You just started driving last week, dummy! Who was the one who taught you how to drive, huh?” she pulled back ebon silky hair and leaned an ear close to Hassan,

Silence.

“Exaaaaaaccctlyyyy.” Shati returned,

“Well, being a superhero is tough business, alright? Taking down a terrorist organization is a pretty big deal, you know.”

“Last I checked those guys are still around. Big bad superhero can’t do his job right, and he can’t drive. Maybe I shouldn’t have been jealous of you after all.”

“...Just.. put your seatbelt on.” Shati gave a smile as she clicked herself in. Hassan started the vehicle and the two were off.

Hassan drummed his fingers along the steering wheel while they rolled along in silence for the first few minutes of the ride. Silence wasn’t his favorite, and so he moved to break it first,

“Speaking of prom, any ideas? Need a good color scheme. Yellow and green?”

“You know I don’t like yellow,”

“That kind of hurts, you know.”

“No, blue and… something else.”

“Ohhh,” Hassan nudged her as she scrolled through her phone, “you and Michael gonna match? Huh? Huh?!”

Shati huffed and pushed his arm away best she could.

“No. Everyone does that.” a stop sign, Shati’s phone rang,

“Hello? Hey, Rahna! Yeah, yeah, okay. Alright, I’ll tell him.” she hung up and turned to Hassan,
“Rahna said she had to speak to you after you dropped me off. Something about a uh… an interview?”

Oh. Hassan felt morning’s renewal leave him; it may have been the lack of leg room in the Camry. No, it was definitely numinous.

“Did you ask her with who?”

“She didn’t say. Just said to meet her after. Oh, and this time could you not forget to pick me up after soccer?”

“Sure, Titi.” Hassan had zoned out, and had nearly rear-ended a soccer mom’s van at the entrance of the high school,

“Hassan! Pay attention!” Hassan slammed the breaks and though he didn’t jerk forward too much, Shati did. One of Pantheon’s massive hands pressed against Shati’s chest, nearly pushing her into the seat.

“Shit! You alright?” the hand dropped, Shati coughed violently and unbuckled herself before jolting out of the vehicle and into the school. Hassan was left sitting there, alone.

”It doesn’t matter how hard you try, she will always hate you. They all do.”

“We’re not doing this right now.”

A cold climbed Hassan’s spine; he could envision Pantheon’s smug grin crawling around his mind. There was no time to waste, he had to go see Rahna about this ‘interview.’

An Error in Morality (A Cyberpunk Story)

bet

California Love -- An L.A. 90's Crime RP

The First Day of the Rest of Your Life

March 18th, 1997

---

Smog snuffed radiance, and spring did little to ease one’s mind. A fan circled its near perpetual dance above Kentrell’s head and he was staring at the fan as it turned. It was mid-day, the stove crackled flame, Darius and Lorraine were up cooking breakfast: eggs, sausage, cheese toast. It was the same thing every morning--mornings began whenever the eldest siblings woke--Kentrell sighed. Excising crust from his eyes and tossing his mess of covers from himself, Kentrell sat on the side of the bed and pushed his feet into the house slippers waiting for him on the rug beside his resting place.

As zombies of morn do, Kentrell lifted himself up and lumbered toward the kitchen. A smell once welcoming and sloughing the monotony of routine consumption, Kentrell (or Tre as his siblings called him) would have sooner found Nirvana if he never had to smell cheese toast and eggs again. Sausage made his stomach churn. Kentrell ate it anyway, he was no cook himself--a deficiency which,as Darrius and Shontay reminded him often, made him goofy. Darrius re-attached he smoke detector once all the hot breakfast had been cooked. Lorraine had disappeared into the bathroom and there was no sign of Terell, Marcus, or Shontay.

Kentrell hated being alone with Darrius.

No sooner than Lorraine went to get dressed for work did Darrius begin his shpiel,

“You found a job yet?” Darrius sipped black coffee while Kentrell toyed with a plate of scrambled eggs, Kentrell’s eyes met Darrius’ own,

“Still lookin’.” a dry enough response from the younger Price boy; Darrius knew it to be incredulous,

“Uh huh. Look Tre, I’ono what you plan on doing, but it gotta be something. Shontay and Terell ass, too, cause I know damn well I’m not about to keep doin’ no’ double shifts at McDonalds for three lazy niggas.”

“Man, ain’ no--”

“Nah, nah, nigga. Shut up.”

“Man, aight. I’ll see what up.”

“I’m serious, nigga.”

Lorraine came out of the bathroom and prompted an end to the exchange. In her return, Kentrell found safety from Darrius scold; Lorraine and Darrius left the house after other random chatter between themselves. Kentrell watched them leave and then finished his eggs and sausage. He went back to his room and threw on the same red t-shirt he had worn yesterday and exchanged his slippers for decaying red Converse sneakers. From inside his drawer he retrieved his red bandana and stuffed it in the back pocket of the khaki pants he had also worn yesterday. Hygiene, then Kentrell was outside.

Beyond the black iron fence which enclosed the apartment complex were a handful of people, all of whom had some designated article of clothing in homage to the hood. Red belts, red socks, hats, shoes, flags. Of the ten or so young men and women standing outside, there were the two he had wanted to see most: Terell and Shontay, and of the duo it was Terrell who welcomed Kentrell--or KP as he was known in the streets--first,

“Woop. What up, nigga. Where you been?”

“Shit, sleep.”

“Sleep?! Nigga, it’s 12:30! Been waitin’ on yo’ ass all day.” KP joined with the rest of the group, to which Shontay gave her own greeting,

“Here come this ugly ass nigga!” KP kissed his teeth and indulged her with a one-arm side hug.

“Ya mama, nigga.” KP’s retorts were never quite tuned for quality,

“Whatever, you ready?” 20 sets of eyes turned to KP, nerves flashed up the boy’s spine and settled in the rest of his body. A millisecond too long passed in silence, they could smell the hesitation.

“On Lanes, nigga, you already know I’m ready. Shit, been ready, blood.” the answer appeased none, but no one feigned belief better than KP and his friends.

“We gon’ see.” Shontay and Terrell had already put in work, exactly what that work was was something Terell didn’t quite know. A cherry red cadillac pulled up in front of the apartments, inside a muscled, dark skinned black man with a scar beneath his eye and a blunt hanging from his mouth screeched the cadillac to a halt. Shontay let her eyes fall to the vehicle,

“There he go. Aye!” she shouted to the car, “What up Bone?!” Bone only gave a nod,

KP had frozen solid in just that short span of time, it took a nudge from Shontay to rev life into him. With lowered tone, she spoke,

“Go ‘head nigga, don’t make him call you ova there.”

KP’s legs carried him. Hands clutched the unlocked door and he stepped in. Instinctively, he reached a hand out to Bone, who merely stared at the hand and then hit the gas.

And in a few seconds it all became real to him.

California Love -- An L.A. 90's Crime RP

Slippin' and slidin', CK ridin'.

Name: Kentrell “KP” Price

Age: 19

Occupation/Affiliation: Denver Lane Gangster Bloods (DLB, DLGB, Lanes)

Physical Description: Price stands at a lithe 6’1 and has smashed in his frame a reasonable amount of muscle for someone his age. Strewn across his back is a tattoo brandishing the initials of his gang, “DLB”.

History: Born aloof in the Vermont Vista apartments in 1978 to Regina and Andre Price, Kentrell and his five siblings: Marcus, Shontay, Terrell, Lorraine, and Darius were no exceptions to the poverty pervading the Vista and many other black neighborhoods. Following the outsourcing of most of Los Angeles’ factories in the middle and late seventies, thousands of African American and Latino blue collar salarymen without access to higher education found themselves out of work and in abject need.

The Price family patriarch fell to drug use, and the Price matriarch struggled to find work as well. A story typical, Price and his siblings turned to peers and distant family for help. For three of the Price clan: Kentrell, Shontay, and Terrell there was initiation. The youngest of the three, Kentrell, is the most aggressive and is willing to go to great lengths or what he believes is the betterment of his neighborhood and his family. His brash attitude is catalyst for the trouble he often finds himself in with both law enforcement and neighboring sets.

Since his initiation at a mere 11 years old, Kentrell has been merely a gang member, but in the weeks leading up to his 20th birthday and following a recent shootout with the Raymond Avenue Crips who border the Denver Lanes to the north and are some of the Lanes’ most bitter rivals, “KP” is about to earn his stain, this is where his story begins.

California Love -- An L.A. 90's Crime RP

Slippin' and slidin', CK ridin'.

Name: Kentrell “KP” Price

Age: 19

Occupation/Affiliation: Denver Lane Gangster Bloods (DLB, DLGB, Lanes)

Physical Description: Price stands at a lithe 6’1 and has smashed in his frame a reasonable amount of muscle for someone his age. Strewn across his back is a tattoo brandishing the initials of his gang, “DLB”.

History: Born aloof in the Vermont Vista apartments in 1978 to Regina and Andre Price, Kentrell and his five siblings: Marcus, Shontay, Terrell, Lorraine, and Darius were no exceptions to the poverty pervading the Vista and many other black neighborhoods. Following the outsourcing of most of Los Angeles’ factories in the middle and late seventies, thousands of African American and Latino blue collar salarymen without access to higher education found themselves out of work and in abject need.

The Price family patriarch fell to drug use, and the Price matriarch struggled to find work as well. A story typical, Price and his siblings turned to peers and distant family for help. For three of the Price clan: Kentrell, Shontay, and Terrell there was initiation. The youngest of the three, Kentrell, is the most aggressive and is willing to go to great lengths or what he believes is the betterment of his neighborhood and his family. His brash attitude is catalyst for the trouble he often finds himself in with both law enforcement and neighboring sets.

Since his initiation at a mere 11 years old, Kentrell has been merely a gang member, but in the weeks leading up to his 20th birthday and following a recent shootout with the Raymond Avenue Crips who border the Denver Lanes to the north and are some of the Lanes’ most bitter rivals, “KP” is about to earn his stain, this is where his story begins.

California Love -- An L.A. 90's Crime RP

I would also like to join.

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG Season 2- New Horizons (Closed)

happy born day youngin

Faux Skin

aight