Atrophy

The Origin: A War Resumed (Arc One; Completed)

@The Darklight ProjectMe? Never!

Wait, shit, that still makes me sound like a smart ass.

The Origin: A War Resumed (Arc One; Completed)

@The Darklight ProjectFor...choking?

Well, I learned something new about my GM today.

The Origin: A War Resumed (Arc One; Completed)

Vesta

Watching Ennis make a fool of himself filled Vesta with succulent schadenfreude that mixed nicely with the warmth that the alcohol had brought to her body. The muscles in her face ached as they strained to create a rare smile as Shadar wiped the sycophant’s smirk off of his smug face. She watched with perverse delight as Ennis’s puffy shoulder frill visibly dropped a few inches as he sunk behind Cyril, his hat covering his face as he gritted his face. She covered her own mouth with a gloved hand, biting down on her finger to prevent herself from laughing out loud. She almost bit her own finger off as Lora began to blabber like an excited belle at a ball. Vesta had long tired of those types in her youth. The thought that it filled her with pleasant nostalgia meant one thing: the alcohol in this useless town was stronger than she thought it was. Who cares, thought Vesta, as she watched Lora’s and wondered if she was housebroken.

“This is why you should learn to never apologize,” said Vesta. “Better yet, don’t say anything in the first place.”

“I do not like that man,” said Ennis, glancing towards Shadar to make sure he was out of earshot as Cyril and the others began to follow after Lora.

“He’s much better than the other one,” she said, popping a chunk of bread that she had snagged from the tavern into her mouth.

“Comparing my family to those Jasi bastards,” he continued, smoothing his hair and sliding his hat on his head. “Cade’s do not use poison like those cowards from the South; we look our enemy square in the eye as we—the other one?”

“Shadar called him his brother. He’s been hiding for some time. First I thought it was just an illusion; but he’s been maintaining it for too long. Probably just too embarrassed to come out,” she said, carefully enunciating her words to avoid slurring. “You remind me of him”

“Don’t insult me.”

“I wasn’t,” she said. If anything, she’d been insulting Drosil. She tore off another chunk of bread and held it out to Ennis. “Want some?”

“No, I do not want anything this forsaken town has—are you drunk?” he said in a hushed tone, grabbing Vesta’s wrist.

“Not drunk,” she said. Buzzed. Tipsy. Feeling good. But not drunk drunk. Not in front of the children.

Ennis turned to follow behind the group; Vesta fell in next to him, her scabbard clicking against the ground. She didn’t like how Ennis could tell when she had been drinking; none of the others seemed to have picked up her habit yet despite their voyage together to and from the castle. The boy was much more perceptive than he appeared to be; it put her on edge. While she had been slamming whiskeys in the tavern and between hearing the nth version of alleged angels saving the village she had been considering the situation she currently found herself in. She decided that it was not as bad as she had originally thought. Yes, she had to be his little guard dog and stick by his side, but that made it easier for her to keep an eye on him. The others might look at him with disdain and distrust as she thought they rightfully should, but she feared they did not do so for the right reasons. He was a H’kelan, he was a Cade, and he was dangerous. Worse still, he was cursed.

“I’d like to meet his brother,” said Ennis.

“Not a good idea, Cade. He’s very liberal with his use of magic,” she said.

“I wasn’t going to meet him alone,” he said, clarifying. “You’d be with me, of course.”

“I dislike this idea even more then,” said Vesta, sighing. Her first impression of Drosil had left quite a sour taste in her mouth, and anymore thoughts of him would spoil her buzz. She changed the subject. “What do you think of the girl?”

Ennis

“Lora?” said Ennis. She could see him mull over his words. “She seems to be full of life.”

“She’s seems tiresome,” said Vesta.

“That’s only because you do not like how smitten she is with the Prince.”

“I do not care about someone’s childish crush,” she said, matter-of-factly.

“You notice how she suggested that they head to the inn first?” said Ennis, nudging Vesta with his elbow. He began to chuckle and shake his head. “Perhaps you should do your Prince a favor and take the rest of his tagalongs and go…”

His voice trailed off as Vesta’s glare pierced through him. He now had proof that Shadar had been wrong on two accounts: he had a backbone, and it had not been broken by social whiplash. He knew Shadar was wrong for a fact because he felt his spine suddenly make a split towards his hometown of the Kirun where it snuggled up against his Mom and sucked its thumb while it cried itself to sleep. He animatedly waved his hands in front of his chest.

“Nevermind, nevermind. Oh, my, I think I heard Cyril calling for me,” he said as he lightly jogged ahead of Vesta.

Rounding the corner, he almost became part of the Cyril-Wanderer pile up, skidding to a halt and catching his balance just in time. He watched with bemusement as the Prince struggled to free himself from the feminine man, stepping back to both clear the way and to signal that he had little intention to offer any assistance. His name had already been besmirched today; no point in dirtying his clothes too. Ennis folded his arms over his chest as he studied the man and the woman. His eyes focused on the woman, a girl really, and a tiny one at that. She had an unpleasant look on her face and long black pigtails. His eyes lit up with recognition almost instantly as he glanced at Lora and smiled apologetically. He could guess who the other man was, then.

"He apologizes profusely but also rejects all charges this may lead to!"

Vesta’s advice about apologizing rang out in his head. Ennis grinned. “I would strongly advise against all apologies. Some simpler folk,” he said, using a good amount of willpower to not cast Shadar a disparaging look, “cannot comprehend common decency.”

“Seriously, if you run ahead like that I—” Vesta wheeled around the corner and gave Alasa a stern look, her voice lowering to a growl. “Why is a Sentinel choking some girl?”

“Lora, I would feel dreadful if I took your moment. Would you please explain to Vesta and the others who these two,” he faked a cough into his fist. He’d almost said ladies thanks to Vesta’s confusion. “Ahem, sorry, who these two fine people are?”

VIGILANCE: Sanctuary

@Lord WraithCool, cool, got it. Although this idea of having us do something is pretty radical; I don't know if I like it, but I trust you.

The Origin: A War Resumed (Arc One; Completed)

@AdrianeLora's rambling dialogue might be my most favorite thing in the world.

Calling it now: Ennis and Lora talk Gartian into death, even if it's actually just from old age...

Your Top Ten Favorite Movies of All Time

@QwertyMan, High Fidelity is SO good.

10) The Life Aquatic - Okay, okay, I'm willing to objectively admit that maybe it isn't the best Wes Anderson movie, but a dude plays some fantastic David Bowie covers in Portuguese and there's one scene where Bill Murray fires a pistol thirty-something times without reloading it to the sounds of "Search and Destroy" by Iggy Pop.

9) Sympathy For Lady Vengeance - There's a version of this movie that fades to black and white as everything that happens gets bleaker and bleaker; and it's also by the guy who did Old Boy so you know the story is fun and lighthearted.

8) The Secret of NIMH - The last time I watched the Secret of NIMH I had a fever that was somewhere just below the level of needing to go to a hospital. It's about a mom who is trying to protect her sick kid so she goes to get some help from these super smart group of people. Also, they're rats and the mom's a mouse and she has this cool red cape NO WAIT COME BACK. It's well voiced, stunningly animated, and has a real neat back story that, to cut short, pretty much boiled down to Don Bluth making this movie to give a big middle finger to Disney.

7) Rocky Horror Picture Show - My old man showed this to me when I was ten. If you don't know, this movie is about a Transvestite Tim Curry being so good at boning down that he seduces both the female and male lead. It's not a movie you show your ten year old son, but it is probably the best musical ever made. Meat Loaf's in it.

6) Die Hard - It's probably the best action movie ever made, and I'm also one of those jerks who would classify it as one of the best Christmas movies ever made. The PlayStation game based off the trilogy was all right, too.

5) High Fidelity - Top 5 favorite movies of all time starts with High Fidelity. Top 5 reasons it is in my Top 5 favorite movies: 5) John Cusack is pretty much playing a grown up version of his characters from those 80's movies. 4) There are a ton of vinyl records and just seeing them gets me excite. 3) Jack Black does a real good job playing someone you don't like, instead of doing an okay job of playing someone you're supposed to like. 2) Okay, all the characters are real good and realized. 1) Top 5 lists.

4) Full Metal Jacket - Full disclosure: I have yet to watch 2001 or Dr. Strangelove because I am a bad person, but pretty much every scene in this movie is fantastic in someway and extremely memorable. I dunno, maybe I'm just biased because former boss and I used to yell lines from the opening scene at one another and walk around singing the Mickey Mouse club theme song. It's only number 4 because people started staring at me weird when I did it by myself. _{M-I-C, K-E-Y, M-O-U-S-E}

3) Perfect Blue - It's like if Alfred Hitchcock made an anime that also turned out to be his best thriller ever. There's a video out there on the Internet of someone explaining why Satoshi Kon is such a good director due to the way he edits transitions. If you haven't seen Perfect Blue it's okay, because enough of the scenes in it just showed up in Requiem for a Dream and Black Swan anyway.

2) The Thing - Everything looks so creepy, you never know who the Thing really is, the ending is ambiguous in a great way, Kurt Russell's in it, Keith David's in it, it's got that John Carpenter ass music, oh dude it's just so cool and it has those dope practical effects that mostly hold up. There's also a prequel. We'll pretend it doesn't exist.

1) Lost In Translation - For about two hours you watch Bill Murray and Scarlett Johansson go around a city and do nothing. It's the best thing ever.

Amongst the Lonesome- A return to Santa Somabra [Fantasy Noir]

@HisforHugsOh no, take your time, take your time, nobody here is in any rush to have Charly break a certain jerkface's jerk face for being a snitch. Nobody likes a snitch!

VIGILANCE: Sanctuary

@SteinNow now, it's not his fault. Canadians are notoriously bad tippers.

@Nemaisare"Hey guys, why you all closing in on me like that? I'm clearly a good guy, I'm wearing blue. What bad guy wears blue? Guys? Guys?"

WEEK 1 | Going forward in the RP, what are you looking forward to seeing in terms of plot, antagonists, interaction and other elements?

@Lord Wraith

I guess I should throw in my spare change. For starters, the biggest thing I'm always down for is collaborating with my all my new RP buddies and I'm excited to see how our characters all try not to strangle one another while stuck on the road listening to another 8 hours of fucking bluegrass become best of friends while stuck on the road listening to another 8 hours of fucking bluegrass. Since I already established her dislike for reality TV stars, I'm personally jonesing for the moment Grace meets Janelle. I'm sure it'd be super cordial.

And don't think I didn't notice how you decided to keep Zeke's attacker a mystery just to hook us in, you trickster you. Also, I really wanna learn more about those mysterious organizations you got all redacted. For antagonists, I always tend to prefer the ones who believe they're doing the right thing and just kind of cock everything up instead of the ones who go around eating babies to show how evil and crazy they are. Look, I'm not saying I want someone in the convoy to eventually fuck us over big time because they were trying to help out Hyperhumans, but I'm just saying. Personal plot wise, I'm trying to work something up in my head that would prompt Grace to want to leave Pointe Bordeaux, since she is under the slight delusion that she's going to be following in the Maverick's lead. I could always jimmy some lame justification in if I can't figure out a good sub-plot, but I feel like something prompting her to want to get the fuck outta Louisiana aside from the voice of God/our GM would be more fun.

I also have some questions. I scourged through the OOC to see if it had been addressed, so if I missed it feel free to publicly shame me.

1) How congruent to our world is the RP world? I remember reading that locations and stuff are the same, but what about other world events. We still got Obama in the White House, or is it President "I-Hate-Hypes"? Batman still a thing? Or are we in one of those worlds where "since there are people with powers, we never thought about people with powers" kind of like how in most zombie movies nobody knows anything about zombies despite pop culture overflowing with them.

2) You mentioned "Chapters" in the OP. Am I correct in assuming that they just end whenever we reach a natural conclusion? So, Chapter 1 would probably end once people meet up at the convoy and/or have a good old time playing with tasers?

VIGILANCE: Sanctuary

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Pointe Bordeaux | Grace Kennison

March 18, 2016 - No New Messages - Collab w/ @Wade Wilson

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If Pointe Bordeaux had telephone booths, Grace had never seen them in her nineteen plus change years. She tucked her body next to a brick wall, the awning of the roof kept most of the rain from soaking her. Folding her jeans up neatly—she didn’t have the money to buy another pair if she ripped them—she exchanged them for her blue trackpants. Carefully stepping into the legs, she let out a mild noise of disgust as she put one her left foot down in a puddle. Throwing her track jacket over her yellow shirt, she zipped it most of the way up before hiding it beneath her brother’s old varsity jacket. She kept the helmet in her bag for now. Even if the storm was driving people indoors, she wouldn’t want someone hassling Thumper for an autograph (or a fight) unless it was truly necessary. Digging through her back, Grace brushed aside a flashlight, some FlexiCuffs, a water bottle, and some candy wrappers before pulling out a yellow umbrella.

Stepping out of the alley, Grace looked around as a frown slowly made its way onto her face. Pointe Bordeaux was her hometown. She didn’t know every nook and cranny, that would be a ridiculous thing to assume, but she knew her way around town. The way she was going? It wasn’t the right way. No, scratch that, thought Grace. The way she was going? It was the right way, the right way just happened to no longer be towards City Hall. She just felt it; she had been filling it ever since she had woken up this morning. She didn’t know how to explain it. If Grace had to describe it the feeling, she’d say it was like sleepwalking if you were fully aware and capable of stopping it at any second. She had stopped twice already and doubled back towards City Hall. And twice she had found herself turning around and going the way her gut was telling her. It was like something was out there and she was meant to find it.

So she went to find it.

The path led her out of the city and into the swamp. Even when she was young, Grace had hated going out into the swamps. They were sticky, and icky, and full of spiders and gators and everything just wanted to kill you as if it was Australia, except none of the animals even looked cute so there wasn’t even a good trade off to getting rubbed out by mother nature. Now that she was older, though, she didn’t hate the swamps. She was terrified of them; one wrong step and she’d be breathing in mud, water, and algae for the rest of her life.Grace stood at the end of the path where the wooden planks turned into mud and shook as thunder clapped above her, the rain pattering against her umbrella to the rhythm of an ominous death march. She didn’t want to do this. But this is the right way, she thought, clenching her teeth as her hand reached into her jacket and clasped around her necklace, careful not to squeeze it out of fear of turning it into dust.

She bent down, prying one of the planks out of the ground with ease. Grace didn’t worry about the mud that was getting on her hand; she knew she wasn’t going to make it through the swamp without getting dirty. Tentatively pushing her makeshift walking stick into the mud, she watched as it shifted through the muck before settling on solid ground. Not too bad yet. You can do this, thought Grace, although the look on her face was one full of doubt and uncertainty. Taking one final deep breath as if it would be her last, Grace stepped off of the wooden pathway and into the mud. Her heart smashed against her chest as alarms went off in her head. She was sinking, she was sinking, oh God, she was—fine. She had gone down a few inches, but no further than the stick had gone. She exhaled loudly.

What’d the neighbors say if little Grace Bethany drowned in the swamp cosplaying as Thumper? she thought grimly as she prodded the ground in front of her, proceeding through the swamp step by step. The entire time she had her other hand clasped around her necklace and umbrella as her lips endlessly quivered out muttered prayers. It was a miserable, slow procession, and underneath her tracksuit Grace could feel her body drench itself with sweat. At moments she felt herself sink further than she had anticipated, but she never thrashed about, she never lost nerve and bolted forward, and she never turned back. She did unnecessarily yelp out loud a few times, but nobody was around for her fears to embarrass her. Grace pushed forward, uncertainly, until she saw something that made her stop.

You must be joking, she thought, letting the large plank drop from her hand as she stared at the figure in the clearing. A thick canopy of trees kept the ground from being too muddy as the rain dripped gently through the leaves. Grace knew that only two kinds of things went out into the swamp alone: idiots and monsters. Please just be another fool in the rain. Tilting her umbrella up so that it no longer hid her face and somehow pulling together enough sense to make an effort towards producing a friendly yet nervous smile, the girl unclenched her fist and gave the man a half-hearted wave.

“Hey,” she said. A wave of diffidence rushed over her, and for a second she just glanced around at anywhere but the man. She pushed the feeling down, returning to her previous but still rather anxious state.

“Hey,” she said again. “Are you, what are you, why are you...” She grimaced and blinked as her mouth tried to form a sentence. She took in a calming breath as her muddy free hand rested on her hip. Her eyes flashed open as she tilted her head, giving the man a quizzical stare before finally asking the question that she couldn’t even answer herself: “Why are you alone in a flipping swamp during a rainstorm? Are you dim or something?”

The man looked at her with a flare of arrogance in his piercing blue eyes. ”I believe I’m far from dim,” he practically spat, ”compared to me, you’re the dim one. Now, I’m tired, hungry, and thirsty, so if you don’t mind, don’t bother me again.” He waved at her in dismissal, looking around at the surroundings with squinted eyes. A moan of frustration escaped his lips.

“You’re in the middle of swamp hungry, thirsty, and tired, but I’m the dumb one compared to you?” asked Grace, her teeth chewing on her lip. Is it my accent? It’s my accent. She tried to better enunciate her words and sound like one of those news casters instead of a girl from Pointe Bordeaux. “Unless you’re planning on eating some alligators and drinking swamp water I’d say that you’re kind of in the wrong place. Are you just lost?” She frowned, reiterating her first question. “Why are you in a swamp? It’s...strange, you know?”

He raised an eyebrow, probably at Grace slowing her voice. ”I’m in exactly the right place, thank you very much. As for my being here? That’s for me to know and me only. Now can you just—” Suddenly, the man shook his head, pounding his forehead with the palm of his head. ”Oh, not again…”

It struck her as increasingly suspicious that the man kept dodging her question. She was prepared to call him out on it and felt her shoulders rise up as if she was going to pose like a comic book hero. Instead of a show of confidence, however, she stepped back in startlement as the man in red flannel started to violently pound his head. Lowering her yellow umbrella, she held up one hand as if to try to calm him down.

“Hey, are you, uh, are you okay?” she said, cautiously. “Look, I have some water if you aren’t feeling good.”

”Yeah, yeah,” he batted his hands at invisible flies, ”I’m great, actually. Now, where were we? Something about ice cream?” The man’s attitude perked up, and there was a mischievous glint in his eyes. ”There was something important, right? Oh, damn, what was it… flies?” He looked around, before catching something small flying about, demonstrating great reflexes. He studied the bug closely, bringing it as close as two milimetres away from his face. ”No, that’s not it. Con… con… con-man? Constable? No, that’s a British thing. Con… con… con…” He was pacing now, looking everywhere and even crouching down to look at the ground.

Grace felt her suspicion slip away into a muddled pool of confusion. The confusion was quickly replaced by astonishment as he snatched a fly out of the air in one attempt. She had watched her brother try to do that one summer day; it had taken him nearly thirty minutes of running himself ragged to even grasp it, and he then only ended up accidentally smashing it into a wall. And there was something. Con? Con? Why did that actually sound like it was familiar. She felt like she needed to ask the man about what he had done, but she wasn’t so sure if it would be safe to talk to him due to his rapid changing mood. To clarify, she wasn’t so sure it’d be safe for him.

But her big dumb mouth had other ideas.

“What’re you going on about?” she asked, and then pointed a wagging finger at the man. “And don’t go around grabbing bugs. You’ll get swamp fever or...actually…” She paused, looking the man up and down as he manically paced around the area. “Are you sick?”

”What? No, no no no…” He looked around even more, constantly repeating ‘con’ under his breath. His eyes widened suddenly, and his jaw dropped. ”Oooooooooooooooh! My brain is so stupid! CONVOY!” He grinned at her with childish joy. ”I remembered it! Isn’t that great?” Then, he pulled — or rather, heaved — his backpack off his shoulders, fumbling around with the zip. He eventually got it open, and pulled out what looked like a black notebook and a pen. The book had a slight shimmer of gold as he flicked it open, swiping page after page. He started scribbling down in it, his tongue stuck out with concentration. ”Ohoho… yes.” He muttered, before snapping it shut and putting the items back in his bag. With that, it was heaved back onto his back. ”Now, if I can just find it…” The man looked around again.

Despite what he said, Grace didn’t believe the man when he said he wasn’t sick. He was too erratic, too manic to be okay—and he was alone in a damn swamp. At least she was, at least she…Why am I out here? she thought, looking around. As the cat finally let go of the man’s tongue and he shouted the word “convoy” out to the heavens Grace felt the umbrella slip from her hands. Like the man, her eyes also widened. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and carefully punched in a quick search on the Internet. Listings of articles about the Hyperhuman convoy heading south filled her screen; she looked back up at the man, confused and excited.

“Are you a Hyperhuman t—” She bit her tongue, preventing herself from revealing that she wasn’t regular. “Are you?” she repeated.

”Oh. Oops. Shouldn’t have said that. Uh…” The man looked at her for a brief moment, before waving his arms about. ”I am nooot heeeere, this is juuuust a dreaaaaaaaaaam…” Suddenly, his eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he fell at Grace’s feet.

The girl caught him by the collar just in time to prevent the man from face planting into the mud. She knew he wasn’t feeling right. She placed the back of her hand on his forehead to check for a fever because she had seen it in a movie, sheepishly drawing it away as it dawned on her that she wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between normal human body heat and sick human body heat. Maybe he’s just always deranged like this? she thought. Grace had once read an article about how Hyperhumans were prone to fits of rage, mental breakdowns, and permanent insanity. Then again, the research had been funded by Fairchild Enterprises. She sighed, propping the man up against her body as she reached into her backpack and slid the black paintball helmet over her head. Tossing her brother’s jacket into the bag, she slung it back over her shoulder, picked up her umbrella, and, as if he was as light as a rag doll, slung the man over her shoulder.

Had some kind of Divine Intervention sent her out into the swamp to save this man from drowning in the mire and to meet up with the convoy? It’s not so impossible, right? thought Grace as she proceeded through the swamp. Sure. She did know where to go, as if something guided her. Despite the extra weight moving was easier than it had been before as she drew further from the heart of the swamp. Mud was still hindering her process, but she was no longer sinking down into the earth. She heard motors and saw a faded sign for a historical plantation site, now condemned. A distant memory popped in her head of her father ranting about how back when he was in school they would visit the things that made the South great, but now that the bleeding heart liberals had taken over and put a goddamn—she shook it out of her head. It wasn’t a pleasant memory of Dad. Not many were. Regardless, there should not be so many motors out here. This was the place. She pushed forward, quickening her pace.

Her hunch proved to be right. Grace found herself trudging through a stilled cavalcade of muddy cars, trucks, and campers. People, Hyperhumans, went about busily setting up equipment as best as they could in the weather, although some stopped and stared as the girl walked by. Was it because they actually recognized Thumper in her shitty blue tracksuit and helmet, or was it because she looked like a miniature slavic gangster from some crime show carrying her latest hit? She gave them a disarming smile that, behind a mask, did nothing to make her seem less suspicious. Setting the mystery man down a truck bed, Grace turned to the small number of people that were still looking at her. She raised her hand at them.

“Hey, Hi, ha ha. I’m, um,” her head turned down as she muttered to herself, "looking like an idiot." Nobody else was wearing a costume. Why would they be? Her cheeks burned red beneath her helmet. She rightfully felt real, real dumb. “Anyone know how to help this guy?” she said, throwing her thumb over her shoulder towards him to turn their attention away from focusing on her. “I think he bumped his noggin a few too many times. I found him catching flies and I stopped him from eating mud before he just sorta decided to take a nap.”

Amongst the Lonesome- A return to Santa Somabra [Fantasy Noir]

@KingfisherOh yeah, don't you think I didn't notice that. Very nice touch, very nice.