@beyond visionsGot work the next few days so it might take a minute, but yeah, I gotcha.
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8 yrs ago
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9 yrs ago
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9 yrs ago
"Mecha Cowboys" has less than a thousand hits on Google. I've never been more upset.
10 yrs ago
RP Concept: "Screw just the plans, we're stealing the Death Star and taking that baby for a joyride!"
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10 yrs ago
The VeggieTales theme song has been stuck in my head for at least three days now. Can't decide if it a good or bad thing yet.
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Bio
Writer of schlock dressed up in some decent clothes.
Most Recent Posts
It's been a little hard to write for Sigi, but we've only just started. Personally, I cannot wait to encounter this first challenge you have planned. We need to get the party together so we can all start hating...I mean, loving each other :)
Oh come on now, I know they'll all be locking arms and singing Kumbaya in no time.
Yo, dudes. Guess what?
WE'RE BACK, BABY!!!
Owen Childs
Owen had been busy fussing with himself in the mirror. His hand gripped his jaw and turned his head side to side as he inspected for flaws. There were some, but none that were the result of freezer burn. He could feel the roughness of some stubble trying to come through and decided that he'd see if Benji knew where they hid the shaving cream. He smiled and hooked aside his lips, looking to see if any of the godforsaken cake had lodged itself in his teeth. When Benji's announcement came on he almost jumped out of his skin, thinking for a second that the Doc was right behind him. Shaking his head, Owen smoothed out his suit and headed towards the living area.
"All right, let's get this over with," he muttered to himself.
Doc had promised that they'd talk about what to do after everybody had been given some breathing room. Of course, Benji had been referring to whether they continued on their course or if they returned to Earth. If Owen had to pick he'd go with staying the course, as crazy as it sounded to him to inhabit a new world, it was better than finding out what happened to Earth. Right now there was a possibility that humanity was still around, having found a resolution for all of their problems, and thriving in a sickening-sweet utopia. There was a possibility that the planet was also nothing but dust. It was like Schrodinger's Cat; both options existed until they confirmed it. He reasoned that it was better to have hope of humanity’s existence than to confirm that it had been wiped out.
Yet that was not what Owen had come to talk about. He wanted to focus on the little things that were right in front of them instead of on the issues that were light years away. He wanted to talk about the old man. Owen had decided he would be cordial in his questioning, kind, unabrasive. He wouldn't point out that the old man being there jeopardized their ultimate goal of repopulation. He just wanted to know his story, learn why he had replaced Andrew. He wouldn't make accusations or point fingers or anything like that. They would just have a nice, simple conversation. Who knows, maybe the old man was alright? Once they figured that out, they could talk about all sorts of future plans for all he cared.
But then he heard Benji's voice echoing down the hallway, heard the name Rend, and knew that there would be nothing simple nor nice about the conversation that was about to come.
“I’m sorry, but are you joking, Echo?” said Owen, barging into the room. His eyes fell on the old man, on Rend, and the others could quickly see the hostility appear on his face as his lips drew tight and his eyes narrowed behind his glasses. At his sides, his hands slowly balled into fists. Echo was right about one thing: they must’ve been out of sorts to not recognize Ailbeart Rend, perhaps one of the worst human beings to have ever been born. The man was a robber baron, the kind of mustache-twirling, cigar-stomping, leisure-suit-wearing jerk who made a living by climbing on the faces of others and tossing them to the side the moment they tried to question his ultimate supremacy.
Of course, Owen had never met the man. There were plenty of stories about one meeting a horrible person only to find out that they were actually a saint with a bad PR person. There were also plenty of stories where it then turned out that, in the end, they actually were even worse than what people said. Owen had no proof, but he knew that Rend was from the latter category. And Owen also had no proof, but he knew that Rend was not supposed to be there, and was now convincing himself that Rend somehow cheated his way into Andrew’s spot. Bribery, maybe. Rend seemed like the kind of person who would believe that everyone had their price, and he was certainly the kind of person who could actually afford it.
And this chick’s practically licking his boots and praising our long dead overseers for including him as a surprise special guest? He shot Echo a harsh glance. Isn’t she supposed to be a genius or something? Tahlia was right about her going batty.
“Think for a minute,” he spat, barely taking a second to catch his breath. His words came fast and heated with anger as he bore into Echo, trying to cut through her naivety. “Why would Cryonautics go through the process of screening all of us, making all of us interview with one another, go through behavioral tests together, all for the sake of making sure that we would be able to coexist together and restart humanity without tearing each other apart, only to then decide to completely screw all of that up? It doesn’t make sense to switch out somebody, not without running it by everybody else it’s just—it’s just—it’s fucking stupid.”
“Just think about it”, he continued, turning towards the others as if to appeal to them for help. “Andrew was supposed to be the third man. He was actually beneficial to the mission; he probably could’ve fixed Benji’s tank like that.” He snapped his fingers and then pointed one in accusation towards Rend. “Him being here is pointless. It’s beyond pointless; it’s insane. He’ll add leadership? Really? We’re not investing in stocks or creating a startup company—and, seriously, did none of you watch the news? He wasn’t a leader; he was a dictator, and a failing one at that. And, and, and another thing—”
Owen’s face was twisted with emotions; his neck tensed, his voice frantic and heated with anger. He was boiling over, and he knew it. He held his hand up, as if to call for the others to remain silent as he gathered his thoughts and tried to control his temper. He drew in air through gritted teeth and blew it out with a huff. As he started to speak again his voice was softer, barely over a whisper, yet lined with rage and malice and, beneath it all, a sense of defeat. He had wanted to approach this conversation calmly and coolly; so far, he had completely messed that up.
“It’s just not right, guys,” he said, his voice choked and strained. “It’s just not right that he’s here and Andrew’s dead. He, he probably scammed his way aboard or something, I don’t know, I just...I just know it’s not right, okay.” He glared at Rend through screwed, misty eyes. “You can’t prove me wrong, can you? Seriously, what were you thinking? That we would all be totally cool with some creep coming aboard and trying to screw up our future? Weren’t you content with already ruining our past?”
@beyond visionsWhile it's good writing, I might cut Eru's part because it hadn't even gotten to Rend being in the room getting questioned and is, well, inconsequential. For the sake of getting things back on track, I should be able to put some wraps on my part and get it up shortly after making a few adjustments and add-ons.
For the time being, would you be controlling Rend?
For the time being, would you be controlling Rend?
i think it'd be hilarious if constance got thrown overboard somehow and everyone had to save her :D
otherwise, I have an alternative "team building exercise" to throw y'alls way
...'y'alls way'
Don't tempt me like this.
Of course, Constance likely believes that she can walk on water, so, I mean, maybe it'd all work out...
Constance looked down on Luna with a soft, thin smile as the woman corrected her statement. The woman’s tone was not outright unkind, but it had a whisper of condescendance that Constance was all too familiar with, and even guilty of using. Briefly, Constance thought that Luna came from money with the way she held herself, but a quick assessment of her clothing, which were more practical than anything, and her short hair, which was out of fashion these days, told her otherwise. Her chin rose ever so slightly and she could feel her tongue coil in her mouth like a cobra ready to strike, only it would spitting sugar instead of venom. Her lips parted just as a loud buzz filled the air around them.
No words came out. She stared at the sky, mouth agape with wonder as she looked with wide eyes as a plane crested over the ocean and then whipped overhead. She let out a hoot of excitement as the wind whipped her hair and she reflexively slapped her hand on her hat to keep it from flying away after the plane. The little stunt had gotten her blood pumping, and she followed after the plane with her head, her face growing even more exaggerated as the plane transformed and landed vertically on the deck of their ship. Her hand dropped from her hat and clasped over her mouth; she gave Luna and Ed a look that said, ‘Did you see that, did you see that?’ She had heard rumors of a VTOL being developed, but did not realize that the actual thing had ever been released.
Two thoughts entered her head at once and began pulling at Constance’s focus as she already began to drift away from the reporter and the nurse. The first thought was fairly harmless. She had just simply decided that she must meet the daredevil who knew how to fly that contraption. Her second thought was that she needed to be given a chance to fly that thing. Heavens forbid anyone actually let her sit in the pilot seat; it was a surefire way to lose both an expensive piece of equipment and an extravagant industrialist. Constance had taken a few flight lessons, true, but she had never been involved in a landing that didn’t require a parachute, a costly repair bill, and a good amount of dumb luck.
Of course, it wasn’t as if that would ever actually dissuade her from flying the VTOL if she was just given the chance.
The shouting of the Captain drew her away from her flight of fancy about fancy new methods of flight as he barked orders and toted his authority. His mannerisms remained Constance of an abrupt factory foreman that she used to work under as a child, whose voice could be heard screaming over the clanging of metal on metal and the roar of smoking furnaces. She remembered being absolutely terrified of the man, jumping like a scared dog at the sound of his voice as he yelled at her and the others to do this, don’t do that, stop being such an idiot, and so on. She was convinced that the man hated children until the day he died in a factory fire. He had over exerted himself and collapsed after dragging a dozen or so kids out of the flames, barking at them for being stupid idiots who didn’t know how to run until his lungs had been overcome with smoke.
The feeling of moisture on her cheeks shocked her out of the past; she quickly chided herself, realizing that it had only been the rain. She could hear Conway’s voice crackle over a loudspeaker, informing them of his plan as it was happening. Normally, she would have ignored such suggestions, preferring to learn from her own mistakes than the wisdom of others, but with the memory of that foreman so fresh in her mind she decided that perhaps Conway knew best and maybe it would be wise to kowtow to the Captain for the time being. Besides, she had already gotten wet enough for one day, and to catch a cold at the start of her adventure would be absolutely terrible.
With one final glance up at the encroaching Ring of Thunder, Constance turned and made her way below deck. She retreated to her suite—which, in reality, was no different than that standard two-bunk room of the rest of the crew quarter; clearly, the lack of luxury suites was a design flaw in the Garrloch—to freshen her drink and tuck away her hat. She didn’t plan on staying long in her room; it was almost claustrophobically small and way too drab for her taste. Another design flaw, she decided, happy to find yet another flaw with the Garrloch’s layout. A few curtains, some throw pillows, and nice carpeting would really have brighten the ship up and make it look less like a tin sarcophagus. At the very least the room had a small porthole, although the view now was obscured by the whipping rain that rang out in a cacophony of pitter-patters as it hit the ship’s hull.
She had not been alone in her room for more than a few minutes when cabin fever had already begun to set it. The fear of boredom quickly drove her out of her cabin, her free hand loosening the collar on her blouse and untucking her kerchief that had been turned into a mock ascot as she began making her way to the mess hall. She got lost once or twice, or ‘made a few detours’ as she would say, during her exploration of the Garrloch. Occasionally she would pause, holding herself up against the wall as the ship rocked beneath her feet. She had not expected the ocean to be so unstable, and this was coming from somebody who had years of experience stumbling around drunkenly on yachts.
Clearly, she should’ve made a stiffer drink to better steady her feet.
She was in the hall outside of the mess when she heard two crashes. The first was the one heard by everyone as the ship lurched to one side, sending Constance slamming hard into the wall next to her. The second crash was muted by the shouts coming from the mess, a private tragedy for Constance alone as she stared down with a look that could only be described as abject horror at the pool of liquor and broken glass forming around her boots. A sigh of monstrous proportions escaped from her lips as she bent down and pulled a handkerchief out of her jacket’s pocket to use as a rag. She soaked up the alcohol and picked up the shattered glass before disposing of the evidence in a nearby trash bin, her brow furrowed with concentration as she decided to continue onwards instead of retreating to fix another drink with another, less breakable, glass. Surely, they must have something hiding away in a cask down here, lest the crew threaten to mutiny a week into their voyage.
“What a waste,” she muttered, dusting off her knees and stepping into the mess.
Mess was a fitting name for the room, as everything and everyone seemed to have been strewn about the place by the surge. The sight of the crowd of people cursing and pulling themselves together finally made her stop stressing about the loss of her most trusted companion and start considering the impact of the first crash. The defeat that hung over her from her dropped drink disappeared almost instantly as the thought that they might be in danger entered her mind. What if they were sinking? She wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case, considering the boat’s investor. A small smile appeared on her face. How far out from the dock were they? Would they be lost completely? Sure, it would be disappointing to have their adventure cut short so soon, but to have it be because their ship had capsized in a horrific storm? Now that would be an exciting tale to spread around once she made it back home.
Of course, it could have also just been a large wave; the crash could have been from one of the kitchen crew forgetting to batten down the hatches, not that Constance knew whatever the hell ‘the hatches’ was referencing. There could be no danger, and all could be fine. Boring, but fine.
There’s only one way to find out, she thought with a smirk and a nod. She set her targets for Captain Conway and scanned the mess hall for her man. Of course, he would not be down in the hall grabbing a sandwich; the man would likely be wheelhouse, seeing them safely through the storm or dragging them quickly into the depths. Regardless, she was determined to find her man.
“Excuse me, lads,” she said in a loud, clear voice as she planted her hands on a table and leaned forward towards a group of men, but talking loud enough to practically be addressing any and all in the area. “Would any of you gentlemen mind escorting me to the wheelhouse? I need to have a word or two with the Skipper about his choice in helmsmen, and I rather get there before the current one flips us completely over.”
No words came out. She stared at the sky, mouth agape with wonder as she looked with wide eyes as a plane crested over the ocean and then whipped overhead. She let out a hoot of excitement as the wind whipped her hair and she reflexively slapped her hand on her hat to keep it from flying away after the plane. The little stunt had gotten her blood pumping, and she followed after the plane with her head, her face growing even more exaggerated as the plane transformed and landed vertically on the deck of their ship. Her hand dropped from her hat and clasped over her mouth; she gave Luna and Ed a look that said, ‘Did you see that, did you see that?’ She had heard rumors of a VTOL being developed, but did not realize that the actual thing had ever been released.
Two thoughts entered her head at once and began pulling at Constance’s focus as she already began to drift away from the reporter and the nurse. The first thought was fairly harmless. She had just simply decided that she must meet the daredevil who knew how to fly that contraption. Her second thought was that she needed to be given a chance to fly that thing. Heavens forbid anyone actually let her sit in the pilot seat; it was a surefire way to lose both an expensive piece of equipment and an extravagant industrialist. Constance had taken a few flight lessons, true, but she had never been involved in a landing that didn’t require a parachute, a costly repair bill, and a good amount of dumb luck.
Of course, it wasn’t as if that would ever actually dissuade her from flying the VTOL if she was just given the chance.
The shouting of the Captain drew her away from her flight of fancy about fancy new methods of flight as he barked orders and toted his authority. His mannerisms remained Constance of an abrupt factory foreman that she used to work under as a child, whose voice could be heard screaming over the clanging of metal on metal and the roar of smoking furnaces. She remembered being absolutely terrified of the man, jumping like a scared dog at the sound of his voice as he yelled at her and the others to do this, don’t do that, stop being such an idiot, and so on. She was convinced that the man hated children until the day he died in a factory fire. He had over exerted himself and collapsed after dragging a dozen or so kids out of the flames, barking at them for being stupid idiots who didn’t know how to run until his lungs had been overcome with smoke.
The feeling of moisture on her cheeks shocked her out of the past; she quickly chided herself, realizing that it had only been the rain. She could hear Conway’s voice crackle over a loudspeaker, informing them of his plan as it was happening. Normally, she would have ignored such suggestions, preferring to learn from her own mistakes than the wisdom of others, but with the memory of that foreman so fresh in her mind she decided that perhaps Conway knew best and maybe it would be wise to kowtow to the Captain for the time being. Besides, she had already gotten wet enough for one day, and to catch a cold at the start of her adventure would be absolutely terrible.
With one final glance up at the encroaching Ring of Thunder, Constance turned and made her way below deck. She retreated to her suite—which, in reality, was no different than that standard two-bunk room of the rest of the crew quarter; clearly, the lack of luxury suites was a design flaw in the Garrloch—to freshen her drink and tuck away her hat. She didn’t plan on staying long in her room; it was almost claustrophobically small and way too drab for her taste. Another design flaw, she decided, happy to find yet another flaw with the Garrloch’s layout. A few curtains, some throw pillows, and nice carpeting would really have brighten the ship up and make it look less like a tin sarcophagus. At the very least the room had a small porthole, although the view now was obscured by the whipping rain that rang out in a cacophony of pitter-patters as it hit the ship’s hull.
She had not been alone in her room for more than a few minutes when cabin fever had already begun to set it. The fear of boredom quickly drove her out of her cabin, her free hand loosening the collar on her blouse and untucking her kerchief that had been turned into a mock ascot as she began making her way to the mess hall. She got lost once or twice, or ‘made a few detours’ as she would say, during her exploration of the Garrloch. Occasionally she would pause, holding herself up against the wall as the ship rocked beneath her feet. She had not expected the ocean to be so unstable, and this was coming from somebody who had years of experience stumbling around drunkenly on yachts.
Clearly, she should’ve made a stiffer drink to better steady her feet.
She was in the hall outside of the mess when she heard two crashes. The first was the one heard by everyone as the ship lurched to one side, sending Constance slamming hard into the wall next to her. The second crash was muted by the shouts coming from the mess, a private tragedy for Constance alone as she stared down with a look that could only be described as abject horror at the pool of liquor and broken glass forming around her boots. A sigh of monstrous proportions escaped from her lips as she bent down and pulled a handkerchief out of her jacket’s pocket to use as a rag. She soaked up the alcohol and picked up the shattered glass before disposing of the evidence in a nearby trash bin, her brow furrowed with concentration as she decided to continue onwards instead of retreating to fix another drink with another, less breakable, glass. Surely, they must have something hiding away in a cask down here, lest the crew threaten to mutiny a week into their voyage.
“What a waste,” she muttered, dusting off her knees and stepping into the mess.
Mess was a fitting name for the room, as everything and everyone seemed to have been strewn about the place by the surge. The sight of the crowd of people cursing and pulling themselves together finally made her stop stressing about the loss of her most trusted companion and start considering the impact of the first crash. The defeat that hung over her from her dropped drink disappeared almost instantly as the thought that they might be in danger entered her mind. What if they were sinking? She wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case, considering the boat’s investor. A small smile appeared on her face. How far out from the dock were they? Would they be lost completely? Sure, it would be disappointing to have their adventure cut short so soon, but to have it be because their ship had capsized in a horrific storm? Now that would be an exciting tale to spread around once she made it back home.
Of course, it could have also just been a large wave; the crash could have been from one of the kitchen crew forgetting to batten down the hatches, not that Constance knew whatever the hell ‘the hatches’ was referencing. There could be no danger, and all could be fine. Boring, but fine.
There’s only one way to find out, she thought with a smirk and a nod. She set her targets for Captain Conway and scanned the mess hall for her man. Of course, he would not be down in the hall grabbing a sandwich; the man would likely be wheelhouse, seeing them safely through the storm or dragging them quickly into the depths. Regardless, she was determined to find her man.
“Excuse me, lads,” she said in a loud, clear voice as she planted her hands on a table and leaned forward towards a group of men, but talking loud enough to practically be addressing any and all in the area. “Would any of you gentlemen mind escorting me to the wheelhouse? I need to have a word or two with the Skipper about his choice in helmsmen, and I rather get there before the current one flips us completely over.”
Update time!
I'm retooling around some of the things I wrote up, and ideally should be able to post fairly soon. Since there's gonna be a bit of a powwow in the med bay, I think I'm going to have Constance steer clear of her two new best friends for a while so that things don't get too claustrophobic. She'll probably make her way up to the captain to demand that he makes the weather better or something impossible like that. Of course, she'd also dig getting completely distracted by a companion while the ship capsizes.
I'm retooling around some of the things I wrote up, and ideally should be able to post fairly soon. Since there's gonna be a bit of a powwow in the med bay, I think I'm going to have Constance steer clear of her two new best friends for a while so that things don't get too claustrophobic. She'll probably make her way up to the captain to demand that he makes the weather better or something impossible like that. Of course, she'd also dig getting completely distracted by a companion while the ship capsizes.
First of all, sorry for hanging on the sidelines while all of this has been blowing up; I should've jumped in sooner. I apologize for making everyone wait, but, to be frank, I'm kind of stuck this shitty limbo we're all in myself.
@DesertedAll your frustrations are legit and totally understandable. I'm not gonna say that I think you went about it the best of ways, but fuck it, you're still right. I feel like it's a safe assumption for all of us to make that if we're all busy with real life stuff then we are, most likely, adults, and if we're adults we should be able to realize that maybe that cool fun game isn't for us because we're busy. Heck, I always limit myself to a few RPs because I know I can't keep up with anymore than that, and I think it's safe to say that the only reason I'm not as vocal about us playing the waiting game is because of those other RPs.
But you seem like a really passionate RPer and I respect the shit out of you for that and I'm sorry that you've been burned by this site so far. And while I want you to stick it out like the rest of us, well, I think it's kind of fucked up for any of us to tell you what to do, all things considered. Whatever choice you make, I'm for it (and for what it's worth, I would like for all of us to see this through too).
@DesertedAll your frustrations are legit and totally understandable. I'm not gonna say that I think you went about it the best of ways, but fuck it, you're still right. I feel like it's a safe assumption for all of us to make that if we're all busy with real life stuff then we are, most likely, adults, and if we're adults we should be able to realize that maybe that cool fun game isn't for us because we're busy. Heck, I always limit myself to a few RPs because I know I can't keep up with anymore than that, and I think it's safe to say that the only reason I'm not as vocal about us playing the waiting game is because of those other RPs.
But you seem like a really passionate RPer and I respect the shit out of you for that and I'm sorry that you've been burned by this site so far. And while I want you to stick it out like the rest of us, well, I think it's kind of fucked up for any of us to tell you what to do, all things considered. Whatever choice you make, I'm for it (and for what it's worth, I would like for all of us to see this through too).
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