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6 yrs ago
Current Off Hiatus?
7 yrs ago
On Hiatus
7 yrs ago
"Mecha Cowboys" has less than a thousand hits on Google. I've never been more upset.
7 yrs ago
RP Concept: "Screw just the plans, we're stealing the Death Star and taking that baby for a joyride!"
5 likes
8 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.
6 likes

Bio

Writer of schlock dressed up in some decent clothes.

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I'm gonna go see a pretentious instrumental rock band tonight so I won't be reacting to the Axe Man splitting (nudge nudge) up the campfire gang until tomorrow. Assume that Rita is probably running...so if @Surtr Inc wants to place people in situations, please have her situation be not being turned into firewood.

Also, I've been working on a dynamic sibling duo in my spare time and the sheets are almost entered into the "let's flip a coin to decide if we should completely purge this shit and start again or just pretend we're happy with this verbal schlock" phase so, uh, get pumped for more jerks.

The Campsite - Campfire.


Thanks to the combined efforts of Martin and Zoey the punch that “the librarian” had braced herself for never came. Regardless, she felt like the wind had been knocked out of her. Her eyes were now boring a hole in to the ground, one where she could crawl inside of and hideaway for the rest of the night. She could hear the sound of her heart thundering in her ears; even without the danger, the anxiety was still there. She felt a sharp pain in her fingers. Absentmindedly, she had been clawing at the log seat; her nails were dark and dirtied with splinters and blood. She shifted in her seat and tucked her hand underneath her thigh, her “I love NY” bracelet glaring up at her. She bit her lip. Should’ve gone there. What kind of idiot runs away to Montana of all places?

Tuyen’s voice pulled her out of her mind. She actually seemed concerned, which should’ve made Rita feel better. It didn’t. The tiny voice that always whispers suspicion in Rita’s ear was at it, assigning ulterior motives to mundane actions yet again. She doesn’t really care about you, she’s just trying to make herself look like a good person, it said. Typical. Her other hand was now clawing at the log. Her eyes were still burning in to the ground. The blood was still in her ears; there was a tightness in her throat. She felt sick. Martin’s voice yanked at her again, and she realized that politeness demands that she said something.

“I’m fine,” she said, the lie barely eeking out. She wasn’t, but that was what they wanted to hear, so that was what she had to say. Nobody ever wanted to hear about actual problems. Better to just pretend it’s all okay like a loveless marriage, if only for the sake of the children. Still, sometimes the children can tell when mommy and daddy are on the rocks. Gotta sell the lie. Rita paused, trying to let calm wash over her. A great lie was one that even the liar had to believe was true. She breathed. Forced a smile. Looked up. Met eyes with Tuyen.

"I liked your story," said Rita. After a pause, she added, “So is there anything else to do in this town than drink in the woods and try to ignore the smell of manure?”


That really improved the thread a bit guys, don't you think?


Doing the Lord's work.
So this means Rita and Claire are best friends for life now, right? I think I read that the right way.

The Campsite - Campfire.


A tinge of red came to Rita’s pale cheeks as Martin made his dramatic entrance, which she played off with an exaggerated eye roll and an amused smile—all while mentally blaming it on the alcohol. Since June, when Mama Cromwell rented out the fold-out couch to Rita for all of her life’s savings, she had spent pretty much every day with the boy after he had played the role of her tour guide for an afternoon. She had met a few other people that summer, but he was about the only one that she could consider to be a friend.

“I doubt me being here’s gonna change those mosquitos minds regarding who they’re gonna eat. I heard they liked the sweet ones. Wonder why they’re going after you, then,” she said, screwing up her face in faux confusion before she lightly jabbed him with an elbow.

The girl whose turn she had stolen began, at the behest of the others, to tell a scary story. Rita sat back and listened, her knee bobbing up and down. She wondered how a forest could possibly manifest her fear of showing up naked for class; did the trees just steal all of her clothes or did they cast a spell on her that made her think she was dressed? She pushed the thought out of her mind and instead focused on the story to its completion, not realizing until the end that the hairs on the back of her neck were actually standing on end. Had she just made that up in the spur of the moment? Holy crap. That was kind of good.

But it wasn’t make you fall out of your seat, screaming bloody murder good. Rita jumped when Claire shouted, her hands going up to cover her mouth as the air around the campfire grew oppressive. The girl started to yell. It didn’t register with Rita right away that the freaked out girl was yelling at her, not until she was rushing towards her like a bull that had seen red. Panic shot through Rita’s systems, but she neither fought nor took flight. Instead, she flinched; she had already given up, already accepted the hit that had not been thrown quite yet. She didn’t even know these people and already she was making enemies. At least in Texas they didn’t start hating her until after they knew her name.

“I-I-I-I-I.”

Oh, Christ, there’s the real Rita, skipping like a scratched disc in a bumpy car. So much for pretending to be confident. Her eyes darted back and forth; nothing but unfamiliar faces. She didn’t even really know Martin. Shit, she could feel tears welling up; her strained voice did little to make her appear strong.

“I don’t know. I don’t know. It’s not mine. It seemed fine, though, I think it was fine. I don’t know. I don’t even like weed. I just held it in my mouth and exhaled. I don’t even know if that works. I was just trying—”

Yeah, better not finish that sentence. Maybe that weird little noise (not quite a hiccup, not quite a cry, technically human) Rita made instead would pass for as a valid excuse. Not nearly as embarrassing as admitting that she was trying to appear cool so that others would validate her existence.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” she said with a whimper, her eyes looking at anything but Claire.




Dear Diary — Today, I made myself look like an asshole and failed to uphold my promise to my fifth grade D.A.R.E. officer.
Campsite



“And it’s not that it even has any artistic merit to it at all, really. The entire plot is razor thin and perforated with holes, the main character’s motivation is forced to the point of being laughable, and every shot is practically devoid of anything that would bring the picture to life.”

“Oh, yeah, totally,” said Rita softly, not sure to what she was actually agreeing with. She looked down at the red solo cup in her hand, her eyes narrowing as they focused on the speck in the foam of the amateurishly poured light beer. The moon was bright enough for her to make out the teensy legs of a bug kicking for dear life. Her lips thinned into a bemused smirk; at least she hadn’t drank any yet.

The bug was stuck just like her. She had gotten separated from her host’s son while looking for the bathroom, and that was when she had run into Billy and his two friends. Normally she would’ve turned down their offer to go smoke, but the goal of the night (and every night from then on out) was to not be her normal self. So, she had followed the two older boys and the one heavy set girl away from the bathrooms and even further away from the campfire and her only source of security. They had made their way to the dock on the lake; the other girl had poured Rita a beer, which she didn’t want but didn’t refuse, while Billy passed around a bowl. Her coughing fit had been a source of amusement to them.

But now the bowl was held hostage by Billy as he continued his filibuster about a movie that she had never even heard of, his two friends seemingly so enamored with his opinions that neither of them raised a fuss about the man being a bogart. Worse still, she had positioned herself in such a way that her back was to the water, meaning that the only way she could get out of the one-sided conversation was by cutting straight through it. Which, to put matter in perspectives, was a herculean task for Rita. When she had worked the register at a local convenience store her job mostly became listening to the life stories of senior citizens and the ramblings of angry conservatives, never quite managing to find a way to politely excuse her from the conversation so that the person behind them could buy their goddamn bag of powdered donuts.

That job hadn’t last long.

She was still stuck. The dude was still talking. His friends were still nodding. Maybe she could just jump in the lake and swim to safety? She was still muttering sounds that could be misinterpreted as interest. The bug was still drowning in her cup. The weed was still not being passed around. There was a change of clothes in her pack, although how would she be able to explain to the others why a (now extremely long) trip to the bathroom warranted a wardrobe change? She was still stuck. The dude was still talking. She still couldn’t muster up the courage to just breakaway. So this was it? Montana was just Texas number two? What was the point of the clean break then? Of spending all of her money then? Of moving across the country then? The dude was still talking. He was still talking. He was still talking.

She dropped her beer, the foamy liquid splashing against the wood.

“Oh my God, will you just shut the hell up,” said Rita, louder than she had intended to but not really upset by that fact. It worked; Billy and his two friends looked at her in shock. “I don’t care about what you’re saying, and even if I had seen this stupid movie I still wouldn’t. It’s so easy to hate on something, and maybe it is trash, but who the hell are you? What have you done with your life? At least the people involved in that movie have created something. You’re just some hipster leech. God, do your parents pay your tuition for you just so you can be such an entitled prick?”

“And...and don’t offer somebody to smoke if you’re just going to keep it all for yourself,” she added, snatching the bowl out of his hand as she shoved past them.

Nobody followed her as she stomped back to the campfire, her steps growing lighter and almost becoming skips. The tense look on her face had softened into an almost childish grin, one that she tried to force away as she came within the light of the circle. Girls she didn’t know—well, she didn’t know just about everyone—were passing around a bottle of vodka. One girl was asking the scary looking tall girl for a sip. So polite. How nice. Rita’s sure someone that nice wouldn’t get too upset if they got bumped back a turn.

“Oh, thanks. Trade ya,” said Rita, intercepting the bottle and pressing the bowl into the scary girl’s hands. Rita pressed the bottle to her lips, tilted her head back, and took a quick pull before passing it off to the polite girl with nothing more than a toothy smile—that briefly fluctuated into a terrible wince as the burn hit her before returning to a slightly more embarrassed smile. She took a free seat by the fire, the smile on her face already fading as her feeling of triumph began to once again be pulled down by the undertow of worry. Well, that was a really good way to make a first impression. Great job, idiot. Her eyes darted around the campfire, trying to find Martin.
@Surtr IncSet us up, boss.
I'm cool with starting soon. That said, there's still this—

Also, you all should probably start discussing relationships between characters... if any.


—that I gotta figure out for Rita. She's new in town so her relationships would be fairly small, but her backstory does include two spots for a future roommate or a member of the family she's renting a room from if anyone wants to use the connection and totally become best friends.
<Snipped quote by PharaohAtem>

I like the idea behind this! Anyone else have any other ideas?


A fire guy. Manipulation, generations, whatever. It's simple and might not be as interesting as being able to manipulate cause and effect, but it actually fits his character pretty well—especially if we wanna hit that pretentious symbolism nail right on the head. There's this thing called Wu Xing that's an early Chinese idea that applied elements to emotions and parts of the body. Fire's organ is the heart (you know, burning with passion and all that bull), and Justin's biggest thing seems to be listening to his heart instead of thinking things through. Plus, his main emotion is joy, which in Wu Xing is governed by the heart. Plus, fire is a useful tool but it's also a very destructive force, and somebody that shoots from his hip like Justin might not think that a controlled burn would be better than a dang firestorm. Then's there's the whole "fire as a torch shining light on the investigation of his grandmother" idea. Also, having a fire guy would offer more opportunities for someone like @Majoras End to challenge Maddie's fears and weaknesses. Ya know, for easy access to that good teen drama.

Hell, you already made the duder's color red.













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