BCTheEntity

Capes of Denver: A Worm RP

Alessa Heather: Trainyard

On the upside, it sounded like Epsilon was moving in without trouble at the moment, having been allowed to make headway in order to keep her from negating her own abilities, and Tulpa’s projection was finally about to see combat. On the downside, the gunfire and crashing indicated that Overlook’s drone had been destroyed… and Chatterbox’s speech was still doing something to her. She could almost feel his words prodding at her mind, threatening to dissuade her from her chosen role… but she was a hero, wasn’t she? As long as that held true, she couldn’t just let herself walk away from this!

The sound of yet more gunfire caused her to flinch, though. And that was uncharacteristic. For now, she couldn’t see where it was coming from, but she found herself wanting surprisingly little to find its source… why? Surely this was part of Chatterbox’s power, which would make him a Thinker of rather potent proportions - a notion shortly reinforced by the cape himself.

And shortly after that, two of the enemy capes finally came into view, just as one of them hurled a crate in her direction. Hers, and perhaps the other two in the warehouse with her. Damn it, who could just chuck a crate like that?! Reacting quickly, Messiah aimed a finger, and fired out an extremely potent beam of heat, slicing the crate and its contents in half to land on either side of both her and everyone near her.

That distraction, that unlikely moment of diverted attention, should probably have been the death of her. Or at least the knocking out of her. Either way, the other cape- very likely Headhunter- had had her in his sights, with every opportunity to take his shot, and she had no time to figure out why he hadn’t taken it before luck took pity on her, and Tulpa’s projection finally burst through the- wow, that was certainly a beast she’d created! And good timing, too.

‘Nicely done, Tulpa!’ she cheered, pursuing steadily as at least Headhunter began to flee, ducking behind another pile of boxes as he fled. Alas, she couldn’t follow on so readily, for Epsilon’s nullification field would render her powerless if she wandered into it… huh. Maybe it wouldn’t be so silly for her to carry a gun around after all, then. Especially if her energy beams weren’t viable; she tended to make them reasonably damaging to begin with, but what if she couldn’t control their strength? What if she killed someone accidentally? What if her actions did more harm than-

No, NO, that was the Thinker’s words getting to her. Maybe his power was like a reverse version of Captain Morales’, then, inducing a lack of confidence the longer he had it active? No, that’d be too easy... maybe. Either way, it wasn’t fun to be around.

...that loud roar from the far end didn’t sound so brilliant either. What was happening with Lillian? Who knew? Screw the effects of the field, she needed to get over there and help the dinosaur girl! Messiah promptly forged ahead, noting the feeling of loss as she entered Epsilon’s field again, and this time making sure she could duck behind something if another crate was thrown in her direction.

No Hope, No Glory, No Problem - A No More Heroes RP

@Old Amsterdam@Dogematix@Gardevoiran@A Lowly Wretch@Lady Selune@Irredeemable@TheRedWatcher@AngelofOctober@Keksalot The next post has been made. Please have your characters move over to the three agents as soon as possible, and/or arrive in the Dirty Babe if they haven't already been present for any notable amount of time; the "special assignment" is the one your characters are there for.

No Hope, No Glory, No Problem - A No More Heroes RP

Quite abruptly, the doors to the Dirty Babe burst open as if violently kicked, drawing the attention of anyone who wasn’t used to sudden loud noises - and in particular those of Rutabaga and Mister Person. The silhouette in the portal, features partially obscured by the light streaming in from outside, was nonetheless recognisable by their clothing, and by the overdramatic pose they promptly took, arms crossed over their head and legs crossed beneath them. They looked quite silly indeed.

Half a second later, they seemed to explode into a shadowy cloud, spraying blood across a wide area of the room and sending ethereal bats flying everywhere; at the same moment, a second cloud of shadows and blood coalesced into a humanoid form, joined by a few of the bats to ultimately form the same figure, now clearly masculine and seated upon the barstool right next to Rutabaga and Person. He promptly raised one knife-toed boot, and slammed the heel hard on to the counter, cracking the surface with the force of the impact.

‘Nice to see you care about showing up on time,’ Rutabaga quipped angrily, scowling at the black-clad form of Zzyxx von Killstealr. He always had to make a scene, didn’t he? The nearest barmaid seemed to share this impression, sighing as she went to grab a mop and bucket to clear up the mess the newly-arrived agent had just made.

‘I am never late,’ the edgelord replied, kind of snarling his voice in a way that would have been cool if he’d actually done it correctly, or looked the part, ‘nor am I ever early. I arrive... precisely when I mean to.’ This last sentence was accompanied by an exaggerated hair flip that only really served to throw his hat off his head.

‘Ripping quotes from Tolkien’s work isn’t safe when they’re still popular decades later,’ Agent Person replied as Zzyxx bent down to retrieve his headgear. The red-eyed glare he received back rather implied that Zzyxx either believed he was being original, or was trying to hide the lack thereof as he slowly placed the pseudo-fedora back atop his head.

‘Anyway, we’re an hour late to start,’ Baigo continued, ‘and we still don’t have everyone here. At this point, I can’t be assed to wait any longer. Hey!’ he yelled at the bar, drawing everyone’s attentions again. ‘If you were called in for the special assignment, get over here!’ The relevant assassins would know whether that was them or not - not least because for plenty of them, they’d had direct prior contact with at least one of the trio leading this particular assignment.

‘That includes you, too, Omnivore,’ Mister Person uttered to what was apparently thin air. ‘You’ll have to get to know these people sooner or later, it might as well be now.’ He took another drag from his cigar before noticing the weird looks his fellow agents were giving him, perhaps due to the box covering his peripheral vision; he elaborated ‘One of my assassins has hacked into one of our phones remotely. I know that because she’s done it many times before.’ The words “to me” went unstated. ‘She’ll be right along.’

One Piece: New Horizons!

Dirk Messir - No Clang

And huzzah, they did it. They were finally at the house that they were come over to. And Dirk had not gone to the land yet either, so this was a planned good side.

Nothing you do is good. I'm surprised you didn't crash the ship.

No time for that, Derek! We need to clocks! There are clocks here, and they need to be do clocks. The best clocks are always sold in the clockest locations, the locations that sell the most clocks, the clockiest of place lands. And food also was importent.

'I will go to the clocks,' Dirk murmured at the Captain Cedric after they stopped the moving and got the purchasing funding. The moving is too far otherwise, they can't move through the solidsea... am I forgetting something? No, there are no- wait, no that thing had a going thing that went for it. 'Also, you get half rations,' he said, and then leaves, and then he has half more than he would have had of berries, which Cedric has half less of. They need to not do alcohol, it has bad effects on your heart and lungs.

It doesn't Fool! You should try some Failure!

Naaa. He's gone to a different place instead, and went off the boat some degree amount of time later. Since he's gone, he decided he could have some other places to be, which are the Metallands Shop on one pointing sign, and the Marketlands Shop in that other sign. So the more clocks will be in the food marketland due to more shop... so the food will also be there... so he's gone there first. It'll be cool when he goes to there and gets his food. And maybe he'd get accompanied too, if he liked that then the money. Which he has, and he'd get the right stuff for the right trip places. Long amounts of food need long healing, so then it will be cool beans. Also, maybe some villans will show up too. Villined.

It's spelt "villains". At least try to sound human next time you try to speak, you waste.

The Fate of Ward 8: A Tokyo Ghoul RP

Bisuto Ketsu

@Gardevoiran@TheRedWatcher@AngelofOctober@Alias

---

Ah, back to HQ so soon? Alas. And here he thought he might be useful for whatever mission Grant and Yuno were about to go on. But, Grant was his and Yuno's superior officer, and he supposed you couldn't have everything you wanted. Besides, he'd been fed decently, at the end of the day.

'Well, Grant, Yuno, I hope I see you both later on. Same to you, Mika-san- and remember,' he continued, pointing the idol's way, 'if you want anything from us, just call the number.' That said, he took up his coffee, taking another slightly sweetened, slightly sickening sip as he strolled out of the shop. It wasn't a bad place, by any means... but again, he rather felt that one taste of Mika's blood outdid anything else in there. Once he was out of sight of the location, he chucked the half-full cup in the nearest bin, and strolled the rest of the way back to the HQ, hands in his pockets and a whistle on his voice. If he wasn't berated too harshly, then maybe he'd get that mission report done, since he had nothing else to do with his time after all that.

One Piece: New Horizons!

Dirk Messir - To the Clocks!

Well, in hindsight, she's swimming, so she didn't die. Anyway, Dirk lost interest when Cedric told Crant he was leaving, and then told him to go to the town of clocks. So he did! And to do that, he is going to go to the wheel and turn it. What Krabbe has has learned Dirk knows is how to turn a ship, and he needs to pilot the there ship even better for all the next new times. Otherwise I'll die.

Do you know that you're injured, or are you too stupid to realise that?

...oh yeah, Bleu one punched him in got the stab stomached. Ouch! I mean heck. No it's fine, they're scarface wounds. Sacrepleurgh. The word meaning not bad. Dirk didn't not want not need anybody to heal him, but if Lillana got there anyway, he would be cool for the healing proclamation that would eat the cure woundatives. She looked at his face, even though he had no face hurting juice, but was in the stomach too. Meanheal, Cedric told all the people they were grante. Dirk did a good job apparently. Yeay.

You were bad Loser!

Nuh.

Yes you were Idiot! You sucked and lost a lot Weakling!

No. Shut up.

Weak weak weak weak weakling Failure!

'Shut up Jamewithaniintheexactmiddle.'

He's right. You were an utter mess.

'I ssssssaid shut up. I did good. Captain ssssssaid so, and Divine Purpoise has is the ssssssaid is yes.' Now would be a less not good time to do a breakdancedowndance. They were going to Glock Town, and he needed to dhave get them the captain's orders are important. Shut up brain noises. You're making it woooooRSE.

He did a wheel grab more now. Twitching necks are not rented a lent. SHUT UP BRAIN NOISES.

'...okay good. They did the shut up. Time for Shippidge.' And so they Shippidged.

The Crucible - Winner Take All

@Lugubrious@ProPro I finally posted. I apologise for taking so long.

The Crucible - Winner Take All

Annoyance: A Treatise on Making Progress

Well, that was clearly Runch’s fault. Still, the pirate made the best he could of his newfound aerial vantage point - that is, he destroyed the balcony and nothing else, as that blasted many-bodied Stand absorbed every hit he fired out, plus Motley’s own strike against the user’s sister, who was now underwater. Alas.

'Pardon me, Runch,' Motley offered quietly, more out of courtesy than any real sense of guilt. The pirate had launched himself, after all. That said, he’d also safely landed himself in an utterly ridiculous position, only to pick himself up and ran into the building, chasing after Davian and blocking the way in- or out- with a wall of cereal.

Which left the last few instances of the brother’s Stand, and then the sister... and it seemed she’d failed to surface yet. Which meant she had something in mind... what could she do underwater? Launch more missiles? Well, naturally, but that meant contending with Heavy Fuel’s water saturation again - well, a reduced amount of it whilst he stood on the water column beneath him, but as the veins of his fingers continued to trail through the liquid, its presence was still noteworthy. Or, perhaps she meant for them to rise out before they hit that critical point, in which case they’d be easily observed?

...either way, it wasn’t worth taking the risk. Best to figure out a secondary way of stopping them before then… and what better way to do that than to litter the entire lake with debris? Not that that’d necessarily have a notable effect, given how Stands worked, but it might make things a touch more difficult for the girl anyway. Besides, he had another idea in mind that worked out well for this circumstance, and helped him gain some ground in the process.

With an abrupt surge of Ripple energy, the entire pillar Motley was standing upon violently gave way beneath him, clinging to his toetips as it collapsed straight downward. More for dramatic effect than anything else, he raised his hands as he was pulled downward, then slammed his palms full-force into the surface of the water, that double-slap combining with the force of the pillar’s collapse to crater the water momentarily, like a ball bearing impacting a rubber sheet before it bounced back. The same shockwave, with just a touch of encouragement from Heavy Fuel, promptly blasted through the lake around Motley, smashing the two halves of the tower to either side of him into tiny fragments, more well-suited to floating in the lake briefly than the two halves they had been before.

The rubber sheet of the water’s surface rebounded a moment after that, now hurling Motley into the air and towards the building. He also chose now to finally retract his harpoons back into his fingers, forcibly dragging Heavy Fuel behind them, a fair mass of the water with that, and the debris from the smashed tower pieces in the water towards the epicentre, ultimately leaving behind a virtual minefield, if only for a short while, that he figured may hinder the rockets as they made their path toward Motley’s former position.

If that even mattered. He still had his next trick churning inside him, once he reached more solid ground. And unless he was mistaken about how her Stand worked or any distinctly inhuman powers of hers that he’d missed, Aralynn couldn’t remain submerged forever.

No Hope, No Glory, No Problem - A No More Heroes RP

@Old Amsterdam @Dogematix @Gardevoiran @A Lowly Wretch @Lady Selune @Irredeemable @TheRedWatcher @AngelofOctober @Keksalot

Aaaaaalright, ladies and gentlemen, the first IC post is now up! Feel free to either have your character start in the bar, or have them enter shortly after the events shown in the first post. And of course, have fun with your writing.

No Hope, No Glory, No Problem - A No More Heroes RP

March 13th, 2XXX

There was once a video store called Beef Head. Located somewhere in Santa Destroy, California, it sold videos, games, and DVDs of various sorts, including wrestling cassettes, and most notoriously, indulgently pornographic releases such as the ever-famous Pure White Lover Bizarre Jelly series.

However, with advances in media, and the untimely death of the owner, the video store was shut down. In time, it was replaced with an establishment that was both more and less legitimate: a bar playing off of the former establishment’s raunchy nature named The Dirty Babe. The outer walls had been expanded both ways along the street since the days of Beef Head, but it was a fundamentally similar sort of trash heap as before: bare brick walls on the outside, cheap black paint on the inside; wooden floorboards stained with the sorts of things that would only appear under a blacklight; and a bartop that was clearly in need of replacement, not the shabby repairs that had been attempted again and again.

Whilst almost nobody of any sort of reputableness visited such a franchise, it was very handy for the sorts of people who both did not care about being judged, or were already judged very, very harshly. In short, it was the sort of place that criminals, assassins, litterers, and street walkers adored hanging out in.

And, not only that, but it was also fantastically easy to acquire almost anything you wanted there, be it a brand new beam katana, a photon gun that was a perfect replica of Han Solo’s blaster, or three kilos of Black Tar Heroin.

Tonight, the most important people there had more human resources in mind. Two of their group were already present, both in bespoke business suits - but where one, dark-skinned and muscular, made a threatening impression with a half-empty pint glass clenched in his hand, the other seemed to barely stand out, despite the box covering his head and the clouds of smoke billowing from within, the source a Cuban cigar held lightly between two fingers between puffs.

The last had yet to show. He- “xhe”, rather- may have been aiming for “fashionably late”. Both other agents knew xhe acted like this. But, after an hour of waiting, that lateness had become distinctly unfashionable, and Agent Rutabaga was starting to get distinctly annoyed.

‘Where in the hell is that weirdo?’ he muttered under his breath, taking another swig of alcohol. ‘I swear half the people we’re interested in are already here; isn’t he meant to be handling some of them?’

‘For a given definition of “handling”, yes,’ the box-headed man replied dryly. ‘He’ll show up eventually, I’m sure.’ Rutabaga responded by muttering something about feet up asses, before taking another hefty swig of his drink and looking around. Some people there were definitely quite colourful, but whilst many were certainly assassins, it wasn’t clear whether any were their intended marks. Or rather, “their future pupils”, if the term was at all accurate - the project they had in mind was at the very least going to be interesting to see play out, if the chosen assassins didn’t all die in the process. And if they somehow succeeded, well, that’d be beneficial beyond measure.