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Recent Statuses

7 days ago
Current goodreads.com/quotes/438418… . The literary genius of Ernest Cline, everybody.
2 mos ago
Sending out a signal for anyone interested in a hardcore narrative driven grimdark Spongebob roleplay.
4 likes
2 mos ago
Other than RPNation's and Iwaku's obsession with BBcode, nothing really wrong with them. The problems we find on this forum are magnified on these other forums due to the higher amount of activity.
2 likes
4 mos ago
RPGO: Infinity War. Where Mahz attempts to gain the six roleplay stones and the mods are his Black Order.
5 mos ago
We need M.Night Shyamalan, Uwe Boll and Neil Breen to make that live action Avatar TV series we all so desperately want.
1 like

Bio



ROLEPLAY BUCKET LIST
- Walmart Apocalypse Roleplay
- Nightmare Gas Station
- Underrail/Fallout/Post Apocalyptic Roleplay. Codename: Clausterclysm
- Anthromorphic Grimdark Animal Fantasy Roleplay. Codename: Fallowbrook.
- Eldritch Abomination Garfield Roleplay. Codename: Lasagna.
- Infinite IKEA Roleplay. Codename: God Morgon
- Cooking High Fantasy RP. Codename: Smorgasbord.
- Roleplayerguild High School RP. Codename: Highschool Roleplay
- Cyberpunk South East Asia RP. Codename: Straits of Malacca. [CURRENTLY HAPPENING]

Most Recent Posts

This feels like I'm pussing out too early but I feel like at the moment, I'm not coming up with any thing for this RP. Along with the fact that university work is coming down on my head like a meteor swarm and it's safe to say that I no longer feel comfortable pursuing Static anymore.

It was fun while I tried but I don't think I can keep it up. Sorry for disappointing anyone.
Hey guys, I'm not giving up on this RP yet. I know most of you are busy but I'm still looking for one or two more posts before I move onto the next scene.

@Opposition@silvermist1116@vietmyke@Shiva

Please tell me whether or not you all are still interested so I can make a decision on whether or not I need to do a new interest check to recruit more new posters for the RP.



The first thing he smells is the damp air, flecked with sea salt. No, not here, not again. Standing on the ports of Paris Island. Two words being repeated at him over and over against the backdrop of a stolen generation chanting on the beach.

“ Shoot him!”

It’s not the sight of blood that scares Virgil. Violence is a constant of Dakota that you have to get used to. That’s what everyone, from his neighbours to his math teachers to the old janitor who used to clean his locker every afternoon, tells him. He doesn’t agree.

The gun trembles in his hand. He’s not scared of the blood.

It’s how easy it is to use it. The lack of effort. That all it takes is a squeeze of a trigger to kill. The mechanical nature of it which makes him queasy.

“ Shoot him, Virgil!”

“ I can’t.” He drops the gun, tossing it away. “ I can’t.” He keeps saying it until his throat grows hoarse.

Chaos suddenly erupts around him. The sound of the gun is distinct above the rage of 250 high schoolers. They parts like a panicked herd of animals, the choppy beat of helicopter blades above cawing like ravens. All Virgil can do is choke on the fog and fall deep into the cold water. He is burning and one question comes to his mind.

How did it all go wrong so fast?





The sound of swearing and a fist clanging wildly against metal awoke Virgil from his daydream. He lifted his head up from his crossed arms that were laid on the bar.

“ KZZZZTTTT - well, that’s what I’m tellin’ ya, Rubberband. It’s crazy how shit turned sideways this week. They’re already blockading the I-80 to Dakota ‘cause of this shit at Paris Island - KZZZZZZZZTTTTTTT”

Dakota City was entering the cusp of winter now, windows frosted white and the sky tinged a dour grey. He’d been patrolling non-step for several hours along Hemingway’s Port Trail before taking a turn on 42nd Malcolm to recharge at Grant’s.

Grant’s was one of Dakota City’s beating hearts. Its weathered brick walls, amber windows and marbled floors were ossified into the urban concrete of the city like fossils. Virgil still found it hard to believe that Morrison Grant had turned 84 years old last week. He looked barely a day past 50. Every time he went into the diner before the Paris Island incident, Grant was always there, serving coffee, his signature griddle cakes and overeasies.

It was now disturbingly empty on a Monday afternoon where at least half of the tables would be filled and a line of hungry customers would be waiting outside. Dust sat on the linoleum seats. Ceiling fans chattered. Now, it was only him and Grant.

“ You alright there, son?” The diner owner stopped wiping a dish and looked at him with slight concern “ It’s not wise to come out all this way, Kilowatt Kid, especially now that DCPD’s keeping an eye out for you. ”

“What and miss the chance to meet my biggest fans?” Virgil groused sarcastically before taking a sip of his latte. The familiar rush of caffeine tingles through his fingertips. Absorbing juice from a generator couldn’t beat the taste of Grant’s black brews. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices a document left on top of the cafe counter while Grant has his back turned to him, rifling for something in the cupboard. He leans over to look at it. He makes out two words - Eviction - and - Warning - before a leathery hand snatched it away from his prying eyes.

“ What was that?”

“ Nothing you need to concern yourself with, son.” The old man signed as Virgil gave him a glare of disbelief. “ You don’t need to fight every battle, son. There’s some things you can’t put in cuffs.”

“ You’re not closing down, are y-?”

“ Relax, son. It hasn’t come to that yet.” Grant chuckled before frowning. “ But, with the rates the city council’s been pushing, I’ve been diving into my retirement savings to stick around.” He looked wistfully at the old grandfather clock that sat in the corner of the restaurant and gave a little laugh. “ I’ve been living on borrowed time anyway. Everyone I knew moved out of this neighborhood and every customer I wave to and smile at is a stranger to me.” His grip on the dish towel grows tighter and Virgil sees his eyes almost become hollow. “ I gave Dakota everything I had, yet, this is how I get repaid.”

His dark expression washes away in a moment’s notice, replaced with a worn smile. “ That’s enough from me. You want a refill?”

“ Nah, man.” Virgil shook his head. “ Just give me a mocha to go - ”

The front door banged open, the bell knocked off its hinge as Virgil heard the click of receivers. Dumbass 1, 2 and 3 had decided to ruin his afternoon break by robbing a nearly empty cafe. Great. The ski masks were fitted loosely over their heads. Hell, the one standing to the right had decided his get up wasn’t intimidating enough and decided to wear a pair of bright neon scuba goggles to complete the ensemble. The one in the front of the trio waved his pistol in the air like a conductor's baton.

“ Everyone, get your wallets - “ He choked on his last words as he looked wide-eyed at Grant and Virgil who were staring daggers at him. His feet began straying backwards, stumbling slightly, as the fluorescent lights quavered above him. “ I’ll just - uh - well -”

“ How long will it take?” Virgil asked Grant calmly.

“ About two to three minutes.” Grant spoke nonchalantly. “ Don’t make too much of a mess.”

Virgil slipped off the counter stool and let a spark lazily click between his fingers. The robbers looked between themselves, holding onto their guns like life buoys, unsure of what to do next.

“ So……...” Virgil slowly drawled. “ Which one of you wants to pay for my coffee?”


THE DAKOTA TRIBUNE


NEW MAYOR PROMISES CRACKDOWN ON METAHUMAN GANGS - NEW BANG BABY VIGILANTE ON THE RISE


September 20th, 2019 - By Augustus Freeman


As tensions continue to rise between law enforcement and metahuman rights protestors, mayor-elect Thomasin Jefferson criticized the movement during an live interview with Dakota National, dismissing the allegations made towards her as nothing more than “ irrational tomfoolery.”

“ I do not hate these protestors. I pity them. The liberal media has deluded them into becoming hateful extremists without a shred of reason or empathy.The metahuman threat is here and it is present. These so-called Bang Babies are actively disrupting our way of life and pose a danger to all our fellow Dakotans. As your mayor, I will not let these metahumans or their misguided supporters turn this great city into their personal playground. Therefore, I will be introducing new measures to give our law enforcement greater powers to combat this threat. “

These statements are reflective of the promises to voters that Mayor Jefferson made during his campaign for office in February. Earlier this week, Mayor Jefferson introduced strict martial law orders in an attempt to contain the spread of contaminants from the Paris Island Exclusion Zone.

Robert Hawkins, the owner of Freeman Community Center, spoke out visibly whilst attending a public protest at Dakota Town Hall.

“ We are living through the worst economic recession this city has faced. I see homeless preschoolers walking by Hemingway. Rents are becoming more absurd. Drugs are flooding our neighborhoods. Just last week, the Daily Planet reported that what happened in the bay two weeks ago was one of the worst environmental disasters this country has ever experienced in the last 40 years. Yet, how does our mayor assure the public? He wants to wage a war that doesn’t need to happen.”

As public officials attempt to make sense of this crisis, others try to solve it through unconventional means. Reports of the metahuman vigilante, Static, are on the rise with more than a dozen arrests attributed to his activities. DCPD Chief Hartley issued an official warning to the vigilante during a press conference on current metahuman activity in Dakota City.

“ I don’t care what his intentions are. As far as I’m concerned, he’s interfering with the ability of law enforcement and is proving uncooperative so far. I have only one word for Static. Cease immediately or we will be forced to escalate.”

[cont on Page 9]





“ Get a load of this, Rich.” Virgil’s temple pulses with a headache as he scrolls through the newspage. “ Uncooperative? Last night, they were getting ready to cuff me while I was stopping some guy from cracking open an ATM! ”

“ Stop whining.” A nasally voice replied back. “ You’re lucky that you’re here speaking to me instead of sitting inside a cell.”

Virgil lifted up the hem of his shirt and looked down at the purple splotches lining his belly. He was more than lucky. The police could take their non-lethal and shove it up their asses. He took the pack of ice off the table and rested it against his stomach, wincing as the chill subsided the throbbing pain.

“ How’s the new costume that I made working out for you?”

“ That we made.” Virgil said haughtily. “ I gave a few pointers on the aesthetic.”

“ Right. I’m the one who made sure you don’t become a walking fire hazard everytime you shit out lightning.”

“ Wouldn’t mind it being more bulletproof, though.” Virgil moved the ice pack and hissed at the stab of pain, biting his tongue to make sure it wasn’t too loud. “ Cops are getting more trigger happy these days. ”

“ My allowance doesn’t compensate for kevlar plating. As for the fuzz, you’re just going to have to be more careful around them. ”

“ Careful? They shouldn’t even be allowed to do things like this in the first place.”

“ Tough talk coming from the vigilante.”

“ Which one of us gassed a bunch of middle schoolers first?”

Richie stayed quiet for a while before speaking back up, this time more softly.

“ Look, V. I get what you’re trying to do but… this is just the way things are nowadays. Look on the bright side. It could be a lot worse.”

“ It could be a lot better.” Virgil retorted back. He clicked the mouse and the news site disappeared from view. “ Are you still on top of that thing we discussed ‘bout?”

“ Well, trawling through hundreds of shipping manifests isn’t what I’d imagine doing for you for a Monday evening.” There was an audible sign on the other side of the line. “ But if it makes you happy…..”

“ I’ll pay you back with a midnight showing of Destructer Man IV. Swear on my soul. “

“ The things I do for you….” Richie grumbled “ Fine. Make it the front row. We’re also getting caramel popcorn.”

Virgil stuck out a tongue in disgust. He didn’t know how the hell Richie could consume the stuff. Maybe he was from another planet.

“ Deal.”

The line shut off and Virgil laxed back on his recliner, stretching out his arms. It was 10 pm and Dakota’s winter was in full force, even when his heater was on and chugging on electricity like a competitive eater. The wind howled relentlessly outside through the boroughs, the last autumn leaves dancing in the gales. Virgil just stared up at the ceiling all the while, ice pack glued to his gut.

What to do now?

He looked at the yellow goggles hanging off the open drawer. He lifted his arm over it, fingers splayed out, charge pooling in his palm. They snapped off with a rubbery twang and flew towards his open hand as if guided on invisible strings. He caught them and wriggled them over his forehead.

Time to go back to work.
C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L
S T A T I C


V I R G I L O V I D H A W K I N S C O L L E G E S T U D E N T D A K O T A C I T Y B A N G B A B Y V I G I L A N T E
C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:


“ If you want to test a man, give him power. “



Year 0 interpretation of Static that examines the political effects of having a massive metahuman diaspora in an urban city. Toss in corporate malfeasance, corrupt law enforcement and gang warfare for a cocktail that examines what it means to make true change in a world that doesn’t want to.

C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S:



I’m returning back to Virgil’s world once more because 1) I’m bored as fuck out of my mind and 2) I think his story resonates now with me more than ever. The story focuses more on exploring Dakota City rather than a character study of Virgil himself and his trials and tribulations as a hero. This story is different. This story explores Virgil attempting to solve the ever escalating problems of his hometown and realising that you can’t just punch away all the crime and expect everything to be perfect. Dakota City with all of its various parties of interest, nooks and crannies should be considered the secondary character of Virgil’s story.

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:



N/A

S A M P L E P O S T:

He’s drowning yet rising, becoming something else. Water fills his lungs as his bones crack and reform. His nerves are on fire as the Dakota Bay grows murkier around him. His brain struggles for the last gasps of oxygen as he sees the world around him light up like a neon sign and he blacks out and and




“ Virgil? Virgil? Are you listening?”

Teenagers. Diane groused mentally. Ever since the Paris Island riots, she hadn’t slept for more than 2 hours a night. You couldn’t blame Dakota Union High’s superintendent for not taking into account a national bio-chemical incident but you could blame them for a lack of funding. Working 24 hours, 7 days a week with no overtime bonuses, in hindsight, seemed like less of a move of altruism on her part and more of a desire to fulfill some sort of hidden sado masochistic tendency within her.

Besides, she wasn’t here for self-pity. She was currently focused on the boy in front of her looking out at the snow in a daze. His frizzy black hair was like an overgrown bush with dandruff peppered throughout. An oversized Lululemon fleece jacket, navy blue, hangs around his slim figure. She can just make out the black and yellow symbol of a clenched fist with the words ‘JUSTICE FOR - “ raised sky high on his white t-shirt before it moves out of view. His bright brown eyes flicker out of whatever daydream he was in, flushing in embarrassment as he rubs the back of his head.

“ Yeah, sorry, miss Franklin.” Virgil’s fingers were tangled together in a knot. “ Just a lot of thoughts going through my head right now.”

“Well, part of my job is to help you sort through all those thoughts.” She tapped the end of her clipboard for a moment before sighing. “ Did you listen to my question just now?”

“ No. No. I remember. You asked….ummmmm….Do you think the Dakota Destroyers will win this weekend’s playoffs?”

“ No. I’m of the opinion that the Gotham Gargoyles have a better chance than our sorry sack of a team.” She chuckled. “ But I digress. How have you been feeling?”

“ Good. You know, fine.”

“ Better than the last time we met?”

“ Well, uh, like everyone says, it’s a process, right? Everyone’s different and I’m different and uh….well…..therapy’s not a quick fix unlike those shrinks you see on TV. Like, you know, I’ve been keeping active if that’s what you’re worried about. “

“ You seem a little tense.”

“ Tense?” He nervously chuckles. “ Nah, why would I be tense? I’m not trying to hide anything or….”

“ Virgil.” Her voice becomes suddenly sharper before taking on a more gentle This is not an interrogation. This is just a conversation.”

“ I don’t know if I can believe that.”

“Nothing leaves this room without your wish.”

The lights in the room dim for a moment, and then, flare back up. Odd. They just did renovations for this block a week ago. She’ll have to call maintenance tomorrow to take a look at lighting. Virgil exhales, rubbing his hands together to warm himself in the chill of silence.

“ All right, then.” He looks up, his face haunted. “ It all began with a Big Bang.“

P O S T C A T A L O G:

A list linking to your IC posts as they're created. This can be used for a reference guide to your character or to summarize completed arcs and stories.
eyes thread



Well, there was a familiar face. Marcus slowly stood up, the hydraulic joints implanted in his legs creaking, as he bade Nicolas to come closer. His face was crinkled in a leathery smile, eyes brightening in recognition.

“ Nicolas.” He stuck out a scarred hand to shake the Filipino’s own. “ Nice to see you’re caught up in this mess too. Just don’t make me burn my own pay like I did for you in Vietnam, okay?”

He ended it with a firm squeeze in his handshake, giving the Black Yangtze gunman a smile, before patting him on the shoulder genially and sitting back down. Nicolas was a little greyer around the hairs the last time he worked with him but the Black Yangtze gunman’s stony countenance was unmistakable. You had to have a certain self-assured confidence to survive New Malacca, enough to push without getting pushed back but not to the point where you made too much attention. Some learned that lesson by force whilst others never took it to heart.

After Del Rosa settled himself down, several more came behind him, each more annoying than the last. One of them was a Russian that smelt of seawater and port rust. That Toma girl. His eyes met hers with repricatory acknowledgement, of the past they had with one another. The next came in a blur. A walking rainbow that looked more like a glamour girl than a professional mercenary. A girl that was young in both age and experience. A man built like a brickhouse who was relaxing in the corner, cigar fumes wafting from the blunt in his mouth like a lit fuse. Marcus’s jagged cataracts flickered back and forth each new arrival that passed through the doors of Suraiboshen. He remained passive, his chin angling towards them as they sauntered into the quiet hall that was quickly filling with chatter by the second. Marcus counted eight in total. You had to have a certain self-assured confidence on you to survive New Malacca, enough to push without getting pushed back but not to the point where you made too much attention.

Eight people. Eight complications. Eight potential guns pointed at his back when he would be least expecting it. The money it would take to finance an operation like this, though…...The former cop frowned. The client had promised 500 grand. Simple arithmetic brought the figure to 4 million asyuan in total, split between the 9 of them. The only people who could afford to burn that kind of money on the underground black market were the type whose shadows stretched across the canals, the kind of people you tended to avoid the footsteps of. CEOs,drug lords, federal executives, industrial magnates.

Who could throw that kind of money around without making a big splash in the pool?

He mulled on that for a second. And then another. Marcus shook his head, clearing away the doubts that were floating to the top of his mind like pond scum.

No time for regrets. He took the job and he’d deal with the newcomers, damn the consequences.

For the next couple of minutes, nothing happened other than the odd bit of chatter. Marcus thought about striking up a conversation with Del Rosa and decided against it. Marcus sighed and then, unclipped a thermos from a magnetic strip on his belt. The silence of the waiting hall was broken by a pressurised hiss followed by the sound of an 80 year old throat slurping down spoonfuls of something that smelt like mouldy socks.

“ Look at you. ” Marcus stopped drinking and looked up to see who had spoken to him. The cocky little shit across from him, the one with the longcoat, was lounging on his chair, legs crossed together. The edges of his lips were curled in contempt, the toothpick tucked in between waving back and forth. He then leaned forward and glanced at him in amusement. “ I mean, what’s an old guy like you doing in a place like this? No offense but the nearest retirement home is three blocks from here. I can take you there if you want, hell, call a cab for you given your…” Marcus noticed his eyes flickering down at his prosthetics. “ condition.”

“ I needed rent.”

“ Well -” The merc guffawed. “ Never heard of a hab block that cost 500,000 to stay in.”

Marcus was beginning to hate him already. He merely shrugged his shoulders and continued to sip his soup. The merc didn’t take a hint and proceeded to chatter on about crap that Marcus couldn’t care less about, his accolades, various jabs taken at how old he was and other things that the taste of ginseng soup helped him weather through. Eventually, the one-sided conversation reached the point where the merc drew back a sleeve of his jacket and revealed a sleek cybernetic arm that looked more like a teenage girl’s birthday gift fashionware.

“ Check this out.” The merc flexed his right arm and grinned at Marcus’s unimpressed face. “ Titanium alloy actuators. Custom inter-neural gel relays in the millisecond. High broadband Deep connectivity. Plus - “ He twisted the elbow to the right and a wicked barrel unfolded from under the palm of his arm. “ Don’t get me started on the integrated weapons systems. What about you?”

“ Couple of hip replacements.” Marcus paused, taking a sip. “ Vitamin supplements. Hearing aids. ” He patted the side of his leg and detached a part of the exoskeleton. “ Built in walking stick.”

The slick haired merc shook his head in mirth before his gaze darkened. “ The way I see it, we need the best for this job. Not some old geezer.” His hand then wandered towards the inside of his coat. “ How about we make the pay bigger for everyone?”

His eyes were still focused as he took a long draught from his thermos. It was only after he took a swallow that he realised his hand had moved towards his holster. The bastard had gotten under his skin. He then wiped an oily smear off the corner of his lips before speaking.

“ I’ve lived this long. Can’t say the same about you.”

There was only the industrial puff of air conditioning, the hallway growing more cramped and small by the second. He stared back calmly at the blonde haired punk while the merc grinned ,egging him on. For a moment, it looked like a gun fight would break out within the five star restaurant. The doors broke the din of silence as they opened, revealing a pale emaciated waiter. His cheeks were gaunt and he barely filled the black yukata that he wore. A large metal orb replaced his left eye, dancing around excitedly as it spastically twitched around whilst the other eye remained looking forward. He gave a cough and then, spoke quietly.

“ He’s waiting. “ He stepped to the right and bowed his head slightly. “If you would follow me, please.”

Marcus let the others go through first, sitting in his seat until he was the last one behind. The slick haired lan jiao, meanwhile, flicked his toothpick at him while he was passing by, bouncing off his cheek and onto the floor.

As he stood up and made his way behind the group, Marcus swore that he would ram the next toothpick he saw into the man’s uvula.

The first thing that was disconcerting to him were the glass walls, ceilings and floors that surrounded him as he followed the waiter. The tunnel branched off like an ant farm into several smaller rooms that were blocked off from view by smeared plexiglass. Cages of bleached coral hanged, multicolored schools of fish swimming in and out of them. If they could be called fish. They were more crude hybrids, caricatures of the time he went out fishing in the Andamans during his childhood. Tuna the size of pygmy whale sharks, the heads of freshwater fish stapled onto their saltwater relatives, crabs with more than a dozen claws. Out further past, he could barely make out the murky forest of high tension cables and struts that anchored New Malacca to the sea floor. As the waiter led them down a transparent staircase, the water darkened, looking more like a hungering void.

The group stopped at the furthest edge of the tunnel, where it led into a rocky outcrop. A pair of paper doors laid in front. Marcus could make out muffled shouts from the inside that made him slightly cautious, The waiter didn’t seem to mind, lifting his sickly hand out underneath a laser scanner. The machinery whirred before a needle protruded out of the wall. It pricked the palm,a tiny bead of red fading from sight. The paper doors shuddered and then parted, folding into the floor and ceiling.

The sound of rushing water greeted him. In contrast to the wooden makeup of the entrance, the sushi bar was downright industrial. The rock the bar was built in had been sheared, moulded, melted and polished into a perfectly square interior, free of cracks or jags. The walls weren’t stone, though. They were water, falling endlessly. The pools they rested in were bereft of life, of lily pads, of the koi fish you usually see in tourist places to invoke some cheap sense of orientalism. It just flowed and flowed, never resting in one place as the water reflowed back up.

Shame the scream broke the ambiance of zen the architect was trying to go for.

In the center of the room was a circular bar in the middle of the room with mounted stools surrounding it like the spokes of a wheel. From far back, Marcus could barely make out one man sitting on the stool flailing his arms around like an angry child while the other, standing in the centre, paid him no attention. He did manage to catch one part of the argument as the man sitting on the stool screamed out in harsh Cantonese.

“ - This was not part of the deal!”

Arguments were as common as oxygen in New Malacca. The man sitting on the stool was corpo, much of that evident from his Cheffron suit to the Malaccan Pewter watch on his right hand or the barely visible surgery lines on his head that spoke of next-gen cyberware, only available for those of top societal pedigree. However, corporate skin therapies couldn’t cover up the fact that he looked like he was a man on the run from the law. The top right quarter of his forehead looked as if it had been charbroiled. His clothes were tattered at the sleeves and ridden with dried sweat. His eyes were bloodshot and his breath stank of sake.

He stabbed a pudgy finger towards the chef in the centre. “ You think these are acceptable terms?”

The chef was the bigger of the two. Half of his stocky body was draped in a white yukata that was stained with blood, draped diagonally across his sternum. The other half was tattooed, an intricate drawing of Kali on his belly and a dragon skirting across his chest. Keeping in line with the fashion code of the establishment, his hair was tied in a bun on his back. The only thing cybernetic about him was the cybernetic arm that gripped the head of the fish by the gills, myomer fibers pulsing in the bicep, and those eyes. Well, what was left of them. They were replaced by red lenses surgically inserted into his skull, never blinking, constantly open. He didn’t seem to pay any attention to the man yelling at him, focused on the large flounder he was currently descaling.

“ You should have been more specific in the terms of your contract, Mister Chan.”

“ I’m the one paying you!”

That was the moment when the chef cut off the head of the flounder with a single stroke, gumming up the corpo’s mouth. He paused before speaking slowly.

“ You think your...money gives you any authority here?” He set the knife down, wiping the grease of fish fat with a towel. “ You came to me. I didn’t come to you. I have resources that you require, contacts that only I can acquire and the mind to make your wishes reality. If you want our partnership to prosper, Mister Chan, I suggest you be more respectful.”

“ There will be time for introductions later.”

It was then they both noticed the band of mercenaries that had arrived in the midst of the argument. Marcus stayed quiet as he gave a bow of deference.

“ Irasshaimase. I apologise for the introduction of your client.” The corp moved to speak but was silenced by the pupiless glare of the chef. “ For now, please, relax. You all must be famished after travelling here. Please sit, we have much to discuss.”
Getting hemorrhaged by job applications and uni assignments atm. The progress bar is currently an astounding 25% for this IC post. I'll most likely get it out by the end of early next week if I don't procrastinate. Anyway, please ask any questions you may have.

Update: 75%, again. Sorry for the delay.
Hey, Stormflyx. This is a lovely thread you have here. I was looking back at my old character sheets and was wondering whether or not the concepts in them could be updated for newer RPs. Could you take a look at them, please?



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