deegee

Titles are for Idiots who have Hope.

Day... what the hell day is this? I only found this book (titled 'Travel Diary' and with the name Ashley Goldman inside the cover) a few days ago, and I haven't felt the need to keep track of days in forever.

It's definitely not a weekend. I seem to recall weekends are supposed to be set aside for fun, and family.

It feels like a Wednesday. Yup We're gonna say it's Wednesday. Day number... well, lessee. I'm what -- thirty five? Thirty six? Three hundred sixty five days in a year. Near twenty years since skydark... guess I should start counting from then. Twenty years of 365 days... seven thousand days, give or take.

Day 7000. Wednesday.

Who fuckin' cares. Ain't nobody ever gonna read this, or make sense of it anyhow.
Killed a cat today. Ate some, saved some.
Found a can. Sealed. Not ballooned-up like most you find. Could be peaches. Likely lima beans.

My right boot has a hole in the toe. Need to see to that.

Titles are for Idiots who have Hope.

(Quick OOC blurb: There is nothing but the Post-Apocalyptic. I once saw an old sandwich-board sign outside a library that read: Post Apocalyptic Fiction has been moved to Current Events. With the state of the world, and the hate that we manifest daily toward each-other, nothing else feels honest. I don't really care if anyone else posts here, or not. If nobody else does, it would likely add to the realism of the thing. Whatever it is. If someone does, don't come crawling to me if my character hides from you, ignores you, lets you pass by and then never ever again interacts with you, tries to kill you, robs you, or leaves you for dead. Also don't come bitchin' and moanin' at me if you don't like the freeform style with which I post. I didn't ask you. Also don't ask me if you can or can't do this, or that. If you're here, do what you like. It's not my world, I just exist in it.)

Fuck this pencil. Short as my thumbnail, and I chew that fucker, too.

Fuck this book too. pages dry as sand, half a them crumble afore I ever get a chance to sully them with my nonsense.
Nonsense.

Hungry today. Can taste blood in my mouth from where I bit at my cracked lips.

One foot infrontof the other. Next, and next, and then one more. Because I'm too damn stubborn to stop. Not because I have someplace special to go. and cuz stopping means I might likely never get started again.

If I just laid down right here, who would care? Never opened my eyes again, that'd be just fine.
But no.
Not here.
This would be a shit place to die.
Busted up street lamp on one side, ground covered in glass and crumbled brick, burnt out car on t'other side.
Honda. Not even a cool car. Nope. Not here. I lie down to die, I want it to be beside some fuckin' cool car, and have some fuckin' grass under my ass.

The hunger sucks. Makes every moment about finding something to suff in my mouth. Dulls all the other senses that you need to keep from getting dead. And there are way worse ways to go out here than just deciding to lay down under a busted-ass lamp-post on a bed of broken glass.

Wild dogs. That would suck. Cannies. That would really suck. Infection would be bad, too. Anything that resulted in a fever and delirium. Had to look up how to spell that shitty word. Weird the shit I don't care if I spell wrong, vs. the shit I can't remember how to spell, and drives me nuts to not know. Like 'delirium' or 'calcium' or 'arthritis.' I always want to spell it 'Arthur-ites.'

Cuz I'm a dumb motherfucker.

Goddamn it. Stone in my shoe.

Dee's NSFW prompt

there's a lump in my (bump)

✨Beyond The Veil✨

Kessler

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Location: The Underground (heading outside) • Time: Nightfall

Interactions: @Potter, @AuthenticTomb, @Oso, @EtherealThorn, @Tpartywithzombi •

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There was no need for Dom to tell him twice. Hell, there was barely reason for Dom to have said it aloud. Pheromones, the scent of familiar blood, call it what you will, but Kessler was already moving to intercept Tessa, even as Dom spoke. She was hurt. The Coldfang boy, too. Kess didn't know him too well, but blood was blood, and no longtooth was going to take down a Lycan while Kessler had breath in his body to do anything about it. They stank. Their stench was all around him, putrifying the entire bar, choking him, filling his senses with their foul odour. Kess was down, off the bar, and rose to his full height as he sprang forward, coming into contact with the first rotten blood-fucker, who had been lustily preying upon a human woman, very nearly perched upon her chest while his fangs sunk into her ribcage, the vamp's hands filled with the souring flesh of her breasts, the foul creature's face slick with the dying woman's essence. There was no time to wait, to stop and properly challenge this rotten filth. He had to get topside, had to follow Tessa to where her scent was strongest...

Kess plunged both fists deep into the back of the vamp, rending soft, pliable flesh, splintering bone, and hauled in one brutal motion, as much of what had been inside the nightwalker's chest cavity out into the open air as he could, discarding the hot viscera the way he might toss a half-smoked cigarette, watching as the corpse fell to the side. His eyes caught the dying human's for a heartbeat, vacant, hollow, losing the light. Kessler put her out of her misery, slashing her neck and letting her bleed out, preventing her from the horror of what may have come.

There was no moving through the crowd like that without attracting attention, and Kessler was certainly not an exception. Two vamps were on him before he could move on, and he roared as one slashed at his achilles, trying to hobble him, while the other went for his neck and traps. Kessler kicked out, raking the bloodletter across the face with his hind claws, punting him into the crowd for an instant, while turning his attention to the more serious threat. The vamp was on him, crawling up him like a fly on carrion, seeking the sweetest meat. Kessler could feel the knives of claws lacerating him, and reached back over his shoulder to grab the offending blight like swatting at mosquitoes, grasping the vamp by the skull in his massive, clawed paw and swinging him around like a flesh flail. Bone and sinew made awful, wet squelching noises as Kessler batted other vamps, and merely people in his way, clearing a scythe-like path in front of him. The vamp-flail he held was slick with snapped bone and the blood of his enemies, dead from multiple snapped and shattered vertibrae, and finally, the last sinews of the neck gave way, and Kessler literally ripped the vamp's head clear of its body, heaving it at another blood-sucker, sending it sprawling.

His way was blocked by two move vamps. One was an old hand, scarred and revelling in the bloodlust, his shirt torn and chest slick with the blood of his victims, the other a much younger vamp, twitching and hungry, eyes wild and veins standing out on forehead and neck in protest. Kessler squared off against them, his frame blotting out light from behind. He wasted no time in charging them mercilessly. There was no honour amongst vamps. Only hunger, and power -- and Kess would show them what power was. He broke the younger vamp's body with savagery, beating the young vamp to death with bone-shattering, joint-popping strikes, each rebuttal by the younger vampyre met by strength and unyielding determination and grit from Kessler. First one arm, broken and left hanging uselessly after being snapped at the elbow. Then the other, met with a block from the Lycan that snapped his forearm like a twig. Then the knee, gristle and cartilage twisting as Kessler smashed the man's knee, forcing him to the floor, only to have his skull crushed in the vice-like grip of the powerful Lycan, the pulp of his brain tissue leaking from his nose and eyes as he dropped to the ground.

Of course, his comrade did not stand idly by while the young Vamp was dealt with, and Kessler felt the rake of the experienced 'sucker's claws across his back and arms, turning to meet this new threat as the vamp's teeth sank into Kessler's forearm. Howling as if touched by flame, Kessler shook himself free of the vamp's teeth, and backhanded him viciously, nearly breaking it's neck. For such an insult, Kessler kept the creature in his grasp, beating it over and over and over, until little remained of its head except a red soup, tossing its bloody mess aside in disgust. He regarded the wound for a moment, the ribbons of his own flesh, the stink of the vamp's poison. That would take time to heal, and would likely add to the cartography of scarring that covered his body from battles long since silenced.

Scenting the air once more and finding Tessa's signature, Kessler moved with unnatural speed, ascending through foes, tearing apart anything that dared stand in his way until his fur dripped in vampyre blood, and he finally emerged into the night air, moving toward the prone form of Tessa. Vamps moved in on all sides, hissing and moving in that otherworldly way that only a hunting Vamp could. He bared his fangs and howled, a call sent into the night sky, an acknowledgement of their shared struggle, a call to arms, a signal to let the pack know the fight was far from over.

"Heard you pups could use a hand." He knelt over Tessa's form, assessing her wounds. She looked like she was in no condition to move, let alone fight. He turned to Luther. His voice was a deep growl, coming from deep in his chest. "You. Coldfang, right? Not one Sucker touches her while we breathe. Keep your head up, and dig deep. This is gonna hurt..."

They started moving in, emerging from the shadows like demented spectres.

'Floating' (Star Wars 2 BBY)

Wrench wheeled up to the Dejarik table, bumping his nose-wheel into the bench, waking Fel from a light, image-filled slumber (his mind turning in circles about the heist, as it had been ever since opening the wave from Abilene… Fel was aware that this couldn’t continue, not if he wanted to be at his best for the most important job they were likely to ever pull off.) The Astro droid bleeped and whirred that they had a full house, and Fel thanked his dented, multicoloured copilot, rising from his seat, cursing that he’d let his head hang down as he snoozed, rubbing at the new knot in his neck. He slapped the droid on part of his sparsely-painted, green radome, rubbing at some carbon scoring and chipped, missing paint, showing the unadorned duralumin beneath. “Mebbe time for a new coat of paint, tin man… How do you feel about orange?” Wrench replied that he was fine just the way he was, and that orange was reserved for reactor droids. The binary came out with an inflection that made it seem like he was judging Fel’s terrible, derisive choice. In reality, Fel just thought Wrench would look good in a burnt orange, and that he hadn’t seen too many Astro droids in that colour …now he knew why. “You’re right, ‘Co.’ You’re just fine the way you are. Prep us for liftoff, Wrench. We’re heading across this moon to get a passenger, soon as we’re able.” Wrench acknowledged, and spun off for the bridge.

He moved aft to the workshop, finding Jet and the Kid, squaring away their take. “Find everything?” he inquired. The question was simple enough, and there was more than enough gear here to indicate that they had indeed found all they needed, and more… but reading between the lines, Fel fixed Jet with a glance that said more than the words could. He was asking about something more personal than the workshop. He moved over toward Zane, running his fingers over the surface of the gauntlet. “This hers, partner? …you wear it well, Zane.” The pilot looked at the various tools and functions of the glove, seeing how it could be made to be modular. “...make this thing work for you, Kid. It’s only useful if it does what you need it to.” He cast a wan smile the Kid’s way, clapping him on the shoulder, before turning to Jet. “We’re going to gather up Morrik Venn.” Fel knew Jet would remember the gambler they once transported out of Toydaria. “Be on your guard. He’ll steal anything that isn’t bolted down, and as much as I’d rather cut his hands off for trying… we kind of need him.” Fel nodded at his old friend. He knew there was more that needed saying, but it wasn’t the time. As he made his way toward the Port hold, he mused to himself, just within earshot of the two men in the workshop, “Still… we pull off the heist, we could afford to cut off his hands, and just buy him replacements…”

He considered looking in on ‘the girls…’ but even the thought of referring to them as such made his skin crawl. The two of them were less ‘girls’ and more sabre-tooth cats... Something deadly, at any stretch. In any case, he knocked on Aellyn’s bunk door, calling through rather than waiting for permission to enter. “We’re taking off shortly. Not breaching atmo, just relocating so I can collect Venn. Anything you need to clear up before we’re airborne, now’s the time…” It wasn’t the clearest of instructions, not the most up-and-up method of passing on their itinerary… but it would do, until they had Venn aboard, there was no point in sitting down to discuss the finer points of their shitshow.

He returned to the flight deck in time for Wrench to tell him he’d taken far too long, and that they weren’t efficiently managing their time, to which Fel simply sighed. He lifted off, buttoning up the ship and pulling up the ‘gear. Flying across Nar Shaddaa was an exercise in focus. There was so much that could distract – even more than on Coruscant, in Fel’s estimation. “Just another pristine tower” only held his attention for so long. But the oddities of ‘Shaddaa, the abject poverty slammed up against the opulence, the violence and the excess. In a way it was a visual feast, but it was also a sad trainwreck that made simply being here, difficult and painful. Galdaart couldn’t imagine living here for any real length of time.

It took a little over a quarter of an hour to get to a landing pad in the Corellian Sector. He set down, dropping the ramp, and showing the dock-master the appropriate paperwork (for a ship called the Unita-7.) Credits changed hands. The UA would be fine for the hour he’d be gone, though the dock-master looked at the ship, and by extension, Fel, as something he might’ve stepped in.

Galdaart strapped his Power5 to his thigh, and disappeared into the crowd, turning up the collar of his jacket to the wind. He was inside the ‘Grinning Jackal’ a few minutes later, having joined the crowd that had gathered to see Morrik Venn play. By the looks of him, he was many, many hours into his session, hair touseled, eyes bleary behind his black-lensed glasses, no fewer than three empty glasses in front of him. It took some doing, but Fel moved around the table, moving amongst the crowd, to a place where Venn would be able to see him. Another few minutes passed, another hand won, before Venn took note of the spacer, nodding almost imperceptibly. He motioned to the pit boss, and asked for a recess to go to the ‘fresher. The crowd dissipated a little as the action slowed, Venn’s mountain of chips neatly stored away for “safe-keeping” while the card-sharp excused himself.

Fel stepped outside, leaning against a lamp-post across from the Grinning Jackal. The alarm went off a few moments later, but by that point, Venn had already appeared beside him, wearing a borrowed overcoat. Fel let him sweat a moment, in no rush to depart. ”Fierfek, Fel – If we’re going, let’s get gone, already!” The man was twitchy, and Fel smiled up at him. ”Not before you pay me back what you owe me, you dirty son of a bantha…” He was calm, collected, and worst of all – patient. Security was pouring out the front doors of the Jackal now, and Morrik Venn was no doubt feeling the squeeze. He handed over a bag, which Fel hefted, glanced into briefly. “Your chariot awaits, Mr. Venn…” he flourished an invitation to walk back toward the UA, which Venn all-too-hastily accepted. They walked away just as the authorities pulled up in front of the Jackal, blocking the main doors and running inside. Bystanders were taking note, and crowding around, just as Fel and Venn slipped away. ”Took you long enough, you bastard.” Fel smiled thinly, not bothering to look at the man sweating beside him. “How much did you take the place for?” They walked in silence for a bit, before Venn replied, under his breath, “Not nearly as much as we’re about to pull…”

They were back aboard the UA within the hour, and Fel lifted off, blasting offworld and into hyperspace, with Venn under lock and key (and the watchful eye of Jet.)

✨Beyond The Veil✨

Kess

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Location: Underground • Time: Now.

Mentions: @Oso @EtherealThorn

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Something had happened. What had been a throbbing, living thing, the groove and the physical vibration of beings moving in a cathartic, rhythmic beat to the music, which insinuated itself into the very fibre of each and every consciousness present… a shared experience, blood pumping in sync, fuelled by a driving guitar and a throbbing bass, pushing the tribe to act out their deepest, most bestial desires, had shifted suddenly. To be sure, there was still noise. There was still bass, though that rhythm was gone, replaced by something that seemed like a single note, or a mistake drawn out by an agonizingly long pause. Similarly the groove, the pulse of feet and the motion of the place, likewise gone, replaced by a sudden, catatonic faltering, then… panic. The difference between stomping, moshing, dancing to the beat, and people attempting to flee something gone bizarrely wrong in a horrible instant was as jarring as the cessation of KC’s motion under him. It was as if they had both felt it at once.

There was no time spared for an exchange between them, as Kessler unentangled himself from KC, and made for the door, senses aflame and piercing the gloom. He strode with purpose along the hallway toward the bar-back area, passing a side storage room that had previously contained two writhing bodies in the throes of passion. He stopped and looked in, seeing the twitching, pale, scarily thin, yet unnaturally strong, shirtless form of the vamp barback holding a broken woman’s body aloft, her naked, limp form being exsanguinated; the vamp delighting in the torrent of her blood across his face, in his mouth, coating his chest. His tongue out, savouring the essence of her life, his erection evident under leather trousers. The woman’s body was torn, her flesh ripped in a dozen places, body held at an unnatural angle as the blood poured and rained down on the vamp.

Kessler moved swiftly, taking advantage of the vamp’s attention being elsewhere, its mouth open wide, ecstatic in this rain of blood, and reached over the bloodsucker’s head, taking hold of his jaw from above and below, and exerted his significant strength, rending muscle and flesh asunder, as he literally tore the vamp’s jaw clean off, and wrenched the creature’s head back, snapping vertebrae and sinews, coming close to tearing the man’s head off.

He regarded his efforts for a heartbeat, both the twitching vamp and the broken human woman lying at his feet, before turning back toward the door. Bone snapped and cracked, flesh tearing and reforming, muscle mass doubled and as the pain faded away as Kessler changed, he ripped what remained of his shirt from his thickly corded torso, discarding it as he neared the doorway. He grabbed hold of the doorframe, partly to steady himself as his spine cracked and the final vestiges of his human form gave way, his vast shoulders and rippling chest betraying the power he possessed in his wolf form.

Whatever was happening here, was connected to Logan’s death. Someone was forcing this fight on them. Now wasn’t the time to find out how, or why. Now was simply to get out alive. He had to get to Dom. The Lycan that stepped back through the storage room doorway and into the barback hall, moving faster than anything that big had any right no move, was perhaps the most destructive force of nature at the Fangs’ disposal, and anything between Kessler and his goal would soon be reminded of that. Blood had already been spilled. But not nearly enough.

He moved into the bar proper, and out into the main room of the ‘Underground,’ vaulting onto the bar, crouching and ready for what came next…

Dee's NSFW prompt

(big) Bumpers.

Project Genesis: A New Beginning

Damn. It was worth a shot. Oh well... can't say I didn't try to play nice.

Project Genesis: A New Beginning

Apologies everyone. The last 12 days have been rough mentally. I'm starting to crawl back out. I hope I can do some writing this weekend to help. I still look forward to this one.

@deegee Not sure on this guy...

@Zoie Hart

No? :(

Project Genesis: A New Beginning

Somewhere in the middle? Inflation… end of the world scenario… carry the 4… no, he’s likely worth plenty.

D