Dinh AaronMk

Diaperposters general

@stark

Keeping that second-place position on the mod rankings by appealing to spam.

A valid tactic.

@Raddum

Could have become #1 by gulaging all of Spam and unpersoning every enemy there.

MAHZ SUPPORTS #DIAPERGATE! EVIDENCE INSIDE!!!!!!

I HAVE SEEN THE TRUTH IN ALL ITS DIALECTIC!

Diaperposters general

#IStand with #Diapergate against #ModeratorFascism

Diaperposters general

When your bae sits on your dirty dungchen 😻💩🍆💦😄

prrbbbt

When your bae wears your dirty driza-bone

Cor blimey ya daft cunt clean that first 'fore the wallaby comes home with the spider and eats all our fairy bread.

Ah well gonna go out on a walkabout and punch me some libs.

Precipice of War - The Big Leagues of NRP (Only generous tippers need apply)

So just making sure I don't step on anyone's toes before I try to apply, nobodies looking at Australia, Papua New Guinea and New Zealand at the moment, are they? Because I wouldn't want to make an app for them if someone else has asked and the map/roster just hasn't been updated or anything.

@Rabidporcupine

They're available, but you can't combine Australia with New Zealand, or vice-versa.

Roleplay Sections Depicted By Jojo's Bizarre Adventure (Feat. Duwang Dub)

Declaring Nation RP as accurate.

Precipice of War - The Big Leagues of NRP (Only generous tippers need apply)

South China Sea

Somewhere around the Parcel Islands

They had shut off the engine some time back. Now they say adrift in the open ocean. The sun overhead beat down a solid head upon the deck and the bedraggled sailors had retreated to what shade they could to wait it out. They could not go below deck, it was much hotter in there than it was above, the old oil-soaked wood acting as insulation to trap and hold the afternoon heat. So they all sat huddled in the shade of the tarpaulin shaded cabin at the stern of the boat.

Resting their arms on their knees they sat idly watching the few men on deck as they stood at the bow and walked the open deck. Several had binoculars in their hands as they scanned the horizon. They watched because they were the only interesting thing. Besides the seagulls there was nothing else living around them, and even then the gulls were an infrequent quest who only came to rest or shit on their heads. Noticing they were not here to fish, they flew off quickly into the afternoon day, laughing and cackling in their shrill voices as they flapped away.

For the past couple of days the crew had bobbed about in the sea in search of freighters. But in so far much of what they found had been on their way north, to Japan, or south to the Strait of Malacca or Australia or Indonesia. But there was very little that flowed west from the heart of the Pacific. Most times, they would see a ship on the horizon who seemed to go in that direction but drawing close they would see the white flag and red sun of the Japanese empire and they would back off as quietly as they had come, keeping a safe difference so as to not threaten the Japanese navy.

“How long have you been in the Bureau?” a sailor asked Huang Du, who lay with his head resting against the helm. The tone of the sailor's question was innocent and conversational. So beyond the initial broach Du realized he had little need for strict caution.

“A while.” he answered plainly.

“A while, huh? How long is a while?”

“A span of time of some considerable length.” Huang Du began, “I would say certainly sometime after the Revolution ended and before today.”

The sailor laughed, “Fuck, you're a smart ass cunt.” Huang Du shrugged, “I don't have a lot of liberty to say. I don't wan to give myself that much liberty either.”

“Well, why not?” the sailor asked.

“Information is a weapon. That's the weapon we specialize in. So if I let you know too much then you might have an edge. You understand?”

“That's something shitty, but sure: I get it.” the sailor grumbled.

“Ten years.” Huang Du responded.

The sailor at first was taken aback and his thought process stalled for a moment before he realized what that answer was to. “Ten years?” the sailor asked. Huang Du nodded.

“Damn, how fucking old are you?”

“Thirty-eight.” Huang Du looked askew to Arban. He was busy leaning over the side of the ship with his head lowered. His coat was gone and now all he wore was his field pants and a white loose-hanging under shirt. In the heat and the sun the shirt had been sweated through and it clung to his back in one large sticky patch. The rest of him looked disheveled and ill. But Huang Du could not say he was entirely alone in that, he too felt ill and beaten from the thus-far short journey, he had done away with his uniform coat, turning it into a pillow and he sat with his boots off and set up alongside him; playing as a holder to a canteen of water. “He's forty-five.”

“And how long as he been in?” the sailor asked, referring to Arban

“A lot longer than I.”

“Let me guess, you don't have liberty to talk much about him?”

Huang Du nodded. “If he wants to answer that he'll answer that. I may have overstepped.” admitted Huang Du, “Why do you want to know?”

“Curiosity.” the sailor said, “I've heard the Bureau sometimes recruits from the army. Service veterans and the like. What are my chances?”

Huang Du smiled and laughed. Shaking his head he leaned his head against the helm council and sighed, “Well that depends on you. You need to be quizzed, exercised. Your record meanwhile will need to be examined. A lot of research done. And if they like how you did and how you are then you get two or three years of education.”

“Shit, is it a fucking university?” the sailor said, stunned. He was frankly appalled at the thought. He believed if anything, he may move from one to another and move his career forward. He was feeling stuck in the Navy. But he didn't want to be tied up in college.

“More like an academy. Drilling, studying. Officer level stuff.”

“Sounds like college.” the sailor said.

Huang Du laughed. To not achieve higher merit? This was absurd, he believed. “Well why not?” he asked.

“My twat of a dad wanted me to read a lot. So he had me read, a lot.” the sailor said, in simple terms, “He fucking brought me all the books he could find, anything not ruined or too expensive or what he could get on loan. And he'd bring them to me and make me read them after chores. Fucker wouldn't let me outside to have a life of my own. The navy was my way to get the fuck away from him, and from his damn books.” the sailor was bitter.

Huang Du nodded. He couldn't pretend to understand, but he could try to be sympathetic, at least on the surface. He could claim to be sorry for him, nor angry. “So what then, if not education?” he asked.

“I don't fucking know.” the sailor answered. And he didn't. When he saw Huang Du was expecting an answer he was himself stunned and began thinking. He had never thought much of it before, so he began probing. Huang Du was patient, and took the moments of silence to close his eyes as the boat drifted along silent, flat seas.

“I suppose I could...” the sailor began, his voice trailing off, “Become a mechanic, or a train driver. Maybe go into martial arts, be a master myself...”

“To be a master you'll need to pay one, so you'll need to work at something.” Huang Du said, eyes still close.

“I know, I know.” the sailor said, “But I never had to think about it.”

“It's a good idea to think about it.” Huang Du told him, half-opening his eyes and looking up at the light as filtered through a tattered blue tarp.

“All I've wanted really was excitement.” said the sailor, “Something to do, away from the villages. No books, no monotony. Just something to do that's new day to day. I thought maybe I could have it in the navy, but my expectations haven't been met. So really, why look for adventure and not get it. Might as well when I step on shore to never come back to sea, I might as well live a boring life; settle down into some work, get my apartment, get married, get the bigger one, raise a family, die.”

“That's a really noble life goal.” said Huang Du, flatly.

“Really?” the sailor asked.

“In some areas.”

“Shit.”

“Well don't beat yourself up too much about it.” Huang Du consoled him, “I've known people who go out to seek stability, get adventure. Or they want adventure and end up in over their heads. They see so much they want the normal life. But that adventure they wanted, it keeps haunting them.”

The sailor nodded. “How about your partner.” pointing over to Arban who still leaned sickly over the edge of the boat, “How in deep do you think he is in 'adventure'?”

“I think we plunged him over the deep end.” Huang Du laughed.

The sailor laughed too. They both laughed. It felt good. “But what's this I hear about Vietnam?” asked the sailor, “Sounds like something's being prepared.”

Huang Du nodded. “Maybe. You may actually get the excitement you came in for!” he exclaimed.

“Perhaps. If it's found out whose supplying the factions or whatever in Vietnam, you think a blockage will be called?”

“That sounds like you'd want that.”

“It's better than prowling the bays and the ports, looking for fishermen that go out in their row boats to trade in smuggled goods.”

Void of Novira: Scramble for Interplanetary Colonization (Now Open)

New Auslassia

North Brunswell

Broken Barrows Station

A day after the last post

The four-by-four rolled out through the shadow of an arched wooden gate in the fence-line, following a two-track through the bush land. Great fenced pastures flanked the road on either side holding great flocks of kuey Birds, dull gray or dusty brown, winds tipped in yellow or faces splashed with dull sandy yellow spots. As the car rolled passed, the flocks looked up from whatever they were doing and took a curiosity in the coming vehicle and all came running to the fence line. As high as their heads were tall, they couldn't jump the wooden and wire fence if they wanted, but they pressed themselves against it and ran parallel following the strange moving machine, and its occupants as it rolled past, their heads turning and twisting as they looked at it from different angles, all the while keeping perfect pace.

The kuey bird caught the other day twitched and lurched impatiently in the bed of the truck as it fought against the tight grip of Baro Daro to rise out of the bed. He pulled down against it, holding the bound bird against the warm sand filled bed of the truck before it could throw itself out and hurt or kill itself in the fall. But as they drove on further than the pasture went, the other birds quickly lost interest and the captured bird immediately settled.

From pens and fenced pasture came workshops, barns, and the many utility buildings for a ranching operation. From the shed for pumping water and down even to the slaughtering and processing house for the preparation and distribution of culled birds. At far end encircled by a ring of towering, red leafed rosatia trees was a tall white house in the middle of a well watered and manicured lawn. A wrap around front porch contained many seats to sit, and three now were occupied. Rising from one a man in a light tan suit stepped forward and rested his arms on the porch railing. Driving closer Roger could see he was smiling. He pulled to the edge of the dirt road that encircled the rancher's house and shut off the engine. Quickly a team of ranch hands, man and beast-man alike rushed forward and helped Baro Daro and Tracker bring down and escort off the large confused bird.

“Good to see one back in one piece.” the man on the porch called down, “How was the trip, mate? How much brandy is it worth?”

“Bloody hell, a good three rounds I reckon.” Roger said, walking down the flagstone path in the yard, “But she's done.”

“Splendid!” the man exclaimed, before turning to the woman seated next to him, “Claire, would you mind fetching us some brandy? We need a toast to a job well done.”

The woman rose and slipped inside the white screen door as Roger stepped up onto the porch. Sea-green floorboards creaked underfoot as he walked over to take a seat vacated by the ranch boss, now standing.

At over six foot two, he was an imposing man with a broad elephantine frame. In his youth he may have been a sports man, perhaps wrestling by Roger's best guess. But in the intervening years he had packed on a gut to add to his physique. He turned back to his seat, and sat down; fanning his plump red face with an old bush hat. “Tell me, how were the hands that went with you?” he asked.

“Those two? Lord, Kevin: that Baro nut sleeps like he's his own thunderstorm. And that Tracker lads top off his rails.”

The rancher laughed, “Would've thought so. Tracker is a toppo.”

“He got the job done though.”

“Well said.” Kevin said with a sigh, “I'll be sure to throw an extra bottle of gin his way.”

“With a head like his you think that's wise? He'll be off his cracker, never mind the rails.”

“Psh, you now how the Alties are. They pack the good water away faster than you can blink. Pat themselves on the back for it, the rump too I would imagine. Blimey, you've seen the amount of bottles they hand up around their shacks. They brag about it!”

“I've seen them rummage in the garbage for them too.” Roger said.

“Pish-posh, they're trying to cover for themselves. Inflate the score!”

The woman, Kevin's wife stepped back out onto the porch. While as old as he, Claire held a figure far better than the fat rancher next to Richard. Her features were sharp and pointed, and the green field shirt she wore hugged the narrow waist she managed to keep. She placed on the table between the two men a bottle of amber brandy, and several shot glasses. Kevin went to immediately pour, and offered one up to Richard. “To businesses done well!” he toasted.

“To good business.” Richard agreed, and clinking glasses they down their shot.

“By the way, I believe you met my son before.” Kevin said, turning to direct Richard's attention to the third individual on the porch. Half turning out of his seat Richard reached over to shake hands with the other.

“Mathias, it's been a while. Out of the academy now I take it.” Richard said with a wide smile.

Mathias, a tall athletic type smiled broadly. His wide cheeks glowed with pride as he met Richard's hand and took it. “Ay, just got done with it half past last month. Been travelin' a bit before I decided to come back to the old watering hole.” He wore an olive green dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to past the elbows. The short shorts he wore too made his white legs appear longer than they were. Long green socks made up the difference over his calves, and a pair of black boots adorned his feet.

“Where you going to next then?” Richard asked as he sat back down.

“They got me running security detail at the docks.” he said, “Not the most exciting thing in the world, at least not until another war kicks up.”

“Let's not let that be bloody deadset.” Kevin interjected, “I would rather not have trouble.”

He refilled the shot glasses. “But debrief me,” Kevin began, “how'd it go out there?”

“Three days in, two days out.” Richard said, “Went a lot further than we thought, must of walked off for longer than you were told. We was coming in on The Shafts when we found 'er. Had to shoot off dingos.”

“A walk about in tha' bush then.” Kevin said, drinking. Richard followed suit.

“Would have been one if we had some amber!” Richard exclaimed.

“Ay, indeed.”

“Well,” Kevin said with a sigh, pouring a third and final shot, “Last for the day. Ya did good mate, here's to you.” they toasted, “Bonus on the next pay check.”

Milbury

Present day

“My honorable companions in the chambers,” the speaker began as he stood before the towering cathedral windows of the chambers of the House of State. Sat atop a hill, the central legislative assembly held a commanding view of the capital city through the tall vaulted windows of its main hall. Stretching out before it in all varieties of shape and color the Auslassian capital of Milbury filled in its gentle valley on its march to the sea. The south-coast sky as clear as an unblemished sapphire. The sunlight shone bright off of the shooting arms of the legislative seat, twisting and undulating like ocean waves captured in pearly mortar and crushed lime. Radiating paved paths divided up a green garden lawn, and from the speaker's position one such path seemed to bisect the central window clear in half.

“The words that have come out of this man's gabber are totally, conceivably, an admonished lie to pull the legs from our very bodies.” the speaker continued as he paced down away from the windows into the chamber's center.

The chamber was a round central hall cozily seating forty-five in a circular seating arrangement that slowly fell to a central low dais. A man was seated there in a dark wood dining room chair, his arms folded in his lap as he waited with an irritated expression for the diatribe to end.

“We have heard nothing from him but excuses and slander. His words are not worth more than the mud between a dingo's toes. There is nothing worse that has come from anyone's mouth in the name of the national good than from this man's.”

While the chambers were made for forty-five, today's attendance was little more than eight. All primarily of the Committee of Public Oversight. Present too were reporters who stood above the seats looking down, leaning on a polished silver handrail as they danced their fingers across the transparent screens of personal notepads taking down notes as a camera-armed drone hovered nearby holding a constant frame on the mostly empty seats and the speaker and his victim down below.

The scene in its loneliness was sad. The speaker spoke in a loud booming voice as if addressing a full house. But other than his speech the only other sound came from the hard knocking of his boots on the hard-wood floorboards, polished to reflect the white-wash walls of the chamber as they rose, morphed and came to a point in a representation of an old sailing ship's sails. The ship of state, as much as it was its house. Though it was only the galley.

“The malfeasance carried out by your practices has perhaps jeopordized the lives and fortunes of millions across Auslassia.” the speaker continued, “And you seek to continue to sit here and continue to deny, despite three audits by this commission that your company has been acting in neglect towards this government.”

The man seated rolled his eyes. Why the subject needed to be reminded felt unneeded. But the speaker, in his black suit and collar raised up around his neck continued along, “One-hundred millions missing from the health accounts of over two-hundred thousand of your healthcare consumers, money to pay for subsidies provided by the state missing and over two-thousand complaints received across the country on reimbursements promised to them having failed to be paid. Two-hundred fifty thousand potential AND qualifying new members denied their coverage, and many more! Master Thompson Brookridge, time and time in examining audited reports back seven years our investigators have found missing from use public funding. And when I stand before you and demand to know what happened all you can do is shrug, and say you do not know where it went?”

“May I speak?” Thompson Brookridge asked, as the tirade settled. He was a handsome man in the mid-years of his life. His blonde hair was beginning to loose its luster though and beginning to fade to white. As well his defined chin was beginning to sag and soften. But when he went to the mirror still, he found that with the least effort he could still see himself presentable alongside the self-idealizing image of his own youth and skill.

“You may.” the speaker said. Who was close to his opposite in physical build. While younger his dark brown hair was receding. He had a soft frame and was very round. He tried to hide it by holding in his gut, but it was a vein effort that only gave the impression of being a buffed up bird.

“The errors in our financial reports are easily explained. My company has complied with your investigation requests and has turned over the insurance information for its entire two-hundred fifty seven clients enrolled into our plan. We have gone further to provide customer opinion data and Gold Beach Health Options is having its fifth platinum year alone. These charges that you insist you have found are baseless allegations. If you were to correctly read the budget data for the past sixteen quarters then you would have clearly seen that we have appropriately used the subsidy funds provided to us to provide low-cost coverage excellently. The stream bubbles clear, as it is said. There is nothing that is happening.”

“My friend,” the speaker with a disciplining voice, “that information you have provided to us was edited this past week. And to back our claims we can provide, as evidence, the disassociation between your tax claims these past four years versus subsidy payouts from the treasury with the returns you surrendered to us for this investigation!” the speaker shouted. He reached into his pocket and produced a palm-size object, about the size of a round tuna can and turned it on. With a electrical buzz audible in the stillness of the chambers in activated and projected a hologram in the air ahead of the speaker. The projection moved based on how he manipulated the projector as he placed it on the floor.

Waving his hands through the air the speaker touched his fingers to holographic panels and moved them around. Speaking as he did so. In the benches a man leaned in towards Kevin.

“He's going to be yabbering for a while, I imagine.” the legislator said in a drained, tired voice.

Kevin nodded, he rubbed his eyes with his fat hands and snorted in exhaustion.

“Should've stayed home.”

“Then he would have been on your arse.” the other said, “There's no two way around it, the waker likes his audience, no matter how small. I like to imagine he's practicing on live bait before we move onto the bigger fish. Don't you think? What do you think he'll pull out of his magic box later this month in the energy bill, master Whittaker?”

“Empty gas is all.” Kevin said with a sigh, “All it'll end up being. It's remarkable he was able to put in head of any committee. How close again was he with his Honorable Wythall?”

“I suppose he's something like a second cousin, or went to school with him.” the other man said in a feigned interested voice. The words rested there and sleepily leaving his tongue and taking all matter of respect with him revealing the faint barbs of disdain they covered behind. He smiled a little, it was no secret the speaker down below, Sydney Ashland was hardly well liked. A former lawyer, his speaking style was developed in the courts of the cities, written to move the sympathies of the merchant's wives or bankers' – out of hours – sympathies in any level of trial.

The rural leaders, such as Kevin and his partner alongside him, carried the brutal bluntness in speeches that shed pretense or decorum to make drama as forged in the bush. Appealing to no morality but the terror of threatening to shoot men down should they threaten to strike.

“Red Stone kids I guess always stick together.” Kevin said, referring to the premier academy in the country for boys in high-stations.

“Have you heard the news?” the other asked Kevin, interested.

“I've been too busy with business affairs. Someone's been letting birds loose.”

“Shame, well I heard something right ripper from the papers.”

“Oh?”

“Suppose the imperial overlords had an encounter in orbit.” the other remarked, “Heard it from my brother. He was on trade over that side of the planet, some private business. One night he catches through his window an impossibly bright light, almost as if a second sun went off. Says he gets bloody startled but curious, and he goes to see what's what. Claims he sees a fire-ball somewhere in the sky as its dying out. Time later, someone says to him it was a nuke. A lot of military got scattered.”

“Sounds about right for them.” Kevin said, sharing no sympathy with the Cindoyrai. Ever since their use of nuclear weapons in the War, there had been a simmering tension among many in government towards them. With all considered, one who is unafraid to use nuclear weapons is not unlike a dangerous wild dog.

“It's got some talking about the Cyndies.” the other said, “There's some good talk around. Useful gabber.”