Recent Statuses

3 yrs ago
Current To all I'm in RPs with: I apologise if my replies are sparse. Life isn't kind.
3 yrs ago


My name is DJ.
I am a roleplayer.
A roleplayer of roughly a good decade now.
I write a lot of things, and am able to roleplay a lot of things.

Random Things about me
- I run a small YouTube channel.
- I listen to a helluva lot of music. Love music.
- I'm from Singapore. It's a little island in Southeast Asia.

Anywho, I've not been RPing for a long long time, but here I am, hopefully to make a few friends and RP some.

Arena Stats

2 Wins / 2 Losses / 0 Draws
1200 points

Most Recent Posts

As he shot off an email to his contact to help him launder their ill-gotten gains, Hazan glanced at Daro and sighed in a mock gesture of exasperation.

"Young folk these don't appreciate the fine details of performing surveillance. It's all about patience, hehe."

The jokes were a welcome change of pace. The apartment Daro had chosen was a nice place, overlooking a rather sordid piece of Omega's history, something he'd admired about the mysterious Archangel. Holding off three mercenary companies by himself, now that was Spectre material, right there. No one even knew who he was. All Hazan knew was that he'd been spirited away before the mercs came crashing down onto him. Safe and sound. It felt the same way here, except that he wasn't alone.

"In the long run? I don't really know. All I do know is that I want to make a name for myself. Do something good for this station, like Archangel did. Maybe make it slightly less of a shithole. I left the Navy to go make a name for myself, not to spend the rest of my life stuck in bureaucracy. A turian my age only gets into the command life after his ten years of active service, sitting behind a desk doing paperwork. That's just not my thing. S'why I'm here. We started this, we should commit all the way to the end."

Hazan sat up and stretched, laying his datapad on the table while he grabbed his glass of brandy and took a good, long swig. It felt good to take a break, especially since he'd been on back-to-back contracts almost the entire time he'd stayed on Omega. The peace was welcome.

"Business as usual for me involves stuff like this, unfortunately. One of these days someone's going to make a contract on Perix, and I'd rather it be sooner than later. And it feels like you'd like to be the one who pulls the trigger."

The slender turian glanced at Daro and shrugged.

"Plus, I could use the company. Being a solo act for so long makes a guy lonely, y'know? Feels good to have someone to talk to. And we do make a good team; I get to do all your dirty work in exchange for healthcare."

@Not Fishing @lady horatio @Rabidporcupine

David studied the two photographs side by side. Their resemblance was very uncanny, almost as if they'd been taken at the same time... Actually, on further inspection, the pictures were exactly alike, down to the pixel almost.

"Huh... That's really weird..."

And suddenly there was a commotion. David grabbed his camera and trained it at the bathroom door as one of the staff members, an older, taller lady, attempted to open the locked door where the little girl was supposedly hiding. He snapped a picture of this scene, even as others around him did the same. The chaos was unfamiliar and familiar at the same time; the stampede of people trying to leave, while the few concerned citizens around him stayed to help. It felt like when he'd taken photos of the aftermath of a school shooting right here in the US. The same sort of panic and fear that existed in herds of buffalo that were being hunted by lions in the African savannah. The pictures he took of the breakfast crowd barging out of the diner weren't great; mostly blurry images of people moving, with the few candid images of the same concerned people in various states of either helping out or...doing something, he wasn't sure what.

Then the loud bang of the bathroom stall door drew his attention. Even though the bathroom door was locked, he watched as bright green vines grew around it almost like time was in fast forward. The lady pressed against the door called out to someone for a key. David took a series of rapid-fire pictures as the door was surrounded by vines, framing Eleanor in green.

Then she vanished. The silence that followed broken only by the click of his camera's shutter as his finger pressed upon it. His mouth was agape.


Without saying another word, David stood from his seat and ran to the back of the diner where his things were. He slammed his Macbook closed, shoved it into his satchel and slung the entire thing around his body. He also instinctively grabbed the fork and knife he'd used to cut up his waffles, gobbled down the bit of bacon left on his fork and followed the rest of the crowd out. He had a gut feeling...just a gut feeling, but in all his years of journalism, his gut hadn't failed him that often. But just before he left, he heard it.

The unmistakable sound of someone screaming.

Inside the bathroom.


Caught between a rock and a hard place, he sought out the young man behind the counter.

"Mister? We need to get that bathroom open. I heard a lady screaming her head off in there. Whatever took your sister might get to her too, we need to get her out of there and fast."
@Mokley @Not Fishing @lady horatio David's gonna do a stupid and try to rescue Jill. He's gonna find the diner's lone fire extinguisher and try to smash open the locked door that way. That okay?

EDIT: Never mind I just noticed Jeremy there too. He's going to insist to rescue Jill.
@TheWizardLizard Let's do that, sure.
@TheWizardLizard Shit I'm gonna have to edit that in now

Alex dropped another used glass into the sink and stretched, rolling his shoulders as he wiped off the counter and grabbed more empty glasses off of it. It was a slow morning at the Iron Throne pub, seeing as how in the morning he ran it more as a breakfast place than an actual bar. No alcohol on tap in the mornings, just juice, milkshakes, smoothies and all the pancakes and waffles people could eat. Just that barely anyone was in. The usual breakfast crowd would've been in earlier, had he opened up at 8 instead of 9 in the morning, but that was a sacrifice his night crowd made up for in spades. He watched idly as his waiters, only two of them for the morning, went around clearing plates and serving food from the kitchen as the late risers slowly poured in. The smell of freshly baked bread, bacon sizzling in pans and hot pancakes and waffles invaded his nose, one of the most comforting scents in the whole world.

It'd been a few months since he'd moved here with his sister, leaving his legacy behind in the UK to start fresh in the US. His powers were still a secret, mostly anyway. He helped his staff out with the heavy lifting once in a while and surprised them by being able to lift kegs of beer by the armful, something no regular person could do. His sister, Shirley, kept herself busy by tending to the kitchen. She'd gotten pretty good at cooking in the time they'd spent here, so she helped out in the bar when he was low on cooking staff. The fact that he'd actually managed to get a place like this set up in such a short period was luck in itself; he'd nabbed the place after the previous owner sold it on the cheap, spruced it up a bit and started bringing in customers. Mostly British expats at first, but as his business grew, so did his customer base. He expanded the menu to include American food and booze and he had a recipe for moderate and comfortable success.

The day was still young, which is why Alex was shocked when an older man barged into the pub, his slate gray shirt drenched in blood. He staggered to the bar and grabbed onto the edge, supporting his weight as he stared up at him.

"P-please...h-help me..."

The blood on his hands slackened his grip and the man slipped and fell onto the floor as Alex rushed out from behind the counter. The few patrons in the pub moved away as he kneeled at the man's side and gave him a once-over. The three bullet holes in his chest were the most obvious, prompting Alex to whip off his apron, bundle it into a ball and press it against the open wounds to stop the bleeding.

"Sir? Sir! Stay with me, help's coming!"

Alex looked up and locked eyes with one of his patrons, a younger man with his fiance sitting near the door.

"You! Call 911! Now!"

The young man scrabbled for his phone as Alex felt a tug on his apron. He looked down and saw the injured man glaring up at him, a bloody hand gripped tightly onto his front. Alex leaned down close, barely able to hear the man whispering to him.

"D-don't call an ambulance...please..."

And then the bloodied man fell to the floor, unconscious. Alex stared at him blankly, unable to quite process what was going on, even as he heard the same young man talking to the 911 operator on his phone.

What was he going to do?
@TheWizardLizard How injured is the man at the bar?
@TheWizardLizard Is it okay if I write Alex as the one who owns the bar and is also the bartender?
Alex will be at the bar.
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