Status

Recent Statuses

1 day ago
Current Werewolf: A Party Game for Devious People. JOIN NOW roleplayerguild.com/topics/…
29 days ago
"Give it to me! I'm so f*cking wet! Give it to me now!" She can scream all she wants, I'm not giving her the damn umbrella.
13 likes
1 mo ago
I used to date a dyslexic woman. I took her home and she ended up cooking my sock.
3 likes
1 mo ago
Why is Peter Pan always flying? He Neverlands... (i like this joke because it never gets old)
2 likes
1 mo ago
I hate when I think I'm buying organic vegetables and, when i get home, I discover they're regular donuts.
4 likes

Bio

Currently Playing:
X-Men: The New Era
Werewolf: A Party Game for Devious People

Writings (Non-RP):
Smoking In The Dark: Writings To Get Me Out Of That Funk

I enjoy writing, movies and video games. I tend to be sarcastic, perverted and funny.
If you need an ear, I'm a pretty good listener. If you need a friend, hit me up. If you need some money, you can fuck right off.

Most Recent Posts

The Good Things

Brothers, sisters
Aunts, uncles,
Blood, not blood,
Loyal the same

Children, friends
fortune, network,
care and share
They keep me sane

Music, writing
video games,
entertainment,
Dulls the pain

Adrenaline,
pack of smokes,
a little pot,
Pass it again.

The Cure

I'm developing a resistance to the cure
It used to work so very well
Lately, I am just not so sure
It's strong enough to perform the quell

It used to take a tiny dose
And with it my heart would swell
But now I feel absolutely morose
The magic has vanished from the spell

Time heals all, so I guess I'll wait
I'll lock the sickness in it's cell
I'm getting used to this chaotic state
This increasing madness from which I dwell.
Makers

The drink has been a constant friend
Sees me through it til the end
But leaves me wondering what happened
The next day when it matters most

A pal who helps me be courageous
Brings out energy that can be contagious
Good bye, inhibitions. Let's be advantageous.
Laugh, smile and most importantly boast.

Sobriety comes, the fun was fleeting
Get to work. Don't miss the meeting.
All these projects need completing.
Don't fuck up or your ass we'll roast.

Call it a day and leave your job,
Escape from the executive mob,
Pressure's high, thunderous heart throb
When I get home, I'm raising a toast.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Two in Twenty Four

In the humble bumble rumble of every day and every night
I've earned two in twenty-four to revel in my own delight
Two in twenty four hours to sit down with a pen and write
To let my mind flow
To personally get to know
The creature inside with whom I constantly fight

Two in twenty four is obviously not enough for me
To truly know the beast within, look upon him and see
What truly makes him tick or why he is how he must be
But in those two
I've found I knew
that the monster had twenty two. The last two was for me.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The Worst Game

There's always that other side,
The person who you want to be,
Separate from the person that you are.

Instead of changing, I just lied,
Invented a personality,
One that's interesting and bizarre,

Once a game, a fun little ride,
Changed, got deep, most importantly
It's starting to leave me with a scar.

An injury to my own pride,
I'm left questioning my morality
I want to go, but I don't know how far.

Some days it seems best to decide
To hang the hat. Finality.
Shut the door. But I always leave it ajar.
Smoking In The Dark


Writings To Get Me
Out Of That Funk
Pickles


The sun sat just over the horizon. Nocturne was an industrial night club, a perfectly rectangular building with windows that only appeared on the upper levels and a neon sign out front with stylized red letters backed by a blue crescent moon. Inside, the house lights were up. It was too early for patrons. Men in suits were pulling down upturned chairs off of tables while others were rolling in carts of alcohol to the bar area. Others, still, could be seen moving in a human caravan holding white bags and depositing them into one of the back offices on the first floor. Alcohol was not the only thing they sold to their customers. As one of the suited gentlemen wiped down a countertop, his gun harness could be seen peaking out of his jacket. Every one of these men was armed. This was a Stagnum establishment.

Alexander Stagnum sat patiently in his office on the second floor. As an albino, he wasn’t much of a fan of the sun. Nighttime was when he really came alive. His skinny, wiry stature made him look younger than he was and the fact that he was relatively short didn’t help matters, either. He sat behind his very expensive walnut executive desk. A one-way window lined his right side wall, overlooking the dance floor. On top of his desk sat an open bottle of 30 year old single malt scotch. Beside it was a half-filled glass and a manila folder with some words typed on the tab and other words handwritten across the folder itself. Xander just stared at the liquid in silence as if waiting for it to do something. Across the room was a glass coffee table surrounded by 4 black leather chairs. Occupying those chairs were Xander’s personal bodyguards. Big, burly muscular men armed to the teeth. Just like nearly everyone under the roof of the Nocturne, these men were dressed all in formal suits. The only person breaking code was Xander, himself, who was dressed in a loose fitting pair of slacks and a tanked undershirt. His feet were bare. The rest of his outfit was sitting upon the coffee table folded up neatly with a black shoulder holster housing two twin Desert Eagles, silver with black grips. Xander had no use for the attire now, though. Not yet.

Without warning, the front doors of the club erupted open. Gunfire cracked and voices were heard yelling and groaning. Furniture was being smashed. Xander’s gaze did not move. The bodyguards immediately sprung to their feet and viewed the scene below through the one-way window.

“Boss, looks like a mutie,” spoke one of them, a tinge of panic in their voice.

“Then why are you here?” Xander’s voice was cool and calm. It always was. Half the bodyguards took off out the door and down the stairs to combat the situation. An orchestra of gunfire and glass breaking continued to fill the club. The remaining guards watched on from Xander’s office. They visibly winced in unison right before a particularly loud crashing noise.

“It’s not looking good down there. They're hitting 'em, but it's not going down. Bulletproof,” said one of them, turning to Xander. “We could, uh, really use Lex right now.”

“Well Lex isn’t here, yet, is he?” The guard just gulped and returned his attention to the carnage. Then, just as quickly as it started, the commotion stopped. Hard footsteps could be heard outside the office door, coming up the stairs. The guards within the office moved position and aimed their weapons at the doorway.

“I thought you said he was bulletproof,” Xander chimed in, finally reaching out to pick up the glass of scotch.

“Well yeah. He’s like a rock monster thing…” the guard stammered.

“So you’re going to shoot holes in my door just for fun?” The two henchmen traded glances with one another before hesitantly lowering their weapons and slowly backpedaling away. The thunderous footsteps persisted before the light that lined the door’s bottom was extinguished. It was here.

With a loud boom, the door was turned to splinters at a massive hand armored in earth came crashing through. Xander let out a sigh and took the first sip of his drink, shaking his head. The guards backed up further, standing on each side of Xander’s desk like a couple of frightened puppies. The mutant forced himself the rest of the way into the room, just a little bigger than the doorway itself. His entire body looked like it was covered in segmented stone. His face was a helmet of rock. You could just barely make out his eyes and mouth within.

“Alright, mutant. Here you are. You’ve disrupted my business, you’ve cost me money, and you’ve taken out my personnel. I assume there is a reason. Who are you and what do you want?” Xander sounded more inconvenienced than scared. It was a reaction that took the attacker by surprise.

“You’re Alexander Stagnum,” the thing declared. Xander immediately looked up from his drink and squinted, trying to see the deep set eyes more clearly. The voice was young. Very young. There had to be a teenager under all that rubble. “You sell drugs... you steal... You hurt people. I’m here to stop you!” The corner of Xander’s mouth moved up in an awkward, confused sort of smile.

“Huh. And what should I call you, seeker of justice?”

“I’m… well, I’m Clobberstone,” he said with an obvious lack of confidence. “And you’re done for!” Xander couldn’t hold back a chuckle. It seemed to enrage the golem, as he reared back and prepared to charge. Xander held up a hand, palm facing the mutant, and the latter hesitated.

“Okay, Clobberstone. Great name. I get it. Like cobblestone, but… ya… Listen, the sun is nearly down. You can walk away from all this. The guys down there? They’re a dime a dozen. The mess? I’ll get it cleaned. I’m not worried about it. You can walk away from this and everything will be forgiven, I promise. No hard feelings.” The mutant’s eyebrows weren’t visible, but Xander assumed they must’ve been furrowed at this point.

“Why would I leave now?” Clobberstone asked before starting to advance again. Again, Xander held up a hand and Clobber complied.

“Because you lost this battle before it even started,” Xander calmly explained before glancing at a clock perched on the wall. “But it looks like it’s too late, afterall. I’m afraid I must rescind my offer. You’ve run out of time. He’s here.” Xander put down his glass and stood up out of his chair. With one hand holding up his very loose pants, he slowly shuffled out from around his desk to meet Clobberstone head-to-head. A look of relief seemed to fall upon the guards’ face as they instinctively moved back further away from the action.

“Who’s here,” Clobberstone asked, glancing around the room and out the window at the dance floor below. His eyes then met Xander’s and he looked on in horror as the musculature of the abino’s body began to throb and bubble. Xander let go of the pants as his waist began to expand, filling the band perfectly. His legs began to stretch, swell, his chest bolstered, his facial structure even became sharper. His muscles multiplied, amplified. Veins began to spring to the surface of his skin as his body finalized its transformation. Where there once stood a wiry kid there now stood a hulking man that was even more imposing than the Clobberstone, himself.

“Me,” Lex said finally in a whisper. WIth a grin that would make your blood curdle, Lex grabbed Clobberstone by the chestplate and pulled him in with his left hand. His right rocketed forth in a fist that immediately collided with the earthen shell covering the mutant’s face. The rock didn’t stand a chance. Instantly, it shattered and gave way to the vulnerable face of a dark haired young man with a soul patch and peach fuzz for a mustache. Lex took the time to let out a huff of laughter before sending his fist back in for a second visit. This time the fist went all the way through in a splatter of warm crimson. Lex dropped the husk of Clobberstone and tried to shake the blood off his hand. “Get rid of it,” he said without looking at the guards. They complied nonetheless, both of whom ran over to the remains and attempted to drag it.

Lex looked around the room as if trying to get reacquainted. His eyes fell on the coffee table first. He grabbed the rest of his attire and put it on, seating his guns in place beneath his coat. Everything was a perfect fit. He then strolled over to his desk and picked up the glass of scotch that Xander had started before sitting down and looking at the folder in front of him. On the tab was printed 'Ashford Institute'. Written across the folder in red ink was “I want this taken care of NOW. –JS”. Lex smiled and opened the file.
Welcome aboard! That's 4 so far. A game of 10 would be nice, but I suppose 7 or 8 will do for the first round.
Definitely. Medieval theme won't be difficult, especially for this game. Character sheets would be a little unnecessary, but a running status tally is certainly a must.
Drake “D” Edwards



Location: Various
Interactions/Mentions: None




11:59pm

Dum-dum... dum-dum... dum-dum...
Drake stared at the alarm clock, the red digitized numbers glowing back at him. The rhythm of his heart was the only thing he could hear in the otherwise dark room. Bloodshot eyes blinked as the '11' turned into a '12'. A fierce, but silent determination kept Drake conscious, focused. There was one main objective at night these days. Stay awake.

He had methods for achieving this. On the nights where he had company, it was a little easier to stay occupied. Tonight, though, it would be more challenging. Sleep is inevitable. At some point, you can't push it off anymore. Best he could do, when crashing, is hope that he crashes so hard that he doesn't dream. There were no more dreams, per se, anyway. Just the same, exponentially intensive nightmare.

Drake pulled himself out of bed and walked toward the bathroom, shutting the door behind him before turning on the light. He looked at himself in the mirror, examining the stranger on the other side of the glass. One solid red eye, another red eye with just hints and accents of the blue color it once was. Nearly matching pupils just seemed like a foreign concept. All his life, he knew the face that stared back. Not so much these days. Dark pockets had developed under his eyes as he waged his new war against sleep. He looked perpetually tired. Forcing himself to look away, Drake turned on the faucet and splashed his face with water a few times before reaching into one of the drawers under the sink and pulling out a small black medicinal bottle. The label read 'NutraBio 100% Pure Caffeine'. He poured some pills into his hand, not even bothering to count them out anymore, and tossed them into his mouth before swallowing with a labored gulp. He was on Day 2 of no sleep. The crash was coming, as it always does. He gave his reflection one more glare before turning off the light and exiting the bathroom.

12:37am

Drake found himself on a treadmill in the gym. In black sweatpants, a red tanked shirt and dark sneakers, Drake ran at a fairly casual pace, allowing his mind to focus in on the music blaring out of buds in his ears. His eyes stared out into eternity as he continued to move, thinking about almost nothing. Just letting his body go on autopilot. It was his method of centering himself. This was his conscious rest, his mental palate cleanser.

2:20am

Drake sat on one of the benches that lined the courtyard. In his lap was an open book and to his side were 2 more stacked upon one another. He read under the night sky with the flickered glow of his fiery hand, using the flame like a flashlight to illuminate the pages as he smoked on a cigarette. The page he was on currently was discussing the history of the Neyaphem, an ancient horde of demonic humanoid mutants from biblical times. There was a small illustration of one of them. With pointed ears and an angular composition, the caption below it read "Azazel".

4:02am

Drake waited in the back of the grocery store parking lot, leaning back against his motorcycle. He pulled out his phone and looked at the display. His guy was already 2 minutes late. As he stared at the asphalt below his feet, he unexpectedly, involuntarily yawned. His eyes went wide as his blood pressure began to rise. Yawning isn't good. It wasn't long before he saw the headlights of a black Lincoln Towncar with tinted windows. There was a small sense of relief as the vehicle slowed to a stop in front of him. Drake stood up and approached the window, reaching in his pocket for his wallet.

"Wussup, D!" The driver was not someone Drake would consider a friend, but he always talked to Drake like they were old buddies.

"You're late," Drake said sharply before pulling out a wad of bills and passing it to him. With one hand, the driver took the money and with his other, he passed Drake a small white plastic bag.

"Yeah, yeah," he said, shrugging off the comment. "Don't party too hard, now, brother. Or do!" Amused with himself, the driver could be heard laughing as the window rolled up and the Lincoln took off. Drake put the baggy in his pants pocket and moved back to the motorcycle. He started the ignition and revved the bike a few times, letting the sudden loudness stimulate his senses before taking off in the opposite direction.

5:16am

He had about another 45 more minutes before anyone else typically wanted to use the pool. His clothes were in a pile on one of the lounge chairs as he stood in just boxers, submerged in the water from the waist down. Drakes hands were extended outward, his palms pointed ahead as he tried to regulate his breathing and concentrate. Beads of sweat formed on his brow as he attempted manipulate his composure, summoning whatever amount of aggravation he had in his emotional well to try and transform it into flame. With a snarl and finally a primal shout, fire spewed out his hands. The reflection from the water's surface make it look like 4 streams of flame were dancing in front of him. Though he managed to summon the fire, there was no aim or precision in his execution. It was something he was trying to improve upon. Right now the fire came forth like a wild water hose, serpentining in a multitude of directions. It was why he chose to train in the pool while others were just beginning to wake up. It would take much more training to grasp the full sense of control he needed to use his power effectively, though. Luckily Drake was just full of free time these days.

6:29am

Drake arrived back in his room just in time to disable his alarm clock before it went off. He put his white baggy away in the drawer of his night stand by the half-empty bottle of whiskey, a box of condoms and a fresh pack of smokes. It was essentially his drawer of sin. He then moved back into the bathroom with a fresh set of clothing, discarding his sweats and tank top for a pair of black denim jeans and a white button up shirt with long sleeves that he rolled up to his elbows. He combed his disheveled hair back into place, the water from the pool having left it in disarray, before giving the stranger in the mirror one last look.

Time to start the day.
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