Fabricant451

Video Game Discussion: Part IV (The Gaming Industry in Decay Arc)

lol highguard failed

๑ ❝ 𝕮 𝔥 𝔞 𝔯 𝔪 𝔢 𝔡 , 𝕴‘𝔪 𝖘𝔲𝔯𝔢 ❞ ๑ { A Witch’s Tale - RP }

@Fabricant451@IAmTheIsland Want to work together on a collab?

@blackdragon

I'm down!

What have you watched recently?

I watched season 1 of The Pitt and it felt nice watching a medical drama where I didn't have to care about whether or not these characters would hook up in a break room at some point.

That said King and Langdon are gonna hook up in a break room at some point.

Video Game Discussion: Part IV (The Gaming Industry in Decay Arc)

If you're not on Team Browt then you're on the wrong team

๑ ❝ 𝕮 𝔥 𝔞 𝔯 𝔪 𝔢 𝔡 , 𝕴‘𝔪 𝖘𝔲𝔯𝔢 ❞ ๑ { A Witch’s Tale - RP }

۞ NOAH ۞

___________________________
_{Friday 6th February
6:20 AM}
___________________________

While there had been a hint of doubt when she initially got the summons, the fact that Noah wasn't the only one who had shown up as if guided by forces beyond their control or understanding was a good omen. In this life, one got used to listening to omens even if it came with the risk of assuming anything coincidental was the universe trying to impart its vague wisdom. Noah couldn't help but to look towards the others who had arrived; if she was going to be in a Coven with these individuals then at the very least she needed to see what they'd be working with. Of course, it wasn't lost on her that the others arrived by introducing themselves and Noah...hadn't. Not in the traditional sense, anyway, but her accent and the swagger she carried herself with had to count for something more than just a simple name.

Off the rip the Irish witch couldn't help but to flicker a smirk as she looked in quick, unbiased fashion. There were guys amongst the gathered, or at least male-presenting; who was she to assume. Noah had known many witches, some within her own family, that would find the idea of men calling themselves witches or as part of a Coven to be an affront to the art of magic. True believers, true old assholes who probably still saw the world through the lens of when burning women at the stake was seen as an acceptable punishment. Noah, of course, had no qualms about who was part of this uprising of a Coven, so long as they all shared the same goals.

At a glance, the one who introduced himself as Soren seemed the odd one out to Noah, only because of the way he seemed to...stammer on the introduction. Like someone giving a school report but they hate speaking in front of people. But Noah knew enough of the world not to simply judge someone based on that; they were all here for a reason, brought here, recruited by the Bird Woman, and in her experience it was the nervous ones that surprised people.

As Noah entered the manor properly, she naturally gravitated towards the nearest wall as Juniper closed the front door and began the preparation of tea and pastry. It was against this wall, under a portrait or painting that Noah didn't concern herself with, that the blue-haired witch leaned against, arms crossed and attitude radiating equal parts confidence and the radiant aura of someone who seemed like they didn't want to entertain people walking up to her and making conversation about the weather or whatever passed for light, slightly awkward small talk. It was during this posting up that Noah's eyes noticed another pair staring at her.

It wasn't the first time she'd had eyes on her, though in her experiences most of the time when people glanced at her from across the room it was in a pub and they were working up the courage to buy her a drink or to wonder if they had the courage to ask to take the night somewhere where the music didn't completely suck. That wasn't what this was, if only because there weren't any drinks to be purchased. That didn't stop Noah from meeting the stare, smiling, winking, and then taking a moment before the realization crept in on slightly widened eyes and a single nod to the one who had introduced herself as Wren.

Noah, it seemed, was not the only Hedge Witch in this Coven. A worry she didn't even realize she had until now, as it vanished as easily as a breath.

"If it's cool or whatever, I'll take residence in the basement." Noah stood off the wall as the raven, Aislinn was the name apparently, which Noah felt was apt given the Gaelic roots and Noah's own understanding of the language of her ancestors, fluttered and flapped those wings upstairs. "Not that I'm lookin' a bedroom in the mouth or nothin', but I like it damp and dark." Noah was used to sleeping in places where the only warmth was a ratty blanket and the only light was either natural sun (when it wasn't overcast, of course) or, more often than not, candlelit. As a child, the basement had been something of a sanctuary for her until she reached an age where her mother insisted that 'Devlin women do not make habitat in areas rife with squalor'.

As impressive as this manor was, Noah couldn't help but be reminded of the life she so proudly left behind. Places that had a foyer, a smoking room, chandeliers, tables long enough to make conversation impossible unless you were all at one end of it. Status. It didn't feel right for Noah to sleep in a nice bed in a nice room in a nice manor. The others might think she was crazy, but they could look in a mirror and say the same thing. They'd have to be a little crazy to be part of this Coven. But crazy was good. Crazy changed the world.

"Plus that way if I get any visitors knockin' at m'door in the wee hours o'the nigh', I'll know they got somethin' important to say." Noah slung her bag over her shoulder and acknowledged the other witches with a two finger, index and middle, salute and headed in the opposite direction from them. Towards the basement. "Cute pet, by the way." Noah's back called to the McKinley pair. "Hob or jill?" She did not wait for an answer.

Noah had only managed to place her bag on the floor in the basement before she turned her gaze back up the stairs she had descended. Not even enough time to get her bearings, to find the best place to set up a mattress or to hang up a poster or two. There was another Hedge Witch in the house...she could handle this one, right? Could the others feel the presence? Noah had to assume they could, but being able to feel the presence and being able to do anything about it were two different things. Like the Earth Witch had said...the basement had a weird energy. Noah thrived in places like that precisely because she could do more than rub her arms and get a shiver up the spine.

And she couldn't just not do anything now. Not when she wanted to belong to this Coven.

Back up the stairs she went, her steps heavy as she stomped back towards the main floor. The smell of tea and pastry tickled her nose but that's all they did. "You felt it too, yeah? You and I got shit to talk about I guess." Noah called towards the one who preferred to go by Wren, turning her head from the stairs towards the front door.

"You ain't here for the tea, are you?" Noah's voice was aimed towards the front door. Something was here. Someone. The question was if they were invited or not. "Guess it's not just the basement that's got weird energy."

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴏɴꜱ - ᴛʜᴇ ᴜɴᴛᴏʟᴅ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍᴀɢᴇꜱ [ ᴍᴀɢɪᴄ, ᴍᴜᴛɪɴʏ, ᴍᴜʀᴅᴇʀ ]

I really like the idea of a hardy mage from ȶɦɛ ʍօʊռȶǟɨռɛֆ. Rock climbing for fun, a bit reckless. But then I also like the idea of a mage from ȶɦɛ ɖɛʐɛʀȶ who might in fact be an outlaw being harbored and perhaps came from a different continent seeking asylum and is now positioned in the royal mage spot thanks to their roguish sort of charm and ability.

Either way, i'm interested

๑ ❝ 𝕮 𝔥 𝔞 𝔯 𝔪 𝔢 𝔡 , 𝕴‘𝔪 𝖘𝔲𝔯𝔢 ❞ ๑ { A Witch’s Tale - RP }

۞ NOAH ۞

___________________________
_{Friday 6th February
5 AM}
___________________________

Near the borough of Bromley there once existed a music shop that dealt in records, tapes, and equipment. To say it was a community hub would be inaccurate, but it did serve as a sort of hangout for a certain group of people who polite society frowned upon. The kind of people who had long hair and ripped clothes, who had trouble holding jobs because showing up on time wasn't 'for them'. Every day the sounds of Britain's finest acts of the time would be heard even outside the walls of the establishment, each track absorbed and each album sparking endless debate. The brightest moment in the history of the shop was when X-Ray Spex played a secret show out front without getting permission from the locals; the noise complaints had been worth it for the experience of it all.

That same music store would shut down only twelve years after its grand opening after the manager, a bassist in a now disbanded punk band, overdosed a year too late to be part of the 27 Club.

In the years since the music store's failure, it became something of a local legend. People who were there when it was open had become responsible members of society and now looked back with some sort of fond nostalgia while others only had negative words to say about the deceased. As was typical of local legends, soon the legends turned to stories that leaned towards the macabre. Youths saw the run down shop and invented ghost stories and came up with dares to tease and torment their friends. But of course, the truth of the wailing ghost in the shop was little more than the landlord yelling at trespassers to piss off. Unbeknownst to that landlord, however, there was a spirit there. And the only reason that Noah even knew about the history of the building she lived above was because she had spoken to him.

Noah had been drawn to the place not because she thought that living above an 'old haunted music store' was the kind of thing that made for a hell of a pickup line for the girls at the pub when her accent didn't seal the deal already, but because she was always drawn to places where spirits lingered and whispered for those who had the ability to listen. The fact that the rent was cheap enough to afford on her salary was pure icing atop the cake. Ever since she was a child plagued with dreams of what she now knew to be her ancient ancestors back in Ireland, spirits had comforted her where warm bodies often couldn't. The first night Noah spent in the place, she had a dream of the shop in its early days, of youths sharing a cigarette and looking over a magazine for the 'articles'. By the first month she had befriended the spirit after speaking to him via ritual. What did it say about Noah that her closest friends were beings that had left this world behind?

The sun hadn't yet risen and Noah Devlin was already awake which was an unfortunate necessity given the importance of today. So important, in fact, that on the calendar hanging on the wall, the date was circled in blue marker, its modern, clean visage standing in contrast to the old, weathered poster of XTC's seminal album Drum and Wires that had been hanging there when Noah moved in. She would've taken it down but it had sentimental value. It was her friend's favorite album in his lifetime. The room was empty, cold, and dark and only one of those was by design. The footsteps on the wooden floor creaked as Noah made her way to the bathroom and for a brief moment she wondered if, given time, the sound of her stride would also become the stuff of local legend. Probably not. She'd have to die first. And she wasn't planning on that happening anytime soon.

But then, neither had her friend.

In the bathroom, the light flicked on and Noah had to close her eyes as the adjustment was made. When she opened them, looking at herself in the mirror, at the blue color of her hair (it had been purple before; green even before that), she took a deep breath. She wasn't nervous. What reason did she have to be? Her family? They didn't know what she was up to, other than that she had left Ireland to find refuge across the sea though of course the Devlin's had eyes everywhere. That tended to happen when your family was in deep with The Elders. Even so, if her family had any idea of what she was up to, then Noah likely wouldn't even have woken up in her dingy little ghost flat in the first place. Sure, she still sometimes had the feeling that she was being watched, but she’d had that feeling ever since she was a kid. That was the thing about being in tune with the other side: that side didn’t have normal hours like the living did.

What was this feeling she had, then? Excitement? Anxiety? Exhaustion? That was more likely than anything. Noah was no stranger to late nights and later mornings, nor was she unfamiliar with waking up in places, beds, that didn’t belong to her with a throbbing headache and hazy memories and only the presence of mind to make for the exit before talk of breakfast or dinner or second servings. But as Noah looked in the mirror, she didn’t feel exhausted. She had barely slept, true, but the cans of energy drinks and cold brew in the recycling bin suggested that sleep was a luxury Noah didn’t often afford.

Noah had never been part of an actual coven before. She had known some who called themselves witches, had spoken in secret code with those like herself who actually had been charmed, but that was about the extent of it. As much as she would’ve wanted to, Noah couldn’t simply go around shouting how oppressive and repressed the Elders were, how powers like theirs shouldn’t simply be kept secret. She wanted to, of course. For reasons both practical and selfish. But those she had met who knew the difference between a tome and a grimoire had not shared her secret sentiments. That was until Corinthia got in touch with her. Maybe she wouldn’t have to be secretive. Maybe she wouldn’t have to keep looking over her shoulder whenever she went for a walk or bought some candles and incense sticks or just for a takeaway.

Maybe she’d have an actual family for once in her life.

Outside the flat, Noah looked as if she was on her way to a live show or a tattoo parlor. Dark blue trousers, a sleeveless shirt with the album cover Teenage Warning from Angelic Upstarts on it, and a leather jacket on which she had stitched various flags, symbols, and patches. Just another member of the youth populace trying to make a statement through fashion and attitude. The spirit of rebellion lived on in people like Noah. Only in this case, she likely did have a literal spirit of rebellion on speed dial somewhere.

Hands thrust in pockets, head down but eyes always looking, Noah stopped only once on her trek: for a coffee with a splash of something extra in it that she poured from a small flask kept on the inside pocket of her jacket. Cheers.

The coffee was still in her hands when she stepped off the bus and traveled the path to the Manor House as if it was a flickering light and she was a moth caught in its allure. The coffee had gone lukewarm and unfinished but she still sipped from it on her walk up the path. The sun was introducing itself to the world below by the time the doors loomed in front of her. By her watch? A least a quarter past six. Too fuckin’ early. That she was even here at all at this hour meant everything to her. She believed in the work this coven had spoken to her.

”Oi oi, how much a place like this cost?” Noah whistled to herself as the doors opened. She wasn’t the first to arrive, but she had barely acknowledged her fellows in arms, instead looking up and around at the interior of the place. ”Feckin’ half expected cobwebs an’ cockroaches on the walls. Proper cabin in the middle o’feckin’ nowhere, like.”

Noah didn’t hide her accent and took a sip of her rapidly cooling coffee. ”Movin’ on up in the world. Dibs on the basement. Perfect place for night terrors.” Noah paused and looked at the others who had arrived before her. ”Just fuckin’ wi’ya. So. When do we start burnin’ shit down?”

Video Game Discussion: Part IV (The Gaming Industry in Decay Arc)

Overwatch has me in its grasp again like it's 2016.

Hell yeah we're so back

๑ ❝ 𝕮 𝔥 𝔞 𝔯 𝔪 𝔢 𝔡 , 𝕴‘𝔪 𝖘𝔲𝔯𝔢 ❞ ๑ { A Witch’s Tale - RP }

I will aim to have a post by Wednesday/Thursday at the absolute latest!

Pines Holler [Not Accepting]

_{Location: Old Road Motel, Thirty Minutes Outside Pines Holler}
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A lifetime away from the struggles of a town that was without power, Theresa Patterson was fighting a different battle. Last night had been such an ordeal that the only thing she had wanted to do when entering the poor excuse for a room was turn the air conditioning on, turn on Netflix, and fall asleep to Is It Cake?. The only flaw in her plan was, as she had learned through a lengthy conversation with the woman at the front desk during check in, was that the Old Road Motel didn't have Netflix. Honestly, that should've been a deal breaker, but it hadn't been Theresa who had arranged for this motel stay, that went to her bosses at Waldron and Sons who had decided to finally listen to her idea about southern towns being potential hotbeds for development. Leave it to the big shots in the board rooms to book her the crappiest hotel in the area. No Netflix, no HBO, hell, not even ESPN, but the Old Road Motel prided itself on its selection of adult entertainment options.

That explained why there was a condom machine in the bathroom.

It wasn't the lack of viewing options that was this morning's battle, however. To Theresa's great surprise, the air conditioning did work so at the very least she was able to enjoy the winter-like conditions that came with every hotel as she watched Netflix on her phone until sleep claimed her. That same air conditioning was now making a sound that was like a mix between a sputtering car engine and a hinge in desperate need of replacing. It hadn't happened immediately, but if a machine could cough then that's what the air conditioning unit did as Theresa was in the middle of brushing her teeth in the bathroom, eyes looking not in the mirror at the annoyed face that would have stared back and asked what the fuck she was even doing here, but at the condom machine hanging on the wall like a threat.

Odd as it was, the machine had Theresa thinking about Ryan. About the dinner at the Polish restaurant where Theresa laughingly admitted that she didn't even know Poland had cuisine other than beer and pierogis; Ryan hadn't found it quite as funny as Theresa had and that was part of the reason for the dinner. One last chance for Theresa to feel what it was like to have a romantic evening, though how romantic could it really have been if she went home alone and had to delete her lock screen back to a default wallpaper just so she wouldn't be one of those dumped women who kept a constant reminder of her ex no matter how serious the relationship had been. It was probably for the best. If Theresa had brought Ryan down here to the middle of nowhere, their relationship probably would've ended anyway. Or maybe it would've been a strengthening experience. The kind of couples trip that turns a two and a half year relationship into a lifelong commitment.

All of that was in her head as she looked at the condoms and heard the loud BANG of he air conditioning machine, snapping her back to the reality of her situation. The toothbrush fell from her mouth, clattered against the counter top, and fell to the bathroom floor. She didn't even take time to spit the toothpaste out before poking her head into the room proper. The television was still playing at a low volume, the local news was talking about some kind of power outage down in the Pines and had Theresa been focused on that she might well have considered this whole stupid idea to be a big goddamn mistake, but instead she was listening for the white noise of the air conditioning. Nothing. She dipped back into the bathroom, picking up her toothbrush and spitting the toothpaste out in the same motion. Only after running water over the bristles and putting the toothbrush back in its holder did Theresa's eyes look in the mirror.

How was it possible to look so tired at nine in the morning? It was a miracle she had managed to brush her hair, but the June humidity would likely make her hair frizz and not in the cool afro sense of the word. She had to do her makeup. She had a whole-ass skincare routine, all for the sake of appearances, all for people who were probably going to tell her to fuck off as soon as they found out what she was here for. Theresa smiled at the mirror. It reached her eyes but only because it was practiced.

The reflection didn't smile back at her.

Half an hour and one phone call later, Theresa was finally ready to go to work. The phone call had been appropriately weird, with the front desk seeming very confused by the fact that Theresa was saying the air conditioning was making weird sounds. “It’s supposed to makke noise!” was the first barrier she had to break through in explaining herself. Victory was claimed when the voice on the other line said they’d have someone come and take a look at it later, and it took every ounce of restraint Theresa had to not make a comment of if ‘take a look at it later’ meant literally. As in, someone would go in, look at the air conditioning, and leave. So she just smiled that pretend smile while looking at the turned off television screen and the face she was starting to recognize looking back at her, thanked the front office for their help, and hung up.

In the pocket of the slacks she was wearing, because the nature of her job meant she had to look the part with her blue button down and a suit jacket hanging in the closet ready to grab on the way out, was her cellphone and her father was a phone call away. He could have thee air conditioning fixed in record time. Growing up, everyone knew to call George Patterson if they needed some home repair done; he was more reliable than an out of town corporate contractor and often took payment in a casserole dish or saran wrapped. But it had been ten years since Theresa had spoken to her father. Did he still do contracting work? He was never more than a phone call away even as she was miles and miles and state lines from home.

So why was it that she never felt further away from him than when she was a half an hour away from his front door? She had to see him while she was in town, right? Had to knock on the door, hear him make a corny joke like all dads did, hear him call for her mother and explain how there was a stranger at the door. Have the awkward reunion dinner where they ask hard questions about her life, her job, her relationships and the lack of children. Peach cobbler and slightly melted vanilla ice cream for dessert.

No. She’d not seen her parents in ten years. She could go another ten days.

With the air conditioning matter handled for the moment, Theresa grabbed her blazer and left her motel room. The upside for a motel like this, with the building being laid out horizontally, was that her car was literally outside her door. The sun was already in the air and the weather was threatening to grow hotter as the day went on. Ahead of her was the long road home. Flat land, flatter scenery, and her future within her company all beckoned her forth. For her own sake, she really hoped this wouldn’t turn out to be a waste of her time. A waste of company resources? That was fine. But her time was precious and she could think of a hundred other things she could be doing rather than returning home and trying to convince people she once broke bread with that now she wanted them to accept the fact that the town would be better off with modernization. Tearing down the old. Building up the new.

Throwing the blazer in the passenger seat, Theresa pulled out of the parking lot and turned onto the long road home. Her only companion was the music synced from her phone, turned up to drown out her thoughts. She hadn’t seen the road from this angle before. Theresa had driven away, never looking back, and yet as she saw the sign welcoming her to Pines Holler as she rounded a bend, she was already seeing the cracks that she hadn’t noticed before.

Was the welcome sign always so weathered? The roads so worn down? Had that store always been boarded up, that glass always there, the faded graffiti that looked liked the letters ‘ZF’ on fire always been there? This place was home to people, it was home to her until it wasn’t. But even as she looked at the unfamiliar sights through familiar eyes, there was something in the back of her throat; not quite nostalgia but…an uncertain familiarity. Lou’s was still there. Clark’s General Store or as she called it with her dad as a kid ‘The Woodshop’. The sight of a McDonald’s and a Bojangles gave her a little hope that modernization was possible. Inevitable.

Theresa found a parking space just beyond main street. Waffle House and Dollar General serving as beacons on opposite ends between which were the first stops on her journey. Leaving the blazer in the car but grabbing a handbag where she could store her clipboard and notebook and everything important in her life, Theresa stepped out of the car and onto Pines Holler soil for the first time in over a decade.

”Heavens, is that…Old George’s daughter? That you, Tessa?” An older woman currently fanning herself as she stepped out of a small shop carrying a plastic bag waved to Theresa. The kind of wave that was full of familiarity, as if it was only yesterday that Theresa was waving to the grown ups on her way to go fishing in the crick. Theresa inhaled a sharp breath. Recognized in record time. Old people were supposed to have memory problems.

”It’s Theresa.”

Yes it was. And she was home.