Move me, God
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3 yrs ago
Current
Awake O Sleeper
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4 yrs ago
Back From The Ashes. Again.
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8 yrs ago
Don't sweat the small stuff, it's all in your head
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Back From The Ashes
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Most Recent Posts
Zaris, Grant
Zaris descends down into the cellar, the stairs and their cool stone sensation accompanied by the warbling tenor of an amateur song...rememberer...Thingy...Thingummy...
"Oooooooooohhhhhhhhhh...!
Tis Hotroot Aplenty,
Tis Cordial to share,
Tis beer to toast with,
'Neath this abbey so fair!
Ooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhh...........!
How the ale flows!
How the wine sits!
How the fizz fizzes!
I could blow this abbey to bits!
For, Oh! Oh! Oh!
I'm aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!
Spiky 'Edge 'Og!
The Spiky 'Edge 'Og!
In charge of the grog!-"
Zaris finds himself encroaching upon the bulwark that is Grant; his bulk and frame fair remembrance of Ellis' own hulking physique, but softer and gentler in the subtle ways that a life within the abbey walls would give him. Where Ellis' frame was of muscle, or of once-was-muscle, Grant's was of the soft roundness of a happy, peaceful, life- and Zaris was one of the few creatures with perspective enough to distinguish the difference.
"A- I- Er- Zaris!" Grant chortles with laughter, rocking up from a chair as his spines flex and fall in a sudden anxious display. The mug in his hand seems forgotten, as the hedgehog stumbles a few steps. "Good to see you, friend-fellow- if Friar Ruddy wants more hotroot, 'e'll 'ave 'ore 'ot 'oot!"
The final half of his dialogue was between gulps of whatever brew inhabited his mug- which he finally seemed to remember as he topped it off. Positively blushing with embarassment, he set it aside with an awkward shuffle towards the table he'd been sitting at, before he swayed back to attention with Zaris.
"I mean. Ahem. Aye, there's more. Let me go and fetch it for you." Grant nodded soberly- at least, in a good passing attempt at soberly- and sauntered through the various stores of supplies kept down here as he grumbled their names and quantities to himself under his breath, having to stop every so often to reference a parchment and quill to verify something. After several moments he hiccups.
"Oh, right, the Hotroot." He mutters, placing the inventory back aside, before opening up a few crates and sniffing at their contents. "Hm...There's enough for the feast, but we'll be on the lower side of comfortable after the fact. You're a strong lad, you can carry this up."
And with that he hefts a box out of the crate, and sets it upon the table. He raps upon it twice with his knuckles, and taps his snout with a paw conspiratorially.
"Proper day for a celebration, eh?"
The Late Bancroft, Marigold the Slaughterer, Ellis The Unfortunately Present
Ellis's trundling gait and roaming memory were both halted at once, the whipsnare of life coiling him back to the present in the form of a mouse's warning cry;
"Stop!" Banny frantically squeaked at the other woodlander. "Stay in the trees!"
Ellis' eyes rose from distant memory, his heart discarded the weight of mortality that had temporarily gripped him, and in that moment as his spines flared to full alert he almost seemed young again- if not for the grey permeating through his fur. He whirled about, eyes cast skyward to follow Bancroft's paw-
But his attention latched onto something else, indeed.
As quickly as Bancroft had appeared, Ellis' arms embraced him and threw him aside into the cover of nearby bushes.
"Warn the Abbey- aye, tis a good plan, but let this be a lesson, young Bancroft, to always keep yer ken in the now." His words came smooth and gentle as his paw plucked the arrow from the ground where Bancroft had been standing. His eyes studied the shaft and the fletching as he carefully maneuvered to share the protected space with Banny, his spines lowering safely but still tense.
"Hold!" He called out into the trees. "Fair beasts we be! Shelter yourself from the skies, lest that raptor be less friendly than me!"
a'ight working on my post now; over this next week I'll be in attendance of a wedding and on 'vacation', so I may be less active for that time period.
I will be attending a wedding and on 'vacation' this coming week; for this roleplay I should still be able to reply when needed due to the D&D structure, but I might be a little more faded than usual.
In
๐ ๐ฎ๐ฟ๐๐ฒ๐น๐๐ฒ๐ฟ๐๐ฒ: ๐๐ฅ๐ฃ๐๐๐ฅ ๐๐๐ง๐๐ โ๐๐ฃ๐ ๐๐ค
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4 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
It took O'Toole approximately zero seconds to consider his options. Instantaneous transmission versus high speed rooftop leaping action via a genuine masked hero's assistance? Is that even a debate? Not for the henna haired harridan, it isn't; he hadn't had a good adrenaline surge since the shenanigans that went down at lunch today, and this was also an opportunity to get to know the zippy lady. Or so he thought.
"A'ight, not even a debate, see you in three minutes Wanderer." He gave the Magician a mock salute before turning towards Hi-Volt and extending a hand to her- Only to suddenly disappear in a blur of movement.
He thought he'd have a chance to talk. Well did he know the lesson that sudden acceleration is utter mayhem to the unprepared mind and stomach- but little did he comprehend her sheer speed when his decision was made.
Their moment of time together outside Joey Doug(h)'s Pizza (H)ole extends into a moment of time suddenly in the midst of Crocheron Park, Wanderer's portal depositing them instantaneously beside a cozy park bench overlooking Little Neck Bay, on the inward side of the cross island parkway. Traffic is a deadlock, as it always is and always will be, but at the same time whenever one looks away they find themselves suddenly faced with a new wall of cars. New York, what do you want?
The atmosphere of the park is tense; the air feels heavy and dense; the night time clouds continue their downfall of snow, layering the environment in a strange silence. It wasn't the silence of lack of sound; it was the all-encompassing silence of dulled noise and nefarious deeds, the silence pervasive in places where sinister tasks were completed, the crushing silence of snow falling over the world.
And yet there was noise; night time life of the park. The distant lights of Saint Mary's Children's Hospital loomed importantly; almost knowingly. The noise manifested into sound, into language, into the frantic calls of concerned people. Despite their relative isolation and conversational privacy, the park was alive with the footfalls and flashlights of searching foot patrolmen of the NYPD- and yet, somehow even more significantly, an intensely frazzled and frizzy haired middle aged woman wearing nurse's scrubs and pushing around an empty wheelchair somehow instills itself with a dreadful purpose in their minds. The perceptions of these superheroes was not enhanced in any way; heroes just know what they're looking for.
A grizzled man, mustachioed and wearing a longer detective's coat than the other officers, seemed to be deep in conversation with the woman and taking notes in an oldschool handheld notepad, his pen falling and rising as if conducting the chaotic, terrifying, silence of the night as he took her statements.
By the time Wanderer and Jackpot's conversation wanes and privacy is discarded, their approach would herald them with overheard clues;
"...It was the strangest thing, almost like something out of a movie- I can't believe it happened like that! I was bringing Gabriel out, she wanted to see the snow and be in the park, it's the least I could do for her on a night like tonight. Her treatment is painful, and I'm really all she has..."
"Ma'am, keep to the relevant facts." The man guided her back.
"Sorry, sorry, I just get so worked up thinking about-"
His hand came out and silenced her with a grasp to her shoulder, his greying mustache rising and falling with the nod of his head.
"I understand. This is difficult. We're searching for the vehicle now; let me run it back from the top. You came out here with the girl, bringing her out here just to see the snow and be in it. She was wheelchair bound. You're her designated caretaker at the hospital. She asked you to let her rest by the river and go get her a hot dog, and when you turned back you saw her being carried into a car."
The woman nods, her hands clasping over her mouth as she looks increasingly distraught.
"The men- there were two men. They were wearing fine suits, nice suits, pinstripe things. Almost like they stepped out of a mobster movie."
The cop looks, frankly, astounded at that detail and makes a note.
Hi-Volt's movement was like jumping out of an airplane and into a high wind atmospheric event. At least, that was the closest memory of relevance that her dashing pace carried O'Toole's mind. The wind tearing at his skin, his eyes watering at the blur of colors and the speed assaulting his senses, the sudden jerk of electrical energy that pulsed through him- through Hi-Volt. It was enough to make him briefly hysterical;
"WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-"
Many a pedestrian was stunned to hear this sound at this time of year; at the speeds Hi-Volt and Picture Perfect were moving, his rallying cry of adrenaline sounded more like the buzz of a mosquito than anything. A mosquito that plagued a hundred people in the span of a minute, the electrical surge of Hi-Volt's jumps carrying them across rooftops and ever towards Crocheron Park.
Soon, however, they come to a startling halt. Picture Perfect's body tensing into stillness in the blink of an eye- the exact blink, mind you, that met the pause of Hi-Volt's movements after a jump planted them onto a rooftop overlooking Crocheron Park.
Soon his hand wriggled. His fingers separating themselves from Hi-Volt's grip. Then his arm moved, allowing her arm freedom.
Then he collapsed, his grip dissipating from her entirely as he dropped to his knees, gasping for breath on the edge of the rooftop.
Then his lunch was coming up- No, wait, that was dinner. New York Streets are familiar with this phenomenon; just not the height from which the vomit occurred. He was a seasoned thrill-seeker, however, and somehow he made retching seem almost dignified as he brushed his mouth off and suddenly slammed his face into a small snow-pile nearby, scrubbing at himself frantically before surging back to his feet.
"WHOOOOOOOOOOOO YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH--"
His laughter rolled out as he turned back to Hi-Volt.
"Now THAT is travelling in style!"
Nothing can keep this man down for long, his personality almost entirely summarized by the words 'overbearing' and 'Endless'.
From this vantage point, and to Hi-Volt's particularly fast mind specifically, the movements of the flashlights down in the park were clear and easy patterns to discern. Standard patrol routes, but hastily put together and with gaps. Gaps her mind could discern easily; places of shadow lingering in the silence of the snow, filled with potential dread purpose, but also potentially red herrings. The car was the defining clue they had, after all, and this area was where it was last seen.
A quick survey of the area would return that the traffic was slow- but as in all things, with an ebbing and flowing pattern. There was, realistically, only a small area such a car could have gotten in the few minutes since the alert was first declared. An area she could quickly formulate. An area that comprised only the few blocks around Crocheron, on the Queens side of the Parkway.
"A'ight, not even a debate, see you in three minutes Wanderer." He gave the Magician a mock salute before turning towards Hi-Volt and extending a hand to her- Only to suddenly disappear in a blur of movement.
He thought he'd have a chance to talk. Well did he know the lesson that sudden acceleration is utter mayhem to the unprepared mind and stomach- but little did he comprehend her sheer speed when his decision was made.
Jackpot and Wanderer
Their moment of time together outside Joey Doug(h)'s Pizza (H)ole extends into a moment of time suddenly in the midst of Crocheron Park, Wanderer's portal depositing them instantaneously beside a cozy park bench overlooking Little Neck Bay, on the inward side of the cross island parkway. Traffic is a deadlock, as it always is and always will be, but at the same time whenever one looks away they find themselves suddenly faced with a new wall of cars. New York, what do you want?
The atmosphere of the park is tense; the air feels heavy and dense; the night time clouds continue their downfall of snow, layering the environment in a strange silence. It wasn't the silence of lack of sound; it was the all-encompassing silence of dulled noise and nefarious deeds, the silence pervasive in places where sinister tasks were completed, the crushing silence of snow falling over the world.
And yet there was noise; night time life of the park. The distant lights of Saint Mary's Children's Hospital loomed importantly; almost knowingly. The noise manifested into sound, into language, into the frantic calls of concerned people. Despite their relative isolation and conversational privacy, the park was alive with the footfalls and flashlights of searching foot patrolmen of the NYPD- and yet, somehow even more significantly, an intensely frazzled and frizzy haired middle aged woman wearing nurse's scrubs and pushing around an empty wheelchair somehow instills itself with a dreadful purpose in their minds. The perceptions of these superheroes was not enhanced in any way; heroes just know what they're looking for.
A grizzled man, mustachioed and wearing a longer detective's coat than the other officers, seemed to be deep in conversation with the woman and taking notes in an oldschool handheld notepad, his pen falling and rising as if conducting the chaotic, terrifying, silence of the night as he took her statements.
By the time Wanderer and Jackpot's conversation wanes and privacy is discarded, their approach would herald them with overheard clues;
"...It was the strangest thing, almost like something out of a movie- I can't believe it happened like that! I was bringing Gabriel out, she wanted to see the snow and be in the park, it's the least I could do for her on a night like tonight. Her treatment is painful, and I'm really all she has..."
"Ma'am, keep to the relevant facts." The man guided her back.
"Sorry, sorry, I just get so worked up thinking about-"
His hand came out and silenced her with a grasp to her shoulder, his greying mustache rising and falling with the nod of his head.
"I understand. This is difficult. We're searching for the vehicle now; let me run it back from the top. You came out here with the girl, bringing her out here just to see the snow and be in it. She was wheelchair bound. You're her designated caretaker at the hospital. She asked you to let her rest by the river and go get her a hot dog, and when you turned back you saw her being carried into a car."
The woman nods, her hands clasping over her mouth as she looks increasingly distraught.
"The men- there were two men. They were wearing fine suits, nice suits, pinstripe things. Almost like they stepped out of a mobster movie."
The cop looks, frankly, astounded at that detail and makes a note.
Hi-Volt's movement was like jumping out of an airplane and into a high wind atmospheric event. At least, that was the closest memory of relevance that her dashing pace carried O'Toole's mind. The wind tearing at his skin, his eyes watering at the blur of colors and the speed assaulting his senses, the sudden jerk of electrical energy that pulsed through him- through Hi-Volt. It was enough to make him briefly hysterical;
"WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-"
Many a pedestrian was stunned to hear this sound at this time of year; at the speeds Hi-Volt and Picture Perfect were moving, his rallying cry of adrenaline sounded more like the buzz of a mosquito than anything. A mosquito that plagued a hundred people in the span of a minute, the electrical surge of Hi-Volt's jumps carrying them across rooftops and ever towards Crocheron Park.
Soon, however, they come to a startling halt. Picture Perfect's body tensing into stillness in the blink of an eye- the exact blink, mind you, that met the pause of Hi-Volt's movements after a jump planted them onto a rooftop overlooking Crocheron Park.
Soon his hand wriggled. His fingers separating themselves from Hi-Volt's grip. Then his arm moved, allowing her arm freedom.
Then he collapsed, his grip dissipating from her entirely as he dropped to his knees, gasping for breath on the edge of the rooftop.
Then his lunch was coming up- No, wait, that was dinner. New York Streets are familiar with this phenomenon; just not the height from which the vomit occurred. He was a seasoned thrill-seeker, however, and somehow he made retching seem almost dignified as he brushed his mouth off and suddenly slammed his face into a small snow-pile nearby, scrubbing at himself frantically before surging back to his feet.
"WHOOOOOOOOOOOO YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH--"
His laughter rolled out as he turned back to Hi-Volt.
"Now THAT is travelling in style!"
Nothing can keep this man down for long, his personality almost entirely summarized by the words 'overbearing' and 'Endless'.
From this vantage point, and to Hi-Volt's particularly fast mind specifically, the movements of the flashlights down in the park were clear and easy patterns to discern. Standard patrol routes, but hastily put together and with gaps. Gaps her mind could discern easily; places of shadow lingering in the silence of the snow, filled with potential dread purpose, but also potentially red herrings. The car was the defining clue they had, after all, and this area was where it was last seen.
A quick survey of the area would return that the traffic was slow- but as in all things, with an ebbing and flowing pattern. There was, realistically, only a small area such a car could have gotten in the few minutes since the alert was first declared. An area she could quickly formulate. An area that comprised only the few blocks around Crocheron, on the Queens side of the Parkway.
After a very brief google-fu bout, I have produced this to suitably display my intentions with my vote;
I remember fondly doing the Cao racing of Sonic Adventure DX Directorโs Uncut as a child.
I say wait for Cao.
I say wait for Cao.
Iโll get to the bottom of this mystery tonight with my post.
Zavakri sits down and smooths her trousers out, tilting her head to gaze at Jub sideways. She stares back at him.
"Well, thank you for asking first off. That's mighty social of you. Where to begin? Cor! I started off by running off to Lost Property, discovered that a Displacer beast named Dirla runs that particular section and was taking care of some children left in her care. Poor thing lost her own son, can you believe it? Anyway she asked me to keep an eye out on him, though I fear it was mostly out of hope than any strong sort of inclination that he'd be around- but I'm going to do my damndest to keep my word! She said she'd keep an eye out for my sister after all.
Oh, blimey, you lot probably have no clue who Tara is either. Well about eight years ago- to the day, to be specific, in case the subtlety of the conversational tone obfuscated that- I came to the carnival with my sister and, well, at the time we, er, rather didn't have any money so we snuck in. Well one thing lead to another, one argument built into a second, and, well, I wasn't a very good sister at the time. I regret it horribly, but she ran off on me and I couldn't find her before the day was up! I've spent these last eight years absolutely dreading coming back here to look for her, but I couldn't sleep some nights remembering how she ran off from me and the guilt was eating me up. My fiancรฉe, Rirvudd, has been doing his best to console me- he's a sweet man, really, but he has this problem where women throw themselves at him and I rather have to beat them off him. He's not interested in THEM, but they always TRY, you know?
That's when I met Miizel properly- you all remember Miizel, don't you? Wonderful gnome, really, proper gentleman and all that..."
And on. And on. And on she goes.
"Well, thank you for asking first off. That's mighty social of you. Where to begin? Cor! I started off by running off to Lost Property, discovered that a Displacer beast named Dirla runs that particular section and was taking care of some children left in her care. Poor thing lost her own son, can you believe it? Anyway she asked me to keep an eye out on him, though I fear it was mostly out of hope than any strong sort of inclination that he'd be around- but I'm going to do my damndest to keep my word! She said she'd keep an eye out for my sister after all.
Oh, blimey, you lot probably have no clue who Tara is either. Well about eight years ago- to the day, to be specific, in case the subtlety of the conversational tone obfuscated that- I came to the carnival with my sister and, well, at the time we, er, rather didn't have any money so we snuck in. Well one thing lead to another, one argument built into a second, and, well, I wasn't a very good sister at the time. I regret it horribly, but she ran off on me and I couldn't find her before the day was up! I've spent these last eight years absolutely dreading coming back here to look for her, but I couldn't sleep some nights remembering how she ran off from me and the guilt was eating me up. My fiancรฉe, Rirvudd, has been doing his best to console me- he's a sweet man, really, but he has this problem where women throw themselves at him and I rather have to beat them off him. He's not interested in THEM, but they always TRY, you know?
That's when I met Miizel properly- you all remember Miizel, don't you? Wonderful gnome, really, proper gentleman and all that..."
And on. And on. And on she goes.
It's okay, if someone died mister Witch would roll out with a red carpet and a harmonica and do a ditty, and when he finished and picked up the carpet the corpse would be gone and nobody would even remember that it had happened. Strangely, Miizel would find a bloody handed note in his backpack declaring him an initiate to a local assassin's organization for managing to get away with the crime.
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