Avatar of Festive


Recent Statuses

13 days ago
Current Pokemon fan games are so fire
1 like
16 days ago
Chemistry is the best science handsdown
21 days ago
If anyone is interested in a fresh take on the sci-fi / time travel genres, my roleplay TRAV PROGRAM (based on the 2016 Show Travelers) will provide that; we are currently looking for two more members
26 days ago
Jazz has to be one of the best musical genres of all time


Just a tryhard Chem. Eng. student who loves writing...and Polar Express. My interests have a wide range from fast-paced action to slow-burn romance; generally whatever I'm feeling.

Most Recent Posts

TIMESTAMP: 5:17 AM on October 18, 2024
LOCATION(s): Bower's home, Santa Monica →
Beverly Hills High School, Beverly Hills
TITLE: Carvan #1.0

The Californian morning sun had yet to rise over the city of Santa Monica but Lucian Bowers was wide awake. The thunderous sound of the metal meeting wood was cut short by the thick layer of acoustic foam that lined the walls of his Uncle's shed. It was a music room, piles of vinyls sat neatly laid up against the record player stand Lucian had set up in the corner, and in the center, behind a semi-circle of drum parts, sat Lucian.

He was too in the moment

His hands almost moved fluidly as if there was a disconnect from his brain. In a flash, the splintering sticks moved from one part of the drum to the next. From the tom drum to the snare, from the snare to the cymbal. His pattern continued switching from one to another, incorporating bass as his foot laid down on the petal every so often. This was becoming a new part of Lucian's morning, the nightmares hit hard but the panic attacks hit harder. God, Lucian couldn't handle a lot of loud noises but there was something about the drums that calmed him from even the worst of attacks

Lucian had been at it for hours, only stopping to catch his breath. It was the sudden snap of Lucian's drumstick that had brought him back to the present. "Oh fuck!.. that's the third pair this week." Lucian sighed, the sticks were brand new. He had opened the pack 3 hours earlier and it already needed to be replaced. The rate at which he was going through packs wasn't exactly low either, maybe he would have to invest in a pair of metal ones...

Lucian pushed back from the drum set, dropping the remnants of the sticks on top of the other ones that lay in the trash. His hands shook as he fully opened them; why did he only start to feel the pain now? It was comparable to sticking your hand into an open flame, it burned; blisters now neighbored the calluses that adorned his rough hands. His grip was too tight, that's the problem. Most times he didn't even notice, when Lucian got into a rhythm his concentration was hard to break. Now standing, focus broken, the phone alarm blaring from atop the futon that lay opposed to him became apparent. The clock on his screen read [6:03 AM] as Lucian swiped the alarm away; scratch the three hours, he's been at it for four.

The first rays of sunlight began to peak their head above the horizon, Lucian wrapped his hands up with a yawn, soon swinging his bookbag around his shoulder, he had a bit of a trip in front of him. Bowers's home itself was certainly nothing flashy, his Uncle may have been wealthy but he didn't flaunt it as much as others. The yards, although, were the parts that truly shined.

It was a truly immaculate sight.

The path that lay in front of Lucian was paved with brick. Pansies, snapdragons, fuchsia, honeysuckle, hibiscus, and many more were planted all about the backyard, the place was an orderly explosion of colors; dutifully managed every morning by Uncle Jason. Speaking of Uncle Jason, Lucian wondered where he was. The man would usually be up and about, masochistically watering each flower arrangement with his 'trusty ol' watering can' as he called it. Lucian would have to see him when he got home, shutting the gate to the yard as he walked his way down to the metro station.

The LA metro system was a part of the city he had yet to master, it all still felt so new. Despite having lived in the city for about over a year now, Lucian never lost that feeling. He missed New York, the borough, his friends, his sister, and goddamn it, even the food, but never Harlem. The neighborhood stood to Lucian like a paradox, the place represented most of his life; the bad, the good, the worse, the great, it was a testament to what lived in his shadow. He missed the days of walking the streets with Rocky, laughter came from those two as if it were a comedy night at a big-name club. Lucian missed spending time with his sister, he was the one who practically raised the girl. The best of days were only a front for the worst of nights, although he had a house in Harlem he never had a home. The train rolled to a stop, and the window in front of Lucian peered into the all-too-familiar platform he got off of every day; it took him quite a bit to get used to this route.

"Why do I always do this to myself..." The cool early morning air moved around Lucian's body as he messaged the center of his palm. The bus stop he sat at allowed for a soft breeze to penetrate its walls, one thing Lucian picked up was that no matter how far into the year Los Angeles County never turned truly cold. That's one thing you could add to Lucian's list of things he didn't miss about New York; he hated the cold. Lucian had forgone his typical sweater for the day, sporting a red and black Harley-Davidson bomber; he was the antithesis of a gearhead, but hell did they have a good style.

Even a transfer student has to show school pride, right?

The 6:45 bus arrived just on time, but like always, it was empty. A barren wasteland with a population of two, rows upon rows of empty seats sat ripe for the taking. Not many people rode the buses that traveled in Beverly Hills, but that just meant a more silent ride for Lucian. It was the same driver every morning, a friendly face to see. Always with a smile, Lucian and he had grown accustomed to each other, but Lucian never learned his name. These two men both held a mutual respect for the tranquility of the morning silence.

With a nod to the driver and a swipe of his TAP card, Lucian took a seat at the front of the bus. Lucian laid his head against the same window he had the day prior, the vibrations from the bus were the only thing that kept his eyes open. Beverly Hill was a gorgeous city, definitely better than Santa Monica, and holding a candle to Manhattan itself, though Lucian would never admit that publicly. The sun was now much higher in the sky and the bus came to Lucian's final stop. He got out of his chair with a yawn, giving one last nod to the driver as he stepped onto the pavement; Lucian was right around the corner from the school. This path had become his new normal; train, bus, walk- how his mornings went.

Rounding the corner Lucian was met with the manicured exterior of Beverly Hills High School, a school of opulence, greed, and whatever else you could imagine. As he passed the student parking lot Lucian never saw the necessity of a car; he never had the option to have one until now in the first place. LA County had a perfect fine transportation system, he saw it as a waste to not use it. He watched as people lingered in the lot, passing by cars from brands he had never even heard of in his life. He had got used to it. The shining examples of wealth may have been a shock to him last year but now they were simply faces he saw in the halls. As they say: money doesn't make the man.

Stragglers traveled the halls like nomads, quietly shuffling themselves into their respective homerooms; Lucian was one of them. Room 210 was quite the room, to say the least. Out of the class of people, Lucian only knew two people personally; one of which was the teacher. The volume of the room was low, quiet chatter was spread across the moderately sized room. Desks sat empty and still awaiting their informal owners as the populace slowly filled in. Lucian passed by Mr. Phoenix as he took his seat at his usual desk, finally laying his head down on something. He could barely keep his eyes open, his jacket felt cool on his skin as his face lay on the leather. Maybe he should've tried to fall back asleep instead of playing the drums all morning.

God, he had a long day ahead of him.

Waves in nerd

Hey folks, going to start putting together my first post but don't think it'll be quite ready tonight. Thanks for having me!

Welcome to the team, happy to have you join us!
@Festive OK I actually really like the sound of that, I'm in if you'll have me! Engineer sounds like a lot of fun to write.

EDIT: Is there a link to the OOC somewhere that I missed?

I added it to the top of the first page.
One piece of information my dumb-self forgot to include in the synopsis is this:

Messengers are a vital part of the story, they serve as temporary hosts for the Director for the quick delivery of messages outside of the deep web. Adults cannot be used as messengers in the story; a fully developed adult brain is not able to withstand the shock of having a consciousness temporarily embedded into it, ultimately ending in the death of the messenger. The Director will typically use children as messengers, as their brains are malleable enough to be able to withstand the shock.
<Snipped quote by Festive>

I've got the gist of the show based on what you posted in the OP of the IC, but I would like to know more of the tech level of the time we're being sent back from, as well as more about the engineer as a role and team member, similar to your overview of the Historian earlier, when you have a sec. Thank you!

Although much of the information pertaining to the future is purposely obscured, it can be inferred that the technology level of the future is akin to your average sci-fi story; think Blade Runner 2049 but slightly more advanced. Specific examples of future technology that is seen in the original story of the show are items such as medical nanites (A powerful and rare tool, only constructed by doctor teams, but that's a whole different topic), anti-matter storage containers, graphene communication device, and a stasis field generator. In short, the engineer plays the role of replicating advanced technology from the future when a situation calls for such technology. Although the engineer does not hold the knowledge of all the possible technology that may need to be manufactured. The Director will send instructions to the engineer through the deep web for the engineer to process and manufacture. Besides the manufacturing part of the engineer's role, they may also serve in the field as the "person in the chair" when necessary. The engineer often works in tandem with the historian, as the historian possesses the ability to store and recall heavily complex instructions sent from the Director through messengers and the engineer has the technical knowledge to fully understand and execute these instructions.
Also if you could give your character a specific dialogue color that would be great.
Should I drop a character in for approval? I only ask because that seems to be the norm on this particular website.

I feel as though it isn't necessary for the world in which the story takes place. One of the gimmicks of the show is that the backstories of Travelers remain a mystery and that the Traveler has to learn and explore the life of the host throughout the story. All I ask is that you have an idea of the host's life before the Traveler took over and incorporate that into your initial T.E.L.L. and further posts.

The first post is out; I had a busy Easter Sunday (church and all that jazz), so sorry for the early morning post.

The year is 2016; Lyon, a city in part older than the country of France itself, is the third-largest city in the country. By the year 2022, Lyon and its neighboring cities will be uninhabitable. Nuclear waste and material will have been spread throughout the entirety of southeast France, northwest Italy, and West Switzerland; this critical event will end the lives of hundreds of thousands, possibly millions of civilians, destroying vital infrastructure systems and the environment in the process. The catastrophe will cripple and subsequently end the nuclear power movement in the European Union. Legislation will be passed to place harsh restrictions on the industry and public outcry will demand the total phaseout of nuclear power. Europe will become once again heavily reliant on the dwindling supply of fossil fuels, causing the European energy crisis when all supplies of fossil fuels are exhausted in the next one hundred years. The perpetrator of this atrocity? Pierre-Henri Druveau; a multi-billionaire seeking to cash in on France's nuclear power industry.

Druveau has recently become the head of France's largest provider of nuclear energy, Électricité de France, through his high connections in the French government. Druveau is a man primarily driven by money, he has refused to acknowledge and has even destroyed evidence of weaknesses found during routine inspections of several nuclear plants. After substantial bribes to high-level officials in the Autorité de sûreté nucléaire, Druveau has even begun the construction of several new nuclear plants in the southeast of France using shoddy quality materials and outdated techniques to further the speed of construction. In a Chernobyl-like fashion, these nuclear power plants will explode. A combination of the construction quality, insufficiently enforced safety regulations, and incompetent management will culminate in a critical failure in all four of the plants.

Traveler, this is where you come into the timeline. Druveau is currently stationed in Lyon on a business trip to observe the construction progress of a powerplant located just beyond the city's limits. Your job is to assassinate Druveau and to assist fellow traveler teams in the sabotage, and exposure of the dangerous construction practices taken by the Druveau administration of the E.D.F. Protocol 6 will be suspended through the length of this mission, Good luck, Traveler.

Reorded Time of Death 00:59

The soft thunk of the rain hitting the steel roof could not be heard over the boisterous laughter that engulfed the entirety of the almost full four-door sedan. Through his stifled laugh and slurred speech, left-back passenger managed to get out "He- Hey Morgann tu- turn up tha radio would ya?" The driver, Morgane, took his eyes off the road to direct his attention to the radio. His eyes hurt; the harsh streetlights that lay above burned his corneas with a ferocity he had never felt before. He could barely see the radio, the darkness of the car coupled with his blurry woozy vision only allowed him to makeout basic shapes and colors.

Reorded Time of Death 00:35

Morgane moved his hand off the wheel to click whatever button he thought was the radio, he wasn't able to distinguish which was which in his current state. With a click, color air started coming out the vents around the car. "He- He said the radio Morgane" The two passengers in the back burst out into laughter at Morgane's mistake, "Shaddap Louis" Morgane muttered, his eyes felt so heavy. The road ahead was long, the three had chosen a bar far flung from their usual spot downtown; they had to go all out for Morgane's promotion celebration. Maybe the alcohol was finally catching up to him. The speedometer rose quickly in reading, the car jumped quickly from 60 KPH to 80 KHP in a mere few seconds. Morgane's foot was firmly rested on the accelerated, him nor his friends noticed the car's sharp increase in speed.

Reorded Time of Death 00:05

Morgane's eyes began to flutter, he was slowly shutting down. He tried to stay awake, gripping the wheel tight forcing his eyes to stay open. "Wha- What is that sound?" A ring grew in Morgane's ear, slow at first. The sound was akin to hundreds of bells ringing at once, a slow constant noise; the noise got stronger. Morgan couldn't hear anymore, the laughter and speech of his friends progressively were overwhelmed by the ringing, he was confused but his mind began to fade. The pain, struck before the end, an indescribable feeling. The pain was tremendous but Morgane's own screaming couldn't be heard over the ringing in his ears. The feeling spread throughout his head at a rampant pace, it started in the middle of his brain radiating into the other parts. 'What was this pain?' Morgane could barely think, his mind was failing him. Memories of his life he could no longer remember, hell, he started to even forget his name.

Reorded Time of Death 00:04

A moment of clarity. The ringing ceased, the screaming stopped, and there was peace after the pain; the upload had been successful. Morgane released his foot from the acceleration quickly, pushing his foot down on the break to completely stop the vehicle. Two back passengers were shaken into a moment of soberness in the aftermath of Morgane's screaming fest. "It's Traveler 3528, everyone here?" Morgane asked turning to look in the back seat, the look on the people's faces said more than words could express. Their eyes were wide, staring into Morgane's with a pure look of concern. "Are... Are you alright bud?" Louis spoke up, his mouth slightly agape, not knowing what else to say. "Y-Yeah I'm fine... Just fine." Morgane turned his head back to the road, 'A misfire... On our tactician too? The mission isn't looking too bright.'

Reorded Time of Death 00:17

Morgane's head pounded with a sweltering pain, migrating from the center of his forehead to the ends of his temples. 'The briefing never included anything to do with alcohol.' Morgane could smell his own breath, the stench reeked of hard liquor, he wasn't the team's medic but he could definitely tell when he was completely intoxicated. "One of ya, c- call someone to get us." His head felt heavy on his shoulders; the alcohol supply was limited in the future, and many, such as Morgane, were never afforded the luxury to try. He leaned back into his seat, his head placed softly onto the headrest, 'One...One second of shuteye won't hurt.'

"My head is killing me..." Morgane awoke to a plain monochrome room, towering glass windows sat opposite the bed in which he lay, and sunlight flowed through panes like a calm ocean wave hitting the shoreline. Morgane, or now 3528, has never seen a ray of true sunlight in his entire life. Before being transplanted into the body of Morgane Laurent, 3528 lived under the harsh fluorescent light, and 100 times recycled air of shelter 43; now, he is experiencing the fresh air of the early 21st century and a view of the sky not blocked by an encompassing sheet of ice.

Morgane had dwelled on his past long enough, "protocol 2..." he whispered to himself, swinging his legs off the bed. Morgane could barely bring himself to stand, the ever-present headache he was afflicted with made it hard for him to even think. His hands traced the wall of the unfamiliar landscape of the room as he staggered across to the lone computer, although the sunlight was a mesmerizing sight, his continued observance only intensified the headache he was suffering from. Morgane fell into the office chair, his eyes squinted as he clicked on the desktop computer. The startup screen flashed onto the monitor, lucky enough, the original Morgane never set a password.

Morgane clicked through the login screen and opened the web browser. It was old-looking, even ancient when compared to future standards, Morgane was surprised it could even run the Director's deep web forum. He typed in the string of intangible code, which he had committed to memory after hours of trial and error, to the search bar. The browser tab completely covered the monitor after Morgane hit enter, hundreds of lines of code in symbols unrecognizable to most floated across the screen. Slowly, sections of these strings departed from their larger whole, forming in the center a message, "Welcome, Traveler 3528. Arrive at the coordinates 45.715103, 4.830390 to receive your first mission."
© 2007-2024
BBCode Cheatsheet