Foster

Roleplayers who work

@Rusalka

1.
Pacing. Back in the days of yore, there was said to be roleplays that only moved at a pace of perhaps 6 posts a week, and had up to 14 players upon it. Think about that.

To make such a roleplay work, a lot of legwork went into a post. Offline-legwork. Sometimes this involved printing-out the last page of the RP, chucking it into a binder, and perusing it like a book as you write a cliff's-note on how you plan to summarize all that in your next post because there's a chance yours will be at the head of that page.

Also, sort things out before they start, an OOC arguement over a post you made will waste time you don't have. If someone ninja's your post, be prepared to edit.

2.
Don't be afraid to dual-wield characters/subplots. Having two characters off their own ways doubles your chances of being able to post something in an RP, and may be just enough to get you to roll right through writer's block.

3.
Quality is better than quantity. This applies to players as it does to posts. Have ones that'll stick with you for the RP, get to know the quircks of each others' characters and have an established "continuity of RP" so that if someone AFKs suddenly, that someone can pick-up the notes you left behind and keep your characters relevant (or use your character if the group could've REALLY USED YOUR HELP) so that nobody is ever stuck on account of some suddenly plot-pivotol character not moving for IRL reasons.

So get yourself a good band of friends that 'get' your thought process, try and include them in everything if you can. It's okay if they don't share ALL your interests, that's just the world's way of encouraging you to get more.

4. Make sure you get the ideas in your head written down, even the silly ones. Especially the silly ones. Mistakes happen, and memorable-mistakes are meme-worthy.

Professor Oak Asks: Boy or Girl?

Most character sheets actually have a spot where you define the sex of your character. It's a fairly important choice, but what does it mean to you?

Do you feel there are many differences between male and female characters? Do you tend to favor one sex over the other, or only play one sex? Do you feel a roleplay needs to be balanced with its sexes? Are there certain rolls that you feel are better played by a certain sex?

@BrokenPromise

Simplest decision:

Look at the current gender ratio (or predicted gender ratio) and try to get it close to 50/50 (unless the setting explains why there would be a lopsided ratio) either by recruiting more players or playing outside your element.

Similarily, age of character is sometimes played around with. Somebody has to play the badassed grandma.

Other times, it's decided upon more by plot-demands (pairing your character off with someone else's) or if you've got a recently worked-on character you've got kicking-around in your head with nothing to do because their RP got canceled at teh last minute.

This thought-process even applies when RPing entire "squads" of characters. As an interesting ensamble-cast in their own right, they do have interesting stories within their own group, but such intra-player dialouge is kept to a minimum to encourage player interactions.

I think the real problem with 'harem' stories is they're seldom ever believable, not only due to the imbalance in gender presence but also the unlikelihood of a single person - male or female - having so many admirers who hold genuine feelings for them -- as far as I'm concerned, this is just wish fulfilment escapism, regardless of which gender is the person who has the 'harem'.

@Shoryu Magami

*sneezes*

Let's B!tch. I feel it's a healthy release for our roleplay annoyances 2.0

I said it before, and I'll say it again; I will not ping people every absence so I can ask them if they've lost interest or whatever.

And I don't care if you say it's "the right thing to do," or "courtesy." If you can't bother to be active on your own (or leave a message saying that you'll at least be busy), then you aren't a good addition to the roleplay. Period.

I'm not going to babysit people. Just move on with the people that are actually interested. lol

@Mr Allen J

This, I do not mind so much in 1x1 RPs. When busy, they can move as slow as the last bit of super-dense ketchup stuck at the bottom of the bottle; still worth tapping.

That feel when someone made an obvious editing out of a plot in their 1x1 int. check so they wouldn't roleplay with you for whatever reason and saying it was """"taken"""".

I think the person didn't like that I didn't want to play a damsel in distress.

works for me bruh

@Ryoko

To be fair, shit be getting pretty real if Ryoko is in distress.

I didn't read through the whole thread but still wanted to gripe about something that bothers me sometimes in fights.

When neither side is willing to lose.

I don't mean as though the characters themselves give up on winning a fight, but rather the poster doesn't want their character to lose so badly that they will continue to try writing their characters out of situations. I mean this in the form of breaking character. Where a member may do everything in a characters established power to survive, or win, a battle but loses due to either not being skilled or generally less powerful/creative in their fight. That is fine.

What is not fine is when people create a complete new ability or have a huge power boost for no reason other than 'hiding it' from everyone on the site till they deemed it 'needed.' I had a few experiences with this and found it overly frustrating to try and fight someone who at any moment would become more powerful purely to win in the single battle, even if it threw off the actual RP.

On the flip-side though, it is fun to have battles with characters that are more powerful than you and seeing if you can win. But if GM calls it or it is blatantly obvious that your character is up to snuff, I feel that you should write out your character trying their best to win a hopeless situation rather than give up. It gives a better sense that all your character could do, they did instead of someone sulking about the fact they will lose.

Glad to have that out of my system.

@The 4 Winds

I miss the days where RPing last-stands up to par used to be a pre-requisite to nation roleplays.

Bad 80's movies, showing kids how it's done.

Hallo~!

Annnd my post brings the number of participants in this thread to 4.

New record set.

I offer nutty-bars and bananas, but only if you aren't allergic to nuts.

Die Alone, or Listen to the Tale from the Watering Hole (An Anthropomorphic Dystopic, noir RP. High Casual, Furries)

tl;dr: Hugs, gunfight, apartment cleared with extreme prejudice. And apparently Twombly thinks Luciel's tail twitches.

story thusfar

"By all means" Luciel mumbled, stepping out of the car at the same time with Twombly. He was careful to ease Aeron down onto the seat and lock the doors as he watched the maned wolf walk off around the corner. His hands shook as he looked at his reflection in the tinted SUV windows, pulling the scarf up over his nose and taking a deep breath while closing his eyes.

Soir de Lune, series five...discontinued. The ghost of a cool autumn day with sap fresh on pine teased my senses where there was only the scent of mint on my breath I had after lunch, woven into the old fabric. My eyes opened lightly, meeting the apathetic glare of the figure looking back at me. Silently, I offered them a nod which they responded to with a raised eyebrow as if to urge me to 'get on with it'. There was no arguing with myself as we all wanted the same thing, and it started with the voices from around the corner as Twombly engaged the salamanders.

The lookouts snapped to attention as Twombly addressed them, quickly losing interest after seeing it wasn't who they thought it was. "Something like that" one of them offered as another crossed its arms, already annoyed by the distraction. The one with the exposed gun picked up on the glance, pulling their shirt over the weapon before glaring at Twombly, challengingly. "Who wasn't? The tart has the capacity for everyone in the bar" they excused, poorly lying for the fact that there was no way 'Kaite' could have made an appearance while Ansel was tending the bar. "Can we help you?" the third lizard growled in a tone that was insisting Twombly's answer was 'no, and I'll be on my way'. Which it was, although he was not going to be rushed just because a few ill-paid goons were impatient.

Just then, a loud metallic scrape and crash of a fire escape ladder dropping echoed from the alleyway. After a palpable moment of silence, the first salamander elbowed the one who had the exposed gun. "Gee, I wonder what that was..." he hinted, shooting the lizard a look that made them sigh and walk off while the other two waited patiently. Silence followed after the footsteps betrayed the figure who disappeared around the corner.

It felt like minutes passed, the other two seeming to become uncomfortable from the lack of sounds after footsteps faded. The first of the thugs elbowed the second and went to inspect the alleyway with the other in tow. "Hey Jake! Where are ya!" the second one called, though no response came. The first looked back at Twombly before barking, "You! Get over here", intending on using him as some kind of bait.

Twombly immediately scoffed in frustration, as his patience with these lackies was starting to grow thin. "What is it now? An alley-cat got you guys scared. Come, I'll show you..." He said, brushing right past them as he drew his three kilogram "sidearm" and leveled it at the dumpster. "You think what's frightening you is peering at you from the top of that dumpster?" He asked, loudly and clearly annoyed at their lack of fool-hardiness making Luciel's plan to ambush them all one at a time go out the window; however it was quickly established that his question was both rhetorical, and not uttered for their benefit as he quickly tapped out three silenced rounds just a few inches below the lip of the dumpster.

"If your boogeyman is still there. I am sure he isn't going to be very happy about the new vents I gave them. But that's not what you were supposed to be afraid of..." He said, as he swung his gun back around and leveled it at the one furthest from him, a series of claws ripping into the throat of a salamander that just happened to be standing a bit too close to him.

"You have any idea who I am? You do NOT get to ask me to do YOUR JOB." He demanded, "EVER!" he punctuated this point by popping another round into the last standing salamander's kneecap "Now if you and your friend book it to the nearest hospital, you both may actually get there before either of you bleed-out."

The salamanders looked in confusion as Twombly drew his gun and let loose a short volley of rounds into the dumpster. One of them elbowed the other, "Didn't the boss say something about a black SUV?", his voice wavering with stress before the maned wolf whirled around to set steel to bone after shredding the neck of one of the lizards. Their cries echoed down the alleyway and streets as they writhed on the ground. "AGH! Wh-what the fuck!" the kneecapped salamander wailed, struggling to apply pressure to stop the bleeding of his associate, fumbling with a phone. "Come on, Neal! Stay with me!" he barked, shooting Twombly a glare that spelled a malicious intent if he hadn't been helping to control the bleeding and dialing. "Its my brother! No, some other..." he began to say before his expression softened to terror moments before a nearly inaudible click scattered circuitry, flesh and blood onto the pavement, followed soon by the salamander's motionless body.

From the alleyway limped Luciel, sleeves rolled up and blood on his gloves. One hand lowered his weapon of choice while the other firmly gripped a jar wrapped in duct tape. He stood a fair ways away, looking at the scene of the dead salamander laying over the other who was quickly bleeding out. The faint chirp of a voice emitted from the phone and the jackalope trudged over, gently setting the jar down to pick up the phone, wiping the blood from the receiver before bringing it up to his head. A tired yet peacefully amused glare bored into the building across the street from Luciel.

"Hello" he politely began, speaking into the phone while holstering his weapon and grabbing a handful of shirt to begin dragging the dead salamander into the alleyway. "...Am I speaking to the intruders in my home?" He continued, turning back after a long moment of silence, dumping the body behind the dumpster. While he walked back, he took a moment to press a pinky-finger into the bullet holes and look up at Twombly with an unimpressed glare. "By now you may be wondering, 'what does he have in those jars in the fridge'?" Luciel cooed before hanging up and tossing the phone over his shoulder without breaking eye contact with the maned wolf.

Looking down at the mess for a moment, he sighed and put a round through the suffering Salamander's head. "Gee, thanks for engaging the lookouts in broad daylight, Twombly" he goofily said, making his disappointment clear through sarcasm while lowering himself to pick up the wrapped jar and sniffled as he looked over the second body. Clearing his throat, an ear flicked before he turned around to where he'd pulled down the fire escape ladder. "Well darn, I guess" he simply chirped, turning to do his best in the way of hurrying towards the ladder, stuffing the small jar into a pocket before beginning to climb.

Twombly shrugged at Luciel's glowing dissaproval, "I could just say they tried to mug me, brought a knife to a gunfight and lost. Shit like that happens all the time." He excused himself as he picked-up the obvious revolver from the salamander, wasn't like he was going to need it anymore, and it paid to have a new-york reload tucked into his sock when visiting an active kill-house.

The climb behind the jackalope was simple enough after tossing his slung AKS74U over his shoulder, hanging roughly by his side for something resembling a quick-draw without banging it against the rungs like the typical 3-point sling with rifle hung in front. He was starting to get curious about what was in those jars now that Luciel mentioned them, but figured it could wait until they'd have more time to move things out of the apartment.

Luciel sighed at Twombly's dismissal of his concern. Complying with the wave of a hand, he turned to set the jar behind the dumpster and begin to muscle his way up the ladder before the first few stretches of steps. Thankfully, the jackalope lived on the sixth floor, so there wasn't much effort to worry about. Occasionally, he'd peek in a window before darting past in a manner that seemed cautiously tactical enough, though obviously self taught by his franticness in the motions.

"I assume you have done stuff like this in the past, Twombly?" Luciel began, trying to make conversation as the silence was uncomfortable for the sociopath in this unique instance. Without waiting for much of an answer, he continued without looking away from his work of limping up stairs and peeking into windows, "Oh! And I hope the unexpected turn of events does not put you off, I sincerely would have had you and Miss Khalil over if I knew...well."

The words caught in his throat as he had time to mull the situation over, obviously still upset on some level with the last few hours and how his web of lies was being washed out the spout.

Unlike the jackalope, the maned-wolf did not move as though he thought he was trespassing, more like he was merely window-shopping for a new carpeting, just happening to admire the quaint figurines in their darkened dormatories as they each went about their daily rounds, giving a nod of besmirched approval so they wouldn't feel let-down as they passed, yet not feel threatened with any feelings of hostile jealousy; a good thing since he happened to have a kalisnikov in plain view.

Twombly continued trying -and succeeding- at looking nonchalant, as though simply on an evening stroll to silently puruse through everybody's windows until Luciel commented at how routine these things seemed to him, clearly distressed more than he was impressed... there weren't enough hugs in the world for him... Twombly thought to himself as he stacked-up close behind Luciel so he could answer with a hushed voice in his ear: "The first rule of surviving out in the wastes is not to be seen, this everyone knows. But the second one is then not to be suspected when you inevitiably are being watched." He then gave Luciel a pat on the shoulder, reminding him that he was on-point for this, but making sure not to push him into anything he didn't feel was right; not until he was ready.

As they ascended, Luciel endeavored to soften his steps and hesitate at about the fourth floor. In a perfect world, he would have faith in his abilities to break into his own home and take the trespassers by surprise. However, the racket from trying to get into his wood-gued-shut window would certainly complicate things as anyone on the street below would need to look up and see them. Given the intent of his taunt, he could be sure that someone was likely on their way to check on the watch.

With a discontent sigh, he listened to Twombly's talk of the wastes which he had never visited. The simple lessons were learned early after his freedom, and the streets didn't seem too much different from his associate's apparent domain of operations. "I have never been to the wastes..." he muttered as he assessed the situation with hands on his hips, an ear flicking from Twombly's voice. "...ehn I am better vith hidink in plain sight zehn zeis mess" he continued in a contemplative manner, casually tossing out his best 'Kaitra' before coming to window and unapologetically peering inside. Content with not seeing anyone, he tried the window which was obviously locked.

He lifted an eyebrow, scoffing a small 'tch' before drawing an axe and wedging it into the frame. Holding it in place with a foot, Luciel braced himself against the railing to press his other foot into the notch between the handle and back-spike. "Knock knock" he playfully chirped before kicking in the frame with a loud metallic pop of old screws being pried from equally old wood. The axe clattered to the grated floor of the fire escape as he aimed another kick to bash the window in. The plan worked, more or less, as the hinges bent from the weight of the window swinging inward.

Without a moment of hesitation, Luciel picked up the axe and jumped into the room. This wasn't the best of ideas as a leg buckled, accompanied by a growl of a yelp as the jackalope crumpled to the floor. This lasted maybe an instant before he wheeled around with Sandcastle as he surveyed the apartment he'd broken into. Thankfully, whoever owned it seemed to be away. Any other day and Luci would have considered this a score in the way of free shit, but there was business to take care of and this was no time for laying about or petty theft. "That could have gone better" he awkwardly chuckled, turning his ankles to makes sure everything was in working order before dragging himself to a wall to aid in his efforts to stand himself back up.

Luciel's humors were sobered by the sounds of a set of footsteps hurrying down the hall along with a voice, "It was one of these rooms, I'm sure! The little bitch must have went up the fire escape." Soon, it was joined by a second gruff voice, "The look outs would have-" before being cut off by a third voice. "The lookouts are dead, you idiot!" and then the voice lowered, "And stop shaking, 'Angel' is just a name. Nothing bullets can't handle."

Twombly had tried to help Luciel back to his feet, but the Jackalope was still fleet-footed enough to have it his own way before freezing in mortification upon hearing a trio of voices looking for 'her'. Twombly's ears merely perked-up at a thought, as he pointed at a side-room to the apartment's kitchen to lurk in as he started humming a tune, slid his carbine to the floor against the wall, and opened the door to see exactly what was causing the commotion, and how heavily armed they were.

What he first saw was nothing less than the ported cutts-compensator of an old-timey Thompson-gun pressed against his face, behind which stood a plethora of weasels. He briefly tried picturing which voice came from whom; the excitable one with something to prove, the gruffy, slobbish, forgetful one, followed by the sharply-dressed overconfident leader-type. Noise of continued ransacking upstair confirmed there were more than just these three, but these were the most willing to get into a fight and away from tedious menial work; the people-persons.

"So you looking for this short cream-colored girl about ye-tall with big floppy ears and a tail that twitches when she walks? Is her rent due again? I told her to stop wasting her earnings on toys until after her housing was settled..." Twombly began, spinning a yarn; keeping just enough details that almost sounded like a match enough to get their interest... then enough things wrong to convince them it wasn't their person, but at the same time making it sound like he was suggesting they could spend a few extra minutes and a few extra dollars cross-examining his house-guest, just in case, of course.

"Good afternoon. Neighborhood watch" The snazzily-dressed weasel cheekily remarked from behind the two goons as he tapped on a cigarette to ash in the hallway. Their other hand casually rested on the handle of their own thompson hanging from a sling. Much to stereotypes' expectations, the shaky one held Twombly at gunpoint while the bruiser pushed a bit of barbed wire back into position on their bat with a work glove. The bat seemed impacted along the wires with poorly cleaned blood staining the metal and wood. He noisily popped a chomp of gum, looking up during Twombly's explanation with furrowed brows that a grip of scars marred on the left side. Even the jumpy one seemed perplexed by the description, eyes twitching to the side for a moment as if about to look to their boss for confirmation though snapping back to fix on the maned fox's. Their eager finger on the trigger of the thompson clicked a claw against the trigger guard, a tell of anxiousness like a need to scratch an itch. Of the monty, the most aggressively armed one was probably the most pathetic, as he was likely paying off favors with this mission; dipping into a stash he was supposed to sell, he wanted to be done with business by any means necessary.

Either thankfully or unfortunately for Twombly, the third of the squad at least appeared to have the others under control. "Easy, boys...Pointy ears, antlers? Are ya sure you're not either retarded or feeding me bullshit?" The apparent boss inquired with a skeptical smirk as he looked Twombly over with a darkly interested glint before a light shake of their head dismissed whatever thought they had. "Is your 'girl' a he? I hear some messed up fucks are into that kind of shit" they continued, the question posed as both an insult against Twombly's character and a legitimate question. After a moment and another drag, he tilted his head to try to look past the man and into the apartment, "And you wouldn't happen to have...heard a noise? Would ya?"

---Thankfully the busted window was around the corner and out of sight, as the question was accompanied by a gesture from the third weasel. The brute of the three stepped forward to shove Twombly aside with a vaguely annoyed grunt of "s'cuse me" as he stepped into the room, followed closely by the jumpy one. Obviously untrusting, the leader held back, though leveled his thompson at the maned wolf while waiting for his possy to sweep the apartment.

Creaking cupboards and the slam of a coffee table being needlessly overturned raged behind Twombly. Whoever owned the apartment was certain to have one hell of a day, though the window set the stage well enough as a break-in and ransacking.

"So, this 'girl', eh?" The weasel in the hall lazily began, "If you're looking for money, I may be able to take her off your hands...assuming the boss likes wh-" having been cut off in their allusion to their business by a call from the back; ""Hey boss! The window is kicked in. He definitely came in, here!" The first of the batch peeking out from around the corner, causing the second to look up from admiring a small china cabinet in the main room.

"Wonderful! Keep looking while I have a chat with our new friend" The boss chirped, jabbing Twombly with the muzzle of his gun to urge him back into the apartment after flicking their cig down the hall. "Right, lets try one more time to remember your 'girl'. Say something I like and I might just let ya go with a new lead knee for wasting my time!" He growled, closing the door behind him without looking. "Where the fuck are you hiding him and how do y-!" he began, thumbing the safety off at the same moment the roar of a garbage disposal cut into the tension. The two looked up as the sound persisted long enough to make even the boss seem uneasy. "He's not hiding in the drain, you moron!" The boss barked, being met with only an uncomfortable silence as the garbage disposal abruptly stopped with a click. Another palpable moment passed before what sounded like the first weasel softly came, "I think..."

"What, ya having a sandwich in there?" The brutish weasel chuckled, looking to their boss who nodded at them with a gesture to inspect. With a shrug, he complied with bat raised while rounding the corner, "-Cuz ya better save same some for me!" he roared, swinging with the report of twisted metal against wall plaster and a meaty 'thunk'. Their expression changed from cockiness to terror as they stumbled back, hand clutching the stump of an arm where there used to be a hand.

"Holy-! D-DIE!" the boss screamed, lifting the thompson from Twombly to 'spray and pray' into the wall in the hopes of scoring a lucky hit. Caught up in the shock of watching his associate's wound spurting blood, he'd forgotten to account for his 'new friend' he'd shoved just barely out of arm's reach.

The moment the thompson swung away was perhaps the weasel's final, fatal mistake. As Twombly tucked down to grab his rifle off the floor, he rolled into his legs and sprung back to his feet, knocking the nearly twenty pound submachine gun very far from its intended target as he slammed their boss to the ground. "What makes you think I'm hiding?" He asked, but it was clearly rhetorical, as he leveled the rifle and put a round through the weasel's windpipe; this way he'd be granted the courtessy of an open-casket funeral.
"Y'all right in there, darl'n?" Twombly asked in a bit of a drawled-out growl. Being threatened and insulted by such an amature followed by launching twenty pounds of steel off his back wasn't exactly a pleasant experiance for him.

The last weasel stumbled in the opening of the wall section leading to the kitchen, watching in shock as his boss was dispatched. In response to Twombly's question, he looked over to the apparent entity out of sight for the time it took to open his mouth. The goon was prematurely silenced with a rattling crack of the barbwire bat hissing through the air with Luciel in tow, striking true and scattering blood and mangled flesh across the cabinet doors. The goon caught himself on the counter with a spurt of blood from his stump while the jackalope gave the bat a turn to its clean side. "Be right with ya, hun!" he chirped before bringing the instrument of destruction down on the brute who unfortunately had the constitution to remain conscious through the assault. "Fuck this thing is awesome! I should make myself one!" Luciel laughed, giving a golfing swing to disfigure the arm the man lifted to defend himself, but getting caught up in hide and hair after crushing it against the cabinets.



Finally, the man found the wind in his lungs to scream in anguish, bone poking through flesh messily torn from Luciel's motion of lifting the bat only to bring it down once more onto their head with a shrill "Woo!"

He chuckled, pacing a few steps around the numbly convulsing body with one hand on his hip and huffing a sigh before looking over his shoulder back at Twombly. "Better than coffee~" he chirped with a wink before turning back and messily caving the man's skull in with a merciless series of about five more full-body swings which knocked out a ceiling light from how 'into it' the small man got with their needless brutality.

On conclusion, Luciel simply tossed the dented and fraying weapon to the side and wiped his hands off on the kitchen towel which he dropped in the middle of the floor once he was done with it. His ears fluttered, accompanying the small hint of a smirk on his lips hinting to how he shamelessly enjoyed himself. "Right! One more floor" he said with a clap as if just now remembering business while making to pick up the boss weasel's thompson. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, wounds from the crash becoming distant as his hands shook, slightly.

The level of Luciel's highly-motivated ferrocity took Twombly a bit by surprise as he inched away from the scene and out of the bat's splatter-zone. The seer face of glee hinting that his aim to maim was on more of a personal level than that of a normal paid hitman. It was when they finally reached the jack's apparetment that he realized, looking around the somewhat run-down furnishings: he wasn't in the business of killing for money, his secretive nature and multiple personas told a story of a person that did not do these things for fame or noterity, yet here in this housing complex were the bodies of well-supplied hitmen.

It was the signs of a person that had been pushed too far, and did what came naturally: he pushed back.

Luciel hadn't been too thrilled with his ransacked room, earning its temporary occupants a far less glorious death than others by way of a few dozen holes riddling the walls and corpses. His aquarium was smashed along with his pet spider. The kitchen was in the state one would expect save for the series of duct-taped pickle jars on the counter and a mess of vomit on the floor. The jack didn't seem too interested as he hastily robbed the dead and stuffed quantities of his clothes into a large backpack along with a few sets of makeup and false jewlery. While his other stash was at The Hole, his room was still well stocked with various hiding places.

About ten-thousand credits in a metal box hidden in the cushions of the lone mangled chair in his livingroom, a base P99 in his pillow. Two medkits stood out as one was the typical red with a white cross while the other was spraypainted black with enough white taped off for an x to show. The place was run-down seemingly out of negligence and a few violent tangents that left gouges in the walls. The bathroom's reinforced locks on the outside would be call for concern as it appeared set up like a makeshift holding cell; two bolts and room for a padlock on what was a non-standard door for the apartment complex, a door with a metal kick-plate on both sides and made from solid wood rather than cheap particle board.

Luciel worked in silence, collecting his life into a backpack and dufflebag along with an old sleepingbag belted to the backpack. Thankfully, Twombly was a sport and opted to carry the bag which contained scavenged weaponry, his vests, ammo and the black box.

Whatever goons were left had fled as their mission was clearly a wash and they had no intention to end up like the rest. In this, it was fairly easygoing out to the SUV.

While helping lift the more obviously heavier bundles out to the car, he decided now was the best time to ask: "So who are you trying to avenge?"

Much to the surprise to any uninformed observer, Twombly's seemingly-prying question was met with little resistance as Luciel simply replied, "Kaitra...Kaitra Yvelle. She didn't deserve the things that happened to her..." Before his eyes drifted down to the ground, lost in thought.

Cinders of newspaper clippings smoldered in the sink, their contents indiscernible. Empty pickle jars sat on the counter while a foul smell rose from the sink for the next person to find.

"...For protecting me. They deserve it, though. Every last one of them" Luciel cryptically hissed on their way over to the vehicle.

Die Alone, or Listen to the Tale from the Watering Hole (An Anthropomorphic Dystopic, noir RP. High Casual, Furries)

*just realized it was my turn to post the block of collab*

Die Alone, or Listen to the Tale from the Watering Hole (An Anthropomorphic Dystopic, noir RP. High Casual, Furries)

"Why is the rabbit unafraid? Because he's smarter than the panther."

Die Alone, or Listen to the Tale from the Watering Hole (An Anthropomorphic Dystopic, noir RP. High Casual, Furries)

Right, um... I kinda went on hiatus in the middle of a collab, though Hawlin could post what there is, as the collab is already getting a tad lengthy and involves very loud gunfire that may draw some attention.

In terms of keeping up with my RPs, I kinda feel like shit.

But then again, November appears to be the month upon which RPs tend to die more than usual.

PS: I seem to have a bat camping somewhere in my bedroom, and it's starting to get annoying.
-May or may not have been dreaming that a bat decided to wake me up rather rudely a few days ago. Was pretty sure it was a dream, but I've woken up to weirder things.

FRAMEs: Soldiers of Fortune (Sci-fi, Mecha, Post-Apocalyptic)

*dusts off a few of their older concepts*

Shock and Awe, people, shock and awe.

gonna kit out with full security-suite package of seismic and MMW-GSR, gated-UV vision... awww yeah...

FRAMEs: Soldiers of Fortune (Sci-fi, Mecha, Post-Apocalyptic)

Large direct-fire pieces might come in the form of 60mm AT recoil-less rifles and bazookas; good for laying siege to sturdy positions and packing a wallop at close range.

@Aristo

iirc, the current standard for light anti-armor is sitting at about 84mm (AT-4) and 120mm (larger RPG-7s and typical ATGMs).
-Russia currently fields the 152mm Kornet ATGM.