I suppose you're still mad about the Sino-Soviet Split RP centered around the recently-completed rail-hub at Chara?
^It's re-assuring, at least to me, to know that the WZ-131/Type-62 light tanks would only have to contend with old T-34/85s and IS-3 tanks drawn directly from the mothballed Federal Resserve Stockpile and issued straight to a cadre-conscript-army of Soviet Hardliners.
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STATUS: A roleplay not for the timid: "The quest to restore the abandoned Waffle House" 15 days ago
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15 days ago
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A roleplay not for the timid: "The quest to restore the abandoned Waffle House"
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1 mo ago
I do agree with Yandere's sentiment that words not wording workingly do be a problem this time of year.
1 mo ago
Scratch that, place your bets on polymarket.
2 mos ago
Looks like I'll be working on memorial day weekend. And no, this does not mean place any bets on polymarket.
3 mos ago
due to a typo on my part I was nearly convinced I owed the IRS nearly $3000 in excess taxes this year.
5
likes
Bio
-There will be delays in replies. Largely due to working overtime, voluntary obligations; other RPs and online-things may compete for my attention.
'Bout me:
Started RPing (badly) back in '05, mostly doing nation-RPs with an emphasis on technology and strategy, later edging out to character-espionage and military-tactics before doing "less serious" character roleplays that were outside of the 2005-2008 continuity.
That's when I went to Dead-Frontier, and found the RP community there, joined a clan, did some pretty good roleplays and pretty much loosened-up my online-personality. When the clan-leader decided to move her RPs here, most of the clan followed.
Took a course in technical-writing back in '08, so now I may sometimes use the semicolon correctly.
In 2010 I dusted off the old nation-RP continuity I had, doing a few hetelia-esque RP-shenanigans there..
RP-Habbits: I tend to geek-out on little technical-details, and sometimes infer how those details would impact the background of the roleplay. Great for world-building, not so great when you had a perfectly good plotline and I just MacGyver it off the rails (though I usually er to the side of amusement, sometimes it creates very grim side-stories).
'Bout me:
Started RPing (badly) back in '05, mostly doing nation-RPs with an emphasis on technology and strategy, later edging out to character-espionage and military-tactics before doing "less serious" character roleplays that were outside of the 2005-2008 continuity.
That's when I went to Dead-Frontier, and found the RP community there, joined a clan, did some pretty good roleplays and pretty much loosened-up my online-personality. When the clan-leader decided to move her RPs here, most of the clan followed.
Took a course in technical-writing back in '08, so now I may sometimes use the semicolon correctly.
In 2010 I dusted off the old nation-RP continuity I had, doing a few hetelia-esque RP-shenanigans there..
RP-Habbits: I tend to geek-out on little technical-details, and sometimes infer how those details would impact the background of the roleplay. Great for world-building, not so great when you had a perfectly good plotline and I just MacGyver it off the rails (though I usually er to the side of amusement, sometimes it creates very grim side-stories).
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12 yrs ago
Forum: 1x1 Interest Checks
Part III A (flashbacks/backstory omitted).
As the night dragged-on, Rob's headache returned; it was a persistant bother he had to deal with ever since the outbreak. He was already prepared, and rubbed a warm -but empty- coffee-mug on the back of his neck, and over his eyes, in hopes of improving blood-circulation. Sometimes it helped, other times... He poured another mug of coffee mixed with vodka, and produced a pair of 325 mg tablets of asprin, he quickly gulped the remedy down and sighed. It wasn't an infection, that much he was certain, but a nagging feeling told him this illness could still-yet mean the death of him.
Being alone in the woods, in the dark, suffering from a severe headache... with those... things walking around loose outside... Sometimes the pain wasn't so bad and he could work through the it, it even seemed to help a little; other times he felt like curling into a ball and dying; already his vision had been tinged blood-red from lack of sleep, his eyes clearly sunk-in and rimmed red with bloodshot even now. Gone was the face of a care-free target-shooter with a set-for-life scholarship.
Back in the cabin, in the corner of his little maintnance-room he had a gas-stove set-up, not for cooking, but just for lighting bits of tinder to light the wood-stove, or to heat another pot of coffee or [if times get any worse] pine-needle tea during the daylight-hours. Outside in the mess-hall the walls were drenched in blood-splatter, he never liked it out there... too many reminders of what they'd lost... of what he'd lost. Slumped in the farthest corner, wearing an ACU, was a dead boy, on his breast pocket it read his name: Cunningham.
As the night dragged-on, Rob's headache returned; it was a persistant bother he had to deal with ever since the outbreak. He was already prepared, and rubbed a warm -but empty- coffee-mug on the back of his neck, and over his eyes, in hopes of improving blood-circulation. Sometimes it helped, other times... He poured another mug of coffee mixed with vodka, and produced a pair of 325 mg tablets of asprin, he quickly gulped the remedy down and sighed. It wasn't an infection, that much he was certain, but a nagging feeling told him this illness could still-yet mean the death of him.
Being alone in the woods, in the dark, suffering from a severe headache... with those... things walking around loose outside... Sometimes the pain wasn't so bad and he could work through the it, it even seemed to help a little; other times he felt like curling into a ball and dying; already his vision had been tinged blood-red from lack of sleep, his eyes clearly sunk-in and rimmed red with bloodshot even now. Gone was the face of a care-free target-shooter with a set-for-life scholarship.
Back in the cabin, in the corner of his little maintnance-room he had a gas-stove set-up, not for cooking, but just for lighting bits of tinder to light the wood-stove, or to heat another pot of coffee or [if times get any worse] pine-needle tea during the daylight-hours. Outside in the mess-hall the walls were drenched in blood-splatter, he never liked it out there... too many reminders of what they'd lost... of what he'd lost. Slumped in the farthest corner, wearing an ACU, was a dead boy, on his breast pocket it read his name: Cunningham.
I'll probably finish-up my IC-post sometime on friday.
If I'm lucky, it'll be something big.
If I'm lucky, it'll be something big.
BTW, the potato-gun in question has various breech-blocks for either Compressed-air, or air-propane propulsion... Has a 'monopod' that sockets into the truck's ball-hitch for handling recoil.
Although a black-powder eight-inch mortar sounds neato.
-Because unburnt blackpowder = tracer round
Although a black-powder eight-inch mortar sounds neato.
-Because unburnt blackpowder = tracer round
Meanwhile, at a completely different camp: Nisqually Winds Mountain House:
As the rain picked-up, and the light faded, Robert retreated inside one of the cabins. Originally they were gas-heated for everyone's convienence, but he knew that at best the storage-cylinders would only suffice for a single winter. In this particular cabin he managed to rig a wood-burning stove inside the utility-room next to the furnace. It didn't put-out as much heat, but it was enough to heat the room. He often barricaded the room in such a way nobody could see light from the windows at night, and only ran the stove at night to keep the smoke from drawing attention.
One of the cabins had rows upon rows of DVDs, even though there wasn't power to watch them with unless he happened across a minivan with a TV in it, the back-covers had pretty bizarre plots, and even stranger ratings that were strangely over-specific on what sort of acts are depicted in the films to get such ratings...
Outside this cabin was also one of the camp's maintnance-trucks. In the back he'd mounted a 57mm potato-gun for shooting beer-cans filled with plaster; wrapping 'driving bands' of electrical-tape around the cans seemed to improve performance, as did replacing the plaster with lead. Back in the maintnance-room he had his 'wall of guns' right next to his 'corner of ammunition' and a small workspace for modifying ammunition. After a year, nearly the entire supply of buckshot and shotgun-slugs had dried-up; at some point he came up with the idea of extracting the birdshot from shells and melting it down into slugs cast in a modified choke-tube. A more expedient method was to simply fuse the wad's petals together and cap it in glue. If the lead were wanted for some other purpose, the second method would still be used.
The other uses for lead, of course, usually hapened across his 'reusable projectiles' One of which was an inert rifle-grenade he'd replaced the void with lead ballast, shooting one of those from a NATO-spec rifle-brake with an otherwise useless blank-cartridge was always entertaining, but of limited usefulness; more often it was used as a club.
But now it was dark, and it was time to make as little noise as possible and hope nobody stumbled upon his place... while at the same time wishing someone would... The rain didn't seem to let-up, so at least h could continue working by stove-light.
As the rain picked-up, and the light faded, Robert retreated inside one of the cabins. Originally they were gas-heated for everyone's convienence, but he knew that at best the storage-cylinders would only suffice for a single winter. In this particular cabin he managed to rig a wood-burning stove inside the utility-room next to the furnace. It didn't put-out as much heat, but it was enough to heat the room. He often barricaded the room in such a way nobody could see light from the windows at night, and only ran the stove at night to keep the smoke from drawing attention.
One of the cabins had rows upon rows of DVDs, even though there wasn't power to watch them with unless he happened across a minivan with a TV in it, the back-covers had pretty bizarre plots, and even stranger ratings that were strangely over-specific on what sort of acts are depicted in the films to get such ratings...
Outside this cabin was also one of the camp's maintnance-trucks. In the back he'd mounted a 57mm potato-gun for shooting beer-cans filled with plaster; wrapping 'driving bands' of electrical-tape around the cans seemed to improve performance, as did replacing the plaster with lead. Back in the maintnance-room he had his 'wall of guns' right next to his 'corner of ammunition' and a small workspace for modifying ammunition. After a year, nearly the entire supply of buckshot and shotgun-slugs had dried-up; at some point he came up with the idea of extracting the birdshot from shells and melting it down into slugs cast in a modified choke-tube. A more expedient method was to simply fuse the wad's petals together and cap it in glue. If the lead were wanted for some other purpose, the second method would still be used.
The other uses for lead, of course, usually hapened across his 'reusable projectiles' One of which was an inert rifle-grenade he'd replaced the void with lead ballast, shooting one of those from a NATO-spec rifle-brake with an otherwise useless blank-cartridge was always entertaining, but of limited usefulness; more often it was used as a club.
But now it was dark, and it was time to make as little noise as possible and hope nobody stumbled upon his place... while at the same time wishing someone would... The rain didn't seem to let-up, so at least h could continue working by stove-light.
Kuro-Ink said
Luckily, they just beat me to a pulp, and then branded me with a mark of shame. Glad I made it here with the rest of you.Feo, by the way.<----- Oh my god, I am majestic.
It suits you.
Me, I need to photoshop a Mosin Nagant and "lrn to aim"/"Take some shooting lessons" into the pic... that or revert to me original one.
then ther's this pony, but... not exactly describes my lurky-ness.
Goldmarble said
I know the sound of the old 56k modem well.I also used to use computers that didn't even have a single megabyte of ram, and used 5ΒΌ" floppies.I miss old school frogger...
Oregon trail....
Or, for the zombie inclined... Organ Trail.
I still got a PC that runs on 16Kbytes of RAM, and ran at about 6 kilohertz.
I use it for flight-sims and DOS games, and actually using DOS.
Aoi said
Okay well this took way to long to reply to, or quote :P so many writes so little time.i'm of the same mind in this. I mean essentially she gets a backpack that then releases the weapons. I don't think she's a robot of any kind, but i believe she is possibly a very reclused person. I mean just the way the man basically tells her to not interact with other people at the end (spoiler? haha) is sort of a way of saying she is being sheltered in some way.She could be using possibly prototype weapons. I bring all this to mind only because we essentially know nothing of the world other then what we are told. I'm not saying i'll be like "OMG I'M NEVER WATCHING THIS BECAUSE SHE'S A ROBOT" cause in all honest, it wouldn't bother me either way. But i'm saying that i think she's a human. Just she has some interesting aura like abilities, and what not. haha XD
Penny = Pinoccio.
Someone PM me when the attack starts.
Or the next day.
Or the next day.
Aristo said
Gotta' cleanse 'em all!
@ Ze Staffel dude... [I think I forgot the un-person's name already]
Actually, I was thinking 'polandball' but that's only because it reminds me of a certain moe-anthromorphic country making love to a P-700 Shipweck.
I also noticed the Polski Kbk wz1988 Tantal being photoshopped to look like an AK-74.
-Come at me, Mosin Nagant made in Izshevesk of year 1943 has killed many a fascist in its day, and still laughs at your stahlhelms and jackboots.
Such disgrace to Poland.
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