*Knocks @Byrd Man's sensible, helpful response off the page with gif of two men hitting each other with fish*
Hound55 Member
Create-A-Hero RPG GM, Blue Bringer of BWAHAHA!
STATUS: A Perpetual Motion Engine of Anxiety and Self-Loathing 1 yr ago
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A Perpetual Motion Engine of Anxiety and Self-Loathing
Bio
So there I am, in Sri Lanka, formerly Ceylon, at about 3 o'clock in the morning, looking for one thousand brown M&Ms to fill a brandy glass, or Ozzy wouldn't go on stage that night. So, Jeff Beck pops his head 'round the door, and mentions there's a little sweets shop on the edge of town. So - we go. And - it's closed. So there's me, and Keith Moon, and David Crosby, breaking into that little sweets shop, eh. Well, instead of a guard dog, they've got this bloody great big Bengal tiger. I managed to take out the tiger with a can of mace, but the shopowner and his son... that's a different story altogether. I had to beat them to death with their own shoes. Nasty business, really. But, sure enough, I got the M&Ms, and Ozzy went on stage and did a great show.
Most Recent Posts
<Snipped quote by Star Lord>
I try not to get too caught up in writing combat as it's a very visual thing and there's only so much time I want to spend describing two people punch each other. I'd just keep it simple and make sure the plot flows with the punches so you don't come to a stand still for two characters to slap each other.
Actually, now that I think about it I did have one issue with a barfight where I accidentally punched the piano player behind me due to the lack of locked melee targetting. I was pretty annoyed at the money I had to pay to clear my name there.
That seems accurate in and of itself...
...assuming a third party followed in suit and broke a bottle over the head of someone else who had nothing to do with the fight.
<Snipped quote by Inkarnate>
When going from Spider-Man and God of War, both of which had tight controls and fluid movement, my character handling like he’s drunk on absinthe the entire time has taken a while to get used to.
Sounds like it really has that "Old West" flavour. You just need to go into the settings and adjust from "absinthe" to "bourbon" and it should be perfect.
Most fun I've had in RDR2 so far is hog tieing random people and chucking them in the river.
That's a fine Snidely Whiplash moustache you're working on there...
My wife is fleeing goes away on holiday starting today. So as soon as I'm off nights and getting proper sleep again, I'll be churning stuff out like mid-to-late last season...
...don't know if people could tell the last was a bit rushed.
...don't know if people could tell the last was a bit rushed.
“So…” Blake mused aloud as he gingerly flipped the eggs in the pan. “The Mayor wants you to take ‘Thor’ down.” He chuckled as Barbara crossed her arms defensively.
Enough already about your Thor bein' a ranga, @Lord Wraith...
“Any sign, Frenchie?” I speak through the three-way comm link.
“No. Nothing on the South side. Do you need me to pick you up?” DuChamp’s reply from the chopper.
“No. No sign of him here either, but there is enough to keep me busy...”
“Busy? You take care, Marc.” Marlene comes in through the ‘Home’ terminal.
I hurl myself off the Franklin Center with a laugh.
“I don’t know, Marlene. ‘Take care’? Might throw me off my rhythm.”
I cast my glider cape wide and catch a huge gust, riding the early evening wind as my eyes narrow inside of my mask. The target? The stickup boys who have a pair of tourists cornered down a back alley from the Loop. I circle around the building so I don’t drop in too hot, which also deprives them much of an opportunity to see me coming.
I plow through the main threat; a kid with a butterfly knife, as I sweep through boots first to make my landing. Silver flashes as a crescent dart pins a second to a brick wall by his jacket and I hurl my truncheon into a third’s chest, before pulling it back on its cord. The final one runs.
I grab the one pinned against the wall forcibly.
“Aww man… Why me? Why don’t you go-- I mean-- what about him, man?!”
With my off hand I grab another crescent dart, and quickly launch it using only a quick snap of my forearm.
“Him? He’s the cautionary tale. And why you’re glad you didn’t run from me...” I growl.
A bloodcurdling scream fills the back alley as the dart finds a home, sinking deep into the runaway’s calf, all the way to the bone.
My eyes narrow, and the stick-up punk thinks for a second that he saw them flash and glow a luminescent blue.
“He--he--heeere.” He says, meekly reaching inside his coat and producing wallets, and a second closed concealed flick-blade.
There’s not a dollar out of place.
Suddenly Samuels broke over the home line. “Sir, if I might interject, it is getting close to time. And by the time you’ve showered…”
“Yup. I hear you.”
“...and put on fresh clothes…”
“You’ve made your point.”
“...and gotten changed...”
There it was, the not-so-subtle dig.
“You heard the man, Frenchie. Pickup from the Loop.”
The day shift floor of the Chicago Central Detectives room gave way to the night shift. Flint stood in the corner and waited. Both for his partner to get back from the can and for the briefing to commence.
“Gwenn in?”
Flint nodded stoically. It was a reasonable question. Whilst a lot of detectives would fight tooth and nail for overtime hours, Gwenn had clocked easily the most absentee days of anyone in either shift at Central. His age and experience seeming to be the only reason this was not a greater issue. Captains would drag a younger detective over the coals, put the fear of god into them to bend them and make them change their ways early.
When they got to Gwenn’s age however, an age was senior even to that of Flint, such measures were generally no longer attempted. Whether it was because such men had been seen to earn their stripes already, or because grown men didn’t take kindly to swinging dicks, the general gist of the matter was the same:
You can’t teach old dogs new tricks.
Most of the others in the unit weren’t terribly concerned anyway. Gwenn was “one of the old boys”, his numbers suited Captain Miles Brennan-Kasser just fine as he’d closed off a number of murders earlier in the year - as they’d met their end crossing the path of notorious gangbangers, and half of the unit padded their paychecks with overtime hours scored off the back of Gwenn’s absences.
Except the guy who frequently got the shit-shifts because Captain Two-Dads wouldn’t give prime assignments to the one man car.
“Passed packets yet?” Gwenn asked, having just returned from the bathroom and referring to whether assignments had been doled out by the Captain yet.
“Nah." Flint replied. "Shake it off?”
“You know it.” Gwenn gave a lewd, wide grin. “Just like Taylor Swift.”
Detective Tammy Hall turned from the seat in front and gave a disgusted look.
“Let’s not act like we all haven’t seen or heard worse, Hall.”
Flint shrugged. “Hey, Tammy, least you know he has two layers of clean dry fabric between him and you...”
“Two? You’re not my Irish mother. Flint. If she couldn’t get me to wear underpants, God rest her soul, what chance you think you got?”
Flint bent down and gestured at his partner. “So however rough the next crime scene you go to Hall. Just remember I have to share a car with that guy. I’m terrified of letting the techs get too close to our car with the blacklight. At this point… I just don’t want to know anymore.”
“Alright knuckleheads, listen up!” Captain Brennan-Kasser broke up the smatter of chatter, and sought to press his weight on the briefing room… and the braces which held his pants up.
Flint zoned out throughout the Captain’s speech, only switching back on once he heard the distribution of assignments.
“…Hall and Stills, to the viaduct on this Slumcity Slasher beat. Flint and Gwenn, 610 and B & E out at North Center. Residents returned home and reported theft.”
“A burglary? C’mon, Hall. You want to swap? You really want to be interviewing bums all night?”
The Slumcity Slasher as he’d been dubbed last week, had the basic MO of attacking the native Chicago homeless community. Nobody really had a good look at him, and the fact he’d been targeting the city’s most underprivileged also played a role in why few real developments had come up.
“No swapping! Flint, don’t you have enough of a caseload as is?” the Captain called across the room.
Flint grumbled. He was loathe to see homicides go to less experienced detectives, whilst he and his partner got stuck with a two-bit burglary and break and enter on the rich side of town.
Gwenn had the address, and the pair went to the car.
*****
GENA’S DINER
“Crawley! Leave them boys alone to do their homework!” came the shrill order from the owner and operator of Gena’s Diner.
“If you would believe it, I was actually aiding them in their studies. A question pertaining to calculating compound interest, which was a matter that I was quite familiar with from…”
“I don’t care! Let them boys figure it out amongst themselves. They got the book there I can see it!”
Ricky and Ray Landers were sitting in a booth with scribbled on napkins bunched on the table and floor as they had tried to find the answers which matched what was listed as the solution in the teacher’s key in the back of the text book.
“Sorry Crawley, Momma gets a bit strict on our maths stuff at the moment.”
“Yeah, since you got a D last month!”
“I studied for geometry and teacher hit us with algebra. All them letters meaning numbers booshit...”
“Ray!”
“Sorry Momma. Thought we were going to be bisecting circles and putting equilateral triangles in ‘em.”
“Well, if I can’t be of any utility here, I might as well make my way to the domicile…”
“You’re leaving? You be careful, Crawley. I don’t like your skinny ass walking on out of here by yourself, you old coot. Been hearing all of this violence in the newspapers…”
“It’s quite alright, Gena, my good lady. Our mutual friend Jake Lockley has been good enough to provide a room and board for the time being, whilst this nonsense is taking place.”
“Let me get my coat. I’m driving you there. Boys, I’m locking up here in the meanwhile. Don’t you go letting anybody in, and just you make sure you do your homework while I’m out. I’ll be checking it when I get back.”
“Yes, Momma.”
“And just you watch out for your younger brother too, hear?”
“Yes, Momma.
“No. Nothing on the South side. Do you need me to pick you up?” DuChamp’s reply from the chopper.
“No. No sign of him here either, but there is enough to keep me busy...”
“Busy? You take care, Marc.” Marlene comes in through the ‘Home’ terminal.
I hurl myself off the Franklin Center with a laugh.
“I don’t know, Marlene. ‘Take care’? Might throw me off my rhythm.”
I cast my glider cape wide and catch a huge gust, riding the early evening wind as my eyes narrow inside of my mask. The target? The stickup boys who have a pair of tourists cornered down a back alley from the Loop. I circle around the building so I don’t drop in too hot, which also deprives them much of an opportunity to see me coming.
I plow through the main threat; a kid with a butterfly knife, as I sweep through boots first to make my landing. Silver flashes as a crescent dart pins a second to a brick wall by his jacket and I hurl my truncheon into a third’s chest, before pulling it back on its cord. The final one runs.
I grab the one pinned against the wall forcibly.
“Aww man… Why me? Why don’t you go-- I mean-- what about him, man?!”
With my off hand I grab another crescent dart, and quickly launch it using only a quick snap of my forearm.
“Him? He’s the cautionary tale. And why you’re glad you didn’t run from me...” I growl.
A bloodcurdling scream fills the back alley as the dart finds a home, sinking deep into the runaway’s calf, all the way to the bone.
My eyes narrow, and the stick-up punk thinks for a second that he saw them flash and glow a luminescent blue.
“He--he--heeere.” He says, meekly reaching inside his coat and producing wallets, and a second closed concealed flick-blade.
There’s not a dollar out of place.
Suddenly Samuels broke over the home line. “Sir, if I might interject, it is getting close to time. And by the time you’ve showered…”
“Yup. I hear you.”
“...and put on fresh clothes…”
“You’ve made your point.”
“...and gotten changed...”
There it was, the not-so-subtle dig.
“You heard the man, Frenchie. Pickup from the Loop.”
The day shift floor of the Chicago Central Detectives room gave way to the night shift. Flint stood in the corner and waited. Both for his partner to get back from the can and for the briefing to commence.
“Gwenn in?”
Flint nodded stoically. It was a reasonable question. Whilst a lot of detectives would fight tooth and nail for overtime hours, Gwenn had clocked easily the most absentee days of anyone in either shift at Central. His age and experience seeming to be the only reason this was not a greater issue. Captains would drag a younger detective over the coals, put the fear of god into them to bend them and make them change their ways early.
When they got to Gwenn’s age however, an age was senior even to that of Flint, such measures were generally no longer attempted. Whether it was because such men had been seen to earn their stripes already, or because grown men didn’t take kindly to swinging dicks, the general gist of the matter was the same:
You can’t teach old dogs new tricks.
Most of the others in the unit weren’t terribly concerned anyway. Gwenn was “one of the old boys”, his numbers suited Captain Miles Brennan-Kasser just fine as he’d closed off a number of murders earlier in the year - as they’d met their end crossing the path of notorious gangbangers, and half of the unit padded their paychecks with overtime hours scored off the back of Gwenn’s absences.
Except the guy who frequently got the shit-shifts because Captain Two-Dads wouldn’t give prime assignments to the one man car.
“Passed packets yet?” Gwenn asked, having just returned from the bathroom and referring to whether assignments had been doled out by the Captain yet.
“Nah." Flint replied. "Shake it off?”
“You know it.” Gwenn gave a lewd, wide grin. “Just like Taylor Swift.”
Detective Tammy Hall turned from the seat in front and gave a disgusted look.
“Let’s not act like we all haven’t seen or heard worse, Hall.”
Flint shrugged. “Hey, Tammy, least you know he has two layers of clean dry fabric between him and you...”
“Two? You’re not my Irish mother. Flint. If she couldn’t get me to wear underpants, God rest her soul, what chance you think you got?”
Flint bent down and gestured at his partner. “So however rough the next crime scene you go to Hall. Just remember I have to share a car with that guy. I’m terrified of letting the techs get too close to our car with the blacklight. At this point… I just don’t want to know anymore.”
“Alright knuckleheads, listen up!” Captain Brennan-Kasser broke up the smatter of chatter, and sought to press his weight on the briefing room… and the braces which held his pants up.
Flint zoned out throughout the Captain’s speech, only switching back on once he heard the distribution of assignments.
“…Hall and Stills, to the viaduct on this Slumcity Slasher beat. Flint and Gwenn, 610 and B & E out at North Center. Residents returned home and reported theft.”
“A burglary? C’mon, Hall. You want to swap? You really want to be interviewing bums all night?”
The Slumcity Slasher as he’d been dubbed last week, had the basic MO of attacking the native Chicago homeless community. Nobody really had a good look at him, and the fact he’d been targeting the city’s most underprivileged also played a role in why few real developments had come up.
“No swapping! Flint, don’t you have enough of a caseload as is?” the Captain called across the room.
Flint grumbled. He was loathe to see homicides go to less experienced detectives, whilst he and his partner got stuck with a two-bit burglary and break and enter on the rich side of town.
Gwenn had the address, and the pair went to the car.
*****
GENA’S DINER
“Crawley! Leave them boys alone to do their homework!” came the shrill order from the owner and operator of Gena’s Diner.
“If you would believe it, I was actually aiding them in their studies. A question pertaining to calculating compound interest, which was a matter that I was quite familiar with from…”
“I don’t care! Let them boys figure it out amongst themselves. They got the book there I can see it!”
Ricky and Ray Landers were sitting in a booth with scribbled on napkins bunched on the table and floor as they had tried to find the answers which matched what was listed as the solution in the teacher’s key in the back of the text book.
“Sorry Crawley, Momma gets a bit strict on our maths stuff at the moment.”
“Yeah, since you got a D last month!”
“I studied for geometry and teacher hit us with algebra. All them letters meaning numbers booshit...”
“Ray!”
“Sorry Momma. Thought we were going to be bisecting circles and putting equilateral triangles in ‘em.”
“Well, if I can’t be of any utility here, I might as well make my way to the domicile…”
“You’re leaving? You be careful, Crawley. I don’t like your skinny ass walking on out of here by yourself, you old coot. Been hearing all of this violence in the newspapers…”
“It’s quite alright, Gena, my good lady. Our mutual friend Jake Lockley has been good enough to provide a room and board for the time being, whilst this nonsense is taking place.”
“Let me get my coat. I’m driving you there. Boys, I’m locking up here in the meanwhile. Don’t you go letting anybody in, and just you make sure you do your homework while I’m out. I’ll be checking it when I get back.”
“Yes, Momma.”
“And just you watch out for your younger brother too, hear?”
“Yes, Momma.
Because it totally didn!t slip my mind and I was just being the generous GM that I am by alotting extra time to those who'd stumbled, without further ado... it's become that time once again.
The Weekly Post Check: The Sequel
@Hound55 - No Posts - Late
@Simple Unicycle - Posted 14 Days Ago - Late
You guys know the drill by now. You got until Friday to get something up, otherwise you're off the roster.
Given the game is now two weeks old, the Checks will be weekly once again every Monday starting next week. So as a wise Man of Byrd once said...
POOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOST!
Working on one as we speak.
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