Paris ne me dit pas grande chose. J'ai été a Paris quand aux vacances, mais je n'ai pas l'aimé. Le Partenaire Très Patient de Jig veut y aller, mais j'essaye de lui dire, que ce n'est pas si super.
I haven't spoken French for two years. Forgive me.
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- Jig 12 yrs ago
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Bio
Section #1: Jig Being Right
It has come to my attention, that I am primarily right and drunk.
Jig is completely right.
Jig is right.
[11.01.50] Gowi:
Jig is right. Feel free to send that along.
[Jig is] 100% correct.
Jig was right 8 months ago, and is still right.
I love you, Jig. It's because you're Always Right™.
Once again, Jig is absolutely right about this.
Where is Jig when I need to vent about politics?Drunk.
The mighty Jig is of course right.
Section #2: Jig's RP's
I'm not post-dating RP's I've been in that died out of nowhere and I've basically forgotten about, so here are my present ones.
Current:
Previous:
Wolf Manor (GM)
Wink Murder (GM)
Project Rehab (Player)
The Kidnapping (Player)
Wink murder: Who Killed Mr. Jig? (GM)
Finite Incantatem (Co-GM)
New Dawn Rising (Player)
Most Recent Posts
Birmingham's a complete dump so no, it wouldn't be expensive to live there (I'm sure that it has its posh areas too).
Notorious said
I thought it was informally known as London University? So kind of how over here we have the "University of Michigan" but everyone just calls it Michigan University cuz' you know... humans be lazy ;)And my mistake. I knew there were different schools for it. But I wasn't sure which one James would be studying at so I just referred to it all as London University.In terms of which part of London, James lives in Westminster, but I haven't really decided yet on where he was raised. Is London kind of like New York City where you have the Brooklyn Accent, Bronx, Manhattan, etc?Also West Country... so like Lancashire, Liverpool, Wales? Forgive me, I'm not familiar with all the regions. Which constitute West country?
Nah, I go to a University of London uni, but I say which one I go to. I've never said "I go to University of London". It's Kings College London (King's), University College London (UCL), or London School of Economics (LSE) but there are others that are London-based, just not officially University of London. James probably goes to one of he first two as a medic, and unless his parents are MEGA-LOADED, it's not likely he lives in Westminster. Source: I pretty much can't afford to live in London and my parents give me a lot of support. Westminster is dead central and has the expense that goes with it.
London's huge and has lots of accents, yeah, but I don't know them well. I don't know them super-well, but there's generic posh-sounding, cockney, and saaaff landan (South London). You're probably best with 'generic posh' xD
The West Country is, yeah, no, not the places you mentioned :P. Bristol, Exeter, Devon, Cornwall. The Southwest of the country, basically.
The Sims4 character creator is a free download demo atm. It's not super-realistic, but on the whole, if you want to build a character, that's probably the best way of creating a made-to-measure character that looks realistic without actually being able to art.
Notorious said
Oops sorry Jig, I must have! James is born and raised in London. A bit stereotypical, I'm afraid. Nothing too crazy like cockney, Scotttish, Lancashire, Dorset, etc. Where is Benji from in the UK?
Which part of London? xD Doesn't matter really.
For the record, there is no 'London University' btw. There's a University of London, with several VERY distinct 'colleges' that are completely separate universities in their own right. I go to one of them and I don't even know what allegedly ties us all together. ;)
Benji's from the West Country. It's a rural area with all the stereotypes that kinda go with that and has the quintessential British 'farmer' accent - it makes people sound a bit simple or inbred, but there isn't really a stereotype that they actually are stupid.
It looks like we'll be beginning without that extra CS. Unfortunately, I'm now spending the weekend with Jig's Very Neglected Partner so I would anticipate the IC on Sunday.
@Biggie: I think you missed when I asked before, but whereabouts in the UK is James from? It's quite important because it will affect how he and Benji interact. If you don't feel you know enough about the UK to make the call, I can help you work somewhere out based on how you want him to be perceived. :)
Ginger's post hasn't affected mine so don't worry about that. I won't really be super-free until Sunday - I'm currently not watching the television with Jig's Very Patient Partner because Jig's Very Patient Partner has put on a really not very interesting pile of nothing on.
It's actually upstairs where he tried to put it on. ;)
A group's only as good as its GM.
AuntFlavia said Yes! Something to read, thank goodness. I believe my brain is leaking from my skull in an attempt to escape the boredom. I want to jump at the chance to collab, since Benji and Rikki are the least fancy people there, but I`m not 100% sure I`ll be available after work, and Ginger`s already making her post.
Ginger's post hasn't affected mine so don't worry about that. I won't really be super-free until Sunday - I'm currently not watching the television with Jig's Very Patient Partner because Jig's Very Patient Partner has put on a really not very interesting pile of nothing on.
MyCatGinger said I wonder if anyone will find the bowtie that lay so innocently against a far wall in the ballroom...
It's actually upstairs where he tried to put it on. ;)
corneredbliss said You're all great writers and it is my pleasure to get to mess with you, heh.
A group's only as good as its GM.
Lordy, my posts seem far shorter than everybody else's, but it's definitely not size that matters, right?
Anyhoo, you'll notice the ______ in my post. Insert your character's name there if you fancy a collab post and you want to rescue your character from a roomful of gorgeous Swedes.
Anyhoo, you'll notice the ______ in my post. Insert your character's name there if you fancy a collab post and you want to rescue your character from a roomful of gorgeous Swedes.
Benji was always a slow-starter from waking up. He gently spluttered to life with a very quiet "Blugh?" as the others climbed out of the limousine. Apparently, they had arrived. The chauffeur said something about their belongings as they entered crisp Swedish evening air, but Benji was still too groggy to really listen. How much had he had? Not enough, anyway. He allowed himself to just drift along with the others, imitating their reactions. They weren't concerned, so he didn't bother worrying either. As they headed up the path, he had begun to wake up a little bit. His footsteps were very light and gentle on the gravel; he had, when getting dressed, literally counted the precise monetary value of his suit, shoes and tie, and decided that, simply stood there, he qualified as 'expensive'. Scuffing new shoes or treading on the hem of his own trousers would be a shame. Any damage was almost directly financially measurable.
He drifted along in his own little world. And then he saw the mansion. Something about it snapped him out of his bleariness. He wondered how many times his flat would fit into it. More times than wouldn't be upsetting, anyway, "Jesus," he muttered to himself and became aware of his clammy mouth - and cheek - and chin. Apparently he had managed to dribble over his own face while asleep. Suddenly he woke up very quickly indeed, and deftly removed it, cunningly disguising the motion as a yawn. Of course, he then had nothing to do but stand there with a cold, drool-covered hand in front of an almost comically grand mansion. As David, the lord of the manor, threatened to shake their hands, he quickly wiped it on the inside of his brand new suit pocket. You could take the man out of the West Country ... but you, well, couldn't stop them waiving all responsibility for his behaviour.
His luggage had arrived safely inside his room. The filthy rucksack had been neatly placed just by the door. In an attempt to prevent the mysterious stains and mud from despoiling the room, it had been thoughtfully placed on a small pile of old newspapers. Benji couldn't help but grin. Immediately, he began to ferret within it for his belongings in general, but, in particular, a small box that jingled as he heaved it out.
Something had been wrong that whole day; the normal selection of metal that protruded from his ears had been missing. The airport metal detectors had made him nervous, and so he had vanquished all metal from his person before even closing his front door; only a small, plastic black stretcher had survived the purge, and he had been tugging at it all day. He expertly fiddled the various spikes and coils from the box back into each ear, not even bothering to seek out a mirror to aid him. The eyebrow spike perhaps wouldn't suitable for the ball, though. It remained in the box - for now.
He looked out at the lounge, actually drinking it in. It was roomy and minimalist, with a variety of low-to-the-ground seats all arranged around a coffee-table whose legs could not have been more than half-a-foot tall. The bedroom, he presumed, was on the other side of a door-frame with nothing but a magnificently hideous bead curtain comprising primarily oranges and greens. Clearly they somehow knew his tastes; he was the only person he knew that had a dismantled office chair in his lounge, and they had replicated it admirably. He had long since gotten over the Big Brother vibe he was getting. They had already had him a passport printed - why shouldn't they know what furniture he liked?
The only thing not in keeping was the gargantuan sofa in the corner, as though it was pretending not to be there. It was a difficult thing to hide, and Benji suspected its inclusion in the room was simply an inability to fit such a monster through the door-frame. After all; they had gone to the effort of, presumably, removing the bedroom door for him. Still, even though he wouldn't have chosen the grand, open, leather show-piece, he decided to make the most of it. Glancing furtively around, as though he might for some reason be being watched, he took a running leap at the thing, twisting in the air, splaying his arms and collapsed into the thing. The effect was a little ruined by his jacket; he hadn't removed the stitching from the vents, and he had forgotten to unbutton it. Instead of gaping open dramatically, it inverse-sagged upwards and bulged at his breast. The sofa was good, though.
The entrance hall was buzzing with life. Quite where the life had come from, he had no real concept. In his head, they were in the back and beyond of nowhere with no civilisation around for miles, though, he supposed, simply imagining the geography of the area was not a substitute for knowing it. Had he been awake in the journey, he might have known. He sheepishly joined the guests, slipping from the spiral staircase into the throng as discretely as possible; the ball was apparently for the guest party, and he was a member thereof. Making a scene in front of a herd of Swedish strangers, well-dressed though they may be, was not what he needed, though the butterflies in his stomach were telling him a scene might be made whether he wanted it or not.
At least he looked the part. He had brought a dinner suit with him, and there wasn't an awful lot that could go wrong with it; all black, shiny shoes - the works. Optimistically, he'd bought a proper bow tie, but had fiddled with the thing for all of thirty seconds before throwing it at a wall and using his back-up clip-on one instead. As he thanked the waiter for a flute of something sparkling and almost certainly not remotely alcoholic enough, he spotted Rikki across the room, and frantically made a beeline for them, wriggling suits and gowns out of the way. A familiar face was always good, even if it had been familiar for all of about two hours.
He drifted along in his own little world. And then he saw the mansion. Something about it snapped him out of his bleariness. He wondered how many times his flat would fit into it. More times than wouldn't be upsetting, anyway, "Jesus," he muttered to himself and became aware of his clammy mouth - and cheek - and chin. Apparently he had managed to dribble over his own face while asleep. Suddenly he woke up very quickly indeed, and deftly removed it, cunningly disguising the motion as a yawn. Of course, he then had nothing to do but stand there with a cold, drool-covered hand in front of an almost comically grand mansion. As David, the lord of the manor, threatened to shake their hands, he quickly wiped it on the inside of his brand new suit pocket. You could take the man out of the West Country ... but you, well, couldn't stop them waiving all responsibility for his behaviour.
His luggage had arrived safely inside his room. The filthy rucksack had been neatly placed just by the door. In an attempt to prevent the mysterious stains and mud from despoiling the room, it had been thoughtfully placed on a small pile of old newspapers. Benji couldn't help but grin. Immediately, he began to ferret within it for his belongings in general, but, in particular, a small box that jingled as he heaved it out.
Something had been wrong that whole day; the normal selection of metal that protruded from his ears had been missing. The airport metal detectors had made him nervous, and so he had vanquished all metal from his person before even closing his front door; only a small, plastic black stretcher had survived the purge, and he had been tugging at it all day. He expertly fiddled the various spikes and coils from the box back into each ear, not even bothering to seek out a mirror to aid him. The eyebrow spike perhaps wouldn't suitable for the ball, though. It remained in the box - for now.
He looked out at the lounge, actually drinking it in. It was roomy and minimalist, with a variety of low-to-the-ground seats all arranged around a coffee-table whose legs could not have been more than half-a-foot tall. The bedroom, he presumed, was on the other side of a door-frame with nothing but a magnificently hideous bead curtain comprising primarily oranges and greens. Clearly they somehow knew his tastes; he was the only person he knew that had a dismantled office chair in his lounge, and they had replicated it admirably. He had long since gotten over the Big Brother vibe he was getting. They had already had him a passport printed - why shouldn't they know what furniture he liked?
The only thing not in keeping was the gargantuan sofa in the corner, as though it was pretending not to be there. It was a difficult thing to hide, and Benji suspected its inclusion in the room was simply an inability to fit such a monster through the door-frame. After all; they had gone to the effort of, presumably, removing the bedroom door for him. Still, even though he wouldn't have chosen the grand, open, leather show-piece, he decided to make the most of it. Glancing furtively around, as though he might for some reason be being watched, he took a running leap at the thing, twisting in the air, splaying his arms and collapsed into the thing. The effect was a little ruined by his jacket; he hadn't removed the stitching from the vents, and he had forgotten to unbutton it. Instead of gaping open dramatically, it inverse-sagged upwards and bulged at his breast. The sofa was good, though.
The entrance hall was buzzing with life. Quite where the life had come from, he had no real concept. In his head, they were in the back and beyond of nowhere with no civilisation around for miles, though, he supposed, simply imagining the geography of the area was not a substitute for knowing it. Had he been awake in the journey, he might have known. He sheepishly joined the guests, slipping from the spiral staircase into the throng as discretely as possible; the ball was apparently for the guest party, and he was a member thereof. Making a scene in front of a herd of Swedish strangers, well-dressed though they may be, was not what he needed, though the butterflies in his stomach were telling him a scene might be made whether he wanted it or not.
At least he looked the part. He had brought a dinner suit with him, and there wasn't an awful lot that could go wrong with it; all black, shiny shoes - the works. Optimistically, he'd bought a proper bow tie, but had fiddled with the thing for all of thirty seconds before throwing it at a wall and using his back-up clip-on one instead. As he thanked the waiter for a flute of something sparkling and almost certainly not remotely alcoholic enough, he spotted Rikki across the room, and frantically made a beeline for them, wriggling suits and gowns out of the way. A familiar face was always good, even if it had been familiar for all of about two hours.
Glad to be of service.
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