corneredbliss said But don't worry, my plans for Felix are still unclear, even to me.
I'm sure whatever you come up with, it will be extensive, exquisitely detailed and frankly graphic.
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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
I'm sure whatever you come up with, it will be extensive, exquisitely detailed and frankly graphic.
In
Let's B!tch. I feel it's a healthy release for our roleplay annoyances 2.0
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12 yrs ago
Forum: Roleplaying Discussion
Kestrel said
Which completely ignores the part where there's plenty of people who reinvent their characters just to be a part of your RP.
No it doesn't. I just don't really consider a reinvented character to be a 'recycled' character, and more building a character from scratch using the same thematic root. Reusing themes, as you later go on to discuss in a later post, is perfectly fine by me. However, the manifestation of those themes is going to be different from RP to RP, depending on the content of those settings.
Kestrel said Liking a character and a setting aren't mutually exclusive either, and pre-made characters can easily add to your RP because that has more to do with the character's actions than whether a previous incarnation existed before your interest check went up or not.
I'm not saying they can't necessarily add (though a badly-transposed character wouldn't); I just find the practice, as Prince has said, tends to bring a lot of inappropriate baggage with it that I'd rather avoid.
Kestrel said Hell, even if someone goes digging through RP's just to find a game where their character can fit, that doesn't automatically their only opinion on your setting is "That'll do." Especially not if they made big changes to your character. Maybe be it's more like "Your world looks so interesting, I want to add to it by inserting something I love and am proud of."
That is admittedly a nice way of looking at it. Unfortunately, that's just rarely the vibe I get when I read gleefully talking about "How they can use <insert name> for this."
When I see people doing this, I always get the impression that they're harking back to a dead RP when they had fun, which, at the 'accepting characters' stage, doesn't really fill a GM with confidence that the player's interest in the RP is 'legitimate', rather than an opportunity to briefly relive their previous experience.
Kestrel said And lastly; just like there's only so many archetypes in characters, the same goes for settings and worlds.You're probably not all that different.
Yep, that's probably true, but I don't know what you're getting at.
corneredbliss said
I'll be sure to dangle him in front of you in some way or another, bwahahaha!
If he gets hanged, I'm storming out, and taking Benji and Ginger with me. Just sayin' ;)
Benji: making out like he's a Noel Coward character for hot rich girls since 2014. Glad you enjoyed it.
Felix: making highly-detailed appearances throughout the RP from start to finish, I expect.
@Ginger - back me up.
Felix: making highly-detailed appearances throughout the RP from start to finish, I expect.
@Ginger - back me up.
Benji's pulled. Sort of.
@Bliss: if there's anything I got wrong, lemme know and I'll fix it.
@Bliss: if there's anything I got wrong, lemme know and I'll fix it.
What was it they said? Something about desperate times and appropriately desperate measures.
Benji hoped that outside the mansion there might be somewhere discrete to leave the flute of sparkling wine. It wasn't right to waste alcohol, but this was undrinkable. As it was, there certainly wasn't anywhere. A doorman lurked outside - he politely nodded at Benji as he passed. Out of nowhere, he spouted something about wanting to go "for a walk" before he realised what he was saying; and so it was, he was forced by the inevitability of social convention, to descend the great stone staircase before the mansion and stagger into the grounds, wine glass in one hand, unlit cigarette in the other.
Swedish sunset took place early. The darkness was endless. Mist hovered over the short, well-kept grass like a cheap prop in a B-movie, and chilled him to the bone as it enveloped him. He didn't go too far; he'd seen too many of those same B-movies to know that nothing good came of it. Instead, he kept to the perimeter of the mansion's nightly illuminations, just skulking on the far side of the light-shadow divide where he couldn't be seen. Hopefully the glass wouldn't get caught in some unwitting groundsman's lawnmower.
He couldn't help but chuckle. What world was he in, where people simply 'had groundsmen'? The funniest part was that he'd accepted it. Benji couldn't help but hear some of his hippie-est, Marxist-iest friends tutting at the sheer extravagance of the whole thing, let alone the carbon footprint, and, of course, how one didn't simply waste alcohol.
He was just about to throw the damn glass over his shoulder, wine and all, when his eyes caught a glimpse of something. There was a light: nothing to do with the mansion, a tiny red pinprick glinting in the darkness. It quivered unsteadily amid the gloom, vaguely muffled by the mist.
It was heading his way. He took a gulp of the wine.
Benji wasn't given to superstition. He didn't believe in ghosts or vampires or star-signs, monsters under the bed. Cold hairs, newly trimmed and shorter than they'd been in year, rippled with chill behind his ears. Things bumped in the night, he reminded himself, sure, but they were only ever falling books or staggering drunks, and, as the patent leather of his offensively expensive shoes squeaked ever-so-lightly on the wet grass away from the red light, he reminded himself how werewolves were an un-Swedish fiction and how Voldemort was just a children's character and oh. Nathalie Woll emerged from the mist, just barely lit by the overspill of light from the mansion and the glowing tip of the cigarette hanging out of her mouth.
He sipped the wine again and shifted himself into the light, too.
"Hey, you're Nathalie, right? I just nipped out for a cheeky smoke, too," he gestured to the packet of cigarettes in his hand, as though that explained his lurking in the grounds. Her eyes glimmered violent blue in the half-light, and he made out her fur coat over a dark gown, "Thanks for, you know, all this."
"No need to thank me. Need a light?" She lit his cigarette. Instinctively, the two huddled around the gentle flame to prevent the wind from killing it. The tip of his fag kindled and wilted gently as he puffed on it to make sure it had taken while she crossed her arms, one perking up to keep her own from dropping from between her lips. The balance was impeccable. She was clearly an expert.
"Aah, sound," he saluted her with his free hand and took a tremendous puff on it. The two of them contributed magnificently to the sum total of mist draped across the grounds, "Cancer be damned, eh?"
"Exactly," she grinned smugly, again, and sidled closer to him. Benji was reminded of emperor penguins huddling in the Arctic. It certainly wasn't warm, "It's too damn cold here, anyway."
"Yeah, I thought England was cold. You speak brilliant English by the way."
She flicked ash onto the ground. Benji followed suit, gratefully - the ash accumulating at the end of his cigarette was looking rather precarious and he'd had no idea what to do with it, "I watch a lot of TV, I suppose. What, did you think we would invite guests and not know how to communicate with them?"
Honestly? Benji dispelled the stream of thought before it was vocalised, rudely, "I suppose not. It sounds stupid, but I'm kind of surprised that you have tellies here. It feel like I've just walked into eighteen-hundred-something."
She laughed vigorously, and he could just make out her cocked eyebrows in the half-light, "Oh, come on. I hope I don't come off as that old."
Nathalie Woll leaned forward. Benji's eyes, containing the Y Chromosome as they did, slipped downwards. He tried not to look. She leaned further, and her breasts, caught by the natural folds of her dress, were pressed together ever more tightly. Oh.
Oh.
"Nononononono. I just mean all this. It's spectacular," he said, as though 'spectacular' was about the standard he was accustomed to and nothing to marvel over.
"Isn't it?" Nathalie replied and moved a little closer, dropping the cigarette on the grass and grinding it into the ground with the sole of her shoe. When she looked up, she found Benji's cigarette packet thrust under her nose, "Trying to get your hostess killed quicker, hmm?"
She took the cigarette nonetheless, smacked her lips, and placed it delicately between her lips, just flashing her teeth as she did so. She placed the lighter in his hands and turned to face him, leaning forward again. This time, Benji managed to keep himself staring at her frosty blue eyes, and flicked the lighter. The tiny tongue of flame died immediately. She came in closer, and he tried again. Success: the little spark smouldered just before her. He sipped the wine again, and didn't gag. Fancy people sipped wine. That's why they were serving it inside.
"Can't live forever," he shrugged. His weight shifted onto one leg, with one leg slightly out and he'd later realise with a cringe that the hand furthest from Nathalie was actually on that hip. Trying to sound only passingly interested, he changed the subject, "So, you know, what do you actually do?"
"I mostly just take care of Liam, handle affairs within the Manor and staff. Not as exciting as what David does, but I can always entertain myself."
More smoke. She blinked expectantly.
"And here's me thinking it was all bathing in lavender and rose petals."
"Maybe," she tweaked part of her dark, messy updo, and looked away, "I'll have you join me one of those times."
"Aaaahh," said Benji, as though the offer was a mates' trip to the cinema or a casual camping trip. For some reason, he was back-pedalling, "But we're both so busy with all this. What happens now, anyway? With this ball?"
"We certainly are," there was a sudden briskness, though her eyes flashed no less violently, "It's nearly eight: doors will be opening soon. That means I need to get back."
She took the final drag of her second cigarette as Benji drew close to the tail end of his first, and stubbed it, too, on the ground, this time so Benji couldn't see anything other than her body flex with the twisting motion of her foot. He hadn't noticed the cigarette for some minutes anyway.
"And another smoking buddy scatters to the wind," he wasn't sure if this actually really meant anything, but it sounded suitably Byronic. That was the sort of thing Byron would probably say anyway.
She pouted and gave him a European non-kiss on the cheek. A little taller than her, even in heels, she had to stand on tip-toes (of just one foot) and press her body against his to reach. He could feel her diaphragm pulse, her chest raise. With that, she turned on her heel and disappeared into the darkness back toward to the Manor.
"I'll hold you to that bath," he muttered to himself, kicking himself. To his horror, she turned around and winked.
He scuffled his shoes in the wet grass. At least she winked. A sudden fthht stirred him. He looked from the darkness where Nathalie's black dress had disappeared to his hand where the cigarette had burned out completely and, apparently, lightly singed his finger before going out. It stung a little.
The cold started to bite. He hadn't noticed it with Nathalie there - she'd distracted him somewhat. But it was certainly chilly now, and he longed to head back into the Manor, but it was too soon to follow. He had to wait at least five minutes. Disgruntled, he necked the last splash of wine (this time retching quietly) and threw the glass over his shoulder. He didn't see it land, but heard its muffled impact a few metres behind him.
At least she winked.
Benji hoped that outside the mansion there might be somewhere discrete to leave the flute of sparkling wine. It wasn't right to waste alcohol, but this was undrinkable. As it was, there certainly wasn't anywhere. A doorman lurked outside - he politely nodded at Benji as he passed. Out of nowhere, he spouted something about wanting to go "for a walk" before he realised what he was saying; and so it was, he was forced by the inevitability of social convention, to descend the great stone staircase before the mansion and stagger into the grounds, wine glass in one hand, unlit cigarette in the other.
Swedish sunset took place early. The darkness was endless. Mist hovered over the short, well-kept grass like a cheap prop in a B-movie, and chilled him to the bone as it enveloped him. He didn't go too far; he'd seen too many of those same B-movies to know that nothing good came of it. Instead, he kept to the perimeter of the mansion's nightly illuminations, just skulking on the far side of the light-shadow divide where he couldn't be seen. Hopefully the glass wouldn't get caught in some unwitting groundsman's lawnmower.
He couldn't help but chuckle. What world was he in, where people simply 'had groundsmen'? The funniest part was that he'd accepted it. Benji couldn't help but hear some of his hippie-est, Marxist-iest friends tutting at the sheer extravagance of the whole thing, let alone the carbon footprint, and, of course, how one didn't simply waste alcohol.
He was just about to throw the damn glass over his shoulder, wine and all, when his eyes caught a glimpse of something. There was a light: nothing to do with the mansion, a tiny red pinprick glinting in the darkness. It quivered unsteadily amid the gloom, vaguely muffled by the mist.
It was heading his way. He took a gulp of the wine.
Benji wasn't given to superstition. He didn't believe in ghosts or vampires or star-signs, monsters under the bed. Cold hairs, newly trimmed and shorter than they'd been in year, rippled with chill behind his ears. Things bumped in the night, he reminded himself, sure, but they were only ever falling books or staggering drunks, and, as the patent leather of his offensively expensive shoes squeaked ever-so-lightly on the wet grass away from the red light, he reminded himself how werewolves were an un-Swedish fiction and how Voldemort was just a children's character and oh. Nathalie Woll emerged from the mist, just barely lit by the overspill of light from the mansion and the glowing tip of the cigarette hanging out of her mouth.
He sipped the wine again and shifted himself into the light, too.
"Hey, you're Nathalie, right? I just nipped out for a cheeky smoke, too," he gestured to the packet of cigarettes in his hand, as though that explained his lurking in the grounds. Her eyes glimmered violent blue in the half-light, and he made out her fur coat over a dark gown, "Thanks for, you know, all this."
"No need to thank me. Need a light?" She lit his cigarette. Instinctively, the two huddled around the gentle flame to prevent the wind from killing it. The tip of his fag kindled and wilted gently as he puffed on it to make sure it had taken while she crossed her arms, one perking up to keep her own from dropping from between her lips. The balance was impeccable. She was clearly an expert.
"Aah, sound," he saluted her with his free hand and took a tremendous puff on it. The two of them contributed magnificently to the sum total of mist draped across the grounds, "Cancer be damned, eh?"
"Exactly," she grinned smugly, again, and sidled closer to him. Benji was reminded of emperor penguins huddling in the Arctic. It certainly wasn't warm, "It's too damn cold here, anyway."
"Yeah, I thought England was cold. You speak brilliant English by the way."
She flicked ash onto the ground. Benji followed suit, gratefully - the ash accumulating at the end of his cigarette was looking rather precarious and he'd had no idea what to do with it, "I watch a lot of TV, I suppose. What, did you think we would invite guests and not know how to communicate with them?"
Honestly? Benji dispelled the stream of thought before it was vocalised, rudely, "I suppose not. It sounds stupid, but I'm kind of surprised that you have tellies here. It feel like I've just walked into eighteen-hundred-something."
She laughed vigorously, and he could just make out her cocked eyebrows in the half-light, "Oh, come on. I hope I don't come off as that old."
Nathalie Woll leaned forward. Benji's eyes, containing the Y Chromosome as they did, slipped downwards. He tried not to look. She leaned further, and her breasts, caught by the natural folds of her dress, were pressed together ever more tightly. Oh.
Oh.
"Nononononono. I just mean all this. It's spectacular," he said, as though 'spectacular' was about the standard he was accustomed to and nothing to marvel over.
"Isn't it?" Nathalie replied and moved a little closer, dropping the cigarette on the grass and grinding it into the ground with the sole of her shoe. When she looked up, she found Benji's cigarette packet thrust under her nose, "Trying to get your hostess killed quicker, hmm?"
She took the cigarette nonetheless, smacked her lips, and placed it delicately between her lips, just flashing her teeth as she did so. She placed the lighter in his hands and turned to face him, leaning forward again. This time, Benji managed to keep himself staring at her frosty blue eyes, and flicked the lighter. The tiny tongue of flame died immediately. She came in closer, and he tried again. Success: the little spark smouldered just before her. He sipped the wine again, and didn't gag. Fancy people sipped wine. That's why they were serving it inside.
"Can't live forever," he shrugged. His weight shifted onto one leg, with one leg slightly out and he'd later realise with a cringe that the hand furthest from Nathalie was actually on that hip. Trying to sound only passingly interested, he changed the subject, "So, you know, what do you actually do?"
"I mostly just take care of Liam, handle affairs within the Manor and staff. Not as exciting as what David does, but I can always entertain myself."
More smoke. She blinked expectantly.
"And here's me thinking it was all bathing in lavender and rose petals."
"Maybe," she tweaked part of her dark, messy updo, and looked away, "I'll have you join me one of those times."
"Aaaahh," said Benji, as though the offer was a mates' trip to the cinema or a casual camping trip. For some reason, he was back-pedalling, "But we're both so busy with all this. What happens now, anyway? With this ball?"
"We certainly are," there was a sudden briskness, though her eyes flashed no less violently, "It's nearly eight: doors will be opening soon. That means I need to get back."
She took the final drag of her second cigarette as Benji drew close to the tail end of his first, and stubbed it, too, on the ground, this time so Benji couldn't see anything other than her body flex with the twisting motion of her foot. He hadn't noticed the cigarette for some minutes anyway.
"And another smoking buddy scatters to the wind," he wasn't sure if this actually really meant anything, but it sounded suitably Byronic. That was the sort of thing Byron would probably say anyway.
She pouted and gave him a European non-kiss on the cheek. A little taller than her, even in heels, she had to stand on tip-toes (of just one foot) and press her body against his to reach. He could feel her diaphragm pulse, her chest raise. With that, she turned on her heel and disappeared into the darkness back toward to the Manor.
"I'll hold you to that bath," he muttered to himself, kicking himself. To his horror, she turned around and winked.
He scuffled his shoes in the wet grass. At least she winked. A sudden fthht stirred him. He looked from the darkness where Nathalie's black dress had disappeared to his hand where the cigarette had burned out completely and, apparently, lightly singed his finger before going out. It stung a little.
The cold started to bite. He hadn't noticed it with Nathalie there - she'd distracted him somewhat. But it was certainly chilly now, and he longed to head back into the Manor, but it was too soon to follow. He had to wait at least five minutes. Disgruntled, he necked the last splash of wine (this time retching quietly) and threw the glass over his shoulder. He didn't see it land, but heard its muffled impact a few metres behind him.
At least she winked.
My internet is titting about, so it's a combination of Y u do this and Fine I'll repost OH MY GOD THEY'RE BREEDING.
Yeah, seriously register with whatever medical authority you have, though. Even if you don't get fresher's flu, the sooner you do it, the sooner you'll get seen if you do need them. I had a, uh, thing (it wasn't pretty) that cleared off of its own accord before I even got seen.
Yeah, seriously register with whatever medical authority you have, though. Even if you don't get fresher's flu, the sooner you do it, the sooner you'll get seen if you do need them. I had a, uh, thing (it wasn't pretty) that cleared off of its own accord before I even got seen.
Well, that went a bit wrong. I feel a bit like I've shat myself in public.
In
Let's B!tch. I feel it's a healthy release for our roleplay annoyances 2.0
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12 yrs ago
Forum: Roleplaying Discussion
It's not as though every character is original anyway. There's only so many character archetypes that exist and everything else is a variation thereupon. There might be some more archetypes to be born... but I doubt they'll be born here.
It's just that I perceive the practice as lazy and a bit rude, I guess.
It's just that I perceive the practice as lazy and a bit rude, I guess.
Ha, that's terrific. More horror-movie than murder mystery but it sets the tone nicely.
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