We try and find out who they are and politely ask if there’s anything we can do to help out. I guess.
Idiot.
Jig Member
plagiarist
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- Last Seen: 9 yrs ago
- Joined: 12 yrs ago
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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
Idiot.
So here was the other one. He was skulking in the kitchen leaning against the sink and gazing out of the perpendicular window, drinking tea. Like a bastard. The woman had let on that there was another wannabe-housemate and here he was, drinking tea, surrounded by boxes of crockery and the other stuff breathers could make use of. Benji watched him through the open kitchen door, so far unnoticed. Maybe just the woman could see him. Keeping his movements soft, so as not to give himself away, he lifted the weapon above his head; a small paperback copy of The Famous Five, a remnant from the previous tenants. With one deft flick of the wrist, he flung the book, propelled mainly by spin, at his most esteemed guest.
To his surprise, it was a good throw. He didn’t quite get the headshot, but did manage to nail him in the neck. There was a splash of tea and a groan - and then they locked eyes. Was Benji now visible? Was that a thing?
“Watch it, pal. Just ‘cos you’re dead doesn’t mean you can take it out on me.”
Yep. It wasn’t just the woman. They could both see him. And this one at least knew what he was.
“And what’re you gonna do?” Benji was just making it up as he went along as he sauntered into the kitchen. Some of the crockery had already been unpacked, presumably for the purpose of drinking tea, and he took a swipe at some of the china with his right hand. To his credit, the guy did manage to block a few of them, but about half crashed to the floor with a piercing shatter, “You’re in my house. I want you out and I’m going to haunt the shit out of you until you and your girlfriend piss off out.”
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
“Oh, really? I think she might be into you,” Benji leaned back against the fridge and folded his arms, “Now get out.”
“That’s bestiality and I’m not into wolves,” Countered the breather in the same sing-song voice while Benji’s face twisted in rage, “And no way. I paid for this house.”
“If I hadn’t died, I’d still be paying for this house. Life sucks, then you die. Then it sucks, believe you me. Now get out.”
The breather did not get out. He finished the rest of his tea and gently placed the mug on the floor, presumably explicitly so that it could not get thrown off the table. All the while, Benji glared at him, visibly seething.
“Look,” he said, when he was finished, “From one dead guy to another: sometimes you need to put up with stuff you don’t like. Like housemates.”
“Yeah, well, as much as I like the idea of chilling with Casper and Jacob F. Marley, you’re not actually dead, are you, mate?” He picked up his trusty copy of Five on Treasure Island and gently slapped his new ‘housemate’ across one cheek and then, dodging the attempt to snatch it from him, the other, “Books don’t hit ghosts.”
“I’m more of a Lestat. There’s different kinds of dead.”
No. No no no no no no no. Under no circumstances. After a moment, Benji became aware that he was just staring.
“You done with the tantrum?”
This wasn’t happening.
“You call this a tantrum?” Benji had been trying not to lose his cool, but his voice was fluctuating in both pitch and volume as he headed toward the door and swiped at another cardboard box on the table, which he would later notice did not clatter like crockery, “You haven’t seen anything yet. And for the record, if I find out I’m living in fucking Twilight, I’m going to go the full Buffy, just with better tits and much. Worse. Fucking. LANGUAGE.”
He slammed the door so hard behind him that the wooden thing nearly bounced off the hinges, but, apparently, the doesn’t-breathe-r wasn’t done. He opened the door behind him and shouted, “Slam the door one more time and I’m calling an exorcist, you wankstain.”
There was only one thing to do. The path lay out before him as clear as a field in spring. Holding his fingers up in the unmistakable ‘v’ sign, he slowly walked up to the door, and slammed it in the apparently-not-breather’s face. His face softened into a filthy grin as he heard a few choice, strangled vowels from the other side.
Beautiful.
To his surprise, it was a good throw. He didn’t quite get the headshot, but did manage to nail him in the neck. There was a splash of tea and a groan - and then they locked eyes. Was Benji now visible? Was that a thing?
“Watch it, pal. Just ‘cos you’re dead doesn’t mean you can take it out on me.”
Yep. It wasn’t just the woman. They could both see him. And this one at least knew what he was.
“And what’re you gonna do?” Benji was just making it up as he went along as he sauntered into the kitchen. Some of the crockery had already been unpacked, presumably for the purpose of drinking tea, and he took a swipe at some of the china with his right hand. To his credit, the guy did manage to block a few of them, but about half crashed to the floor with a piercing shatter, “You’re in my house. I want you out and I’m going to haunt the shit out of you until you and your girlfriend piss off out.”
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
“Oh, really? I think she might be into you,” Benji leaned back against the fridge and folded his arms, “Now get out.”
“That’s bestiality and I’m not into wolves,” Countered the breather in the same sing-song voice while Benji’s face twisted in rage, “And no way. I paid for this house.”
“If I hadn’t died, I’d still be paying for this house. Life sucks, then you die. Then it sucks, believe you me. Now get out.”
The breather did not get out. He finished the rest of his tea and gently placed the mug on the floor, presumably explicitly so that it could not get thrown off the table. All the while, Benji glared at him, visibly seething.
“Look,” he said, when he was finished, “From one dead guy to another: sometimes you need to put up with stuff you don’t like. Like housemates.”
“Yeah, well, as much as I like the idea of chilling with Casper and Jacob F. Marley, you’re not actually dead, are you, mate?” He picked up his trusty copy of Five on Treasure Island and gently slapped his new ‘housemate’ across one cheek and then, dodging the attempt to snatch it from him, the other, “Books don’t hit ghosts.”
“I’m more of a Lestat. There’s different kinds of dead.”
No. No no no no no no no. Under no circumstances. After a moment, Benji became aware that he was just staring.
“You done with the tantrum?”
This wasn’t happening.
“You call this a tantrum?” Benji had been trying not to lose his cool, but his voice was fluctuating in both pitch and volume as he headed toward the door and swiped at another cardboard box on the table, which he would later notice did not clatter like crockery, “You haven’t seen anything yet. And for the record, if I find out I’m living in fucking Twilight, I’m going to go the full Buffy, just with better tits and much. Worse. Fucking. LANGUAGE.”
He slammed the door so hard behind him that the wooden thing nearly bounced off the hinges, but, apparently, the doesn’t-breathe-r wasn’t done. He opened the door behind him and shouted, “Slam the door one more time and I’m calling an exorcist, you wankstain.”
There was only one thing to do. The path lay out before him as clear as a field in spring. Holding his fingers up in the unmistakable ‘v’ sign, he slowly walked up to the door, and slammed it in the apparently-not-breather’s face. His face softened into a filthy grin as he heard a few choice, strangled vowels from the other side.
Beautiful.
or anime demigod vampire zombies who are going to school in a post apocalyptic survival setting.
Well hot damn you just gave away the ending.
... I can see why you joined the original game. :P
Honestly, if it makes it more fun for you, meta-game this to shit. For the sake of narrative, make it consistent, so don't just give Jonas a 'feeling' about what he has to do, but if you want to contrive coincidences to leak information you know somebody else has so he can use it, the Wolfs are up for that and you know where the others are. When I last sent somebody a Shenanigan, I explicitly told them I was happy for them to meta-game with that information to maybe influence or affect other characters.
Currently, my plan, by the way, is to drop the Lake-Bomb and then seize the reigns so the fallout gets eaten up by my narration. I would expect that the fallout would be another wide-open road of carnage and general inactivity, and, without me being around, the Wolfs kind of vanish into the scenery a little bit, as they have in this section. So Jig is going to briefly take the wheel.
Therefore, in PLBPS (Post Lake-Bomb Planning Scenario), I will be asking for immediate reactions to Lake-Bomb, and then delayed reactions - this will make more sense when you know wtf I'm talking about. This is basically so I can take the reigns and close the section myself, in my own impeccable, incongruently-present-tense fashion. I'll also try to use that section to retroactively insert the Wolfs into the action by maybe alluding to interactions with them throughout the day, so I'll also be asking for some of those. This might even be something you could brainstorm now. ♫
This is assuming, of course, that the parts of Lake-Bomb I can't control explode as I'm expecting them to, which, naturally, they won't. If they don't, I'm gonna have to spend some time, uhh, reworking the whole damn plot. And no, I'm not going to intervene to make sure this doesn't happen. Your game is to not get killed. Mine is to rack up as high a body-count as I can while making sure it still makes sense and if I cheat, then that's a bit rubbish.
Therefore, in PLBPS (Post Lake-Bomb Planning Scenario), I will be asking for immediate reactions to Lake-Bomb, and then delayed reactions - this will make more sense when you know wtf I'm talking about. This is basically so I can take the reigns and close the section myself, in my own impeccable, incongruently-present-tense fashion. I'll also try to use that section to retroactively insert the Wolfs into the action by maybe alluding to interactions with them throughout the day, so I'll also be asking for some of those. This might even be something you could brainstorm now. ♫
This is assuming, of course, that the parts of Lake-Bomb I can't control explode as I'm expecting them to, which, naturally, they won't. If they don't, I'm gonna have to spend some time, uhh, reworking the whole damn plot. And no, I'm not going to intervene to make sure this doesn't happen. Your game is to not get killed. Mine is to rack up as high a body-count as I can while making sure it still makes sense and if I cheat, then that's a bit rubbish.
Cheers for the loves. It'll probably be fine. I'm quite intense at the minute and so apparently a little melodramatic in a really weird, life-embracing sort of a way. Not sure.
As you all know, I'm shortly moving to Amsterdam and what with Jig's Remarkably Astounding Partner, Jig's Hitherto Unmentioned Friends and Family and the general shenaniganry of the move, my time is still questionable. Standard rules apply; I'll probably be around, but, if I'm not, don't panic, and, if you need me, bing me. Most of you have a way of getting in touch with me, so don't be bashful. The worst I'll say is 'can't, too busy'.
In other news, it'd be really nice to be done with this section before I head off.
And for those of you not in the know, Lake-Bomb is go go go.
As you all know, I'm shortly moving to Amsterdam and what with Jig's Remarkably Astounding Partner, Jig's Hitherto Unmentioned Friends and Family and the general shenaniganry of the move, my time is still questionable. Standard rules apply; I'll probably be around, but, if I'm not, don't panic, and, if you need me, bing me. Most of you have a way of getting in touch with me, so don't be bashful. The worst I'll say is 'can't, too busy'.
In other news, it'd be really nice to be done with this section before I head off.
And for those of you not in the know, Lake-Bomb is go go go.
Heads-up: it shouldn't mean anything long-term for this, but I've just embraced a crisis of currently unknown proportions so it could be anything from a couple of days to a week of no-show for me. None of it's health-stuff or anything like that, but suddenly the support I'm getting for my degree is threatening to pull itself out from under me and I really need to look at it ASAFP. Will let you know more when I have more.
It's all about Mrs. Overall.
For anybody wondering about my personal accent, it's the same as Mrs. Overall but about one hundred times less pronounced.
For anybody wondering about my personal accent, it's the same as Mrs. Overall but about one hundred times less pronounced.
Acorn Antiques: the best worst drama.
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