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1 mo ago
Current There are distinct days this... Year?
2 likes
2 mos ago
Despite having more free time now than I've had in years, I can't find myself to be motivated to do anything.
8 likes
6 mos ago
I just looked at an RP that looked really interesting, took a step back and thought to myself 'do I have the time on top of my other obligations?' then said 'no' to myself. Am I an adult now?
15 likes
11 mos ago
Hey Bitches. Guess who's the Birthday Girl today?
14 likes
1 yr ago
Roleplay man, roleplay man, does whatever a roleplay can. Does he write? Not at all. He brings plots to a stall, look out... He’s a fucking ghost.
18 likes

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In a room left alone thanks to terror and paranoia, in an uncomfortable and cramped part of the ship, the only non-human member of the crew lay, her feet up above her head, and a lho stick in her mouth. She would reach across her dirty and worn metal desk to take her electric lighter out of its charging port, place it to her lip, and then squeeze down the button that would cause a tiny superhead jet of flame to arc out, igniting the end of the white stick in an instant.

Inhaling deeply, she would turn, her stomach letting out a grumble. As a mercenary, her single and only duty aboard the ship was to stride through the flames of kavaal, and until time came that she needed to risk her life, it was, she had had made clear to her, not only expected, but fully preferred that she did as little as possible and especially didn't show herself to the rest of the crew. Stil, she was a warrior of the fire caste, and until such a day as these useless gue'las delivered her food to her door, she would need to venture out to mess.

Her hooves clopped against the metal floor of her room as she stepped outside. Leaking smoke as she walked, she followed the protocol she usually did- gaze in front of her, don't look to the left or right, don't meet the gazes of the imbeciles that had hired her. Reaching the mess hall, she would get her slop quickly and sequester herself in the corner, eating it slowly. She wanted to do something. Too long aboard this ship, hidden in her room. She needed a shakeup, something to make her decision to abandon her peoples worth more than just her freedom.
The man turned to look at Taras as the bullets rattled from his pistol, but rather than them piercing his form and dropping him to the ground, another stand had gracefully moved in front of him. In synch with her stand, the dancer performed a perfect pirouette, the bullets having been caught up and spun around its form. Swirling her hands about, the stand, a beautiful thing of platinum and silvers, covered in necklaces that spun about with every turn and motion would swish its hands towards Taras, the bullets thrumming their way back towards him.

"Oh, my apologies! Were you hoping to kill my colleague with that gun of yours? Should have used the time to run!" The dancer gave a tinkling laugh, her stand shooting forward in a sliding motion.

Reaper recoiled as the flurry of blows came its way. Raising up its hands, only the first of the hits would slip through, and even then the force of it had been greatly reduced. The rest of the blows would find themselves directed away by the stand's forearms, and as they did, Chloe would feel the skin on her knuckles begin to split and peel, rivulets of blood spilling down. It's user though would stagger backwards, the punch having knocked his sunglasses clean off his face.

Beneath the aviators, his eyes, all of it, from his pupils to his scelra, were as black as the void.

"HOW BOLD OF YOU! TELL ME THEN, WHO WILL REMEMBER YOU AFTER YOU DIE?!" As the stand shouted out the last word it would release its own rush, fists flying back out in a flurry of blows... And what was most curious was that there was pain before the punches hit- as if clutched between its knuckles were invisible razors.

"DIE!DIE!DIE!DIE!DIE!DIE!DIE!DIE!" Every word would mark another fist flying towards Ritz's carefully constructed form, the stand clearly too incensed to let out anything else.

As the stand went wild, the user would swirl his heavy overcoat off his shoulders. Fluffing it out like a matador's cape, a faint, almost electrical glow would begin to emerge from the woolen material, the fighter's breathing taking on an unusual cadence.

Despite all of that though, there was still the squad of identical stands to contend with. One of them was caught in Miss Murder's Spray, spazaming slightly, extremeties beginning to petrify... But where one fell, two more marched foward, raising fists up together to lay the hurt down on Kiara.

One would turn towards Taras, scanning him for where his stand was, whilst the final one stomped mindlessly forward, attempting to grapple Ritz down and allow Reaper to land the killing blow.


The man looked up from his breakfast as other people entered. As the young girl approached him. He would raise an eyebrow at her, at her questions, and then drag a single finger through the air and towards the back of the cafeteria where the cereals and other breakfast foods could be seen. On his breast was a light blue square, and once he had made a gesture, he would return to his food, seemingly mute in his interactions with the newcomers.

Across from where he sat, the ripped and torn bodies lay, unblinking, unmoving.
The German soldiers did something that should have been impossible. As the ball of needles was hurled out and Miss Murder's bullets began to rattle through the air, the soldiers ducked for cover. Rising to their feet as one, the lull in shooting would let the pianist's words be heard. "My oh my! I knew we had at least one stand user, but to see so many all clustered onto these fair lands? Why, it almost makes me WISH I HADN'T ASKED FOR BACKUP." The last words were spoken not by the man himself, but instead by a figure looming behind him. Hunched over, emaciated, and slightly bestial, its hands a bloody crimson, the stand would let out a scraping cackle.

"WHAT DO WE HAVE HERE THEN? MORE FOR ME TO RIP INTO?" The stand would continue to talk, and as it did so it stalked forwards, providing cover for its user as the pianist reloaded his submachine gun. It would reach the table that Tupolev had flipped before bringing its hand down, the appendage cleaving through the wood and splintering it like a boy done with a stick he'd found. "COME THEN LITTLE STANDS. WHO IS BRAVE ENOUGH TO STAND UP TO「THE REAPER」?"

The soldiers, having picked themselves up, would slowly, in perfect unison, stand shoulder to shoulder. A heavy, jackbooted thud would come from the front of the restaurant, and then, as if to declare that this had been a stand-exterminating mission from the start, their forms seemed to part, and from each and every soldier rose out an identically, construct-like visage.

With blocky, wooden looking joints and a blank face, it was a horrifying thing. They moved jerkily, nothing like the predatory precision of 「The Reaper」, and from beneath the sleeves and cuffs of their uniforms dangled strings, sliced off and left to trail on the ground or in the air.

"What my rather... unchained colleague here is trying to say, meine Freunde, is that you are all deeply, truly, and utterly fucked. The might of the Reich will crash down upon you. Wheras the icy winds of the North created the almighty Aryan race, our chilly gusts shall eradicate you insects."


/
A song drifted through the dropship as it rattled through space and to a hot insertion. It was a mournful song, a song in High Gothic, but accented with the flavours of Mordia.

"Era una notte che pioveva
e che tirava un forte vento
immaginatevi che grande tormento
per un Mordino che stava a vegliàr."

She looked about, knowing that there were none of her planetmen around her to sing with her. It was the sort of song that would normally be sung on the march, but she had turned it into almost a dirge, reluctantly admitting that her death was hurtling towards her faster than she could comprehend.

"A mezzanotte arriva il cambio
accompagnato dal capoposto
ohi, sentinella, ritorna al tuo posto
sotto la tenda a riposàr."

The next verse came and went, but before she had finished the song she would note what the Krieger had said, and how she would need to be a Captain, not a Mordian. "Zhatka, I will not have you be throwing the Emperor's currency away as if it held no value. If you so much as think about hurling yourself headfirst into the first heretic or xenos we see, I will personally drag you back to your barracks in disgrace." She had rapidly learned that there was very little threatening a krieger with physical violence accomplished but this? This generally seemed to work quite well.

"Right then ladies and gentlemen. Our duty as a command squad is to ensure that the soldiers under our banner are working in an orderly and efficient fashion. I will have no dereliction of duty, no recklessness, no cowardice and absolutely no splitting away from the squad, is that understood?"
The pianist's tune faded out, and he would stand, opening up the grand piano and peering inside. Tuning? Something else? Who could tell. The dancer would finish her final twirl and take a deep bow, letting the polite applause roll across her, until, at last, she would clear her throat, reaching for a hitherto untouched microphone. A few taps to make sure it was on, and she would give her lips a quick lick before beginning.

And when she spoke, just for a second, the crowd stopped everything.

"It is a real pleasure to be here," spoke the woman, her German accent heavy. In the silence of the room, you could hear boots falling outside, shouting on the street. "I came here all the way from Spandau, in Berlin, would you believe?" The woman continued, her smile bright and sunny. "But this country, much like its people, is so beautiful! It is such a shame there is all this nastiness about the war and the fighting, but, I do so sinceirely hope that once it is done, it will spark a new era of enlightenment between our peoples."

She continued talking, the crowd's tension easing away slightly. "My friend here, the pianist? He came from Poland, but look at him! Good aryan blood in those veins." She let out an airy laugh. "Of course, with all that being said, I must admit that when I heard of those that would subvert the German government's wishes, I was just... Horrified. So horrified in fact that I had to come here immediately." She put her arms to her side, expression blank.

From outside the sound of boots on cobblestone stopped. Heads turned, and hearts sunk. A squad of German soldiers, blank-faced and carrying MP40s had all stopped outside, the barrels aimed firmly into the cafe. The pianist, from where he had been examining the inner workings of the piano, would finally stand up straight, tossing a luger across to the dancer and racking the slide back on a broomhandled C96.

"Auf Wiedersein," was the last word that could be heard before the world exploded into gunfire.
I'd be interested in doing a Monster Girl roleplay. PM me with details?


Glorious, someone else that doesn't read basic rules.

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