Avatar of Little Bill
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User has no bio, yet i consume the greedy. i rob the thieves. i kill the killers. nobody wants me. if you don't have me, nobody will want you. what's my name?

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Glad I got your attention. I don't know what I'm supposed to put in a 1x1 interest check, so I'm just gonna get to the point here; I'm looking for an experienced roleplayer (bonus points if you have a discord) interested in one of the ideas I've presented. If I'm interested in your ideas, I'll let you know by commenting on your 1X1 interest check. That being said, let me know if you wanna tweak what I've got in mind here. The concepts are mostly comedy RPs, because I find it easier to be organically funny than organically serious, and they're mostly inspired by other works because I find it easier to explain an abstract RP concept if it's grounded in something you can Google or watch an episode of. If this turns you off, close this window quickly so I don't check this thread, see you reading it, message you about it, become friends, meet in person, father a child, move across the country, get married, be driven apart by outside forces, divorce, and ultimately kill you in a fit of disassociated rage. I don't have time for that and neither do you.

Speaking of turn-offs, I get enough of my nagging girlfriend's angelic beauty at home, so romance and smut are not something I'm interested in.


delicious free allen bump
Glad I got your attention. I don't know what I'm supposed to put in a 1x1 interest check, so I'm just gonna get to the point here; I'm looking for an experienced roleplayer (bonus points if you have a discord) interested in one of the ideas I've presented. If I'm interested in your ideas, I'll let you know by commenting on your 1X1 interest check. The ideas in mind are mostly comedy RPs, because I find it easier to be organically funny than organically serious, and they're mostly inspired by other works because I find it easier to explain an abstract RP concept if it's grounded in something you can Google or watch an episode of. If this turns you off, close this window quickly so I don't check this thread, see you reading it, message you about it, become friends, meet in person, father a child, move across the country, get married, be driven apart by outside forces, divorce, and ultimately kill you in a fit of disassociated rage. I don't have time for that and neither do you.

Speaking of turn-offs, I get enough of my nagging girlfriend's angelic beauty at home, so romance and smut are not something I'm interested in.


where da genins @
Bumping in the hopes of getting some Nublood. Also, because I want to get closer to page four.

Episode One: Snipe Dreams


A lone figure stood in the crimson desert, walking against the sandblasting Martian winds. They wore a Lunar spacesuit, markedly different from Martian, Terran, and Jupiterean models by the off-white color of the exosuit, thick gunmetal rebreather and cyclops-model HUD eyepiece, giving the traveler a single red eye. All around, the eye dotted around the horizon, instinctively combing through the Martian landscape in search of scrubs of cacti or shrubbery. It was in vain, as it always had been. At least on Earth, the traveler thought, even the desert showed a pulse in the plants and animals strong enough to scratch life out of the arid landscape. On Mars, there was no such comfort. Any traveler could tell you the Martian desert was nothing more than a graveyard of the first Japanese colonies, mining sites, and the shells of various early robots left to erode for centuries past. It was an inhospitably dry, airless remnant of humanity's past, and for all its eerie abandonment, it had not until recently been dangerous.

The traveler hunkered down, placing their rifle on the legs of its bipod and laying on the hard, red dirt. They fiddled with the sight for a moment, turning the various dials and switches on the scope as a cool, blue light began to eminate from the rifle's barrel. This continued for several moments -- The sniper would look through the sight, readjust and recalibrate, and check the scope again. Through the rifle's sight, they tracked a cargo truck some two hundred yards away, puttering down the familiar tire tracks of a trade route, steadily leading the rifle's crosshairs in front of the truck. Though the dome cities connected to one another by tunnels, the valuable oxygen therein was too precious to be used by combustion engines, and so the Martian government decreed that nothing bigger than a bicycle could be rode through the tunnels. Shipments of all kinds made their way through the harsh, unoxygenated Martian desert in windowless trucks named for their resemblance to an extinct species of woodlouse from Earth commonly called "Pillbugs". Pillbug trucks were about as long and wide as an old-fashioned commercial airline plane, using treads rather than air-filled tires, and built to be resistant to punctures from meteorites, gunfire, explosives, sand abrasion, crashes, and the melting effects of solar winds. That being said, it was not resistant to plasma. As the sniper had learned, very few things were.

The sniper kept their crosshairs steadily in front of the pillbug as the rifle's barrel continued to hum, slowly glowing more and more until the rifle's blue glow became a dull white light. The sniper's sole red eye twitched for a moment, their finger's grip tightening on the trigger, calculating the rifle's trajectory and shifting their aim in small microadjustments before squeezing, firing a bolt of plasma at the pillbug in the complete silence of the airless desert. Though too fast to track by sight, a white, glowing ball the size of a fist shot from the rifle's muzzle, tearing through the thin atmosphere with a low whistle and crashing into the pillbug almost instantly. Despite the plasma bolt's small size, it tore through the hull of the truck with the momentum of a freight train, knocking the tremendous truck to its side, spinning slowly in the red dirt as it skidded to a halt. The sniper stood up, slinging the rifle over their shoulder and stretching, before walking towards the crashed pillbug as slowly and calmly as they had been before. Within minutes, they approached the smoldering wreckage of the pillbug's hull, turning off the gravitational enhancements on the sides of their spacesuit's boots and hopping upwards onto the overturned truck's side, and into the truck's interior through the gaping hole. There were three metal crates about half as large as the sniper himself, slowly floating upwards in their newly-depressurized quarters. The sniper pressed a large button in the center of the closest crate's lid, opening it with a hiss of air.

Civorite crystals, and a lot of them, neatly packaged in hexagonal glass casing like a box of lime-green honeycomb. They were used to charge the thrusters in spacecraft engines, synthesizing with fuel to work as a "nitro boost" of sorts. Not particularly useful to the sniper, though expensive and sellable nonetheless. The sniper pulled a cord from the back of a belt around their suit's waistline, closing the trunk and attaching the cord to the trunk's handle with a small hook. The sniper grabbed the other end of the trunk, hefting it up weightlessly to their shoulder and hopping towards the pillbug's cockpit. There were two pilots, both twisted into the grotesque expressions of their final moments of depressurization. The sniper paid no mind to the bodies, floating towards the cockpit's windshield and pulling a small can of spray paint from their suit's belt, drawing a quick, precise kanji on the windshield. After examining their work for a moment, the sniper turned and hopped towards the cockpit's exit, still carrying the crate over their shoulder. By now, the rest of the crates had been floating long enough to be bouncing around the hole in the truck's side, teetering around the edges of the smoldering plasma burns of the hull. The sniper pushed them out of the way, hopping out of the truck and onto the hard martian sand, pressing the gravitational enhancement button on the side of their left boot, then right. As quickly as they had entered, the sniper began making their way away from the truck, to disappear into the Martian craters and plateaus, leaving the pillbug to erode away with the rest of the Martian desert.






All posts excellent.
Still here, just have had a busy week. Working on a collab RN. Could we get a definitive list of who's confirmed to still be here and work from there? Dropout damage can be mitigated with a month timeskip and a bunch of empires having fallen to the color, or perhaps a map alteration and mod erasure of dropout posts.

Episode Two: Mass Rave


"I hate Venus." Poole grumbled, leaning into the wall of the corridor to let pass a pair of dark-uniformed men carrying a metal trunk. The entirety of the planet seemed to be narrow, dirty hallways connecting packed rooms with loud vendors, and tunnels leading even further underground. The air hung with the sweet rot of decaying fruit, and flies seemed to be the only thing more numerous than men. Elevators advertising cold drinks, hot dances, or goods of all kinds lined the halls, and where there was vertical space not used for an elevator shaft, walls were covered in layers of graffiti and advertisements. All around them, hundreds of conversations droned on into a single, homogenous noise.

"You know a better place to find ginseng?" Yeva piped up sarcastically, straightening a large map as she spoke. They were on Venus, though more specifically, Area 1D577 -- The seventy-seventh room on the fifth section of fourth layer of the planet's uppermost floor, closest to the planet's surface. Though Venus had been colonized by humanity centuries ago, many of the floors beyond Layer J had been deemed too hot to be made usable, leading to their use as squats. Though this meant their location was safe and clean by Venusian standards, it was still repugnant to the crew's. Air ducts lined the ceiling like rivets, clogged with velvety lines of furry debris, and every corner and edge on the planet seemed to be stained by an unidentifiable black grime.

The crewmates trudged onward, entering another room of vending stalls. Colorful tarps, tapestries, and decorative awnings lined the ceiling, blocking the air shafts and giving the cramped room a stale humidity. Each of the fabrics seemed to advertise something different, crowding capitalized words in English and Japanese too densely to read without holding up the flow of foot traffic.

"Fresh Lunarian eel fat!" A vendor shouted at Poole. "Good for muscles, good for protein! Fills the stomach!" Before he could get a chance to rebuke the man's offer, a saleswoman standing at the vendor across his stepped forward, placing a sizable pomegranate in Poole's hands. "Terran fruit! Only one hundred yen!"

"That's alright ma'am, we're not looki-"

"Baozi! Fresh baozi! Fifty yen!" Barked a third vendor. Understanding that saying anything would only attract more merchants, he handed the fruit vendor her pomegranate and waded through the crowd, bringing a pair of binoculars to his eyes. He scanned the horizon, looking for the Venusian they had come to see -- Ginseng Joji.

Yeva sniffed as she kept looking between her map and the signs, a childlike gleam of glee in her eyes. This marketplace was a place she could get lost in the crowd, backpack on her back, a couple hundred yen in hand, and spend a whole day wandering about purchasing ingredients. It wasn’t that she needed anything or had the space for it but, well, sometimes want tended to rule her spending habits.

A soft breath escaped her lips as she raised her map as if it were a shield to block out her temptations. Offers and deals caught Yeva's attention every so often as she recalled all the time she could have been studying this map-- like last night. While she was baking cookies, Yeva could have studied the map, instead of staring blankly at the oven while the treats cooked. “It’s not that hard,” she mumbled aloud. Honestly, the map was a jumble of arrows, numbers, symbols, colors, all making her head hurt, but it wasn’t that hard to figure out. Yeah?

Maybe?

“This way,” Yeva piped up and pointed at the narrow corridor between a roast duck-adorned barbecue stall and an outdated-seeming robotics repair store. The trio continued onward, with Poole and Gray closely tailing Yeva.

As the… inventor? Sure. The inventor of this idea-- this Ginseng adventure-- Yeva felt responsible for herding the seven-foot kittens that Poole and Gray represented. See, Yeva needed this Ginseng for it’s millennial old rumors of healing and curative properties. Ancient rumors, not proven by any sort of scientific evaluation, that had survived the exodus from Earth had to have some sort of truth to them, right? Plus, it wouldn’t be bad to find a root that was capable of being re-potted and rejuvenated though-- it was apparently a protocol to dry the life out of them so no one else could cash in on the market. What a selfish shame, really.

Miracle medicine was probably exactly what Yeva needed to stave off this week's coming cold. A sudden chill crept up on her-- the viruses reminding her they were watching… Waiting.

Yeva felt a sneeze coming on and made that face

"There." Poole spoke up, peering through his binoculars and pointing just beyond an elevator shaft to a restaurant. Yeva loudly sneezed behind him, granting her an obligatory "God bless you." Barely noticable in the chaos of the crowds, there was a small green neon sign flickering in the distance, with only two word to entice buyers; HERBS HERE. He could smell Joji's stench from where he stood.




"Yessir, that's right. Every last bit, first flush to the fourth. Said he was looking to make enough brews to invite the whole planet to tea." Ginseng Joji grumbled, snorting thick fumes of white smoke from his nostrils. He was a squat man of at least eighty, and a classic Venusian in every sense, or in other words, really sketchy. One hand held an old fashioned tobacco pipe, while the other was a stump capped with a trowel. He took another inhale from his pipe, and began to look into a cabinet, unintentionally -- and without realizing at any point -- puffing clouds of nicotine into the cabinet's drawers, rifling through them, and then tightly shutting them.

"I hope he means to, because that's an easy to over-steep blend he has his hands on. And quite a bit. I don't think I've ever seen a man buy so much ginseng, 'cept for myself." Joji said through an impassably thick mustache. He seemed to have aged a decade every visit, and now sported an eyebrow-mustache combo that made him resemble an abandoned lawn gnome. "He looked important enough, I s'pose. Anyway, enough rambling, let me see if I've any left upstairs." Joji brought the small bamboo-chambered pipe to his lips, sucking gingerly and pulling a stepstool from behind his counter with a twist of his trowel-hand.

"Important how?" Yeva inquired, shaking a small tin of jasmine as she gave it a brief look-over.

"He was wearing a red jumpsuit with a logo on the pocket. Only stood out on account of the ISSP pilots wearing blue jumpsuits, and I believe the Lunarian military has grey, but I don't think anyone official has red. I suppose he was makin' a whole mess of tea, to buy every last barrel. Maybe he works with the city, Venusian garbagemen wear red If'n I remember right. Then again, this was less of a maroon and more of a fire red. I never wore a lot of red, myself. You a warm colors man, Mister Poole?" Joji asked, looking one of the two towering men Yeva was accompanied by.

"I'm a hurried man, Mister Joji." grunted Poole. "The sooner we get off this planet, the sooner I can sit down."

"Ah, yes, perhaps up here." Joji craned his neck upwards, reaching up to a small wooden drawer in the wall, opening it, and sighing defeatedly.

"Looks like I was wrong, not even a pinch in storage. If you'd like, there's another herbal store on Layer Q, though you'd need a riot shield to get there."

Yeva's ears perked, and she leaned closer on the counter, eyeing the old man. "Why's that?"

"There's some hippie-dippie music festival on Layer Q the young people are all excited about. Not a single tea festivals as far as I know." Joji grumbled. "If you ask me, the young people should get more excited about tea than techno. The same festival happens every year, but nobody gives a damn about herbs."



@Gowi@Goldeagle1221@Howler@Utrax@Briza

Added a format for your own episodes at the end of the OOC. You are free to start as many as you like, provided the players for the characters involved are into the synopsis presented.
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