STATUS:
PMing everyone on this website individually and asking “do you think my statuses are funny?” with an attached stock photo of a man (super buff) crying.
2 yrs ago
Current
PMing everyone on this website individually and asking “do you think my statuses are funny?” with an attached stock photo of a man (super buff) crying.
9
likes
2 yrs ago
The people who wrote the instructions for my sister's new printer failed to consider that I might be tripping balls while trying to help her set it up.
2
likes
2 yrs ago
I'm in the lab, cooking up a status that will make every mad at me, together. I can heal this website by being as wrong and annyoing as possible.
6
likes
2 yrs ago
Met a guy yesterday who looked and sounded exactly like Hank Hill. Made my week. Logged in today and realized yesterday was this accounts sixth birthday. The universe gave me a gift for the occasion.
4
likes
3 yrs ago
Finally getting to that age where I realize that I'm becoming my dad. Called some guy at work "old boy" because I couldn't remember his name. If I order any ww2 books just put me down like a dog, man.
"AHAHA!" Orrin clapped a hand down hard on Iona's shoulder, his laughter obnoxiously loud. "Yes! We will be like ninjas!" He stepped back and took a moment to survey his team. All of them looked competent, even the newcomer he hadn't yet met. Confidence swelled in his chest. In his mind, success was already a guarantee, unquestionable. He readjusted the massive shield on his back, and stood up a little straighter.
He listened as Blaine explained why he would not be a good candidate to hold the drives. Orrin's hand shot up, almost involuntarily.
"Ooh! Iona! Pick me!" He struck his chest with a closed fist. "I know how to use computers!"
So, like, I remember, way back when, I tried to join this medieval GOT-ish court-intrigue sort of RP. I had, like, just joined the site. I was a terrible writer, somehow even worse than I am now, and I was really bad at creating characters. There was a pre-set cast with different roles you could create characters for. One of those, IIRC, was called "Brother to the King of Seabel." I wanted that goddamn role. I spent, like, four hours creating the blandest, cliche, most boring grey stain of a character you ever did see. Well, some other guy who I can't remember, made a bomb-ass sheet. They knocked it out of the park, really. Way better character. So, naturally, the GM chose the other character and I, being the high-strung emotional mess that I was 2 or 3 years ago, took it personally. I bitched. I moaned. I was offered a chance to play a different role. I declined, because I'd "spent so much time on the character." The person who made the better character offered to apply for a different role. I told them no because I had started to realize I was making an ass of myself and wanted to leave with my ego in tact.
So, to the person who made the better brother to the king, and to the person that GM'd that. Sorry about that one, guys.
It's just one of those things that makes me wish I hadn't joined the site until, like, a year ago. I really wasn't cut out to handle post deadlines, rejection, criticism, or any factor of the whole experience, really.
Anyway, not sure how to make this a discussion. Anyone else have any cringy, early-career stories? Or, better yet, was anyone in that RP who remembers this?
Edric had, thankfully, ended up on the right side of the Psi barriers when they went up. He and Azamor had ceased the Duality and he jogged the rest of the way toward the locker. The area was crowded with frightened trying to get their things, but Edric managed to get past them. When he approached the locker, however, his heart fell. It was a key-lock, and he'd totally forgotten where he'd put the key.
"Think we can break this one open, Aza?" He frowned as he examined it. The metal didn't look exceptionally thick, but the hinges seemed solid. Even with Azamor's possession-strength, he didn't know if he'd be able to rip it open.
Back left pocket.
"What?"
The key is in your back left pocket.
"Oh." He patted the pocket and, sure enough, there was the key. He sighed as he heard Azamor snicker. He opened the locker, and there was his satchel and his sword. He donned the satchel and belted the sword to his side. He was, he figured, as ready as he could be.
Seven minutes later, the soldiers guarding the barrier had other ideas.
"Hell no." Said a grizzled old sergeant. "Absolutely not. I can't allow a civilian to go get themselves killed in there. We have people trained for this sort of thing, let them handle it."
"Look, man, I'm not helpless."
"I'm sure you aren't, but unless you're a fully equipped crisis response team, I'm not letting you through."
"I studied at Athalia!" Edric blurt out, at the last moment.
"Did you now?" The soldier looked intrigued, but stomped on it immediately and went right back to grumpy. "That doesn't mean much, these days."
"Doesn't it?" Edric cocked an eyebrow. Something clicked. Maybe the soldier had some kind of respect for Athalia, maybe he just wanted Edric to stop bothering him.
"Are you a Koran citizen?"
"No sir."
"Alright, alright, fine." He sighed. "Only because I can't get in too much trouble if you aren't Koran." He turned around and spoke to some of the other soldiers. "Oh, and, uh, don't tell anyone about this. Anyone asks, you were on the other side when the barrier went up, alright."
"Gotcha."
It was ten minutes before he saw another non-demonic living person, that being an incredibly well-armed woman with dark hair. As he drew closer, he noticed she was running toward him. He had two thoughts in very quick succession.
What luck, the first person I see looks like an extremely competent fighter!
and
She's being chased by demons.
As they neared each other, Azamor had a thought of his own.
Holy fuck that's a lot of demons.
Edric drew his scimitar, and he wondered briefly if he should engage the demons behind her. Could the two of them even kill that many of the fiends?
Husband of Kendra Riu Bell @Vesuvius00 Interacting with: Kendra
"Yes, I think that would be, ah, prudent." The tension was leaving his muscles, albiet slowly. It had been years and years since anything had set him so off-kilter. The Berserker had been something like a bedtime story to him, as a child. Something he'd feared. He'd been young then, sure, not even old enough to hold a blade. He'd long thought himself free of such juvenile fears, but hearing that brute's name had rekindled something within him. He took another breath.
Steady, Kaivor.
"Though, I fear that finding my brother will be-"
"Come on then!" Delleck's shouting was audible over the din of conversation. "Put that pigsticker away and fight me with your hands!" Kaivor cringed involuntarily. It seemed as though his thoroughly drunk brother was picking a fight with some also-drunk minor lordling or another.
"Oh, for fuck's sake." Kaivor muttered, looking at Kendra with exasperation before hurriedly moving to keep his brother from getting himself killed.
The Igvrius family had a manor in the city, and Kaivor was thankful for that, but he wished that it hadn't gone quite so long without use. The manor, smaller than some of the ones that surrounded it, had clearly been empty for years and years until recently. Despite leaning toward the smaller side, it could have supported more people than Kaivor had brought with him. A handful of servants and guards, and his brother was the extent of his entourage. The manor, clearly designed for the purpose of entertaining guests, seemed empty. Quiet. Delleck tried his best to remedy this.
"Ah, shit to yer caution. I could have taken 'im!" He roared, indignant.
"I'll not have you run through and dead so young because you couldn't hold your drink."
"I'll not have- not have, uh..." He trailed off, persumably having forgotten his witty retort. Kaivor clenched his fist. Were the man not of his own blood...
"Go to bed, Dell."
"You first." Delleck seemed satisfied with getting the last word in, and stumbled off to his room. Kaivor let out a long breath, then turned to his bride.
"It's getting late. I would think we should, ah, retire soon." He cleared his throat. "Would you like a drink, first?" He quirked an eyebrow. "Two, perhaps?"
Kaivor reflects on childhood fears before having to rein in his brother, who is making an ass of himself. The group gets to the manor in short order, and soon Kaivor and Kendra are alone. Kaivor awkwardly broaches the topic of sleeping together before deciding that a bit of alcohol might steady the nerves.[Summary]
Aryll Imaali
At some point, though Aryll didn't know when, exactly, fear replaced the anger. The standing biterness that had risen in her throat when she met her new husband was replaced with abject terror and a strong self-preservation instinct. The Drakan, her husband, was dead. There was no grief, but in the few moments she had to observe the body, she felt sick. He was scarcely recognizable.
Then the murderer, the one who introduced himself as Höd Ultair, was all over her. She was immobilized, frozen by some primal thought that if she stood still enough he'd leave her alone. It almost worked. The brute seemed done with her, be she was cast off into a crowd of guards, who were all too eager to have her. One grabbed her by the arm, and she wound up with her other arm and slapped him across the face with all of her strength. His head didn't move an inch, the impact of her blow scarcely registering with him. It did, however, seem to surprise him enough for him to loosen his grip on her arm. She twisted as hard and she could, and wormed her way out of his grasp. As she backed away, she tripped over something and fell hard onto her back. As she craned her neck to see what had caused her to fall, she found herself practically sitting on her dead husband's mangled corpse. She let out a squeak of horror and scrambled backward, away from the body and the guards. The body didn't move, of course, but the guards were pacing toward her now. She screamed, practically screeched, desperate.
"Get the fuck away from me!" Her eyes franctically scanned the assembled Drakken. "Help me, please!"
All things considered, Aryll is having a rough day. Panic is setting in.[Summary]
If Dexter was doing his math right, he'd gone about three years without getting tossed through a plate glass window in a bar. He could see, in his mind, a downcast worker changing the "days without incident" sign from about one-thousand-and-ninety-five to zero. It was an amusing image, far more amusing that what he was actually seeing.
Himself, laying in a pile of broken glass, with a demon leering at him from the ground-floor bar window it had just tossed him out of.
What a smug asshole.
He rose to his knees with a groan, feeling his back pop. He could already feel, in his pocket, his half-pack of cigarettes crushed beyond hope. His flask seemed alright, though, and so he took it out of his jacket pocket and took a drink. He'd like to have been able to get his glass from the bar, but the demon had not been so courteous as to allow him to gather his things before throwing him out of a window.
The thing saw that his only defense, apparently, was a flask. He could feel it sneering at him. It tensed, and so do he. Then, with savage speed, it leapt through the now-empty window frame at him. Dexter didn't even have to focus, the spell came so easily to him. There were plenty of mages who learned all kinds of magic, diversifying their abilities.
Not Dex. He knew one spell, and knew it well.
Instantly, there was a spear in his hand. The demon didn't even have time to be surprised, as it leapt directly onto the tip of the conjured spear. Dexter held the thing aloft for a moment, before slamming it into the ground, withdrawing his spear, and then plunging it back into the demon's throat before it could respond. It was dead, and for the moment, he was safe.
Then, he saw the psy barriers go up, and he was on the wrong side of them.
"Son of a bitch." He mumbled, looking around. Demons, tons of them. People, too, terrified people. He let the spear dissipate, but knew it would only be a matter of time before he had to conjure a different weapon. He sighed. The way he figured, the only way he was getting out of this one would be finding whoever in the hell was responsible for the demons, and dispatching them with the quickness.
He didn't know where such a dickhead would be located, but he figured that it was a pretty good idea to start headed in the general direction that the demons were coming from. He opened his flask and took one last drink, draining it.
"That would be my brother, Delleck." Kaivor sighed, exasperated at the mere thought of him. "He's, ah, energetic." Polite words that belied impolite thoughts. Delleck had a way of getting to him like no one else did. He had a short temper, he knew, but Delleck had a way of shortening it. Only the fact that Delleck was of his own blood kept him from lashing out at him.
He was snapped out of his own musings by Kendra, who moved behind him. He was confused, until he took notice of the commotion.
Rynek Darion...
He was amused, at first, maybe even a little delighted. Some bastard barging into a feast to demand something from the royal family. A man after his own heart, it seemed. He could see pretty quickly, however, that the situation was fast becoming dangerous. His eyes darted around, once again taking stock of the room and its exits.
Then a man that had mocked Rynek had some unlucky smaller Drakkan by the face. Kaivor had done his research. Chances were that he might've recognized the man, had the brute's hand not been in the way. When the body fell to the floor, there was little enough face for Kaivor to try and recognized. He looked at the dead man and his cast aside bride with something almost like pity.
What a waste.
Kaivor's brows raised of their own accord when he heard the brute's name. Ultair. He knew it, of course. His father had told him all manner of stories. His father had been terrified of the Berserker, and so had Kaivor, as a child. He didn't know how true his father's stories were, but the name made him uneasy.
He looked back at the dead man's bride, and he looked over his shoulder to see Kendra there.
"Stay close." He said, perhaps a bit more gruffly than he intended. As much as he wanted to leave, he couldn't without Delleck. Plus, he couldn't help but want to see how things ended up for Rynek. He settled down a bit once the Ultair was headed away. "Don't worry, he's leaving." Though his voice was steady, it felt like he was speaking to himself as much as Kendra.
Hod makes Kaivor nervous. He cautions Kendra to stick close to him, but calms down once the threat is on his way out. Also, he privately roots for Rynek.
Orrin looked and sounded horrified, his mouth agape. He looked like someone had told him that he had a minute to live, instead of a minute to catch his breath. Then, he closed his eyes, and a blissful calm came over him. A broad smile lit up his face and, for the next few moments, he forgot that he was surrounded by other students.
"One minute! Of course! One minute is just long enough to get loose!"
He turned his neck to the left and to the right, audible pops sounding off as he did so.
"Yes! Loose...loose and..." He twisted at the hips, and a chorus of defeaning cracking sounded as his back popped. "...limber!"
You actually just said that out loud, didn't you?
He looked down at the ground, face burning a bit.
You only get one chance to make a first impression.
He gulped, looking for somewhere to flee to. He found his safe harbor in the form of three students. A blonde-haired boy with pants in a state of disrepair, a faunus girl, and a girl with white hair. He tried to think of the lesson he'd learned from the "limber" incident just moments ago.
Be cool. He thought for a moment. Do I say 'hi' or 'hello?" His eyes widened. No! Of course! All the coolest hunters say...
