Optimist

One-on-One Adventures/Romance

Fiddler's Green

TAKEN

On the shores of Newfoundland, in the village of Raliegh, stands the pub Fiddler's Green. I first entered this establishment when I was in my twenties, on a trip to photograph the wonders of Newfoundland for my second book of photography. It was a hundred year old building with a Lincoln green coat of paint, faded by the weather and white accented shutters and lentils.

Back then I was a finer figure of a man than I am now. I had a trim waist, muscular forearms and good stamina from my daily running and pushups. I am afraid that time has caught up with my waistline. Back then I wore my auburn hair in a long ponytail, down my back. I tended to dress in jeans and button down shirts. My favorite sloped cap was on my head and my camera was on my chest, ready for whatever might present itself to be shot.

When I entered the pub, I found polished wooden floors, a smokey interior, wooden booths and tables and a long, low stage. A lone fiddler was playing a Breton tune on stage, with a woman clogged alone to his fiddling. She was a beauty who took my breath away. I knew then and there that I must photograph her. My camera rose unbidden to take in the picture of the ancient fiddler playing for the flaxen haired young woman, with her long flashing legs.

But I have forgotten to introduce myself. I am Peter MacDonald, photographer. I went to the University of Hilo in Hawaii and grew up not a stone's throw from that institution. It was a far distance from my island home to Newfoundland. I have no cause to regret that trip though, for it was there that I met my love. This is that tale.

OCC: This story will be told in the first person past tense, kind of like a Harry Met Sally tale, from the end of the movie.

Over The Top Soap Opera

Duly noted. Thank you for your possible interest.

Demon (Dragon princess and I)

The man approached the gates of the castle and called up to the guards. He did not have the coin for a meal at a tavern, so his only chance was to try to sign on with the local guards. He did not wish to reveal who he truly, as there could be spies of the peasants, even here. "Oi there, I'd like an audience with the captain of the guard. Can it be arranged?"

He waited while the guards ran off to find out the answer to his question. The massive drawbridge was closed, and a moat, filled with sharp rocks, surrounded the castle. A man in a hodge-podge of colorful clothing came to stand beside him. He was obviously a fool, from his clothing to his humorous face. The man wondered if he belonged at court already, or was, like he himself, a mere supplicant.

It seemed to take forever, waiting on the guards to return. The sun was still beating down, heating up the leather armor he wore. He longed for nothing as much as a long soak in a real tub, but knew his chances of achieving that longing were fleeting at best. Even a pale of water and a rag would help at this point. His wounds were hurting him as well. Some were fresher than other, and some were a decade old and still gave him pain.

Night of the Comet (Camille Noir and I)

Deputy Reynolds stepped into the house carefully. She thought that she should call for backup, but again this was Mike Thompson. Surely there was some sort of mistake. "Come on out Mike. She moved carefully across the entry way and into the front hallway. It looked like a miniature tornado had hit the inside of the house. Drawers were pulled from the writing desk in the front hall and papers scattered across the floor.

When he did not comply, she leveled her shotgun and stepped from the hall into the kitchen. Molly's body lay on the floor, in a pool of blood. "Oh shit." She fought back her own bile. Out of the corner of her eye she thought she saw something scuttle behind the refrigerator. It was a scene straight out of a CSI show and there was no sign of Mike, other than some bloody footprints. Shit....

She realized that she really was in the house with a killer, and she had been a fool to come in alone. She quietly started back toward the front hallway, determined to go back out to her car and call the sheriff. This was to much for one deputy to handle.

---

Randal nodded, as the thin man held a hand out. "Please as punch ta meet you miss. Name's Roy Jenkins, but folks round here call me Jinx, on account of how much bad luck they have when playin' cards with me. This is the place alright. Old Rosco will be able to fix you up in Randy here can't."

Jinx was amused. Randy had taken to calling himself Randal in university, but no one in town took him seriously about the name. They had all known him when he was in diapers, after all. "Come on inside and we'll get you all fixed up."

Randal smiled at Natasha in assurance. Jinx has seen the way that the boy hovered over the girl, and looked at her. She sure was a looker, to be sure, but he was a married man. Still, everyone in town would be happy if Randy found himself a girl, instead of staying all kind of odd hours at the school, grading tests and tutoring students.

Soap Opera

I don't mind touches of the supernatural, but I don't wish for it to turn into True Blood. Mostly I want over the top, but realist action. There could be ghosts and such, but I don't want people turning in vampire characters. Anyway, as I said, I am going to move this thread to the more general section.

http://www.roleplayerguild.com/topics/37946/posts/ooc?page=1

Please go there if you are still interested.

Over The Top Soap Opera

I am looking to start a soap opera game, with over the top acting and writing. It will be set in a New England coastal town called Harper's Haven. It will be set in the 1980s, the years of big hair, cheesy music and colorful clothing. There will be ghosts, tidal waves, seduction, betrayal and everything else that make soap operas so great.

If you are interested in this sort of thing, please say so. If I get four players to show (and at least a couple of females) I will start the OOC thread. There are no "vampire" characters in this game, but there could be touches of the supernatural at times.

This will probably be in the casual section, with two paragraph posts or so.

The White Deer (Greek Myths Rock and I)

He was taken aback by the doe's transformation into a woman. "I... I hunt for the challenge, and I hunted the White Doe because she was the greatest challenge that I have yet encountered." He sat down heavily, beside the lake, laying his gun aside. "You are the white doe? I don't understand what has transpired." He rubbed his eyes. Surely it was all so trick, or he might have eaten something hallucinogenic.

His eyes swept over the beautiful woman. She was dressed like an Indian, but she looked like a white woman. It was all rather confusing, as was the little girl. He could swear he had stepped into some fairy story, like he had learned on his grandmother's knee.

Demon (Dragon princess and I)

He had been traveling for weeks now, having barely escaped the destruction of his kingdom, and his great army. One could hardly tell what a great man he had once been, as he hid in the leather armor and tunic of a common warrior. All of the other nobles were dead, having been executed by the mobs of angry peasants. He had a hard, weather face which had seen man campaigns with is men. Four days of stubble covered his broad chin. His fine, noble nose had been broken during the last battle and was still healing. His muscular body was covered in half-healed scars from the weapons of his enemies. On his back was a two handed sword with a hilt wrapped in snake skin.

The land he traveled through was hill country. Farms were cut into the sides of hills, while other hills bore herds of sheep. The people were quit, and hard working. They avoided him as he passed, sending their children into their huts and cottages. They wore simple, home spun tunics and sandels, and little else. The summer summer was coming down now, glistening on the bald heads of the men. He wondered why they shaved them, for they all seemed to have done so.

In the distance he could see a stone walled palace rising up out of the hills. His practiced eyes moved along the towers and ramparts, estimating what it would take to breach them. He decided it would be a costly battle indeed. As he got closer to the castle there were banners along the road and more travelers. They parted for him, allowing him to pass. None of them seemed to like the look of the scarred, dirty warrior.

Demon (Dragon princess and I)

here we go

Night of the Comet (Camille Noir and I)

"Yup, they sure were different." The fact was that he had hated the clubs in Chicago and had avoided them after his friends dragged him out to them the first few times. He hadn't really liked the wild partying either. Sure, he and his friends had gone down to the crick with a bottle of "borrowed" whiskey, played their music to loud on the truck radios and danced with their girlfriends by the moon light. Chicago parties were worse though. People simply made out where they were, did drugs openly and drank enough that they could barely stagger home. He had never drunk enough to loose control of himself. His father had drank enough for both of them, during Randal's growing years. He did not wish to be like his father and to loose control of his faculties. "Around here we take things a bit slower."

"Looking foolish when I dance is my specialty. The secret is to dance as if no one is watching. Truth is, they probably aren't. Their to busy having a good time to care." The sign for Rosco's was fully readable now and soon they were pulling up to a neatly kept little service station with an old time gasoline pump and a giant Pennzoil sign in the window. Beside it, in an attached building, was a garage, with its big metal doors closed up for the night.

A man came out of the building as the truck dinged in beside the gas pump. He was a middle-aged fellow wearing overalls and a John Deer cap. His long, narrow face lit up as he spotted Randal. "Hey ya there Randy. Fill 'er up?" He leaned over a bit and peered into to interior of the truck. "Can't say as I know yer lady friend. Evenin' miss."

---

Across the fields, out at the Thompson farmstead, Renee Reynolds pulled per squad car up to the white ranch style house. Everything seemed peaceful, but the distress call from Molly had been horrible. She had said that Mike was after her with a butcher knife. She had said his eyes were evil as well, before she had screamed at the dispatcher through the phone, and ran off.

Renee exited her car carefully and retrieved her shotgun from her trunk. She wasn't taking any chances, and had taken the time to put on her ballistic vest as well. It hardly seemed possible that Mike had turned killer. He was such a quiet, gentle man and an usher at the Baptist church for God's sake. Besides that, he, like everyone else in town, had firearms registered with the police, and probably a few that weren't. She moved toward the house quickly, watching the windows for shadows.

Renee was a slender woman, with long red hair tied back in a ponytail. She wore blue jeans and a brown deputy's shirt with a shiny tin star. Her oval face bore a pair of thick, black spectacles, which gave her a studious, serious look.

Trying the front door, she found it open. She shoved the door open with her hip, her shotgun held ready, and called out. "Police! Come on out peaceful like, so we's can talk about this Mike."