Avatar of Plank Sinatra

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2 yrs ago
Current deconstructions are fake lol
1 like
2 yrs ago
"return of the mack, you know that i'll be back." in his bed, joe biden lurches awake, wild-eyed. many a year he has watched, waited for the mack's return. hes as ready as he will ever be. he t-poses
3 yrs ago
Today Show 9-11-01 ~ Live on NBC as Tragedy Occurred [s l o w e d + r e v e r b]
1 like
3 yrs ago
40 hours into the mass effect remaster. gameplay is good but not sold on the plot changes. wish garrus would stop saying "reaper? i hardly know her!" laugh track on the normandy is a weird choice too
6 likes
3 yrs ago
fine, since you asked so nicely officer, i will confess my crimes. since i was seven years old i have refused to match any socks in my sock drawer. i practice sock hookup culture. i am a slut
7 likes

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"Hu-uh."

Lauren's noise of curiosity came as she used her Scroll as a mirror for how she looked with a pilot's hat on. It looked alright enough, if a little crooked on her head. That was alright; it looked better on her than a train conductor's disguise, even if this didn't come with an obnoxious whistle that she could blow in people's ears to distract them. What does one do if a teenage girl is an obnoxious asshole and blows a whistle in their ear? They scream and curse at the girl. They demand to see a supervisor. They gleefully crow how they'll "wreck" your "job."

It's usually a while before they check their wallets.

Lauren wasn't as good doing service jobs on an airship as she was on a train. She was much better at the flying part - and pilots didn't get a lot of free time to make easy money off of robbing irritated passengers. It was too bad, because there were way more cute girls on airships than there were on trains. Airships were for girls like Stella. Trains were for Stella's great-great-great-grandma Barbara. Rattling on about the alliance with the Atlesian always made the trains run on fucking time. Longing for the days that a girl on the wait staff wasn't quite so fucking uppity.

"Huh huh."

Lauren grinned wolfishly and leaned over the command console, resting her knees in the seat of the pilot's chair and supporting herself with her arms. Picking up the controls again was like stealing a bike; it all came back.

Beryl Harken had made them a solid target, so Lauren's hands glided along the touchscreen to make the ship glide in turn. It touched down on the sands, closest to the exhausted hydrokinetic Faunus, and Lauren leaned up from the console to dust her hands in satisfaction. She slipped over the side of the chair to walk back along the length of the cockpit, towards the hatch directly behind the entrance. A single pull-up did the job, allowing her to stand directly atop the hull again - though this time after a considerably less stressful arrival - and stare down the length of the beach.

So much for that bonfire, you dumbass marks.

Why did no one think through spending all their efforts on a blaze five minutes before a monsoon? Or a fucking leaf yurt?

Holy fucking shit.

Guess everyone had spent so much time allowing Vacuans to die that nobody had picked up any of their survival tips.

"ATTENTION ALL CANDY ASSES!"


Lauren held up her axe to the darkening skies, her giant berserker grin unfazed by the wind howling through her hair, or the rain whipping against her black tank top.

"THE PILOT IS DEAD; LONG LIVE THE PILOT! EVERYONE PLEASE BOARD THE SHIP IN AN ORDERLY MANNER! NO CUTTING IN LINE, NO PULLING EACH OTHER'S HAIR! CRISS CROSS, APPLESAUCE, SPOONS IN YOUR FUCKIN' BOWLS! COME ON, GANG, Y'ALL LEFT ENOUGH BLACK FOLK TO FEND FOR THEMSELVES IN THE JUNGLE, YOU AIN'T GONNA DO ME LIKE THAT! SANGUE! WHERE'S MY SANGUE?"





Of course, Lauren found her Sangue in short order, and the whole class class - to a student - was in the airship outracing Stella's programmed monsoon. They had survived Survival.

When the simulation ended, it was Lauren Negasi, her new weapon in her hand, who was grinning the widest.

"What would this school be without me?"

FIN

Young Black Freyja

@Crimmy @Ayazi @Write


"COMING IN HA-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA-HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOT!"


The girls surfing Hautdesert up into the heavens were within sight of their target, hurtling close enough that their well-trained eyes all spotted the woman guarding their point of entry. Lauren's briefings on airship schematics to Grat hadn't included women; if it were Grat alone, this mission would no doubt be in trouble. But Grat was not alone; women were the specialty of Hautdesert's pilot. There wasn't one alive that Lauren hadn't found a way to hand--

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA"


Nigga, who the fuck--

"THIS IS STUPEEEEENDOOOOOOOOOOOUS!"


There was no time to figure it out. It had to be now.

Lauren pulled their makeshift mount out from under their feet, grasping it in two hands and pulling back the grip of what was once a tonfa. The wave motion beam cut out and died before it could annihilate the girls, but the trade-off for that continued molecular security was jarring. The motion of the two (three?) students became uncontrolled and wild, unable to be steered as Lauren had previously. Gratia had been supposed to dismount herself, safely, but there was no time for that now. One of the things Lauren would have to work out for next time.

Instead, she swung the axe down hard with a thunderous scream, burying it deep within the hull of the airship to create a sudden stop to their forward motion. It caused the grip of the girls on each other to become jerky, and were it not for Lauren's Semblance she might have even lost a hold of Gratia's hand. The girl clinging to Grat's leg looked more unfazed - she had buried her face inside the girl's hair, for reasons that became apparent once they all stood. It was one of Grat's teammates - the other girl from Armory.

She'd spent the entire time worrying about her glasses.

Fuck me, man...

Well, hopefully, she was good in a scrap, becau--

"Oh."

Lauren breathed out the word between heavy pants, trying and failing to wipe the exhilarated grin off her face and be serious. She just hoped Grat was savvy enough to let her do the talking.

That sure was a lot of decoration on Stella's uniform. She wondered if she'd ever flown before. Rolling the dice on that could be her best option. She looked like an actress portraying a pilot, not a woman with real experience. If it came up sidways...if it came down to fighting Stella to get onto the ship...

"Hey bitch."

Nailed it.

"Wanna learn to fly an airship?"
@Krayzikk We deciding on Master's already? On that note: What is our dead Lancer gonna be?


only celtic lancers die
Ha, probably. I tried cutting it down to a few ones that seemed the most viable. I overdid it a little because the wiki talked about how the archer class had the most NPs.

I'll simplify a few.

My other idea is making Ravana, so depending I may try that too see what people like more.

@King Cosmos@Cu Chulainn


For whatever it's worth, I'd be more interested in seeing Ravana.

@King Cosmos I love that WIP a lot. The Iliad nerd in me is super stoked.
I have a four day weekend coming up from classes so Lancer's sheet will be done in that timeframe.


Kawaguchi Umeko was having fun with her toy.

The couple had walked home, Brennan's arm around the slumped, sullen shoulders of his partner, in relative quiet after the excited atmosphere that had dominated the majority of their date night. The discovery of the corpse had been a turning point of their night, and Umeko had borne her failure to capture her target as a personal affront. Only the delivery of pizza to replace their lost sashimi had even come close to putting a smile on the otaku's face.

That and, obviously, the survival of her boxes of plamo. She had cracked open one, a Perfect Grade (something that Brennan believed he had more experience with than Umeko ever would) and had been fiddling with it contentedly for the last hour after changing her clothes and settling down at the small coffee table in front of their television.

Brennan was watching her from the balcony, deep, dark blue eyes inscrutable as they gazed inside the apartment at her. Unlike Umeko, he hadn't changed out of his battle-stained clothes. Only his vest had been removed, and the top few buttons of his shirt, stained with blood and water, tattered by automotive collisions and pressurized water, had been undone to reveal the scrapes and scratches dotting his torso and neck. It was an August night, warm with a slight breeze; the weather was more calming on his minor injuries than any bandage would have been, and the wind slipped through the gaps in his shirt and collar gently. It was playing with his hair, too.

It was soothing.

As soothing as the current motion of his fingers. He had taken the cheque his prey had given him and folded it in half horizontally, balancing a heavy coin in the middle so that he could mimic the coin's rolling motion with the slip of paper less awkwardly. It wasn't working the way he wanted it to, given paper's tendency to rub along the fingers. But it would've looked cool if he'd managed it.

He was mainly just enjoying the nighttime. And watching Umeko.

"You're looking broody."

The Japanese native's eyes barely moved from the table in front of her. The model table, if you asked her. Not usually taken up in its entirety, but with the size of this kit... All was in use. The lighting kit was set aside, right now was assembly. Clip, trim, sand, buff. Clip, trim, sand, buff. It was relaxing, after the night she'd had. The pizza was, too. And how Brennan watched. But quiet wasn't the over-the-top-Irishman's way, so being this quiet was unusual. So, after a while, she commented. In the pause after it, she finished sanding one more point and looked all the way up, out at the balcony.

"An odd sort of broody." She continued, cocking her head slightly. "What's up?"

"M'not broodin'. M'the one in a good fookin' mood 'n' not bustin' meself up over some fookin' nobody mook," Brennan teased, grinning impishly and crossing his arms across his chest. "I just wanna watch ya work for a bit, das all."

Brennan took one long look at the lights of Academy City, still burning bright even after midnight, promising a wealth of new discoveries and adventures if only he hit the streets again. It was tempting to lean backwards over the railing and land on those streets below, not to return until after dawn.

Instead he pushed his body forward, off the railing, and walked inside to sit across the table from his partner, looking down at the table - and the shorts she was wearing underneath it - as she built.

"So explain to me what da fook I'm lookin' at here."

"Exia. 1/60th scale. The lighting kit there will make it light up when I'm done." Umeko, oblivious or at least not paying attention to any alternate reasons for the view, tapped the pieces in front of her lightly with the flat of her blade. Whether the comment about the night's earlier events even registered was unclear, after he'd asked about her work. "This bit here is the start of the torso. It'll be about this big when I'm done."

"Not sure where I'll put it yet..."


He watched her go on like this for what felt like hours, clipping and sanding and creating her little robot from parts. Brennan couldn't be sure when either of them fell asleep.




At some point, he must have crawled to the couch to have something to rest on. Around the same time, Umeko must have crawled over to come and rest on top of him.

Brennan had slept in the same ruined clothes, while Umeko in his her t-shirt and a pair of shorts looked like she had derived all her comfort from leeching his in her sleep. He pushed one of the otaku's toned legs off of his waist and rolled onto the floor with a dull thud, landing upon his elbows and pushing himself up. When Brennan woke up, he woke up all at once, unlike his more catatonic partner. He looked down on her for a second, smiling faintly, before walking to the apartment's bathroom for a long-overdue shower.



"1. I said don't talk to me ever again. 2. I said don't talk to me ever again. 3. I ain't ever in me life met someone so fookin' mopey about carryin' around cash. We live in de tech capital o'da world, with fookin' sooper-dooper government ATMs, and you'd rather carry around notes than a fookin' debit card? Don't get angsty wit' me 'cause I'm harder to effectively moog than you are, sweetheart."

The bus was still stopped, having an automated accident protocol it no doubt was adhering to until Judgement finally arrived on the scene. Brennan dumped the sopping wet, mangled body he'd retrieved onto the general area where the group had found her before going to stand on his own blood splatter, proudly standing up in front of the bus as the last visible traces of kinetic energy left his hair and eyes.

"Hey, you 'appen to see where an angry lil cosplayer, bout yay high, no sense of self-awareness, scampered off to? Oi, Abaranger! Get your fookin' arse out 'ere, I wanna get 'ome!"
@Avant

>>>>>>
I want to say it reflects poorly on how you roleplay to me when you assume there is no interest in playing a Master. I love making masters, and there is so much you can do with them to make things interesting. I do have a general plot that'll be playing out, and I'll be playing a Master of one of your Servants along with...some other characters.


This reminds me before we get too far into character creation, is it okay to actually have a Master/Servant pair in mind to begin with with another player? Are they all going to be randomized?


Brennan snatched the cheque deftly from midair and beamed at the sight of it between his middle and ring fingers. He'd heard the sounds of the pen scribbling away from down the alleyway, but he was a man of his word, and on top of that he knew that soon Kawaguchi would be frothing from the mouth, arms and legs splayed out, muttering helplessly about how it was time for her to be a Gundam. He had to get her home.

"Cheers, lad," he called out to the invisible man who he'd thoroughly made his bitch, waiting for the sounds of footsteps to carry out of the alley and back into the street. When he did, he turned to the girl from the sight of the accident who had tailed him, now trying to swoop in on the corpse like a vulture. He brandished the two fingers that carried the cheque at her menacingly, and then tucked his payment underneath the collar of his shirt.

"Nobody carries cash around anymore, ye doomb sloot," he chastised, even as he picked up the corpse by her remaining arm and slung her over his shoulder with mild chagrin. "Deeeere's a girl, easy at 'em. An' as for you, you fookin' cotton candy throwin' fookin' degenerate, don't you ever talk to me or me corpse ever again. I don't like people takin' credit for me work."

Adjusting the body so that she rested more naturally over his shoulder, Brennan began to gingerly carry her back towards the place that the students had discovered her, giving her the classic carry generally reserved for bad drunks or wounded soldiers.

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