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2 yrs ago
Current Status? Look up synonyms for perturbed, grumpy, disinterested, and snappy, read them all out loud, and you'll have my status for pretty much every waking moment.
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Bio

If you're here, odds are that either you take issue with something I've said or done (in which case I would direct you to my secretary Johann, who will file your complaint and make sure that I get back to you shortly), or you've made some grave and horrible mistake. In either event, I welcome you, but encourage you to get on your way hastily.

Most Recent Posts

I don't know how this machine works so I'll just leave it to you guys and follow whatever goes on.
I felt as though a collab would be more open for allowing dialogue between characters in a way that might flow easier, so that people aren't shafted to say a few lines per post and each person having to respond separately.


That's what I'd figured, but it doesn't seem to be happening so I'm feeling hopelessly lost. Oh well; these little things have a habit of working themselves out.
Sorry for the delay (I'm currently working on my post); it's been a hectic week.

Can someone please explain the purpose of the collab pad to me? The concept is new.
@LemonsThere he is! ily 2 bbycaks. And please don't think that I didn't spy that sneaky little edit. <Insert quip about English majors here>

By the way, @Didgeridont, I don't actually have a problem with your writing; I'm just being a melodramatic ass because that's the only way I know how to talk to people.
@Dark Light

Beep beep
Take your Character Sheet
Put it in the Tab
So I can be real glad


AABB assonance? You just became my second least favourite person. Number one: you know who you are.
<Snipped quote by Lemons>

If he can tolerate Chiue, they'll likely be friends. She likes fancy.


Andrejs has a problem with tolerating... people.
@Atrophy

Spooky dooky.
"Mmmm, decisions..." he said to nobody in particular. Ceramic fingers, kept in immaculate polish, performed a slow ballet down a rack of ties before finally stopping on a satin lilac. Having finally set up his various properties in the new apartment, this was Andrejs' first night to himself, and he planned to spend it in style; who knows, perhaps he could even find some fine feminine specimen and show her a good time. Manhattan, eldredge, half-windsor, trinity... No, he thought, unraveling the tie once again, his fingers repeating a practiced motion and assembling a crisp rose knot around his neck. Andrejs tightened the knot with a small grunt. Content with his work, he then reached into the tall cabinet built into the wall next to his mirror, revealing row upon row of artificial flowers. Performing the same finger-ballet as he examined his options, Andrejs took but a few seconds to select what, in the loosest possible terms, seemed a mock carnation. As he fit it to his lapel, the white base and gentle lavender bleeding along the fabric's edges made for a contained yet powerful contrast against a navy suit. Andrejs took much less time to select a pocket square, having already visualised the tame blue pindot in a reverse puff while he was tying his tie.

Little remained to do in the way of suit assembly; Andrejs had already spent the requisite hour obsessing over the slim, but not too slim, fit of his jacket and the pressed, but not outwardly stiff, collar of his shirt. With a quick look in the mirror and a smile at the dashing man looking back, he took a step towards his closet and looked down. After a moment of consideration he reached for the black—no, black is too formal... brown—brown derby—no, derbies are too bland... brogue—brogue shoes to the left of the black oxfords and the right of the brown derbies. A moment later, he was ready to go, and with one more quick look in the mirror and a nervous run through his hair to ensure its tidiness, he opened the door—

—to a man. The man looked surprise for a moment, but he took less than a second to regain a perfectly unaffected composure. A delivery man. Andrejs was puzzled for a few seconds, but soon after nodded his head in understanding. "Ah, the new shirts I had tailored. I must say, your delivery is quite prompt; I'm impressed. Alright, show me where to sign." The man didn't offer any pen or paper. He simply extended his arms with a small package in hand. Andrejs' puzzled countenance returned as he accepted the package. His mouth opened to speak, and to support it rose a single inquiring finger, but the delivery man turned and left. He did not run, in fact, he did not even walk particularly quickly, but something in his gait exuded a confidence, or a fear, or a something that told Andrejs not to follow or protest. Instead, he took a step back inside of his apartment and locked the door. He opened the package, and where he expected a bomb, death threat, or at least something that might offer an answer, there was only another question. This question took the form of a list of instructions and a little model house. No, it wasn't a house; it was a warehouse. Taped to the side of it was a small piece of paper that, in a pleasantly neutral font contained one of the most pleasantly neutral messages that it could, and Andrejs' was terrified: GO HERE. Andrejs swallowed his built-up saliva and began his practiced ritual of converting anxiety to motivation and fear to indignation. He rose.

He took perhaps twenty steps into a bedroom, kept in perpetually pristine condition. He reached into a drawer next to the bed, and withdrew its contents. They shone a bit in the mellow lighting, letting off a very muted glint along the corners. He placed the larger piece on the bed while examining the other, counting the little golden cylinders that ran up its frame. Nine. Perfect. Andrejs then mated the two objects and let out a small sigh, both of exasperation and relief as he felt the familiar weight of something he'd not held in a long time and hoped to never hold again. Reaching back into the drawer, he withdrew a holster and slung it about his torso, placing the handgun by his left hip. With that, he put his jacket back on, concealing the weapon, and wheeled about to face his apartment door. Another sigh. A pause. Hesitation? Where lies the difference between contemplation and avoidance, between caution and fear? No matter. Regardless, it ends now. Andrejs took a step; it felt a bit shakier than usual. One more sigh, but this time more focused and focusing: tranquil, ready. The next step was firm. Another step. Another. Soon, Andrejs was out the door, his face almost as hard as the neatly pressed lines of his suit.




It wasn't a long walk. Twenty minutes, perhaps, though Andrejs walked quickly. Whether this was a consequence of anger, fear, or purpose was not written on his face. When he reached the warehouse, Andrejs looked around. There were quite a few suspicious characters lurking about the general area, but then again just about everyone in this city looked suspicious to him. As for persons who actually seemed concerned with the warehouse itself, Andrejs could find none. No more instructions. Andrejs started towards the first doors that he noted, his steps a touch lighter and deliberate. What came next was hardly light or deliberate. There was a pause once he reached the door and considered his options. However, this moment of calculation was short-lived. A sort of giddy rage sprung upon him, and though it was tamed by habitual tranquility and professionalism, it still bled from his face at the eyes and lips. The feeling was familiar. The indignation at being told what to do and knowing that it was dangerous, without knowing exactly what the task would entail or how dangerous it was; paired with the thrill, that shameful leaping passion that came with the prospect of adventure, that horrible joy that came whenever death didn't touch Andrejs, didn't even open the door, but only looked through the window, smiled, and waved. Andrejs loved that rush, and hated to love it. So while it was neither the anger nor the primitive excitement in totality that drove Andrejs to kick open the door, the passion was certainly fueled by both. He raised one hand in a wave and kept the other gently resting on his sidearm.

"Honey, I'm home! Now what the fuck do you want?"

That's when he saw the others, standing around and not doing much in particular. They looked calm. Whoops. Andrejs headed over, keeping his head high and a hand on his gun, though his grip loosened. Quietly now, "Hello, all. But really, what the fuck do you want?"

Hey, @Lemons? Bud?

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