Recent Statuses

1 mo ago
Current Visualize yourself as a grandparent. Or a whale.
2 mos ago
The secret to resurrecting the dead is a mixture of egg whites and laundry detergent, stirred thoroughly.
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3 mos ago
A dog in the yard means an apple in the oven.
3 mos ago
Don’t wash twice, wash nice.
3 mos ago
The finger of suspicion must travel deep to find the truth.



Most Recent Posts

Thursday evening. Around midday. Indeterminate location.

A large, relatively empty room. Looks as though it might have been an office space or presentation room at some point, but was later cleared out. Smooth, light brown floor. White walls, white ceiling with rectangular lamps built in. All very standard.

People are present. A couple dozen, maybe more. No rhyme or reason to them, all just normal, everyday, random people. The youngest is a teenager while the oldest might be in their fifties or sixties. The majority of them are standing, talking to each other quietly. Apart from them, however, is one man seated in a metal folding chair. Caucasian, dark brown hair cut short. Brown eyes. Clean shaven, save a little stubble. No majorly notable facial features. Grey collared shirt and blue jeans, pair of white sneakers.

He sits there, silently, with a completely empty expression on his face. Hands are folded with interlocked fingers.

Along the back of the room lie a set of collapsable tables placed against the wall. Resting on them are a vast assortment of random objects and tools. Cloth rags, duct tape, an electric razor, markers, makeup, an assortment of random headwear, necklaces made of plastic beads, bottles of water, and much more.

Moments more of the gathering murmuring to each other, and the door in the corner of the room swings open. In steps a bald Caucasian man wearing a white dress shirt with rolled up sleeves, and black slacks and leather shoes.

“Thank you all for coming,” he says to the gathering as he steps through them, towards the seated man. “Sorry I’m a few minutes late, we’ll get started right away.”

He takes a stand next to the seated man and faces the crowd. “So, uh,” he begins, “some of you already know the deal here but, just as a refresher course, I’m your host, and this...”

He steps behind the seated man and places his hands on his shoulders.

“Is our volunteer. He is a one-hundred percent consenting individual. For the duration of this session, you are all allowed to do whatever you want to him, barring a few guidelines. One, you can’t kill him. Two, you can’t inflict permanent bodily harm to him, like mutilating him or ripping out his teeth. Three, you can take off everything but his underwear. Four, nothing overly sexual. Kissing’s fine. Five, no pictures or recordings of any sort. Six, you’re allowed to use anything you see on the tables, within the rules. If anyone wants to play music, there’s a stereo system over in the corner. Seven, please be courteous to each other and take turns, don’t drag things on for too long. And lastly, you’re allowed to remain completely anonymous if you so choose. Everything that happens in this room stays here.”

The host gives the volunteer a light smack on the right side of his face as he walks past him, with no reaction from him. “I’ll be outside,” he says, “If anyone needs anything, ask the doorman.” With that, he exits the room, and leaves the group to their devices.

They begin communing again, murmuring their thoughts and intentions to each other. After a moment, a young brunette woman steps towards the volunteer and stands before him for a moment. She then kneels down and wraps her arms around his neck, embracing him in a seemingly sincere hug. She kisses his cheek, and ruffles her fingers through his hair a bit. He gives no reaction at all.

The young woman detaches herself from the volunteer and, without warning, slaps him across the cheek. The volunteer recoils from the slap, but doesn’t verbally express any pain at all. He slowly returns to his original position as the young woman returns to the crowd.

The murmuring continues. The volunteer sits quietly.

The next turn is open.
OOC Rules

- Post length is recommended to be minimal in order to get the point of any interactions across quickly, but you can put however much you feel is right in the end.

- The volunteer doesn’t talk, he doesn’t react in any major fashion, he doesn’t fight back, nothing. He’s empty. Treat him as such.

- No character submission is required. You’re playing as normal, everyday, random people. You can make up whatever kind of person you want for an interaction, give as much or as little detail as you want.

- One interaction per post, and recommended one person performing the interaction as well. Don’t take multiple turns in one go.
Kyle, Kayla, and Lazarus

Written with @JunkMail and @fetzen

“There.” Kayla said, pointing out the truck window into the crowd of people gathered around Casino Plaza, huddled under shelter to get away from the oddly-colored rain.

“Good God, he’s a unit.” Kayla exclaimed once their new acquaintance came into view amidst the crowd. It was akin to finding a car in a haystack. This Rókur fellow, tall and pale, didn’t fit into the public scene at all. Kyle nodded in agreement, saying, “Alright, let’s get him in.”

“Rókur!” Kayla called out, after rolling down the window, trying to get the attention of the giant. She opened her mouth to say something more but it was lost as the wind and rain picked up around her. She cast her eyes up to the sky and cursed to herself. It was cold, and wet and she felt like hell. The sirens in the distance and the darkness of the skies put her on edge. Bad things happened at times like these.

“You wanna go in and take a closer look?” Kyle said, noticing her attention on the red skies and the sirens. Kayla rolled up the window of the truck to prevent any more water from getting on her already wet form.

It didn’t take a whole lot of time or thought for Kayla to answer her brother. She had a bad feeling. “Uh... no. Not this time.”

“That‘s a surprising response, coming from you.” Kyle replied.

Kayla turned to face her brother. Her makeup was running, and she generally looked like a very unhappy version of the person she usually was. “Kyle, this isn’t… our kind of deal. This is- the authorities should handle it.” she said, motioning awkwardly with her hands. She was trying to convey that this wasn’t supernatural, but didn’t know how to word it in a way that showed that she was done for the day. Sloshing through sewers, burning eggs, and being soaked to the bone had ruined her resolve, and she genuinely wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed. And maybe a happy meal.

Kyle remained silent for a moment before responding, “Yeah… yeah, I’m not really feeling this one either.” In an extraordinary turn of events, neither Kyle nor Kayla were eager to investigate an event of the potentially unnatural variety. After a moment more, Kayla reopened the passenger’s-side window and called out for the pale giant once more, evidently not catching his attention the first time.

By the time Kyle and Kayla arrived at the scene, the rain had already taken a rather severe toll on Rókur's clothes despite the fact that he had tried to protect himself under a protruding roof. Strong winds had caused the crimson liquid to move sideways, drenching the thick layer of fabric enveloping his enormous body through and through and causing it to cling tightly to his skin. Yet that was hardly what bothered the norseman -- he could dispose of that water within a moment's notice if necessary. While waiting he had watched the vehicles and those inside them passing by, something that had become increasingly easy as traffic was winding down. When Kyle and Kayla's truck showed up he immediately recognized them as the perfect match they were for the description that had been provided to him, yet hesitated to step forward for the lack of clear instructions.

From where he was it was impossible to understand what they were talking about inside, but he could see both their lips moving while they were facing each other much more than they did face him. It was obvious that a discussion was going on in the cab, indicating that they had not come with a clear, preset strategy. Or maybe they were just engaging in a debate about the (in-)adequateness of his ancient attire. This vague uncertainty was enough to cause a bit of a bad feeling as the callout from Kayla finally reached his ears.

Rókur stepped out of his hideout, approached the vehicle and moved his head so he could have a clear view through the open window. "Hello you two! Kyle and Kayla, right? I'm Rókur. Erm... Would you mind letting me in?"

“Hop in back.” Kyle said, unlocking the truck doors.

Rókur felt quite happy about this being a truck and not, let’s say, a much smaller car. At about seven feet and with anything but a slim build space was a precious thing to have. He heaved himself into the back as said and closed the door behind him, happy to be out of the bad ‘weather’ that was surrounding them.

“So… What are your plans?”

“McDonald’s.” Kayla replied simply. She turned her head around to see Rókur. “Ever been?”

Rókur arched an eyebrow slightly. “McDonald’s?” the norseman asked back. “The thing with the big, yellow and curved ‘M’ so many people talk about? Never been in there. That’s a fast food restaurant, right?” Needless to say he seemed rather clueless...

“You’re in for a treat.” Kayla replied. She turned to her brother and patted his shoulder as she said, “To the nearest Mickey Dee’s, Kyle.”

It wasn’t his idea of a great meal, but Kyle wasn’t in the mood to object. He put the truck in drive and set off in search of the golden arches. And away from whatever nature of event was taking place nearby.
@Lord Wraith You do the thing good

@Skai You do the other thing good
@JunkMail Eternity lasts forever, but the sunset is a reflection of our souls.

Let’s have sex.


<Snipped quote by JunkMail>



Kyle and Kayla

Written with @JunkMail

They found it.

It took nearly a whole day’s worth of time scouring the abandoned metro tunnels of the city, empty tunnel after empty tunnel, plus finding an entrance that hadn’t been completely paved over, but Kyle and Kayla finally found the nest.

The two stood before the clutches of aswang eggs, both wielding fire in their hands in different ways. For Kyle, a Tourist-made small-tank flamethrower. And for Kayla, actual fire danced between her fingertips

The two unceremoniously raised their respective instruments of incineration, and set upon the nest two streams of fire. The sanguine eggs and the putrid growth surrounding them were all engulfed in flames, the unborn aswangs inside writhing for only moments before the eggs burst, succumbing to the heat. It was nasty, it was unsightly, and it smelled absolutely horrible - but it had to be done.

The two walked away from their handiwork as the flames began to wither, the light dying as they moved further and further away, resorting to illumination via a ball of light Kayla had conjured.

“That’s always the opposite of fun.” she said, trying to break the silence between the two. She had always been the most talkative of the bunch, and lulls in conversation always bothered her more than they ever did her brother. Patience was a virtue as the saying went, and impatience had always been one of her character flaws.

“Least it’s done.” Kyle replied, “Although knowing that was down here makes me wonder if other parts of the tunnel network are worth checking out.”

“I’m inclined to agree. I’m sure a library around here has some of the city’s documentation. There’s likely a map of these tunnels.” Kayla hummed. “Have you heard anything more about any of the supernatural communities in this city?”

“I haven’t taken a look yet. Although I don’t think there’s much the Tourists know about if they didn’t direct us to anything as soon as we got here.”

The station they’d used to enter the tunnel was coming up ahead.

“That might be our next move, then. There’s obviously a…” Kayla trailed off and looked back in the direction where they had come from. Where the eggs were. “...A presence here. Of the supernatural.”

Kayla crossed her arms as she walked with her brother towards the exit. “What do you think we should do about Ellara, now that we know her?”

“For now?” Kyle replied, “Let’s just leave her. She’s got plenty to figure out without either of us roping her into anything. Or vice versa.”

“Always the more pragmatic of us.” Kayla snorted. “Thanks for coming with me to the city by the way. I don’t think I’ve said that yet. It’s been nice to get away from places Milo has been.”


He seemed a little averse towards the mention of the name. But he shrugged it off just as well. They were close to the station now. As they approached, both of their phones buzzed simultaneously. They both retrieved them from their pockets, somewhat perplexed at the timing, and then read the group message they’d both received from…

“Who the hell is Rókur?” Kyle asked, looking confused.

“That name sounds very scandinavian.” Kayla said. “Is your text any different than mine? All it mentions is a name for me.”

“It says it was sent to both of us.” Kyle replied as he continued to read over it. “He’s… friends with Jasper, apparently.”

“I- I know the name but I can't remember why I know the name.” Kayla explained, rubbing the back of her neck. “I guess that’s at the head of our to-do list, then. Maybe I’ll remember on the way.”

“Yeah.” Kyle said, as the two made their way through the abandoned station, “But, what’s happening downtown that he wants to check out?”

“Let me get right on that…” Kayla said, quickly navigating to her phone’s web browser.

“Uh oh.”

“‘Uh oh’? What do you mean ‘uh oh’?”

“Something’s happened. A bomb or- something. They don't know yet.” Kayla answered. “We should probably move. If Rókur knows Jasper, then he’s obviously something other than human. If he’s going out in the middle of town to investigate, this might be big for all of us.” she reasoned. She quickened her pace. “We should probably get there. Quickly.”

No verbal response from Kyle. The two of them simply ran up the station steps to the entrance covered in blue tarps they’d cut through in order to make there way underground in the first place. Once they were outside and by the truck, they both immediately noticed the sight of the event in the distance - the red clouds forming overhead of the evening sky, the pouring rain, and the sounds of sirens drawing closer near it.

“It does not fucking end with this city!” Kyle called out, appearing to lose some of his temper.

Kayla was not faring any better. The rain had quickly soaked through her clothes and she was more prone to being uncomfortably cold than her brother. “Rókur first! Complain later!” She said over the sound of the heavy rain. She pulled her phone out, doing her best to shield it from the water with her other hand and sent their new contact a quick text, while the both of them made for the truck.

Kayla: Where are you? Wherever you are, dont move. We’re coming to you.


Events transpire several hours before the start of Be Somebody.


“...severe damage to the vehicle, with no sign of Ms. Sorenson in sight. Authorities ask that residents of Árido Valley keep watch for any signs of Jennifer Sorenson’s status or whereabouts and report anything they find which may help in the ongoing investigation. In other news, gunfire was reported near…”

Newscast. Uncle and his son were sitting and watching while they ate, rest of the family just outside on the backyard patio. Cookout, having the family over. Everyone had already done plenty of talking, so now they were beginning to separate a bit. TV sounded good to the uncle in the meantime.

There were seven in all. A man and his wife, the man’s brother and his wife, two girls belonging to the first couple, and a boy belonging to the second.

A relatively happy family. Nothing out of the ordinary.

“I don’t wanna go back into town anytime soon after all that craziness. I’m not.” The father said, “Murders left and right, gang wars, it’s insane.”

“You shouldn’t be working there then!” The uncle’s wife said, “You can find something out here in the Valley!”

“I mean, maybe after I square everything away with my boss but-”


One of the daughters ran to the table where the three adults were seated. “What? What is it?” The father asked his little girl, who looked pale and panicked. “There’s a lady!” She called out, “She’s hurt!” She turned to look out into the yard, as did the adults. Over in the distance, the father’s other daughter was standing a few feet away from an unfamiliar figure - a woman. Ragged, filthy, and her steps uneven.

“Oh my God!” One of the mothers called out. The father sprang from his seat on the patio and sprinted over to his daughter and the stranger. A look of worry grew on his face as he became more aware of the woman’s physical condition. He placed his arms on his daughter’s shoulders and pulled her back, looking at the stranger and saying, “Miss, a-are you okay? Miss?”

No response. The woman just kept stumbling forward. Her clothes were torn to shreds and splattered in foul-smelling stains. Dried, crusted blood surrounded her eyes and mouth. Blonde hair turned wild and caked in dirt. And her abdomen... writhed beneath her shirt.

The other members of the family gathered outside to watch the event take place. “Miss?” The father said once again, “Can you hear me?”

The woman slowly raised her head and opened her mouth. Rather than any reply of words, the family was beholden to a horrifying sight. The inside of woman’s mouth - teeth and tongue - had all been replaced by a cluster of small, red, slime-covered pods. They opened wide, and began to vibrate rapidly, emitting a fast and constant clicking sound. Like a swarm of insects compressed into one small source.

The family - all standing before this strange, altered woman - did not react. They stood there, eyes wide, pupils dilating, mouths agape. The sound pierced their skulls and wormed its way into their brains, holding back their attempts to move or break away in any manner. The woman, maintaining her strange song, collapsed to her knees and then onto her side. None of this halted the sound. The family then gathered around her in a misshapen circle, dropping to their knees. They began to claw at her shirt, something still writhing beneath it. They tore it open, revealing a bloody mess of squirming pale creatures, similar to the ones inhabiting her mouth, but larger and covered in thin red veins. They moved on their own, as if detaching themselves from the woman’s exposed innards and presenting themselves to the family before them.

The seven of them began to dig their hands into the mess, grabbing the worm-like creatures and slovenly devouring them. Juices and fluids coated their hands as they dug at the woman’s body, as she maintained her hypnotizing song. They each stuffed worm after worm into their mouths, not making any attempt to clean themselves.

The horrid feast went on for only a couple minutes before the worms were all gone. The woman then ceased her song, the pods retreating as she closed her mouth, and lied still on the grass. Not quite dead, but very nearly there.

The family all slowly stood upright, mouths covered in the foul, sticky fluids from the woman’s innards. They all turned their heads away from the house and the woman, and then slowly began to stumble away from the scene altogether. They maintained a close group, as if driven by some unseen force, commanding them.

The house was left empty, the TV on, and the woman torn open and dead in yard.
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