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Current Ever wish life was a game, and you could delete your save?
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@Shard


It's Brokeback Galaxy.

Included - None

Mentioned - @t2wave,@iTem


The biological deterioration of lifeforms proceed to spread the molecular evolution off.., 

Short nails clicked against the table as large, black eyes absentmindedly trailed across the sentences of a book. With music blasting into his ears, it was safe to say that Willow wasn't entirely focused on what displayed itself before him. How did one come to view his current predicament? The boy was on a ship ran and maintained by criminals, lunatics and murderers. Now, which of those three categories did Willow himself fall into? It would not be a stretch to consider them all. He was, of course a criminal. There was little need to sugarcoat that. After resent events, nothing else could brand him. The boy did after all lay waste to not only his dear father, but also the scientists tasked to make his life a hellish experience. A lunatic? Most certainly. The voices constantly echoing within his cranium were bickering even now, fighting amongst themselves in an attempt to convince Willow of following their path, their instruction. It would have been an easier endeavor, were they a unified front. Alas, they were but a raging battle echoing within. "Shut up..," Willow sighed, shifting to another song on his music player. At least they let him keep that. 

From a laboratory to this ship, it was quite a change. Now, it would be a stretch to say that it was for the worse but the boy was no fool. He was well aware that he was part of a suicide squad. He was a freak, a lab rat, an experiment gone wrong. If he could help the Alliance somewhat before being erased with a bullet to the head, they were more than willing to invest. Needless to say, Willow was in the possession of some peculiar abilities. 

Now, he had traded out the scent of medicine, sterile walls and rubber gloves for oil, metal and the occasional sweaty crew mate. Given enough time and he would likely grow closer to the others, and see how they all got along. Since arriving at the ship, Willow had kept to himself, listening to either the music used to drown out his thoughts, or the voices bicker and argue. If the boy was to be truthful, they could, on the oh so rare occasion, be somewhat entertaining. During most scenes however, they were a drama Willow would do better without, but even so, it had already been displayed that their absence brought discomfort. Quite the interesting situation. They were as if an addiction, a bad habit. Were they present, Willow found some sort of twisted comfort in the pain of their presence. Were they absent, he'd feel a loneliness without compare, as if a very part of him had been cut off. 

"Willow!" A voice ehcoed," don't be rude!" There was a ghastly repeat of the word, fading into the back of his head.

"Such a fucking pansy," came another voice, "Willow, stop being a bitch! Get up, hurt something, kill someone!" 

"Pick up the book, paper is sharp, cut, cut, cut something, cut someone, hurt, hurt someone, hurt you, your finger, start with the finger," a third, more sporadic voice proceeded.

"Everyone, shut the fuck up!" Came a fourth voice, "Willow, it has to be quiet, right? Gotta' be professional." This one was quite soft, quiet and by every measure, more disturbing.

"And turn off that fucking J-Pop, Willow! See that radio? Turn it on, turn it on, turn it on!" 

Wrapping his fingers around the cold surface of a soda, Willow downed it's contents with a heavy breath. This was insane, and raising the music only caused the voices to scream louder. "Why haven't you killed them yet!? What about that little plant thing? Or that hot, blue alien!? You should fuck hi-..." 

"Think he has an alien dick?" Yet another, more sultuary voice trickled down Willow's spine.

"Of course he has an alien di-.." The previous voice tried before Willow shot up from his chair and slapped his hand against the table. 

"Would the lot of you..," he sighed, clenching his teeth as a black mist proceeded to manifest itself in his immediate presence, "stop talking..?" In reaction to these turns of the tide, plants growing in a nearby pot promptly withered, and faded into antiquity. Leaves were overtaken by a sickly brown color, their shapes reaching the now shriveling dirt. It did not take long for the plant, and the fruit closely present, to wither into shells of their former selves.

"Hah, you've done it now, Willow! Plant chick's gonna' be pissed!" A voice echoed throughout his head, furthering the boy's annoyance, "and that fruit! You're savage!" 

"Ugh," the boy sighed, rubbing his forehead before dropping back to the chair. At this rate, his crew mates would have a hard time getting used to him. At times, it felt like these voices controlled his actions more so than he did. In truth, Willow always feared that day, the day when they take complete control. Could that happen? Could they move his limbs to their own tune? They lived within his skull like flat mates who refused to pay rent. As far as he knew, they preferred to be backseat drivers, commenting on everything he did without fear of the repressions. "You guys are gonna' get me killed," Willow huffed, resting his head on his arms sa they laid upon the table. 

"It's a wild ride!" A voice returned. Perhaps the boy needed to up the dosage of his medicine, but too much of the medication would have dire circumstances, indeed. They tired him out more so than he already was, an ironic cure. Preventing these voices from manifesting as physical entities, with the ability to physically interact with Willow, he was forced to trade the little strength he had for the ability to fight these creatures lurking within the dark depths of his fragmented mind. 

"Just hearing you guys speak is enough to feel dirty," Willow rolled his eyes before leaning back in the chair. 

"Find the blue alien thing and take a bath with him!" A voice was quick to shoot back.

"The day I find anyone willing to go that far with me, I'd have worse things to worry about, than you." Anything willing to take that step with someone like Willow undoubtedly had a darker abyss than even him.
Oh my, I have never seen anything like this before. How unique, and incredibly intriguing. I love horror of this genre but has never seen an RP that offers it. I'll start working on a character as soon as I am able, and will PM it to the designated location.

Included - None


Food, now that Willow tasted the nourishing substance against his lips, it was safe to say that the teenager had missed the sensation. One could not claim that the meal resting between his slender fingers was considered impressive, or viewed with high regard, but being picky was a fool's errand in the vacuum of space. Indeed, it was worthy of note to mention Willow's company. They were all criminals, each presence was branded a degenerate. What were they, more than weapons suited with the mind of a gestalt's free will? If the Alliance was capable of such a feat, surely they would rob this merry band of warriors, of what could be considered their only freedom. Their free will. After all, what use has a weapon that refuses to obey its master?

Poking his food with a fork, Willow managed a soft break before sipping from his drink. Orange juice, something mostly anyone would welcome to a morning's fatigued embrace. Even the voices quieted down once Willow was able to restore his strength. Resisting their clawed touch was a feat more reachable when Willow's ability stave off the tricks of the mind was heightened.

Finishing the breakfast which in turn allowed for a more pleasant experience, the teenager ascended to his feet with a tray resting under his arm. Truly, the various characters donning this ship filled its interior design with color. Tracing his feet across the grated floor, Willow allowed his eyes to gaze towards the area now under a continues construction to achieve the gun range he would all but one day visit, merely to watch his fellow crew mates wring grace with firearms. He could not use one to save his life, quite literally. The recoil would surely break his arm, in the process. Luckily however, Willow was a weapon in his own rights. Using a weapon would merely be detrimental to him. something which would prevent full efficiency. Shifting his attention, Willow's large black eyes proceeded to follow Stryker's stride as the man continued up and stairs and ultimately entered his room. The man was speaking to someone, a communication device brought to view before a door then obfuscated sight and allowed for privacy.

It was not Willow's nature to snoop, not quite. Indeed, he was of curious ilk, but it was a stretch to claim that he put his nose, where it did in fact not belong. Rather, the boy returned the tray he carried, and then made his way towards the library. Indeed, such a gathering of knowledge was enough to sate a curious mind. Willow had always been drawn to the fantastical, or rather, the odd. Who was to blame him? His very existence had become one with an ancient being, or rather an ancient presence, as it was. Not a moment passed where his thoughts did not return to the dark depths which had conjured the virus now calling itself his name. One day perhaps, especially now, he would be able to visit the planet where this virus was first located. What unspeakable horror called this a natural state?

Willow had seen pictures taken of what could only be considered his home planet, by now. It was dark, desolate and the buildings were made of stone. He had seen the desert climate covering the planet's surface, and he had heard its name spoken on several occasions, Necrotica. The air on this nightmarish realm was breathable, though one ought to be careful not to step too close to the black mist, or a painful end would be sure to greet you. Of course, Willow was exempt from these rules, but others could not claim the same.

Tracing his pale finger across the book spines, the boy tilted his head somewhat to read the text displayed upon their length. The Art of Combat, Geological Discoveries, Species Compendium, everything a wayfaring warrior would need, wasn't it? Pulling out the text of interest, Willow flipped open the cover as his eyes fixed their gaze upon a large title, 'Species Compendium'.
@Crossfire

I agree that one has to keep the OOC going, though a Discord is fun to have to just goof around with your fellow players, and talk OOCly. Just a hangout, rather than RP discussions, ^^. It's all good, either way.
Alright, so here's some thoughts about what I would like to see Ren to go through during this event

Step one: Get hammered. Check!

- Run into Sasha and perhaps finally connect the dots between Joselynn a.k.a. Sasha?! @aladdin_sane #slow
- Dance like no one is watching with the gentle giant, Ashton - woop woop! @Silver Fox
- Run into Winter and make him even more uncomfortable! or maybe drunkely apologize for his behaviour the last time they met?! @Shard
- Talk more to Siobhan - perhaps find a piano and play a certain song together? @Almalthia
- Try to play matchmaker for Marlin in order for her to get an actual date and get rid of his bad conscience for occupying her night@PrinceAlexus
- Come up with drunk schemes with e certain cardboard man?? @Rabidporcupine
- Get introduced to knew people?? #EverybodyNotMentioned

Disclaimer: List in no particular order, yo.


@Crossfire

When do you plan to have your next post up.
I have no clue who I am interacting with, lol.


Central Point 🍧 Public Party 🍧 Friday Evening


'The darkening mist proceeded to envelop an otherwise sleeping village's harmonic form. Cold and unforgiving, the touch of death accompanied the ever looming presence. There had been rumors of a herald, one who brought judgement to the unworthy. He was said to be freeze the very blood of an onlooker's fragile frame. Truly, meeting this gestalt was a curse reserved for stories, and nightmares. It is however as they say, there is always a fraction of truth, in every myth.'

With a soft breath escaping his lips, Winter tapped slender, pale fingers against the cold surface of his glass. Short nails clicked against the reflective surface, though the sound was quickly drowned out not only by the ever growing crowd, but also the ever present music making its way from Winter's headset. An inspiration for his story? The chilling surface of his glass offered an idea, if nothing else. He had promised his sister to attempt this feat of social pursuits. Thoughts of his last meeting came to mind, and Winter could not consider the event a success by any stretch of the imagination. That white haired young student on the path to a doctorate offered anything but a pleasant introduction, and Winter was not prepared to act much better in response. Needless to say, this did not bode well as a first impression by the brave, new world Winter had so carelessly promised his sister to be part of. 

Sipping from the drink which was a beverage far more appreciated by those of a refined palette, the author managed a sigh before his eyes traced their gaze across the festivities. Groups had formed and shaped into smaller clusters, each one a source of communication which in turn offered pleasantries the corner could not compete with. Where was the safety, however? Where was the tactical approach? In the air of an approach, what exactly was Winter doing here? Feeling of place was sever understatement. He had found a corner which was quickly confiscated by the young man and called home. Its confines would do, and it would act as a fine excuse. If no one came to talk with him, it wasn't Winter's fault, now was it? To be fair, his sister was expecting quite a lot from him. She was supposed to join him in this event but work swept her from heeled feet. 

With his hands upon the circular bar table, the esteemed and far too forgettable author lazily leaned his slight weight against it's shape. Large, raven eyes then shifted between the fiction presented in a leather bound notebook, and those drawing the surroundings a social event. What inspiration could he gather, in a place like this? A masquerade, perhaps`A vampire ball, dark and mysterious? How about a scene where the shy and reserved author poked a whole in that bubble known as insecurity and stepped out of his comfort zone? No, no one would read that. Would they? People didn't dive into the world of a book's many sentences because they wanted to read a reflection of reality. They wanted something else. Winter wasn't it. 

Then, it was unfair to assume, wasn't it? Taking another sip of his glass, Winter narrowed it down to the atmosphere, at this point. He never did like white wine, or any kind of wine, for that matter. But there was a thin line between appearing vaguely interesting, and being a pathetic waste of breath in the corner. That glass of wine was the line, and it did not require deep thought to come to a certain understanding. One approach was more attractive, than the other. 

There was a certain air of mystery upon a man making the scene his own, sensually sipping from a glass of wine with dark eyes welcoming his surroundings. This was, of course, not the image brought to fruition at the sight of this eternal teenager apparently unable to reach the physical shape of his age. Of course, it was worthy of note, dotting his awkward and less than graceful personality. Tripping on his words, lost in thought and unable to look others in the eye. Indeed, Winter was anything but the alpha would seek in the male companion. Rather, a lost puppy would reach along a more fitting description. 

Eventually, Winter would be forced to yield to his less refined tastes, and gently pushed the still filled glass a distance across the table. 'Welcome to your life.., there was however one thing Winter could constantly count on. His music. Without it, it was safe to say that the young author would barely function. Words would not leave his fingertips and they certainly would not find home on paper. '...every body wants to rule the world!' But at least there was that, wasn't there? At least, he would always have that. 
@PrinceAlexus I’ve missed the RP. We’ll see what trouble I can get Winter into.
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