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Literary Hatchetman

STATUS: Malfunctioning Space Toilet (favorite death post in RPG) : roleplayerguild.com/posts/4… 8 yrs ago
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8 yrs ago
Current Malfunctioning Space Toilet (favorite death post in RPG) : roleplayerguild.com/posts/4…
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10 yrs ago
Example of a "Character Flaw": roleplayerguild.com/posts/32..
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Bio





"Character Flaw"

Keystone's Daydream

Checking for Mental Intrusion

The Power Of Pain Compels You

The Greater Good

Burial & Origin of James Mandingo Grady



Most Recent Posts

In 🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1 → 10 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Ashton Holloway


Location: Mess Hall


Ash looked down at Ryan, now kneeling on the floor. Then back up to Zoie. Ordinarily, this would be the time that he evaluates new arrivals and explains the ins and outs of their struggling but hopeful community. Newnan needed people. As many people as their supplies could sustain. The more the merrier; it meant safety. It meant industry. More hands to find or produce food meant more food for everyone. Expansion. Taking back their part of the world.

Except for this guy. Hearing the word "Eden", Ash took instant distrust.

The newest new guy spoke directly to Ash, not quite making a demand but not quite asking, either. Rather ballsy approach for a man on his knees, hands bound behind him, with two guns trained on his head. All the same, he knew for a fact that he wasn't going to put a round in Ryan's face right that second. Probably not the next one, either. He had come to say something, and the Captain was going to hear him speak. Simple enough to start.

"Yes. I'm the guy in charge, thanks to you asshairs. But as long as we're trying to be civil, I'm happy to lower my gun." True to his word, Ash took aim about three feet lower on the man, the barrel pointed in the general vicinity of the man's pant zipper. "You came here to warn Zoie. So warn her. Warn me, too."

Ashton glanced back to his new Second for an instant, and addressed her. "Make sure our guest is fed and has an armed escort. Then show him to one of our secure rooms in the Courthouse. I would like to speak with him in greater detail when I'm finished with my work today."

"Victor! Whenever you're ready, let's go make some peach brandy." Ash glanced to the young couple, the cop and the ballerina, "You two, feel free to take the tour. Newnan's not like it used to be, but I think you'll be pleasantly surprised."

Black James!


Location: Newnan, Inner Wall - Smoker


"Now ya see, Miss Doe... Can I callya Jane?" James had an odd habit of talking to things he was cooking, especially if he was by himself. It was a way for him to get ideas articulated, really out in the open. In this way, he could accept or reject an idea based on the merit of how ludicrous or acceptable it sounded when spoken aloud. The fact that he was addressing a smoking carcass notwithstanding, it made sense. To him.

"Now Jane, we don't know each other. An I ain't got nothing against you, neither. Just that you guys taste so friggin' good when you're done up into sausages and stew meat. Get me some carrots an boil down your bones for a few hours.. Mmm hmmm. Yes'm, you are a tasty beast. So I hope you won't take this the wrong way, when I propose to Bossman and Bosslady 'bout getting hunting parties together. I mean, I been learning 'bout more than just hogs lately; buncha muthafuckas need more than corn an' peanuts, keep their strength up."

"Hell you mean, "It's too dangerous"? Well I guess you'd know, wouldn't'cha? One hundred people left in Georgia, you get yo bitch ass hit by a truck. Don't you talk to me about dangerous. I was out there since the beginnin'. Never got hit by no car, set up in a grill, neither."

Bridgette Vinters

Location: Newnan Inner Wall


Bridgette was hoping that she would see her new friend out and about in Newnan, but it was just not the case. The stoic, nigh violent Bryn could take care of herself, no doubt about it, but she did have concerns sometimes. That thought gave her pause, if only for a moment. She genuinely liked someone that wasn't herself or Astrid. The Captain guy, too. They had spent some time together, sparring. And Zoie was alright! Even that guy that called himself a Blackneck - he was a hell of a guy (but that hat). There were others, too. Sally, from the kitchens. Tomory. The Future Mrs. Hook. Bridgette (gasp) liked these people. Well, most of them. And some of them she was really coming to care about.

She sat atop her Cadence as the realization slammed into her. These mismatched asshats and borderline crazy people were fast becoming her mismatched asshats and borderline crazy people. Just as much as any of the villagers from her last settlement. And in a relatively short time, too. It's amazing the difference one month can make. Marveling over her place in this new town, working for with a good group, she hardly noticed the scent of sticky rot until it was obvious and nauseating. Just down the street, painfully upwind from Bridgette, shuffled a figure covered with gore and corruption.

Why in the hell did the guys in charge make her put away her weapons? Her spear might save a life today; maybe her axe. Even her seax would be preferable to having to bash the undead bastard's brains open with the knuckle points on her full length bracers.

"Jævla helvete!" she swore quietly, maneuvering Cadence as quietly as she could around behind the shuffling monster. God, it stank. When she was done killing it, she'd have to bury it twice. Leaning down from her horse, Bridgette snatched up a five foot length of piping leaning against the distillery storage with others of its kind, and kicked Cadence into a gallop.

Bridgette aimed Cadence just to the left of the Biter, intending to make a passing swipe at its head from behind. If successful, she could explode the fucker's head with a stout, well placed swing. And she'd better get it before it took notice of anyone living. Bree had no idea who fell asleep at the switch, but whoever let one of the Dead inside was going to get a full snakeboot colonoscopy courtesy of Miss Vinters.

The enraged Valkyrie did as Shakespeare instructed, and lent her eye a terrible aspect as she bore down upon her target, pipe raised, screaming a single word at the top of her lungs: "VALHALLA!!!"

The thing stopped. Even looked a little confused. It was carrying a bag, a very full bag. Carrying? The Dead don't carry. What was going on here? At the last possible moment, Bridgette pulled up her pipe and blew past. Reigning around, she took a closer look at her "Biter". It was Richard.

"Fucking God fucking damnit, DICK! Why in putrid fuck are you covered in liquid dead people? You damn near made me fix Zoie and Astrid's personal problems, you rank bitchfist! God! No, no... you're not going to the fucking showers yet. You and me are gonna find a garden hose so I can blast the STANK off of you before you set foot inside a door. C'mon. And stay downwind!"

"Why the fuck are you wearing an entire corpse, anyway?"
In 🦄 Duplicity - D&D Style Fantasy Rp Adventure (Completed) → 10 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
@Lucius Cypher

I couldn't help but notice that your character has "Halfling Pipeweed" listed in his CS, but somehow it has the same effects of marijuana in the IC, albeit apparently extremely temporary.

Not that I have a personal problem with pot, despite my not partaking, but it is kind of silly to toke up in the middle of a warzone. Your character is free to do so if he's really bent on it, though. My problem comes from the fact that what is on your CS is not being described in the IC. Halfling Pipeweed ≠ Marijuana. Not in this setting, not in Tolkien's. Please fix.
In 🦄 Duplicity - D&D Style Fantasy Rp Adventure (Completed) → 10 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Keystone

Location: (to the side of the) Road North of Salarn, Day Three
Interacting With: Kyra, The Group


"Yeah," responded Keystone quietly as he dressed the bird. "Bloke can 'ave the bloody silver, if'n it comes to it. I'm gettin' proper irate at this Cloak And Bloody Dagger cobyankery, 'specially if the man's sittin' on food stores whilst I bottom out my personals tryin' to feed these wankers."

The greater point was not lost on Keystone; they were risking their lives for a handful of silver (which in truth, he wasn't especially desperate for at that time) guarding some mystery cargo, going through hostile territory in the middle of a war. Or the start of a war, at any rate. Merchants... well, they just didn't do that. If he had silver to hire guards, then he had resources to stay put until help could arrive. He had the ability to peddle wares further south or east of Salarn. Cremwise chose to head north into danger. Now the rumors of Undead, something he had considerable experience fighting against, and not always by choice.

"Yeah, Kyra. Fonging well right I wanna know what he's got squirreled away in there. But now ain't the time. Let's wait 'till we're about to move out. Full bellies, attention facin' out."

The sizzle of goose hitting hot iron sounded in their quick and simple rest point. The light smell of tea and searing fat traveled above their small fire as he turned the crisping bird over, followed by the sweeter and more acid notes of spirits deglazing the large pan. Keystone found a pair of more or less even chunks of split wood upon which to rest his cast-iron. Raised from the orange glow beneath yet still getting even heat, it was safe for the itinerant brawler to focus his attentions elsewhere. Like the rest of his team.

These people, most of them anyway, were only with them in the interest of mutual protection. They didn't have any direct investment in the safety of the wagon's contents nor its owner. It might be a good time to uncover this little mystery, and soon.
In 🦄 After Miranda - A Firefly Rp - Season 1 (Completed) → 10 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Foy Coiffeur
Location: Quarters, "Foy-er"


What a fine and chipper morning it was on the Retribution. A funny name for a ship, Retribution. Brings to mind a great hammer, poised to smash ne'er-do-wells and violent enemies of the Alliance. The manner of massive flagship sporting hundreds of fighters and dedicated patrol boats, crewed by the best and brightest that the Central Planets had to offer. The Retribution. Yes, a truly intimidating name.

The unfortunate state of things: It was a patrol boat. The kind that would have been at home docked on an Alliance Interdictor; the latter being the type of ship he had really hoped The Retribution was going to be. So much for sweeping staterooms, wide hallways, and grand amphitheatres. So long to five-star cuisine prepared by the finest of Core culinarians, and goodbye to the security of being quartered deep inside several hundred hulls of a spacebound citadel surrounded by thousands of soldiers and combat pilots.

Being intimately accustomed to finery, that would have grown dull eventually. It was a consolation, seemingly small in nature, but it rang with truth - Finery can be acquired from many sources, for a man of means. New experiences, particularly ones that come with monetary compensation, are a unique and coveted thing. Besides, he was under contract. An elaborate contract, full of allowables, clauses and the like. Very businesslike. Very up front. It detailed the conditions - realistic conditions - of his quartering and provisioning. This... sufficed, despite not being all for which he had hoped.

Nonetheless, it was still a fine and chipper morning. Our not-quite-protagonist stood in front of a long mirror in his quarters, viewing the result of his morning rituals. He was classically attired in pinstriped vest and slacks, a tough but stylish longsleeve dress shirt with loose cuffs, and a pair of well shined black madisons. The top button of his shirt was still undone. Ordinarily a faux pas, unless said gentleman did so intentionally to signify that he was at leisure. He was most certainly not at leisure, not this early in the day. But he did have to give consideration as to the nature of his tie.

Yes! His tie was an important status symbol, worthy of his consideration. The neckpiece connoisseur stepped to the second (and thankfully unused) bunk in his room, to delve into his wardrobe trunk thereon. A quick snap later revealed an odd assortment of shoes and ties, cufflinks, etc., as well as a more interesting set of intimidating revolvers and the hint of something much larger and scarier just underneath. Picking through the finery and firearms, the Gentleman found the object of his search: A black silk ascot with a gold deco pattern. With practiced ease, dexterous fingers manipulated the length of imperial cloth into a loose Windsor knot and pushed the longer bit underneath his vest.

A black long coat and felt bowler cap were considered, but ultimately rejected as duties should not take him out of doors that morning. Pockets and holders inside of his attire quickly filled with various sharp implements and unguents, personal items and tools of his more pedestrian trade. A dab of cologne, a touch of pomade, and a few seconds of maintenance on his profoundly luxurious handlebar moustache later, and he was ready to greet the day. "You are one Dapper Gentleman, Foy Coiffeur." he praised to his mirror. "Time to go to work, old boy."

Having been resupplied late the previous day, Mr. Coiffeur stepped lightly and smartly out of his quarters and down the hall to a comparatively larger room across from the medical recovery room. Outfitted to serve as a proper workspace for a Gentleman Barber, it was as much lounge as anything else. A selection of pastries and pot of fresh coffee waited there for him, beckoning to be sampled as a light breakfast. Foy selected a croissant and cup of the bracing black liquid, then punched up Alliance news on a nearby terminal. It was a short matter of time before members of the crew without formal obligation filtered in; the room that he affectionately referred to as "The Foy-er" had become a popular gathering point. Perhaps it was because it was the least military-looking room on the vessel. Or just maybe, it was because Foy had an inexhaustible supply of Wrapped Candies on premises.

The first of them appeared just in time to see Foy stropping an almost comically oversized straightrazor. The man considered turning back around and leaving; Foy had paused in his efforts to hone and polish his blade to stare at it, transfixed as if by memory. The light glinting from the tool seemed to hold him in some trance of memory, a slight but sadistic smile curling just beneath his gloriously oiled handlebar moustache. Noting the man entering the Foy-er, he closed his razor and tucked it into his belt. "You are a touch early, sir. I shall be with you momentarily, do help yourself to something sweet while you wait." Three or four minutes of setting up classical and contemporary items of business later, Foy returned with his giant razor, asking, "Would sir care for a trim, or just a shave for the time being?"

...

Word got back to the Foyer that the ship was to be made ready to depart as soon as possible. It would take a little while to recall all parties attached to the vessel, so he figured he could finish doing what he was doing. After the boat made it to the Black, artificial gravity would make the interior as stable as if it were sitting on flat earth, and he could resume his overt work. Their pilot, whenever he or she reported in, would make a pre-flight announcement and give the final warning to strap in before the antigrav boosters hurled them skyward.

Until then, The Esteemed Foy Coiffeur continued to see clients and keep the conversations going, intent on finding out the details of the day without actually leaving his barbershop.

William Harper
Location: Retribution, Bridge & Quarters


The Captain of this vessel seemed anxious to depart. In truth, so was William, though he was reasonably certain that his reasons differed from the ranking officer's. No matter. He could have his gear stowed in three minutes and have them off the ground in five, if need be. That part was simple. What was not so simple was the woman next to the Captain, in a simple black suit and blue gloves.

He knew what that meant. Generally speaking, it signified that one's proverbial goose had reached a proper internal temperature, with crispy skin and clear running juices. Unless they were part of your crew. As no one was dead yet, so far as he could tell, that must be it. William kept his face neutral, except to state a simple, "Yes, sir.". Mentally preparing for takeoff, his mind was already numbering the steps necessary for a vessel this size.

When the message came in informing the Bridge that their departure had been delayed, the pilot wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or nervous. "I'll see to my belongings and return straightaway to plot astrogation, sir." He nodded to the Agent lady before turning, stating a flat and simple, "Ma'am." as she departed. William stepped off of the Bridge, immediately met by a steward, hauling his few worldly possessions with him. The new Pilot followed close behind as he was led down the hall to his new living space for the next undisclosed length of time.

It was set up for two people, but from the look of it, the room was unused. That was a comfort, at least; he had some privacy. The moment the steward saluted and left, William brought the door to a close and breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't unpack, so much as secured his luggage and brought out one or two items of interest. First up was his Cortex Terminal. It was a secured device, unmarked and without signature identifying its presence anywhere on the Cortex. It was quite true that you can't stop The Signal, but in many instances you can hide where it's coming from. There were no obvious red flags about his situation in the usual places, and that Agent hadn't taken him in immediately. It seemed that he was free to embrace his new existence and move on with life, until a viable opportunity presented itself.

William was a pilot. Times past, he was an officer, as well. This is what he did, with proficiency enough to make many envious. Two more years, or another opportunity to "die", and he could live and let live for the rest of his days. But first, a quick splash of water to his face, and back to the Bridge. The Lieutenant had astrogation toward Whitefall to program.

In 🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1 → 10 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Ashton Holloway


Location: Mess Hall


It was touching, really. Times before, these two would have made for a really out-of-place couple. But these days, all shapes and sizes was the norm. Grabbing a slice of happiness and companionship, bonding over the little things that were (just sometimes) more important than mere survival. The inconsequential was removed from life, revealing the pure, clear truth: We are all we really have, anymore.

Ash's visage softened. A small, quiet smile displayed itself, quickly corrected to a neutral facial rest. He leaned back a bit in his seat. "A ballerina, and a cop. I'll be the first to admit, we have no positions for Prima available here in Newnan. Maybe we should. An artist such as yourself is a rare thing. We'll do whatever we can to support that. If you choose to stay, there will have to be a further contribution of effort. I'm willing to concede that your warmup sets quality as hard calisthenics. Talk with Meghna Kumar or Miss Sally in Domestic about setting something up, maybe get others involved."

A Police Officer gives more tangible experience. Obvious jobs come to mind, in the walls and out. But for right now, you two settle in. Rest. Eat. When you're up for it, feel free to grab a shower. Someone will be along to assign you temporary quarters. Spend a couple of days here, decide if you want to stay. If you do, we'll talk more then."

He rose, intending to get back to his duties for the day. After a short laugh, he turned back to the two at the table he had just left, "Most everyone here are decent folk. A couple may come off as caustic, but they mean well. When you feel like looking around, I'll leave someone outside to escort you. Except into the showers. That'd be silly." Ash's mood seemed more elevated than when he entered the room. Maybe it was seeing a young couple, still not completely hardened by the world. Whatever the case, the wearied Captain felt something he hadn't in a long while: Honest hope.

Ashton started for the main doors, eager to get to the Distillery and see to his work. He was stopped by an unfamiliar presence coming in toward him, followed by his new second, Zoie. Instinctively, Ash drew his sidearm with practiced speed, chambering a round as it raised to confront the man before him. His leg dropped behind him in a bracing stance, and the calm level of his voice returned to a default, no-nonsense vocalization.

"Something to report, Zoie?"

Black James!


Location: Newnan, Inner Wall - Smoker


"..mama's little baby luvs short'nin' bread... Oops. Shit, we just pick that up, blow it off, ain't no one to know but Me an' God. Where was I? Oh yeah - Mama's little baby loves short'nin' short'nin'..."

In 🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S. → 10 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Caesar Gonzalez

Location: General Vicinity of Gretchen Mortgage LLC Waterfront Storage


Faces on video, check. Weird language recorded, check. Exact storage unit discovered, check. But there were more questions. Why the hell did they mention MSS's new site? Were Alicia and Lorna in danger? Well, more than usual, anyway. With no vehicle present, where the hell were they taking the boxes?

Caesar likely could have left with the information gathered, no harm, no foul. If they were moving something important into another unit, however, it would likely not be under the same name as the first one. He would have to know exactly which shuttered steel room they were bringing the goods to, were he to do a follow-up. At the same time, Caesar had a reaching desire to go to the Queensguard Industries R&D Industrial Complex and check with his girls. While he was there, he may avail himself of the company tech present. Still, to round a corner while taking footage would definitely be met with confrontation, were these people indeed in the middle of shady business. But he had to know.

Several options ran through Caesar's mind. Some more obvious than others, some more violent than others. A couple that were downright hokey and/or suicidal. Any direct interaction, even if it did not come to violence, would partially tip his hand. If his face wasn't already known by some means, it would most assuredly be by his own. But his methods were old-school. He had acquired a number of new methods over the years, proof that you in fact can teach an old perro new tricks.

The elder man opted to take a more discreet approach. He had a daughter with a keen technological mind, particularly as it pertains to their industry. Caesar took note of the security cameras and affirmed quietly to himself. This was a job for younger minds to tackle. No slouch with security technology himself, but Alicia's skills dwarfed his own. Time to go.

Caesar quietly made his way out of the rows of storage units, careful to watch his back on the egress. For a handful of reasons now, priorities shifted to firing up his Scorpion and hitting Queensguard Industries, on the now. The waking growl of the engine seemed to agree.
In 🦄 Duplicity - D&D Style Fantasy Rp Adventure (Completed) → 10 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Keystone

Location: (to the side of the) Road North of Salarn, Day Three
Interacting With: Kyra, Cremwise, The Group


It took a little doing to find a spot nearby suitable to wheel the wagon off of the road, but it got done. There was a glowing and obvious difficulty with the idea of cooking the until recently living bird, maybe others had noticed it. If they hadn't, Keystone took the responsibility upon himself make mention of the room-dwelling elephant.

"Y'know, went me to a place, long while back. Far east o'ere. Folk talked different, ate lotsa rice, whatnot... Anyway, buggers had this habit, eatin' fish out the ocean. Didn't touch it to heat or nothin'. Now, I dunno if you lot want this goose..." He paused for a moment, unsure as to exactly what the carcass in his hand used to be prior to impalement and plucking. Looking to Kyra, he inquired, "Goose? Bloody 'ell..." He shrugged, and continued his thought with the rest of the group, "Dunno if you lot want this goose(?) done up all Maki Maki, but we ain't got a stick o' wood ain't soaked through n' through."

Cremwise, silent up until this point, cleared his throat and uncovered part of the wagon. Inside, there was a tinderbox and various sizes of lumber scrap, protected from the elements. "If it would help get that goose cooked faster, take what you need, Keystone."

Keystone slapped his broad palm to his head in disbelief. This was something he would have liked to know about earlier. Possibly when they were huddled around a barely warm hearth the night before. Maybe the night before that. But no matter, it was available to them now. But time was short.

"Riiiight." he shook his head slowly. "If'n you lot want supper timely, I'll need one'a ya to get a fire lit and low on the quick whilst I dress this bird. 'Nother'n get me a hole dug what I can bury the less tasty of the guts in. Otherwise, it ain't getting done in one quick hour. Li'l 'elp, then?"

The uncouth pugilist began to bring his knife to bear, carefully opening and disembowling the avian. He was set up next to a puddle of rainwater, which he used every so often to rinse off his hands as he worked.
In 🦄 After Miranda - A Firefly Rp - Season 1 (Completed) → 10 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay




In 🦄 After Miranda - A Firefly Rp - Season 1 (Completed) → 10 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Submitted for approval. Please be gentle.

In 🦄 After Miranda - A Firefly Rp - Season 1 (Completed) → 10 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
William Harper
Location: Eavesdown Docks


The man strode confidently forward, keen eyes searching for an Alliance ship designation among the signs and arrows present, leading would-be travelers to their vessels of choice. This was truly a melting pot of different people, much more diverse of a world than his own home. The confidence in his face belied the knot tying itself in his stomach. It was only a short walk to his destination, a vessel called "Retribution". If he was allowed to board, he was home free. If not, well, he was a hell of a distance runner. As he walked, memories of the recent and not so recent past flooded back to him, simultaneously bolstering his confidence and feeding his worry.

He had been in Eavesdown for two days now. It was enough time to procure some essentials and make a few decisions. The essentials involved a bit of tech, some tools, baked goods and as much preserved fruit as he could purchase. William had been in a less than comfortable place for some time, and he missed life's tiny luxuries.

But now, he found himself walking toward an Alliance ship, everything he owned in the 'Verse on his person or pulled behind him. He had on crisp, clean clothes, teeth shiny and new looking, hair coiffed in a stylish but pragmatic manner suitable for an officer in the Alliance Navy. It had been quite a while since he had worn a high-collared officer's coat. It reminded him very much of the styles of clothing common to his homeworld, a place he'd likely not see for a long time, yet. Not until he finished some business, anyway. Until then, he was to serve out the remainder of his Navy hitch and part ways amicably, hopefully to fade into obscurity someplace warm and green, with good Cortex access and dire need of a Tech Engineer. Start his life over at 35, while he still had time.

William rounded a corner, catching sight of his assigned craft for the first time. It was breathtaking sight, especially considering the beater in which he arrived at Persephone. A fully armed and outfitted Patrol Vessel, built for speed and versatility. It was a beautiful craft, and its helm was his to control. He adjusted the massive wrench on his Browne belt (a thing with which he could not bear to part, if at all possible), and boldly strode up to the Yeoman stationed in front of the landing.

"First Lieutenant William Harper. Here are my papers." He spoke in clear, authoritative words. Obviously, he had done this before. William allowed the junior Navyman to scan his Ident and presented his travel orders for inspection. The yeoman threw a salute and stepped to the side, permitting entry. "Thank you. Have a steward secure my personal effects and show me to my quarters. I will be on the Bridge."

Lieutenant Harper entered the Retribution, quickly acquainting himself with the layout of the deck. He turned down the main corridor, headed to the Bridge just as he told the enlisted man outside that he would. Quickly locating the most important looking person in the room, William threw him a salute, holding it briefly. "Captain Quinn, I presume? Lieutenant William Harper, Pilot, reporting for duty, sir. The moment my gear is stowed, I'll ready to hit Black. Our orders, sir?"

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