@FallenTrinity
Threw up a post on my phone. Didn't bother with color, but it's readable. I may clean it up a bit later.
Threw up a post on my phone. Didn't bother with color, but it's readable. I may clean it up a bit later.
- Last Seen: 2 yrs ago
- Joined: 9 yrs ago
- Posts: 700 (0.21 / day)
- VMs: 1
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- SpookySquid 9 yrs ago
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7 yrs ago
Current
Szechuan McNugget sauce. I want to try it.
7 yrs ago
Fly home buddy. I work alone.
1
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7 yrs ago
If 93% of conversation is nonverbal, why don't more people shut up?
7 yrs ago
Legend says, if you hold your ear to a conch shell, you'll hear a conch shell.
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7 yrs ago
Obligatory Message: Happy Holidays!!!!
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Most Recent Posts
@FallenTrinity
The Motorcyclist that had been shot had slipped out of consciousness, and the one that had tried to swipe Mrs. Pickles’ rifle had already been knocked out, leaving only the man pinned under his own motorcycle. At first, the man had been dumbfounded, but now he realized that his shoelace was stuck and was only pissed off.
“You’re not even a real hero, are you? You probably don’t even know how to fight, you piece of shit,” said the guy pinned under the motorcycle.
“Who are you? Who do you work for?” asked Mrs. Pickles.
“I work for the Gang of X City… the Rainbow Gang.”
“The Rainbow Gang? Seriously? That’s what you're called?”
“Yep. Ask any police officer. They know about us. Gangs are perfect… too big for most of the crappy heroes and too small for those other pricks who sit on their thrones until they can start beating on some monster…”
“What’s the name of your boss?”
“To be specific, Yellow.”
“Was that the guy I saw running away?”
“Yep.”
“What’s his real name.”
“I don’t know. Nobody knows the name of any of the ringleaders. Just colors. Orange. Blue. Red. All the big guys get these code names. Orange is the leader.”
“Where is he now?”
“I don’t know! I-”
Mrs. Pickles kicked the man in the face. Hard. The man shouted as pain filled shot through him.
“Did that jog your memory?”
“For the love of… I don’t know, you moron! To say I’m one of their pawns is an exaggeration. I got orders from a guy who gets orders from a guy who gets orders from Orange. He told me to cover Yellow’s escape. Forget Orange, I don’t even know where Yellow is.”
“Then give me the name of the guy who gives you orders.”
“Pfft, like that will get you anywhere. You realize after him you have a whole network of guys to go through? What, you think you can stop him?”
“Do you even know who you are talking to? I’m Mrs. Pickles.”
Mrs. Pickles expected fear, horror. Instead, the man laughed. “You? Mrs. Pickles? Oh, that’s rich. Sure, you might have beat us but if that’s S-Ranked level combat then I’m the King of the World. Hell, people were right. You are a joke. I’ll give you everything I know and you won’t be able to make anything out of it, and that guy-” he nodded towards Jayce, “has more important things to worry about then some Gang, I’m sure.”
“Fine. Prove me wrong. Tell me everything you know,” said Mrs. Pickles, calmly. He was getting used to hearing insults, regardless of whether or not he deserved them.
The self proclaimed King of the World shifted uncomfortable under his bike, and then spoke. “Okay. I know some places and names… but I better get some time off of my sentence. First name is Harry Wilson. He works in a warehouse in the northern part of the city. It’s on B-” the man was cut off as a bullet cleanly punctured his skull, killing him.
“Sniper!” shouted Mrs. Pickles, as he quickly stumbled towards a car and hit. The sniper didn't fire at him and probably ran off to hide. He had killed his target: The man who knew things.
Things went quiet and then Mrs. Pickles heard the sound of sirens. A fire truck, some ambulances, and a few police officers.
The fire truck immediately started putting out the small fire that had been made as a result of the moped collision as three of the gang members were loaded into ambulances and the two corpses were examined by the the police officers. Mrs. Pickles walked over to talk to Jayce, but wasn’t sure what to say. He just stood next to the hero and waited for him to speak. Then, Mrs. Pickles cell phone rang.
“Excuse me,” said Mrs. Pickles to Jayce, even though the two weren’t talking. Mrs. Pickles answered the phone. “Hello this is- wait, if this is the call about the one hundred dollar gift card I ‘won’ you need to back off. I know that’s…” his voice trailed off as someone spoke on the other line.
“Alright. Thank you. I’ll be there right away, sir,” said Clarence, carefully, his voice shaking slightly. Clarence placed his cell phone in his pocket and stared blankly into the distance. He was clearly scared, and perhaps a bit angry. “I’m going to have to go. Let them know what happened,” said Mrs. Pickles to Jayce. And then, the hero crossed the street and began to walk to the east, to preoccupied to notice if Jayce or the cops asked for anything or followed. The police didn’t even notice Pickles, and were more preoccupied by the man who had been punched in the face by Jayce and placing his corpse into a bodybag.
The Motorcyclist that had been shot had slipped out of consciousness, and the one that had tried to swipe Mrs. Pickles’ rifle had already been knocked out, leaving only the man pinned under his own motorcycle. At first, the man had been dumbfounded, but now he realized that his shoelace was stuck and was only pissed off.
“You’re not even a real hero, are you? You probably don’t even know how to fight, you piece of shit,” said the guy pinned under the motorcycle.
“Who are you? Who do you work for?” asked Mrs. Pickles.
“I work for the Gang of X City… the Rainbow Gang.”
“The Rainbow Gang? Seriously? That’s what you're called?”
“Yep. Ask any police officer. They know about us. Gangs are perfect… too big for most of the crappy heroes and too small for those other pricks who sit on their thrones until they can start beating on some monster…”
“What’s the name of your boss?”
“To be specific, Yellow.”
“Was that the guy I saw running away?”
“Yep.”
“What’s his real name.”
“I don’t know. Nobody knows the name of any of the ringleaders. Just colors. Orange. Blue. Red. All the big guys get these code names. Orange is the leader.”
“Where is he now?”
“I don’t know! I-”
Mrs. Pickles kicked the man in the face. Hard. The man shouted as pain filled shot through him.
“Did that jog your memory?”
“For the love of… I don’t know, you moron! To say I’m one of their pawns is an exaggeration. I got orders from a guy who gets orders from a guy who gets orders from Orange. He told me to cover Yellow’s escape. Forget Orange, I don’t even know where Yellow is.”
“Then give me the name of the guy who gives you orders.”
“Pfft, like that will get you anywhere. You realize after him you have a whole network of guys to go through? What, you think you can stop him?”
“Do you even know who you are talking to? I’m Mrs. Pickles.”
Mrs. Pickles expected fear, horror. Instead, the man laughed. “You? Mrs. Pickles? Oh, that’s rich. Sure, you might have beat us but if that’s S-Ranked level combat then I’m the King of the World. Hell, people were right. You are a joke. I’ll give you everything I know and you won’t be able to make anything out of it, and that guy-” he nodded towards Jayce, “has more important things to worry about then some Gang, I’m sure.”
“Fine. Prove me wrong. Tell me everything you know,” said Mrs. Pickles, calmly. He was getting used to hearing insults, regardless of whether or not he deserved them.
The self proclaimed King of the World shifted uncomfortable under his bike, and then spoke. “Okay. I know some places and names… but I better get some time off of my sentence. First name is Harry Wilson. He works in a warehouse in the northern part of the city. It’s on B-” the man was cut off as a bullet cleanly punctured his skull, killing him.
“Sniper!” shouted Mrs. Pickles, as he quickly stumbled towards a car and hit. The sniper didn't fire at him and probably ran off to hide. He had killed his target: The man who knew things.
Things went quiet and then Mrs. Pickles heard the sound of sirens. A fire truck, some ambulances, and a few police officers.
The fire truck immediately started putting out the small fire that had been made as a result of the moped collision as three of the gang members were loaded into ambulances and the two corpses were examined by the the police officers. Mrs. Pickles walked over to talk to Jayce, but wasn’t sure what to say. He just stood next to the hero and waited for him to speak. Then, Mrs. Pickles cell phone rang.
“Excuse me,” said Mrs. Pickles to Jayce, even though the two weren’t talking. Mrs. Pickles answered the phone. “Hello this is- wait, if this is the call about the one hundred dollar gift card I ‘won’ you need to back off. I know that’s…” his voice trailed off as someone spoke on the other line.
“Alright. Thank you. I’ll be there right away, sir,” said Clarence, carefully, his voice shaking slightly. Clarence placed his cell phone in his pocket and stared blankly into the distance. He was clearly scared, and perhaps a bit angry. “I’m going to have to go. Let them know what happened,” said Mrs. Pickles to Jayce. And then, the hero crossed the street and began to walk to the east, to preoccupied to notice if Jayce or the cops asked for anything or followed. The police didn’t even notice Pickles, and were more preoccupied by the man who had been punched in the face by Jayce and placing his corpse into a bodybag.
@FallenTrinity OOOH I JUST READ IT. Nyehh I don't have time to post nowwww, I'll post in a few hours I promise!!
EDIT: posted! And I changed her color, btw. I felt the purple was a bit hard to read.
Thank you for changing the color :D
@Melkor
They are..And there will be a third Jayce in my next post. The third will be what brings things to light...Well...Start to bring things to light. The Jayce reaper is with will give away a few details as to what his motive is and what he's planning. The one that pickles is with is also going to tie in to the one Reaper is with.
Eventually (when we get Dreadlock back into the game, I'll reveal everything including who Jayce REALLY is
Ah, I see.
@FallenTrinity also, is Jayce talking to Reaper or outside with Pickles? Or did I just miss something? XD
Apparently there are two of them...
(???)
Aaannnddddd... done.
@FallenTrinity
Mrs. Pickles began by apologizing as he brushed himself off. “Sorry, I’m not used to using mopeds…” when Jayce apologized for cursing relentlessly at him, Mrs. Pickles determined that they were even.
The talk of the town? “Yeah… that’s about right…” Mrs. Pickles scratched the back of his head, not sure how to feel about all of this attention. “Look… I don’t know how I advanced through the ranks so quickly… I think there was a mis… hey, where did the guy in yellow go?”
Sure enough, the man had vanished. Mrs. Pickles was about to say something, when he was cut off by a loud roar. The few pedestrians that were lingering nearby quickly ran away and hid. Suddenly, five men riding motorcycles rounded the corner. They were wearing black leather jackets, with bits of yellow on them. Mrs. Pickles quickly readied his hunting rifle as they approached.
The five men were all wielding sawed-off shotguns, and didn’t look like they were in a great mood.
“Why don’t you two back off,” one of them grunted, glaring at Mrs. Pickles. “What you just witnessed was simply… business…”
Mrs. Pickles didn’t have much to lose, so he showed a sudden surge in courage. “Killing a co-worker seems like a little too much paperwork for a-”
*BANG!*
One of the men fired a shot near Mrs. Pickles. Not close enough to hit him, but it made him jump.
The five motorcyclists chuckled. “You know,” said one. “Why don’t we just kill you two? Two less problems, eh?” The other four agreed, and then three immediately drove towards Mrs. Pickles as two drove towards Jayce.
The first gang member to drive past Mrs. Pickles didn’t even bothering a shot, and just smacked him in the face with the butt of the gun. Mrs. Pickles brought his arms up to protect his face, and they took the brunt of the damage.
The next cyclist did the same thing, but hit Mrs. Pickles from behind, sending him sprawling to his stomach. Mrs. Pickles rolled onto his back, and was about to get up, but then felt pressure on his abdomen and chest and heard the roar of an engine and laughing in his ear. One of the gang members was slowly running over him with his motorcycle!
Mrs. Pickles gasped for air as the motorcycle rolled over him. He felt his ribs straining. Mrs. Pickles grasped desperately at anything, and was only able to loosely grab the man’s shoe, but didn’t have the strength to hold onto it. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the thug drove off of Mrs. Pickles chest and spun around.
The three were going to leave him and work with the others to fight Jayce, but, shaking, Mrs. Pickles stood up. He reached towards his hunting rifle, but then one of the motorcyclists drove by and picked it up, but Mrs. Pickles grabbed onto the strap and tugged. The man was flung onto the pavement by this sudden movement, and landed on his head, rendering him unconscious.
Mrs. Pickles grabbed his hunting rifle and fired a sloppy shot at one of the other two men. It connected, and the man fell to the ground, clutching a wound to his abdomen. Then, the final rider approached Mrs. Pickles. This was the one that had run him over and probably fractured his rib (thankfully, Pickles didn’t have any cracked ribs, just some serious bruises). Mrs. Pickles tried to ready his rifle again, but he was too late. The man was about to blast him away with his shotgun. It was over! And then, the man and his motorcycle suddenly fell to the ground.
When Mrs. Pickles had been struggling to survive as the man sat on top of the hero with the motorcycle, he had accidentally grasped the man’s shoe and untied his shoelace. The shoelace got caught in the motorcycles shifter and the man had accidentally tipped the wrong way and pinned himself under his vehicle. Mrs. Pickles, bewildered, could do nothing but look at Jayce to see what progress the other hero had made fighting the two other motorcyclists.
@Animal
Evan was lead to a room with a thin doctor who ran some simple, straightforward tests. Sort of like a hero specific check up. Afterwards, he was lead to a brilliant room with wonderfully carved tables. The room was clearly designed to hold at least three dozen people, but other than Evan the room remained silent for a good bit.
Finally, a lone man entered, wearing a collared shirt and a plain suit that was clearly too small. He seemed ex-military, and had a pair of thick shades and muscles, but his belly stuck out just a little bit, revealing he had been putting on a pound or two. The man held a folder in his hands and looked inside. Then, he looked up at Evan. Even a blind man could have read that expression. That man was disappointed and angry.
Suddenly, the man slammed the file down, making the table quake. If Evan looked closely, he could see the graying hairs on the man's head quivering from the impact.
He strode over to Evan and sat in the chair next to him.
"So tell me... what do you know?" The man paused, as if he was going to give Evan an opportunity to speak, but then continued. "Because you should tell me everything. I want names. I want phone numbers. I want their mothers' names. Their mothers' phone numbers. I want their credit card information, birthday, pet's name, favorite place to buy baked goods, favorite color, whether not they eat pineapples on their pizza, the brand of mouthwash they use- every little detail that you can think of, because the information your holding from me could be the difference between me sending you to a cozy little prison cell for the next fourteen years or me just bashing your skull against this table and using your organs as jump ropes and your bones as tools to repair the table so that I can bash you skull against it one more time. Then, I'll take your brain and make it into soup. You know, the kind with little onions in it. Then, I'll take your heart and pin it on that wall, right over there! See that wall?" The man pointed at a water cooler that was resting in the corner of the room. "And do you know what I'm going to do to your skin?"
Whatever the man was going to do to Evan's skin suddenly became unimportant as he changed the subject. "SO! I'll play nice if you play nice. Do I make myself clear, kiddo?"
Evan wasn't given a half of a chance to respond before the man spoke once more- "ISAIDDOIMAKEMYSELFCUHLEEEEEERRRR?!?!?" The man pounded on the table once more and then stared at Evan intently, waiting for a response. If Evan was paying attention, he would notice the man was cradling his bruised hand underneath of the table after smashing it against the table so much.
Mrs. Pickles began by apologizing as he brushed himself off. “Sorry, I’m not used to using mopeds…” when Jayce apologized for cursing relentlessly at him, Mrs. Pickles determined that they were even.
The talk of the town? “Yeah… that’s about right…” Mrs. Pickles scratched the back of his head, not sure how to feel about all of this attention. “Look… I don’t know how I advanced through the ranks so quickly… I think there was a mis… hey, where did the guy in yellow go?”
Sure enough, the man had vanished. Mrs. Pickles was about to say something, when he was cut off by a loud roar. The few pedestrians that were lingering nearby quickly ran away and hid. Suddenly, five men riding motorcycles rounded the corner. They were wearing black leather jackets, with bits of yellow on them. Mrs. Pickles quickly readied his hunting rifle as they approached.
The five men were all wielding sawed-off shotguns, and didn’t look like they were in a great mood.
“Why don’t you two back off,” one of them grunted, glaring at Mrs. Pickles. “What you just witnessed was simply… business…”
Mrs. Pickles didn’t have much to lose, so he showed a sudden surge in courage. “Killing a co-worker seems like a little too much paperwork for a-”
*BANG!*
One of the men fired a shot near Mrs. Pickles. Not close enough to hit him, but it made him jump.
The five motorcyclists chuckled. “You know,” said one. “Why don’t we just kill you two? Two less problems, eh?” The other four agreed, and then three immediately drove towards Mrs. Pickles as two drove towards Jayce.
The first gang member to drive past Mrs. Pickles didn’t even bothering a shot, and just smacked him in the face with the butt of the gun. Mrs. Pickles brought his arms up to protect his face, and they took the brunt of the damage.
The next cyclist did the same thing, but hit Mrs. Pickles from behind, sending him sprawling to his stomach. Mrs. Pickles rolled onto his back, and was about to get up, but then felt pressure on his abdomen and chest and heard the roar of an engine and laughing in his ear. One of the gang members was slowly running over him with his motorcycle!
Mrs. Pickles gasped for air as the motorcycle rolled over him. He felt his ribs straining. Mrs. Pickles grasped desperately at anything, and was only able to loosely grab the man’s shoe, but didn’t have the strength to hold onto it. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the thug drove off of Mrs. Pickles chest and spun around.
The three were going to leave him and work with the others to fight Jayce, but, shaking, Mrs. Pickles stood up. He reached towards his hunting rifle, but then one of the motorcyclists drove by and picked it up, but Mrs. Pickles grabbed onto the strap and tugged. The man was flung onto the pavement by this sudden movement, and landed on his head, rendering him unconscious.
Mrs. Pickles grabbed his hunting rifle and fired a sloppy shot at one of the other two men. It connected, and the man fell to the ground, clutching a wound to his abdomen. Then, the final rider approached Mrs. Pickles. This was the one that had run him over and probably fractured his rib (thankfully, Pickles didn’t have any cracked ribs, just some serious bruises). Mrs. Pickles tried to ready his rifle again, but he was too late. The man was about to blast him away with his shotgun. It was over! And then, the man and his motorcycle suddenly fell to the ground.
When Mrs. Pickles had been struggling to survive as the man sat on top of the hero with the motorcycle, he had accidentally grasped the man’s shoe and untied his shoelace. The shoelace got caught in the motorcycles shifter and the man had accidentally tipped the wrong way and pinned himself under his vehicle. Mrs. Pickles, bewildered, could do nothing but look at Jayce to see what progress the other hero had made fighting the two other motorcyclists.
@Animal
Evan was lead to a room with a thin doctor who ran some simple, straightforward tests. Sort of like a hero specific check up. Afterwards, he was lead to a brilliant room with wonderfully carved tables. The room was clearly designed to hold at least three dozen people, but other than Evan the room remained silent for a good bit.
Finally, a lone man entered, wearing a collared shirt and a plain suit that was clearly too small. He seemed ex-military, and had a pair of thick shades and muscles, but his belly stuck out just a little bit, revealing he had been putting on a pound or two. The man held a folder in his hands and looked inside. Then, he looked up at Evan. Even a blind man could have read that expression. That man was disappointed and angry.
Suddenly, the man slammed the file down, making the table quake. If Evan looked closely, he could see the graying hairs on the man's head quivering from the impact.
He strode over to Evan and sat in the chair next to him.
"So tell me... what do you know?" The man paused, as if he was going to give Evan an opportunity to speak, but then continued. "Because you should tell me everything. I want names. I want phone numbers. I want their mothers' names. Their mothers' phone numbers. I want their credit card information, birthday, pet's name, favorite place to buy baked goods, favorite color, whether not they eat pineapples on their pizza, the brand of mouthwash they use- every little detail that you can think of, because the information your holding from me could be the difference between me sending you to a cozy little prison cell for the next fourteen years or me just bashing your skull against this table and using your organs as jump ropes and your bones as tools to repair the table so that I can bash you skull against it one more time. Then, I'll take your brain and make it into soup. You know, the kind with little onions in it. Then, I'll take your heart and pin it on that wall, right over there! See that wall?" The man pointed at a water cooler that was resting in the corner of the room. "And do you know what I'm going to do to your skin?"
Whatever the man was going to do to Evan's skin suddenly became unimportant as he changed the subject. "SO! I'll play nice if you play nice. Do I make myself clear, kiddo?"
Evan wasn't given a half of a chance to respond before the man spoke once more- "ISAIDDOIMAKEMYSELFCUHLEEEEEERRRR?!?!?" The man pounded on the table once more and then stared at Evan intently, waiting for a response. If Evan was paying attention, he would notice the man was cradling his bruised hand underneath of the table after smashing it against the table so much.
I’ll have my post up in roughly six or seven hours.
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