@Zelosse I'll bring the Thunder God, you bring the corpse, it'll work sooner or later, lol. :) I say let's jump it back to life, maybe go ahead and do the time skip we discussed a while back, and start fresh from there.
- Last Seen: 6 yrs ago
- Joined: 11 yrs ago
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Username history
- Tracyarmav 11 yrs ago
Status
Recent Statuses
8 yrs ago
Current
I hate waiting...
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9 yrs ago
Dar'manda
10 yrs ago
Feeling flaccid
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11 yrs ago
Responsibility belongs not to the name stenciled on the mantel, but to the one who carries the mantle.
11 yrs ago
"Strike me down, and I'll not fight back; Threaten my brothers, and even death will not protect you from my wrath." -- Blackswordkirito I couldn't have said it any better myself.
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Bio
25/M/GMT-5
I average 1-3 posts per week, usually per RP, but sometimes total.
I average 1-3 posts per week, usually per RP, but sometimes total.
Most Recent Posts
Welcome to the guild Amy! I'm sorry no one's welcomed you sooner, I hope you've found a good SL or two join. If you need anything asking in chat usually works. :) I hope to see you around,
-Tracyn
-Tracyn
You like Scoundrels then? Or are you a bigger fan of the captive audience? (referencing his days in the carbonite block) @KatherinWinter
@KatherinWinter I know, I just couldn't resist the Han Solo quote. :)
@gravity22
Dinner plans were changed, wonderful. Probably someone had a food allergy or just the new girl being a snob. Roberto didn't really care which it was. He continued to tread the ground's perimeter, barefoot. His shoes sat on the porch where he'd left them after the first circuit. He liked the feel of the earth beneath his toes. That was his heritage, at least on his sire'd side. He didn't know much about his mother's side, whoever she was, she hadn't wanted him any more than his dad had. But she was different, he could do things his "family" couldn't. They didn't like that, which made it a point of pride for Bob, anything they hated he'd come to cherish in some form or fashion, if only to spite his elders. If they think I owe them anything, they're wrong, and if they want me dead, see if I care, it's not like I have a life anyway. My only real joy any more is pissing them off. What would piss them off most here? I could burn the cottage... They'd just have another one built, to insignificant. Osik... Do I really have to do this? Well, it's not like I'm going to just find an army standing around waiting for orders. I may as well make the most of what I can here. One thing I will not do is emulate my sire, I will thwart him in particular at every chance I get.
That decided, Roberto checked his watch, and figured he had time to left to write a short postcard to the ever doting Mumsy. What possessed her to love him, Bob never could figure out, but she did, and she was the only one who ever had or ever would as far as he could tell. He grabbed his shoes and slipped in the back door, pulling out a post card and pen, he dashed off a few short lines, that weren't wrong, but didn't really say anything either. The cottage was nice, he had a room to himself, his window had a nice view, the others seemed like nice campers, etc. He put a stamp on it, and addressed it, before sticking it in his back pocket. He'd put it in the mail bin on his way to dinner in about five minutes. He checked his bag, grabbed a pair sandals, and slipped them on. He'd unpack the rest later. He stepped outside, and made his way to the dining room, dropping off his postcard on the way. He fully expected the mail would be censored, which would be amusing, since he never told Mumsy anything anyway. Bob knew if told her the truth she would just get herself killed trying to stand up for him and then he really would be alone in the world. So he didn't, he played nice and wore a thick mask, it'd come in real handy for the next few weeks. Bob stepped into the dining room at 1753, (5:53pm) and found a wall to lean against while waiting for further instructions. He noticed he couldn't smell dinner... that was odd.
Dinner plans were changed, wonderful. Probably someone had a food allergy or just the new girl being a snob. Roberto didn't really care which it was. He continued to tread the ground's perimeter, barefoot. His shoes sat on the porch where he'd left them after the first circuit. He liked the feel of the earth beneath his toes. That was his heritage, at least on his sire'd side. He didn't know much about his mother's side, whoever she was, she hadn't wanted him any more than his dad had. But she was different, he could do things his "family" couldn't. They didn't like that, which made it a point of pride for Bob, anything they hated he'd come to cherish in some form or fashion, if only to spite his elders. If they think I owe them anything, they're wrong, and if they want me dead, see if I care, it's not like I have a life anyway. My only real joy any more is pissing them off. What would piss them off most here? I could burn the cottage... They'd just have another one built, to insignificant. Osik... Do I really have to do this? Well, it's not like I'm going to just find an army standing around waiting for orders. I may as well make the most of what I can here. One thing I will not do is emulate my sire, I will thwart him in particular at every chance I get.
That decided, Roberto checked his watch, and figured he had time to left to write a short postcard to the ever doting Mumsy. What possessed her to love him, Bob never could figure out, but she did, and she was the only one who ever had or ever would as far as he could tell. He grabbed his shoes and slipped in the back door, pulling out a post card and pen, he dashed off a few short lines, that weren't wrong, but didn't really say anything either. The cottage was nice, he had a room to himself, his window had a nice view, the others seemed like nice campers, etc. He put a stamp on it, and addressed it, before sticking it in his back pocket. He'd put it in the mail bin on his way to dinner in about five minutes. He checked his bag, grabbed a pair sandals, and slipped them on. He'd unpack the rest later. He stepped outside, and made his way to the dining room, dropping off his postcard on the way. He fully expected the mail would be censored, which would be amusing, since he never told Mumsy anything anyway. Bob knew if told her the truth she would just get herself killed trying to stand up for him and then he really would be alone in the world. So he didn't, he played nice and wore a thick mask, it'd come in real handy for the next few weeks. Bob stepped into the dining room at 1753, (5:53pm) and found a wall to lean against while waiting for further instructions. He noticed he couldn't smell dinner... that was odd.
@KatherinWinter It's not my fault! I didn't tell them to change too, and Isa woke up that way, :P lol. A'ight. Well I'll tackle that problem when I get to it.
I'll wait for @Alina13 to respond, since I posted seeing her walking towards Isa.
I assume both Isa and Savaanah can reach the button simply by jumping up and swatting the button, like cats will do if you dangle a toy over them. Is that assumption valid? Or do one of us have to shift back to reach the button? @KatherinWinter
I assume both Isa and Savaanah can reach the button simply by jumping up and swatting the button, like cats will do if you dangle a toy over them. Is that assumption valid? Or do one of us have to shift back to reach the button? @KatherinWinter
Dmitri Pavlovich
@gravity22@Shikaru
I blink in mild surprise as I comprehend Adelaide's words, in part because I hadn't planned on including the bra... Adelaide, in the invitation to dinner, but then I hadn't been particularly exclusive either had I? Then to top off inviting herself to dinner with a mafia hit man, she suggest they have dinner at her place... What was this, some super cheesy fantasy soap-opera? This Adelaide girl was messed up. That much was clear, though... She'd demonstrated a talent of her own hadn't she? Blowing out the lights, had been mildly annoying, but no real hindrance to me. I was used to the cops cutting power in the building if they could to help maximize the effectiveness of their own barrel mounted lights when they stormed the building.
Perhaps Adelaide wasn't as useless as she seemed at first glance.... I wasn't about to bet on it, but there was definitely something off about the girl, and that might be a significant part of it. I'd be sure to have someone look into her later, returning back to the point that had thrown me through a loop.
"Are you inviting us to dinner at your place Adelaide?"
To worn out to care anymore, Dmitri stopped at Anya's apartment, and after telling Adeliade to stay put, walked with Anya to make sure the new door would be satisfactory. It was a thick, dark wooden door, with same locks as had been in Anya's old door, of which there was now no trace to be found. The door seemed simple enough, but where most doors were hollow, this one was made of imported ironwood, no mere knife would shatter this door, in fact most small and medium caliber bullets would fail to penetrate this door. Though it wouldn't hold up to a machine gun, it should serve Anya quite well, though she may have to take care to not let the neighbors see her closing the significantly heavier door with ease. Once sure she was satisfied with the door, Dmitri returned to the car to wait with Adeliade for Anya to get cleaned up and ready for dinner.
And posted, sorry it isn't much to work with this time. :/
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