Birb Scream In Morning As Battery Replacement Alarm Because Birb Not Real.
2
likes
5 yrs ago
Fighting Vagrants Behind Dennys Over Pancake @ 11PM Tonight As Birb.
2
likes
6 yrs ago
BE like bird. Wake in morning. SCREAM at sun. SHIT on enemy.
4
likes
6 yrs ago
Girl is like bird. DO approach calmly. DO greet kindly. DO offer cornchip.
6
likes
Bio
An absolute WILDCARD of an RPer
(apparently) Due to sudden and multiple very lengthy hiatus periods, please assume I don't remember who you are but, I probably think your name is familiar. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ U T R A X is a being that likes to Type Words on the INTERNET.
I love how everyone's handling this! Quite entertaining. There's just one small thing... Somebody hit the rage button. I'll post as soon as most of y'all are in the park and assume the rest are just late to the scene.
Faircrest Woods, Roseview - A House on a Farm | A soft guitar melody mingled with the sound of birds chirping and a soft wind blowing. Today was one of those slow relaxing Faircrest Woods days. All the work had been done early-- well Marcus' portion of it. All he had to do was make sure the goats and horses were fed today, bring ol' Rufus to the house for a bath, and water mom's flowers; that latter bit was wholly optional but, he did it just so nobody else had to. Now he was seated on his side of the porch.
His side used to be made out of wood like the rest of the porch but, after he broke through it accidentally with his suddenly increased weight, it had to be rebuilt with a solid slab of poured cement. Marcus had been so embarrassed about the incident that he refused to enter the house by the front door or even set foot on the front porch for weeks. Tina, his mother who'd started rebuilding the porch one day, told him that he was going to sit on the damn porch with the rest of the family, just like he used to.
See, Marcus one day ended up turned entirely into stone. From head to toe, he looked as if he were a white marble statue, complete with a set of mid-sized "angel wings," as his mother called them. That was about two years ago and while it had saved his life at the time, he also hadn't changed back into a person made of flesh since. Marcus insisted on continuing to live his life as if nothing had changed and for the most part, people didn't give him too much grief about it. Sure there were the odd glances the first couple of months, the questions and accusations, but eventually he was found to be still the same guy selling onions, carrots, and arranging sales for hay-bale deliveries at the markets. Among his family members, his two mothers and three brothers, there was only gratefulness that he was still alive and a few broken floorboards between them.
So here he was on his side of the porch, shirtless as usual, and wearing a set of cargo shorts. Marcus was watching Blanca, his other mother, braid Shane's hair into cornrows. The boy was wincing and his eyes were watering, every time Blanca completed another twist. Marcus shook his head then told Shane, "That's why you should let Mama cut it."
"But it look better--" Shane hissed in pain "--if it's braided like this." Wane, who was strumming his guitar idly next to Marcus, laughed and asked, "Say's who?"
"Says me," Shane spoke up defensively.
"You a lie-- I bet it's that girl, whass'er name?" Wane teased. Shane went wide eyed and gasped at the sudden betrayal, just as Blanca manually positioned his head again. Blanca asked, "What girl, huh? Do I know'er?"
Shane whined, "Wane!"
"God be good-- middle school courtship," Marcus remarked, as Wane lapsed into giggles, "I remember those days."
"You speakin' like you a old man again," Blanca spoke up, repositioning Shane's head again, "You gonna recount the Wold War next, Mark?" Marcus buried his face in his hand as Wane somehow giggled harder. Marcus reached over and gave Wane a small shove. Even as Wane fell onto his side, he continued to laugh, controlling himself only enough to say, "Glad you didn't get trench-foot Mark, I mean, your foots used to smell bad anyway--"
"Feet, not foots-- Jesus," Mark corrected Wane with a groan.
"Whatever-- you knew what I was-- had said," Wane snickered, sitting back up, then repositioning his guitar to start strumming again.
Marcus grumbled, "When you gonna learn more than four chords anyway?" Wane stuck his tongue out at Marcus.
Just then a voice called out from nearby-- "MA!"
Hurried footsteps approached the front porch before Clayton, covered in dirt and grime, his brown skin slick with sweat, came from around the side of the house. He huffed slightly before shouting, "Ma, George's missin' again." Blanca looked up from her braiding, let out a heavy sigh, "Ay dios mio-- you serious?"
"Oooh. Rufus in the bath, too," Shane pointed out.
"--he was there just this mornin'," Marcus spoke up rather defensively, "That pen was shut up tight."
"Yeah well, he must got help or somethin', cause it was shut but he ain't there now," Clayton reported, shrugging, "I went lookin' all over but--" "That horny old goat--" Blanca interjected, "--probably made his way out to play Casanova at Mr. Green's ranch again while Rufus in the bath." Blanca shook her head before issuing orders, "Marcus, go wake up Shiela--"
"--ya but she can smell a sausage on the frickin' moon, you know this." Wane began giggling again as Marcus stood up-- Blanca snapped at Wane then told him, "Mister Giggles, go tell Lady T that we got a jail breaker." Wane nodded then dashed for the screen door, letting it close behind him with a loud clang, to which Blanca shouted, "--What I tell you 'bout the door?!" Blanca shook her head and began braiding Shane's hair again, telling the other two, "Go find that damn goat-- hopefully a frickin' Chupacabra ain't made it's way up here." "I bet it's a Chupacabra," Shane snickered before wincing from his hair braiding.
"That's always the first possibility," Clayton said with a shrug. He sighed and scratched his head as Marcus approached him.
"Well. Looks like we got ourselves another adventure," Clayton mumbled as he and Marcus started off away from the porch. "A real slow one too," Marcus noted. "Aw, come on, Shiela ain't that bad-- she just a senior citizen who know she deserve a discount," Clayton replied with a smirk, "She need to be retired." "She does," replied Marcus, "I sure hope it ain't a Chupacabra." "Mark you--" Clayton paused then looked his brother's stony features over, "--I couldn't tell if you was jokin' before. It's impossible now." "Stoic as a statue." "Ay. Dios. Mio," Clayton replied with emphasis on every word.
The two eventually came to an old cooked apple tree, some forty feet away from the house. Beneath the tree lay a large St. Bernard dog, napping in shade of the tree. This was Shiela-- too old for anyone to recall and the mother of Rufus, the family's other dog-- well besides Brick who was dumb as, well, a brick. Rufus was the useful dog while Brick was the big dumb, very useless, cuddly house dog-- where had Shiela went wrong raising that boy?
Clayton let out a heavy sigh as they approached, "I really hate to wake her." "Yeah," mumbled Marcus, "Same." "Rufus had to go get primped today, huh?" "Mom said he smelled like the inside of a horse's ass. Direct quote." "He'll be smellin' like that soon again-- he just a smelly guy." "We're stallin'." Clayton groaned, "I know." "Well?" Marcus looked over at Clayton. "Wh-what? Me? You want me to-- no. No I'm not waking her up." Marcus didn't respond for a few seconds before replying, "Me either." "Ain't you got a thing to go to?" Marcus crossed his arms then tilted his head, "Thing?" Clayton shrugged, "That DOVE thing?"
About a week ago some lady that had come to the market. This lady was dressed like the city-folk and she walked right up to Marcus' stall with clearly no intention to buy anything. Marcus had been so fascinated by how much soft pink and blue the woman was wearing that he very nearly didn't notice when she placed a flier down on his market stand. It had a large DOVE symbol as the centerpiece with location, time, and date for an upcoming rally. She introduced herself as Soon-Bok Choi, with the DOVE PR team, and she had come all the way out here because she'd heard rumors of him.
While it made Marcus feel a little special, being sought out specifically, it also made him a little wary. If this lady knew who he was and where to find him, all based on rumor, then who else knew? Who was telling? Sure he didn't exactly make efforts to hide himself but, he didn't think that city-folk would end up knowing about him. Marcus knew there were some bad people he didn't want knowing about him so, the fact that this lady knew? Well, he could smell a pint of bad milk from a yonder hill, so to speak.
"Don't wanna go," Marcus replied after a thoughtful moment.
Clayton shook his head and asked, "Why the hell not?" He didn't give Marcus a chance to answer before continuing, "Look man, there's a whole lotta more folks out there that're like you. I mean. Not. Well you know what I mean and, well, you could use folks-- folks that can be ya friend or support you-- I can drive the truck and trailer into town, Mark. Hey, come on man, them DOVE folks is real nice, ain't they? That woman seem nice, didn't she? Funny accent aside."
"What if somethin' happen at this rally, Clay? You consider that? Bunch of freaks like us gathered in one spot?"
"You ain't a freak, Mark," Clayton replied with an aggressive type of empathy, "And what if nothin' happen and you bein' paranoid?" "I dunno," Marcus replied warily, "You know how folks feel 'bout us. Uh. Different folks." The two fell silent as Shiela huffed and grunted a few times in her sleep. "We gonna disturb her sleep if we keep 'round here any longer," Clayton told Marcus, beckoning for him to follow. Marcus shook his head.
"We gotta find George," Marcus grumbled. "Mama'll take care of that," Clayton replied, "I got the trailer already hooked up and everything." "You kiddin' me?" "Come on man, what if you meet some cute stone girl to date at that rally?" "Stop..." "And y'all kiss, hit it off, get married, and make cute stone babies-- gravlets!" "Clay..." "C'mon man," Clayton continued, "They'll be real cute. Like then tiny angel baby things, whatcha call'ems? Chay-babs?" "Cherubs." "Right," Clayton shrugged, "That's a dumb name."
Soon the two were standing near a dark blue dualie with a black horse trailer hooked up to it. Clayton reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys, jingling them briefly, before pressing the unlock button on the remote. "Might wanna tell mom that we ain't lookin' for George," Marcus mumbled.
"Such a responsible man. Gonna make a good dad to them babies, I tell's ya," laughed Clayton. He opened the trailer doors for Marcus and, in a terrible British accent said, "Your private shuttle, good sir." Marcus pressed his face into his hand then stepped into the trailer. Marcus didn't ride inside the truck cab anymore, due to the fact that his weight tended to break the seats. He didn't mind though, the trailer gave him quiet time, and the roads were more interesting to look at from this angle.
He watched Clayton close the doors then get into the driver's seat. A beeping caught Marcus' attention as the tuck's engine started. He took an old Nokia 3310 out of his pocket, the only phone that managed to stand up to the occasional button press that was a bit too hard, then checked his text messages. There was a message from Clayton from a group text.
CLAY: Me and Mark going to town. TINA: with george? CLAY: No Shiela died. Can't do it. BLANCA: NO WAY??? CLAY: jk CLAY: Marcus needs a girlfriend. CLAY: We're looking for a girlfriend. TINA: you got lazy ass sons, blanca BLANCA: NO U TAUGHT THEM THAT!!!! TINA: mayb MARK: :* sorry. also not girl hunting. dove rally. TINA: its ok b safe <3 TINA: george mite b some1 dinner by now..... TINA: good redic TINA: *riddance. auto correct.
Marcus shook his head. The diesel engine on the truck roared as Clayton began driving. Marcus lay down atop a couple of hay blocks as the trailer rocked and shook from going over a gravel road. Hopefully this DOVE rally wouldn't last too long-- he didn't know quite what to expect, though.
"Cherubs," Mark mumbled to himself, shaking his head.
Marcus is going to the DOVE rally. He's headed there from Faircrest Woods, Roseview-- via a dualie and a horse trailer.
HI. Here's a DOVE NPC I needed for my upcoming post. *Slowly types*
[29 | Soon-Bok Choi aka "Soonie" | Female]
Description: Soon-Bok is a Korean DOVE agent that specializes in Personnel Relations. She helps distribute fliers, inform people of upcoming events, and helps run the social media page dedicated to DOVE announcements. She's around 5ft 5in with a hearty frame, her black hair cut into a bowl cut, and her eye color is usually green-- thanks to cosmetic eye contacts. She keeps a neat appearance, wearing clothes that often consist of utility boots and pants, accented by a jacket bearing the DOVE symbol on the back, and her wardrobe consists largely of pastel colors. Soon-Bok projects a friendly attitude and always speaks with an aim to please. If her grin wasn't so disturbingly sharp toothed, Soon-Bok would probably not wear the cloth mask over the lower part of her face, and more people could see how much she smiles. It's a simple cloth in the style of a "cough mask" in a pastel color to match her outfits.
Power: Anti-Venomous Bite Soon-Bok doesn't like to talk about how she discovered her power, only that it helped her out in a time of great need. Her front adult teeth fell out, replaced with a rapidly sprouted set of pointed teeth, that are lined with microscopic holes to inject venom. Somehow, the venom from her bite is capable of acting as an anti-venom for a wide array of toxins and poisons-- slowing their symptom progression if not outright curing it. As Soon-Bok thinks it "unprofessional" to go around gnawing on people who need it, she harvests her venom for DOVE and RAVEN use.
A sunny afternoon-- large puffy clouds drifting to intercept the sun, traveling with a cool breeze. Good Grove Park or GGP as the residents of Metropolis called it, is a large park that takes up an area of three square miles on the north side of town. It’s known for it’s playgrounds, running trail, and picnic areas. On this particular day, GGP is hosting it’s annual “Metro-City BBQ Bash.”Among the twenty-three chefs gathered to compete, judges panel of ten well known members of the community, and a civilian gathering of around two-hundred plus people, the park is live with activity. Children play games and rough-house as parents mingle, maybe sample a beer or two, and indulge themselves on all sorts of barbecued treats.
A small performance stage rests at the center of the event-- several local musicians perform songs, regularly trading place with comedians, activists, advertisers, and public speakers. Around the stage, the booths for BBQ chefs are lined up neatly, each chef having brought their own equipment. The dusky smell of barbecue and spices intermingle with the mouth-watering scents of a few sweet dessert items cooking.
Voices raise occasionally above the music and rumble of hundreds of voices-- chefs advertising their dishes, handing out free samples, inviting people over to try-- but one voice in particular turned heads...
VILLAIN: POTLUCK
“Fried coleslaw dumplings,” called out a baritone voice, “And cool barbecue-smoothies!”
Huffing after shouting those few words, Potluck ran a hand over his sweat soaked brow, then slung the collected moisture off to the side. A large man, far too large to be crammed into his rather poorly assembled BBQ stand, Potluck beckoned people forward and kept reminding himself to duck his head-- else he ram it into the ceiling for the whatever-teenth time.
What he couldn’t understand was how so many people kept ignoring him-- only glancing-- not actually coming over. He wasn’t hard to miss, after all-- orange haired and as large as he was-- so why wasn’t anyone coming to try the food?
“Macaroni-bread and potato-meat-pies,” Potluck shouted, “F-Free samples!” A woman glanced over at him curiously-- Potluck beamed at her-- she ducked her head and walked away. He sighed deeply, rubbed a hand over his eyes, then he saw them, standing before him with clipboards.
“J-JUDGES?”
Potluck jolted sharply, straightened out his back, and rammed his head into the ceiling.
A man with graying hair, bow-tie, and a nametag that said “Chase” winced sympathetically for Potluck and told him, “Careful there-- yes, we’re the judges for your category, side items.” As Potluck rubbed his head, Chase continued to say, “I’m Councilman Chase,” he gestured to a tall brown skinned man and said, “This is Radio D.J. and personality, Torrent-CX and,” Chase gestured to a young woman, “Chef Almi Understamp.”
Potluck snorted angrily when the chef was named. Chase pretended it didn’t happen, “Have you prepared your sample plate for us?” Potluck turned to the grill behind himself, kneeled down, then opened up the warming compartment. He withdrew three pre-prepared plates, placed them down before the judges, then pulled a few wrapped Popsicles from an ice chest. One after the other, Potluck pointed to the items on the plates, “Fried-Coleslaw dumplings, Macaroni-bread, potato meat pies, and cool barbecue smoothies”-- the last item he placed before them-- the frozen tube of what looked to be barbecue and shredded meat.
The judges eyed each other skeptically. Potluck somehow managed to sweat more. He nervously began wringing his fingers as the judges silently eyed the plates. All three silently began scribbling on their clipboards. “Presentation could use work-- it looks like you just threw the food on the plate,” Chase mumbled. “They’re all a bit indistinguishable from each other,” spoke Chef Understamp, “Kind of blending together and the textures don’t look appealing.” The DJ remained silent but winced lightly.
Potluck clenched his fists.
“Let’s start with the macaroni-bread, hm? Who doesn’t like macaroni as a standard side,” DJ Torrent spoke up. The three judges nodded in agreement, took clean forks from Potluck’s stand, then began to pick apart the dish in their own ways. Eventually, as one after the other took bites, their faces twisted in a way that made Potluck confused.
“What? Is there...” Potluck asked Chase, who seemed to be holding back coughs, “Do you need water?” Chef Understamp turned around and spit heavily. DJ Torrent’s eyes watered but he swallowed, then hoarsely croaked, “I can’t...” “Terrible...” Came a voice that echoed within Potluck’s mind. “Not good that was...” Came another voice, dragging Potluck down into the darkness. “I can’t believe… horrible...” Echoed the final voice before Potluck’s world turned red.
Potluck roared as he reached beneath his food stand, pulling a silver pot from beneath it. He scraped the sample plates into the pot and an eerie blue mist began to swirl out. “Stop being so mean,” yelled Potluck as he tied the pot up to himself, “I don’t like it when people are mean to me!”
From the pot came an unearthly screech-- a blur-- his food stand burst into a shower of wood and bent tent poles. “If you don’t like it-- someone else will,” Potluck screamed as, above him, a harpy looking creature circled. It’s wings were made of tattered coleslaw, talons made of sharpened BBQ icicles, and it let out an unearthly screech before spewing molten-hot macaroni cheese toward the judges.
“Try my food,” shouted Potluck as the crowds began to scream and flee, “Try it!”
Another three harpies burst fourth from the pot then went screaming after the retreating people.
A panicked woman hiding beneath a taco stand urgently dials 7-8-9, the emergency hero hotline!
Heroes! The citizens of Metropolis need your help!
Crazy man with cooked-food-monster-summoning powers is attacking a crowded BBQ festival. Might wanna do some heroic stuff, y'all. Also 789 is the emergency hero hotline!
I'm super excited for all of our characters to finally meet ^^
Same! There's quite a lot of interesting interactions that can take place-- just look at some of the personalities, hahaha. This whole group would need a paid Coach if they ever had to work together on something.
Okay, I believe that's everyone, so I'll start working on a post for the mayor and my characters. But it's just before spring break and I have tests, so don't expect it until, like, Friday or Saturday.
Duly noted @Mr Allen J. Also I like how you give all of your characters music to accompany them... I'm all about that life and I'm gonna do the thing too. Thanks for accepting my nerds-- I'm very excited for the RP!
[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/6QfcE7N.png[/img]
[h2]An absolute WILDCARD of an RPer[/h2][sup](apparently)[/sup]
Due to sudden and multiple very lengthy hiatus periods, please assume I don't remember who you are but, I probably think your name is familiar. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
[u]U T R A X[/u] is a [i]being[/i] that likes to [i]Type Words[/i] on the [i]INTERNET[/i].
[img]http://i0.kym-cdn.com/photos/images/newsfeed/000/090/166/Awesome-120110725-22047-1faqsqh.gif?1311570534[/img]
[/center]
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;"><div class="bb-center"><img src="http://i.imgur.com/6QfcE7N.png" /><br><div class="bb-h2">An absolute WILDCARD of an RPer</div><sup>(apparently)</sup><br>Due to sudden and multiple very lengthy hiatus periods, please assume I don't remember who you are but, I probably think your name is familiar. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ <br><span class="bb-u">U T R A X</span> is a <span class="bb-i">being</span> that likes to <span class="bb-i">Type Words</span> on the <span class="bb-i">INTERNET</span>.<br><img src="http://i0.kym-cdn.com/photos/images/newsfeed/000/090/166/Awesome-120110725-22047-1faqsqh.gif?1311570534" /></div><br></div>
