BCTheEntity

*+. Jojo's Bizarre Adventure: Coldplay .+*

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Time for a bridge post to a collab.

Apparently, one of the few ways to actually get past Ciaran's facade of nicety was to upset him. And based on how into Phil's face he was getting, he was very upset. Or at least angry. There was a subtle yet key difference, namely that "upset" also covered sadness mixed with the anger. "Smad", as one absurdist response to a post querying ways to convey simultaneous rage and sorrow put it.

Honestly, Phil didn't really care, and his expression remained blank behind his shades. Wasn't that the point of Stands, anyway? That they sort of... how did that one SORE guy put it, pulled together like magnets or something? Sure, the change in expressions was a somewhat worrying indicator of Ciaran's psychological health, but in the end, that emotion Ciaran was feeling was on Ciaran. He had the problem with showing off, not Phil - indeed, he was the one who was more likely to draw attention at this point, all things considered. He made them look like two lovers having a spat shortly before they stopped being lovers. Gay lovers. Which was an odd thought, since they'd only met very recently. Admittedly, Ciaran did have nice legs. But then, if looks were all that mattered... actually, Phil put a lot of emphasis on looks, huh? So, alright, the phrasing was off, but he had time to come up with a better way of putting it whilst he made a counterstatement.

'Look, I think you're getting a little overexcited,' Phil began, keeping his tone quiet, relaxed and even friendly. You know, approachable. Unlike his arms, which were still pinned beneath two separate stacks of bags, and thus were unable to emote anything, though he could certainly shrug. 'A few hands might have been visible for, what, a second? You'd have to be actively looking to see something like that. Besides, the sigils don't stick out that much. Look, they're already vanishing, it's totally fine.' Even as he spoke, the fifteen second limit began to strike, and the lotuses began fading out in order. Practically unnoticable, and even if somebody did notice, what would they make of it? It could just as easily be a trick of the eye for them.

'Anyway, I'm sure it'll be fine,' he continued with a shrug, now entirely secure in his position. 'Stand users are, to my understanding, extremely rare as it is. The chances of another one showing up here are practically nothing.'

*+. Jojo's Bizarre Adventure: Coldplay .+*

@ProPro Actually, that's a really cool idea. It makes sense, and it gives our group a reason to draw itself together. Plus, twice as many extreme sport celebrities means twice as much chance for somebody to recognise one or both of them.

*+. Jojo's Bizarre Adventure: Coldplay .+*

@Yankee Well, Phil did just partially manifest his Stand in a public place. Subtly, or as subtly as is plausible given what his Stand is, but somebody paying attention to everyone around them might make note of it. Alternatively, they might notice that there's a famous skateboarding pro wandering around in a mall in Italy, and want to say hi to them and their shopping-obsessed friend. Or both! So there's a thought for you.

*+. Jojo's Bizarre Adventure: Coldplay .+*

A new post is made. There's a few people who I reckon we could see more activity from - I say, being very slow to write a post myself - so let's see if we can get some more writing up done, folks.

*+. Jojo's Bizarre Adventure: Coldplay .+*

The guy was taking the mickey. Phil knew he was, because that was Ciaran's general character - a lack of seriousness, or indeed a lack of desire to take things other than the mickey. Which was, he considered, actually an interesting point - the phrase was colloquial, intended to refer to annoying somebody for laughs, but how exactly did that relate to the mascot of a major film company and/or theme park chain? Or was it more in reference to that 80's song by Toni Basil? That seemed less likely, for how long said mouse had been around. On the other hand, this was a mall, not a film. An Italian mall, at that.

So, yeah, he was having a go at him. And yet, despite knowing that, Phil felt it would probably be pertinent to do the right thing and just, casually, lift half the stack of bags out of Ciaran's hands and oh dear it was toppling. Or was it? Quick as a flash, a quartet of shimmering, kaleidoscopic arms leapt out of Phil's shoulders, smacking the sides of the bags to push the stack back upright, ensuring they remained balanced. Wherever they touched, a sigil was left behind, each shimmering briefly as the impacts left upon them were reiterated again and again, until every minor imbalance had been cancelled out.

And then he put the stack down and split it into two again, picking up one half securely with each hand. 'You're welcome,' Phil offered matter-of-factly, taking it as though it were just the right, humble thing to do. That was when people tended to thank you for the assistance, not when you were bragging about how helpful you had just been. Of course, he half-expected Ciaran to keep on pestering him for falling for his obvious wounded deer ploy, and maybe point out how enemy Stand users might make use of it to harm him later, but shit, he wasn't exactly falling for it if he knew it was a ploy. That was the point of an ambush, after all: to take people by surprise. If they weren't surprised, if they were approaching the situation with a plan for how to counter the surprise attack, then it wasn't a successful ambush. It was just a regular sneak attack. And that would be something Phil might have to teach Ciaran about, all things considered.

*+. Jojo's Bizarre Adventure: Coldplay .+*

Today had been bright and sunny throughout. The best kind of day - the kind of day where one could forget about traumatic events like losing the majority of one's casting crew to a supernatural phenomenon, or being subjected to the chill of literal fucking death in psychologically-projected landscape form. The sort of day where, normally, Phil would have been practicing his board tricks all day, likely to an audience that could appreciate them.

Instead, he was out shopping, because that was what the guy assigned to look after him was doing. Something about keeping up with fashion trends? But the thing about trends is, if you follow the trends, you aren't setting the trends. And how did you set trends? Consistency. Phil wasn't much of a shopper for that reason: his outfit had been relatively the same as it had been for about the past six months. Sure, it wasn't literally the same items the whole time, but the majority were only slightly different throughout, maybe changing the designs on his cap and shirt, or from time to time the colour of shirt, cap, pants, shoes, or any combination of the above.

Because of that consistency, though, he had a Look - an iconic appearance, something people could glance at and recognise him, and say "Hang on, are you Phil Jaegger?", or say to somebody else "Hang on, are you taking inspiration from Phil Jaegger?" to which the recipient could reply "Yes. Hell yes. Hell. Fucking. Yes.", offering all due credit to the man who had first inspired the Look. Or, if the situation really needed it, he could spend one day in a different outfit, shock and awe the viewer, then return to his Look as if he hadn't just broken the mould like the coolest cat in town rubbing itself up against a mould, then hitting it with a hammer to shatter its frozen-over and newly-brittle form.

The point being made was that inspiration of idolatry was a tough business to manage, but Phil had worked it out to a science, he felt. Therefore, clothes shopping didn't greatly appeal to him, not least for the aforementioned reasons, but also because everyone was too preoccupied with their own shopping sprees to keep an eye open for celebrities doing much the same thing. And apparently, clothes were all Ciaran really cared about. Clothes and his own legs. Sure, they were nice legs, but not anything to get worked up over.

'So you got enough new clothes yet, man?' he asked casually, glancing over to Ciaran. Phil had deigned to buy himself a new shirt in his size that fit his Look, after a few hours of not buying anything, but by comparison, Ciaran's stack of bags was pretty hefty. You'd think it would be a pile of clothing, but clothes generally come in bags, which stack rather than pile up in one's arms, and so a stack of bags it was.

*+. Jojo's Bizarre Adventure: Coldplay .+*

@XoXKieroBombXoX For my part, I'm largely just procrastinating over it and a few other things. I'll do my best to get a post out soon, ideally within the day.

Warhammer 40k: Enemy Without, Enemy Within - an 'Ecclesiarchal' RP [Mature][High Casual/Low Advanced]

With all said and done, and her fair share of cultists eliminated, next came the task of ensuring the injured did not remain so for long. With the town so devastated, there was only one place where she could keep the injured: the village green, where those not mortally wounded lay, at her bidding pressuring their wounds to slow blood loss if need be. Of course, most who had been mortally wounded were either long dead, treated first, or given the Emperor's Mercy by this time, which left only those with less severe injuries - even up to Sister-Celestian Victorine's broken limb, though she was at least able to move about in a sling until the deep tissue injection of medigel restored the arm to working order, with gratitude duly acknowledge by the Hospitaller. It certainly helped that a couple of the civilians present were healers in their own right, able to assist with the majority of injuries accordingly, albeit requiring the training to do so.

The issue, Alexa found, was that her supplies were limited to what was present in her suit without access to immediate facilities. Certainly, curing one person's major injury was a cinch with the technology at her disposal, but she could not fix everybody present so easily if she worked like that, else she would run out of that which made it possible; thus, for all but the most serious injuries, she was forced to make use of minute doses of curative substances and primitive techniques of stitching, bandaging, slinging and fracture manipulation (with a stick for the sufferers to bite down on), and herbal cures based largely on local recipes and the few supplies that survived intact from the local hospital. Even her own wounds remained untreated: whilst limited to just a few flesh bruises under her armour from bullet impacts, and what felt to be some form of strain injury from how her left arm kept tweaking a nerve when it moved in a certain way, she forced herself to work through them. They could be handled later. Emperor's mercy, the bruises wouldn't even affect her ability to fight or heal - though the strain injury seemed a bit more restrictive, and certainly something to diagnose once she had the time.

Of course, being addressed by the Celestian, this information was relayed as requisitioned, along with news of Sister Dominica: 'Her wound has been stitched up, and medigel has been applied to heal it quickly. She should be combat ready by the time we reach the mountains.' Indeed, whilst anaesthetic had been rationed primarily to those who would die of shock if their pains weren't adequately soothed- again, largely those who would die without prompt care anyway- the medigel had largely been reserved for they who would take the fight to the cultists beyond this avenue, hence primarily the soldiers under Corporal Delafare and the Adepta Sororitas tasked with retrieving the Saint. It pained her to leave a good number of villagers without immediate healing, but for the good of the planet and thus the Imperium as a whole, it had to be done. In any case, it was likely they would need to relocate sooner rather than later anyway, given how badly damaged their town now was; they'd be able to seek further attention and reassignment to new harvests where they wound up, so long as they didn't reopen the injuries prematurely.

In the meantime, more people needed assistance. Alexa continued to apply herself where she worked best, reminding herself that the fact she was able to help at all meant it was worth her presence here. That was what mattered, after all - the continued livelihood of those she could attend to, and swift passage to the Emperor's side for those she could not.

*+. Jojo's Bizarre Adventure: Coldplay .+*

@Lugubrious @BCtheEntity
Do you guys have any problems being my Co-GMs?

@XoXKieroBombXoX

Sure, I can do that. It ought to be a fun time.

<Snipped quote by XoXKieroBombXoX>

The thought of potentially needing 10+ stand users to take the guy down is terrifying.

@AmpharosBoy

laughs in Araki
Really, you don't need ten Stand users for one guy. You just need the one Stand with a perfect counter.

*+. Jojo's Bizarre Adventure: Coldplay .+*

STAND MASTER: Phil Jaegger

Sample images of a true hero and also badass good guy

Phil Jaegger

Gender: Male

Height/Weight: 2.01 m (~6'7"), 79 kg (~164 lbs)

Personality: Phil, generally speaking, is quite a cool guy. He is encouraging to others, in particular seeing to it that everyone works together to bolster one another's strengths and shore up their weaknesses, does everything in his power to make others feel better when they're down, and push people to perform acts of great bravery and valour that they may not otherwise have been able to do. Additionally, he tends to present himself as quite relaxed, giving off the sort of vibe that makes people approachable without being disconnected from how others feel. Humanity, after all, is strongest when it is unified; isolation, therefore, is anathema to human nature itself. So he believes, anyway.
This may be because, secretly, he is rather dependent on attention himself. He does genuinely believe people should work together to achieve their goals, but so far as he's involved with them, he also feels that those people should be rallying around him specifically. If he cannot lead the charge, he will do everything in his power to change affairs so that he can; if somebody is feeling down, he has to be the one to make them feel better; if somebody needs training, even himself, he will try to be the one to train them when he can; and when an enemy approaches, he believes it ought to be him who defeats them at the last, him who receives the credit for success.
Whilst these two qualities of altruism and narcissistic self-hyping seem quite opposed, it is not so common for them to clash, for the differences are relatively subtle until a crisis point suddenly pits the two values against one another. Of course, most situations can be salvaged and turned in his favour, even if the means to do so may appear contrary to his self-image... but should the two points become irreconcilable, Phil is liable to pick himself over others, if he doesn't simply have a breakdown about it.

Backstory: Philip's early life is not exactly too noteworthy. In so far as they matter, his parents were emotionally neglectful, albeit not particularly abusive in any way - which is to say, they cared about his well-being more than they cared about him as a person. In response, and perhaps because his brain would always have been wired that way, Phil began seeking attention from his fellows on the playground, quickly discovering that he made a lot more friends being nice than being mean. This didn't always work out well, of course, but he came to the conclusion early on that whilst any attention was better than no attention, positive attention generally meant more people wanted to associate with him, and therefore he would gather yet more followers.
To that end, he wound up forcing himself to be as multi-capable as possible, but whilst he was certainly not a slouch when it came to his mind, he ultimately decided on a career based in his physique. After all, it was athletes and singers who people rallied around most, right? And despite himself, he never could master the art of singing. Sports it was, then; and after some time, he came to the conclusion that the most attention he could get for being a sportsperson without it being divided amongst other people in a team was in skateboarding, a skill which he promptly mastered at the tender age of nineteen, quickly growing in fame and acquiring tour and tournament deals around the world, not to mention his numerous other physical talents.
This, somewhat ironically, is how he eventually came across his Stand. On the way to his most recent tour in Italy, his crew discovered that a traffic accident would delay their trip by several hours; unwilling to keep everybody waiting, they took a diversion that unwittingly had them pass through a Devil's Palm, and ultimately led to the van turning over and crashing rather violently. Phil, inexplicably, survived with minimal injury, but could only drag out one corpse and two or three living people before the van exploded outright, knocking him on to his back. The crick he felt before it rapidly faded, unbeknownst to him, was the spine from the corpse of a Saint fusing with somebody who appeared worthy of carrying it, as it had fully been his intention to personally pull everybody from the wreckage that he could - it was the right thing to do, and it would have made him the hero of the moment, so to him, it was the only logical course of action.
In the end, he and the surviving victims were picked up by a group calling themselves Speedwagon Oil & Research Enterprises, and both were promptly informed of the nature of both Stands and the area they had just passed into - and the fact that it had apparently ceased to be a Devil's Palm after their entrance. Thus, he and the others were compelled to stay accessible until the SORE could ascertain the cause of this phenomenon, as well as the deeper limitations of their respective Stands. As a compromise, and with both the greatest control over his own power and the fewest injuries, Phil agreed to remain in nearby Florence until further notice with a SORE-sponsored Stand user keeping an eye on him, deciding to treat the situation like somewhat of a vacation, given that he couldn't very well go on tour with his crew mostly deceased as they were. He didn't know them all that well, mind, but it was still a tragedy and an inconvenience all rolled into one horrid event.
Not long after came the day he was struck with a wave of horror far worse than a mere van crash. A cold, lifeless void, leaving him breathless for a long time indeed. And not long after that, the man called Diavolo approached him, telling him of others who had seen the same thing. Perhaps people he could shape into a real team of go-getters, if he can just find them.

STAND: 「Ten Thousand Fists」

「Ten Thousand Fists」

Appearance: 「Ten Thousand Fists」 is truly a Stand that stands out from the rest, especially with its short range and high power. Its entire body is composed of tesselating isoceles triangles that reflect and almost amplify the light that lands on them in colours akin to those of the six primary chakras, down to its eyes being a pair of wide triangular sunglasses akin to those of its owner (albeit in magenta rather than black), and its mouth being full of sharp pointed teeth. Whilst it has legs, these tend to be crossed over one another as if in meditation; instead of walking, it hovers over the ground when manifested, and nine arms extend from its body in corresponding colours - an arm from each temple, a pair of regular arms with another pair directly below these, another at the solar plexus, and two more three-jointed arms coming round from the lower spine and coccyx. These in fact correspond with nine of the sefirah of the Kaballah, with Keter and Da'at conspicuous for their absence to those who make the connection.

Height: Same as user, though its legs are rarely uncrossed to show its full height.

Obtained through: Devil's Palm (spine)

Ability: When 「Ten Thousand Fists」 strikes a surface, be it a tap or a full-blown punch, it can apply force to that surface as often as its user wishes for up to fifteen seconds afterwards or until the user moves more than fifteen meters away from the surface in question. More specifically, impact points are marked with a random chakra lotus, and any given lotus can expulse additional "strikes" into the surface beyond the initial impact, with up to the same frequency and force the Stand could normally manifest, shimmering brightly for a moment when they do so. In practice, this means that every individual punch it makes that finds its mark can be repeated for the next fifteen seconds with incredibly high frequency and force, all focused on one spot and without interrupting the Stand's other attacks, which naturally has its benefits in a fight.
However, this does not need to be applied so liberally, and a given impact point can have blows repeated at lower strength to, for instance, direct somebody to move their head or limbs in a certain direction, or indeed apply something akin to ultrasound to an area or a specific point on a living being for a variety of both harmful and therapeutic effects.
Phil believes that he could find future applications of this ability in his Stand, or indeed figure out some deeper ability that would show others his own worth. For now, though, potential options for future development evade him.

Stand Cry: GLIMMER GLIMMER GLIMMER... GLIMMER!