Hey, wanting to get back into this kind of thing. I have an idea for a quirk; would you mind having a PM conversation to ascertain that it isn't too powerful?
Cassowarysaur Member
The Evangelizer
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- Cassowarysaur 11 yrs ago
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I can't keep up, even in the holidays. Plus, even at the rate I was at before I was the last person to post. This isn't an easy choice for me to make, but it's one I have to.
Damn it, this is moving fast. I'm actually quite split between two projects at the moment, and I'm not sure I can keep this up.
I think I'm going to slow everyone down. I'm going to pull out, sorry. Whenever I finish this project I might rejoin, but until then, have fun RPing.
I think I'm going to slow everyone down. I'm going to pull out, sorry. Whenever I finish this project I might rejoin, but until then, have fun RPing.
Hey, I would assume anyone else would put on pants, but Yashua makes me question all of societal norms.
This is a good thing.
He just walked outside in nothing but his boxers? In Alaska?!
Son of bitch that is the ballsiest damn thing I've ever seen. New Anchorage doesn't need any new pilot but this guy with piss dripping down his leg!
You know, I was trying to make it obvious he put on his trousers before going outside, so I didn't have to write the boring phrase 'he put on his trousers and walked outside'. But, I don't know, maybe it would make more sense if he walked out in his boxers. Huh. Up to everyone else to interpret that one.
Yeshua shifted into the cramp cubicle, the sepia yellow dominating and also receding at the same time. The walls were peeling off like a snake’s skin, revealing the grainy cement beneath it. Lights had been left on for far too long, and most of all, the stall was hot. It was creeping down his neck, and made his hair sticky. He tore a few rolls of paper off the bacteria-ridden handle. Damp toilet roll dabbed at his cut, removing the blood and hopefully keeping the wound clean. The glass had been on the floor, Yeshua remarked, which meant it might as well have been covered with every known disease to man.
He was in a rush. If his guessing was right, the stop would be coming up any second now. Looking down to his magnum opus, he tried to remove all visual information from the accident. He scrubbed and rubbed and eventually ripped off his trousers in a fit of muscle-worked rage. The front of the trousers was hot, like an iron, and had been worn away to just a thin sheet. Thumping his forehead, he scrunched his hair into a ball and wish he could throw that in the corner, too.
Knock on the door. It surrounded him, pinned him to the ground, and froze him. The entire carriage, the stall, the outside world, his mind, was silent.
Another knock. His tongue begged for action, his feet begged to run, while his eyes remained fixed on the door. His glasses fell onto his nose.
The door crept open, against the heat. His foot flung forward. It smashed closed, catching the intruder’s fingers at the closing bang.
“Ah, jeez! Sawrry bud, make shurr ya lawck it next time, OK?”
The murmurings trailed off as he felt pressure lift up from his shoulders. His hair flopped down once again.
He had nothing else to wear.
Through the misted window, where one would expect the Pacific wildlife, he noticed that the countryside and desert was devoid of all colour. The tidal forces of the carriage had ceased carrying him. They had left him alone, in his boxers, in this cubicle. They were waiting for him.
He had carried nothing else into the cubicle apart from himself, and now his trousers were truly ruined. The only pair was in his travel bag. He heard the commotion of every passenger heaving themselves off, thudding like a herd of wildebeest to the watering hole. Yeshua waited in angst, in denial.
The toilet flushed behind any unwanted remnants.
The door, with the smallest of moments, became open, and the strangely naked being crept out of it.
Outside, the brilliant blue sky was smiling down on the world, the sun so clearly unaffected by personal troubles. It remained steadfast above the fast-forming queue, ready to be taken to the New Anchorage base, wherever it may be. Wildlife was far behind them, but still visible, as even the most average birds flew in the sky, their deformities obsolete and unnoticeable.
In the last few seconds before perfection, Yeshua triumphantly strolled out of the tram, his eyes intent on his soon-to-be unit. He lifted his head in visual and audible range, smiling.
“Oh dear, oh dear, I shall be too late! Yeshua Horowitz, NC pilot of the Anzu.”
He was in a rush. If his guessing was right, the stop would be coming up any second now. Looking down to his magnum opus, he tried to remove all visual information from the accident. He scrubbed and rubbed and eventually ripped off his trousers in a fit of muscle-worked rage. The front of the trousers was hot, like an iron, and had been worn away to just a thin sheet. Thumping his forehead, he scrunched his hair into a ball and wish he could throw that in the corner, too.
Knock on the door. It surrounded him, pinned him to the ground, and froze him. The entire carriage, the stall, the outside world, his mind, was silent.
Another knock. His tongue begged for action, his feet begged to run, while his eyes remained fixed on the door. His glasses fell onto his nose.
The door crept open, against the heat. His foot flung forward. It smashed closed, catching the intruder’s fingers at the closing bang.
“Ah, jeez! Sawrry bud, make shurr ya lawck it next time, OK?”
The murmurings trailed off as he felt pressure lift up from his shoulders. His hair flopped down once again.
He had nothing else to wear.
Through the misted window, where one would expect the Pacific wildlife, he noticed that the countryside and desert was devoid of all colour. The tidal forces of the carriage had ceased carrying him. They had left him alone, in his boxers, in this cubicle. They were waiting for him.
He had carried nothing else into the cubicle apart from himself, and now his trousers were truly ruined. The only pair was in his travel bag. He heard the commotion of every passenger heaving themselves off, thudding like a herd of wildebeest to the watering hole. Yeshua waited in angst, in denial.
The toilet flushed behind any unwanted remnants.
The door, with the smallest of moments, became open, and the strangely naked being crept out of it.
Outside, the brilliant blue sky was smiling down on the world, the sun so clearly unaffected by personal troubles. It remained steadfast above the fast-forming queue, ready to be taken to the New Anchorage base, wherever it may be. Wildlife was far behind them, but still visible, as even the most average birds flew in the sky, their deformities obsolete and unnoticeable.
In the last few seconds before perfection, Yeshua triumphantly strolled out of the tram, his eyes intent on his soon-to-be unit. He lifted his head in visual and audible range, smiling.
“Oh dear, oh dear, I shall be too late! Yeshua Horowitz, NC pilot of the Anzu.”
Sorry about my absence, as I was quite busy yesterday. I'll get up a post now.
And so the two destined to so much banter, heroism meet. I'm excited.
Etherpad, like the good ol' days! Would you be kind enough to link me to the page you'd like us to work on?
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