Avatar of Darcs
  • Last Seen: 2 mos ago
  • Old Guild Username: Darcs
  • Joined: 11 yrs ago
  • Posts: 1517 (0.39 / day)
  • VMs: 1
  • Username history
    1. Darcs 11 yrs ago
  • Latest 10 profile visitors:

Status

Recent Statuses

7 yrs ago
WHO DAT BOY, 911
2 likes
8 yrs ago
Stop and frisk me, daddy. Unf.
2 likes
9 yrs ago
Organize a strike in your school or workplace on the grounds that it does not satisfy your need for indolence & spiritual beauty.
2 likes

Bio

User has no bio, yet

Most Recent Posts

The bartender had seemed like a confidant man as Jeanne approached the bar, rather burly, muscular, grizzled and adapted to the world, yet still brimming with young testosterone. A man who was in the know, and well used to giving certain favors to maidens he favored... Perhaps all those things about the man were indeed true, and in any other situation he may have been an easy mine of information, and victim to his own desire. In this particular situation, though, as soon as the words had left Jeanne's lips, from her perspective, the fear of the Gods seemed to enter the poor man's eyes. He seemed to look right through Jeanne for a moment before it appeared to her that he even registered fully what she had asked.

Like a child who had seen a ghost, his eyes went wide, his lip quivered-- he stammered out a measly response “N-no..none here!” The man couldn't take his rag and glass and shuffle away fast enough, giving Jeanne cause to pout and nearly yell after him.

His answer was a lie, obviously, and his answer was suspicious-- such a stark juxtaposition could be seen on his face from one moment to the next that Jeanne actually had to restrain herself from giggling. He was afraid of speaking of kidnappers! Or perhaps he wasn't into horned lasses... Jeanne could only take pause to think for a brief moment, as directly behind her a commotion was brewing in the tavern, that most of the patron, now herself included, had turned to see.

"-- I said I wanted a dance!” Belched a rather lumpy and clearly drunken man to a tall, lithe and dark woman, standing not two feet away from Jeanne. He spun the woman around, and without missing a beat, she proceeded to use his unrefined energy against him, easily turning the encounter to one where he thought he had all the power, to one where he was in absolute submission.

Jeanne, along with most onlookers, flinched when the snap of bone came from the woman easily breaking the offender's arm. She then proceeded to slice the man's hand off with a smile, all with a cool demeanor. She didn't miss a step in any of that, she had a well-versed method and a precision to her movements. When it was over, Jeanne couldn't quite tell if she was scared, impressed, or... turned on. The man, now screaming over his broken arm and lost hand was helped out be his friends-- and soon enough, the tavern's more silent atmosphere returned. Patrons went back to their drinks after the drama had passed, Jeanne was still a bit star-struck, but apparently this type of thing was a common occurrence in the city.

Then, the woman turned directly towards Jeanne.

Jeanne flushed with nerves as her cheeks reddened, her eyes instinctively shot down after making eye contact with the woman. She was a professional on a whole other level of being, and Jeanne certainly found herself feeling a little intimidated. Had she heard me ask about the kidnappers? The thought crossed her mind, and seemed like the only logical reason this woman would even approach someone as green as Jeanne.

Despite the unnerving events, Jeanne adopted a cheery persona to address the tall woman, breaking her silence, "That was incredible!" She practically bounced with excitement, "It was... très chic-- I've never seen anything life that in my life before!" She let her own amusement dictate her for a moment, before realizing who this woman could be. She tilted her head curiously, ruffling her brown curls ever so slightly, "So, are you the kidnapper?"
your freedom to speak however you like is attached to your freedom to be objectively wrong.

>objectively
Kek

Which is not what you want.

Language being messy and inefficient is exactly what I want, hopefully then it'd better convey thought.

Language's constant state of flux is not a reason to defy the structural rules governing language, but rather to reinforce them in order to sustain intelligibility in spite of the change.


But that line between what you view as intelligibility and actual evolution in dialect and slang in pockets of culture is basically impossible to define, attempting to organize any set of rules for language based on intelligibility and avoiding ambiguity should be exactly that. Governing beyond understanding on a casual level is simply emulating some archaic linguistic history for the sake of those setting the rules. In the context it's fairly easy to understand what "..Post if Your Depressed" means. It isn't laziness, it's people realizing conflating the two words is convenient and the next step of evolution for the word-- you can understand what is being said based on the context of the sentence.

Oy vey
Grammatical consistency is something that is entirely irrelevant, and only exists because people believe in it's importance. When viewed with any significant historical lens, it's clear that language is constantly evolving. It isn't something that should be guided by pre-established rules of grammar that stifle creativity and the creation of new words and ways in which one can better frame your own ideas. Taking into consideration that words are merely tools (MEMES) to deliver certain packets of information quickly and efficiently in any given context, grammar becomes even less relevant. Especially on the internet. And double especially with cherries in this context.

"..Post if Your Depressed"

Delivers a very clear message in this colloquial setting-- one should post in this there if you fit one of two conditions: 1) You are the user Depressed 2) You fit into some definition of the medical condition of depression-- and I would go so far as to argue it'd be apropos to to have 'Your' be 'Ur.'

Also, ur only reason that ellipses shouldn't be 4 or 2 dots is subjective..... I bet u don't even spam Oxford commas.
I'm not in touch with many other fans of the show, so i'm glad I didn't come to the conclusion that the last episode made me wubba lubba dub dub.

The Tiny Rick part of the episode was fine in concept, but in my opinion they went about the execution and resolution in a way with zero consequence that felt like a dumb, but genuinely played, sci-fi sitcom that's whole resolution was a stereotype about teenagers, played entirely for convenience. Looking deeper into themes of that arise from the idea of transferring your consciousness into a younger clone of your self, there do arise some interesting ideas about the self; which consciousness was in control? Did Tiny Rick even have his own "mind?" Or was he just some vessel for older Rick that trapped him with teenage hormones? Was it a weird hybrid consciousness? And what Morty says to Summer when he's angry at her raises a good point-- is having a hybrid consciousness that might not be your 'self' preferable when you're a nicer and happier person?

The entire problem is that we don't get to think about these ideas, or even really consider them. We're told that in the rules of the show that being in a teenager's body means you aren't really 'you'-- that the angst in a teenager's mind is what your future self will be, and that's not a thing you should be-- or something like that. With Rick and Morty, Dan and Justin really weave this show along this incredible razor thin edge of humorous existential sci-fi black comedy with constantly developing characters put into absurd situations while being tongue-in-cheekily framed as, and almost but not quite parodying, sitcoms and the culture mired in them that has produced and idea in society of what family and satisfaction in life should be, "everything will be fine at the end of the episode." The problem with this episode, and to a lesser degree Get Swhifty, is that they missed that mark and just fell into straight sitcom/parody sitcom territory, I think.

The Beth/Jerry plotline started GREAT, and then it literally became every other Beth/Jerry plotline we've ever seen. They're together for the kids, they don't love each other, but in absurd situations Jerry could be an action hero and Beth's kind of attracted to that? Great. Cool, but when are they getting a divorce though? Summer even lampshaded the whole thing like holy fuck if you aren't going to progress their relationship I don't need to see it. Eris, what a mediocre episode.

That being said, the idea that Godhead Beth might become relevant later is cool, even though they don't seem horrible concerned with progressing minor characters as of yet.

EDIT: Oh wait you guys are talking about Rickxty Minutes pt.2 fuuuuuuuck

EDIT EDIT: Or are you? Has that even come out yet?
Summah-time Sadness is real.

Is everyone still alive? I'm thinking of making a new Interest Check; thoughts?
The city!

... Merde! The city!

Fair Mother of the Hollow Moon's shame globes-- why oh why did it have to be in the city?

Jeanne wasn't quite sure what she had intended to do when she finally weaved her way through the shadows in the canopy from the small forest-edge town of Dead Dog Pines to that location Chichi-- and now, from Chichi, she-- had been instructed to deliver... whatever the hell was in the parcel she had been given. At the present moment, as she leaped from tree to tree in the pale glow of the dying day, she found that she had been transformed from thief turned courier.

She didn't normally take jobs like this-- and even though she had offered to help Chichi out, she was herself uneasy when she discovered what it was that Chichi wanted her to do. Typically she'd disagree to performing such a task, it was almost too close to a legal profession for her to even consider. But... In her mind at the very least, Chichi reminded her of her great uncle, the man who had raised her, and quite frankly, she couldn't turn him down for anything. He was the reason she was as skilled as she was at her art, and he was also the reason she was so comfortable with the constant threats of death from the Dwarf. She could do this for him; like her uncle, Chichi had taught her many tools in the art of theft, along wit constantly threatening to kill her-- just like grunkle! Besides, this was only one delivery! Once she dropped off whatever was in the parcel, they'd release his daughter on the outskirts of Dead Dog.

She was capable of completing this task... she had to believe it was within her abilities...

She had to.

At the very least, she didn't need to think of all of that right now. Jeanne lost herself in the instinctual speed she could achieve in the woods. Jumping lightly from treetops like a squirrel, she moved fast-- less like the people she found herself living around, constantly both trying to please and simultaneously harm with her profession-- and more like her father's people, an entire race she had, no, would never meet. With the rise of cities and places like Dead Dog in this region the nomadic Faun who had relied on large expanses of undeveloped trees had naturally fled south, Jeanne was probably one of the few individuals with the horns of an doe this far north.

It didn't matter to her though. Or a the very least, she old herself that it didn't matter. That the bark felt natural against her skin, that the world felt so much more comfortable moving at this rate, with a convenience the humans would never quite know by avoiding the roads and simply relying on Pan... a forgotten god's wisdom to reach her destination-- it didn't matter. Or at least she told herself that she didn't care about these skills. She couldn't deny, not even to herself, though, that they did have their uses. She found that she wasn't particularly fast when running in the streets, and her stamina was below average, for a human and a faun. It would be impossible for her to reach the city from as far away as Dead Dog in a matter of a few hours if she were simply running.

Jeanne supposed it was a rather scenic route, as well, she couldn't deny it's beauty. Although, it was a bit absurd when juxtaposed with her 'civilized' human raising. Chichi, just as her Uncle did, professed a preference of what can be used over what others might see as 'socially acceptable.' The weak cerulean sky, with it's mushroom-white, rolling clouds, died down as she traveled. And it gave way to an orange and purple soupy expanse about the jade canopy, Jeanne leapt from goldenrod branch to branch satchel in tow. Many may have seen her as a madwoman (and fewer, unscrupulous individuals may have questioned why she simple didn't steal whatever was in the package and run), to such individuals, she would respond that it was something that came naturally, from a simple performance of parkour to living by a certain code.


As darkness fell, Jeanne, too, fell upon the city. A Tavern of Night was all Chichi had given her to go off of, and soon, Jeanne followed several darkly dressed men who, from what Jeanne could hear, badly need a drink, into a back alley Tavern that seemed to exude a palpable miasma of misery. This wasn't a typical upbeat tavern scene, there was no bard, no yelling matches, no joyous laughter... This wasn't quite a bar that people went to forget their troubles, this was a place people went to drown them. Walking through the door, Jeanne could already see many black market deals taking place between various patrons, mixed in the sea of rouges who actually sought to drown their misfortune in watered-down ale. There were also... several shapely men and women who drew her eye for various other reasons. She tried not to let her eyes linger, she didn't need the unnecessary attention. Her goal here was simple; deliver the parcel, confirm Chichi's daughter's safety, get the man off her back fr a few months. Very simple.

Jeanne kept her head down as she walked over to a chair and observed the inner workings of the candle-lit tavern from inside. As she watched, she wasn't quite nervous in the environment, but more... uneasy. The tavern certainly wasn't lifeless as she had thought walking in, the illicit drug deals, the card games, the narcotics... There was a life that was low-key, very subdued. She felt uneasy because she was surrounded by individuals who were completely better at what she did for a living. Tack simply wouldn't do it here. She was uneasy because she was surrounded by masters of tack. She realized that she needed to make it obvious to whomever the delivery was to with something that didn't expect.

She needed to make a scene.

Jeanne stood. Emphasizing the sway in her hips and the bith of skin exposed by the split in her dress as she walked, earning more than a few whistles for her trouble. She waltzed over to the bar, practically nuzzling, or as close as she could get at her size, from across the bar, the bartender, a burly, no-nonsense looking human. With a dramatic flourish, she plopped the satchel down in front of the bartender and batted her eyes at the man as she practically sang, loud enough to carry through the room, in her accented voice; "Are there any kidnappers here looking for their ransom? if they don't come and get it I might just use it to buy everyone here a drink."
I'm still here. Events in life transpired to make free time scarce for a but, but I should be open to get a Vivi post up and collab if anyone wants a depressed companion.


roleplayerguild.com/topics/164620-the…


© 2007-2024
BBCode Cheatsheet