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Recent Statuses

4 mos ago
Current =W= forever. Today's jam: Jamie (acoustic.)
5 mos ago
Waldo took some time off and finally found himself.
4 likes
5 mos ago
Why shouldn't you argue with a dinosaur? You'll get jurasskicked.
3 likes
6 mos ago
This book on anti-gravity is so surreal, I can’t put it down.
3 likes
6 mos ago
Just type.

Bio

Howdy. I'm Dee. Been tabletop RP'ing since '90 (D&D 2, 3, 3.5, Rifts, Palladium, D20, Pathfinder, Shadowrun) and writing collaborative fiction for nearly ten years (JvS, represent!) In my day-to-day existence, I'm a theatre technician, a parent, I tend to work too much -- and writing is my escape. I take it pretty seriously.

I'm a pretty big fan of Sci-Fi (but I'm pretty selective about what I read,) Post Apocalyptica, certain Fantasy works (though I prefer my sword-and-sorcery via tabletop...) and Zombies. Used to watch a lot of movies, and read a lot, but having a three-year-old stymies that quite a bit. (2022 edit: the three year old is now nine!)

Some character inspirations: Harry Callahan, Max Rockatansky, William Munny, Snake Plissken, Tyler Durden, Cpl. Hudson (RIP,) Severen (RIP,) Peter Venkman, Malcolm Reynolds, Han Solo (to be continued...)

I tend to look for small groups of dedicated, talented writers who post regularly and love the unknown of spontaneous or semi-planned RP. Hit me up with ideas!

Most Recent Posts



**cannot take all credit. Borrowed some info, but it's a race that I think will be right at home here. edits in this colour.**
Stellar. Coming right up!
So I didn't get much reaction in the Int Chk area... am I good to have a go here?
Hello all. deegee here. This is my first stab at writing an interest check. (depending on how this goes, I'll flesh it out into an OOC.) Looking for 3-5 players for a high-casual / low-advanced RP, set in a place the likes of which I've never seen well-demonstrated on an RPG site such as this.

There was a film... mid-'90s, starring Ray Liotta, called 'No Escape.' (not to be confused with the Owen Wilson film 'No Way Out'...) The thrust of it was that prisons had become privatized, and that one such prison corporation had purchased an island to drop their most undesirable of undesirables. This was counter to the 'official' rules by which corporations could conduct business, which still fell squarely in the 'brick and mortar' style of prisons. The prisoners on the island were left to their own devices for the most part, eventually falling into two factions. There was a bestial, savage group called the 'Outsiders' (think marauding bikers from 'Mad Max' meets the barbaric, bloodthirsty horde of 'Doomsday') and a far more peaceful tribe called the 'Insiders.' (think the 'Hilltop,' from Walking Dead.)

This film got a lot right, but never found much of an audience in theatres. Sure, there are nods to, and scenes that feel a whole lot like 'Escape from New York' or 'Maze Runner..' or 'Hunger Games' but I love the idea that the inhabitants are all hard cases, cons, broken people. And I love the notion that there is no reprieve. No end to the hell, except death. Of course, left to our own devices, the basest of us will devolve into something evil and savage. The best of us (or the wrongly accused?) would seek something brighter.

As GM, I will play a role, but I will also drive the action. See -- one of the factions will receive regular supply drops. The other does not. I am classing this as apocalyptic, or PA, as the tech is extremely minimal (whatever you find on the island, or were able to hide as you were transported to the island.) That said, I imagine the time to be slightly ahead of today, so we are set in the future, though any advances in tech are mitigated by their complete absence from the setting.

Who's interested?
I was born for this.


Jesse was five beers into the night, draining the bottles like they were water, when Betty Lee and Marie entered the Sin Den. These fucking beers weren't doing anything except putting a dent in his pocket. Goddamn fight, fucking up his night. Coulda been he would have watched some peelers, finished a box a' beer, and gone home to fall onto his cot. But no, these assholes had to come in, start shit, and tweak his head. It was bad enough being close to the Moons, just working on the blacktop all day. But there was no fucking escape in this town. He saw faces he knew. Faces that he knew, knew him. But he couldn't speak to them. Couldn't have swung a fist even if he'd wanted to. Parole. Straight. Fuckers.

This had gone on long enough that the pigs would show soon, and that was a headache he didn't need. He was marked for harassment, it seemed. Every time a bronze badge even caught a whiff of him, he was being questioned about his business. No thanks. He got up, and drained the last of his Coors, tossing the empty bottle onto the table. He walked to the bar, paid for one more round, and began his walk through the Sin Den, to the door. Stepped over one pair of fighters, rolling on the floor. Side-stepped fists that were flying (not at him, but close by) and ducked a beer bottle aimed at a Laurent head, all while trying (and failing) to make eye contact with those he knew.

He managed to make eye contact with a Bloody Moon who was beating his opponent to a fine, misty pulp, and nodded once at Marie as he cracked his last beer, and took a long pull. Jesse cast a final glance around the bar, spotted Bambi, and half-smiled at her before pulling his hood up and stepping out into the hot night. Not his scene. Maybe never was. His shitty, rusted-out 67 Cougar was parked against the curb, and he opened the drivers' door, slumping heavily into the seat, finishing off the beer and tossing the empty onto the passenger footwell, beside five or six others.

He twisted the key and the engine roared to life, settling into a lumpy idle. Jesse reached into the glovebox, and pulled out what remained of a fifth of whiskey, biting off the cap and pouring a measure down his gullet. For a moment, he almost hoped the brawl would spill out, into the street. But it didn't. Shifting into reverse, he backed out, into the deserted street, and drove the two blocks to his trailer. He got out, leaving the door to the car open, and flipped an overturned lawn chair back upright. A couple more pulls on the bottle, and it too was empty, tossed into the grass.

He thought of something then, and got up, kicking the unlocked door to his trailer open. Inside, it looked as if someone had turned the place upside down, looking for evidence. But no, this was just Jesse's life. He found what he was after under the mattress. His 1911. Walking back outside, he sat on the bottom step of his stoop, cleaning the gun (chamber empty, slide back and locked, magazine ejected. Couldn't be too safe...) After the final wipe-down with fine oil (Louisiana moisture and humidity were terrible for firearms) he reloaded the weapon, and studied it awhile...

@Kingfisher @Valeriana @MegaOscarPwn @Lady of Lore
There she was. klak. klak. Her boots on the tile. Her light wasn't helping the matter, and for a moment, he considered just pulling the trigger. Two of them. Two would mean trouble. Two would mean more will come. More would mean the stinkers. Trouble. Trouble... he couldn't trust her. Sure, sure. Not looking for trouble. klak.

"Like the others. Right..." Easy... easy... game-face. (cosmetics, foundation, $6.99, aisle 6 -- 'beauty products.') "Shut up!" Sometimes that voice was just too present. too close. Bad timing. Did I say that out loud? The light... her light (C-cell batteries, checkout #3 display -- place where you just whacked Dude with an Edger -- $24.99, aisle 17 -- 'garden implements') "I said cut it OUT!" ...was still lingering close at-hand, so that he couldn't focus. klak. The gun wavered in his hand a little, aimed at her (general location.) The barrel of the gun looked big... dangerous. Dirty. Like it was ready to deliver infection and pain. The fact that it quaked slightly in his (nervous? sick?) hand did her no favours, though the fact that he wasn't pointing directly at her, but only vaguely at her, was of some consolation.

"y-you just need to go. Away from here. Take your friend and leave. I-I just don't want to have to kill him. Or you. But you can't stay. Can't. I'm just not done, see? If I was done, you could stay, and it'd be swell." His face loses all emotion. "But I'm not. So you can't. Go." (bullets, security counter, no listed price [NFS!] -- you can always replenish...) "SHUT. UP!"
ohshitohshitohshit, she's being cautious. ohgodohgod... I can't see her anywhere. I was expecting her to step out, show herself. Mind racing. What now? What if this one wakes up? **game face... game. face.**

"Come out. Show yourself. And 'Grant' will be fine."
^
March 15, 2018 - Framingham, Massachusetts - Walmart

An audible 'tink' rang out as the metal hit his head and he fell forward trying to catch himself before he hit the ground until he ran into a shipper of tin Christmas bakeware and knocking it over with a loud crash as he hit the ground dazed and confused.


...a few seconds later


Ryan dropped the edger, the sound echoing --
clangalangalangalang...

--throughout the checkout area of the store. Working quickly, he retrieved the large zip-ties ($4.99, bag of 50, aisle 17, Automotive) from his back pocket and hog-tied the fallen man. As he worked, he spoke softly to the man, tossing aside any obvious weapons he had been carrying.

"Sorry, fella... this'll all be over soon, one way or the other."

Grabbing the bundle of wrists / ankles that he had made, Ryan dragged the semi-conscious man to a corner beyond the checkout counters, a nondescript corner near one of the (locked) exit doors. Lying the Grant-package on its side, facing away from him toward the wall. His head was still lolling and his eyes weren't quite focused, so Ryan quickly checked for vitals, and daubed at the trickle of blood at the base of the man's skull.

"Damn, my man... sorry about that. Looks a bit painful. Don't worry. You and your friend play nice, everyone gets what they need. Your pal should be along soon. We'll just wait, you and me."

Drawing the Browning Hi-Power pistol, Ryan crouched, back against the wall, and rested the muzzle of the short silencer against the top of the Grant-package's head, and waited for the other one to arrive. It wouldn't be long. He took several deep breaths, steadying his nerves.

It was time to get his game-face on.
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