deegee

Firefly - Second 'Verse

@Gunther@MK Blitzen

I hesitate to say what's coming to the crew yet -- Sail, Wolf and I are still hammering it out. I hope to be a permanent passenger, if that makes sense? Kind of like Simon & River, or Book were to the Serenity. So crew, but not crew? Does that make sense? Mostly I'll be bringing trouble. (but don't tell anyone I said so...)

Mine are 18 mos., 8, 9, and 15. So we're all over the map here! I'm sure there will be a multitude of Dad jokes down the line. It really seems to come with the job, hey?

I've been a D&D player for about 20 years. (I currently have a 3.5e campaign going that's been same players, same PC's since 2006! (we took a hiatus here and there, but for at least ten years, these characters have been with us. I'm involved with a couple of 5e campaigns too. My real love is for anything post-apocalyptic though. My first RPG was Rifts, and I'm currently working on a Mutant: Genlab Alpha game. I also recently discovered Gaslands. Huge fun, and cheap to get into vs. Warhammer or similar.

Online, I've been a Star Wars collab. RP writer since 2007 over at Jedi Vs. Sith... but I mostly left that behind because it became more of an online hangout on discord, than actual IC RP posting. So I'm not exactly new to online writing or fanfic, but Firefly will be a new setting for me (though I've loved the series for ages and ages. Better brush up on my Mandarin!)

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Heya MK -- I've been batting a few ideas around with Wolf and Sail -- they're arm-wrestling right now to see who they like best. Either way, it'll be a treat to join y'all on yer journey.

@MK Blitzen

Firefly - Second 'Verse

re. Edmund Fitzgerald -- being a Canuck, I'm well-versed in the history surrounding the sinking. A couple of other songs to take in: Check out the Headstones' cover of Lightfoot's song. It's awesome. And the Tragically Hip's "Nautical Disaster."

"No Canadian band would be complete without a song about a Nautical Disaster." - Gord Downie

btw: hi. I'm Dan

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Been a bit since I checked in on this here site.

I might be a bit untested to you that know each-other from lurking hereabouts on the regular, but I can tell you for certain, I'm capable of putting out a post from time to time. (not so great with the chatting, though.)

Might just have the beginnings of a character up my sleeve for this.

-Dan

The Risen: Fear the Fallen

“Hey,” she whispered, gesturing towards his gun with a shake of her head. “Too noisy. That’ll draw more, we need to stay quiet. Use something else. We need to hunt them down before they get to—”

@Lady of Lore

"...what draws more, Grant-package-friend, is out-of-towner backpackers shopping for batteries."

He was already watching the old-lady-stinker approach from between two end cap displays (Spice up YOUR cooking with 'Shake & Bake!,' $1.19 each *SALE* choose from Turkey, Chicken and Fine Herbs.) She was wearing a rain coat and one rubber boot. The other foot was missing, her uneasy movement supported by the gleaming white bone of her lower leg. "They have rubber boots available in all sizes... aisle 23..."

She gurgled in reply (Listerine, $3.29, Aisle 2A) "Shut UP!" as Ryan quietly set the pistol on a nearby cash register station (Checkout #4, beer & alcohol purchases at #20, please...) and drew his trusty bat (Easton "Big Barrel," $250, sporting goods - out of stock) and in one fluid, golf-swing motion shattered her jaw, teeth spraying (Chicklets, $.89, Checkout impulse-buy side caps, multi-fruit flavours!) and followed that swing with a second that dropped grandma.

The second one had been a girl, maybe Ryan's own age. From the level of decay and bloating, it was hard to tell what she may once have looked like, but there was no denying the fact that she was naked, save a pair of flip-flops. He was distracted by the flip-flops so badly (how? how did those stay on??) that she nearly walked right up to him. Only the bump of her left elbow against his sternum broke him of his daze, and Ryan hit her in the face with the butt-end of his baseball bat, staggering her back. She howled wetly, a sound that seemed to come from underwater and a mile away, before Ryan's bat met her left temple, and she was on the floor.

Deleted

Bumper.

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Writing partner required

Deleted.

The End.

color me interested... if only to hear what your idea is!

Road Warriors - A survival adventure set in the world of Mad Max

The blasted chem storm lasted for what seemed like an eternity, the wind, the cursed W... ripping at his eardrums until all was white-noise, every hair standing on-end as heat and lightning, ozone and toxins that would rend flesh from bone and bleach skin as white as the salt, assaulted his senses. He got maybe an hours' sleep before the storm came upon him, full-bore. And after that, there was no rest. No real sleep. Only silent prayer to whatever passed for a God in this living hell. Prayer and curses, curses and prayer that he'd live on. Why? Best not to venture too far down that road, friends. Suffice it to say that some are merely too stubborn to lay down, when the other option -- placing one weary foot in front of the other, dogged determination in the face of never-ending nothingness -- seems somehow the right choice to make. Wrong, certainly. But who remains to remind those who plod on, that death is the better choice in a world with nothing left to give, but pain?

The sand had mercifully covered him in the night, sheltering him from the worst of the storm. A hand emerged. Then an arm. Soon the torso burst free of the freshly-dug and self-imposed tomb. The air tasted of copper and salt, and it was already hot, near forty degrees centigrade, if Rig had to guess. It took him a few minutes to unearth the bike, and a further several minutes to uncork her precious air cleaners and knock the sand out of the carbs. All-told, he sat, exposed, for far longer than he'd like, but there was no getting around a chem storm. Either you had shelter (if you were very, very lucky) or you made do. Or you died. There weren't too many more options. Anyone in his position (and he knew there were other unlucky sods out there) would be doing the same.

He was as safe as could be, given the circumstances in the moment. Before firing off the bike, he scanned the horizon with his binoc. There. About five kliks to the East. Smoke. Enough of it to be a camp, or a convoy. Not a ville. Big enough that Rig should've wanted to avoid it. He shook the tank on his bike, peering into the filler neck. Maybe an eighth of a tank. Funny how some things are absolutes. Sometimes, a body's mind gets made up without much in the way of choice. Whether he wanted to avoid it or not, seemed he was going toward the smoke.

He cranked the bike over. Once. Twice. It caught on the third, but something was off. He shut it down, and checked her over once more. Dammit all... fouled plug. He drew his dust mask around his mouth and nose, and pulled his hood up, wiping the worst of the sand away from his shoulders, and checked the load in his sidearm. The day wasn't great. And chances are it wasn't going to get any better. But if he got a tankful of juice, or a plug... he'd call it even.

Flipping up the kickstand, he began walking his bike toward the smoke...