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Recent Statuses

6 mos ago
Current =W= forever. Today's jam: Jamie (acoustic.)
6 mos ago
Waldo took some time off and finally found himself.
4 likes
7 mos ago
Why shouldn't you argue with a dinosaur? You'll get jurasskicked.
3 likes
7 mos ago
This book on anti-gravity is so surreal, I can’t put it down.
3 likes
7 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



"Twirling Rabbit"




Collins had been walking the streets and alleys of Khao Yai a good three hours. (Actually, ‘good’ was pushing luck. Lousy was more fitting.) He didn’t really have a program. No place special to be, nobody to hold sway over him. Back home, that was rare. There was always a place to go, or a days’ work (or ten) to be done. But since he’d gone off-world, in those rare occasions when he had himself to hisself, he knew what he had to do. Collins had meandered into and out of a dozen bars since leaving the Troy, and none had the right feel to it. Too clean. Too filthified. Too bright. Too sparsely packed with folk. Too ruttin’ busy. Too loud.

His walk had taken him on a circuitous route to nowhere. He followed no path save his nose, and a hunch he’d find something. Something important. He turned a corner onto yet another poorly-lit stretch of crowded Jao Gao, and immediately found what he was after: The Neon sign reported, in badly translated English, the ‘Twirling Rabbit.’ Except the sign was broken, and in the dim light with letters missing, Barstow saw only ‘Twirling Ra__t’ and said as much, under his breath. “Twirling Rat, huh? Seems my kind of place.” There was a cowboy retching violently at the corner of the establishment – too much ‘shine, or not enough, Collins couldn’t be sure.

He nimbly crossed the street between a pack of four thread-bare hare krishnas and a grav-truck that should have been on the scrap pile a decade ago and, side-stepping the vomit outside the ‘Twirling Ra__t,’ stepped inside. He knew at once this was the place, and silently cussed out his inner monologue for wasting three or more hours of time when this had obviously been the spot all along. All eyes turned to him as he entered. There were at the very least three or four illicit acts in progress that he could have judged on the spot, if he were back home, and near every one o’these old boys looked like they’d done a stretch or three. He tugged at the brim of his hat to the room, and as he did so the collected rain-water ran off in a small rivulet, and eyes turned back to their previous efforts.

He walked to the bar, placing his hands on its cool, worn top, and swiveled into a stool. There was no immediate response. He flipped a few coins onto the bar-top, and flicked one, such that it spun like a top. The barkeep approached, a hard-baked and squinty-eyed woman of maybe forty, with a voice like she’d gargled with broken glass once too often. “What’ll it be, drifter? We got beer, bourbon, an’ two kinds o’ the local tonic that’ll strip paint as soon as make you forget yer ills…”

“I’m not thirsty, dohn? I’m looking for someone.” She slapped her hand down on the spinning coin, stopping it dead. A few eyes close by took note. “Well this ain’t no whorehouse, and I don’t need no shi yan, stranger. You care to whet your whistle, you let me know…” She moved to leave him, but not before he slapped two more coins down on the table, slid them into her hand. Ja Hwo goes by the handle Jonas Flint. Travels with a few Kai Tze… I’m sure someone here might’ve heard of them.”

At the mention of Flint, there are some hushed utterances, and the scraping of a few chairs against the floor. The barkeep jerked her head toward a dark corner. “Talk to her. Then get out. Don’t want none of yer trouble.”

I just found the link... didn't think it would result in anything more than potential interest piqued. Also had no idea it was from another RPG. That's how little I read it. I just needed a few blanks filled in, is all. No biggie. Khao Yai it is. I'll go with that, it's enough to start!
This is super-good info re. Greenleaf.

tapatalk.com/groups/the_verse_online/…

Where is the Doll setting down? Carter City? Deja Thoris? I'm working on a good post, but I can't put it up till I know (at least OOC) where you're making port, because the only way Collins would get aboard the Doll would be a combo of luck, proximity, and potentially planet-side association in a common endeavour, which again would only happen if we happen to geographically be close to eachother.
Happy Sunday from the cargo bay!

We hope everyone had a wonderful Thanksgiving weekend. Now that we're all staring Monday morning in the face, we thought it's time to make sure we're on the same page.

First, posts:

Part 2 of the Skyes' shuttle warmup will be posted tonight. If you still have something to write, now's the chance! We'll take it it offline today at 5PM EST and post it this evening.

Other posts we're aware of:
The Doc and the Cap'n are trading wits in the galley.
Abby's gonna mix it up with the passengers.
A JP is in the works for Pen, Sam, and the Cap'n.

And then, we land!

After speaking with the Skyes' representative, here's what our time on Greenleaf will look like:

Day 1: Landing -3PM local time (Immediate offload of seafood/passengers)
Day 2: Full day - (Cal + 1 will meet with a local to deal on a cargo haul)
The Skyes have work plans
Day 3: Full day
The Skyes have tourist plans
Abby's shopping for headphones
Day 4: Receive cargo & supplies
Prep for launch
Liftoff - 12:00PM Local time

Does that work for your character subplots? If you need additional time on planet to tell your story, let us know.

Write when it's fun,

sail


What day would you like the Preacher to arrive?

-D
Approaching Greenleaf...



Collins sat, cross-legged, in his room on the upper deck. Sweat stood out on his brow, dripped slowly down his nose. The room was in darkness, but his eyes had grown accustomed. Surely, it hadn’t come to this. He hadn’t seen what he thought he had seen… or had he? He thought back over the past week. Captain Hammond had been welcoming enough, mostly letting him attend his own affairs but Lamb, the deck-hand… he had been openly hostile, ‘specially when he had said words over the evening meal, two days out of Beaumonde. He had thought nothing of it for a spell, but when he had happened upon Lamb and the galley attendant, Alva Holt – who he’d had a very pleasant conversation with earlier that same day, having a heated argument and had witnessed Lamb grab the girl’s wrist in his mitt, the disparity of her tiny, artfully decorated limb pressed under his grease-covered, white-with-strain fist the size of a canned ham, flashing momentarily in his mind’s eye. There had been an ugly, red vein standing out on Lamb’s forehead, and he had uttered unseemly words at her as concerns her character as he held her arm up above her head, pinned against the wall. He was over a foot taller than Holt, and easily a hundred pounds heavier than her lithe frame. The Preacher had stood there, cup of tea in-hand, silently blowing to cool the liquid, a silent unasked question etched into his features, until the moment passed. Lamb released the young girl, shouldered past uttering additional filth in his general direction and was gone. Barstow had made an attempt to ask after Alva, but she had brushed past him, tears in her eyes.

That had been three days ago, and there had been tension in the air ever since. Collins had mostly kept hisself to hisself, but there had been an invite from the Cap’n for a communal meal that evening at 18:30, and it wouldn’t do to discourage such an offer. He cooked dumplings that afternoon to add to the meal, and while working alongside Alva, mostly silently save humming an old and familiar tune, he noticed a fresh bruise on her cheek. Asking after her health and well-being, she turned away from him, covering it with her fringe. But the response was clear enough.

The meal was a bit of a celebration. The crew had done well this trip out, and approached Greenleaf with money and prospects. All enjoyed themselves and relished the first good meal any of them could remember in a dog’s age. Lamb was well into his cups, and made several callous and unnecessary remarks at Holt’s expense. It wasn’t lost on the crew, some of whom made side-long glances at the drunk deck-hand. For his part, Collins looked to the Captain, who shrugged it off as the crew ‘blowing off steam.’

And so now Collins sat, cross-legged, in his room on the upper deck. It wasn’t their way. (Wasn’t it the way of every body?) It wasn’t his place. He had no right. They didn’t know his ways. Didn’t live by it. Who was he to stand in judgement of them? He was the stranger here. There may have been history between them he didn’t know about. (But the Cap’n did say that Lamb was pretty new to the crew…) His fingertips traced over the cover of the Code absently, feeling the worn edges of the leather.

When a few minutes later he stood outside Holt’s quarters, his resolve had cemented, his breathing even and shallow. The sounds coming from within were unmistakable, and so was his response. He rolled up his sleeves. Opened the door silently, and stepped across the threshold. He had her against the wall, canned-ham fist over her mouth, pants around his ankles. The gun was cold and smooth in his hand, and he pressed its barrel to the soft place behind Lamb’s ear. When the Preacher spoke, the voice was not his own, the emotion replaced by a steely monotone, ice-cold.

"Lamb… the Romans said: Beloved, never avenge yourselves, but leave it to the wrath of God, for it is written, 'Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord. The wrath of God comes upon the sons of disobedience.' This is the Code…" The hammer clicked into place with a note of finality, But then there was a hand on his shoulder. It belonged to the Captain. "Not like this, Father Collins. Leave him to me." The Captain spoke to Alva. "You alright, Holt? Go on now… out of here. Doc’ll see to that cut. I’ll find you after I deal with… this." There was at once, anguish and a deep sadness, disgust and sharpened steel in his voice. Lamb didn’t move. Not when the gun was lowered, and not when the Captain turned him face to face.

Have you ever been witness to a re-entry keel-hauling? …it was not the way Barstow Collins would have chosen to arrive on Greenleaf. But when they made port he got a firm handshake from the Captain, and Holt kissed him on the cheek, tears in her eyes. She pressed something small, folded in an old piece of fabric, into his hand, and hugged him for what felt like a long time, but was likely only a few seconds.

He turned, and walked off the boarding ramp into the heat of Greenleaf…
Been craving a good Post Apocalyptic RP for... Gods, forever. They come along so rarely. I'm all for small group RP, or even Open RP, but in the End-of-Days, it doesn't make much sense to me, to allow for more than 1X1. In the rare cases we encounter another living soul, we can NPC them.

I'm open to discussions of the style of Apocalypse ended our world: Zombies, Aliens, marauding gangs seeking out guzzoline, a plague, war, a meteor... I've read and absorbed about as much apocalyptic media as anyone can, and I'm pretty comfortable with all of it.

I'm calling this 18+ (preferably 21+) because the end of the world is a grizzly, difficult, macabre, distorted place where people do all manner of unseemly things in the name of survival. I'm positive this one will involve some mature scenes, and since I prefer not to fade-to-black, let's keep this story confined to PM's. In that regard, I'm seeking a F to my M, but I'm open to a discussion of other options. Reach out, let's greek the End of the World arm-in-arm.

-dee
Welcome, Dan the Second. Or Dan 2.0 ... Working title, especially since other Dan has said he may be terminated now.

Anywho, nice to meet ya! Excited for a new face to pick up on Greenleaf. 🤗


**tips hat** Hiya, Alakrys! I'm partial to 'second-coming-of-Dan,' but Dan2 is good as well. (now, how do I format superscript?)

-dee
@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!)
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
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