Member
Yeah, I see your reasoning behind that.
I'm still deep in exam territory but I should be out in around three weeks or so, then I have all the time in the world to contribute.
Start again if you wish, I think I might rethink my character, but know I will come back to this so please reserve me a space for whenever I join.
Thanks.
- Last Seen: 6 yrs ago
- Old Guild Username: SlenderWoman
- Joined: 11 yrs ago
- Posts: 298 (0.08 / day)
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Username history
- Eru Iluvatar 11 yrs ago
Status
Recent Statuses
8 yrs ago
Current
My entire life is a series of egg puns.
3
likes
8 yrs ago
Workin' 9 to 9... Wait, that isn't right...
1
like
8 yrs ago
I have too many passions to be able to commit to any one of them, but even though I want to commit to one, I can't possibly choose.
8 yrs ago
Was Scorpius half-Scarran, half-Peacekeeper? Frell yes!
8 yrs ago
Free time is less 'free', and more 'extensive but highly regulated by various external sources' time.
3
likes
Bio
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Most Recent Posts
Really sorry guys, it's but two weeks away from my month of GCSEs, so I have been revising and neglecting this wonderful story. I probably won't be able to post for a time, and if so it will be on a whim - so if you want to skip my turn - I would appreciate it if RC or Itchthys can just say Ryan got knocked out by one of the guards in the darkness (maybe that can lead to something cool).
Thanks, and sorry.
Thanks, and sorry.
I would be very interested in this, casual or advanced.
Keep me noted, you have a player.
Keep me noted, you have a player.
Working on a post now. :D
After Ryan had spoken his piece, he drew back against the wall and pretended that there was nobody around him, and he was alone. Slowly but surely, as the final person did or did not confess, Ryan managed to blot out most of the speech and heavy breathing of his accomplices in the room, as a sharp ringing noise in his ear steadily increased in volume. Time passed, unbeknownst to Ryan, and the ringing sound was almost too much - and it sounded just like, like... Then Ryan realised he hadn't done what he was doing now, blotted everything out and escaped from his situation since... 13 years ago... that night -
Ryan came to with a sharp breath and again, the blinding light stopped him thrusting forwards in shock. The room was still occupied and nobody had really noticed his actions - so he assumed they were too busy worrying about themselves and whatever they were confessing to to notice him at the back of the room. A low buzzing sound had filled the room, and as one of the people in the room starting moving away, it stopped. Quickly, Ryan caught onto the fact that he was not being let to go free and was going to spend the foreseeable future in a jail cell.
Well, Thought Ryan, At least I'll be in a place I'm comfortable in.
The four remaining possible convicts were filed out of the room and led down what felt like an eternity of corridors and hallways, sometimes walking through dimly lit halls that you couldn't see the bottom of, or areas with so many turnings Ryan found himself brushing hard against each edge and just attempting to walk forwards with not much success.
Maybe he was still high, and was hallucinating the whole thing. Nah, He thought, since when was a 20-bag enough to get me this fucked.
This had to be real. Ryan then suddenly remembered the contents of his hoodie pockets and eagerly stuck his hands into them.
Of course they were empty. Cops around Manchester might be fat, lazy shits but they knew how to check for weapons. Which left Ryan without his pull-up knife, which could have been useful. His weed and gear was gone as well, which he really started to dislike the bastards for. If they're gonna lock you up, at least let you make yourself pass out so the time goes a bit faster. Maybe this wasn't Manchester. The events of the night before had still not come back to Ryan.
He sighed, and time passed again until they arrived at the cell.
Ryan quickly looked up, examining the cell. Standard issue. Ryan often recounted things to himself in his head. It helped with the lifestyle, he had figured, or else the same cycle of his boring life could drive him insane.
The four entered the cell, which was joint parallel onto another. In the cell opposite, an old man sat, watching them - as batty as the usuals, too. But a glint in his eye said otherwise, and Ryan matched his gaze as they entered the cell. He barged past the couple of people in front of him and quickly took the cell furthest away from the door. Experience had mentored Ryan through the one-night jail cell extravaganza, and he by now knew the ins and outs of this process.
As per usual, Ryan would pull his hood up and turn a blind eye to the rest of the inhabitants of the cell, and he went to do just that. However, after the guards had left the vicinity of the cell, the old man that was different from the others spoke.
Ryan turned and opened an eye and an ear, listening to what he had to say.
And it was now that Ryan learned what he should have in that interrogation room - they were all accused of murder. Bullshit, Thought Ryan, with an angered flare, I think I would remember. Besides, we ain't killed anyone since Johnson... and then all his mates backed off. Even so, Ryan found himself sitting up and listening to every word the old man said with great interest.
His words made Ryan paranoid, and he glanced over the other inhabitants of the cell, no longer attempting to sleep or thinking of doing so. Sure, the old man was insane as Ryan had predicted, but he said things in a riddled way that Ryan understood. It was like what you thought after taking a fair amount of LSD or a couple of lines of coke.
He revealed his name - Ethan, and Ryan tried to recall anyone he knew by that name, but none came up.
First a girl answered him, one with strange eyes and an even stranger way of speaking. That ones an addict, Thought Ryan, but then again, so was he.
A middle-aged guy spoke next, claiming himself to be innocent. Ryan eyed him, It's usually the men who do the crime. But it could be any one of them, thought Ryan - looking at the strange woman and the other female in the cell. It could even be Ryan himself, but he would have to wait for his memory to come back to find out.
It usually took half the afternoon, and since some kind of light was coming through the narrow window, Ryan thought he would have to remember soon.
Still, if we was in here, he might as well make the most of it:
"Ryan." He said, with a low and uncaring tone. "And this is my bed here, so fuck off away from it."
Ryan came to with a sharp breath and again, the blinding light stopped him thrusting forwards in shock. The room was still occupied and nobody had really noticed his actions - so he assumed they were too busy worrying about themselves and whatever they were confessing to to notice him at the back of the room. A low buzzing sound had filled the room, and as one of the people in the room starting moving away, it stopped. Quickly, Ryan caught onto the fact that he was not being let to go free and was going to spend the foreseeable future in a jail cell.
Well, Thought Ryan, At least I'll be in a place I'm comfortable in.
The four remaining possible convicts were filed out of the room and led down what felt like an eternity of corridors and hallways, sometimes walking through dimly lit halls that you couldn't see the bottom of, or areas with so many turnings Ryan found himself brushing hard against each edge and just attempting to walk forwards with not much success.
Maybe he was still high, and was hallucinating the whole thing. Nah, He thought, since when was a 20-bag enough to get me this fucked.
This had to be real. Ryan then suddenly remembered the contents of his hoodie pockets and eagerly stuck his hands into them.
Of course they were empty. Cops around Manchester might be fat, lazy shits but they knew how to check for weapons. Which left Ryan without his pull-up knife, which could have been useful. His weed and gear was gone as well, which he really started to dislike the bastards for. If they're gonna lock you up, at least let you make yourself pass out so the time goes a bit faster. Maybe this wasn't Manchester. The events of the night before had still not come back to Ryan.
He sighed, and time passed again until they arrived at the cell.
Ryan quickly looked up, examining the cell. Standard issue. Ryan often recounted things to himself in his head. It helped with the lifestyle, he had figured, or else the same cycle of his boring life could drive him insane.
The four entered the cell, which was joint parallel onto another. In the cell opposite, an old man sat, watching them - as batty as the usuals, too. But a glint in his eye said otherwise, and Ryan matched his gaze as they entered the cell. He barged past the couple of people in front of him and quickly took the cell furthest away from the door. Experience had mentored Ryan through the one-night jail cell extravaganza, and he by now knew the ins and outs of this process.
As per usual, Ryan would pull his hood up and turn a blind eye to the rest of the inhabitants of the cell, and he went to do just that. However, after the guards had left the vicinity of the cell, the old man that was different from the others spoke.
Ryan turned and opened an eye and an ear, listening to what he had to say.
And it was now that Ryan learned what he should have in that interrogation room - they were all accused of murder. Bullshit, Thought Ryan, with an angered flare, I think I would remember. Besides, we ain't killed anyone since Johnson... and then all his mates backed off. Even so, Ryan found himself sitting up and listening to every word the old man said with great interest.
His words made Ryan paranoid, and he glanced over the other inhabitants of the cell, no longer attempting to sleep or thinking of doing so. Sure, the old man was insane as Ryan had predicted, but he said things in a riddled way that Ryan understood. It was like what you thought after taking a fair amount of LSD or a couple of lines of coke.
He revealed his name - Ethan, and Ryan tried to recall anyone he knew by that name, but none came up.
First a girl answered him, one with strange eyes and an even stranger way of speaking. That ones an addict, Thought Ryan, but then again, so was he.
A middle-aged guy spoke next, claiming himself to be innocent. Ryan eyed him, It's usually the men who do the crime. But it could be any one of them, thought Ryan - looking at the strange woman and the other female in the cell. It could even be Ryan himself, but he would have to wait for his memory to come back to find out.
It usually took half the afternoon, and since some kind of light was coming through the narrow window, Ryan thought he would have to remember soon.
Still, if we was in here, he might as well make the most of it:
"Ryan." He said, with a low and uncaring tone. "And this is my bed here, so fuck off away from it."
Guess I better get going then.
I like how we're going in an order, that's pretty cool.
Also means I'm next...
Gah...
Also means I'm next...
Gah...
The dim, lamp-lit streets of southern Manchester were a welcome sight to Ryan Fisher. He knew them like the back of his hand, and memories of him and his gang were found in most alleys and street corners in dropped cigarette butts or broken pieces of glass that were the remains of various alcoholic drinks he had suffered over the years. It wasn't a bright, pristine life a person would search for or go out of their way to find - but it was Ryan's, and most people who would advise him against it had given up long ago.
Ryan had first come upon this life after he was kicked out of his third college when he was seventeen, and turned to drugs and alcohol to pass the time. This brought him contacts and soon enough every night he was with a crowd of druggies and smokers, blowing his scraps of money on something that would be gone in the morning. He had various jobs that didn't last very long over time - just to earn a bit of money - but he soon lost them as well, and he was kept alive by his mum's pity wrapped in £20 notes and sandwiches. He also had various partners, some which lasted and some which didn't, and he managed to get a run-down apartment (shared with his friend) which led to benefits and a slow stream of money coming in. Ryan plodded on for five years, repeating the cycle of lively nights and hellish mornings, junk food and the stench of weed everywhere he went. Saturday nights were a brief break, but they always ended up taking more money from him than any other day of the week. It was a lowly, pitiful life - and Ryan had his chance at a better one, but in the end this is the one he ended up with. And it wasn't likely to change any time soon.
Except in the circumstance that his life was definitely going to change forever.
Ryan's eyes accustomed slowly to his surroundings - a blaring light blinding his vision, the muffled breathing of others close by him. How had he got himself into this mess?
Oh, shit - not the fuckin' fuzz again, thought Ryan. Many a time had he ventured out to a night soon forgotten but woken up with his head on fire, and more often than not, cuffs around his hands. People were taking it in turns to explain something, but the pounding in Ryan's ears made it impossible to distinguish and anything coming through on the speaker was just the same.
Ryan lifted his head up sharply and yelled, "Hey, turn these fuckin' lights off!"
Nobody moved to comply but instead the people accompanying Ryan in the room fell silent and looked at him.
Ryan's head slowly cleared up as he calmed himself and stepped back against the wall. There were no loud noises or speaking until the speaker blared on again and a low, authoritative voice spoke:
"Mr Fisher, you will be able to leave as soon as one of you confesses. Now, perhaps you would be so kind?"
Ryan furrowed his brow and tried to remember the night before, but only flashes of weed and vodka entered his mind.
"Last night? I can't remember, alright? It'll take me days, so hows about I come back then, yeah?" He stated, his voice carrying eerily around the room and back.
Nothing came from over the speaker, so he tried again:
"Look, anything you're accusing me of I ain't gonna remember! Fuck's sake, how do you expect me to 'confess' when I don't know what the fuck happened last night?!"
Again, silence. Ryan cursed under his breath and didn't say anything more, and slowly the eyes of his companions turned away from him - and to the last one to speak.
Ryan had first come upon this life after he was kicked out of his third college when he was seventeen, and turned to drugs and alcohol to pass the time. This brought him contacts and soon enough every night he was with a crowd of druggies and smokers, blowing his scraps of money on something that would be gone in the morning. He had various jobs that didn't last very long over time - just to earn a bit of money - but he soon lost them as well, and he was kept alive by his mum's pity wrapped in £20 notes and sandwiches. He also had various partners, some which lasted and some which didn't, and he managed to get a run-down apartment (shared with his friend) which led to benefits and a slow stream of money coming in. Ryan plodded on for five years, repeating the cycle of lively nights and hellish mornings, junk food and the stench of weed everywhere he went. Saturday nights were a brief break, but they always ended up taking more money from him than any other day of the week. It was a lowly, pitiful life - and Ryan had his chance at a better one, but in the end this is the one he ended up with. And it wasn't likely to change any time soon.
Except in the circumstance that his life was definitely going to change forever.
Ryan's eyes accustomed slowly to his surroundings - a blaring light blinding his vision, the muffled breathing of others close by him. How had he got himself into this mess?
Oh, shit - not the fuckin' fuzz again, thought Ryan. Many a time had he ventured out to a night soon forgotten but woken up with his head on fire, and more often than not, cuffs around his hands. People were taking it in turns to explain something, but the pounding in Ryan's ears made it impossible to distinguish and anything coming through on the speaker was just the same.
Ryan lifted his head up sharply and yelled, "Hey, turn these fuckin' lights off!"
Nobody moved to comply but instead the people accompanying Ryan in the room fell silent and looked at him.
Ryan's head slowly cleared up as he calmed himself and stepped back against the wall. There were no loud noises or speaking until the speaker blared on again and a low, authoritative voice spoke:
"Mr Fisher, you will be able to leave as soon as one of you confesses. Now, perhaps you would be so kind?"
Ryan furrowed his brow and tried to remember the night before, but only flashes of weed and vodka entered his mind.
"Last night? I can't remember, alright? It'll take me days, so hows about I come back then, yeah?" He stated, his voice carrying eerily around the room and back.
Nothing came from over the speaker, so he tried again:
"Look, anything you're accusing me of I ain't gonna remember! Fuck's sake, how do you expect me to 'confess' when I don't know what the fuck happened last night?!"
Again, silence. Ryan cursed under his breath and didn't say anything more, and slowly the eyes of his companions turned away from him - and to the last one to speak.
Not anything special, literally squeezed out of the last embers of my writing ability today.
Sorry to rain on your couple party, but I just unfortunately couldn't think of a complete post with a little amount happening.
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