Cyberlad
Qia
Half Pint
Festive
mickilennial
AndyC
Sep
Roman
Rockette
Lord WraithThat Thank was me thanking you for letting me use 'Grodd'.
Or not doing enough to stand in my way.
Or not doing enough to stand in my way.
Hound55 Member
Create-A-Hero RPG GM, Blue Bringer of BWAHAHA!
STATUS: A Perpetual Motion Engine of Anxiety and Self-Loathing 2 yrs ago
Status
Recent Statuses
2 yrs ago
Current
A Perpetual Motion Engine of Anxiety and Self-Loathing
Bio
So there I am, in Sri Lanka, formerly Ceylon, at about 3 o'clock in the morning, looking for one thousand brown M&Ms to fill a brandy glass, or Ozzy wouldn't go on stage that night. So, Jeff Beck pops his head 'round the door, and mentions there's a little sweets shop on the edge of town. So - we go. And - it's closed. So there's me, and Keith Moon, and David Crosby, breaking into that little sweets shop, eh. Well, instead of a guard dog, they've got this bloody great big Bengal tiger. I managed to take out the tiger with a can of mace, but the shopowner and his son... that's a different story altogether. I had to beat them to death with their own shoes. Nasty business, really. But, sure enough, I got the M&Ms, and Ozzy went on stage and did a great show.
Most Recent Posts
<Snipped quote by Master Bruce>
Deletes his W.I.P post
Also I know we can use other people's villains unlike previous games but I still think it's just polite to send them a message and being like hey. I wanna use this guy, is that alright?
*Types 'Grodd' intro into post. Turns and makes direct eye contact with @Sep*
*Continues typing 'Grodd' intro post whilst holding eye contact with @Sep*
Banjo stared into the mirror with a glare of disgust on his face.
Too slow. In five years here he'd never been too slow, too sluggish, too dim.
But he got there late and had nothing to offer from his head. He froze up on the spot.
'All because of this goddamn leg.' He thought to himself.
He had half a mind to juice now and live with whatever the results were. But being slow wasn't a reason to be stupid.
It was ruining his life and now people were almost getting hurt or dying because of it.
This school had speedsters faster, but he'd never felt slow. His grades were middling, but he'd never felt daft.
The things he enjoyed in life were kept from him, and it was infuriatingly all for a healing process which would take an indeterminate amount of time.
He could be fine today. Or he could still be doomed to walk with a permanent hitch three months from now. Nothing was certain and there were no answers.
Just that he'd be expected to suffer on a 'maybe'.
Which was increasingly seeming like a reason that was not good enough.
He'd seen what Haven's fate was, and the whole thing was like deja vu. But in his current state 'the best he could do' wasn't worth a pinch of shit.
He tried to calm himself with the rationality that his presence still had its own value. After all, he was usually the fastest one there. The second strongest after Katie. And if he was present it meant Rory could do anything he could do for three minutes. A bum leg didn't travel through the HZEs.
Even if he was late. And if the bloke could think to borrow his power and make smart moves with it on the spot in a hurry.
Depending on other people, to think how he'd want them to think. Not something he was comfortable with at the best of times.
"Are you alright in there?" Zimmerman's tentative voice called from the other side of the door.
Banjo flexed his fingers to try to keep his hands from shaking, and found his knuckles cracking with the tension. It drew his attention to the way he was hunched over in the mirror and the tension within his shoulders as well. He looked a shadow of his former self.
In more ways than one. He was getting leaner, because his diet was so off-putting he simply skipped meals.
Little wonder Calli had come to the conclusion that they needed to talk. He looked a wreck. And it hadn't even been long yet.
Nerve damage in one leg and THIS was what he was letting happen to him?
"Pissweak..."
"What was that..?"
"I said, I've been better."
He stopped looking at the mirror and took a step and a half to open the door. His roommate almost fell through, as he'd been leaning against it, straining to hear. He caught the smaller young man with a hand to his arm, fortunately holding him before he got below his center of gravity, which in his current state would have likely left both on the floor.
"Whaddaya need?"
Zimmerman saw it in his eyes, but couldn't quite place it. Not the general apathy or malaise he often held around the dorm, but the intensity didn't equate to much more liveliness.
"No-- nothing. You've just looked... You were in there for a while and you've seemed..."
"What?"
"I don't know... Despondent?"
"Desponde-- wait--? You didn't think I was bloody hangin' myself in there didya?"
"Well, you've seemed pretty--"
"Oh. My. God. You thought I might have been offin' myself and THAT'S how you call out to check on me?! Ba-- ba-- ba-- Banjo... are you alwight in there..?" He gave off a poor and somewhat cruel imitation of his smaller roommate.
"Geez, I'd hope you'd give it a bit of fuckin' gusto if you really thought I might have looked to take the Michael Hutchence route, Zimmerman. Bloody Hell. And understand, I too would drop trow if I were ever to do that, but not because it would be genuine auto-erotic asphyxiation, but just because I'd want to make it socially uncomfortable for all of you."
"Do you want to watch TV?"
"Why? What's on?"
"Does it-- Does it matter?"
Banjo paid closer scrutiny to Alex's face and recognised this for what it was. Part of him was furious that he was being viewed as an object of sympathy. A target of charity. He fought off the urge to sneer and snarl, and tear the smaller man's head off though. Because at the end of the day, he meant well. And he'd shat on that enough already. His thoughts went from their flash of horror that he may have been trying to kill himself, to the teammate in the infirmary who Jim said wouldn't make it through the night. How fleeting, trivial and bullshit all of this was.
"Guess not..."
He sat down on the lounge with the other two whilst something played. Twenty minutes later he still wouldn't be able to put a name to what it was.
"Er-- That girl today..."
"Careful. I'd hate to call back the paramedics or the morgue after we just found out I wasn't dyin'..."
"I-- oh-- well..."
Zimmerman let an uncomfortable silence fall over them after struggling to find the words.
Big Steve broke the silence. "He thinks your girlfriend's hot."
"Well..." Banjo said, with a 'what the fuck have we here?' looking smirk upon his face. "Well-well-bloody-well..."
"Had yourself a squiz didya, Zimmerman? Had a good stickybeak, eh?" It widened to a broad grin.
"S'alright. After all, you read too many comics for me to think your eyes were stuffed. Yeah, I'm on a good wicket there."
Alex looked perplexed, immediately confusing 'wicket' with the Star Wars ewok of the same name.
"You--"
He clammed up again.
"What?"
"Well, you seem to be pretty good at like, talking to women. And getting them to talk to you as well."
"Which you've concluded, because Calli's hot."
"Well you're better at it than me!"
"That's because I'm just not scared to talk to people. I mean... you're scared to talk to me. I'm not exactly hard to talk to, am I?"
Big Steve's eyes doubled in size at the lack of self-awareness as he turned his head away at the comment, and sipped at his cold brew.
"Could you-- just, I dunno. Help me out. Or help us out--"
"Leave me out of it."
"--with getting to know some girls."
Banjo sighed and stuffed his tongue in his cheek, before stopping to respond.
"Well you jokers have--"
"Leave me out of it."
"--to at least meet me halfway. I mean, when they do House parties here you two basically shut yourselves in here with a 'they wouldn't want us down there' excuse. You've got to at least-- you know-- put yourself out in the line of sight of other people. And talk. You can do that much, right?"
"Well, is there any way you could find us--"
"Again, leave me out of it..."
"--dates for the Senior Dance thing."
Banjo screwed his face up. "No. I'm not a miracle worker."
Alex looked hurt, and even Big Steve turned and made a face at the harsh way he phrased things.
"No. What I meeeean is, 'you've given me no time to work with'. People are all paired up now who were looking to go with someone. People who aren't at this point are kind of... people who are pointedly NOT intending to go with people or something. Look... you've given me no time to help you find a date FOR the thing, but maybe I can help you find someone when you're there."
"Yeah..?"
"Aww Geez, don't look at me all earnest puppy-dog ridiculousness... I'm not promisin' anythin'. I can just drum up some conversation and let you work off of that."
"Well, how's that going to help. What do I do?"
"Well, I only have the two types of conversations... I have the type where I come across as funny and charmin' and chockers with charismatic sparklin' personality and wit, which immediately strikes a chord... and the other type where what I say is immediately deeply offensive to the sheila in question."
"Well, which type are you going to--?"
"They're the same conversation, Zimmerman. In my experience its just the audience that changes."
"So what do I do?"
"Well, if you see the bird takin' deep offense to anythin' I say, that's where you come ridin' on in on your white horse and put me in my place. And none of this stammerin' nonsense. Do it firm. And then when I skulk away, you just pivot the conversation, apologise on my behalf and mention that I'm your roommate and that I'm not good when I'm drunk, and ask her how her night's goin'."
"And what about if it's being taken the other way?" Alex asked.
"Well, Zimmerman, that's when you have a REALLY important job to do..."
"Yes?"
"Yeah. If she's LIKIN' what she's hearin', then you TEAR ARSE in there on your white bloody steed and get me the Hell out of there, before Calli notices and freezes my nuts to the floor."
"..." Banjo held him with an earnest expression.
"I'm not jokin'. You get me out of there. I'm not lookin' to blow up my life."
"You know what, maybe I will find myself a table with a good view on all of this, afterall... Not like I've got anything else going on which could be as entertaining..."
Too slow. In five years here he'd never been too slow, too sluggish, too dim.
But he got there late and had nothing to offer from his head. He froze up on the spot.
'All because of this goddamn leg.' He thought to himself.
He had half a mind to juice now and live with whatever the results were. But being slow wasn't a reason to be stupid.
It was ruining his life and now people were almost getting hurt or dying because of it.
This school had speedsters faster, but he'd never felt slow. His grades were middling, but he'd never felt daft.
The things he enjoyed in life were kept from him, and it was infuriatingly all for a healing process which would take an indeterminate amount of time.
He could be fine today. Or he could still be doomed to walk with a permanent hitch three months from now. Nothing was certain and there were no answers.
Just that he'd be expected to suffer on a 'maybe'.
Which was increasingly seeming like a reason that was not good enough.
He'd seen what Haven's fate was, and the whole thing was like deja vu. But in his current state 'the best he could do' wasn't worth a pinch of shit.
He tried to calm himself with the rationality that his presence still had its own value. After all, he was usually the fastest one there. The second strongest after Katie. And if he was present it meant Rory could do anything he could do for three minutes. A bum leg didn't travel through the HZEs.
Even if he was late. And if the bloke could think to borrow his power and make smart moves with it on the spot in a hurry.
Depending on other people, to think how he'd want them to think. Not something he was comfortable with at the best of times.
"Are you alright in there?" Zimmerman's tentative voice called from the other side of the door.
Banjo flexed his fingers to try to keep his hands from shaking, and found his knuckles cracking with the tension. It drew his attention to the way he was hunched over in the mirror and the tension within his shoulders as well. He looked a shadow of his former self.
In more ways than one. He was getting leaner, because his diet was so off-putting he simply skipped meals.
Little wonder Calli had come to the conclusion that they needed to talk. He looked a wreck. And it hadn't even been long yet.
Nerve damage in one leg and THIS was what he was letting happen to him?
"Pissweak..."
"What was that..?"
"I said, I've been better."
He stopped looking at the mirror and took a step and a half to open the door. His roommate almost fell through, as he'd been leaning against it, straining to hear. He caught the smaller young man with a hand to his arm, fortunately holding him before he got below his center of gravity, which in his current state would have likely left both on the floor.
"Whaddaya need?"
Zimmerman saw it in his eyes, but couldn't quite place it. Not the general apathy or malaise he often held around the dorm, but the intensity didn't equate to much more liveliness.
"No-- nothing. You've just looked... You were in there for a while and you've seemed..."
"What?"
"I don't know... Despondent?"
"Desponde-- wait--? You didn't think I was bloody hangin' myself in there didya?"
"Well, you've seemed pretty--"
"Oh. My. God. You thought I might have been offin' myself and THAT'S how you call out to check on me?! Ba-- ba-- ba-- Banjo... are you alwight in there..?" He gave off a poor and somewhat cruel imitation of his smaller roommate.
"Geez, I'd hope you'd give it a bit of fuckin' gusto if you really thought I might have looked to take the Michael Hutchence route, Zimmerman. Bloody Hell. And understand, I too would drop trow if I were ever to do that, but not because it would be genuine auto-erotic asphyxiation, but just because I'd want to make it socially uncomfortable for all of you."
"Do you want to watch TV?"
"Why? What's on?"
"Does it-- Does it matter?"
Banjo paid closer scrutiny to Alex's face and recognised this for what it was. Part of him was furious that he was being viewed as an object of sympathy. A target of charity. He fought off the urge to sneer and snarl, and tear the smaller man's head off though. Because at the end of the day, he meant well. And he'd shat on that enough already. His thoughts went from their flash of horror that he may have been trying to kill himself, to the teammate in the infirmary who Jim said wouldn't make it through the night. How fleeting, trivial and bullshit all of this was.
"Guess not..."
He sat down on the lounge with the other two whilst something played. Twenty minutes later he still wouldn't be able to put a name to what it was.
"Er-- That girl today..."
"Careful. I'd hate to call back the paramedics or the morgue after we just found out I wasn't dyin'..."
"I-- oh-- well..."
Zimmerman let an uncomfortable silence fall over them after struggling to find the words.
Big Steve broke the silence. "He thinks your girlfriend's hot."
"Well..." Banjo said, with a 'what the fuck have we here?' looking smirk upon his face. "Well-well-bloody-well..."
"Had yourself a squiz didya, Zimmerman? Had a good stickybeak, eh?" It widened to a broad grin.
"S'alright. After all, you read too many comics for me to think your eyes were stuffed. Yeah, I'm on a good wicket there."
Alex looked perplexed, immediately confusing 'wicket' with the Star Wars ewok of the same name.
"You--"
He clammed up again.
"What?"
"Well, you seem to be pretty good at like, talking to women. And getting them to talk to you as well."
"Which you've concluded, because Calli's hot."
"Well you're better at it than me!"
"That's because I'm just not scared to talk to people. I mean... you're scared to talk to me. I'm not exactly hard to talk to, am I?"
Big Steve's eyes doubled in size at the lack of self-awareness as he turned his head away at the comment, and sipped at his cold brew.
"Could you-- just, I dunno. Help me out. Or help us out--"
"Leave me out of it."
"--with getting to know some girls."
Banjo sighed and stuffed his tongue in his cheek, before stopping to respond.
"Well you jokers have--"
"Leave me out of it."
"--to at least meet me halfway. I mean, when they do House parties here you two basically shut yourselves in here with a 'they wouldn't want us down there' excuse. You've got to at least-- you know-- put yourself out in the line of sight of other people. And talk. You can do that much, right?"
"Well, is there any way you could find us--"
"Again, leave me out of it..."
"--dates for the Senior Dance thing."
Banjo screwed his face up. "No. I'm not a miracle worker."
Alex looked hurt, and even Big Steve turned and made a face at the harsh way he phrased things.
"No. What I meeeean is, 'you've given me no time to work with'. People are all paired up now who were looking to go with someone. People who aren't at this point are kind of... people who are pointedly NOT intending to go with people or something. Look... you've given me no time to help you find a date FOR the thing, but maybe I can help you find someone when you're there."
"Yeah..?"
"Aww Geez, don't look at me all earnest puppy-dog ridiculousness... I'm not promisin' anythin'. I can just drum up some conversation and let you work off of that."
"Well, how's that going to help. What do I do?"
"Well, I only have the two types of conversations... I have the type where I come across as funny and charmin' and chockers with charismatic sparklin' personality and wit, which immediately strikes a chord... and the other type where what I say is immediately deeply offensive to the sheila in question."
"Well, which type are you going to--?"
"They're the same conversation, Zimmerman. In my experience its just the audience that changes."
"So what do I do?"
"Well, if you see the bird takin' deep offense to anythin' I say, that's where you come ridin' on in on your white horse and put me in my place. And none of this stammerin' nonsense. Do it firm. And then when I skulk away, you just pivot the conversation, apologise on my behalf and mention that I'm your roommate and that I'm not good when I'm drunk, and ask her how her night's goin'."
"And what about if it's being taken the other way?" Alex asked.
"Well, Zimmerman, that's when you have a REALLY important job to do..."
"Yes?"
"Yeah. If she's LIKIN' what she's hearin', then you TEAR ARSE in there on your white bloody steed and get me the Hell out of there, before Calli notices and freezes my nuts to the floor."
"..." Banjo held him with an earnest expression.
"I'm not jokin'. You get me out of there. I'm not lookin' to blow up my life."
"You know what, maybe I will find myself a table with a good view on all of this, afterall... Not like I've got anything else going on which could be as entertaining..."
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________Interaction(s): NPCs
Previously: Anger Management
Between Thor, Wolverine and Howard Stark what this RP has taught me is to stay the Hell away from snow.
C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A LS . T . A . K . E ."Just when you think the world's getting boring again...something new happens."J A S P E R S I T W E L L ♦ S H I E L D I N T E R R O G A T O R ♦ N E W Y O R KO R I G I N S:The Sitwell's have generational history of service in the name of the United States of America; but you won't find them decorated in the annals of history, their names carved into memorial plaques, or even remembered at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. In his day, Jasper's grandfather - Jason Sitwell - was instrumental in the suppression of the mutant pandemic, working under the banner of a clandestine branch of the U.S. Government known as the Supreme Headquarters, International Espionage and Law-Enforcement Division. In Jasper's time, the organization has evolved, and so has its name, the branch referred to now as the Strategic Hazard Intervention Espionage Logistics Directorate.
Either way, the Sitwell's have always, and likely will always, work for SHIELD, and their family's legacy is a colorful story of dubious service in the name of the greater good of the nation.
But you'll never hear about that.
Just like you won't hear about what Jasper's going to start working on next.S A M P L E P O S T:"Mornin' Sitwell."
Jasper lifted his sleep-heavy head and turned away from the droning buzz of the coffee machine to look at his colleague. The face was briefly familiar but he couldn't for the life of him place a name. How many people had he seen come through over the years? Between his father's and his own tenure, the numbers must have ranged in the thousands.
"Good morning, agent." He eventually replied, using a professional posture and brusque, authoritative tone to cover the fact that he had no idea who he was talking to. The coffee machine stopped buzzing and Jasper lifted the mug to his lips, taking a deep sniff of the steaming coffee before sipping gingerly. It burnt his tongue, but it tasted good, and held the promise of making him feel a bit more awake by the time he drained the cup.
"Much on your plate today?" The mystery agent asked as Jasper shuffled over and allowed him access to the coffee. Jasper sipped more from his mug, thinking on the stack of manila folders he'd walked away from yesterday, and was imminently about to walk into.
"The usual." He replied, to which the agent gave a solemn nod. ‘Sitwell’ was a familiar name to many in the organisation, and while Jasper’s official role was as one of their leading interrogation agents, in truth he was something of a general dog’s body; he had the breadth of knowledge to assist on nearly any assignment, and the network to navigate himself only to the ones he found interesting.
He’d been navigating himself less and less recently. SHIELD had become, for lack of a better word, boring.
“Well, have a good day.” Jasper said, after a lengthy pause between the two that had long become awkward. He retreated from the canteen back towards his office, wishing the front walls were made of something considerably more opaque than the partially-frosted glass that was currently in place. He’d already finished his coffee by the time he sat down, and wondered how many folders he’d peruse before boredom bid him to fetch a refill.
Not that many, as it would turn out.P O S T C A T A L O G:A list linking to your IC posts as they're created. This can be used for a reference guide to your character or to summarize completed interactions and stories.
No promises.
Y'know what...
Tis the season!
<Snipped quote by Hound55>
Oops. Didn't see the edit. PM'd you an idea. I'm flexible and don't want to step on toes.
Doesn't matter, you just sent the character details anyway.
<Snipped quote by Hound55>
Hey spider-man, room for another spider?
Open to it.
Could you send me what you've got first, though?
EDIT: Don't bother with the sample for my benefit, I know how you write. Just want to make sure I'm across the Origin/Basic version of Character Details stuff that you want to go with.
@Sep BASTARD STOLE EVERYTHING ELSE, DID HE WANT MY WIFE TOO? MAYBE MY KIDNEY! ALL I KNOW IS THAT HE WILL PAY ONE DAY!!!
<Snipped quote by Hound55>
Haha! You fool. Potatoes aren't native to Ireland.
On topic....
So how's everyone feeling about posts so far?
I got Sicilianed by a Scotsman...
<Snipped quote by Hound55>
I wasn't counting Leeks....
But I was counting potatoes...
Irish. You're down to two.
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