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So Zeb, how's that system coming along? Made any progress worth noting?
I, personally, wouldn't mind if you kept us up to date on what it is you are working on for the roleplay and what you have left to do, at least in a general sense. We've been waiting on you for quite a few weeks and we still have no idea how it's coming along, if you've even made progress.
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[THUMP] [CRAAAASH]
“Ungh…HEY! What’re you lookin’ at!?” shouted an auburn-haired boy with a frustrated expression, in a light, but mature voice.
In a fit of embarrassed blushing, the boy shot up, shooting wicked glares at the people who were staring at him. It was enough of an embarrassment that he fell at all, but to fall on his butt as people watched? It was pure humiliation. Vandal took a hit to more than just his behind, his pride was injured as well.
“I was right to question the safety of those lights…” claimed a deeper-voiced, heavily muscular man, a satisfied grin on his face as he watched the boy get up.
“Vandal…sweet lord! Are you alright?” sounded another, calmer voice from a sweet lady with a long beard. She made her way towards the boy, reaching out to help him up as she got closer.
The boy shot up, ignorant of both people, “I’m fine!” he stubbornly claimed, brushing a few pieces of glass off of his shirt and arms as he walked away from the broken overhead lamp which landed beside him, “besides, I’ve survived much worse.”
The bearded lady looked over at the muscle man with a knowing grin and giggled slightly, to which the muscled man returned a chuckle. The auburn-haird boy frowned at both of them hotly as they chuckled, interpreting it as chiding, but quickly turned away to look for a broom. The backstage area was a rather large room, just like the stage, with a bunch of old props, dusty scenery boards, and plenty more hazards and dangers. There were a few doors around the room, two for the male and female dressing rooms, one both ends of the stage, and two to different sections of the extra rooms which were passionately known as living quarters.
The other member was resting in his own living quarters, exhausted from moving in. Vandal decided not to bother the guy, instead making the clearly more logical decision to climb about near the ceiling and mess around with hanging light fixtures. The bearded lady joked that, if they duck-taped dusters to him, they could just leave for a day and all the dust would be gone when they returned. The teen resented this joke, although he admitted it was not bad as he was swinging about earlier.
He shook his head as he lifted up a broom and dustpan resting beside a trash-bin. As he walked back, he looked around the place for better places to climb around. This place is too rotten to climb around. he thought, kneeling down beside the broken lamp to brush up the glass shards. Behind him, he heard a door opening, and quickly looked over his shoulder to see who it was.
“Vi!” he exclaimed, standing up with one hand on the broom as he loomed over the broken shards. After a moment, he remembered what he did a minute ago and quickly stumbled to say, “uh…umm…It was a rotten light which was poorly attached! I hold no blame for this…” then crossed his arms and made a pouty expression as he looked away, peering over at Vi after a second, then quickly looking away again to continue his pout.
The muscle man, who was still moving a few of the props out of the way of another series of rooms, heard Vandal and chuckled a little. “They’re nothing like trapezes now, are they?” he said, his full voice still partly mocking the boy as he spoke. Vandal tried to ignore him, but ended up grumbling a few words under his breath and returning to his task, pouting slightly as he swept up the glass.
“Ungh…HEY! What’re you lookin’ at!?” shouted an auburn-haired boy with a frustrated expression, in a light, but mature voice.
In a fit of embarrassed blushing, the boy shot up, shooting wicked glares at the people who were staring at him. It was enough of an embarrassment that he fell at all, but to fall on his butt as people watched? It was pure humiliation. Vandal took a hit to more than just his behind, his pride was injured as well.
“I was right to question the safety of those lights…” claimed a deeper-voiced, heavily muscular man, a satisfied grin on his face as he watched the boy get up.
“Vandal…sweet lord! Are you alright?” sounded another, calmer voice from a sweet lady with a long beard. She made her way towards the boy, reaching out to help him up as she got closer.
The boy shot up, ignorant of both people, “I’m fine!” he stubbornly claimed, brushing a few pieces of glass off of his shirt and arms as he walked away from the broken overhead lamp which landed beside him, “besides, I’ve survived much worse.”
The bearded lady looked over at the muscle man with a knowing grin and giggled slightly, to which the muscled man returned a chuckle. The auburn-haird boy frowned at both of them hotly as they chuckled, interpreting it as chiding, but quickly turned away to look for a broom. The backstage area was a rather large room, just like the stage, with a bunch of old props, dusty scenery boards, and plenty more hazards and dangers. There were a few doors around the room, two for the male and female dressing rooms, one both ends of the stage, and two to different sections of the extra rooms which were passionately known as living quarters.
The other member was resting in his own living quarters, exhausted from moving in. Vandal decided not to bother the guy, instead making the clearly more logical decision to climb about near the ceiling and mess around with hanging light fixtures. The bearded lady joked that, if they duck-taped dusters to him, they could just leave for a day and all the dust would be gone when they returned. The teen resented this joke, although he admitted it was not bad as he was swinging about earlier.
He shook his head as he lifted up a broom and dustpan resting beside a trash-bin. As he walked back, he looked around the place for better places to climb around. This place is too rotten to climb around. he thought, kneeling down beside the broken lamp to brush up the glass shards. Behind him, he heard a door opening, and quickly looked over his shoulder to see who it was.
“Vi!” he exclaimed, standing up with one hand on the broom as he loomed over the broken shards. After a moment, he remembered what he did a minute ago and quickly stumbled to say, “uh…umm…It was a rotten light which was poorly attached! I hold no blame for this…” then crossed his arms and made a pouty expression as he looked away, peering over at Vi after a second, then quickly looking away again to continue his pout.
The muscle man, who was still moving a few of the props out of the way of another series of rooms, heard Vandal and chuckled a little. “They’re nothing like trapezes now, are they?” he said, his full voice still partly mocking the boy as he spoke. Vandal tried to ignore him, but ended up grumbling a few words under his breath and returning to his task, pouting slightly as he swept up the glass.
As Flake rested on his sleeping mat, he lazily thought about the threadbare, decrepit piece of cloth he pulled over himself, the cloth which was supposed to keep him warm during a frigid night. It was not nearly cold enough in the cell to warrant the use of the blanket, but he was dizzy and, quite frankly, did not like the feeling of being watched. As per usual, he envisioned the room around himself, focusing on key details and painting a picture with what images he could remember, about the blood-stained cobble, the iron bars, the unarmed assassin on the other side of the room…
Flake tried to envision what she looked like, but he heard her shifting around and could not properly play out what the sounds meant. As if to cheat himself, the bounty hunter slowly pried one of his eyes open to see his companion leaning her head against the wall, huddled up in a ball, with her eyes closed. The damaged man grinned at the sight of the woman, not so much due to her appearance, emotion, or circumstance, but due to his own mistake. In his vision, he had seen her with a tear in her eye, but in actuality, her face was dry.
An hour of thought later, Flake peeked over at his companion once again as a reaction to hearing a soft grinding sound. Sure enough, as he peeked open one of his eyes, he saw that she had lost her grip and was gently falling to one side. This time, instead of a smile, Flake frowned. A thought crossed his mind when he saw the lady before him, a memory from the past which he forced himself to disregard. He felt almost angry, his thoughts shifting over to the guards, hearing their mocking, prideful and condescending voices presaged in his mind. He knew that they would patrol to the cell at some point that night, and Flake did not want them to see Raine as she was.
Carefully, slowly, and silently, the bounty hunter pulled the blanket off of his person and stood up on the cobbled stones, taking a full minute to do so in order to avoid rustling sounds. He then snuck over to where Raine peacefully slept and, as he arrived next to her bedding, she flopped down onto the bedding. Chills shot up his spine as he stood there, expecting the assassin to wake up and assault him, but it did not happen. She’s a damn heavy sleeper, he thought, smiling in relief after a minute of suspense. Flake carefully pulled Raine slightly away from the wall, once again taking a long time to do so, then pulled the blanket over her.
As he walked back, he grinned happily, satisfied with himself. He slowly snuck back onto his bedding, pulled the covers back over himself, and returned to his sleeping position. Certainly, he was no assassin. Any assassin would be able to do what Flake did in half the time, but an assassin would surely be able to notice being manipulated while sleeping as well. The bounty hunter imagined that Raine’d be able to manipulate him in his sleep as well if he did not get any that night, so he decided to try his best to get some sleep, ignoring the sound of an unarmored guard making his way down the stairwell.
The hours passed relatively quickly, sleep coming to and fro for Flake as he tossed and turned, barely able to keep his eyes shut. There were too many possible dangers for him to get any proper sleep, so he just attempted to stay still, albeit unsuccessfully. He felt well-rested by the time he heard more footsteps coming down the staircase, much closer to sunrise, but his eyes refuted this feeling adamantly. Despite his efforts to open his eyes only slightly, Flake had to fight to get his left eye to open up for him as the unarmored footsteps approached the cell which he was in.
To his surprise, he recognized the guard which opened the door to the cell. The guard was one of the fellows who arrested him the previous day. Even more surprisingly, the guard did not try anything cruel – he carried two servings of food into the cell, left them on the floor, and left without a word. He even closed and opened the gate quietly, as if he didn’t want to wake the two. Flake took note of the guard’s face to ensure that he would spare him later, then closed his eyes again and tried to sleep a bit longer. He recognized a need for food, however, he wanted to learn about his companion, which would require sacrifices.
After an hour or so, without Flake even noticing footsteps, a door slammed closed with surprising loudness quite nearby. The bounty hunter peeked his eye open to see what happened, but noticed that it was out of his view, so he pretended to sleep once more. He heard Raine complain, a sign that she had awoken, so he peeked his eye open once more to observe her.
He was barely surprised to see that she did nothing of interest. She sat up, looked at the food in the middle of the cell, walked over, and grabbed bread. Flake shut his eyes, deciding that he did not need to give her reason to suspect that he had awoken yet, and waited, attempting to visualize Raine’s movement, having an easier time than he had had the previous night.
Flake tried to envision what she looked like, but he heard her shifting around and could not properly play out what the sounds meant. As if to cheat himself, the bounty hunter slowly pried one of his eyes open to see his companion leaning her head against the wall, huddled up in a ball, with her eyes closed. The damaged man grinned at the sight of the woman, not so much due to her appearance, emotion, or circumstance, but due to his own mistake. In his vision, he had seen her with a tear in her eye, but in actuality, her face was dry.
An hour of thought later, Flake peeked over at his companion once again as a reaction to hearing a soft grinding sound. Sure enough, as he peeked open one of his eyes, he saw that she had lost her grip and was gently falling to one side. This time, instead of a smile, Flake frowned. A thought crossed his mind when he saw the lady before him, a memory from the past which he forced himself to disregard. He felt almost angry, his thoughts shifting over to the guards, hearing their mocking, prideful and condescending voices presaged in his mind. He knew that they would patrol to the cell at some point that night, and Flake did not want them to see Raine as she was.
Carefully, slowly, and silently, the bounty hunter pulled the blanket off of his person and stood up on the cobbled stones, taking a full minute to do so in order to avoid rustling sounds. He then snuck over to where Raine peacefully slept and, as he arrived next to her bedding, she flopped down onto the bedding. Chills shot up his spine as he stood there, expecting the assassin to wake up and assault him, but it did not happen. She’s a damn heavy sleeper, he thought, smiling in relief after a minute of suspense. Flake carefully pulled Raine slightly away from the wall, once again taking a long time to do so, then pulled the blanket over her.
As he walked back, he grinned happily, satisfied with himself. He slowly snuck back onto his bedding, pulled the covers back over himself, and returned to his sleeping position. Certainly, he was no assassin. Any assassin would be able to do what Flake did in half the time, but an assassin would surely be able to notice being manipulated while sleeping as well. The bounty hunter imagined that Raine’d be able to manipulate him in his sleep as well if he did not get any that night, so he decided to try his best to get some sleep, ignoring the sound of an unarmored guard making his way down the stairwell.
The hours passed relatively quickly, sleep coming to and fro for Flake as he tossed and turned, barely able to keep his eyes shut. There were too many possible dangers for him to get any proper sleep, so he just attempted to stay still, albeit unsuccessfully. He felt well-rested by the time he heard more footsteps coming down the staircase, much closer to sunrise, but his eyes refuted this feeling adamantly. Despite his efforts to open his eyes only slightly, Flake had to fight to get his left eye to open up for him as the unarmored footsteps approached the cell which he was in.
To his surprise, he recognized the guard which opened the door to the cell. The guard was one of the fellows who arrested him the previous day. Even more surprisingly, the guard did not try anything cruel – he carried two servings of food into the cell, left them on the floor, and left without a word. He even closed and opened the gate quietly, as if he didn’t want to wake the two. Flake took note of the guard’s face to ensure that he would spare him later, then closed his eyes again and tried to sleep a bit longer. He recognized a need for food, however, he wanted to learn about his companion, which would require sacrifices.
After an hour or so, without Flake even noticing footsteps, a door slammed closed with surprising loudness quite nearby. The bounty hunter peeked his eye open to see what happened, but noticed that it was out of his view, so he pretended to sleep once more. He heard Raine complain, a sign that she had awoken, so he peeked his eye open once more to observe her.
He was barely surprised to see that she did nothing of interest. She sat up, looked at the food in the middle of the cell, walked over, and grabbed bread. Flake shut his eyes, deciding that he did not need to give her reason to suspect that he had awoken yet, and waited, attempting to visualize Raine’s movement, having an easier time than he had had the previous night.
Done
A half-hour or so before Kyoht arrived, Nestor returned to Rusty’s Bed and Breakfast to tell Buster and the inn keeper about a visitor he was expecting. He told the two to send a “golden-eyed man with a bow and an axe at the hip” to his room and to send off anyone in rugged or patched leather armor, “because they’re dangerous, scheming snakes.” Buster asked if any of them were as strong as Nestor was, to which he casually replied, “they’re the shady types. Kick em’ out quick or they’ll pull a knife on ya.’” With this said, the Vanisher returned to his room, turning his key in the lock hanging from the door. After he was in his room and set the lock once more, he lit the candle and took a look around his room.
It was late at night, but many people in the city would remain awake for another few hours. The guards had to stay awake to make the lives of the thieves more difficult, the inn-keepers were still busy with the many ruffians and travelers vying for a place to stay for the night, and countless other people of various occupations walked around, continuing their busy lives. Thin beams of light from the moon shone through the skylights in some areas, while others merely offered a view of the stars, often admired by artists and scholars. Altogether, whether or not it was dark out, the city lived on throughout the day.
Nestor got a reminder of the livelihood of the city as a few pebbles crashed against the outer wall of his room, undoubtedly the result of immature children daring or testing one another to gauge their manliness. The snickering and laughter of the kids angered the Vanisher, but the even angrier voice of Buster soon drowned out the annoyance. Nestor washed his face and hands in a fresh basin of water near the door and packed all of his travelling gear. He organized his clothing and placed it back into his rucksack, then used a small amount of water and a cloth to clean some of the dirt off of the bag. The rough, thick material which held the outside of the pack together was very rough, so the dirt stubbornly remained in the weave of the material despite Nestor’s efforts. This annoyance sent blood to his face along with a frown as his frustration grew. “At least I get a meal,” he mumbled, searching for ideas to calm himself.
After another minute, Nestor threw the cloth back at the basin, causing it to land limply beside the wooden table the basin stood on. The Vanisher stood up and, after listening to the walls carefully to check for eavesdroppers, sat down next to his rucksack to wait for his visitor. He won’t be long, the man thought, reforming a picture of the golden-eyed man in his head, distinguishing each individual feature, I bet those eyes make searching easier. He continued to sit next to his rucksack for around ten minutes before hearing a knock on the door. Without a word, the Vanisher arose and walked up to the door. Whispering, the traveler asked the knocker, “what number are you looking for?”
[as Kyoht walks in]
Buster, a big and burly man in rather casual dress, walked up to the man in the doorway and bent down to look at his eyes from about three feet away. He frowned for a few seconds as he stared into the man’s eyes, trying to make out the color he was seeing, when the elderly man behind the counter grinned cheerily and, with a crackly voice, claimed, “he’s clearly the one the fellow was talkin’ about. Relax.” With this, Buster stood up and nodded, retorting, “’twas hard to tell in the torchlight. Coulda’ been a light oak.” Noticing that the Innkeeper ignored him, Buster dejectedly returned to his seat on a bench near the entrance.
Meanwhile, the Innkeeper motioned for the golden-eyed archer to come closer to him. When the archer was within reach, he motioned for Buster to check out the doorway and turned to the archer. “The feller’ with the black cloak and lighting reflexes said to send the golden-eyed archer to his room when he got here. He’s in the room upstairs, at the end of the hall.” He barely changed expression while talking, a serious, yet intrigued look which bespoke suspicion. It was likely the result of having two people he didn’t trust in his building. Either way, he watched the archer off, pointing to the stairs to guide him at his behest, then sat back in a similar stool to Buster’s, leaning against the wall. Buster returned inside soon after the innkeeper stopped talking, returning to his own stool. He cast a glance at the innkeeper with a look of unease, which the innkeeper shrugged off.
It was late at night, but many people in the city would remain awake for another few hours. The guards had to stay awake to make the lives of the thieves more difficult, the inn-keepers were still busy with the many ruffians and travelers vying for a place to stay for the night, and countless other people of various occupations walked around, continuing their busy lives. Thin beams of light from the moon shone through the skylights in some areas, while others merely offered a view of the stars, often admired by artists and scholars. Altogether, whether or not it was dark out, the city lived on throughout the day.
Nestor got a reminder of the livelihood of the city as a few pebbles crashed against the outer wall of his room, undoubtedly the result of immature children daring or testing one another to gauge their manliness. The snickering and laughter of the kids angered the Vanisher, but the even angrier voice of Buster soon drowned out the annoyance. Nestor washed his face and hands in a fresh basin of water near the door and packed all of his travelling gear. He organized his clothing and placed it back into his rucksack, then used a small amount of water and a cloth to clean some of the dirt off of the bag. The rough, thick material which held the outside of the pack together was very rough, so the dirt stubbornly remained in the weave of the material despite Nestor’s efforts. This annoyance sent blood to his face along with a frown as his frustration grew. “At least I get a meal,” he mumbled, searching for ideas to calm himself.
After another minute, Nestor threw the cloth back at the basin, causing it to land limply beside the wooden table the basin stood on. The Vanisher stood up and, after listening to the walls carefully to check for eavesdroppers, sat down next to his rucksack to wait for his visitor. He won’t be long, the man thought, reforming a picture of the golden-eyed man in his head, distinguishing each individual feature, I bet those eyes make searching easier. He continued to sit next to his rucksack for around ten minutes before hearing a knock on the door. Without a word, the Vanisher arose and walked up to the door. Whispering, the traveler asked the knocker, “what number are you looking for?”
[as Kyoht walks in]
Buster, a big and burly man in rather casual dress, walked up to the man in the doorway and bent down to look at his eyes from about three feet away. He frowned for a few seconds as he stared into the man’s eyes, trying to make out the color he was seeing, when the elderly man behind the counter grinned cheerily and, with a crackly voice, claimed, “he’s clearly the one the fellow was talkin’ about. Relax.” With this, Buster stood up and nodded, retorting, “’twas hard to tell in the torchlight. Coulda’ been a light oak.” Noticing that the Innkeeper ignored him, Buster dejectedly returned to his seat on a bench near the entrance.
Meanwhile, the Innkeeper motioned for the golden-eyed archer to come closer to him. When the archer was within reach, he motioned for Buster to check out the doorway and turned to the archer. “The feller’ with the black cloak and lighting reflexes said to send the golden-eyed archer to his room when he got here. He’s in the room upstairs, at the end of the hall.” He barely changed expression while talking, a serious, yet intrigued look which bespoke suspicion. It was likely the result of having two people he didn’t trust in his building. Either way, he watched the archer off, pointing to the stairs to guide him at his behest, then sat back in a similar stool to Buster’s, leaning against the wall. Buster returned inside soon after the innkeeper stopped talking, returning to his own stool. He cast a glance at the innkeeper with a look of unease, which the innkeeper shrugged off.
Name: Felora "Vandal" Snowden
Age: 16 (I think it makes sense for them to be twins)
Gender: Male
Personality: By his nature, he is an insensitive person. Felora goes by the nickname "Vandal" for good reason. He picks fights and makes many snide comments in his daily routine, especially to strangers. He acts shamelessly no matter the circumstance, and has a great amount of courage, but has little to no strength to back it up, just his quickness and nimbleness. He can only get away with it because of his intelligence, magic, and his acrobatics. He acts highly defensive for the people he knows, especially members of the circus. He is even more defensive of his twin sister, Victoria, to the point of over-protection.
Hobbies: Vandal spends his time either reading or twirling, spinning, flipping, climbing, running, jumping, or whatever other activity he can manage. The kiddie jungle-gyms were always a joke to him, as they never delivered the thrill of jumping through a canopy of hard oak trees or practicing an acrobatics routine on swings. Some days, he is too tired to hop around, so he picks up books, especially about acrobatics, balance, fighting, or physics. Story books are his absolute favorite, but he tends to save those for curfew.
Appearance: He is noticeably thin, lean and light. His height is about 5'6" and his weight is around 120lbs. He has incredible stamina and moderate strength, but he doesn't have much muscle. He has brown eyes and reddish-brown, short, disheveled hair. His face is distinct due to his moderately sharp cheekbones, flat chin, and a few specks of minor acne. He has two noticeable scars on his body, a two-inch, oddly shaped burn mark on his right shoulders, and a long, thin and jagged scar across the left side of his chest, from his left shoulder-blade to just below his belly button. During acts, he usually wears a sleek, black leotard stretching from his ankles to his wrists. Occasionally, he will wear tights without a shirt for a performance, especially around fire.
Role in Circus: Acrobat, tightrope walker, trapeze artist, stuntman and speed-dresser. He is also especially good at vanishing acts.
Age: 16 (I think it makes sense for them to be twins)
Gender: Male
Personality: By his nature, he is an insensitive person. Felora goes by the nickname "Vandal" for good reason. He picks fights and makes many snide comments in his daily routine, especially to strangers. He acts shamelessly no matter the circumstance, and has a great amount of courage, but has little to no strength to back it up, just his quickness and nimbleness. He can only get away with it because of his intelligence, magic, and his acrobatics. He acts highly defensive for the people he knows, especially members of the circus. He is even more defensive of his twin sister, Victoria, to the point of over-protection.
Hobbies: Vandal spends his time either reading or twirling, spinning, flipping, climbing, running, jumping, or whatever other activity he can manage. The kiddie jungle-gyms were always a joke to him, as they never delivered the thrill of jumping through a canopy of hard oak trees or practicing an acrobatics routine on swings. Some days, he is too tired to hop around, so he picks up books, especially about acrobatics, balance, fighting, or physics. Story books are his absolute favorite, but he tends to save those for curfew.
Appearance: He is noticeably thin, lean and light. His height is about 5'6" and his weight is around 120lbs. He has incredible stamina and moderate strength, but he doesn't have much muscle. He has brown eyes and reddish-brown, short, disheveled hair. His face is distinct due to his moderately sharp cheekbones, flat chin, and a few specks of minor acne. He has two noticeable scars on his body, a two-inch, oddly shaped burn mark on his right shoulders, and a long, thin and jagged scar across the left side of his chest, from his left shoulder-blade to just below his belly button. During acts, he usually wears a sleek, black leotard stretching from his ankles to his wrists. Occasionally, he will wear tights without a shirt for a performance, especially around fire.
Role in Circus: Acrobat, tightrope walker, trapeze artist, stuntman and speed-dresser. He is also especially good at vanishing acts.
von_das said
The S in SPECIAL is Strength, not Stamina. Since there's already Endurance.40 points feels too low, compared to the games. Then again I guess none of us are supposed to be as badass individually. How do you plan to handle leveling up?EDIT: Okay, sheet updated.
40 points is exactly how many you get in Fallout 3, unmodded.
Also, check out this program using excel. You can keep track of your SPECIAL and your skill points really easily, and it calculates starting skillpoints using your SPECIAL. The only problem is that it uses fallout 3 skills, so there are more skills than Zeb gave us, and survival isn't included.
So Boerd said
Sorry, that doesn't rule out a waitlist for in case the RP shrinks any further.
lol This post doesn't apply any more. -o-
Toasters! Meow~
So Boerd said
See, that says there are no spots left. That would be why there's a waitlist. I can't fill a full spot, can I? So instead, I will for a spot. I am asking the GM if there is a of similar people. +=
Oh, my mistake. I suppose you didn't miss what I thought you did. Instead you missed this other blatantly clear statement from Zeb:
zebidiahjethro said
You guys may know that dnddragons has dropped his spot and I don't think I'm going to give it to someone else. Just gonna keep the roster small, cuz...y' know, it's a turn based tabletop game. but if he decides to rejoin, we'll let him join.
So Boerd said
To see...
The bottom line, emboldened and underlined in the very first post. No, you know what? Forget it. I'll just quote it here for you to save you the effort.
zebidiahjethro said
ATTENTION: NO SPOTS REMAINING. I HAVE RESERVED A FEW MORE PEOPLE, IF YOU ARE ONE OF THEM, I HAVE SENT YOU A PM
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