Liliya

G UNIT - (Liliya Vs. Doc)

Well then, that was a development. When the Colonel over here had accepted Jimmy’s challenge he had half expected the guy to straight up flop as soon as the beat kicked in, just mumble out some words that either made sense and didn’t rhyme or rhymed but were like “same, bane, lane, kane,” kind of shit. Who would have expected this KFC looking backwoods fool to instead put together a competent string of rhymes and even throw a couple funny ones into the mix, Jimmy even chuckled at that Shrek bit. His shit eating grin had widened further along his cosmetically darkened visage, silvered teeth bared ever so slightly more visibly with each passing rhyme, his eyes increasingly alert, hungry and wildly alive behind the jet sclera of his sunglasses, and settled in a tunnel direct to Kentucky. A real competitor, if only a washed up country bumpkin of a challenger, it appeared that he still had some life left in him to wriggle out by his neck. Mac was clearly distressed by this turn of events, and his desire to get the hell out of Dodge and lack of understanding as to how his having been smacked by a random hick had somehow turned into an impromptu rap battle on the guy’s front lawn didn’t take a nat one spot check to notice, but Jimmy turned his head slightly in his direction and gave him a thumbs up. If the best this guy could do was make a couple off handed comments about virgins and gamers than his shoes were about to make a mighty fine trophy on Mac’s basement wall. He wasn’t paying enough attention to the park at this point to notice that Kenzie was rounding Dahl up and heading over their way, or even to notice that a couple of the more adventurous LARPers had walked over and were standing on the edge of the park watching the show, one was even shooting a video of it on her phone, but he wouldn’t have cared even if he knew. His beat was about to drop, and the only thing on his mind was blood, words and those f@#$ing white leather penny loafers.



Jimmy half jumped half hopped in time with the beat dropping twenty seven seconds into the track that had just clicked on over the randomized playlist, putting his silver-white silk and fingerless wrist covering black leather gloved right hand to his chin, as though stroking the beard he didn’t wear. “So this is the Real South then? Well give my apologies to your Sister,” thirty seconds along the track he slung his left hand out to his side and made a fist with the arm bent at a ninety degree angle at the elbow and raised the right hand a few inches off of and above his chin in a mock kickboxer’s low guard, “No offense to her but I’m about to put the Smack Down on her Mister,” thirty three second in now, and he momentarily stuck out his tongue, turned his right fist palm toward the floor and pointed his right thumb at his head in an Undertaker impersonation. “Yeah I roll dice, play games, swing foam blades in spades,” thirty six seconds into the track, and his left foot kicked back into a ninety degree angle towards his left while his right foot pointed straight on towards Kentucky, his left hand holding an imagined gauche dagger at guard just over his left breast at a forty five degree angle and his right swashing at the air with an invisible cut and thrust rapier. “And I might be a LARPer but this ain’t no Game of Thrones,” thirty nine seconds in, and he shifted his weight and half pirouetted on his rear foot, at least so well as he could in leather work boots and having traded his jacket and slacks in for a leather jerkin and fantasy inspired and dressed up motorcycle chaps, before beginning into a simple box step waltz hands raised to grasp a partner’s, rapping as he danced. “I’m not saying I expect southern ladies to be innocent maids,” forty two seconds in, and step, one two, step one two, side step, and dipping his invisible partner low as he said the last words of his next line, “But your auntie-sister-cousin’s mouth ain’t no place to put your Family Stones,”.

Jimmy clacked his boots together and grabbed at his crotch to emphasize the last bit of his sentiment before launching into a swift dash of words, faster by far this time than last, evidently building towards something at the end and intending on slamming it all through just in time. “I Slaay mighty dragons, drain flagons, load my looted treasures in wagons without Appeal,” forty six seconds in and the pace was quickening, his right hand having been raised to his head level before being violently swiped to the side as his feet parted and he shifted his weight into a more aggressive, forward learning stance. “You Laaay your piggies, like ‘em biggies, smoke your ciggies down in the barn ‘n make ‘em Squeal,” forty seven seconds and change, his hands falling to his waist while he crudely slapped at an imagined pig’s ass and thrust his hips forward, “My Rhymes grand Designs whole damn lot of them Primes which reveal my spirit’s Genteel,” forty nine seconds, and his right foot crossed behind his left leg toe towards the street while he mock bowed to his opponent, head up and eyes forward all the while, “Your Chimes petty crimes, pay dimes, explains why you live in a shitty ass Fifth Wheel,” fifty one and change and just enough time to belt out the last of his thoughts. “But ‘ya know Jaime boy, I wish you, the pigs, and your sister-auntie-cousin girlfriend all the best, You enjoy those three little piglets of your’s in your stapled cardboard castle while it lasts, even if it’s Slumming,” fifty four seconds and it was going to be real tight, though he still took the time to grasp at his throat, blow a mock kiss toward Kentucky and mime out himself climbing up onto something and taking a swan dive off of a high tower before finishing things up. “And it is for you, I can tell from your Southern Slaver Chic, let me guess, daddy had lots of money, lots of ambitions, lots of hopes, dreams for you, but you failed his test? Couldn’t live up, couldn’t matter, you were just too Weak, but heed my words player, this I do attest, I’m the real King Slayer, bringing the North down on you bitch, yeah Winter is Coming.” fifty seven seconds barely, and though he refrained from gasping for air in front of his opponent that last barrage had left Jimmy winded. He’d have to take a few deep breaths to recover from that one, but he hoped the words might have stung and irritated Kentucky a bit, he knew it would elicit a few biting laughs from the crowd. They were too nerdy not to catch some of the shit he snuck into that one.

.................................................................................

So this is the Real South then? Well give my apologies to your sister,
No offense to her but I’m about to put the Smack Down on her mister,
Yeah I roll dice, play games, swing foam blades in spades,
And I might be a LARPer but this ain’t no Game of Thrones,
I’m not saying I expect southern ladies to be innocent maids,
But your auntie-sister-cousin’s mouth ain’t no place to put your Family Stones,

I Slaay mighty dragons, drain flagons, load my looted treasures in wagons without Appeal,
You Laaay your piggies, like ‘em biggies, smoke your ciggies down in the barn ‘n make ‘em Squeal,
My Rhymes grand Designs whole damn lot of them Primes which reveal my spirit’s Genteel,
Your Chimes petty crimes, pay dimes, explains why you live in a shitty ass Fifth Wheel,

But ‘ya know Jaime boy, I wish you, the pigs, and your sister-auntie-cousin girlfriend all the best,
You enjoy those three little piglets of your’s in your stapled cardboard castle while it lasts, even if it’s Slumming,
And it is for you, I can tell from your Southern Slaver Chic, let me guess, daddy had lots of money, lots of ambitions, lots of hopes, dreams for you, but you failed his test?
Couldn’t live up, couldn’t matter, you were just too Weak, but heed my words player, this I do attest, I’m the real King Slayer, bringing the North down on you bitch, yeah Winter is Coming.

Rap Battles

Something tells me neither of us are going to win a rap battle against Childish Gambino, Doc, because the internet and all, but I'll happily trade some lyrics back and forth if you don't mind them being super lame and amateur, Leaves. Want to just run this through your coliseum Doc? Like a mini-game?

G UNIT - (Liliya Vs. Doc)

@Doc Doctor

G UNIT - (Liliya Vs. Doc)

Vanilla Ice Legolas Dumpster Baby? It all clicked in Jimmy’s mind with this comment, he knew exactly what kind of contest this was going to be. He didn’t particularly want cops here either, had enough trouble as is with the ones back home, and if he got held up in Kentucky for any real length of time he wouldn’t be able to hold onto his already shaky job as a Squaddie at Best Buys. He didn’t like telling old people over the phone that they needed to turn their devices on if the screen was black, asking aggravated people if they had plugged in their appliances, and of the ones who got real pissed off at the question at least sixty percent by his count had in fact forgotten to plug the damn things in, once he had some old lady with an ancient flip phone ask why the outside clock always said the wrong time, damn thing still had the plastic example display plastered on it. Didn’t change the fact that it was the best paying gig he had right now, and if the cash stopped flowing in it wouldn’t be long before not being able to afford his monthly trips down to Kentucky to try and get some would be the least of his worries. Sure he could go back to working at Spencers at the mall, but he’d kind of mucked that one up when he told his manager that fish wasn’t supposed to be microwaved in the store. They didn’t have a microwave in the store, but that wasn’t what the whole thing had been about anyway. It ran contrary to his personal beliefs to actively keep someone from getting lucky, but this fool had crossed the line in hitting Mac, and although he would rather have just duked it out with the guy and knocked his teeth in just in time to let him get on with his business with his girlfriend while he went back to entertaining his lady friends it would elicit unwanted attention on the legal front, Gods knew the last thing he needed today was for the neighbors to call the cops and report a street fight.

“I’ll tell yew what yew Uncle Cracker lookin’ bastard,” he made his way to the edge of the guy’s yard noting that Mac had been way off of the accepted playing field by being over here in the first place. Strange given that Mac was such a rules obsessed f@#$er, he could have been kicked out of the event for being over here causing trouble with the natives and to him being kicked out for breaking the rules would have seemed worse than getting hit by a car in the parking lot of the legal battlefield, but his reasons for being over on this hick’s lawn weren’t especially relevant. He could see Kenzie out of the corner of his eye poking her head up back toward the park and looking around, no doubt concerned that he and Mac had both left the place unannounced. Her eyes fixed on his mop of silver-white hair and he lifted a hand and pointed upwards, making a swirling motion with his wrist a few times before returning his focus to Mr. KFC. If it was supposed to mean anything to either Kenzie or the stranger it didn’t, and though in his mind it clearly meant bring the car around she just started walking over towards them anyway. He’d have to improvise. He always carried a couple Beats Pills for just these occasions anyway and, reaching into his pocket for an exaggerated length of time to try and elicit a response from Kentucky here, if he wasn’t physically stopped from doing so would attempt to bring out his phone and, tapping a few times at touch screen prompts, music would start pouring out from one of the Pills carried in leather mesh outside pockets on his jerkin. He’d pull the Pill out if not physically stopped from doing so, and toss it and his phone to Mac who, being a clumsy fucker, would try to catch both, actually catch neither, and have to stoop down to pick both up off the street. Jimmy didn’t care, both were cracked and beat to shit anyway, came with the territory of carrying and wearing them while getting beat on by people with sparring weapons.

“Thee wan' us ter go? Theer gon'a 'ave ter give us a little show then, make us feel like we got aaahr time's worf aaaht ov yew 'ittin' Mac E boyuh over 'ere. How abaaaht I show yew 'ow it's done?” he bared his silvered teeth, cracking his neck. Whirr, twenty nine seconds in and the beat had picked up, Jimmy couldn’t have known the time on the track but he knew that this was his moment to display what he expected out of this challenge should Kentucky here choose to accept it. “White bread here think he's real good with words,” now thirty two seconds in Jimmy kicked his hips back before taking a double step towards the stranger, and still easily five feet from Tom he poked a finger out symbolically towards his chest, “think he's real tough likes to beat up on nerds,” he threw his hands up to his eyes, forming mock glasses over them with his fingers touching the tip of his thumb, before letting his left hand fall back to his side crossing his neck with the index finger of his right hand, now thirty six seconds into the track. “Now I’m a make this clear so be sure and not forget,” forty seconds in, and he turned to face his invisible audience, making a gregarious waving gesture with his right arm before turning back to his opponent. “this one's no fool and on you his mind is dead-set,” forty three seconds in, and Jimmy had pointed with his right index finger to his own head, and then towards Tom’s, poking it out towards him a second time to emphasize the words dead-set. “Pick my teeth when I'm through just like I do with your chicken,” forty seven seconds in, and Jimmy had half shouted ‘teeth’ and ‘through’ in exaggerated emphasis, his right hand holding an imagined tooth pick after the emphasis and poking at his bared fake grill with it. “Colonel's dry ass words, bunk ass spit 'bout to be stricken,” fifty one seconds in, and Jimmy had violently maneuvered his right hand from his face to the side of his right hip in something like a karate chop.

“By rhymes mines be the Illlest,” fifty three seconds in and he had made the decision to pick up the pace with these next few rhymes knowing full well that his time would be out soon. Grasping his belt with both hands Jimmy swayed his hips full circle moving clockwise from twelve, thrusting his hips forward when they came to rest back at twelve. “Cracker up in here's be 'da Liiimpest,” fifty five, and he had stuck his right hand back out toward Tom, his right index finger hanging limply as he cocked his head to his right shoulder while contorting his facial features into an exaggerated frown. “Retreat I Suuggest, Fool ah-ain't be Diistressed,” fifty seven seconds in and his head was back at attention over his shoulder, having turned his body to the side and taking two steps backwards in mock retreat. “By yo funk ass Prrotest, youse a five buck fill up at-best," fifty nine seconds and time, Jimmy twirled in a circle, hands coming in front of himself in mock holding of a KFC bucket, right hand picking at a fake drumstick and carrying it to his face. “Freestyle rap, randomized beats, frt'y seconds awer less, no stealin' established con'en' an' shit. Thee win I get deese f@#$ers ter go. I win I get yaaahr shoes. Deal, innit?” Of course he wasn’t going to lose to Colonel Sanders in a rap battle. But if he did he had no actual power to get the LARPers to go anywhere, and would concede defeat and tell this guy he was going back to the park to tell everyone to go home before instead telling them a side quest was on to slay an infamous band of orcs who had set up in a dungeon just over at Kentucky’s house there, with the owner’s permission of course, just give him a few minutes to get shit ready for them. That should make for an excellent sight when his girlie showed up, thirty odd mostly fat young adults with foam swords checking under every rock for orcs and occasionally hitting one another while he gathered his group up and got the f@#$ out of this state.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“White bread here think he's real good with words, think he's real tough likes to beat up on nerds,
Now I’m a make this clear so be sure and not forget, this one's no fool and on you his mind is dead-set.
Pick my teeth when I'm through just like I do with your chicken, Colonel's dry ass words, bunk ass spit 'bout to be stricken,
By rhymes mines be the Illlest, Cracker up in here's be 'da Liiimpest,
Retreat I Suuggest, Fool ah-ain't be Diistressed,
By yo funk ass Prrotest, youse a five buck fill up at-best,"

G UNIT - (Liliya Vs. Doc)

Aww hell naw. The man sitting cross legged clumsily strumming chords on his lyre, in reality a poorly modified wooden box, or maybe it had been a crate or something in the beginning for all he knew, that had been come across and picked up on the side of the I-90 outside of Gary, Indiana on he and his gaming group’s way to a convention in Chicago last year met with his equally clumsy wood working skills and some of his step dad’s, “borrowed,” power tools was not about to sit around and watch this shit go down without doing something about it. He had just been trying to pick up on those three fat chicks, and by extension the ugly one’s smoking hot mom who dropped them off here once a month every last Saturday for the Greater Kentucky United Live Action Roleplay Smack Down, minding his own business when some Colonel Sanders looking mofo just walked up and hit his dungeon master. He had just been saying some PC shit about how awful it was that women in the Live Action Roleplay community were held to such unrealistic double standards and that the community should be making every effort to make everyone feel as comfortable as possible rather than encouraging body shaming and male dominated power structures, how his group was so lucky to have women and minorities conscribe half of their number and how great it was for the community that their group was representing women in the subculture blah, blah, blah. He didn’t give a shit, there were two women in his outfit, the Knights of Fortune, and both of them were smoking hot, plus unlike these chicks they didn’t talk like they’d been brought up by cracked out bayou hicks with only slightly less brain cells then teeth, but he also had to live with them. Plus they actually knew him, knew what he was up to right now in fact, and if it weren’t for the group they wouldn’t have given him the time of day. These chicks on the other hand, especially the ugly one’s mom, were total strangers and were totally losable at his first convenience or desire.

He had been working on this for eight months now, and the way he saw it best case scenario he became a good enough friend of theirs to get invited over to the ugly one’s place and chat up the mom, she was divorced and dating but without much success so far as he could tell, and happen to get lucky and catch her on a day she happened to be feeling down about her situation, schmooze her a bit, share an expensive bottle of wine he’d bring over after slapping a much cheaper bottle’s barcode over it before taking it through self-checkout, show off some of the dance moves he’d picked up in drama and community theatre classes over the years, the old fancy stuff rather than his more developed and interesting hip hop routines, and maybe he’d get lucky. Worst case scenario he’d hook up with one of these chicks to feel like he got something out of this whole endeavor and drop the Kentucky group, along with his burner phone whose number was the only one of his they had, and the social media pages he had set up years ago and filled with friends that he didn’t know and posts that meant nothing, just like the twenty some other identically fake and meaningless accounts used for looking real without having any actual relation to his real life, then walking away from the whole thing entirely. No one besides him in his group actually liked coming to Kentucky once a month and he had only kept them going to the effort because he pointed out that they had an awesome monthly barbeque after the session that was free with a home made side dish or five bucks without, they always stopped at a grocery store and bought a couple four ninety five pies that got quickly transferred over to bamboo steamer baskets to save a few bucks, and nothing in Indiana, Detroit or Chicago even came close to rivaling the event in respect to the food. Kenzie and Mac were both predominantly food driven, and so far he’d kept the scheme going long enough to begin nearing the finish line of the operation.

He was close enough to taste the fruits of all his hard work, the payoff for all these Saturday trips down to Kentucky, and some f@#$ing guy had to come in and hit Mac. It was the South, he got it, someone was likely to start shit one of these days. Even in the North people would often hassle the LARPers, throw shit at them, even slash their tires in the parking lot every now and then, but why’d he have to pick Mac of all people? Sure he was fat and black, but there were three other black guys at the event, and half the people who showed up to these things were fat, including two of the aforementioned black guys. If he’d just hit one of them instead he could have just kept on talking and let the thing sort itself out, but this was different. He wasn’t sure Mac even liked him, and frankly he wasn’t sure if he even liked Mac all that much, but even if he was a whiny, overly rules oriented control freak he was his dungeon master. The twang of his string breaking in mid song took him by surprise just as much as it had taken the three women seated around him, and as time picked up it’s normal pace and the red started to recede from his vision he smiled warmly towards them, and it only now occurred to him that he must have had the dead stare of a raving lunatic plastered to his face for a moment in full view of his audience, now baring his silvered teeth in a more amicable manner before excusing himself. “Right hairy knees I am ladies, must be excusing mi’self for a tiddy bit. Mac-E boy meh bruv o’er theyuh seems to have had ‘iself a bi’ ‘ov an accident, best help ‘im out, innit?” he stood, tossing the lyre to the ground before hurrying over to the man accosting Mac in the field below. “Oi, Ker-nal F@#$boi, you takin’ the piss? How’s about you Harry Holt ‘fore I get down there and your Hovis!?” Damn event rules said foam only, so he’d left the real stuff behind.

Edit: Oops, forgot to censor one of the F-bombs. Sorry about that.

I have no idea what I'm doing, but knights are fun, K?

Clearly, there is only one way to resolve this conflict in a peaceful, mutually agreeable manner.

Eh, eh, eh-eh-eh, eh pick…

EPIC RAP BATTLEZ OF HISTORUH!!!

Duh Duh Duh-Duh Dahck Dahcktah!

VERSUS!

Duh Duh Duh-Duh Dehvul!!

BEGIN!

Doc:

Hua ha ha ha ha ha.

You ever been to the Everglades? ‘Cause you about to get Lost,
The souls I take, the pain I make never fades, you think I’m the right guy to accost!?
Don’t get me wrong, I’ll take your time, let you feel like you’re real sly,
You won’t soon forget I’m arena prime once I make you into long pork pie!

Who uses lightning anyway!? That shit’s insane, travels at the speed of light man,
Nothing could dodge that spray! Well I guess your ten minute OP main can,
Suppose we’ll never know if I could have won that fight, but as for me I’d rather keep my trusty glock,
And as rematches go he sure as shite ain’t gonna bite, ‘cause he know’s full well Gonad would rip off his *Bock-Bock-Bakawk!*

Devil:

Oh don’t give me that shit man, what? You can’t read the rules like everyone else can?
Bout to Deus Vult up in here fam, and you look just like a coo ran!
Auto blocking, lightning blasts, I don’t give a shit, it was in the cs Doc and yours just got thrown in a pit,

Mad ‘cause I came in hot off the press, brought the pain, put you through a wine press,
Well Doc, what can I say? Your characters lack finesse, you should probably just egress,
Just because it isn’t realistic doesn’t mean it isn’t fun. Can’t handle the competition?
Well I guess you better flee, You just pissed ‘cause this dis lit you up just like electricity!

Doc:

Sure I’ll take your blood but if you wanna try again better come on your knees,
Heh, yeah, while you’re at it bring me your gold, frankincense and myrrh,
You’d have to pay me to stoop to your level of op trash but I’d wipe you like a breeze,
Chew you up, spit you out, and pick my teeth with your bones like the Magna Pater.

WHO WON!?!?

WHO’S NEXT!?!?!?

YOU DECIDE!!!

Disclaimer - None of this was meant to be offensive to either of you or anyone else. I simply couldn't help myself, how often does a chance to roleplay as two roleplayers who are roleplaying a rap battle actually come up? Also I'll challenge you if your desperate enough to accept a fight with me Doc, but after this post my character is going to have to be some white guy wanna be freestyle rapper who LARPs as a level four D&D bard on the weekends, wears light armor and uses dual daggers and wears a fake grill.

You are going back to school/college and discover the above avatar Is your teacher. What do you do?

Turn up the thermostat.

Arena Chat Thread

I may be taking a long time to do my posts here but I'm working on my favorite drawing yet by far, showcasing a new Evvie outfit. The pose is much more dynamic and shows off her personality in body language far better, while my other drawings it was mainly just her grin that showed it and not much else. I think she's finally going to be wearing shoes in this one. Perhaps she got used to it after generating the armor in her other outfit. This outfit is actually a downgrade in power from that one, so I need to come up with a reason why she'd ever switch outfits other than loosing that one, which is the obvious reason.

I'm hoping I can finish tomorrow but I don't want to rush this.

Edit: oh yeah, and in another altered outfit she may have...conservative clothing on! Gasp! People think she's an evil clone at first.

@ImportantNobody

Isn't she kind of a kid? My natural answer is that she's grown. She's changed. In this particular lifetime she's gotten closer to humans, decided that although she finds the concept of modesty ridiculous (I mean, seriously, no other animal feels like they need to wear the skins of other animals to cover their genitalia, no?) humans seem to be more comfortable around those that keep to the practice, and it's not like she's trying to appease them or anything, but why intentionally cause issues? She's not all that edgy. With the loss in power, I'd write it off as a common sense transaction. This is what she had available. Perhaps she scavenged elements from her former armor and added it to this set, perhaps she was given this set complete as is, whatever, but it's simple really. In real life, even if a squire (say some fourteen to sixteen year old boy) jumped up a few inches one Summer (which happens to boys that age), and filled out ten or twenty pounds. His former plate no longer fits properly. It could be adapted, parts could be scavenged and fixed to a larger body (some form of modified leather undercoat or something of the like) but no one's sending him onto a battlefield wearing ill fitting plate. Even if he actually had to find a tailor and replace it with something inferior, studded leather perhaps, it'd still be better than trying to fight wearing restrictive, under-protective armor.

You are going back to school/college and discover the above avatar Is your teacher. What do you do?

"Oh, finally, is this room two oh four!? You look like the prof to talk to about the (°C/W) disparity between single and double heat sinks!"

You are going back to school/college and discover the above avatar Is your teacher. What do you do?

"Miss teach, I don't want to alarm you, but it seems to be raining inside... But, only on that plant on your head where your hair should be, so, that's good, right?"