Little Bill

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐂𝐥𝐮𝐛

@WelcmeToGudBrgr Slots aren't full until I decide tomorrow, so it's anyone's game!

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐂𝐥𝐮𝐛

Secret message page.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐂𝐥𝐮𝐛

@WelcmeToGudBrgr As mentioned in the OOC info, anyone who can find the secret message page is welcome to apply.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐂𝐥𝐮𝐛

@Pseudo Stygian Thanks for letting me know now. I assure you, there will be spots for townies if you've got the time.
@ELGainsborough The SNES bit was a total ass-pull, but I will think of an appropriately 80's cool toy to replace it with. Nice catch!

bookclub

X

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐂𝐥𝐮𝐛

11/7, or, tomorrow night. My time zone is EST.

Blood Runs Over Westeros | A Song of Ice & Fire Interest Check

my bad
ignore pls

Stranger Things Inspired RP (WIP)

𝓓𝓪𝓻𝓴𝓷𝓮𝓼𝓼 𝓯𝓪𝓵𝓵𝓼 𝓪𝓬𝓻𝓸𝓼𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓵𝓪𝓷𝓭
𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓶𝓲𝓭𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓲𝓼 𝓬𝓵𝓸𝓼𝓮 𝓪𝓽 𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓭
𝓒𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓮𝓼 𝓬𝓻𝓪𝔀𝓵 𝓲𝓷 𝓼𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓱 𝓸𝓯 𝓫𝓵𝓸𝓸𝓭
𝓣𝓸 𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓻𝓸𝓻𝓲𝔃𝓮 𝔂’𝓪𝓵𝓵’𝓼 𝓷𝓮𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓫𝓸𝓻𝓱𝓸𝓸𝓭

---

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_{Can you see me? Can you read these words? Don't react. They might see you. Just keep reading.}

The year is 1983. Ronald Reagan is President of the United States of America, The Return of The Jedi has dominated movie screens for over half a year, and the Orioles have recently defeated the Phillies to win the World Series. In the face of a recession and a war on drugs, America has marched onward through the Cold War. It is a time of scientific innovation and academic progress. It is a time of technological wonder and social justice, bravely taking bold steps towards the future while abandoning a discolored, dysfunctional past. With the rise of toys like Atari, SNES, and The Cabbage Patch Kids, it is a good time to be an American, but an even better time to be an American child. Fortunately for you, you happen to be both.

_{It is the year 11,985. Mankind has proved itself too easily placated to resist subjugation. They are distracted with patterned music, electronic lights, and pre-prepared food.}

You live in the sleepy mountain suburb of Wiscasset, Colorado. It isn't as fancy as the city folk have in Denver -- Old Man McRobert resets the pins instead of a high-tech robot at the bowling alley, there are two radio stations able to penetrate the Rocky Mountains, and the nearest shopping mall is a town over -- but it is far safer than the streets of Denver. In fact, Wiscasset is statistically the safest town in Colorado, a feature pointed out on its highway entrance sign. It's the kind of town you would move to after a difficult city upbringing to raise children to settle down in, and equally the type of quiet, sheltered town those children would grow up despising. It generally sees tourists twice a year, when its forested summerhouses are reopened, and once more when there are pumpkins to be picked and cider to be sold. As it just so happens, it is the middle of October, the prime time for both.

_{Don't read from it out loud. Don't let anyone know you have it. They'll kill you. They'll kill your family. They don't care that you're children. Keep it secret, whatever you do.}

Our story begins with the Emerson Middle School's Book Club. They are a small group of Coloradans between the ages of eleven and thirteen, who belong to the club either out of a fondness for literature, a desire to be in extra yearbook pictures, or a need for English credit offered by spending every Wednesday afternoon with a roomful of bookworms. Your character's motivations will be left up to you, but where they are is on a field trip to the Colorado State Library. It is here they find, like groups of plucky protagonists often do, an unspeakable power not meant for them. Not meant for anyone. Whether they attempt to harness this power for their own gain or try to return their world to normalcy is in your hands.

_{I have to go. They found me. Don't let anyone know about the book, not even your family. Visit his bio. Stay sharp. I'll see you soon.}

Welcome to The Book Club. I hope you've read this far because you're interested, so let me drop the GM mask and explain what I've got in mind with less cagey wording. The Book Club is strongly inspired by Stranger Things, and is meant to fill the coming-of-age-horror shaped void left in my heart by completing the second season. Thematic sources also include Gravity Falls, Welcome to Night Vale, and Hocus Pocus. I've always been fascinated with the occult, conspiracy theories, and modern fantasy settings, so naturally, this RP will heavily feature all three. Following that theme, I should point out that this RP will encourage investigation, reading between the lines, and puzzle-solving. If you can find the character sheet, you may apply, but please know that this is the most ambitious RP project I've undertaken, and thereby the most competitive in terms of how harshly I'm judging your sheet. The main group of kids will be no more than five, and ideally, I'm aiming for four. There will still be less-harshly-judged available openings for side characters -- bumbling cops, investigative teachers, parents and classmates -- but they will not take the center stage, or only briefly become aware that there is a stage before a horrorterror eats their face. If you have any questions, comments, concerns, or threats, now would be the time to voice them.

Blood Runs Over Westeros | A Song of Ice & Fire Interest Check

can i habe eyrie

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐂𝐥𝐮𝐛

Emerson Middle School was one of two in Wiscasset, and the better of the two. They offered football and softball, for one, which each required the purchase of equipment and their crimson-and-gold uniforms. On the other end of Wiscasset, Harding Middle School's only sport was cross country, because it only required sneakers. Harding only had four field trips a year. Emerson had seven. The differences would have seemed insignificant to adult eyes, but through the view of their students, the differences were as clear as night and day. Harding's leaky roofs and red-faced principal made the school a juvenile equivalent to serving a term at Folsom prison, whereas Emerson's backpack regulations, PTA meetings, and considerable budget made their school a young Coloradan's idea of what walking through the courtyard at Harvard might feel like.

Today, eight of Emerson's students had felt as if they were select members of an ivy league university more than ever. The school's book club, instead of spending their Thursday studying geometry, The Outsiders, the Rain Cycle, or the Louisiana Purchase, had been brought early that morning to the Colorado State Library. Their tour, while as stuffy and long-winded as they had expected, included an outside lunch at the Library's picnic area, a picture with the library's turtle tank, and a tour of the Staff Only rooms. Some rooms were filled with banned books, others misprinted books. Rows of books that were used to carry messages in World War II, and books that were from China and read from the top down. Books that had been signed by famous authors, books that were hundreds of years old, and rare books that were now their text's only remaining copy. Donated books with doodles in the margins from the 1800's, textbooks checked out of schools signed by people like Harry Truman, and picture books made by artists in the 60's, bound with things like rubber, wood, denim, and fur.

Now, they were on the bus once more, returning to Emerson Middle School to be picked up by their parents or walk home. Fortunately, it was still autumn, and Wiscasset's autumns were far more pleasant than its winters. Rows of tall, deciduous trees paved the sidewalks and covered the streets like the ceilings of cathedrals, filling the streets with red, orange, and gold leaves that filtered the last bits of the day's warm, amber sunlight. The remnants of the long summer had all but disappeared, and every day there seemed to be fewer and fewer plastic pools or trampolines decorating lawns, and more and more gourds, plastic ghosts, and bundles of dried flowers decorating doors. Although the sleepy town was far from buzzing with excitement, it was still a picturesque portrait of a small town in the Rocky Mountains. Humble, one to two story vinyl-sided buildings made up the bulk of the town -- the past ten years having been far from a good time to develop real estate, if you listened to the boring matters that made up the adult world -- between clusters of rocky hills too short to call mountains, and too large to flatten and build more houses on.

By now it was nearly six, and on the other side of the sky, the sun was beginning to set. The school bus pulled into Emerson Middle School's parking lot, bringing their hours-long travel to an end with a satisfying hiss. At the head of the bus, Mr. George stood up from his seat with a grunt.

"Alright children, form a single file line." He said, pointing down the cramped aisle of the bus, only barely wide enough for them to have entered in the first place. "I have four of you marked for pick-up by parent and I see four sets of parents outside, good stuff. Remember, just because we had a field trip today, your presentations for Book Club are still up tomorrow." His second sentence was only half-heard, falling on ears that were rushing to leave the bus. Mr. George sighed, fastening his belt over his gut and giving a nod to the bus driver.

"See you for the museum trip, Georgie." The bus driver said in a gravelly motor rev of a voice, as Mr. George left the bus. George had always thought he sounded like Homer Simpson's wife, though he was no more likely to tell him today than he had been yesterday. Leaving the bus, Mr. George's eye caught that of one Elijah Cardozo, and the two exchanged a knowing nod.

"My man." Mr. George hollered, giving Cardozo a friendly finger-gun.

"How you doing?" Elijah responded, attention halfway between his daughter's recollection of the library and something his wife was discussing with him. Always good to see another brother out here in the sticks. Mr. George reached his car, an old Pinto with an unfortunate paintjob somewhere between light tan and seafoam green, and entered with another grunt. He adjusted his rear view mirror, and flattened his jheri curls. The man watching him forty feet away silently shook his head. These were not the actions of a man who had committed a crime so great that it wasn't listed in public law. These were the actions of a blissfully ignorant man who had taken his class on a field trip. It had to have been one of the children. It had to.