Red7VII

R E B E L L I O N - A Superpower Roleplay (CLOSED)

Sorry for delays. Will have a new post up this weekend

The Red Hoods: Initiates

Will have a new gm post up this weekend

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I fudged up and need this post deleted, por favor

《 R W B Y 》

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Warcraft: War of the Ancients [Recruiting]

Pulling out. My expectations were a little different than what has played out and I think after 2 months, I've given the RP a fair shot. Thanks very much for the opportunity and have fun!

Cold Front: Antarctica (Completed)

RIP

R E B E L L I O N - A Superpower Roleplay (CLOSED)

JACK PERKINS :+: WIT'S END, NYC COMPOUND :+: MENTIONS: @Shard

Pickles cocked his head to the side a bit as he regarded the young man. He then cocked it a little further. And then, further still until his ear was fully resting on his own shoulder. His eyes grew wider with each movement. At this point, there was no proof that he even had lids.

"The skelly boy wants SOME porridge?" It was as if the concept of the request totally confused the clown. Like he was trying to make sense of gibberish in the most dramatic way possible.

There's something wrong with these two. That kid... His eyes, came the familiar voice in the jester's head. His fingers... I mean, look at him.

"I am," Pickles said aloud. It almost looked as if he was attempting to cock his head even further, like he was trying to achieve a 180 degree turn but struggling with the accomplishment, all the while wearing a menacing grin. Suddenly, in a liquid motion, Pickles straightened his neck back out, raised a fist, and brought it down like a hammer upon the table. The resounding boom was enough to demand attention from anyone in the vicinity. Once the fist landed, it stayed down. Pickles leaned in toward this new associate slowly, his eyes unchanging from before. His mouth an unnatural display of poor dental hygiene as the corners of his lips continued to rise, climbing as high as they could as if trying to reach the summit of his cheekbones.

"My dear boy, you SEEM so hungry. Like a beautiful undead monkey. No BANANAS for you, nor your flunky. He's not your daddy, is HE now?" As he spoke, his face ever so slightly moved closer and closer to the young mans. He didn't blink. Not once. "Tell me boy, what do THEY call you? Is it you who he's in thrall to? He DOESN'T move, I must applaud you. An impressive Skelly. Tell me how.

"Is it like reapers with their sickles? If I touch him, does IT tickle? Oh, by the by, you can call me Pickles. Pickles the Magnificent Clow..." He was within inches of the young man's own face now as his smile instantly disappeared, morphing instead into a grimace. At the same time his eyebrows furrowed to an almost unnatural degree. His teeth clenched together so hard, it was a wonder they didn't crack. "..nnnNNNNNN!" He pushed himself off the table, his frustration doing its part to pump acid and adrenaline through his veins as he looked around for something to break. Something to take the anger out on. He looked like an idiot and he would not stand for that one bit.

R E B E L L I O N - A Superpower Roleplay (CLOSED)

JACK PERKINS :+: WIT'S END, NYC COMPOUND :+: MENTIONS: @Shard

Pickles stared at himself a moment longer is the shattered reflection of the mirror's remnants. Though the vessel was the same, the operator had switched entirely. His eyelids rested a little lower than before. His resting face was now that of a perpetual grin. His once fair posture was now twisted, his neck jutting forward a ways causing his head to lead his shoulders. Even his breathing pattern was different, taking on a slower, deeper rhythm. Pickles admired himself and relished in his own image.

At this point, Jack probably would've wiped the blood off his face, wrapped up his hand and tried to return to work as gracefully as possible after such an embarrassing calamity. Jack wasn't here right now.

"Heh-heh heh-heh HEH-HEH heh-heh!" Pickles sputtered out melodically, relishing in the sight of his own blood stained lips moving at his command. He pulled up his fist and inspected it. The blood had already clotted, though there was still a lot of healing that needed to be done. Pickles didn't care about the damage so much. He just liked the fact that he could feel anything at all. Finally satisfied with being the pilot once more, Pickles turned to the door and took his exit from the restroom.

What are you going to do? Jack's inner voice rang out in Pickles' mind, full of uncertainty and apprehension. Pickles had no intention of sharing his time. The question would go unanswered. Jack was going to find out the same way everyone else would. He stomped passed the kitchen staff, a few of which had to double-take when they regarded his appearance, but Pickles' stride carried him forth too quickly for anyone to stop him and inquire about his face or hand. In seconds, he was in the barroom. Pickles' eyes scanned the surroundings. He was looking for something. Someone, perhaps. The first thing he spotted was an ash tray that housed three butts. The smoker must've already left the bar as there was no one around it. Pickles' wicked grin grew ever so much wider as he walked to the tray and stuck his hand in it, grabbing at the ashy remnants within. With his soiled and dirty fingertips, he rubbed the dark ashes over and around the sockets of his eyes, creating a sunken look to them. His face. He had his face again.

Pickles breathed slowly in through his nose and out of his mouth, his eyes shutting softly as he took in the air. He was nearly whole and it was glorious. Quickly, though, his eyes shot back open and starred out with an intensity that the ashy shadows only served to amplify.

"HellooO denizens of this fine, FINE establishment," Pickles began to announce with his unsettling, wavering voice. "You may have seen a fool before - A FOOL - who made quite the ass of himself. That fool is gone now. Gone, gone, gone, GONE. If anyone would LIKE to try and find out what kind of fool I am, I'LL... be... here." Pickles then gave a very dramatic, exaggerated wink toward everyone before doing a skippity step and a single twirl, finishing his performance with a bit of jazz hands and an open mouthed grin. Suddenly the jubilation completely disappeared from the clown's face as he let a flash of intense anger rise to the surface. His eyebrows dropped and his grin morphed into a snarl and he held that scowl for two full seconds before going right back to his happy, maniacal grin. The old barkeep looked like he wanted to say something, but wasn't sure if it'd be a good idea right now. Everyone in this place was weirdly unique. When you interview for a job in the compound, there are some universal questions that eventually always got asked. The old man had some idea as to who he was looking at and decided it best to leave it be, for now.

Pickles' eyes eventually zeroed in on a child that had somehow been allowed into the bar. He was a curiosity and an opportunity all rolled into one. Pickles loved kids. He comically sauntered over to the table and looked at the young man's much larger companion, sizing him up a bit, before returning his attention to the boy. "My my my..." He began, his tone taking on a deep, yet effeminate quality. "Are you LOST little fellow or did Daddy just need to COOL off?"

R E B E L L I O N - A Superpower Roleplay (CLOSED)

JACK PERKINS :+: WIT'S END, NYC COMPOUND :+: MENTIONS: NONE

"'Ey Jack!" shouted the grumpy older man behind the bar. "Table six ain't gonna clean itself, ya?"

"O-on it," Jack stammered. A plain white T-shirt and some old faded blue jeans. This was Jack's work uniform for the day. He had been in the compound for nearly a week and learned that it was nearly its own contained ecosystem. His job on the outside was gone as soon as he was labelled a deviant. Now that he was a resident of Devo Town, he had to find a way to make money if only to pay for the meager helpings of food he needed to survive. He was not a large man. A polite way of describing him would be to say he was slender. A more accurate way was to say he looked like a walking skeleton.

As he went to table six, he noticed upon the dishes that the customers had left a quarter of a sandwich behind. Jack stared at it intently and checked the bar to see if the old man was looking. He wasn't. Jack quickly scooped up the sandwich and shoved it into his mouth, masticating furiously so that he could get rid of the evidence as quickly as possible. It was despicable and he hated himself for doing it. For having to do it. He felt so awkward and alone in this hellhole. Pickles hadn't made a peep since the day he was tranqued, kidnapped and delivered here. Despite Jack trying to reach out to his other half, there was no response. It was maddening.

As himself, Jack was powerless. That was one of many notions that scared him most. He was a sheep in the land of wolves. Everyone around him was extraordinary in some way. Everyone was potentially dangerous. If any one of them decided that Jack looked like delectable prey, what was he to do against them? Each waking moment was a lonesome nightmare.

Once Jack gathered up all the dishes, he loaded them into a tub turned to go deliver them to the dishwasher. Except he wasn't paying attention when he made the move and found himself running into a rather massive patron, the tub clashing up against them, spilling the dishes and their remnants all over the giant of a man.

"What the fuck! What the fuck is this shit!" The man roared. Jack looked up at him and met his eyes. They were slit like a reptile's. The skin around his eyes seemed carved and hard like scales, though it smoothed out into normal skin the further you went. The man's check was as big as a barrel, covered in a red flannel shirt and some tattered overalls.

"I'm, I'm s-sorry. I didn't see-"

"Sorry doesn't clean my fucking shirt, you little shit!" The flannel-clad behemoth grabbed Jack by the front of his shirt with both and and pulled him in, lifting the skinny guy into the air as he let out a primal growl.

Pickles! Pickles, please! Come out here now! He's going to hurt BOTH of us if you don't do something! Jack's forehead began to bead with sweat, his heart racing. Panic set in completely and he started finding it hard to breathe. The reptilian patron threw Jack backward, causing him to land hard on his back, the latter's lungs were immediately robbed of air as he laid there, curling into a ball, trying to inhale as much oxygen as he could as quickly as possible. His assailant took one more look at him and spit, covering Jack's cheek with a vomit inducing amount of warm saliva.

"Next time watch where you're fucking going, kid!" Those were the giant's parting words as he left the Wit's End. Jack reluctantly pulled himself to his feet and wiped off his check as best he could with his bare hand. His face was stuck in a perpetual grimace as he leaned down to pick up all the dishes he had dropped. Before long he noticed the old bartender standing beside him.

"Y'know, ya really ought to stick up for yourself, boy. You keep letting them push you around, they're gonna keep doing it." Jack gave a wordless nod and pushed his way passed the man, wanting to eject himself from the situation as quickly as possible. He dropped the tub off in the sink with a loud clatter before dashing into the restroom reserved for employees. He was sweating all over now. His skin radiated heat as he felt his temper and anxiety flaring up. We looked at the bathroom mirror and stared at himself.

"Where are you!" He shouted, accusatory. This was his fault. Pickles was supposed to be his friend. He was supposed to stick with him forever. "Why... why did you leave me when... when I need you the most!" The last word was shouted out with rage as Jack send his right fist flying into the mirror, shattering it. He immediately recpoiled, pain shooting through his hand. The mirror had bitten back. Blood began to drip down his torn knuckles, flowing into the separations of his fingers, down his digits to his fingertips. Jack looked at it in dismay. Just another thing that had gone wrong. As he stared for seconds longer, a notion hit him. An idea.

Jack raised his bloody hand to his face and touched his nose. He gave it a slow, steady swirl, painting it in red before moving onto his cheek. In one smooth arced stroke, Jack covered his mouth in his own crimson fluid. He looked at what was left of the mirror again and saw the vessel of his friend starring back.

"Please... please, Pickles..." His voice faded toward the end, as did his hope.

HAhaHAhaHAhaHAhaHAAAA! It rang out in stereo within his own mind. He knew that laugh. His eyes grew wide. His frown went agape with excited anticipation.

"Pickles?"

"Ha! You see!! You need me, Jackie Boy! You're nothing without your Friend For Life! Haha!" The voice was not Jack's, but it nevertheless came out of Jack's mouth. It was shrill, and disturbing. The octave of his speech fluctuated to extremes. Some words were very deep while others sounded like they were induced by helium.

"Y-you're right, please. You've got to help me survive out there. These... these deviants, they-"

"Shushushushushush. Hush your pretty little mouth. Here's the deal. The one and only. You can never try to disown me again, Jackie Boy. You can never try to shut me out. I get to drive, too, you see? I get to live!" Jack was scared to make such a deal. When Pickles was in control, bad things happened. "What do ya say, old sport? Fifty-fifty?" As much as he wanted to resist the proposal it was true; he was going to need Pickles around if he were to have any hope of anything. A necessary evil.

"Ok-okay," he said simply, looking defeated as he did so.

"Ho-Hoooo! Happy Day, Jackie Boy! Now, my friend! Now it's time to plaaaAAAaaayyyy, HAhaHA!"