A whale.
SepticGentleman
Member
𝙼𝚊𝚗 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙼𝚎𝚐𝚊𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚎
STATUS: I like the night liiiiife, I like to ɮ օ օ ɢ ɨ ɛ 4 yrs ago
- Last Seen: 2 yrs ago
- Joined: 10 yrs ago
- Posts: 1694 (0.47 / day)
- VMs: 5
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- SepticGentleman 10 yrs ago
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Spoopy Scary
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4 yrs ago
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I like the night liiiiife, I like to ɮ օ օ ɢ ɨ ɛ
5 yrs ago
𝕊 𝕢 𝕦 𝕖 𝕖 𝕖 𝕖 𝕖 𝕫 𝕖
5 yrs ago
I feel a tremble in my temple
1
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5 yrs ago
He’s mastered the art of Simp Mode
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5 yrs ago
Jace haunts me dreams, blesses me nightmares, ye
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Bio
Is it?
Most Recent Posts
Thursday evening. Around midday. Indeterminate location.
A large, relatively empty room. Looks as though it might have been an office space or presentation room at some point, but was later cleared out. Smooth, light brown floor. White walls, white ceiling with rectangular lamps built in. All very standard.
People are present. A couple dozen, maybe more. No rhyme or reason to them, all just normal, everyday, random people. The youngest is a teenager while the oldest might be in their fifties or sixties. The majority of them are standing, talking to each other quietly. Apart from them, however, is one man seated in a metal folding chair. Caucasian, dark brown hair cut short. Brown eyes. Clean shaven, save a little stubble. No majorly notable facial features. Grey collared shirt and blue jeans, pair of white sneakers.
He sits there, silently, with a completely empty expression on his face. Hands are folded with interlocked fingers.
Along the back of the room lie a set of collapsable tables placed against the wall. Resting on them are a vast assortment of random objects and tools. Cloth rags, duct tape, an electric razor, markers, makeup, an assortment of random headwear, necklaces made of plastic beads, bottles of water, and much more.
Moments more of the gathering murmuring to each other, and the door in the corner of the room swings open. In steps a bald Caucasian man wearing a white dress shirt with rolled up sleeves, and black slacks and leather shoes.
“Thank you all for coming,” he says to the gathering as he steps through them, towards the seated man. “Sorry I’m a few minutes late, we’ll get started right away.”
He takes a stand next to the seated man and faces the crowd. “So, uh,” he begins, “some of you already know the deal here but, just as a refresher course, I’m your host, and this...”
He steps behind the seated man and places his hands on his shoulders.
“Is our volunteer. He is a one-hundred percent consenting individual. For the duration of this session, you are all allowed to do whatever you want to him, barring a few guidelines. One, you can’t kill him. Two, you can’t inflict permanent bodily harm to him, like mutilating him or ripping out his teeth. Three, you can take off everything but his underwear. Four, nothing overly sexual. Kissing’s fine. Five, no pictures or recordings of any sort. Six, you’re allowed to use anything you see on the tables, within the rules. If anyone wants to play music, there’s a stereo system over in the corner. Seven, please be courteous to each other and take turns, don’t drag things on for too long. And lastly, you’re allowed to remain completely anonymous if you so choose. Everything that happens in this room stays here.”
The host gives the volunteer a light smack on the right side of his face as he walks past him, with no reaction from him. “I’ll be outside,” he says, “If anyone needs anything, ask the doorman.” With that, he exits the room, and leaves the group to their devices.
They begin communing again, murmuring their thoughts and intentions to each other. After a moment, a young brunette woman steps towards the volunteer and stands before him for a moment. She then kneels down and wraps her arms around his neck, embracing him in a seemingly sincere hug. She kisses his cheek, and ruffles her fingers through his hair a bit. He gives no reaction at all.
The young woman detaches herself from the volunteer and, without warning, slaps him across the cheek. The volunteer recoils from the slap, but doesn’t verbally express any pain at all. He slowly returns to his original position as the young woman returns to the crowd.
The murmuring continues. The volunteer sits quietly.
The next turn is open.
A large, relatively empty room. Looks as though it might have been an office space or presentation room at some point, but was later cleared out. Smooth, light brown floor. White walls, white ceiling with rectangular lamps built in. All very standard.
People are present. A couple dozen, maybe more. No rhyme or reason to them, all just normal, everyday, random people. The youngest is a teenager while the oldest might be in their fifties or sixties. The majority of them are standing, talking to each other quietly. Apart from them, however, is one man seated in a metal folding chair. Caucasian, dark brown hair cut short. Brown eyes. Clean shaven, save a little stubble. No majorly notable facial features. Grey collared shirt and blue jeans, pair of white sneakers.
He sits there, silently, with a completely empty expression on his face. Hands are folded with interlocked fingers.
Along the back of the room lie a set of collapsable tables placed against the wall. Resting on them are a vast assortment of random objects and tools. Cloth rags, duct tape, an electric razor, markers, makeup, an assortment of random headwear, necklaces made of plastic beads, bottles of water, and much more.
Moments more of the gathering murmuring to each other, and the door in the corner of the room swings open. In steps a bald Caucasian man wearing a white dress shirt with rolled up sleeves, and black slacks and leather shoes.
“Thank you all for coming,” he says to the gathering as he steps through them, towards the seated man. “Sorry I’m a few minutes late, we’ll get started right away.”
He takes a stand next to the seated man and faces the crowd. “So, uh,” he begins, “some of you already know the deal here but, just as a refresher course, I’m your host, and this...”
He steps behind the seated man and places his hands on his shoulders.
“Is our volunteer. He is a one-hundred percent consenting individual. For the duration of this session, you are all allowed to do whatever you want to him, barring a few guidelines. One, you can’t kill him. Two, you can’t inflict permanent bodily harm to him, like mutilating him or ripping out his teeth. Three, you can take off everything but his underwear. Four, nothing overly sexual. Kissing’s fine. Five, no pictures or recordings of any sort. Six, you’re allowed to use anything you see on the tables, within the rules. If anyone wants to play music, there’s a stereo system over in the corner. Seven, please be courteous to each other and take turns, don’t drag things on for too long. And lastly, you’re allowed to remain completely anonymous if you so choose. Everything that happens in this room stays here.”
The host gives the volunteer a light smack on the right side of his face as he walks past him, with no reaction from him. “I’ll be outside,” he says, “If anyone needs anything, ask the doorman.” With that, he exits the room, and leaves the group to their devices.
They begin communing again, murmuring their thoughts and intentions to each other. After a moment, a young brunette woman steps towards the volunteer and stands before him for a moment. She then kneels down and wraps her arms around his neck, embracing him in a seemingly sincere hug. She kisses his cheek, and ruffles her fingers through his hair a bit. He gives no reaction at all.
The young woman detaches herself from the volunteer and, without warning, slaps him across the cheek. The volunteer recoils from the slap, but doesn’t verbally express any pain at all. He slowly returns to his original position as the young woman returns to the crowd.
The murmuring continues. The volunteer sits quietly.
The next turn is open.
OOC Rules
- Post length is recommended to be minimal in order to get the point of any interactions across quickly, but you can put however much you feel is right in the end.
- The volunteer doesn’t talk, he doesn’t react in any major fashion, he doesn’t fight back, nothing. He’s empty. Treat him as such.
- No character submission is required. You’re playing as normal, everyday, random people. You can make up whatever kind of person you want for an interaction, give as much or as little detail as you want.
- One interaction per post, and recommended one person performing the interaction as well. Don’t take multiple turns in one go.
- Post length is recommended to be minimal in order to get the point of any interactions across quickly, but you can put however much you feel is right in the end.
- The volunteer doesn’t talk, he doesn’t react in any major fashion, he doesn’t fight back, nothing. He’s empty. Treat him as such.
- No character submission is required. You’re playing as normal, everyday, random people. You can make up whatever kind of person you want for an interaction, give as much or as little detail as you want.
- One interaction per post, and recommended one person performing the interaction as well. Don’t take multiple turns in one go.
Kyle, Kayla, and Lazarus
“There.” Kayla said, pointing out the truck window into the crowd of people gathered around Casino Plaza, huddled under shelter to get away from the oddly-colored rain.
“Good God, he’s a unit.” Kayla exclaimed once their new acquaintance came into view amidst the crowd. It was akin to finding a car in a haystack. This Rókur fellow, tall and pale, didn’t fit into the public scene at all. Kyle nodded in agreement, saying, “Alright, let’s get him in.”
“Rókur!” Kayla called out, after rolling down the window, trying to get the attention of the giant. She opened her mouth to say something more but it was lost as the wind and rain picked up around her. She cast her eyes up to the sky and cursed to herself. It was cold, and wet and she felt like hell. The sirens in the distance and the darkness of the skies put her on edge. Bad things happened at times like these.
“You wanna go in and take a closer look?” Kyle said, noticing her attention on the red skies and the sirens. Kayla rolled up the window of the truck to prevent any more water from getting on her already wet form.
It didn’t take a whole lot of time or thought for Kayla to answer her brother. She had a bad feeling. “Uh... no. Not this time.”
“That‘s a surprising response, coming from you.” Kyle replied.
Kayla turned to face her brother. Her makeup was running, and she generally looked like a very unhappy version of the person she usually was. “Kyle, this isn’t… our kind of deal. This is- the authorities should handle it.” she said, motioning awkwardly with her hands. She was trying to convey that this wasn’t supernatural, but didn’t know how to word it in a way that showed that she was done for the day. Sloshing through sewers, burning eggs, and being soaked to the bone had ruined her resolve, and she genuinely wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed. And maybe a happy meal.
Kyle remained silent for a moment before responding, “Yeah… yeah, I’m not really feeling this one either.” In an extraordinary turn of events, neither Kyle nor Kayla were eager to investigate an event of the potentially unnatural variety. After a moment more, Kayla reopened the passenger’s-side window and called out for the pale giant once more, evidently not catching his attention the first time.
By the time Kyle and Kayla arrived at the scene, the rain had already taken a rather severe toll on Rókur's clothes despite the fact that he had tried to protect himself under a protruding roof. Strong winds had caused the crimson liquid to move sideways, drenching the thick layer of fabric enveloping his enormous body through and through and causing it to cling tightly to his skin. Yet that was hardly what bothered the norseman -- he could dispose of that water within a moment's notice if necessary. While waiting he had watched the vehicles and those inside them passing by, something that had become increasingly easy as traffic was winding down. When Kyle and Kayla's truck showed up he immediately recognized them as the perfect match they were for the description that had been provided to him, yet hesitated to step forward for the lack of clear instructions.
From where he was it was impossible to understand what they were talking about inside, but he could see both their lips moving while they were facing each other much more than they did face him. It was obvious that a discussion was going on in the cab, indicating that they had not come with a clear, preset strategy. Or maybe they were just engaging in a debate about the (in-)adequateness of his ancient attire. This vague uncertainty was enough to cause a bit of a bad feeling as the callout from Kayla finally reached his ears.
Rókur stepped out of his hideout, approached the vehicle and moved his head so he could have a clear view through the open window. "Hello you two! Kyle and Kayla, right? I'm Rókur. Erm... Would you mind letting me in?"
“Hop in back.” Kyle said, unlocking the truck doors.
Rókur felt quite happy about this being a truck and not, let’s say, a much smaller car. At about seven feet and with anything but a slim build space was a precious thing to have. He heaved himself into the back as said and closed the door behind him, happy to be out of the bad ‘weather’ that was surrounding them.
“So… What are your plans?”
“McDonald’s.” Kayla replied simply. She turned her head around to see Rókur. “Ever been?”
Rókur arched an eyebrow slightly. “McDonald’s?” the norseman asked back. “The thing with the big, yellow and curved ‘M’ so many people talk about? Never been in there. That’s a fast food restaurant, right?” Needless to say he seemed rather clueless...
“You’re in for a treat.” Kayla replied. She turned to her brother and patted his shoulder as she said, “To the nearest Mickey Dee’s, Kyle.”
It wasn’t his idea of a great meal, but Kyle wasn’t in the mood to object. He put the truck in drive and set off in search of the golden arches. And away from whatever nature of event was taking place nearby.
HE, A SUPPLE SHIRTLESS WARRIOR, GRIPS HIS BOTTLE FOR BASHING AND SMACKS A PYGMY DRAGON-MAN WITH THE BUSINESS BOTTOM. EYES WIDE. JUMPS ON TOP OF THE BAR.
“IT’S INSIDE ME!” HE YELLS, IT’S INSIIIIDE MEEEE!”
HE IS HAPPY FOR THE FIRST AND LAST TIME IN HIS LULLABY LIFE. HE TACKLES A GHOST, GOES RIGHT THROUGH IT, AND STICKS HIMSELF ON A SHARPENED STOOL UPSIDE-DOWN, SMILING WIDER.
“IT’S INSIDE ME!” HE YELLS, IT’S INSIIIIDE MEEEE!”
HE IS HAPPY FOR THE FIRST AND LAST TIME IN HIS LULLABY LIFE. HE TACKLES A GHOST, GOES RIGHT THROUGH IT, AND STICKS HIMSELF ON A SHARPENED STOOL UPSIDE-DOWN, SMILING WIDER.
<Snipped quote by JunkMail>
GET YOUR FUCKING EARS CHECKED OUT YOU DENSE MOTHERFUCKER.
ALSO DAS RACIST
DON’T YOU TALK TO MY DAUGHTER LIKE THAT
STRAPPED IN MY CUNNY, I’M BEST BROILED AT FOUR-HUNNY
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