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Most Recent Posts
i'm so tired — fugazi — instrument soundtrack
spanish sahara — foals — total life forever
searching the blue — the arcs — yours, dreamily,
beach life-in-death (live at crossroads kc, kansas city, mo) — car seat headrest — commit yourself completely
love will tear us apart — joy division — closer
waiting on words — the black keys — turn blue
connect the dots (the saga of frank sinatra) — car seat headrest — teens of denial
oh the saviour — temples — volcano
homes — car seat headrest — nervous young man
true love waits — radiohead — a moon shaped pool
spanish sahara — foals — total life forever
searching the blue — the arcs — yours, dreamily,
beach life-in-death (live at crossroads kc, kansas city, mo) — car seat headrest — commit yourself completely
love will tear us apart — joy division — closer
waiting on words — the black keys — turn blue
connect the dots (the saga of frank sinatra) — car seat headrest — teens of denial
oh the saviour — temples — volcano
homes — car seat headrest — nervous young man
true love waits — radiohead — a moon shaped pool
we are sex bob-omb — sex bob-omb — scott pilgrim vs. the world (original motion picture soundtrack)
route around — rebelution — peace of mind
i don't want to know — fleetwood mac — rumours
it's up to you — the black keys — turn blue
another brick in the wall, pt. 2 — pink floyd — the wall
tv — naked giants — sluff
evil hearted ada — flamin' groovies — teenage head
hey now - acoustic — the regrettes — attention seeker
i'm a man — bo diddley — bo diddley
dreams fall hard — car seat headrest — nervous young man
route around — rebelution — peace of mind
i don't want to know — fleetwood mac — rumours
it's up to you — the black keys — turn blue
another brick in the wall, pt. 2 — pink floyd — the wall
tv — naked giants — sluff
evil hearted ada — flamin' groovies — teenage head
hey now - acoustic — the regrettes — attention seeker
i'm a man — bo diddley — bo diddley
dreams fall hard — car seat headrest — nervous young man
 ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ | ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ W a y D o w n W e G o , P a r t I location: P. Johnson's interacting with: Meir (@Severance), Sebastian (@Lionhearted), Sara (@banjoanjo) |
THE SURREALITY OF THE SITUATION WAS KICKING IN, and with the new arrival’s—oh shit, that was Meir—help, the alcohol would be kicking in, too. She glanced between him and Sebastian with a slight quirked eyebrow, certain in her memory of the two having some kind of history. Her getting to know Sebastian was a few years after Ritman, when she finally got the confidence to go drinking at P.J’s, and identified him as ‘that beefy German kid’ in a moment of drunken stupor. Since then, their interactions were either when she was really drunk, or about to get really drunk. She’d probably said a bunch of things to him she couldn’t remember, but he didn’t mention it, so she figured it was harmless. Jack was generally confiding in him with the whole getting shit-faced thing, anyway, since she wasn’t too keen on people getting drunk and was embarrassed she did it herself (today would be one of her cheat days; she wasn’t going to be the sober loser at the party). She wasn’t an alcoholic, she just needed a break away from monotony. It seemed to be the driving force behind most of her recent decisions.
Meir was mercifully relaxed and easygoing, and Jack released a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. Whatever he’d done after Ritman, be it in self-loathing of having a target on your back or not, it really paid off for him. He seemed happy enough, healthy enough and successful enough, if his 6-page essay RSVP was anything to go by. When she first got his lengthy response she didn’t know at first if he’d mistaken her for an employer or something, or sent a resumé to the wrong person. There was no doubt some people would probably be surprised by her inviting the quiet nerd of Ritman in the first place, but not even she was aloof enough to withhold the fact that his tutoring was what got her through most of her classes. She considered herself about average intelligence—certainly not stupid, and definitely smarter than the tourist bozos who came by the Bistro—but a school environment just wasn’t for her. Now that she wouldn’t admit, fuck no.
In the end, she figured inviting Meir would be the returning of a favour, in some weird, I’m-in-no-position-in-life-to-be-doing-anything-substantial-as-a-favour way. She could see the freedom graduation had given him just from a quick look at any of his social media, and she knew she’d certainly want everyone to know about it, if it were her success. Did she selfishly pity him? Yeah, maybe. But she’d probably caused him permanent forehead trauma with her improvised mace, anyway.
The collision of nostalgia with the present day was inevitably brought to a halt by the sweet release of free drinks. Her wallet could stay untouched and she could still get the social lubricant she’d need for the day ahead. Afternoon drinking, sure, but fuck it, not like she was the only one.
“Now that things are picking up, I’m thinking a cocktail,” Jack responded to his initial question, turning to Sebastian. “I’ll have the cucumber gin, thanks.” She decided she might as well splurge if it was someone else paying. Meir was nice enough to not care, or probably not notice that she was stretching the budget of acceptable. Acceptable for her, at least, though she wasn’t someone particularly inclined to just directly buying stuff for others. She’d given people money over the years but that was the closest example she could think of.
Jack’s attention was snatched firmly away from her sweet freebie as a pair of hands began pawing all over the capsule— put that thing back where it came from or so help me— oh shit, it’s Sara. Now there was a surprise. Even though she still lived in Delton, Sara was the last person Jack expected to show up. She’d invited her, of course, out of both common courtesy and a memory that she was decidedly not-lame, but if there wasn’t something to be organised, Sara never seemed interested in any type of event or gathering. She wondered if there was some kind of gun-to-head reason for her attendance, but decided not to prod any further. Jack preferred not to irritate people who looked like they were staring straight through her exterior and flipping through every page of her life story; reading her like a book.
“There’s, like—” she squinted and tilted her head almost comically as she thought, “—three more people? I’m not saying who, though.”
Standing up, she gave Sara a half-encouraging (rather, half-assed) nod towards her now-vacant seat. “But! I need a piss. So tell everyone I say hi. And take care of the capsule. And my drink, which I owe to Mr Rich over here.” She patted Meir on the back as she made her way to the restroom.
Meir was mercifully relaxed and easygoing, and Jack released a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. Whatever he’d done after Ritman, be it in self-loathing of having a target on your back or not, it really paid off for him. He seemed happy enough, healthy enough and successful enough, if his 6-page essay RSVP was anything to go by. When she first got his lengthy response she didn’t know at first if he’d mistaken her for an employer or something, or sent a resumé to the wrong person. There was no doubt some people would probably be surprised by her inviting the quiet nerd of Ritman in the first place, but not even she was aloof enough to withhold the fact that his tutoring was what got her through most of her classes. She considered herself about average intelligence—certainly not stupid, and definitely smarter than the tourist bozos who came by the Bistro—but a school environment just wasn’t for her. Now that she wouldn’t admit, fuck no.
In the end, she figured inviting Meir would be the returning of a favour, in some weird, I’m-in-no-position-in-life-to-be-doing-anything-substantial-as-a-favour way. She could see the freedom graduation had given him just from a quick look at any of his social media, and she knew she’d certainly want everyone to know about it, if it were her success. Did she selfishly pity him? Yeah, maybe. But she’d probably caused him permanent forehead trauma with her improvised mace, anyway.
The collision of nostalgia with the present day was inevitably brought to a halt by the sweet release of free drinks. Her wallet could stay untouched and she could still get the social lubricant she’d need for the day ahead. Afternoon drinking, sure, but fuck it, not like she was the only one.
“Now that things are picking up, I’m thinking a cocktail,” Jack responded to his initial question, turning to Sebastian. “I’ll have the cucumber gin, thanks.” She decided she might as well splurge if it was someone else paying. Meir was nice enough to not care, or probably not notice that she was stretching the budget of acceptable. Acceptable for her, at least, though she wasn’t someone particularly inclined to just directly buying stuff for others. She’d given people money over the years but that was the closest example she could think of.
Jack’s attention was snatched firmly away from her sweet freebie as a pair of hands began pawing all over the capsule— put that thing back where it came from or so help me— oh shit, it’s Sara. Now there was a surprise. Even though she still lived in Delton, Sara was the last person Jack expected to show up. She’d invited her, of course, out of both common courtesy and a memory that she was decidedly not-lame, but if there wasn’t something to be organised, Sara never seemed interested in any type of event or gathering. She wondered if there was some kind of gun-to-head reason for her attendance, but decided not to prod any further. Jack preferred not to irritate people who looked like they were staring straight through her exterior and flipping through every page of her life story; reading her like a book.
“There’s, like—” she squinted and tilted her head almost comically as she thought, “—three more people? I’m not saying who, though.”
Standing up, she gave Sara a half-encouraging (rather, half-assed) nod towards her now-vacant seat. “But! I need a piss. So tell everyone I say hi. And take care of the capsule. And my drink, which I owe to Mr Rich over here.” She patted Meir on the back as she made her way to the restroom.
Updated the code a little bit because some people are still using Chrome in 2019 and yes that is a personal attack RoleplayerGuild user Severance
The IC is officially up and open! Or: how I learned to stop procrastinating and get on with it because I wanted to watch anime. this does not mean i dont enjoy writing for the roleplay because i do and i am not shirking my duties as gm this is just a funny haha joke
As with everything in this roleplay, it's painstakingly coded for maximum aesthetic coherency, so in the following section you'll find the code for post headers along with personalised ~fancy titles~ for each character, in no particular order. There is also a post header guide I painstakingly added each individual frame of Jack's gif to, so I'd appreciate if you read it. (I'm kidding, I love you and know you will read it because I am your god.) The guide reintroduces the idea of sub-acts, but you don't need to worry about those until after the first act, since the characters will remain in the same general proximity and be going through the same journey, which is discovering their powers after a certain event the GM team have discussed. For clarification—no powers yet.
A little bit of coding not mentioned in the guide is dialogue. I know in a lot of slice-of-life games people like to colour up their dialogue and that, but I'd prefer for all dialogue (player character or NPC) to be coded like so:
A note on the actual IC post—as it says, the demolition of Ritman is tomorrow (so Tuesday in-game), but everyone should be arriving today for a meet-up at P.J's before the big day.
As with everything in this roleplay, it's painstakingly coded for maximum aesthetic coherency, so in the following section you'll find the code for post headers along with personalised ~fancy titles~ for each character, in no particular order. There is also a post header guide I painstakingly added each individual frame of Jack's gif to, so I'd appreciate if you read it. (I'm kidding, I love you and know you will read it because I am your god.) The guide reintroduces the idea of sub-acts, but you don't need to worry about those until after the first act, since the characters will remain in the same general proximity and be going through the same journey, which is discovering their powers after a certain event the GM team have discussed. For clarification—no powers yet.
A little bit of coding not mentioned in the guide is dialogue. I know in a lot of slice-of-life games people like to colour up their dialogue and that, but I'd prefer for all dialogue (player character or NPC) to be coded like so:
[b][color=a9a9a9]“Oh? You’re approaching me? Instead of running away?”[/color][/b]
A note on the actual IC post—as it says, the demolition of Ritman is tomorrow (so Tuesday in-game), but everyone should be arriving today for a meet-up at P.J's before the big day.
| ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ | ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ W a y D o w n W e G o , P a r t I location: Delton Station Bistro → Ritman High interacting with: Donovan Wilkerson ◂◂ II ▸▸ Matador — The Buttertones§ |
JACK NODDED HER HEAD CONTENTEDLY TO THE RADIO, drumming her fingers against the handle of the broom as she swept. It wasn’t her usual style of music, but the dusty radio with its bent antenna miraculously got a signal where her phone couldn’t get internet (even after years of begging her dad to just buy a damned WiFi router), so she decided it was more than fair to hand it the metaphorical aux cord. She was still surprised to see it working after the state she found it in, which was even more reason to give it a chance. Besides, KCIX was one of the few decent radio stations in Maine.
Once she was satisfied with her progress on the state of the floor, Jack dumped the contents of the tall dustpan into the large metal trash can, pulling out the trash bag that had been lining it and tying it twice. Grabbing the radio and regaining her grip on the bag, she emerged into the main area of the bistro. It was just beginning to see an upkeep of traffic trickling in; commuters stopping in for a quick breakfast on their way to work and the general early birds of the town.
There were already two regulars with familiar faces sat at a table, though there was no way Jack would remember their names this early in the morning. People from businesses more local didn’t stop in until around 8:15, since they were all 10 minutes away from a job that starts at 9. Summertime meant the absence of the kids that usually bought a few snacks and a drink to hang around until school started, who usually came later in the day. Things tended to really pick up midday during the summer, with the influx of tourists and town residents who generally had more free time.
She placed the radio on the front counter and glanced at the calendar on the wall as she made her way to the back door, giving the rusty hinges a hard jolt to access the dumpsters. Tomorrow was the start of the demolition, so she assumed everyone would be arriving today. Organising a school reunion to watch as the school got torn down was pretentious in a I-listen-to-psychedelic-music-and-suck-at-life way, but Jack at least had self-awareness going for her. It was also an excuse to see how much worse or better off she was than her ex-classmates, which was a bonus. Speaking of bonuses, she was on a half shift today, so she would be able to avoid most of the midday rush and have time to chill while waiting for the ‘Ritman party’ to arrive. Not that she was going to be some kind of greeting party, she was just… intrigued by how much they might have changed.
The hours slogged by, which was about usual for the morning. A half shift was a double-edged sword more than anything—it was usually after the midday rush that she’d blink and her shift would be over—but she had the next three days booked off, too, so it kept her going. She managed to remember the names of the earlier two regulars, which was helpful. James and Grace were very generous in their tipping, on a day where tips were scarce from also balancing cooking duty. One of the chefs had called in sick, which, naturally, meant her dad had thrown an apron and hairnet at her and nodded towards the kitchen. She’d remember that one next time he asked a favour at home.
Noon finally struck, however, and she made an effort to hurry up finishing without actually rushing anyone (or, you know, being bad at customer service). The dissatisfied looks from the family she was serving told her that she had failed, but they didn’t seem the type to report it to the manager, so she didn’t find it in herself to particularly care. They got their food, didn’t they? Regardless, she offered them an awkward tight smile as she left, in some sort of lame compensation.
With orders out of the way, Jack approached the counter and all but threw the empty tray down. She glanced at the queue and then at her dad, throwing him a knowing smirk deserving of the glowering expression it received.
“Yeah, yeah, I promised you,” he grumbled. ”But I’ll remember this next time you whine at me.”
“That’s funny, ‘cause I was gonna say the exact same thing about cooking duty,” she called over her shoulder as she left, ducking through the doors as another couple of people entered to add to the queue. The outside world was a sweet relief even with the high temperatures (the coastal breeze made it more comfortable), and she quickly took the opportunity to slip her earbuds in and get a good playlist going on the way to Ritman. Her phone screen had a horrendous case of glare, but she managed to fumble her way through the interface to spam shuffle a few times, even if she nearly walked into someone who she could’ve sworn was one of her ex-classmates. She didn’t bother to verify her assumption, just flailed her free hand in apology and kept walking.
One awkward encounter with the homophobic old lady who caught her kissing her granddaughter and $2.45 at Starbucks later, Jack was stood in the shadow of the husk of her old high school. The demolition company were done removing all the plumbing and electricals, so even the taped-off ‘workers only’ zones were devoid of life until the big day tomorrow. Loudly slurping the remains of her iced tea lemonade seemed to only heighten the strange energy of the whole situation. She didn’t miss Ritman, but she’d never entertained the opportunity of it being handed off to another establishment and a whole new building being assembled in its ruins. Schools were an immortal idea more than physical constructions of brick and concrete that could erode and become useless to renovate—they were the living, breathing monuments of education. And she wasn’t having kids, so the novelty of sending her children to the same school as her was off the table. Something about it just elicited an unusual feeling.
One final, triumphant slurp of her iced tea lemonade later, Jack was hopping the flimsy cordon and planting her feet firmly on the uprooted soil of the old football field. The whole thing looked like it was used as the set for the stampede from the Lion King, with boot prints littering the ground in a zebra-like pattern and small ditches where the plumbing must’ve been dug up. Jesus, it’s not even demolished yet, she thought as she weaved between the remaining patches of grass, when something glistening on the ground caught her eye. Jack hunched down, placed the empty Starbucks cup to the side and cautiously dug at the dirt, grasping at the object the more and more it was uncovered until she finally released it from its earthy prison. She wiped it down with her bare arm, turning it over in her hands—it must’ve been the senior time capsule. She wasn’t one of the people selected to leave an item inside, but it would still be fun to crack it open.
She sat down for a moment and rested the capsule next to her, pulling out her phone and quickly scrolling through for the Facebook group she’d made with everyone. Her fingers moved rapidly as she rushed out a status.
Tucking the capsule under her arm—she didn’t mind the dirt that accumulated—and kicking the cup into the ditch, she decided it would be best to leave before she got arrested for trespassing, or whatever. She could stop home and clean the capsule off a bit more, then hang around P.J’s and wait for everyone to arrive. The closer the reunion got, the more Jack felt alcohol would be a necessary element.
Once she was satisfied with her progress on the state of the floor, Jack dumped the contents of the tall dustpan into the large metal trash can, pulling out the trash bag that had been lining it and tying it twice. Grabbing the radio and regaining her grip on the bag, she emerged into the main area of the bistro. It was just beginning to see an upkeep of traffic trickling in; commuters stopping in for a quick breakfast on their way to work and the general early birds of the town.
There were already two regulars with familiar faces sat at a table, though there was no way Jack would remember their names this early in the morning. People from businesses more local didn’t stop in until around 8:15, since they were all 10 minutes away from a job that starts at 9. Summertime meant the absence of the kids that usually bought a few snacks and a drink to hang around until school started, who usually came later in the day. Things tended to really pick up midday during the summer, with the influx of tourists and town residents who generally had more free time.
She placed the radio on the front counter and glanced at the calendar on the wall as she made her way to the back door, giving the rusty hinges a hard jolt to access the dumpsters. Tomorrow was the start of the demolition, so she assumed everyone would be arriving today. Organising a school reunion to watch as the school got torn down was pretentious in a I-listen-to-psychedelic-music-and-suck-at-life way, but Jack at least had self-awareness going for her. It was also an excuse to see how much worse or better off she was than her ex-classmates, which was a bonus. Speaking of bonuses, she was on a half shift today, so she would be able to avoid most of the midday rush and have time to chill while waiting for the ‘Ritman party’ to arrive. Not that she was going to be some kind of greeting party, she was just… intrigued by how much they might have changed.
The hours slogged by, which was about usual for the morning. A half shift was a double-edged sword more than anything—it was usually after the midday rush that she’d blink and her shift would be over—but she had the next three days booked off, too, so it kept her going. She managed to remember the names of the earlier two regulars, which was helpful. James and Grace were very generous in their tipping, on a day where tips were scarce from also balancing cooking duty. One of the chefs had called in sick, which, naturally, meant her dad had thrown an apron and hairnet at her and nodded towards the kitchen. She’d remember that one next time he asked a favour at home.
Noon finally struck, however, and she made an effort to hurry up finishing without actually rushing anyone (or, you know, being bad at customer service). The dissatisfied looks from the family she was serving told her that she had failed, but they didn’t seem the type to report it to the manager, so she didn’t find it in herself to particularly care. They got their food, didn’t they? Regardless, she offered them an awkward tight smile as she left, in some sort of lame compensation.
With orders out of the way, Jack approached the counter and all but threw the empty tray down. She glanced at the queue and then at her dad, throwing him a knowing smirk deserving of the glowering expression it received.
“Yeah, yeah, I promised you,” he grumbled. ”But I’ll remember this next time you whine at me.”
“That’s funny, ‘cause I was gonna say the exact same thing about cooking duty,” she called over her shoulder as she left, ducking through the doors as another couple of people entered to add to the queue. The outside world was a sweet relief even with the high temperatures (the coastal breeze made it more comfortable), and she quickly took the opportunity to slip her earbuds in and get a good playlist going on the way to Ritman. Her phone screen had a horrendous case of glare, but she managed to fumble her way through the interface to spam shuffle a few times, even if she nearly walked into someone who she could’ve sworn was one of her ex-classmates. She didn’t bother to verify her assumption, just flailed her free hand in apology and kept walking.
One awkward encounter with the homophobic old lady who caught her kissing her granddaughter and $2.45 at Starbucks later, Jack was stood in the shadow of the husk of her old high school. The demolition company were done removing all the plumbing and electricals, so even the taped-off ‘workers only’ zones were devoid of life until the big day tomorrow. Loudly slurping the remains of her iced tea lemonade seemed to only heighten the strange energy of the whole situation. She didn’t miss Ritman, but she’d never entertained the opportunity of it being handed off to another establishment and a whole new building being assembled in its ruins. Schools were an immortal idea more than physical constructions of brick and concrete that could erode and become useless to renovate—they were the living, breathing monuments of education. And she wasn’t having kids, so the novelty of sending her children to the same school as her was off the table. Something about it just elicited an unusual feeling.
One final, triumphant slurp of her iced tea lemonade later, Jack was hopping the flimsy cordon and planting her feet firmly on the uprooted soil of the old football field. The whole thing looked like it was used as the set for the stampede from the Lion King, with boot prints littering the ground in a zebra-like pattern and small ditches where the plumbing must’ve been dug up. Jesus, it’s not even demolished yet, she thought as she weaved between the remaining patches of grass, when something glistening on the ground caught her eye. Jack hunched down, placed the empty Starbucks cup to the side and cautiously dug at the dirt, grasping at the object the more and more it was uncovered until she finally released it from its earthy prison. She wiped it down with her bare arm, turning it over in her hands—it must’ve been the senior time capsule. She wasn’t one of the people selected to leave an item inside, but it would still be fun to crack it open.
She sat down for a moment and rested the capsule next to her, pulling out her phone and quickly scrolling through for the Facebook group she’d made with everyone. Her fingers moved rapidly as she rushed out a status.
Found the senior capsule. Don’t know which of you were in the little clubs but we can crack it open on the field near P.J’s after everyone has gotten here
Tucking the capsule under her arm—she didn’t mind the dirt that accumulated—and kicking the cup into the ditch, she decided it would be best to leave before she got arrested for trespassing, or whatever. She could stop home and clean the capsule off a bit more, then hang around P.J’s and wait for everyone to arrive. The closer the reunion got, the more Jack felt alcohol would be a necessary element.
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