Avatar of Sombrero
  • Last Seen: 8 yrs ago
  • Joined: 9 yrs ago
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    1. Sombrero 9 yrs ago
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8 yrs ago
Dammit, smell! Why do you always lie about the taste of things!? Bread is never as good as you say it is! And vanilla extract tastes like petrified ass! PETRIFIED ASS!
3 likes
8 yrs ago
Using a phone on RPG. PROS: You can zoom in! CONS: fucking everything else!
11 likes
9 yrs ago
Glorious Math Teacher: "You know protractors, right? The rules we have for protractors are simple: Freshmen use these, don't put them in your mouth."
6 likes
9 yrs ago
Punching out Nazis and wrestling a yeti, sitting at home with some festive Spaghetti, rigging my boots up with high-power springs... These are a few of my favorite things!
9 likes
9 yrs ago
Still trying to figure out whether the Crusades qualify as actual wars, or a steaming hot mess of clusterfarkery best accompanied by the Benny Hill theme...
3 likes

Bio

I'm here, and I'm stuck in the middle with you.

Most Recent Posts

But can you really be sure G and Gonzo are the same person?

I may or may not have confirmed certain details about he/they/them/it in a previous roleplay's OOC to Aman/HHH... Or maybe it was Tans? I don't remember. Either way, the finer details about whoever or whatever this/these guy(s) are/am/is have/has little bearing on the game, just not sure how obscure he's supposed to be at this point.

They could both be each other's red herring, simultaneously. Maybe.
not bitching, I'm super happy that #TheTriggering was so successful and we weren't censored by twitter or facebook and the reactions to it were hilarious.


It was incredibly successful! Now no one takes either side of the argument seriously.
@AeonSpiral

"They call me Gonzo." The man says, laying his shovel down and stirring the pot above the fire, "I guess you don't do this kind of thing very often?"
"American Culture"


Huh?... Wasn't aware that we had one.
@Eviledd1984

The hotel seems empty of any human life, save for the occasional charred skeleton. On the desk is another note, written in the same gristly fashion.

BRING THE CREATURE TO CAERBOG'S STATUE. CAERBOG WILL BURN IT HIMSELF IF YOU ARE UNABLE TO EMBRACE CAERBOG'S GORLORY. CAERBOG DEMANDS SACRIFICE.


@AeonSpiral

The dome is quite cool and well-ventilated on the inside, bleached white, although there was yellowing on parts of the ceiling and corners of the floor. A battered old radio on top of a stool plays old psychedelic tunes that gently bounce off the curved walls. A sunburnt young man in an equally battered leather jacket and torn jeans stokes the fire with a shovel. He jumps when he sees you come in, and holds his digging tool up warily.

"Don't loot me!"

@HHHippo

"It doesn't help here, necessarily... But in the long run... Y'know..." He scratches his head, "I've got a lot of potential customers in here. Drink a few glasses of the champagne in your mini-fridge, and then come to the courtyard here. You'll see what I mean."

He appeared to be very uneasy about whatever it was that he was implying, and even more painfully self aware about how unusual this must have sounded.
Ech, double post!
@Eviledd1984
As his stress increased, so too did the blackness of the walls, until they were ashy and black again. The noises of the hotel faded out and it was once again abandoned by all but whatever creature was upstairs... And the black, charred corpse-like figure standing on his balcony. Urgently, it pointed down, into the yard, and dropped a note before disappearing, leaving only sooty footprints behind.

CAERBOGG DEMANDS SACRIFICES, APE! BURING SOMETHING LIVING TO THE NORTH STATUE WHEN YOU ARE IN THE ASH HOTEL. BRING IT TO CAERBOG AND BURNBURNBURN IT.


@AeonSpiral
The nearest dome-shaped building emanates music perhaps more soothing than the oh-so-charming tones of the gardener. In fact, it seems to be inhabited, with smoke coming out of the top and the distinct smell of meat cooking...

@VioletRose
"Head back to town." The man said jokingly in a low, gravelly drawl that seemed to be from everywhere in America and nowhere simultaneously, "But the rules don't say anythin' bout "sharin'" "samples"... Provided you plan on "tippin' my service" and ain' actually "buyin'" it, per se... Best ye don't talk about what I'm doin' here, though, if ye get what I mean."

He ducked down and got the bottle again, refilling her glass, before finally accepting her hand for a firm shake. "Marvin." He grunted, in a manner that seemed to heavily imply that that was the way he introduced himself.

@DJAtomika

It seems the hotel is enveloped in a pale grey fog, the hotel made from steel and rivets, with several holes blasted in it. She walks in on a man wearing some sort of pickelhaube holding a double-barrelled shotgun, anxiously staring at a telegraph-like device as it beeps long and short... Could it be morse code? He seems thoroughly engrossed in what the machine is saying, too much to notice her, but long enough for her to get a better look at him.

He was filthy, covered in ashes, mud, and what was hopefully stray rust, and his boots were worn, to the point where the steel toes were exposed through an inch of... Whatever combat boots are made out of. And he was also carrying the strangest of secondary weapons, or at least that was the obvious use for the enormous beef splitter he had strapped to his back...

She might engage him in conversation, or sneak past this looney to investigate the smoke and pounding coming from the floor below.
@Eviledd1984

His type-writer is stocked with another note, but... The dried ink ribbon had been replaced for a newer, fresher form of writing fluid. A bad-smelling substance, seemingly a thin strip of flesh, now drapes the spools where an ink ribbon would have been, the old, dry ribbon apparently having been torn out by a frustrated creature and tossed to the floor. Blood on the paper and the key stamps, the note reads in swollen, red letters, marked by slight drips and small bits of dislodged meat,

"MCAERBOG'S PATIENCE IS WEARS THIN"

@Aeonspiral
As she exits through the front door, she'll find there isn't too much outside but desert as far as the eye can see. The sun is hot and bright red, even though it seems to be high noon, painting the sky all sorts of fiery colors. Terra-cotta buildings can be seen here and there in the distance. Luckily, she can travel by lawn (Or sand?) mower rather than tiring herself out walking there. The grotesque cockney in there probably won't miss it.
The vent seems to have been fully repaired in the time he got from the lobby back into his room. Not even a pawprint can be seen on its shining walls, except for another note. A post-it, to be exact.

Careful around the "gods". They aren't what they seem to be.
-G
@AeonSpiral

The hallway was long, and, since most of the lights were gouged out by sand vines, very dark. She was confronted with rooms and rooms and rooms, and then a large ballroom with a little garden of cacti growing in it. Someone with a sick sense of humor carved smiley faces on them... Well, at least they were living, probably.

@Eviledd1984

"Like I said," the Clerk stated, confused, "He never stayed here, he was a car bum. He just hung around when the hotel was being built."

She thought for a moment, "I mean, it's unlikely, but you might find something of his stashed somewhere. It's probably been picked up by the landscapers or something, though."

@VioletRose

The Bartender, who was a burly, middle-aged man with a bushy, graying beard and an... eye-patch? Didn't seem quite as surprised at her order as he did frustrated with the amount of water (though small compared to most places, to be sure,) that restaurant policies forced him to put in it, muttering a gruff "Mhm." as she finished speaking her order. Formal dress and well-kempt hair aside, he looked like he'd be rather more at home behind the bar at some saloon in 1800s New Zealand rather than a fancy, flashy place like this, but perhaps experience and good skills at the tap were hard to come by in Middle-Of-Nowhere, ME.

Come to think of it, there were other unusually rough-looking folks at the bar. One particularly large man in a leather trench coat, face obscured by an equally leather, equally roughed-up wide-brim hat, was sitting on one of the worse-lit ends of the bar and drinking what (in her expert opinion, must be) rum and coke with a straw. Another muscular chap with a handlebar mustache was chatting up a woman in a booth on the exact opposite side of the room.

Aside from the oddities, there was a man in a suit with a pencil mustache sipping wine alone at a table, probably waiting for food, a tall, auburn-haired woman nonchalantly eating a delicious-looking club sandwich... With silverware... (What sacrilege!) And three especially young fellows talking, laughing, and drinking in a corner booth with a pizza between them. It was early yet, and not many other noteworthy people have come to the restaurant, or even stopped by for a look.

@HHHippo

The dreadlocked man turns around, startled, and eyes his observer through the fog, "Ah, no, it's open, man. I, uhh, don't exactly work here, though. I'm just here to help people out. With things."
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