I saw the interest check, is there room for 2 more?
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Mixtape Ghost N
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@Bazmund Yeah I've seen people go ham on the formatting, so I get you. I keep trying to get into it but it's not really my thing imo
@Haydrian Cindel I know you made one of Haydrian's skills charisma but he legit reminds me of Dennis Reynolds. It's why I avoid putting stuff like "intelligence" or "charming" in apps cause it's real hard to do for me, I'm not smart or outgoing.
Imo if I asked some stranger for help and they're like "I'll help if you tell me your life story over lunch" I'd gtfo of dodge, especially if I didn't have anyone keeping an eye for my wellbeing, and double especially if he comes and sits next to me. So Abi's out. And it's gonna be interesting to see how they handle when he gets to the motel
@Haydrian Cindel I know you made one of Haydrian's skills charisma but he legit reminds me of Dennis Reynolds. It's why I avoid putting stuff like "intelligence" or "charming" in apps cause it's real hard to do for me, I'm not smart or outgoing.
Imo if I asked some stranger for help and they're like "I'll help if you tell me your life story over lunch" I'd gtfo of dodge, especially if I didn't have anyone keeping an eye for my wellbeing, and double especially if he comes and sits next to me. So Abi's out. And it's gonna be interesting to see how they handle when he gets to the motel
Bagel watched the sedan leave impassively. She took another nibble of her bagel and stared at Haydrian, rubbing her nose on the back of her hand. She furrowed her brows slightly as he laughed and approached. She stank to high heaven. It was a rancid mixture of halitosis and body odour. Her hard gaze remained fixated on his expression as he spoke and with every word she became stiffer and less responsive. “Naw, that’s too long,” she shot down his suggestion with clear distaste and wrapped up her bagel. “Who’re you to name a stranger? I’m Bagel to you now.” She flashed him a nervous grin and stood up as he leant back. “You’re-...a good man, but I gotta get going,” she mumbled, hastily tugging on the straps of her backpack. “Thanks anyway.”
Abigail took long strides down the road and kept going until she was pretty certain that Haydrian wasn’t following or staring at her. Once she had strolled out of view she ducked behind a corner and took a few deep breaths. Her fingers trembled as she clicked open her flip phone, checking the time and her phone signal. “God. God.” A quiet rattle of shifting debris made her look back and forth; old tin cans, bits of chipped cement and various trash out of the bins had started to bob up to the surface and drift into the air. “‘Ey-...Ey! You-...get back down in there, you trash!” she snapped, waving her hands at the floating objects. Her growing anxiety was ruptured by another racking coughing fit as each bronchiole exploded, hefting clumps of phlegm up her trachea in shuddering spasms. With it each piece of detritus fell flat onto the dirt as she slowly sank against the wall, wiping her brow. “Gawd-damnit, Abi. Ya fucked it. Bad case’a bad judgement.”
She remained prone against the wall until her ribcage stopped trembling then wearily got up to her feet, following her footsteps towards the borders of Brightwell. She was so busy making sure she wasn’t being followed that she hardly noticed the pastel walls of the motel until she stood in the car park and realised precisely where she was. Her tummy vibe had subsided so she took another chance and stepped inside.
Almost immediately upon setting foot in the threshold, some kid not much older than she was greeted her. She nearly jumped out of her skin at the promptness of his hello and it triggered another coughing fit. “JAY-sus CHRISTman-...” she rattled. “What message? Wuh-...Did I walk in on sommin’?”
Abigail took long strides down the road and kept going until she was pretty certain that Haydrian wasn’t following or staring at her. Once she had strolled out of view she ducked behind a corner and took a few deep breaths. Her fingers trembled as she clicked open her flip phone, checking the time and her phone signal. “God. God.” A quiet rattle of shifting debris made her look back and forth; old tin cans, bits of chipped cement and various trash out of the bins had started to bob up to the surface and drift into the air. “‘Ey-...Ey! You-...get back down in there, you trash!” she snapped, waving her hands at the floating objects. Her growing anxiety was ruptured by another racking coughing fit as each bronchiole exploded, hefting clumps of phlegm up her trachea in shuddering spasms. With it each piece of detritus fell flat onto the dirt as she slowly sank against the wall, wiping her brow. “Gawd-damnit, Abi. Ya fucked it. Bad case’a bad judgement.”
She remained prone against the wall until her ribcage stopped trembling then wearily got up to her feet, following her footsteps towards the borders of Brightwell. She was so busy making sure she wasn’t being followed that she hardly noticed the pastel walls of the motel until she stood in the car park and realised precisely where she was. Her tummy vibe had subsided so she took another chance and stepped inside.
Almost immediately upon setting foot in the threshold, some kid not much older than she was greeted her. She nearly jumped out of her skin at the promptness of his hello and it triggered another coughing fit. “JAY-sus CHRISTman-...” she rattled. “What message? Wuh-...Did I walk in on sommin’?”
It's always annoyed me how you can never find pictures of faceclaims looking like normal goddamn people. Miles is meant to be the ultimate everyman, almost totally indistinguishable from every other faceless idiot on the street without special effort - but the guy his face is based on?
Every fuckin' photo he has of himself, he's trying his hardest to look hot in.
Goddamn.
Could just put a description in, it's the perfect faceclaim
That's not Abigail. That's A-Bagel. The perfect disguise.
"Meemaw said it ain't good handing out your name to strangers," Abigail croaked, "'Specially not tall, dark men lurkin' outside their sedan full'a friends." Her voice was distinctly southern under a quarter inch of phlegm. She took another tiny bite from her bagel and had a job at chewing it, pulling a face as she swallowed. "I s'pose you may call me... bagel." She looked like she had been waiting to think of a cool name for her mysterious persona for months, then blanked and sputtered out something stupid. Her cheeks even went red with embarrassment and she coolly pulled her hat down, pretending to be elusive when in reality she was hiding her blush and scowling at her own idiocy.
"I hope you don't mind me saying, but you got one helluva vibe comin' off you," Bagel pointed out. "I can feel it. Here." She gave her stomach two resounding slaps. "N' I've met plenty of folks with vibes, mister. You get the good vibes, kinda from here," she pointed at her ribcage, "and the bad ones, they make my neck and fingers all tingly, and the weird ones which I feel in my left knee only... but I ain't met no-one who's given me a tummy vibe before." She took another long pause to eat a little bit of her bagel. "That makes you something of a curiosity. You're either real good news...or some kiddy fiddler-serial killer type deal."
Bagel eyed Hayrdrian with scrutiny and waggled her eponymous breakfast food in his general direction. "In which case," she said with her mouth full, "I shall warn you, I ain't washed in months and I can run like ol' Lucifer himself started nippin' at my heels. I ain't worth the effort of draggin' into that there sedan of yours."
"I hope you don't mind me saying, but you got one helluva vibe comin' off you," Bagel pointed out. "I can feel it. Here." She gave her stomach two resounding slaps. "N' I've met plenty of folks with vibes, mister. You get the good vibes, kinda from here," she pointed at her ribcage, "and the bad ones, they make my neck and fingers all tingly, and the weird ones which I feel in my left knee only... but I ain't met no-one who's given me a tummy vibe before." She took another long pause to eat a little bit of her bagel. "That makes you something of a curiosity. You're either real good news...or some kiddy fiddler-serial killer type deal."
Bagel eyed Hayrdrian with scrutiny and waggled her eponymous breakfast food in his general direction. "In which case," she said with her mouth full, "I shall warn you, I ain't washed in months and I can run like ol' Lucifer himself started nippin' at my heels. I ain't worth the effort of draggin' into that there sedan of yours."
<Snipped quote by SamaraJayne96>
No slots left, sadly.
You may want to set the RP to full then to prevent any further applications. And there's no rush on the reply, dw
<Snipped quote by Stitches>
Yeah, that's totally fine with me. From your post it sounds like Abigail isn't likely to speak to Haydrian first right? I was thinking we could start with Haydrian noticing her staring, and trying to talk to her. That'd easily be in character for him. I'm going to go re-read her profile again, but how likely is she to be trusting of charismatic people?
(Edit)
Oh my gurshe, I just looked up the song you have Abigail singing. I'd assumed it was going to be a Johnny Cash song or something, but the only one I've found is by The Wonder Kids, and it sounds like it belongs to a religious Teletubbies show or something. Maybe Barny XD
First of all, don't underestimate the jesus songs. Some of them are absolute bops.
Second I think you're overthinking it. Focus on the IC scenario. In all versions of Abigail she's pretty approachable so I wouldn't worry about it.
@Haydrian Cindel since we're doing our own thing, would you be okay doing more than one round before the GM replies so we can join the group faster?
"I've got the joy, joy, joy, joy...down in my heart."
God it was fucking freezing. This sort of cold wasn't something a sheltered man could know about. Sure people know it's cold at night but there's always a place, a place to warm up, a café or a night club or a convenience store. Abigail didn't have the luxury. This sort of freezing felt just like what it said on the tin - freezing. Her hands and feet were numb to the joints. It burned if you warmed them up. It hurt to curl her fingers and toes. She stuffed another newspaper in her boots and saw that the weeping blisters on the heel now had ink printed into the scabs. She sniffled. "Down in my heart, down in my heart…" her white fingers were stiff, white nails, black fingertips. She worked the base of her palms into the stinking wounds. Rubbed them clean off her heels like mud off a tyre. Her shaky breath turned into an incredulous chuckle. "Down in my heart it stays…"
To fight the irresistible urge to not get up again was the herculean task of the suffering. Abigail's backpack straps dug into her collarbones. She must have an indentation now on each strip, right down to the marrow. Her breath came out in little clouds of frost. "I've got the love of Jesus, love of Jesus, down in my heart…" her bag creaked as she stood up again. She had laced her boots when she was sat down because she couldn't bend over for love nor money, it'd send her teeth into the tarmac. She kept walking and singing away to herself, counting the number of orange streetlamps she could spy in the distance. The bigger the number, the more distinct their positions - and the closer the town. A sheet metal sign on the side of the road welcomed her to Illinois. She leant on it to hack up a fistful of phlegm, her lungs rattling with each wet cough. After a few recovery breaths, she continued her weary trail to Brightwell.
In her fitful, feverish dreams Abigail watched a vast forest spread out before her. Cedars as tall as houses, redwoods that scraped the clouds and twisting oaks that blossomed in every direction. There was no footpath and the undergrowth was speckled with ferns and nettles, mushrooms clawing out of fallen branches and rocky outcroppings pushed up by the mass of tree roots. In this forest lay a small cabin with a smoking chimney, and in that cabin was her uncle. Her heart leapt; it felt like coming home, but she turned her back on the house and fled through the forest in as straight of a line as the terrain would allow. She was looking for a road, or a sign, or some sort of landmark that would give her any more information about the location of the cabin. All she found instead was the asphalt of the motel parking lot. She regarded the peeling pastel walls with contempt. She started to make her way back into the woods but a cough caught in her throat and woke her up.
Abigail lifted her head from her backpack, red lines and dimples set in her cheek where the weight had imprinted the wrinkles of her bag into her face. A park bench was no hostel bed, but she had to conserve money wherever possible. If she wasn't so sick, getting to sleep in broad daylight would have been difficult. As per usual, she checked her pockets and each compartment of her rucksack, made a quick inventory check and, just for the hell of it, fished out her baseball cap. She was a long way from Arizona now but the paranoia of being discovered helped cement some bad habits, such as covering her face when walking around town. It not only helped with anonymity but also made her look even more homeless, which was a surprisingly effective way to walk the streets unseen and unmolested. She squinted blearily at the position of the sun, estimated the time and decided to go to the gas station she found earlier to get something to eat.
The gas station was run by a balding Hispanic who had fixed his wary gaze on Abigail the moment she walked through the door. Abigail took her time ruminating over the pros and cons of a bagel versus a BLT, being careful to keep both items well in view of the cashier. Another gentleman strolled in to buy a map just around the same time as Abigail decided upon the bagel, so she filed in line behind him. He was tall, pale, smartly dressed and somewhat distracted. Abigail peered at his pockets and pondered over the likelihood of a sudden increase in her finances, but something dissuaded the girl from acting upon her impulses. It wasn't the cashier, more the person; he made her nervous. She got an odd vibe from him. He turned to leave and Abigail stared at her bagel instead. She paid for it with greasy dollar bills and half-jogged outside to get a better look at the man before he drove off.
Abigail was pleased she didn't try her hand at pickpocketing when she saw the parked sedan full of people. The stranger kept outside and looked at his map, talking to the equally as unnerving friends in his car. Abigail chewed on her bagel as she sat down on a mouldering pile of tyres, shamelessly staring at him. After all, she posed no threat; a stinking little girl in hand-me-downs, all torn up with a cold and struggling to swallow the cheapest breakfast food she could afford out of a backwater gas station in the middle of nowhere. Although she never saw the man in her life, and despite the weird vibes he gave off, she felt an intrinsic pull towards him. Impulse had carried Abigail across several state lines and into towns she never knew existed, within which she found many charitable souls and favours that carried her eastward. Denying her gut instinct felt like turning off her GPS, blindfolding herself and tearing down the freeway with reckless abandon. This man seemed helpful, and Abigail was just waiting for a good excuse to approach him whilst playing up her own pathetic demeanor to scope out if he was the pitying sort.
God it was fucking freezing. This sort of cold wasn't something a sheltered man could know about. Sure people know it's cold at night but there's always a place, a place to warm up, a café or a night club or a convenience store. Abigail didn't have the luxury. This sort of freezing felt just like what it said on the tin - freezing. Her hands and feet were numb to the joints. It burned if you warmed them up. It hurt to curl her fingers and toes. She stuffed another newspaper in her boots and saw that the weeping blisters on the heel now had ink printed into the scabs. She sniffled. "Down in my heart, down in my heart…" her white fingers were stiff, white nails, black fingertips. She worked the base of her palms into the stinking wounds. Rubbed them clean off her heels like mud off a tyre. Her shaky breath turned into an incredulous chuckle. "Down in my heart it stays…"
To fight the irresistible urge to not get up again was the herculean task of the suffering. Abigail's backpack straps dug into her collarbones. She must have an indentation now on each strip, right down to the marrow. Her breath came out in little clouds of frost. "I've got the love of Jesus, love of Jesus, down in my heart…" her bag creaked as she stood up again. She had laced her boots when she was sat down because she couldn't bend over for love nor money, it'd send her teeth into the tarmac. She kept walking and singing away to herself, counting the number of orange streetlamps she could spy in the distance. The bigger the number, the more distinct their positions - and the closer the town. A sheet metal sign on the side of the road welcomed her to Illinois. She leant on it to hack up a fistful of phlegm, her lungs rattling with each wet cough. After a few recovery breaths, she continued her weary trail to Brightwell.
______________
In her fitful, feverish dreams Abigail watched a vast forest spread out before her. Cedars as tall as houses, redwoods that scraped the clouds and twisting oaks that blossomed in every direction. There was no footpath and the undergrowth was speckled with ferns and nettles, mushrooms clawing out of fallen branches and rocky outcroppings pushed up by the mass of tree roots. In this forest lay a small cabin with a smoking chimney, and in that cabin was her uncle. Her heart leapt; it felt like coming home, but she turned her back on the house and fled through the forest in as straight of a line as the terrain would allow. She was looking for a road, or a sign, or some sort of landmark that would give her any more information about the location of the cabin. All she found instead was the asphalt of the motel parking lot. She regarded the peeling pastel walls with contempt. She started to make her way back into the woods but a cough caught in her throat and woke her up.
Abigail lifted her head from her backpack, red lines and dimples set in her cheek where the weight had imprinted the wrinkles of her bag into her face. A park bench was no hostel bed, but she had to conserve money wherever possible. If she wasn't so sick, getting to sleep in broad daylight would have been difficult. As per usual, she checked her pockets and each compartment of her rucksack, made a quick inventory check and, just for the hell of it, fished out her baseball cap. She was a long way from Arizona now but the paranoia of being discovered helped cement some bad habits, such as covering her face when walking around town. It not only helped with anonymity but also made her look even more homeless, which was a surprisingly effective way to walk the streets unseen and unmolested. She squinted blearily at the position of the sun, estimated the time and decided to go to the gas station she found earlier to get something to eat.
The gas station was run by a balding Hispanic who had fixed his wary gaze on Abigail the moment she walked through the door. Abigail took her time ruminating over the pros and cons of a bagel versus a BLT, being careful to keep both items well in view of the cashier. Another gentleman strolled in to buy a map just around the same time as Abigail decided upon the bagel, so she filed in line behind him. He was tall, pale, smartly dressed and somewhat distracted. Abigail peered at his pockets and pondered over the likelihood of a sudden increase in her finances, but something dissuaded the girl from acting upon her impulses. It wasn't the cashier, more the person; he made her nervous. She got an odd vibe from him. He turned to leave and Abigail stared at her bagel instead. She paid for it with greasy dollar bills and half-jogged outside to get a better look at the man before he drove off.
Abigail was pleased she didn't try her hand at pickpocketing when she saw the parked sedan full of people. The stranger kept outside and looked at his map, talking to the equally as unnerving friends in his car. Abigail chewed on her bagel as she sat down on a mouldering pile of tyres, shamelessly staring at him. After all, she posed no threat; a stinking little girl in hand-me-downs, all torn up with a cold and struggling to swallow the cheapest breakfast food she could afford out of a backwater gas station in the middle of nowhere. Although she never saw the man in her life, and despite the weird vibes he gave off, she felt an intrinsic pull towards him. Impulse had carried Abigail across several state lines and into towns she never knew existed, within which she found many charitable souls and favours that carried her eastward. Denying her gut instinct felt like turning off her GPS, blindfolding herself and tearing down the freeway with reckless abandon. This man seemed helpful, and Abigail was just waiting for a good excuse to approach him whilst playing up her own pathetic demeanor to scope out if he was the pitying sort.
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