I'm still alive
- Last Seen: 11 days ago
- Old Guild Username: Tearstone
- Joined: 11 yrs ago
- Posts: 828 (0.21 / day)
- VMs: 3
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Username history
- Tearstone 11 yrs ago
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Latest 10 profile visitors:
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Most recent →
EmptyArmor,
Lildear18,
Hedgehawk,
MurderVictim,
Ersa93,
Musoka
Status
Recent Statuses
11 days ago
Current
Hoping for a good turkey-day...
1
like
5 mos ago
If you can't dazzle them with brilliance, baffle them with bs
4
likes
8 mos ago
Driving a sandworm through a pre-school...
1
like
1 yr ago
Remember, punishable by fine means legal for a price.
4
likes
3 yrs ago
♪♫♪ Don't climb up the rope. Dont haul up the mast. And if ya see a sailin' ship it might'n be yer last...♪♫♪
1
like
Bio
Tearstone
Summary
Name: Tearstone
Aliases: Tearstone
Age: 33
Birthday: March 13th
Ethnicity: Caucasian
Location: Resides in western Oklahoma
Gender:
Major/Minor: Associates degree in Occupational Studies - Massage Therapy
Occupation: Unemployed/Under-employed Cert. Massage Therapist, freelance writer
Languages: Fluent in English, Bad English/Profanity. Knowledgeable of Japanese, Spanish, and Latin.
Current Bio Theme: None
Years Rping: 20 years
Preferred Rp Section: Typically casual or advanced.
Rp Level: High casual to advanced.
Dedication Level: I don't know what yardstick to measure this with. It all depends on my interest, if I'm enjoying the writing and my partners.
Biggest Rp Pet Peeve: If you one-line me and use chatspeak where it doesn't belong, I will CUT you. Pay attention to lore and genre conventions. DO NOT fall silent on me. IF you're bored, say so. If something happens, freaking tell me. I want to get to know my partners out of character too.
Teach New Rpers Or Coach New GM's: Yes. Very much so. I love teaching and doing what I can to improve people's skills, and challenge their ability. I love fostering growth.
Appearance
Height: 5' 7"
Weight: Overweight
Build: Ectomorphic, athletic. Built like a tank... or a tall dwarf
Eyes: Hazel-gray, but color shift with light and mood.
Hair: Chocolate brown, collar length currently. May grow out again.
Skin Tone: Light, tan decently in summer, but I live like basement cat.
Tattoos/Scars/Piercings: No tats or piercings. Scar, right wrist (1 cun (3 finger widths), medial from hand crease.) Sits across radial bone on anterior, 45° angle, looks self inflicted, but is actually from fending off an attacker in middle school. Burn scar left knee, the size of a quarter. Stuck knee against hot muffler of lawn mower on accident around 2004. Burn scar torso lower right quadrant inferior to navel and one inch lateral, spilled hot-ass ramen on self last winter. Some of the liquid got lodged in waist band of shorts and caused burn.
Personal Style:
Psychology
Intelligent * Procrastinator * Intuitive * Apathetic * Flexible/Adaptable * Cynical
Sexuality: Kinsey 2
Relationship Status: Semi-open longterm relationship/domestic partnership
Personality: INTJ/P, Turbulent quality. Swings to INFJ/P at times. Born a Pisces, much of Tearston's personality has been altered by their experiences, bu thtey still posses a deep emotional reservoir. Highly creative, great with abstract reasoning and special reasoning, Tear spends much time considering many problems. The overall personality has lead to a life of creative and intellectual pursuits.
Habits:
Hobbies: Reading, writing/RPing, PC gaming especially MMORPG's, graphic design work. Trained in martial arts from the age of 7. Is a firearms and explosives enthusiast. Is enthusiastic about all things militaria, and has a keep interest in law enforcement as well. Music - listening, spinning records and live mixing, writing music and producing in digital audio workspaces such as FL Studio (Fruity Loops). Tear has been a musician since the sixth grade, and is self-taught on a few instruments not learned in school. Singing is another hobby band while somewhat skilled, they are terribly self-conscious about singing for others. Hiking, bushcraft and survival skills. Cooking is a joy and passion, and is considered to be an art form.
Fears: Tearstone has arachnaphobia to a moderate degree. Blame watching the movie by the same name when they were little. Fears physical trauma especially surgery. This gives them the heebie-jeebies. They don't care for needles but will endure some poking and prodding. Tearstone fears leaving behind a negative legacy for their loved ones.
Dislikes:
Cards On The Table
Rp's Currently Gming: None on RPG
Rp's Currently Enjoying: None on RPG. Play by post Tabletop game on FB for Storm King's Thunder though.
Past RP's Enjoyed:
Other Places Of Interest:
Favorite Posts: Stay tuned.
Upcoming Works: The Raptor Company (a fantasy novel), Crucible, (a sci-fi novel)
History
What Brings You To Role Player Guild: Roleplay
Life Before You Came To Role Player Guild: Tearstone was a member of several play by post, forum RP's and chat RP's as well as in-game RP groups in various MMO's including World of Warcraft, Eve Online, Neverwinter Nights, Champions Online, and so on.
Life Since You Came To Role Player Guild: See above, not much has changed. Tearstone has made it through two major site crashes, but is still confident in Mahz.
Extras
Quotes or Sayings:
Theme Song: Really?
Advice To The World: Stop. Think about what you're doing. Think about the consequences and repercussions. Love each other.
Anything Else: - Nothing right now.
Most Recent Posts
posted
Dodge grimaced for a moment. Hearing that the Doc was dead. Awful shit. It had been a good day, until they'd been shot down. It was one thing being on a search and destroy mission, but this was just survival and evasion. The Congs were everywhere, like white on rice. It was worse than the wild west out here. And the heat... sure they were in the shade but there was no air, and the jungle was like a thick, hot sauna that they probably weren't getting out of anytime soon.
As traps were laid and the Doc's things were shared out, Dodge stayed on security detail, watching the jungle, serving as vanguard, ready for another attack. As the Sergeant called for them to get on the move, he formed back up at the ass-end again. Staying silent... Everybody else wanted to talk, make noise, smoke a cigarette. Dodgers kept his mouth shut, listening for the Cong he knew would be coming. That firefight could have been heard for miles, and they were already hunted.
As they moved out, he pulled his magazine out, checking it over, then put it back in. They had a long way to go, he was pretty sure, and there would be more shooting. More killing. He'd already put down six by his estimation for the day, since they'd crashed. Probably not as high as some, but he wasn't about to push his luck too much, otherwise it would run out.
He could feel sweat trickling down his back now. Under the rotors of the choppers, a hundred feet in the air there had been plenty of wind to help cool him off. Even back home in the semi-arid desert of the Texas Panhandle, there was enough air most days, a breeze most of the time, to cut off the sweat, and the humidity was low enough in thie hottest months to make it bearable. Here it was the same kind of temperatures, but there was no evaporation, so no cooling... no wind. The jungle was suffocatingly hot. At least he had it better than some of the boys in the unit, being used to hot.
As they walked, he continued to follow the footsteps of the others, walking where they walked as best he could, keeping an eye out for Two Step snakes and cobras, tripwires and pitfalls while keeping one eye and one ear out for signs of pursuit, listening for the telltale sounds of one of their parting gifts being set off. He kept a watchful eye for ghostly figures moving in the hazy sunbeams of light and mist when he could.
As traps were laid and the Doc's things were shared out, Dodge stayed on security detail, watching the jungle, serving as vanguard, ready for another attack. As the Sergeant called for them to get on the move, he formed back up at the ass-end again. Staying silent... Everybody else wanted to talk, make noise, smoke a cigarette. Dodgers kept his mouth shut, listening for the Cong he knew would be coming. That firefight could have been heard for miles, and they were already hunted.
As they moved out, he pulled his magazine out, checking it over, then put it back in. They had a long way to go, he was pretty sure, and there would be more shooting. More killing. He'd already put down six by his estimation for the day, since they'd crashed. Probably not as high as some, but he wasn't about to push his luck too much, otherwise it would run out.
He could feel sweat trickling down his back now. Under the rotors of the choppers, a hundred feet in the air there had been plenty of wind to help cool him off. Even back home in the semi-arid desert of the Texas Panhandle, there was enough air most days, a breeze most of the time, to cut off the sweat, and the humidity was low enough in thie hottest months to make it bearable. Here it was the same kind of temperatures, but there was no evaporation, so no cooling... no wind. The jungle was suffocatingly hot. At least he had it better than some of the boys in the unit, being used to hot.
As they walked, he continued to follow the footsteps of the others, walking where they walked as best he could, keeping an eye out for Two Step snakes and cobras, tripwires and pitfalls while keeping one eye and one ear out for signs of pursuit, listening for the telltale sounds of one of their parting gifts being set off. He kept a watchful eye for ghostly figures moving in the hazy sunbeams of light and mist when he could.
I'll try to get in a post today. Not sure how well I'm going to be able to. I may have a nasty spider bite on my face I got in my sleep a couple days ago.
Btw, whoever suggested "Vietnam in HD" ... great suggestion. Now that I have Netflix back, I've been watching it, and I'm kinda hooked. And it's great to get a better look at some of the history in the Nam.
And I must say, I am still thoroughly enjoying this RP. Sometimes my interest can wane quick.
And I must say, I am still thoroughly enjoying this RP. Sometimes my interest can wane quick.
"Dude, personal space. Get out of my bubble."
Average person's bubble is about 2 feet. Each person having a 2 foot bubble comes out about about 4 feet.
Not that difficult.
3-10 feet is normal conversation space, to not feel too far away, and hold a normal conversation, closer than that for people that you know fairly well. Skin to six inches is "intimate" space, meaning someone that you're intimately familiar and comfortable with. This does not mean "sex" but it can be. It can be a best friend, family member, or lover. Semi-intimate is usually about six inches to a foot and a half, someone close, a confidant, best friend, or sometimes with something interspersed... or if you're talking to each other without being face to face, but at like a 90 degree angle like L. If you ever watch American men, they rarely talk directly facing each other. They stand next to each other like brothers, or equals, sometimes in a line, or on "corners" or at like an angle form each other. Sometimes 90 degrees, sometimes wider. Sometimes they'll narrow it if they want to be more direct or confidental/conspiratorial.
Body language and spacing often plays a great deal in how we interact with each other and in subtext. Actors go to great pains to master this language, and police, investigators, intelligence and information analysts go to great lengths to be able to understand it's nuances to tell when someone is lying or not giving the correct information. Psychologists, and anthropologists study it as well and there are many published papers on the subject out there.
Some of it is universal, culture to culture, some of it isn't. *ponders giving a larger primer on it...*
Average person's bubble is about 2 feet. Each person having a 2 foot bubble comes out about about 4 feet.
Not that difficult.
3-10 feet is normal conversation space, to not feel too far away, and hold a normal conversation, closer than that for people that you know fairly well. Skin to six inches is "intimate" space, meaning someone that you're intimately familiar and comfortable with. This does not mean "sex" but it can be. It can be a best friend, family member, or lover. Semi-intimate is usually about six inches to a foot and a half, someone close, a confidant, best friend, or sometimes with something interspersed... or if you're talking to each other without being face to face, but at like a 90 degree angle like L. If you ever watch American men, they rarely talk directly facing each other. They stand next to each other like brothers, or equals, sometimes in a line, or on "corners" or at like an angle form each other. Sometimes 90 degrees, sometimes wider. Sometimes they'll narrow it if they want to be more direct or confidental/conspiratorial.
Body language and spacing often plays a great deal in how we interact with each other and in subtext. Actors go to great pains to master this language, and police, investigators, intelligence and information analysts go to great lengths to be able to understand it's nuances to tell when someone is lying or not giving the correct information. Psychologists, and anthropologists study it as well and there are many published papers on the subject out there.
Some of it is universal, culture to culture, some of it isn't. *ponders giving a larger primer on it...*
Dodge only spent a few more rounds, really only taking shots at confirmed targets. He knew ammo was going to be a premium, and it always went wayyyy too fast... especially in the bush... especially with Charlie sniffing around.
When the element Sergeant Ryan had punched out to the side with opened up he doubled his rate of fire but only long enough to keep things nailed down. Finally, he clicked down on an empty chamber, the bolt kicked back and open. He'd known it was coming up. The last three shots had been tracers, sending golden rays of light over the heads of the dinks behind their cover.
The cease fire order had come through just in time, and he took the moment to reload. "Reloading," he called to his buddies from behind the tree he'd been using for a shield. A press of a button ejected the mag and a new one was slapped in place. The old one was put back. Leave nothing behind, avoid leaving sign if he could, that was the thought.
Standing up, he began to advance on the position of the downed VC fighters, watching the jungle floor for shine off of lines, matted places, and where he couldn't generally see the dirt. Besides tiger traps, there were punji traps and other dangers. Last thing he needed was for a cobra to latch onto his foot the minute he got cocky.
Once the distance had been crossed safely he began checking over the bodies. He came up with 7.62 ammo in several mags, as well as picking up an AK which he function-checked quickly. Seeing as it was in good order, he took the heavier rifle and slung it, then stashed two extra mags.
Soon after he began searching them for anything else that would be of use or would tell them anything. Intelligence they could use. Most of them had nothing but beans and rice, and extra bullets in the storage cord rolls. Reaching down he picked up another AK, pulling a hand grenade out, only to pull the pin, then working carefully, put the grenade under the rifle with the weapon holding the spoon in place. If it were disturbed or picked up, the VC would have another surprise.
When the element Sergeant Ryan had punched out to the side with opened up he doubled his rate of fire but only long enough to keep things nailed down. Finally, he clicked down on an empty chamber, the bolt kicked back and open. He'd known it was coming up. The last three shots had been tracers, sending golden rays of light over the heads of the dinks behind their cover.
The cease fire order had come through just in time, and he took the moment to reload. "Reloading," he called to his buddies from behind the tree he'd been using for a shield. A press of a button ejected the mag and a new one was slapped in place. The old one was put back. Leave nothing behind, avoid leaving sign if he could, that was the thought.
Standing up, he began to advance on the position of the downed VC fighters, watching the jungle floor for shine off of lines, matted places, and where he couldn't generally see the dirt. Besides tiger traps, there were punji traps and other dangers. Last thing he needed was for a cobra to latch onto his foot the minute he got cocky.
Once the distance had been crossed safely he began checking over the bodies. He came up with 7.62 ammo in several mags, as well as picking up an AK which he function-checked quickly. Seeing as it was in good order, he took the heavier rifle and slung it, then stashed two extra mags.
Soon after he began searching them for anything else that would be of use or would tell them anything. Intelligence they could use. Most of them had nothing but beans and rice, and extra bullets in the storage cord rolls. Reaching down he picked up another AK, pulling a hand grenade out, only to pull the pin, then working carefully, put the grenade under the rifle with the weapon holding the spoon in place. If it were disturbed or picked up, the VC would have another surprise.
Thumper was loaded, but Dodge transitioned to his M16. Selector was set to semi auto with the flick of a thumb and he sighted up, getting his sight picture. Edging around the right of his tree, he poked his barrel out and waited for Charlie to pop his head out. One did, the coolie hat popping up just enough for eyes to peer over the log. Giving a partial exhale, and feeling his pulse he waited just long enough to catch the space and squeezed on the trigger. The gun barked and bucked once, but not nearly as bad as some of the hunting rifles he'd shot back home.
His aim was for the brim of the hat. Aim small, miss small. Least that was what he had been taught. A dark spot appeared on the straw hat just above the brim, centerline just before it disappeared below the log. "Come on," he said quietly, his voice low, barely above a whisper. "Step out and meet Jesus..." he challenged Charlie across the wya though mostly he was talking to himself.
Just as he suspected another was bout to pop up for a pop shot, he squeezed the trigger again. Becca bucked against his shoulder, spitting a little bit of brass off to the side. Air was the only thing in the immediate vicinity tha he hit, but it might well make them keep their heads down.
His aim was for the brim of the hat. Aim small, miss small. Least that was what he had been taught. A dark spot appeared on the straw hat just above the brim, centerline just before it disappeared below the log. "Come on," he said quietly, his voice low, barely above a whisper. "Step out and meet Jesus..." he challenged Charlie across the wya though mostly he was talking to himself.
Just as he suspected another was bout to pop up for a pop shot, he squeezed the trigger again. Becca bucked against his shoulder, spitting a little bit of brass off to the side. Air was the only thing in the immediate vicinity tha he hit, but it might well make them keep their heads down.
XD - My hero. I hoped you'd say that (all of it)
Can I send in Storm Troopers?
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