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| Welcome To The Night You find yourself in London on a dreary, foggy night like any other. But what lurks in the shadows is the stuff of fantasies and nightmares, far from mortal reality. This game uses the cursed and immortal vampiric condition as a backdrop to explore themes of morality, depravity, the human condition, salvation, and personal horror. We are a writing and roleplaying community dedicated to telling complex and engaging stories. Your fate is your own. Mingle among the ivory-tower elite in the Camarilla, join the fight of the discontented and chaotic Anarch rabble, or set out independently and attempt to survive in London's nighttime underworld. Anything is possible in our World of Darkness. Create Your Account! If you're already a member, please log in to your account to access all of our features: |
| All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy; Open, AU | |
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| Topic Started: Monday, 21. October 2013, 22:08 (5,587 Views) | |
| Church | Thursday, 7. November 2013, 01:41 Post #61 |
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Putting the 'fun' in 'dysfunctional'
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Darkness. I...can't see. Oh, there it is. I flick the switch and the light flickers on to the applause douchebag cheers in recognition, before said douchebags return to beer pong and drinking contests and stupid fucking noises made by their mouths. It sure ain't talking, and that's coming from a kid who is showing just enough attention to classes to not ride the short bus. Abusing my own brain cells has not been helpful. Cause hey, I got a drinking contest for you; Give me a bottle of fucking anything, I drink it, and you fucking watch and realise that you don't wanna do that shit. Not with me. Why am I back in the kitchen? I got thirsty. And frankly I can't think of anything to steal right now other than booze. And it's not really stealing when you happen upon an unattended bottle of rum with a few fingers missing. Some good spiced shit. I'll just take that and...boom. Free booze man. Tastes better. Might as well take the bandana off now, make it a little easier to drink now that I got a long way to go. I tug it off and slip it into my pocket, carrying on walking in the fucking circle and find myself back in the living room. Only this time, shit is going down. Or maybe Jabba is. What a fucking terrible costume. Seriously...Boba Fett wasn't badass enough for you huh? I can't help laugh at the situation after a heavy hit of liquor, or that horrendous costume. And before anyone thinks my costume sucks, this isn't my costume. This was my short lived disguise. I got the real beauty tucked away till I feel like shedding this ruse completely. While everyone sets their eyes on the show, shit gets...weird. Angry rich kids, flying midgets. So tense and dramatic and incredibly fucking lame. You gotta get so much drunker than this before you can start having a real good time. What a shame. But look. A Mac. A Fox. Yeah...he could probably tell me whose fucking party this is. And then I can go politely ask them what the best thing would be to steal from here. I saw a garage, I wonder what's in it? Somebody say, joyride? So I walk over, still looking like a dickhead in sunglasses. They're making a beeline for what looks like ringside seats to what's shaping up to be a bunch of pussies scuffling. Maybe someone will graze a knee? Oooh, shit. "Get the fuck over here you foxy bastard." I yell at the duo, cause frankly that applies to both of them. |
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| Tzippy | Thursday, 7. November 2013, 23:12 Post #62 |
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Ancilla
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There was a moment of stillness. A breath of befuddled bemusement as the smaller boy slowly regarded Paul and then his snatched phone. The buzz of alcohol and weed combined meant it took a moment for what had just happened to sink in. And then there was the disbelief to work through. That asshole just did not... He did. That son of a bitch... Moshe exhaled slowly, sitting his beer on a nearby end table. By the time he had turned back, there was the sudden crowding as Caston stepped between them, glaring at Paul. Of course. Any chance to have a go at the guy. Moshe frowned at the taller boy's back before tugging on his shirt a bit more violently than necessary and then finally stepping around him. "Dude, princess is in another castle." He didn't give Caston a chance to respond though, shoving past him and thus becoming rather closer to Paul Kuhn than he ever intended. He arched a brow at the costume, eyes slowly crawling up the other boy before settling on his face. Moshe tilted his head, seeming to be considering something. And then he grinned. Just as one heavy, combat booted foot came swinging up for a nasty kick. Succeed or fail, it would be followed by the rest of the younger boy colliding with Paul Kuhn. Moshe Klein did not do warnings. Edited by Tzippy, Thursday, 7. November 2013, 23:14.
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| Alarik | Friday, 8. November 2013, 19:02 Post #63 |
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"Papers, Please."
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Paul's appearance outside Jabba costume Paul ignored the protests of Moshe and Caston while watching the first few few seconds of the video. To his simultaneous disappointment and relief, the stoner had only started filming after he had tripped. Seeing Jhael squirm over an indistinct blob of grey-green cloth wouldn't make him look bad if it leaked onto the Internet. At the same time, the video provided no clue as to the culprit. "Give it back to him. Now." Caston said, his threat muttered in a low tone of voice. Paul looked back, standing eye-to-eye with the other boy and pursing his lips in return as he stared him down, tightening his grip on Moshe's phone. He, too, would speak in a low, contemptuous voice: "Hold it right there, Rear Admiral Kane. I don't believe either you or your junkie friend should be able to afford this phone on food stamps. Just making sure it isn't stolen." By then, Moshe had pushed himself past Caston, grinning suddenly and going for a kick to the nads. Paul couldn't say he was entirely surprised by this. In fact, having the other make the first move suited him quite well. So much easier to shift the blame on the "drunk, substance-abuser, who went on a drug-fuelled violence binge" if anyone ever asked him about it later. Even though he had tried to twist away, the combat booted foot hit Paul's thigh hard. His face twisted in pain as he grabbed Moshe's foot and held it high, trying to catch the other boy off-balance and floor him. Unlike Moshe, he was still very, very sober. |
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| Mr.Gar | Friday, 8. November 2013, 19:12 Post #64 |
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Freelance Enforcer
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Rhys would never admit it if ANYONE ever asked him. But he had a soft spot for other short kids. He got picked on for his height a lot and unlike him, Moshe didn't have the willingness to cut a fucker for being a dick. When the raging nancies had the gall to just ignore him, it made his blood simmer. Then when Moshe's foot got snagged. He just got annoyed. So uncapped the his flask and poured the last half of the scotch out. While holding it about Paul "I"m Better Than You's" virgin ass. He made sure to shake his wrist back and forth, get a little extra spray going so it'd be hard for all of it to miss the squirming boys. "You know. You'd think tying your lame ass to the couch would have been enough to get you to stop being a limp cocked cake eater. But I guess not." Rhys put all the sarcastic disdain a 4'8 native american dressed like Rufio could manage into his words. The 15 year old spread his arms and grinned at Paul, wondering if the Prom King had the balls to bully one of the biggest nut jobs at the school, a boy only allowed to go because his father mowed the lawns and his mother blew the dean regularly. He rather hoped he did. Because Rhys was a touch bored, to short to ever get laid and not NEARLY drunk enough to be mellow. |
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Gar's Antham | |
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| Jhael | Friday, 8. November 2013, 20:06 Post #65 |
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Prince Blucher's Dinner (still not quite house trained)
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The Ticking Time Bomb AKA Julian Veith barely had time to thank that kid from history class for pulling him up. The disheveled, red faced boy bristled from needing to be picked up at all. What was his name, Jeremy? He barely thanked him before a bottle whizzed out of nowhere in their direction. With a blink, he dodged effortlessly and backed against the wall, his eyes narrowed to seethe at the entire room. First, Ryan ditched him to wet his dick. Second, he had been humiliated in front of everyone, with Paul Kuhn of all people. His costume AND his phone, crushed. Third, there was that spaztic little Jew bitch Klein. Besides being nauseatingly self righteous, Klein was never really on his radar as more than as a lazy diversion in class. So easily riled, so easy to make squirm. He was never on his radar until now. So, the little fuck thought he could turn him into a youtube joke? Three strikes, EVERYONE IS OUT. Spying something peeking under a coat against the wall that gave him an idea, Julian unzipped the back of his mangled costume shirt and shed it to the overpriced Calvin Klein tank top beneath. He kicked the coat aside to 'borrow' the somewhat realistic facsimile of an automatic rifle that belonged to Mr. Space Marine playing a game of pool in the other room. While Kuhn, Klein and Kane were engaged in their confrontation, Julian gave the water rifle a few good pumps and scrambled up on the table and kicked the shitty Chex Mix that no one ever eats out of the way. Here, he had an unobstructed view. With his golden comedy mask flipped up over his brow, he aimed down and tilted his head to squint through the sight, lips twitching in a smirk. There. Right at the phone. He squeezed the trigger, sending a blood red jet directly at the device they were 'negotiating' for. Julian wasn't in the mood for diplomacy. Not nearly finished yet, he tilted his aim only slightly up to get a good spray in Moshe's face, his grin widening at the red splatter over that 'fro. Time to Columbine these bitches... No one was safe. That punk cunt who had that smug look on her face after taking their picture? He aimed directly for her before spraying everyone else in the room in a controlled arc that lingered at every target. Fake blood rained and splattered over the party in an imaginary massacre. He topped it off with a satisfying moneyshot in the face of that guy who looked like a dickhead in glasses before hopping down off the table and grabbing the pointed walking cane he brought. He might need it for a run.... |
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| Jeremy Starling | Saturday, 9. November 2013, 00:33 Post #66 |
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Seneschal of London
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Jeremy didn´t even see the flying bottle coming, so it hit him hard. And the sweet boy ignored him. Jeremy continued looking at him and saw how he started shooting red fluid at people. This was getting too much for Jeremy. He just wanted to get out of here, and quickly. This party was about as terrible as any other one he had been to. He didn´t want to be covered in red. Luckily he managed to vanish quickly enough. He simply went up the stairs, not knowing where this might lead him to. Then he noticed that he still had the broken phone in his hand. Well, a little souvenir. He would simply buy exactly the same phone and then give it to the boy. But that phone looked expensive, and Jeremy didn´t get terribly much pocket money. So he would ask his mum to give him some money for this. No good asking his dad, he would very likely just be angry at him, calling him clumsy, not giving him any money. But mum would surely help him. Jeremy simply wouldn´t tell her where this mishap truly had occured, he would show her the phone and tell her it happened at school. Oh god, was he starting to get as bad as John, lying about things? |
![]() English German Mr. Finney speaking English | |
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| Mac | Saturday, 9. November 2013, 02:30 Post #67 |
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Goddess of Fuck and War
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"Fuck no Damon, the prissy kids going to get slugged! Come watch the show.." She didn't really have time to properly react to the fight going on, from yelling a hurrah when the short little Jew boy took flight at the class president, to suddenly having a gun turned on them. She was a little over eager to not be shot, the fact that it was unlikely to be a real gun did nothing to stop her from grabbing Henderson and shoving him Infront of her like a human meat shield, and dropping to the floor with him still gripped in her hands. This meant he was likely to be crumpled over her, but offered better protection due to the fact she was much taller than the fellow and didn't want stray bullets to hit her brains. The fake blood flying everywhere? Made her laugh, as the human shield protected her from the shower of relatively harmless splatter. However, even harmless? He was not going to get away with pointing a gun at her. She'd had a few real ones pointed her way during shady deals, and she was not going to take a spoiled little closet boys scare tactic well. She'd shove away from everyone, and take off after the boy like a bat out of hell. She had all intentions of beating him black and blue with the fake gun he had been taunting with. If he dropped it? She'd kick it up with a red booted toe and keep going for him, unless some LARGE folk could stop her. If they tried? She'd vault them, she had fucking great legs. Why else was she showing them off like a god damned hussy? "Draco! You're mine bitch!" Edited by Mac, Saturday, 9. November 2013, 02:32.
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![]() "You are so fucking Camarilla. All hope and optimism. Maybe we can mount a rescue mission, and everyone can have a cupcake party, and fly around on Pegasus unicorns pooping rainbows." | |
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| Caston Kane | Saturday, 9. November 2013, 02:48 Post #68 |
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Don't Be Jealous.
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Caston had wanted to say something in return for Paul's food stamp remark. The other teen was constantly on his case about how unprivileged he was, and how he somehow didn't deserve to be in the same school as him and some of the other students. Truth was, unlike Paul, Caston's family had to work hard for everything they had. Lower middle class meant that he didn't get to drive the nicest car (in fact, it was a miracle that his cousin agreed to sell him the car he drove), or frequent the nicest places... He and Moshe actually got to become friends only after their mutual boss put them on the same after-school shift at Taco Bell; something else that Paul took pleasure in rubbing in his face. He wanted to tell him where he could shove his superior attitude... but shit went down. Bottles being thrown, drunk kids jumping, an assault of fake blood raining down and more people looking to get in on what Caston was sure was going to be a scuffle between him and Paul over Moshe's phone. He didn't bother to shield himself from the fake blood - after all, he'd smeared so much of it on his face and neck it only added to his makeshift costume and there really wasn't much of a way it could be 'ruined'. Moshe tried to land a hit on Paul and that was the flashpoint that ignited that whole shit show. Caston was pushed out of the way, and just sort of stayed there. It all happened so fast, and he didn't have time to react in a way that he might have wanted to. After a few minutes he shook his head. "Fuck this noise." He said, gripping his backpack. Caston decided that enough bullshit was enough bullshit. He took a swig of his SoCo and stepped around the mayhem, and beelined away from the escalating confrontation that he'd hoped to finish, but apparently, only made worse. He was way too fucked up to deal with any of this. Acting on the first impulse he had, he briskly made his way down the hallway to the basement door, stepping through, and closing it behind him. |
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-------------------------------------- Caston's Battle Music ![]() English Spanish American Sign Language | |
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| Renard | Sunday, 10. November 2013, 02:03 Post #69 |
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Master Chief
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James reached the party floor again rather quickly walking shortly behind Mac into what he had dubbed the 'party floor'. Even if the real party seemed to be going down in the basement. His eyes glinted with amusement as he realized he had arrived just in time for High Noon. Kuhn against Kane. Ok, that sounded corny, but what was about to happen would hopefully not be. So Mr Klein was the wizard ? Heh, he should have figured that earlier. But well, fun seemed about to start and even Rhys seemed a bit unable to completely stop it, as people seemed rather unwilling to cede their drugs and booze to him. He noticed Moshe attempt to attack Kuhn, but was actually distracted by the almost completely masked guy over there. Church, who else ? He turned as if to say 'I got this, see to Moshe'. "I take offense to that one, Mr Church, why don't we just cut-HEY !" Yes, turning his back to Mac and the fight club behind his back had probably been a mistake. A rather big one actually ! He suddenly swung around as he was ripped back towads the scene. As much as he would have liked to think of Mac having perhaps gotten a grap at her more feminine side, the chances of this were rather slim and that meant bad news. Before he knew what exactly had happened he had been granted a faceful of some liquid, with an extra eyeful to add insult to injury, just in the nick of time before being pulled down to the floor. Not what he imagined as the ideal way to crash down during a party ! His clothes being further soaked with some sticky tuff and still blinded he felt landing on top of someone, no idea who, but the chance of it being Mac was, well, there. Way to go, Jimmy... Way to go ! |
![]() Verba docent, exempla trahunt ! | |
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| Tzippy | Wednesday, 13. November 2013, 06:19 Post #70 |
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Ancilla
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"God damn. Ignorance of socioeconomics to go with the sense of entitlement and the arm candy. Complete package of stereotypical rich douchebag, aren't yo-Ow!" The smaller teen grimaced as his leg was caught and lifted high, the lecture forgotten for the moment to actually focus on hitting. Now was not the time to show off your book learning, Klein, for fuck's sake. Fucker was faster than expected and the fact he was a good deal taller was putting Moshe completely off balance. He was going to fall either way. He just had to chose how to do it. And hope he didn't land on his now out of sight phone. He bent his caught leg, pulling closer to Kuhn to grab the other boy's arms tightly, teeth bared as his balance faltered, lone free foot struggling to stay on the ground. If he and Paul Kuhn were close before, it was nothing to the current position. The smaller boy grinned before making a mocking kissy face, voice lowering to a husky tone that contrasted sharply with his normal almost squeak. "So, honey, what's with th-What the fucking fuck?!" Moshe jerked back instinctively as his vision suddenly went red, his grip still tight on the other boy as his balance finally gave entirely, falling backwards and possibly taking Paul down with him. Either way, the smaller youth landed hard on the ground first, blinking furiously. Had someone thrown a bottle at him? Cut him? No, wait, no pain. But then again, he hadn't really felt it when Brad Fucking Wells had ripped out his eyebrow ring the year before until the adrenaline wore off. He shook his head, still temporarily blind and trying to duck his head to prevent a reprisal he was sure was coming. Edited by Tzippy, Wednesday, 13. November 2013, 06:20.
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| Jhael | Wednesday, 13. November 2013, 19:20 Post #71 |
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Prince Blucher's Dinner (still not quite house trained)
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Julian grit his teeth in a wince as pushed through the crowded, red splattered room. His Rain of Vengeance was not meant for James... nor Paul, for that matter. Collateral damage. Getting kicked off the fencing team was a possible reality he refused to accept, so he was might need to grease a palm and kiss some ass on Monday. Doable. Though he wouldn't want to be seen sharing a lunch table with Sir Master of the Dungeons, he kinda sorta respected his Captain. "Draco! You're mine bitch!" His foot tangled over the strap of someone's backpack. Stumbling to a halt, he turned to face the shout, his cape whirling back over his shoulder as he raised the cane he brought in an instinctive defensive maneuver. FUCKING HELL it's Cunt Punt! His eyes grew in a brief flash of terror. Would he hit a girl? Fuck yes. Julian believed in equal opportunity in the fighting ring, but he was a willow branch and she was a battering ram. There was no such thing as a fair fight with Cunt Punt. He had been there when that crazy bitch tried to join the fencing team. All it took was for someone to get one poke in on her and she threw weapons down to demolish the guy with her bare hands. Cut that out, Julia. You even look like you're doing that Harry Potter wand bullshit. Self conscious as he heard exactly what Ryan would be saying if he were here with him instead of answering the Call of the Dick, Julian lowered his arm and turned to run down the hallway, having lost track of where the door out of this place was. Fuck yes, he would hit a girl, but with Cunt Punt, it was better to run. |
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| Mr.Gar | Wednesday, 13. November 2013, 19:33 Post #72 |
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Freelance Enforcer
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The short kid was starting to get miffed when blood sprayed in. Fucking princesses too caught up in their bickering to enjoy his comedy gold. Then he got splattered with crimson spray and he looked down at himself. Then at everyone around him. .... He quickly turned to see Julian the Ever Whitening standing there in terror with Mac running towards him. He flashed a grin. "Oh that was AWESOME!" He took off after his fellow fencer. He wasn't really planning on helping him, but he did want to see him get beat up. Then maybe offer him some of the good stuff in his pocket to congratulate him on an awesome Halloween Massacre. He hoped Mac let him live. Course, he also hoped Mac fell down the doorway steps head first and landed vag up so the cheerleaders could get back at her with a booze bottle. But then, he had issues. Either way the fast, spritely little 15 year old was ducking through the party to keep an eye on the action. |
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Gar's Antham | |
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| Mac | Thursday, 14. November 2013, 19:20 Post #73 |
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Goddess of Fuck and War
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"Draco, you little fucking closet case! You don't fucking point guns at people!" She had brought a tommy gun with her, a realistic style one similair to the horrifically real looking gun Julian had been brandishing earlier. Had she pointed it around at anyone? No. Guns weren't a joke, guns -killed- folk. She knew, she'd killed two people with guns. One when she was seven, the other when she was 15. Guns weren't a fucking giggle, and going all columbine on a group of teenagers? Not funny. Not at least, when she was one of those teenagers, not when her team mates were those teenagers. Had she not had invested interests in some of the people, she may have found it funnier... Not her team though, you didn't fucking mess with her team mates like that. Yeah she had hid behind human shields, but she would have avenged the fuck out of them. They were the only folk she hung out with she could really stand, the only people she had any sort of connection with, no matter how thin. When he turned out of the living room and into the hallway, she took the opportunity to chuck the fucking gun at the back of his legs to trip him up. Yeah she could overtake him running, but using his own stupid weapon against him would feel oh so much better. Then she could be on top of him when he smacked that pretty fucking rich kid face into the ground, and pin him down with all her rage. "You think you're funny you little prat?! You think it's all a -joke- to make people think you're going psycho on their asses with a gun? You know what its like to be scared for your life?" Well, he'd know what it was like to be scared now would he? That pretty pale face needed a black eye something bad, and she'd feed him a beautiful fist to give him that beautiful purple blotch she longed to see there, his pale and smooth skin so yielding and empty... like a canvas waiting to be painted with pain. Edited by Mac, Thursday, 14. November 2013, 19:23.
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![]() "You are so fucking Camarilla. All hope and optimism. Maybe we can mount a rescue mission, and everyone can have a cupcake party, and fly around on Pegasus unicorns pooping rainbows." | |
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| Jhael | Friday, 15. November 2013, 16:02 Post #74 |
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Prince Blucher's Dinner (still not quite house trained)
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"GET THE FUCK OFF ME!" His voice cracked in a trill of fear as he watched the pool of blood under his nose grow from a steady trickle before his face was shoved down. He squirmed and bucked, his pulse rising to a threat of panic when he couldn't escape. Cunt Punt was sturdier than most of the guys in her class, had full leverage and the advantage of one arm of his was pinned down under his cape. The other reached for the cane he dropped in the fall. "Get the... fuck! Get your crotch off me!" Struggling to at least make things difficult for the bitch, his trapped arm twitched up in an elbow jab as his fingers closed over the knob. Lip curling in a snarl, he refused to acknowledge her questions. The idea that anyone here deserved to know anything about him only stoked his fury. "Smell's never gonna fucking come off," he rasped, turning his head to shoot a look of vicious hatred. He flipped his grip on the cane and slammed the point behind him, hoping to at least get a stab in. Then, her fist rocked the side of his face. He went momentarily limp, panting in shock. Hair that fell over his eyes was roped red and sticky from mopping that puddle of his blood. Pain hadn't even kicked in yet, but it was close enough to make him whimper from the pressure of it, as if it was only hiding behind a thin film while he drifted in a numb, floating feeling. |
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| Alarik | Saturday, 16. November 2013, 19:41 Post #75 |
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"Papers, Please."
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Things developed very quickly. First, Rhys got himself involved in the fight. Losers will stand up for losers, Paul supposed. He would use his contempt as a shield, daring the other boy to strike first. Clearly, though, the muscled Indian was more of a threat than the poofter nerd whose foot he was casually twisting sideways, attempting to use him as a meat shield against Rhys' bottle. It only half-worked. While his pants got wet with stinking alcohol, it didn't look like he'd pissed in them. Pauls' face had a look of disgust about it when Moshe came closer, making a kissy face. "Faggo--" he began, when suddenly there was red tomato sauce or whatever being sprayed all over his new clothes. Before he could even look over his shoulder to find the culprit, Moshe had pulled him down to the floor. At least I landed on something soft. Still fearful of Rhys' bottle and spurts of ruinous tomato sauce tomato sauce, Paul would grapple Moshe and try to pull the tiny teen atop of him, once again with the intent of using him as a human meat shield. |
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| Renard | Tuesday, 19. November 2013, 15:06 Post #76 |
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Master Chief
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And while all the good stuff was happening and chaos ensued that would be too hilarious to miss, James henderson had nothing better to do than try to get up and move to the sidelines. Not one of his less clever ideas, but with the turmoil around and people all over the place ? He would prefer to actually watch the mayhem ensue instead of just relying on his hearing to tell him what happened. Mac had been quick, though, so he didn't run the risk of groping her by accident while getting to his feet and trying to get into some safer area. He pictured himself staggering around like some idiot drunk, a picture not too far from the truth, but then, it was not like he couldn't see anything around him. Hadn't there been a sofa or something that he could use as cover ? The impact on his shins told him that he had been right, there it was ! And there went his balance ! He finally succumbed to the grip of gravity and fell over the backrest of the sofa, that had (of course) just been pulled from the wall enough to allow him to bump his head and get stuck between the peice of furniture and the wall. Head down, naturally, becasue, again, why not ? |
![]() Verba docent, exempla trahunt ! | |
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| Mr.Gar | Tuesday, 19. November 2013, 15:30 Post #77 |
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Freelance Enforcer
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Well.... his scotch is gone. People were getting pummeled. Fox-man was head down ass up in the couch. Gay kids, closeted and out, were rolling around on the floor. QB and his Punk-Romance had slipped off somewhere in the mix. Prom Queen was doing drugs in the bathroom. Drug Dealing Social Butterfly bailed to the basement to do who knows what. And nobody cared about the Indian. Rhys grinned and shook his head. "White People..." He figured, there was really only one thing to do at this point. The party had official gone off the rails. Humming to himself the short kid walked back upstairs, checked the bathroom to make sure Nora hadn't OD'd... or if he was lucky was masturbating furiously or something so he could get the video. Didn't look like it. Bummer. Sliding a stool he pulled out a wad of tissues from a nearby box and climbed until he was standing under a smoke detector. Big rich fancy place like this, there were two options. One, they had a sprinkler, or two, they had a smoke system hooked into the local fire department circuit. Cuz rich white folk hate having their shit burned down. So Rhys pulled out a lighter, lit the tissues and held the smoking little wad of flame on the end of his flask right under the smoke detector. EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE Oh fuck balls that was loud... Edited by Mr.Gar, Tuesday, 19. November 2013, 15:36.
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Gar's Antham | |
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3:25 PM Jul 11