Example of a PbP

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Example of a PbP

PostPosted by verdilak » Thu Nov 27, 2008 1:09 am

Here is an example of a PbP between two characters (at first) in a free form game (where you post something and if someone wants to RP with you, then they will, if noone does, then what you posted happens and you continue on, either joining in another's post, reacting to them and others, or you post again, something different. And so on.)...


RitaAzgaroth wrote:Her day had been long, boring, and completely tedious. The process of opening the shop was a ridiculous one, seeing as more than half the city was dead. No one wanted art and old pieces of furniture in times like these. They wanted to know they weren’t alone in a world which had forsaken them. She understood that, all too well. So, her decision to open the shop had nothing to do with the money she simply wasn’t going to make by it. They lived comfortably as it was, and Jason’s businesses were far more lucrative than hers, in any event. But, if their city was going to bounce back at all, it needed some semblance of normalcy. So, the shop was opened. And she’d been there all day, working hard to move the pieces into tasteful displays. She was tired and was faintly aware of the gnawing hunger deep within her stomach. When was the last time she’d eaten?

Shrugging that particular thought away, she took the steps to close down the shop for the day. She looked around at the work she’d accomplished and nodded once in satisfaction and reached up to push tendrils of her blond hair away from her face. She turned and walked toward the door, her four inch heeled boots against the marble floor the only sound to follow her out. Once locked, she turned down the street and walked toward the club in the other part of town. Her one and only thought was to see her brother. God help her, she needed him more than ever. The weariness she felt seemed to come from within her very bones.

The day was beginning to fade to night, and she imagined what he might be doing. Would he still be in bed, or just starting up for the night? Frowning, she’d hoped he’d gotten some sleep since she left him early that morning. She couldn’t wait to feel his hands against her face, to take in his warmth, to breathe in his scent. The streets she walked through were desolate, empty, and deeply depressed her. Their city was dead, a stark emptiness where once had been brilliance and life. Would they ever return?

As she entered the Red Light District, she blew out a breath. She never really understood why Jason insisted on opening the club in such a horrible part of town. This is where the vagrants and addicts came. She stopped herself, a laugh dribbling from her lips without being able to stop it. But, then...those were Jason’s most loyal customers.

There was a smile on her face as she approached the gate surrounding the entrance to the club. Ever vigilant, the bouncer Trash eyed her with a raised brow.

“Good evenin’, Miss Rita. Yer looking a bit peaky -- should eat somethin.”

Rita lifted a brow, liking Trash despite herself. He really had no filter between his mind and mouth, but he always treated her with respect and he did well by her brother. Nevertheless, she tilted her head as she walked by him.

“When I want your opinion about my eating habits and the pallor of my skin, I’ll fucking give it to you.

With that, she opened the door to the club and regally walked inside. Out of habit, her golden brown eyes scaled the room for any danger. Finding none, she continued inside. She proceeded to the bar area, where the bartender, Dalton Price, eyed her with a friendly curiosity.

“Hey, Rita. You wanna a drink?”

She smiled only a little and patted the bar top as she walked by, answering quietly.

“No, thanks, Dalt. Although, maybe I should. It's fucking freezing out there. I miss the days of warmth. Is Jason around?”

He nodded, a smile quick to play at his lips, drying glasses for the slow night that was yet to come.

“Yes, ma’am. He’s around here somewhere. I’m sure he’s already aware you’re here. I swear to God he can sense you comin’ a mile away.”

The smile that played her lips was real this time, a warm tingle spreading through her body as she proceeded toward the stairway in the back. She called out, her voice ringing up the staircase and around the empty bar and she ascended it.

“Jason? Where are you, my darling?”


JasonAzgaroth wrote:"Jesus Christ, Skitz. I've known you for fuckin' years and that's probably the most retarded thing I've ever heard come out of your mouth. Have you got any idea of how fuckin' stupid you sound?"

Jason practically spat these words, his eyes narrowing behind thin-rimmed glasses as he stared across the table toward Skitz, a mouse of a man whose eyes continually darted in a coke-induced circle.

"Fuck you, Jas."

This response elicited a round of laughter from those seated at the booth, which Jason joined in on. He was at home here, surrounded by those few he felt free enough to call his friends. He plucked the hand-rolled cigarette from his lips and haphazardly flicked its ashes into the ashtray in the middle of the table.

"I'm out. You guys are a bunch of fuckin' sharks."

Jason threw down his hand in disgust, pushing a small pile of ceramic chips - prewar vintage, of course - toward the center of the kitty. The game had been going on for countless hours, fueled by cigarettes and white powder.

As if on cue, Jason leaned down and pressed a finger against his right nostril, taking a straw and shoving it just barely up his left. Snorting loudly, he traced this along a line carved up onto a small personal mirror that had been passed amongst the group countless times.

The last of the white powder, save for a few specks and remnants, passed through the straw. Jason threw the thin piece of plastic down on the table and leaned into the booth heavily, letting out a loud, long groan. His eyes were wide, the size of dinner plates, as he stared up at the sky. He held this position for a moment before raising his hands and rubbing his face.

"What's the matter, Jas? Can't handle the shit like you used to?"

This comment came from a rather large, dreadlocked fellow... a man with the reputation on the streets of an enforcer. He was called, quite simply, Keys.

"Maybe not, but I can still handle yer fuckin' ma pretty well. Faggot."

This response elicited both chuckles and a few derogatory oooo's from the table. Jason shook his head quickly, his lips smacking loudly as he did so, much like a dog attempting to dry itself. He then leaned forward and placed his elbows on the tabletop.

"You guys ever wonder what happened to Reaper?"

Jason asked the question nonchalantly. Reaper was a well-known commodity on the streets. A minor drug dealer who had began to expand his territory when most had disappeared indoors or underground after the plague. Even during the worst times, junkies still needed their fix, and most were willing to do anything... anything... to get it.

"Last I heard he went to the docks. Found a ship or something, headed out to Brise."

Jason deadpanned, splaying his fingers apart so that his eyes were clear. He looked at Skitz.

"You're a bigger gods-fuckin' idiot than I thought. Think about it. Why would somebody makin' a profit pick up and go halfway across the dead fuckin' world?"

Skitz merely shrugged at this question, pushing forward a few more chips. He was determined to stay in the game that had started hours and hours ago... foot tapping rhythmically to the beat of the techno that filled the 202.

"He's dead, that's what happened to him. Deader than a fuckin' troll in the ocean."

This sudden revelation brought the party around the table to a stiff - if momentary - stop. All eyes rested on Jason, who was content for the time being to pluck his glasses from his face and clean the lenses on his suitcoat.

"I caught him tryin' ta fuck me outta money. What was I gonna do? I had to bring him in. Right into the back room, over there, the one with the chains. Trash helped. Even somebody like Reaper ain't no good against a pissed-off troll."

The poker game seemed to stop, as all eyes rested on Jason. He slipped the glasses back onto his face as the redhead next to him rested a hand on his chest.

"What'd you do...?" she asked, softly... only to lean forward to take a line from the mirror which by this point had reached her.

"I did what any gods damned businessman would - don't fuckin' take it all ya whore... I did what I had to do. Trash rounded 'im up and brought 'im here. And I was a pissed off son of a bitch. I remember, he was tied up in this chair. So I had a few words with 'im, y'know. Slammed my fist into his chin, but the fuckin' thing was made of... goddamned stone, or something. Thought I broke it. Took out my pistol..."

Jason patted an obvious lump over his left breast before continuing.

"And I pistol-whipped the fucker a few times for good measure. Still wouldn't tell me nothin'. He was a tough sumbitch, I'll give 'im that. Then, get this - Rita shows up. I'm talkin' about perfect timin'."

Skitz let out an elated giggle at the thought, while the others around the table continued their game silently - though their attention was fully focused on the man telling his tale.

"She ain't got nothin' but a knife, but by the time she got through with the guy, you'da thought he'd seen the fuckin' armageddon all over again. She started slow, askin' him about the money. Then she'd break a bone. Rinse and repeat, you get the idea. Turns out the guy wasn't stealing from us at all, it was a competitor. She was disgusted. I tried punchin' the guy in the face again, and she waved me off, told me she could handle it. I left the room, y'know, to pay a visit to the little boy's room and freshen my powder. By the time I got back the motherfucker was mincemeat. Trash even had t' redo the fuckin' carpet in that room. Unbelievable. Un-fuckin'-believable."

Jason rubbed his right hand in a sort of sense-memory. He really had nearly broken his hand trying to punch Reaper, blows which the larger man seemed to shrug off with laughter. Jason had never been physically blessed. He knew he was weak... that's why he carried the gun.

"You'd never think of somebody so hot being such a psycho, huh man?" came a voice from across the table. It belonged to a kid named Anthony Deep, an associate of Skitz's. Jason pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes, staring at the clean-cut youth for a moment before exploding in a coked-out rage.

He stood to his feet, whipping the pistol from its hidden holster and raining down a few blows on the kid's head. Poker chips and cards were sent flying as he did so, reaching across the table to hit his mark. The redhead next to him screamed and the others ducked, trying to avoid a malevolent wrath they knew all too well.

Why don't you shut the fuck up?! My sister's a good girl, you keep your fuckin' mind and your fuckin' eyes off of her, hear me? She's a good fuckin' girl and she don't need no fuckin' scum like you beggin' after her ass!"

The blows continued to reign down on Anthony, who at this point was doubled over the table with his arms covering his head. He wasn't being hit particularly hard - none were knockout blows. But Jason was delivering his message quite effectively, and it was one that some of the longer surviving members of the card game had heard - and seen - often.

Just as Jason reared back his arm for another strike with the pistol, he heard that angelic voice calling out to him, warm and sweet like a spoonful of honey. He gritted his teeth and feigned another strike toward Anthony, growling once... before tossing the gun down onto the tabletop. His friends knew better than to even touch it.

His face was glazed with sweat, his pupils beady and his eyes like hubcaps in the night - but he was determined to at least try and look his best for the shining light of his world. He cleared his throat loudly and raised a hand, pushing his hair back into some semblence of neatness as Rita ascended the stairs.

"You know me, sis! Just hangin' out and doin' guy stuff!"

He offered the best smile he could toward her, nonchalantly reaching for the pistol and pulling it quickly away from the table in an attempt to hide it - and his jealous rage - from her.


RitaAzgaroth wrote:The sound of his voice in response to hers made her heart jump and she hurried up the rest of the stairs to the second floor, ducking quickly under the black rope that gated it off to common folk who frequented the bar. She skidded to a halt when she saw him standing there, arching a brow at the sweat beaded on his face and the size of his pupils. She wasn’t sure if it was the smoke in the room, the stench of the unwashed bodies around her, or the fact that she hadn’t eaten since....well, what the fuck did it really matter, anyway? But she felt woozy, and any trained eye could see it. She snapped her gaze from her brother to his friends and quietly spoke, an icy command that even a complete retard wouldn’t dare contradict.

“Get out....all of you.”

She didn’t really give a flying fuck what they did, just as long as she didn’t have to look at them anymore. Her eyes slid back to Jason, her lips curving wide into a smile meant only for him. She was ignoring the sounds of his idiot friends leaving them in their hurry to escape any of Rita’s further wrath. It was as though none of them existed to her anymore. She’d dismissed them coolly, and promptly forgotten them in the exact same manner.

She walked forward, her weariness hitting her like a ton of bricks all at once. She slid her arms around Jason and laid her face against the crook of his neck, pulling in his warmth. Her skin was cold to the touch as the walk over here had nearly frozen her to death. She breathed in his scent, masculine but also sickly sweet by the poison he’d no doubt been ingesting all day. She inwardly sighed, but pushed all thoughts of his drug use out of sight -- and out of mind. His drug use didn’t matter anyway, did it? No. It was still Jason. And he still loved her. It was all that mattered.

She lifted her head now, feeling better just having wrapped herself in his scent. She looked him in the eyes, and pressed her lips against his in a soft, loving kiss.

“I missed you, Jason. God, please put your arms around me and make me feel whole again.”

There was a desperation to her voice, a desperation that was only ever heard or seen by Jason. She heard the music from the DJ booth, and the laughter of Jason’s friends she’d banished from her sight, but all she could concentrate on was the feel of Jason against her.

She was home.


Ryder_Madsen wrote:((continued from the market rp thread))

The eyes narrowed slightly as the “doorman” came into view.. he had to get pretty damn close before he could tell it was not the same one from four years ago… ok… maybe there was hope yet.

He knew the place.. and knew the owners… he doubted the rules here had changed so he walked right up to the door and “assumed the position”.

He didn’t wait to see if Saxon and the avian were there yet.. flicking his buttons open on his jean jacket he flicked the sides away from his ribs before setting his hands on the top of his head and letting the troll search for weapons. Brain chiding him for not having the guts to look over for the other two and see what they were doing.

But as he was chastising himself and swearing more than a little colorfully at how badly Saxon could wire his ass up.. a brow shot up as he snapped his eyes to the troll. Dude REALLY needed to learn his hands were kinda big.. a soft grunt catching in his throat as it covered his entire crotch a bit roughly flinching his hips back.. he knew he had lost a little weight and the jeans had loosened but fuck a drow! what in all hells did the guy think he was stashing in there other than the OBVIOUS!

As the guy manhandled down his thighs and calves he was reminded of the weapon the avian had been carrying… no weapons went into the club, they got checked with the doorman.. maybe that would be the deterrent for her. A faint smile pulled at the corner of his lips.. this night might actually be looking up.. he wouldn’t mind a little drinking time just him and Sax…..

As he was “cleared” for entry he snapped the jacket back down and cracked his head first left and then right before entering the dark club without waiting for the other two to pass inspection.

Violet eyes flicked rapidly around.. place was as he remembered it… the massive dance floor, the red booths.. his eyes purposefully ignored the stage.. glancing quickly to the wrapped balcony second floor VIP lounge he noticed the Azgoraths were not around…. come to think of it… not really anyone was around... damn plague still had everyone away he supposed…

Eyes bathed the room once more to assess his potential “enemies”. DJ spinning vintage techno was new… as was the little elvish waitress.. damn.. he really was going to be lucky! But as the glance hit the bar he quickly turned around to stare at the door and “wait” for his comrades.

Dalton…. Fuck a drow…..

And it only got worse…. from his reversed vantage he saw one booth had two women giggling in it… the same two gods damn hens that had taken notice of him in the market and more than likely knew who he was.

The sigh was heavy as he kept his shoulder pivoted away from them and kept focused on the door.

He had looked different the last time he had been here. Four years ago he wouldn’t be caught dead in here in anything but black leather pants and sleeveless t-shirts or worse.. his mesh tanks exposing in obscured details the creeping dragon tat across his back… and then there was his trademark long hair that he had impetuously shaved off two days ago. With any luck… he was different enough for at least Dalton not to recognize.. he would direct them to a booth instead of the bar, that way the waitress would take care of them and he stood a chance of getting out with whatever miniscule amount of dignity he still would have left after watching Saxon butter on the bird pussy all night.

The right hand went distractedly to his head.. rubbing it as he suddenly was fighting some weird feeling of guilt for not sharing this side of his life with Saxon…

but… it wasn’t him anymore…..

The frown darkened the violet eyes.. and why the fuck should HE feel guilty.. not like Saxon shared crap with him.

Shrugging off the feeling he pushed hands in his pockets once more and impatiently waited for the other two.. really hoping only one came in.


Saxon wrote:The squeeze wasn’t lost, clearing his head of the clutter for a brief moment to finally shoot a raw glare at Ryder’s innate tantrum. Chewing at the inside of his lower lip, he followed him.

He didn’t like the city… in fact, the very heartbeat of everyone in it seemed to thrum against his skin every time he thought about it. In the apartment, he could breath the air… the docks held the scent of water, the dead wastelands the earth… but here…. It was stifling, the feel of his creeping flesh making the dark lines of his blackbirds itch. Fingers went to scratch the cap of his shoulder beneath his coat. They were inflamed, the itching ink raging against his skin like a heated blister, reddening eyes flicking forward to watch the troll frisk his companion.

He’d stopped, watching Ryder enter without him with the furled, forlorn brow of a puppy. He paced back and forth a moment, casting a white-eye glance to Arya.

Eyes dangerously narrowed, the cold breeze flicking the scruff at the back of his neck. Lip curled under a flared nostril, the twitch every few seconds revealing a deep dimple in his left cheek. Again, the white eyed stare was disconcerting, pupils engulfing the dark irises.

The lids were slow to close then snapped dangerously to the troll.

“You touch my dick and I’ll crush your skull.”

Blunt words from a seemingly quiet, reserved man were stark. The troll seemed… to focus on him a brief moment, the intense brow knowing what his responsibility was, unsure of why the human was challenging him.

“Check for weapons,” it grunted.

The seethe through Saxon’s throat was long, eyes reflecting the lights from inside the door, the sullen line to his jaw one that was quickly increasing in obstinance. His hand was fast, pulling the knife at the base of his spine and tossing it to the ground near its feet.

“Keep it.”

He walked forward, but giant hand pressed to his chest to keep him from entering.

The furl of his top lip wasn’t so hidden this time, the dark chatter of pronounced but not descended canines deep. Scruff at the edges of his top lip had stood on end, chest ceasing to breathe in or out.

“Check for weapons,” it repeated.

The seethe this time rattled in his throat. Things had begun to brush past his face, taunting him like spiderwebs. They WERE taunting him, spindles of light like smoke in his vision. Teasing. They were teasing him, knowing he’d snap… knowing he had no self control… waiting for the blood… waiting to make him guilty… to laugh.

He closed his eyes for the briefest of moments, telling them all to go fuck themselves… feeling himself slip his thigh length coat from his shoulders to hand over. The troll had made a comment about his skull as he rifled through the long Navy pea-coat. A necklace, some stones. Lint. Keys.

Lips pursed as he heard the necklace drop back in the pocket.. not quite sure who that’d come from. Eyes opened again, the soft chuckle in his throat. He shook his head as the thing patted down his legs. Every muscle had formed armor, he abhorred being touched by those he hadn’t invited, eyes watching every finger, every pat… neck straining as he watched the thing touch his ass.

The hand that went for his groin missed as he took a step back out of his reach.

The troll repeated his mantra.

Saxon’s face was unreadable, the blood flushing under his skin hot. His skin actually trembled. He didn’t trust himself… he didn’t trust his reaction if the troll touched him again. He knew what would happen if the troll touched him again. Eyes flicked into the doorway, looking for Ryder.

Of all the goddamn places to lose it, he would not lose it in front of Ryder. He would not let him see this… deliciously abhorrent… sadistic… cruel… side…

..another long seethe rattled his throat as his face became completely… utterly…

…still.

The pop of his button-fly was quick, flipping back and revealing that there was indeed… nothing in his pants but him… and the distinct lack of boxers.

“You’ll have to be satisfied… cause you ain’t touching my dick..”

The troll’s brow quirked up to acknowledge the definite lack of.. weapons… and stepped from his path, a look of pure amusement on his knotty face.

As he buttoned up and stepped past, the electricity that jumped between them was painful. Thousands of fingers pulled at him, taunting in a sing-song voice to let loose.

Blood.

The smell of blood was in his head.

His jaw flicked several times before finally calming. Pulling a large draw of air through his mouth and out his nose, lips pressed together again, fingertips barely holding the coat as it dragged across the floor while he made his way across the room. Jeans had slid a bit down his hips, fingers moving to attempt to tuck his basic t-shirt back into it… but not succeeding. He felt… out of place, the music making his face flinch. The smell of women drew his attention, albeit negatively, the elvish waitress doing just the opposite. Again he tried to “fix” his perceived disheveled appearance, nervous fingers brushing over his ears in attempt to smooth out the bedhead… only succeeding in making it worse… not knowing the “worse” was actually what made him look better.

He was angry, he was unstable… something strong would settle his nerves. There was no way he could sit next to Ryder at the moment, leaving was the best choice. He should leave, and get the hell so far away from all these people… his brain at the pop point.

Climbing slowly onto a stool, he ran his fingers through his hair… they were shaking. His skin was still trembling.

He had to leave… before….

His voice ordered, and the the first drink was slammed. It slid down his throat with abandon, the next… his skin had stopped vibrating.

The third… made him feel dangerous. He had to leave, his brain telling him to make for the door… the voices telling him to stay.

Why did Ryder bring them here?


Ryder_Madsen wrote:He blinked as he was confronted with Saxon coming through the door… the sexy fuckin bastard had all the appearances of someone that had just rolled the bedsheets and enjoyed it immensely…

The almost childishly jealous frown lowered over his brow before he noted that the man was actually agitated… he watched Saxon a lot when the man thought he wasn’t looking.. and he had gotten fairly decent at reading his body language.

Before he could manage to catch his eye and draw him over to a booth, the man darted off.

This time the groan was audible…

The ONE place in the club he did not want to be… was the one place Sax made a b-line for.

His skin was bristling under his jacket… why the drow fuck were the gods torturing him tonight!

He actually timed his stalk to the bar for when Dalton had his back to the counter to get a bottle to refill Saxon’s drink. Almost too quickly he moved and dropped himself into the stool next to Sax, his back firmly planted against the bar as he faced into the club, propping his elbows behind him and addressing the bartender over his shoulder with his lashes lowered nearly to his cheeks to ensure the glint of telltale violet was obliterated… his voice dropped an octave into a gravelly tone that didn’t sound like Ryder at all, and yet held no tone of deception either…there was something….natural…in the sound…

…whiskey…centaur if you have it…

His jaw was set in a hard line as he realized only now his position left him exposed to the hens in the booth across the way… a soft snarl rumbled in his gut as if silently warning them to keep their distance. The hair down his arms stood on end as he actually felt Dalton hesitate..

….don’t I know…

The guys voice hesitated as the snarled words finished the thought..

..No…. No you don’t…..

The hiss over his shoulder snapping a little too quickly as he snatched the glass from the bartop and turned his attention back into the barren club and downed the whole offering in a single swig…shivering visibly as it went down.

This had been a mistake.

The eyes flicked to Saxon’s profile…lashes still lowered almost seductively to his high cheekbones to keep the flickering lights from snatching a glint of violet. The husky lowered voice breathing in his direction quietly…

… you really like to make an entrance half dressed don’t you….

There was a bit of hurt and jealousy in the tone for what “might” have happened outside with the avian.. but it was tempered with mirth.. as the joke was a bit inside for them… it was often that Saxon came bounding into his apartment like an uncoordinated pup…missing his shirt or a sock…it suddenly struck him that he had never really been out in public with the older man…..he glanced a bit over Saxon’s shoulders before adding almost disdainfully.

… bird comin… or decided to fly back to her zoo keeper?...

The eyes slinked back to look at Saxon’s profile…he had been so preoccupied with admiring the strong lines that he had missed that one of the hens had gotten a glimpse of him and was making her way over excitedly…

His gut flipped over on itself as she all but vibrated up and down excitedly..

It IS you… you’re Ryder Madsen!

The atrocious tone went up in pitch with every squealed word. The eyes slitted dangerously as the lips all but vanished as his words hissed over his tongue.

…. you’re mistaken…..

Her head was shaking with all the hyperactivity of a teen waiting for her prom date as she told him he was the one that was wrong.. that he WAS Ryder Madsen.. that she was SURE of it….that he had shaved his hair but it was him...

He suddenly popped to his feet with a violent thrust as the woman leaned in to purr a third time that she knew who he was. The fist-strike on the top of the stool was powerful enough to be heard over the vintage techno spin and agitated enough to have licked it in flames had he not been too chilled at the core for the flicker to come that easily anymore.

He was not that tall.. but compared to the petite female, he towered over her, the step forward dripped in menace…

…I said….. I am not who you think I am…… now leave me in peace woman….

The husked voice was again an octave lower than his normal, though it oozed out naturally.. the female taking several hesitant steps backward as her eyes widened to saucers before she spun and scampered back to her fellow hen, leaving him huffing air loudly through his nostrils as he dropped back onto his seat…… there was no way he was getting out of here without total recognition now…..his hands folded just inside his crotch to grip the edge of the stool almost ashamedly as the shoulders hunched slightly forward… he couldn’t help the sideways glance to Saxon.. it dripped with guilt as he snapped the eyes away again to stare at the floor in front of his stool…..

…… this was all going to end badly.. he just knew it……..


il'AryaNightwing wrote:The gait she set for herself was easy, relaxed, mirroring the distance she allowed to build between herself and Ryder. Comfortable....not so close as to crowd his "space" but not so far behind either. Her gaze traveled to her companion, the stranger who had joined the firestarter in the market place. Aqueous eyes shimmered with mischief and interest as she regarded Saxon openly, meeting his gaze as he looked over at her.

Name's il'Arya by the way.

She didn't bother with the "but friends call me...." line. They weren't exactly friends...at least...not yet. And she doubted they would be hanging around each other enough to get THAT familiar. Casting a glance at Ryder's back, she looked back over at Saxon, a smile teasing on the corner of her lips.

She had no qualms about the choice of venue, the change to her suggestion. Didn't matter that she had never been to the one Ryder was now leading them to. They were all much alike...some a little "higher class" then others. But get a few drinks in folks and they all pretty much acted the same.

As they neared the place, she slowed a bit as she saw Ryder, a short distance ahead of them, submit to a search by a troll. Eyes narrowing, she looked over at Saxon, then back at Ryder as he moved away from the bouncer and into the club. So, it was a "No Weapons" kinda place. A slow smirk formed on her lips as she approached the troll, her step taking on a sauciness that hinted at mischief. This would be fun. She doubted Kurzon would venture into a place where he had to give up his precious blade, but it made little difference to her.

Long brown hair flowed over partially bared shoulders, the torso covered by a loose-fitting blouse that exposed just enough cleavage to entice, while flowing sleeves narrowed at the wrists. A brocade vest, trimmed in gold braid was worn over the blouse and open. Elegant wings draped down her back, nearly to her ankles and were held in check behind her.

Slender braids framed either side of her face disappearing in the tresses only to reappear seemingly at will. A wide belt encircled her waist, wide-legged pantaloons covering her legs only so far as the high black boots met them, drawing the end of the pants into the top of the boots mid-calf to give the pants more of a ballooned appearance. A red sash ran beneath the belt, tied at one side, the gold fringed ends dangling almost to the top of the boots. A rapier rested in a slender scabbard at her side, a long curved dagger tucked in her belt.

She held back as Saxon had his turn with the troll, watching intently, evaluating, calculating. Nor did she miss the strange look in his eyes when he did look her way. With the tone Saxon took with the bouncer and the troll's insistent, 'check for weapons', she half-expected there to be trouble. What she didn't expect was what did occur....Saxon unzipping and showing his "goods" to the bouncer. From her vantage point, she couldn't really see anything. Didn't matter.

The fact that Saxon was that determined NOT to have the troll touch him brought a hint of smirk to her lips. Pity she hadn't gone first. Although she wasn't sure how Saxon would take her more theatrical side, modesty something long ago tossed over-board when sailing on a ship full of males where you are the only female.

With Saxon leaving her behind, she was half tempted to take her leave and let the 'boys' have their fun without her. But she was also just curious enough about them and just intrigued enough by the peculiarities she was picking up on where Saxon was concerned to be willing to have her own go-round with the troll.

Actually, it was pretty quick and easy. Without anyone to play to, she walked up to the troll, unbuckled the belt that held her sword, and flipped it a few times causing the belt to wrap around the scabbard. Handing him her sword, curved dagger and matching short daggers, she unbuttoned her blouse to keep his wandering hands from her torso, spread her wings to their full span so he could plainly see there were no weapons contained there, then snapped them back into place behind her. She endured the search of the rest of her person, and walked past him once he was satisfied that she hid no other weapons on her person.

She was still buttoning her blouse back up when she passed through the door, leaving the blouse open enough to tease with hints of what lie beneath coming into view occassionally with her movement. It took her a moment to get her bearings, the aqueous eyes casting about the place and taking in who was who and where they were. She entered just in time to bear witness to the curious exchange between the girl and the firestarter, an encounter she kept clear of though she watched with interest.

His posture, the way he angled himself and his head, the timber of his voice, she knew the look. He was trying to hide in plain sight. Rarely did it work. But why? Her gaze traveled to the table where the wenches were chirping quietly one to another. She could end this for him....quickly...quietly. There was nothing worse then having a perfectly good go at drinking ruined by having to watch yer back, and clearly his foul mood was already being dampened further. She had almost been surpised when the stool hadn't burst into flames, based on how easily he had tossed his fire around in the market place, inflicting damage on vendors' booths who had done him no wrong.

Ruffling her wings softly, she let them fall around her once more in a cape-like fashion. Ignoring the silly girls in the booth, she walked over to the bar, passing behind Saxon and pausing only briefly before walking over beside Ryder.

Knowing the troll and his duties, she had been more then a little suprised and curious when Saxon had not waited for the 'show', waited to watch the troll 'man-handle' the female avian. Most of her crew would have enjoyed that aspect for which she would have caught hell and would have dished it right back out to them. But not Saxon. She had seen the almost caged animal attitude in the way he conducted himself. And when she had entered the bar, she couldn't help but notice his appearance, the change giving him an animal sensuality that was hard NOT to notice.

With her foot, she pushed the stool aside, choosing instead to stand at the bar. When Dalton decided to turn her way, she smiled a bit and ordered her drink.

Drow rum.

She waited while he fetched a bottle, a glass, set the glass in front of her and poured her a drink. As he started to withdraw his hand, her own snapped out to catch his wrist lightly yet firmly, her gaze looking into Dalton's.

Leave the bottle, lad. Save yerself the trouble o' keepin up with me.

She let go of his wrist and watched as he glanced at the bottle then back at her, and then with a shrug, set it on the bar by the glass. Picking up the bottle, she noted it was not bad, but certainly not the best. Chuckling softly, she tossed back what he had poured in the glass, then poured herself another before murmuring softly enough that Ryder and Saxon would be the only ones to hear her, her eyes fixed on the glass in front of her.

There were hints...subtle signs that all was not well in land of the odd couple....signs she ignored for the moment, her tone carrying a soft lilt to it.

Nothin like havin a damper put on yer drinkin. I could get rid of them fer ya, laddie. Quietly, quickly...one, maybe two minutes and they'd be out the door....of their own accord mind ya.

Toying with the glass, she picked it up and tossed back the liquid, a soft "ahhh" spilling from her lips as she set the glass back down. Looking over at the pair, she smiled a bit.

Hate startin out behind. But playin catch up's not so bad.

Pouring herself another, she quickly finished it off then set the empty glass on the bar. Casually, she reached up and tipped her hat back on her head, then reached for the bottle once more. The bottle spun lightly between her fingers before she up-ended it, not into the glass, but directly into her mouth. Taking a long, hardy swig of the rum, she lowered the bottle slightly, swiped her mouth with the back of her hand, then set the bottle back on the bar.

That should put us about on even ground....

Chuckling softly, she moved a few steps away from the bar, giving her wings room as she turned to survey the interior.

Nice place.


Saxon wrote:Mood was sour, the bile fizzing in his stomach, settling like a bad meal that hurt instead of bloated. He couldn’t free his head. The anger was heavy, all encompassing, deep.

…he’d never fought it before.

…he’d always just gotten the hell out of dodge, let the insanity take its course….

Who died, would die. He never remembered. He never knew why he went on the insane rampages. Sometimes he would see them, in his dreams, nightmares. Faces, blood. Screams. His worst fear was that someday he would come home to an empty apartment, and Ryder would be nowhere but in his nightmares.

Now…

Muscles had started to shake beneath his skin, every last bastion of strength keeping them from jumping from his body. The countertop had gotten incredibly interesting to him, a warm… familiar heat billowing over his bare arm. Lazy eyes watched the hair on his arm rifle slightly. It was like he was being coated in a strange magic… always there when Ryder was near… frigid or not… it made the most wicked thoughts slide back wherever they’d crawled up from.

Opening his eyes carefully at the lowered voice, his brows knitted softly. He didn’t need this now… he didn’t need something unpredictable. He just wanted to… go home.

The comment about his dress, brought dark eyes back to his appearance. They slithered over his form as if eyeing up his utter disheveled visage… knees roughed up so much they were threadbare. Black t-shirt thin. The boots were scuffed. The pea-coat was the only thing that seemed… kempt, a button missing from the bottom left side. He thought it was rolling around in the lining of his coat somewhere, the hole inside his right pocket swallowing important stuff quite often. Sullen, almost sad eyes slid around the room, then to Ryder, the sick feeling in his gut finally starting to gel as he put two and two together.

Ryder belonged in a slick place like this.

He didn’t.

What the hell was he doing here?

The sigh was almost … forlorn. Face wincing slightly as the voice of a woman invaded his space. Their voices had tangled together like blood swirling in water, the sharp slap of Ryder’s hand against the stool eliciting a sharp growl from his throat as the sound snapped him from his mind’s solitude.

He’d never done that before. Not in public, not next to Ryder. He’d fed off his anger, on his feet without knowing his body had done it. His breath was quick, the scent of the female tightly bound in his nostrils like a pair of shackles that had sealed her fate. The thought of… he took a deep breath, sweat beading slightly at his temples before it cooled. He looked more like a bouncer than anything else, his thick chest perked to a defensive swell, falling quickly when he realized how imposing he was actually being. He couldn’t think about this here, he didn’t trust himself.

Sliding back to his stool quickly, both hands slid through his hair and back around the glass that was quickly tipped back. The scent of the avian sent a shudder though his back… the sound of her muscles moving as she swallowed, the scent of her skin…

..dark eyes watched her for a moment longer. He was confused. Attraction blitzed with intense anger, violence. Pain.

“I have to go.”

The stool shuddered a bit as he suddenly moved off toward the side of the club, his coat slumping to the floor.

Strides were incredibly long, power rippling from his form as he made his way to the men’s room by pure scent alone. The door smacked open, a sharp growl to the overly made up club kid that bumped into him. He scattered out the door.

Water was splashed across his face over and over, dripping over his elbows, pulled repeatedly through his hair. Finding the only stall with a door, he slammed it shut behind him, climbing onto the back of the toilet and sitting, feet on the lid. Elbows on his knees, his fingers found his hair… both hands pulling tight through it. Knees were kinked in slightly to put pressure on the burgeoning thickness that swelled under his button fly.

It disgusted him, the part of him that could recognize the need to kill as vehemently evil... swallowing the urge to vomit at the intense pleasure the thought of blood and pain brought..

Anger that had been fizzling in his gut suddenly sprouted… elbows hitting the wall behind him first repeatedly. The purposeful sharp snap to his funnybone sent an almost boy-like sob from his throat, then a swift repercussion from the depths of his chest as his hackles swirled and he bathed in the power of his heritage for a brief moment before sending it back into hiding.

He caught his breath, heels to his eyes as the pain shuddered through his body, then slithered back into the depths.

Boots hit the floor sharply, the door swinging open as he stopped once more at the mirror. Reddened eyes wandered over the tattered jeans, frayed edges wisping over his boots. Hands shoving into his pockets, he made his way back to the bar.

He was getting the fuck out of here. Stopping at his stool, he picked up the coat and smoothed it over his arm. A slick, almost sly smile slid across his features… fingers finally reaching out to touch the feathers gently at her back, then steal away like he’d just stolen a cookie.

There would be another time.

“Sorry to drag you here… il'Arya... I need to go.”

The voice was warm, but the eyes… the eyes spoke a dangerous and wicked secret, catching the young woman who’d accosted Ryder just long enough to imprint her face in his memory before he saw her again.

In the dark.

One her way home.

The avian... would see his special talents another time.


Ryder_Madsen wrote:He didn’t know what to think as the dumb bird addressed him.

Violet eyes blinked at her as if she had two heads, watching her put away her drink like…well…like a sailor. The soft snort of exhaled air brought his gaze back to the two women who were now staring at him as though he were a known serial killer… he shrugged slightly as he tapped his glass on the counter to indicate he wanted another.

..doubt they are gonna be a problem anymore…

About to take his glass he frowned as Saxon abruptly excused himself.. he half lifted out of his stool about to follow thinking the older man was leaving..but instead remained perched on his stool when he saw him make a direct line for the men’s room..

….that was…odd…

Shaking his head slightly he reached back for the glass he had heard clinked back on the counter.

His hand snatched away from the tumbler as if it had bit him. Body half spinning in his stool as he glared through long lashes at Dalton who was chuckling softly as he cleaned out a glass, leaning against the back of the bar… fucker was teasing him.. he knew…after the damn woman had said it…… there was no doubt now…..he knew.

Violet eyes slid to the small Bunsen burner that he had missed getting fired up to heat his drink.. he could smell that his glass had not been refilled with the centaur whiskey but with elven rum… his old drink.. and it was not warmed the way some might take their rum… it was scalding… Dalton knew he drank it hotter than most people could stand their coffee. They had never known he was an elemental here… they just thought he was eccentric.

He snatched the glass and stared into it almost sulking as he finally addressed Dalton as though he knew him...

… I am not who you think….at least…. not anymore…..

The hot rum scalded down his throat to begin to warm his already too cold core… he set the drink down again.. fingers of the left hand toying with the rim of the steaming glass as the right rubbed over his shaved head self consciously.

..right… and I’m not really a bartender anymore….

.. fuck you Dalton….

The soft words snarled the way a child might taunt another and only succeeded in increasing the older man’s laughter.

..Sorry pretty boy… you’re not my type…

The violet eyes snapped to the playful grin as he shot back the rest of the boiled rum.. he had a reputation for being bi-sexual here.. though no one had actually ever seen him with either gender.. it was just assumed and therefore had left him the butt of many a joke with the staff… least Dalton had never been cruel… he suspected the guy kinda liked him.. not "that" way.. but he always made sure his drinks were just right and that the groupies were kept at a reasonable distance.

The older man grinned as he leaned on the counter right in front of Ryder.. whispering almost conspiratorially.

..Come on… you mean to tell me you’re not dying to strip on down for the crowd like old times….

The eyes snapped up as he snatched the man’s collar and half drug him up on the counter.. prick made him sound like some common whore and it was not sitting well with the youth. But even as he snarled.. the older man laughed softly and laid a hand on the clenched fist.

..Come on… for old times sake.. give us just one wont you……

The words growled softly…

In case you missed it.. there isn’t anyone here to play for me…

Dalton just smirked at him… as he called over to the DJ.

..Hey – Marten!.. you know any Ryder Madsen?

Ya.. why?

This kid thinks he can pull off a Madsen.

The old man’s eyes dared him to turn him down… violet eyes still raging inches away.

I told you… I am not that person anymore….

Dalton’s indifferent shrug only infuriated him more as that smirk remained on the older man’s lips…

..Prove it… and then I will leave you in peace…. or you rather I send Marten up to find Jason to talk to you? …

The eyes vanished as the head lowered… hooding his gaze as he fought for control.. he was so tempted to erupt a few flames Dalton’s way… but that was the secret he had kept from those he used to work with.. and he didn’t really feel like explaining himself any more.

But….. he also didn’t like being backed into a corner…. the huff of disgust accompanied his rough release of the bartender.. sending the man nearly against the back counter as he stumbled back still chuckling softly.

Nervous eyes snapped to the men’s room as the jean jacket was snapped off and flung at Dalton with pure venom before he glared at the avian and dared a single word to come out of her mouth as he stalked past her and up to the front of the stage.. the barkeeper only laughing harder as he folded the jacket over his arm and leaned back against the bar expectantly… the DJ had already turned off the vintage techno and was jacking the keyboard in as he ignored the stairs and jumped onto the stage…eyes cautiously looking for Saxon who had not yet emerged.. he made a small prayer that he stayed there… he had enough to explain as it was.

He groaned softly as the keyboard started to pick the opening refrain… why was it everyone always gravitated to that one?

Sighing his aggravation he rested the palm of his left hand on the warped mike stand as the violet eyes focused on the floor… he REALLY did not want to do this…but he wanted a confrontation with Jason even less.. the pupils flicking again in search of Saxon… he had stopped singing when the plague started… a full year before he met the older man… so Sax had never heard… he suspected there would be more than a little explaining to do if he did.

The first notes graveled their ballad… betraying the near four years of rust on his instrument…

How can I make it through.. all the things you do.
There's just gotta be.. more to you and me.

It was evident in the dip in his brows… the disgust at his faded skill…but the grin on the bartender’s face only widens as one of the two woman spoke a bit too loudly…”see.. told you it really wasn’t him….”

Come on let's take it slow. So as for you - well, you know where to go.
I want to take my love.. and.. hate.. you.. 'til.. the end.

Only four lines in the sound grated less.. and the violet eyes had drifted closed as he leaned harder on the stand, abdomen tightening to begin to compress and power the instrument he had left too long silent.

As the soft melody suddenly powered into sensual rock notes, he half leaned over at the waist.. becoming lost in the moment.. even played badly.. his own music thrilled his soul….

With the billowing rock, the gravel finally fell completely away.. and the gift his great-grandmother had given him suddenly came to life…

She had given him three things… his odd violet eyes.. his extended lifespan…. and……..

….the elven bell-timber of the voicebox had warped with the distance of generations.. he was too removed from his heritage to carry the tinkling sound.. instead.. it manifested in luscious tones that billowed in lustful abandon… as the power boomed through his body… the notes grew rich and seductively creamed over the senses of all races… and… left all genders mesmerized… something that had always made for strange groupies.. which had given him his bi-sexual reputation as they all tried to cling to him after performances.

I'm so addicted to…. all the things you do
when you're going down on me… in between the sheets
All the SOUNDS you make… with every BREATH you take.
It's unlike anything, when you're lo-ving me.

His shoulders had pitched back.. left hand leaving the stand to absently tuck a thumb under his t-shirt.. hiking it up to his sternum as the fingers splayed wide over the accordion ribbing of his abs as they compressed the air that had saturated deep into his gut. His right hand snatching the mike free as he arched backwards in lustful abandon.

There was a complete freedom in his singing… something that never emerged in anything else in his life… his foot pounding the tempo, forcing the kid to keep up on the keyboards…whose mouth now hung slightly ajar as he realized this was NOT just some kid TRYING to sing like Ryder Madsen... the foot drove the beat ever faster....he'd be damned if he would slow down his own drow fucking song….

It's not like you to turn away… from all the bull-shit I can't take.
It's not like me to walk away… walk away…walk aWAYYYY

He was lost to the music.. even missed Saxon’s reemergence from the men’s room. Nothing existed anymore but the sound that trembled through every fiber as he compressed the air through his organ again and again… muscles quivering in an ecstasy he only felt one other place… with a man he still hardly knew….

One of the two females had stumbled to the front of the stage and had squealed it was him… he never noticed her almost creaming herself as she bounced at the foot of the stage trying to touch his legs… long ago he had learned to keep away from the front of the platform.. out of reach of hysterical fans.

It bathed the room… as wild and abrasive as the techno had drummed through the air.. was as smooth and seductive his rock spread across the senses.

He had stopped thinking.. stopped worrying… stopped sulking….

…..there was only…… his music.


((Lyrics bastardized from Saving Able’s Addicted))


KateScrynar wrote:My steps echoed through the empty streets as I walked them, my face hidden beneath the warm cloak I’d wrapped around myself for comfort. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt anything but darkness around me. The old comforts of being held in a man’s arms, or talking to real people were long gone, replaced by my own wretched thoughts that I couldn’t even fully remember. I know I’d blacked out from time to time, waking up having viciously fed the beast within. The beast that asshole Alexander Dane had given me. Given me and left me. Just like I’d been told he’d do.

I’d been walking the streets for what seemed like eternity. Dane had outed us all, leaving me stranded in a world I didn’t understand, my love for him washed away by pure hatred for what he’d become and my dear friends vanishing without a trace. I’d give my own life if only to see Eron or Jean once more.

But there was hope still. Life was renewing in a city ravaged by a plague I’d heard whispered was manufactured to kill Kindred. To kill me. And all of it was his fault. I whispered under my breath, sure that my neon green eyes glowed more brightly from underneath the cloak’s hood.

Fuck you, Dane. Look at what you’ve done to me.

I stopped suddenly, no movement apparent in my form but for the flick of my fingers as I brought them up to lower the hood from my face. The club had opened. I tried to remember back even a few days ago. Had it been open then? I couldn’t remember. I felt the shadows creeping under the boundaries of my mind and I shut my eyes tight, hoping to avoid what inevitably made me do things I couldn’t remember doing. As though I lived different lives when I went away.

Maybe I did.

The lights beckoned me forward, and I tilted my head at what seemed to be actual life brimming within the club’s walls. I’d never been here before. I’d heard of it, of course. Club 202 was well known for the criminals that hung out there. I knew. I’d prosecuted a few when Jean and I had still been in charge of this city. My eyes flickered, memories of Jean surfacing like pulling old love letters from boxes long forgotten. I felt my lips move, but I wasn’t sure at all if I’d actually spoken.

Jean...if you’re out there. Please, God, come back. Don’t leave me alone here!

I felt my mind fray slightly under the memories, but I walked to the club. The cloak made me look bigger than I was, hiding my tiny frame within its billowy cloth. And the heeled boots on my feet put me a few inches over my five foot nothing height, but there was no mistaking just how small I was. From a distance, I probably looked like a child. I supposed it was both a bane and a blessing.

As I approached the door, a chill wind blew through my hair. It whipped around my face, making me wish I hadn’t lowered the hood of my cloak. The troll looked at me as I approached the door. I lifted my head, craned my neck and looked him in the eyes.

I guess you want to pat me down for weapons?

The accent that painted my words would sound foreign to anyone from Terranoire, but someone from Earth would recognize it as Eastern European sounding. I’d come from somewhere in that area, hadn’t I? Not Germany -- no, but somewhere near it. When the troll nodded, I assumed the position -- whatever position it was the troll wanted me in to make sure I wasn’t sporting any weaponry. I guess the Azgaroths wanted to make sure none of their guests had more weaponry than they surely did. My lip curled upward, showing the disgust I felt deep within. The Azgaroths. Never could pin anything to either one of them, but my gut told me they were bad. The kind of bad that made my skin crawl.

Shaking it off once the troll had done his duty, I braced my hand against the door and pulled it open, the music pushing its way through my defenses. I jerked my chin up in defiance, as though to say “I will not give in to emotions today.” I stopped just inside the door, walking to the bar just as it shut behind me. I knew I was pale, my dark hair straightened where it was usually spiraled out in curls. Anyone who’d been around before the plague would surely recognize me, at least a little.

I passed by the avian woman, sliding my gaze around the infamous Club 202. So, this was the place my informants had told me drug dealing went down in a big way. I watched the second level with curiosity, wondering just where the Jason Azgaroth was. I knew from reports I had read, the sister probably wasn’t very far behind.

I quietly climbed onto a stool, holding the cloak fasten at my throat. Maybe I shouldn’t have come.

...It had been a very long time since I’d had to control myself around people. I whispered quietly, my native tongue lilting over the air under the music which seemed to envelope everyone else.

Please God...if you still care for me. Keep me from sliding back into hell...


JasonAzgaroth wrote:"Yeah, Tony. Get the fuck out of here." Jason smiled as the party began to stand and depart from his booth. He scooted to one side so that the attractive redhead could make her way downstairs before pushing himself to his feet, tucking the pistol into the belt of his pants. His eyes met his sister's and he couldn't help himself but to smirk.

"Full of fuckin' tact like always, babe."

As Rita laid her head into the crook of her neck, she could no doubt hear his heart pounding inside his chest... and she definately would have noticed his wide eyes, pupils the size of saucers. All the same, she came to him, an act which he secretly held no small amount of admiration for. It seemed that no matter what he did...

“I missed you, Jason. God, please put your arms around me and make me feel whole again.”

Her words caused him to breathe in a deep breath and let it out in a sigh... his arms that were previously held outstretched at his sides slowly closing in around her. She seemed so frail... so weak... he could tell she hadn't eaten. Gods only knew how long it had been since she'd even taken a bite. Apparently, he would again have to force food down her neck.

Gods on the mount, girl.

As she pressed her lips to his, he returned the gesture in kind... with the gentle kindness that only a lover could provide... his eyes closing for that brief moment. His hands roamed freely over her back, arms holding her tightly.

"Speakin' of whole, sis... I had a good game goin' before you ran off the whole of my friends." he chuckled, leaning his head back to look down at her and narrow his eyes in that typically playful way of his. He was, as always, at his sarcastic best when he was coked to the gills. His own skin was clammy, sweating profusely. It would have been nearly impossible for anyone but a medical professional to tell just how long he'd been awake here with his "friends". Hell, he couldn't even remember that himself...

He kissed Rita's forehead and snuggled his face into her shoulder, rocking gently from side to side as he held her... content just to breathe in her essence for the moment. It was one of the few moments of bliss that he'd had in recent days, and he was determined to make it last...

...Until the pulsing beats that filled the club ceased. Angrily, he pushed himself away from Rita's welcoming arms and moved over to the railing that surrounded the second floor balcony, wrapping his white-knuckled fingers around it with a snarl.

"What the fuck..."

The very few patrons who had come out this night had stopped their gyrations on the floor... some giggling to themselves, others looking around with the same confusion that Jason felt. His cobalt eyes narrowed as he watched Marten produce a keyboard from his repertoire and place it in the middle of the stage.

Jason turned his head to the side and spit on the ground... taking a moment to wipe his brow with the back of his sleeve before again focusing his sight on the vision in front of him. The music was familiar, yes... but the voice... he knew that voice.

Ryder Madsen had been a big draw for the club in previous years... and as much as Jason disliked dealing with the crybaby of a bitch boy, he had brought in the crowds - and subsequently, the money - enough for Jason to overlook the conflict of personality. He stood still, practically a statue as Ryder sang his tune. Jason was not a fan, that much was clear... and for him to make such a sudden and uninvited reappearance...

Jason's tight grip on the railing, his body language, even the way he was grinding his teeth together... jaw muscles clenching and unclenching... said it all.


There is more, of course. Oh, and it should be said that this is just RP for goofing off... meaning none of it counts in the game.

This is the type of PbP RP one can expect to find at Terranoire.
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"I'm imagining Kiera Knightly, Katherine Zeta-Jones, Angelina and Meg Fox sitting around your map wearing bandanas vigorously shaking fists full of d20s." - Aval Penworth, in regards to a map I made
"We're talking about the GM that made us fight giant Fruit, Verd is totally unpredictable." - Nikurasu (one of my players)
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Ism's in my opinion are not good. A person should not believe in an -ism, he should believe in himself. I quote John Lennon, "I don't believe in Beatles, I just believe in me."--Ferris Bueller, 1986
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