|
Post by shades on Apr 28, 2019 19:29:29 GMT -5
so for the starter; i'm trying to think of something that the school could be buzzing about. it's end of february, warm weather, and i'm trying to think of something that is innocent and fun and totally could be ruined by either gang activity or haywire abilities.
|
|
|
Post by Protractor on Apr 28, 2019 19:30:01 GMT -5
Dude,Jack would have pushed Sammy down right as soon as he got back up lol
|
|
|
Post by 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒𝖻𝖺𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗋 on Apr 28, 2019 19:37:10 GMT -5
maybe a dance or something?
|
|
|
Post by ʙᴜᴍʙʟᴇʙᴇᴇ » on Apr 28, 2019 19:37:59 GMT -5
lmao sadie hawkins' dance my dudes
jkjk idk
|
|
|
Post by koi on Apr 28, 2019 19:40:34 GMT -5
its a dance. someone please dance battle foxglove
|
|
|
Post by ʙᴜᴍʙʟᴇʙᴇᴇ » on Apr 28, 2019 19:45:19 GMT -5
*throws ely at him*
|
|
|
Post by shades on Apr 28, 2019 19:50:16 GMT -5
cool. spring fling dance it is.
|
|
|
Post by 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒𝖻𝖺𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗋 on Apr 28, 2019 19:50:37 GMT -5
oh my god. that reminds me that beau used to do dance competitions with his brothers.
|
|
|
Post by ʙᴜᴍʙʟᴇʙᴇᴇ » on Apr 28, 2019 19:51:32 GMT -5
nice
|
|
|
Post by Protractor on Apr 28, 2019 20:10:25 GMT -5
Now to wait to find out what I did wrong on my form lol
|
|
|
Post by shades on Apr 28, 2019 20:14:15 GMT -5
it's ok! I'm not knit-picking forms.
also does everyone want the starter now?
|
|
|
Post by ʙᴜᴍʙʟᴇʙᴇᴇ » on Apr 28, 2019 20:18:52 GMT -5
awhhhh yea starter
|
|
|
Post by Protractor on Apr 28, 2019 20:27:03 GMT -5
Yup
|
|
|
Post by shades on Apr 28, 2019 20:46:50 GMT -5
___________________________________________________
Friday, Mar. 1st 7:45 amThere once was a boy named Sammy.Wait-wait f-ck—the story needs to start earlier.There was a party. That in itself was a regularity. Sammy didn’t mind parties and he didn’t mind getting drunk; he did mind the taste of nearly all forms of alcohol, though, and parties in general were known for having the particularly bad tasting kinds. So after a shot of cheap vodka, and the requisite red solo cup of the most horrible keg beer the host could locate in Derby, Kansas. He could still taste the beer in the back of his throat, and spent the rest of the night chewing on gum he swiped from one of the friends who told him to come. He probably didn’t know whoever was hosting the party. In retrospect, he wasn’t even sure where it was aside from old plastics factory on the outskirts of town, which was standard location for many of the sketchier parties that filter through Truesdell High School student ears. Some of the people there were adults, some were from the high school. Some were complete strangers, which was an important distinction.He had hovered somewhere at the edge of the massive crowd of party-goers chatting loudly with his friends for the most of the night; he wandered, laughed when people around him were laughing, danced when people around him were dancing, and enjoyed being in that area of perfection where you were just tipsy enough to feel social in the halo of sweat and cigarettes and alcohol breath.Before the explosion, he had been vaguely aware of Josh was next to him sober as designated driver and Lauren was somewhere else last seen dancing in the middle of the crowd. Everyone was surprised and shocked when the first blast hit—when a hand grabbed his wrist and he toppled sideways, and when both he and world righted themselves, he found himself following a crazed swarm towards the nearest exit as fumes that smelled funny, and definitely smoke filtered around them calmly. They were not calm, though, everyone was panicking. Those on the far side of the nearest doorways like Sammy were gagging as they ran, pushed, and tumbled their way out.It became a blur; his throat hurt, his eyes were streaming, he was aware of people shining lights in his eyes and asking him questions. If you asked him when exactly he made it to Derby General, who took him, how long he was there; he couldn’t tell you a damn thing. Really, he couldn’t; because the pain in his throat increased from sore to fire within the week after DEFCON 1. Tonsillitis, they theorized. He ate ice cream, and swallowed the pills.Five months later it still hurt to talk; to let the vibrations of his own voice hit the back of his throat. Sammy Smith became sensitive to them, the vibrations; the hums that course through speakers as music blasts, the movement of the engines within the car, he could feel the murmurs of the earth underneath his bare feet on one of the warmest day of the new year.Huh, he had thought, while picking up an old X-Men comic that lay in the depths of a box in the basement. Weird.Friday was the end of another week of school; but first they had to make it through the school day. His mom likes to brag about her terrible breakfast protein shake craze. Sammy looks adverse every morning as two globs of green in the pretty glass cups sitting at the table for each of them. She has a disgusting habit, he thinks as he grimaced and down the shake in one-go. Sammy Smith sat in his mother’s car, a yellow Volkswagen Beetle that looked like it had been ripped right out of a 1970s intersection, as she drove him to Truesdell High School. She chatted happily about her dinner plans with co-workers for the evening; the windows of the vehicle rolled down in the wonderful weather—she did not register the white headphones perched in her sons ear—continuing to talk for both of them.The thin, glossy pages of the vaguely old fifty-cent X-Men comic crinkled beneath his sweaty fingers. He had begun to hum idly to the tune blasting, distinguishing the high and lows of the song reverberating through the plastic material. The words drifted loftily in his mind, but he could not form them, and he could only catch wisps of a verse like grasping at smoke.He tugged an earbud as Ms. Smith pulled up to the curb in her outrageously outlandish vehicle, “love you! Don’t forget to take the bus or ride with a friend!” Sammy smiled, and the freckles on his cheeks stood out, blowing a kiss while exiting the vehicle.Truesdell High School’s front yard was packed with students milling around, talking about their days. Sammy noticed, as he moved closer to the front steps, that there was a buzz between the students today as they whispered between each other with their phones pulled out. Oh, right. It was the Spring Fling tonight; everyone would be in attendance, someone would bring a flask to spike their cups, a locker would get trashed in petty revenge, and one promiscuous couple would have sex in Mr. Kerrwood’s classroom just for the f-ck of it. The after parties would happen sporadically across the city in the homes of the students or their older friends; it was the evening of one-night stands and where the worst rumors would start about a person.Sammy was saved from having to be alone today by virtue of (eenie meenie mione moe) Ely Jensen walking towards the school. He plays it off pretending to be texting with one hand and just so happens to notice Ely Jensen walking beside him. Sammy cocks his head and bumps his elbow with Ely, humming slightly in a greeting; he hands her his phone.ready for spring fling tonight?___________________________________________________
|
|
|
Post by Protractor on Apr 28, 2019 20:51:35 GMT -5
(How do you do that
|
|
|
Post by shades on Apr 28, 2019 20:54:38 GMT -5
I tried to sell my soul to the devil, he felt how lifeless it was and gave me the ability to write useless garble free of charge.
|
|
|
Post by Protractor on Apr 28, 2019 21:03:12 GMT -5
makes sense
|
|
|
Post by ʙᴜᴍʙʟᴇʙᴇᴇ » on Apr 28, 2019 21:08:54 GMT -5
Ely Jensen "she's a little sass and a lot of badass"
Five months ago, Ely Jensen was what one would consider an 'average girl'. Well - she was average in the sense that there was nothing special about her, except maybe the fact that she'd lost her brother last year in a wrongful shooting by a cop. Dumb pig had though Jaxon was there to buy the drugs, and shot before J could explain he was only trying to convince his friend not to buy them. In the year and five months since, Ely had learned a lot about the justice system - how much it failed to work when someone in power was on the stand, how much it hated anyone who seemed like a trouble maker, and how much she absolutely, completely, never wanted to sit open her door to a cop's face again.
She could still hear him telling her how sorry he was, how he hadn't meant to kill J, how he'd thought J was going to hurt him. Ironic, with everything going on in the news, how this cop was so apologetic about shooting her brother, when she knew a few weeks before that he'd pulled a gun on another unarmed boy, but he didn't regret that instance.
So, on the day that made a year since J's death, Ely attended a party at some old factory in Derbey - she didn't know which factory, nor did she care. All she knew was that she wanted to get drunk, and forget that burn that crawled it's way through her body when she thought about her brother, and how she'd never get to hear him tell her she'd make the perfect cop again.
Ely didn't want to be a cop anymore.
And then the explosion happened, and all she could see was smoke and people running and lights flashing - and then she was at Derbey General, being told that the black markings on her back had no explanation other than chemicals mixed with smoke inhalation. Oh well. At least that had a chromatic effect, right? Maybe they wouldn't be so bad since they were small enough to just barely creep over the tops of her shoulders.
And so it was that on that Friday morning, she was walking to school with Airpods in her ears blasting whatever song Pandora was playing at the moment. An elbow knocking into her drew her attenion away from the sidewalk. Oh - Sammy Smith. Ely knew him. He was sweet, really. Hadn't talked much since the explosion, but she didn't blame him. She wasn't as extroverted as she used to be either.
"Hey Sammy," she smiled softly, pulling one ear bud out of her ear. "Whatcha got there?" It was his phone, and she took it from him gracefully as she looked over the screen. Oh. Spring Fling was tonight. Hm - would she go to that tonight? She wasn't sure.
"I dunno about spring fling. You going?"
|
|
|
Post by shades on Apr 28, 2019 21:12:06 GMT -5
I'm impressed Kale. You were READY for me.
|
|
|
Post by ʙᴜᴍʙʟᴇʙᴇᴇ » on Apr 28, 2019 21:13:11 GMT -5
i had muse xD thanks! i'd flex my guns if i had anything other than yanno... noodle arms
|
|
|
Post by ʙᴜᴍʙʟᴇʙᴇᴇ » on Apr 28, 2019 21:16:08 GMT -5
oh side note - i'm forever jealous of how well you write shades
|
|
|
Post by Protractor on Apr 28, 2019 21:24:57 GMT -5
Well,I guess I'll just drop a starter for whoever wants to rp when the get on
It had never occurred to Jack that old factories could be a problem.Just like it never occurred to him that too much gunpowder could blow a place up.But of course he should have.Going to a party with everyone else was never a smart idea,let alone getting separated from Ely.
He had no idea what happened.Just that something blew up and he got knocked down and out by the swarm crowding out of the building.All he knew was that he woke up at Derbey General and was given some pills,not knowing what they were or what they were for.
Then it was Friday,5 months after the blast.He had felt suddenly lighter once he was able to walk in a straight line.He walked into the High School with his earbuds in,blarring Overdose by Grandson loudly and not caring who heard it.He got to his locker and paused his music to listen to some of the gossip.
Someone was talking about who they thought had the best chance of f*ucking in Mr. Kerrwood's room.He tuned out and listened to some of the other mumbo jumbo coming from these kids mouths'."Nothing."He sighed when he didn't hear any useful news.
I had no idea I had this in me tbh
|
|
|
Post by ʙᴜᴍʙʟᴇʙᴇᴇ » on Apr 28, 2019 21:26:09 GMT -5
nice!!!
|
|
|
Post by ʙᴜᴍʙʟᴇʙᴇᴇ » on Apr 28, 2019 21:32:36 GMT -5
i'll have to get up a response tomorrow after you reply shades! time for me to go to bed :|
|
|
|
Post by Protractor on Apr 28, 2019 21:34:11 GMT -5
gn
|
|
|
Post by 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒𝖻𝖺𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗋 on Apr 28, 2019 21:35:09 GMT -5
i guess i gotta get something done for beau now where should i put him???
|
|
|
Post by shades on Apr 28, 2019 21:40:05 GMT -5
I'm actually gonna shut down the laptop for the night. I'll reply tomorrow. I gotta work with two clients tomorrow. I'll have a little gap between them to work.
|
|
|
Post by Protractor on Apr 28, 2019 21:40:06 GMT -5
You could drop him with Jack
|
|
|
Post by 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒𝖻𝖺𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗋 on Apr 28, 2019 22:05:51 GMT -5
okay i've got a starter in the works. koi, if you don't mind, i'm going to ask you to bear with me : )
|
|
|
Post by 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒𝖻𝖺𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗋 on Apr 28, 2019 22:15:02 GMT -5
Beauregard Abernathy
Friday is when fights happen, right? That's when they arranged it at least. The conversation went a little something like this (if Beau remembers correctly).
"You wanna go, Beau?" That was Foxglove Francis.
And Beau had replied, "When and where?"
To which Foxglove supplied a prompt, "Friday, before the first bell."
And now they were here, standing on the front lawn of Truesdell High School. It's a good patch, particularly clear of students who were already forming neat packs elsewhere. The two stand opposite one another, a few feet apart (because they're not gay). It's kind of like in the movies, where the opposing sides stand off against one another for a showdown. Beau shrugs his backpack off and sets in neatly on the ground where it won't sustain any collateral damage.
That done, Beau throws the first punch without warning.
His fist lashes out, targeting Foxglove's stupid face. It's one way to start a school day: with an all-out brawl. A morning workout, if you will.
|
|