NationStates Jolt Archive


LXGL2 RP thread...(closed)

Celack
26-10-2003, 03:28
OOC: This should be the only OOC post in here. I just want to say a few things before this thread begins: 1) No signatures allowed. To help the flow of the RP, please do not add signatures to your posts. 2) No OOC talking. This is also to help the flow of the RP. Please hold all OOC conversations about this in the original character selection thread. 3) No pictures or quotes. These will also impede the feeling of this IC thread. 4) This thread is open to me, Krowemoh, Iuthia, The Resi Corporation, Rapid Liberals, Haraki, Slutbum Wallah, Kain Irenicus and Baggera. Thank you very much for your consideration, let the story begin (not that there is much of a story yet). You start out with a blank paper and let it develop from there.
i.c.
Frank moved the razor up and down his cheek cutting off his famous beard. His beard was only part of his identity. His huge biceps flexed while he shaved. The beard had to go. He hated the thign anyways and he only wore it to maintain his Sampson image. He hated his job as a wrestler. He hated the violence even though it wasn't real. that fatc and tha money was the only reason he took the job. However he quit last week because the violence got to him.

After shaving, Frabnk tossed on a shirt and went to his mailbox. Inside was a letter. A job offer overseas. Came with a plane ticket from Macdonald-cartier airport to Heathrow. Sounded interesting.....he decided to go.
26-10-2003, 03:42
Thomas Deity stepped to the wall, pulling a bo staff from it and twirling it aorund his hand several times. His face was drenched in sweat, and his hair held back by a headband. He was wearing a white sleeveless shirt, and his hands were wreathed in thin fingerless gloves. He spun the staff several times before raising it and twirling it above his head, dashing forward, and leaping in the air, kicking a punching bag. As it went swinging away, he spun the bo staff around his back, stopping it as it slammed into the side of the punching bag, sending it away.

As it went swinging away, he spun, slamming the edge of his hand into a second punching bag, sending it swinging weakly away. He responded with a thrusting kick, sending it swinging away again, before spinning, slamming the staff into the first punching bag as it would have hit him. He spun, sending a spinning kick into the second punching bag, sending it flying away, its chain spinning.

He stopped for a moment, not even breathing hard, before spinning around again and sending the first punching bag slamming down with a heavy hit from the staff. Then he spun, raising it again, and gave one final swing. The chain holding the two-hundred pound second punching bag shattered as the staff slammed into it, sending the punching bag spinning to the ground.

He breathed one heavy breath, moving to put the staff back in its rack, and walking off, pulling off his gloves and wiping his brow with a towel. He went and checked his mail, coming out of his training room. He flicked the mail slot open, pulling out an envelope and tearing it open. He read it quickly, leaning on his mailbox.

"A job?" he said skeptically. "Right here? At least it's in town. Feels so weird. I've been living in London for almost a year now, and I'm just starting to feel like it. Might as well check this out. I could use a good job."

He chuckled, stepping back inside and getting dressed nicely for waht he thought would be a regular job interview. That meant a suit. His only suit.
26-10-2003, 05:56
Dressed in a militiristic looking outfit, a man moves down the streets of London, taking in the sites of a city far removed from the barren industrial wastelend of Baggera.

Dagger turned a corner into an alley and saw a group of street punks ganging up on an elderly lady. His eyes narrowed. He may be a vicious, coldhearted killer, but he had SOME decency.

He walks up to the group and clears his throat. "Hello boys, care to play with somone who can defend themselves?"

The closest turns and and jabs a knife at his stomach. Dagger grabs the punks arm before the knife could strike and squeezes, cracking the bones of his forearm. "You guys don't play nice..." his other hand whips up holding a loaded VP91Z and he watches them pale. "Well I can play dirtier, I doubt you punks have any guns, considering what county we're in."

In the meantime the old woman had made a quiet escape and the punks looked aboput ready to wet their pants.

The news reports stated about an hour later that five teenagers were found dead in an alley, killed from small arms fire from an exotic type of gun. The gunman was still on the loose and was to be considered 'armed and dangerous'. The report made no mentin of the old woman, as he had figured, she hadn't come forward, content just to be uninjured.

Dagger proceded down the streets, not concerned with the police in the area.
Steel Butterfly
26-10-2003, 05:59
http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=85646

since this is a different sort of RP...I'd like to show you mine...which is too of a different kind
26-10-2003, 13:44
Kuja sat staring at the computer screen, the small building's dim lights creating long shadows accross the floor, the accasional drip coming down from the ceiling. "This place is not worthy for a scientific mind like myself...." Kuja muttered as he awaited the results from the simulation.

The DNA diagram showed itself....it was spiralling, changing. Kuja was on the edge of his seat, waiting for the final stage.

78% complete....

The DNA continued to change...mutate. Kuja knew what success would mean to him. Not so much on the world, he did not fully comprehend what it would mean to humanity. Who would have thought that the moment of mankind's retribution or condemnation might occour within a disrepaired, dark and damp home to which the jobless and unappreciated scientist Kuja Frost, the outcast to the Sceintific community for his unorthodox ways, inhabited grimfully.

Kuja's small black glasses reflected the light from his laptop, the percentage bar reading 82%....the only sound was that of the laptop humming and a small mouse with a high pitched squeek toiling in its own agony within the small cage, the straw already had trails of blood from that mouse and coutnelss others which had the same treatment.

Kuja ignored the mouse, he knew what would occour regardless of the outcome. He stared deeper into the plasma screen... 92%..

Error. DNA unstable The screen flickered it's result to Kuja.

Silence. The mouse did not make a noise. It was now dead, it couldn't. A new sound replaced it. The dripping of blood from the mouse's corpse, flowing from the cage onto the damp floor with a small and almost unnoticable splash.

Kuja gritted his teeth. The same thing happened every time...and so it had gone on for the last three weeks.

Kuja uncharacisticly lost control. He slammed his pasty white fist into the small wooden desk on which the laptop still flickered upon, the stolen laptop from the university.

"Damn this to hell! If only I had more funds....I would be able to do this far faster, with better equipment and better subjects. What I need is a different subject...." Kuja said feverishly his own mind frustrated....thinking on how to get into a better situation. But his thoughts where stifled by a racking cough going through his body.

He fell of his chair onto his knees, and hacked, he felt as though his lungs where about to collapse. Then it subsided, he sniffed as he recovered. The black sleeve of his long overcoat had a few specks of blood upon it. Kuja tasted the copper substance of his own lifeblood at the back of this throat.

"I need to get out of here....find somewhere else. Find some way of getting money...." Kuja said horsely to himself and the flickering laptop computer.

Picking himself up from the floor slowly, his breathing low and shallow he picked up the laptop and put it into his brown worn out suitcase. He could barely see, the flickering light of his appaling bedroom gave little light to the night.

He packed his few possessions. He paused for a moment after looking at a family photo. He grimiced and put it in, the old black and white photo apeared the perfect family. How the picture lied so effortlessly about the true state of affairs. Clicking it shut, he took the suitcase from the bed and began to walk out, his black shoes clicking against the floor, wet in places.

He was about to leave, when he turned on the spot slowly and walked to the window, which had blinds upon them. He opened a small part of the blinds up with a long thin finger and looked at the frosty night sky of the urban night.

"Soon, I shall achieve what you never could" Kuja said softly, the moonlight shining down upon him. He closed his eyes in bitter rememberance and stormed off, leaving the dank and decrepid building to walk to streets, to find somewhere else, his footsteps clicking against the frozen pavement.

And perhaps someone to help him.
The Damned People
26-10-2003, 18:01
OOC: Sorry about posting OOC, but I want to point out something: you should change the names in the list in the first post. Those names belong to the original LXGL (http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=83918&highlight=). Good luck with this one.

-Nik
Celack
26-10-2003, 18:08
OOC: Sorry about posting OOC, but I want to point out something: you should change the names in the list in the first post. Those names belong to the original LXGL (http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=83918&highlight=). Good luck with this one.

-NikWhat do you eman by that. That is the list of the LXGL 2 group...
The Damned People
26-10-2003, 18:11
OOC: Sorry about posting OOC, but I want to point out something: you should change the names in the list in the first post. Those names belong to the original LXGL (http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=83918&highlight=). Good luck with this one.

-NikWhat do you eman by that. That is the list of the LXGL 2 group...

:oops: Nevermind. Sorry.

-Nik
26-10-2003, 19:06
OOC: To get this back IC...

IC:

Dagger was stopped by a policeman on a small sidestreet and told to take his coat off to see if he had a weapon. He reached to take his coat off, but reversed the movement and decked the cop. He then broke his neck so as not to be identified and quietly left the area.

A half hour later, as he walks by the site of the first killing, he hears a radio report that a police officer was found dead and that the killer is most likely heading away from the first killing. He laughed internally and kept walking.
26-10-2003, 20:32
Kuja, walking the frozen pavement, the sirens of the police wailing like a banshee in the background. A sound fo a gunshot. All was normal.

Putting his hands to his mouth, he tried to warm up his freezing hands. A breath of condensation came out, Kuja moved on faster, his clicking shoes echoing throughout the street.

A black burly man came out from nowhere, and grinned menisingly at Kuja. He was holding a small jagged knife, his own persmitation glistening in the moonlight, his brown eyes took a glance at his suitcase.

"Hand it over..." the man said deeply, he seemed like a biker, his bandana and slightly frayed blue jeans held his massive muscles.

Kuja took a step backwards and put is hands to his side. He gritted his teeth, wondering if anyone else had to put up with this kind of shit.

"Get out of my way, I do not have time to deal with you." Kuja said as he began to walk straight towards the black man, suprised at this mans bravery, or his stupidity. Kuja appeared frail, weak and ill.

"I am not frelling about here. Hand it over!" the man roared as he pointed the knife at Kuja. Kuja stopped and reached inside his long black jacket. With perfect calmness he pulled out a simple handgun and pointed it at the black man which now was panicking slightly.

"Whooh, take it eas-" tha man spluttered out before a 9mm bullet bulldosed into his skull. His body flopped to the ground, a crimson lake coming from the exit wound. Small pieces of brain matter where on the street. Staring at the body for a few precious seconds, Kuja put the weapon and continued as he was, stepped over the body and continuing with his fast pace. Not for a second did his heart race, or did he sweat.

He simply didn't care. The sounds of his tapping footsteps where heard by those around, and then followed by another police siren wailing as it did before.
27-10-2003, 16:00
Gotta keeping bumping bumping bumping...
28-10-2003, 06:10
OOC: Come on League people! We're gonna wipe out all of London before you people even get to you interviews at this rate!
28-10-2003, 13:57
(OOC I am giving up hope here....)
29-10-2003, 08:25
Prometheus woke up in the dingy london apartment he called home. Dirty, dishevelled, and stinking, he hated this place. Still, survival was survival, and he'd do whatever it took to find his father. He dressed in his suit for his job at the bank, and left, not even bothering to lock it up. On his way to work, he noticed a tattered, dingy poster proclaiming "the most superhuman beings, you are invited!". He picked it up and saw the day it was happening was today. He quickly memorized the place and time, and walked away. His father just might show up. Worth a try.
05-11-2003, 20:23
bump. Don't let it die just because I was away for ten days.
06-11-2003, 08:06
Bump. Must...keep...going...
06-11-2003, 21:59
Bump! Bump, god damnit, Celack, bump! Where are we going?
10-11-2003, 16:11
((OOC: This is why I didn't want to be in the second one. Two things I've learned in my career as a forum RPGer. Spin-offs and sequals rarely work out as good as the original. *Sighs.* ))
Celack
16-11-2003, 04:59
Recy walks into the building. It was magnificent.