Welcome to Quasispace: inside the head of..., the impro / omake board for Quasispace Portal Theater 3000. Please note that this board will be focused on impros and omakes only.
Suggestions would be appreciated. As would pointing out any grevous spelling mistakes that I am usually known to miss. Also I was debating over the last alien segment. Should I just kill them off, or leave it as is? And for the record, I don't have *any* idea how stick shifts work.
+++
From the desk of esteemed high chancellor Harfenglafenflaven the 3rd, representative of planet Vrystlxin
To:
President Kraal of the planet Flangral
Dutchess Greg of the planet Yumon
Mrs. J who survives the late Prime Minster W of the planet 4
Ky Dy who survives his late roommate Te Re who was the second brother of the late president Go Bo of the planet Zyragaphas’d
The potted plant who survives the late population of Grahf Capital City of the planet Grahf
The planet Saun who survives the late population of the planet Saun
Subject:
Our bad.
==========
Maybe in the final analysis, your apocalypse is just a matter of perspective. Or something like that. Or not.
-James Finn Garner
Gary leaned back against his rolled up sleeping bag and looked at the concrete ceiling. It couldn't have been a week, they hadn't eaten enough of the canned food for it to be a week. Four or five days. That's how long it had been since everything Gary had known was wiped out in an otherwise average night. He could still remember that first day; hobbling along destroyed streets with Jen in tow, dodging sporatic gunfire from the lawless gangs, and finally happening upon the bomb shelter when the current inhabitants were finishing off the former inhabitants.
Gary let his gaze drop to his companions in the shelter, what was left of them anyways. Most of the ones with guns, the ones that had cleared out the original owners, had disappeared when they went out scouting on the second day. The only one left was a grizzled man in his fifties with grey hair and a hunting jacket packed with rations, ammo, handguns, and more ammo. He would only let other people refer to him as Seargent Irons. The other three weren't from his group of militia, they were just tagging along like Gary and Jen.
First was Alexa Sellicci. She had short black hair, wore a short black dress, and was the textbook definition of ice queen. She hadn't, at least visibly, been affected by anything that had happened. She claimed to be a child counseler, and Gary wouldn't have doubted it in the slightest.
The next was Bernard Stewart, a short, pudgy man with large glasses and a tattered business suit. He hadn't spoken much in the days they had been together, instead he just sat in a corner looking at the wall and occasionally scribbling something in his notebook.
Finally there was "Wally". Gary hadn't bothered to remember the ten-year-old kid's real name, and that one had just gotten stuck in his head. Wally had kept pretty quiet too, but he had spent his time looking out of the small corner of the glass window not covered by an overturned car. The one time Gary had looked up at him when he was doing this he had seen the kid smiling, and that scared Gary nearly as much as what was happening outside.
As for what had been happening outside, none of them knew very well. They all heard the gunfire and yelling on that first day, and the complete absence of any of it the next day. And the next day after that when the giant yellow monolith had appeared in the distance during the night, almost as if by magic. And then, less then half an hour ago, when that giant spacecraft had shot off into the sky. Gary wasn't sure why, but he felt as if there was something terrible on that ship, and that it was leaving the planet forever, and that maybe, just maybe, things would be getting better.
Irony is such a bitch.
"What's that thing?" Wally asked while pointing out the window. Alexa walked over and joined him at the window.
"It looks like a large crab. It is heading this way." She droned in her emotionless voice. This set Sergent Irons in action. He shoved both of them away from the window and loaded the handgun that had appeared in his hands.
"Enemy re-enforcements! Die you commie pigs!' he shouted as he fired through the window. The bullets bounced harmlessly off of the creature's hard shell and didn't even slow it down. With one smack of its claw the car was thrown clear of the window and with another there no longer was a window. Irons had ducked in time to avoid the initial attack, and was safe due to the crab's lack of articulation. "Base has been compromised. We need evac, now!"
"What evac?" Gary shouted back, "There's only one way in!"
Irons was silent for a moment before pulling a red stick out of his hunting jacket.
"Fire in the hole!"
-----
He's not here...
Chandra sighed. She had checked over the group twice and Gary wasn't there. Not that he was likely to be. She had said to meet in the shelter hours ago (if the sun was any indication), and Gary probably hadn't-
No! Don't think like that! Chandra shook the thought from her head and started to make her way though the awakening piles of bodies. She had almost made it out when a sudden dizzy spell overcame her and she was forced to lean against a wall for support. It's only noon, she tired to reason, I should have been okay for the rest of the day at least. But even wishfull thinking didn't keep away the cold, inevitable truth from crushing her. She was out of medication, and every twenty four hour pharmacy in the city had just taken an extented vacation.
"You okay lady? You come'n off a high or something?"
Chandra turned around and found herself looking down at a short latina of about fourteen years. She was wearing baggy clothing (probably designer labels) and was hefting a large kitchen knife in one hand. She had another knife strapped to her thigh and neither looked very clean.
"I... I just need to find a drugstore or something..." Chandra mumbled, her eyes locked on the knife.
"Ha ha!" the girl responded, "Ain't nothing left in any of the stores in town. Bill cleaned them the fuck out. You need something, you talk to Smuggler. I can set you up."
"Who?" Chandra was about to ask when her voice was droned out by the heavy *WHUMP* of a discharged plasma burst. She spun around to see a more or less normal investment banker standing on top of an SUV. The "less" would be attributed to his faux leopard skin cowboy hat and that he was holding in his hands the largest gun Chandra had ever seen in her life.
"Listen up varmints!" Bill projected while swinging around his newly aquired plasma rifle. "You're all now members of Buf... Blackbeard Bill's crew. Any objections?"
"Yo, fuck you muthafucker!" one member of a group of young men wearing similar colored bandanas and hefting Uzis responded, "Hand over the fancy shit unless you want to get fuck'n capped, bitch!"
The newly christened Blackbeard Bill swung his plasma rifle around to them and fired, turning the group of five men into a carbon stain on the concrete. He addressed his audience of two hundred again, "Any more?"
-----
Terref, second in command of the Quanzarian Scientific Forces, was not happy. In fact, he was really quite mad, but that was to be expected when every last page of every single scientific journal he had ever written was destroyed by... by...
"MILK!" Terref shouted as he threw open the doors to the command room. The group of assorted techs who had gathered in a circle in the room turned as one to face him. "MILK!" He again shouted, as if to justify the absurdness of it. "Would ANY of you care to explain WHAT IS GOING ON?!"
One of the techs slithered slightly closer to Terref while the rest of the group quickly hid a handfull of straws under a console. "Well, the autopilot worked fine, so no one bothered to check any of the other systems..." He mumbled while wringing his hands. Terref was about to open his mouth to unleash another verbal assault, but he hesitated.
"What are you talking about?"
The tech, suddenly on unfamiliar ground, looked to his companions for support. They slithered farther away from the two. "Ah, what you're talking about, sir."
"I'm talking about my computer, what are you talking about?"
The tech swallowed," Ah, well, when the auto pilot turned off we started to make the preperations for landing and, well... nothing worked."
Terref continued to stare a hole into the tech.
"So, so we sent someone down to check out the ship's mainframe and, well, the entire room was flooded."
"Flooded."
"With milk, sir."
"With milk."
"So the only systems that are still working are the autopilot and the security systems."
"Security... so we know who did this?"
The tech again looked to the other techs. They had moved even further away during the conversation. "Yes sir, it, ah... it was your son. And Lygn Far's boy too, they both, um, milked the ship..."
A sneer crossed Terref's face, which, due to Quanzarian physology, looked even more menacing then usual. "Lygn, that Vryslxinazian dog! It's just like him to put innocent innocent children up to this!"
"Well, actually they might have done it themselves," The tech interupted," See Kiffy and L, you know, that view screen show, well a few weeks back they started this gag where they'd just pour milk on people for no reason, and then all the kids started to copy-"
"How soon until the repairs are complete?"
"Just a few hours," the tech said as he quickly switched gears, "We just have to empty the computer room and let them dry. The autopilot dropped us in an orbit away from the moon, so there's nothing at all to worry about."
-----
The few molocules that existed this high up were pushed out of the way as the Vryslxinaz destroyer class dropped out of hyperspace. It would be a few minutes before the sensors could be reactivated, so they were limited to looking out the ship's portholes. It was then that Hruds Gassin, a mechanic third class, made the most, and last, astute observation of his life.
"Hey! Look at that thing!"
And then the Quanzarian starship smashed into the Vryslxinaz starship at several hundred miles per hour.
-----
It was times like this, Gary mused, that he most missed having functional legs. Well, not that he had ever had to flee down back allys supported by a teenage girl and delusonal militia man while keeping a watch out for a giant crab which could be dead or could be very very mad. Just situations like this. However, the farther that they got from the destroyed shelter, the more that Gary realised that they really weren't headed anywhere.
"Hey, hey wait a minute," Gary said. And, realizing he wasn't in control of his own movement, added," Where are we going?"
"Just up the block. There's a wearhouse ve can hide in," Bernard, who was in the lead, said.
"What?"
"A vearhouse. Ve vill be zafe in zere," He repeated, slipping further into a cheesy german accent.
"Um, okay," Gary relented, slightly creeped out by his Bernard's suddenly appearing accent. It wasn't enough to actually register, though, considering everthing else that had happened. And considering that, for the entire time they had been outdoors, Wally had been skipping.
-----
Smuggler was not, as it were, a pleasant person to look at. An even two hundred fifty pounts for his five foot two frame, long string like hair caked to the sides of his head with grease, a face covered with more acne than features, and clothed in a woman's fur coat, he was possibly the most vile person Chandra ever saw who was still alive. Unfortunaly, he was also the single most important person to Chandra's life at the moment.
"So, Ms. Sorana... it appears that you have need of my services," he said while steepling his fingers on top of a mahogany table. Smuggler was, as it turned out, second in command of the former Buffalo Bill current Blackbeard Bill's opperation. Currently all three (Chandra, Smuggler, and the girl who lead Chandra here and who's name, coincidentally enough, was Knife) were in Blackbeard Bill's temporary base of operations, an oddly untouched Bank of America.
"Yes. I don't know how to pay you, but-"
"You will find ways of paying me," Smuggler cut her off as he leaned back in his over-cusioned leather chair," Bill will be moving the enitre operation out of the city tomorrow and heading down the coast to find his 'Battleship' has he put it. He is a fool, and will probably get us all killed, but until then I can use him to build up an army and, when the time is right, I'll push him out of the picture and then-"
"Yes, yes," Chandra quickly cut in before he broke into diabolical laughter," But I might not be here by that time without my medication."
"You shall have your pills," he said through a wide sneer," Of all the people here, you are the only one who depends upon me for her very life. You are quite valuable to me."
-----
"Sure, let's use that experimental hyperdrive system, I'm sure it works fine," Lygn Far muttered while climbing through an airshaft. Miracuously the ship itself survived the collision with the other starship and the crash landing on the planet, but it seemed like Captain Lygn was the only that had lived through it.
"So what if the sensors have to be shut down. I'm sure nothing could happen..." he again muttered. He dropped off the rung ladder and landed next to a door helpfully labeled "Emergency Airlock" in seventy nine languages and two colors. He was about to open the door when the wind was knocked out of him by a heavy and blob like creature. Now on the floor, he twisted to one side to roll it off of him. When both had regained themselves they looked each other in the eyes, pointed at one another, and shouted:
"YOU!"
Terref steadied himself and dusted himself off," I hope you're happy. This all your fault."
"My fault?" Lygn near shouted," How is this my fault?"
"Your son destroyed the computers on my ship."
"It was probably just a prank."
"A prank?!"
"Yes! Nothing like when your son reprogramed the navigational computers for the entire Vrystlxinaz fleet."
"Well, that was just a joke."
"A joke that sent an entire armada into a block hole!"
"Well, that's nothing compared to when your son blew up the second planet in our solar system!"
"That... that was a science project..."
The argument might have theoretically lasted forever, except that both participants shut up when they noticed the air lock was opening seemingly of its own accord. After a few turns of the lock the door swung open and flooded the small chamber with midday light and a fresh spring breeze. Standing on the other side of the door were two small blond children, a boy wearing a white t-shirt and black pants and a girl wearing a white t-shirt and black skirt.
"Hewwo," They spoke together.
Lygn turned his gaze from the kids back to Terref, the the mediator of the conversation. He moved closer to the two, "Um, ah, Guten Morgen. Nehmen Sie mich Ihrem Fuhrer."
The girl giggled while the boy looked up at the alien and said," You talk funny."
Terref tried again," Bom dia. Faca exame de me a seu lider?"
The girl wispered something into the boy's ear and he said," You should talk to Matron. Fowwow me!" The two children then ran laughing into the street. Terref and Lygn carefully walked out of the ship and into a suburban street filled with identical houses that hadn't been damaged in the slightest by the impact of a kilometer long starship.
"So, what did they say?" Lygn asked
"I'm not sure, but this certainly looks like a peaceful city. I just have to infrom the leaders of the incoming meteor and then their planetary thrusters will move the planet away from the crash vector and we'll all be just fine.
"Planetary... thrusters?" Lygn cursed himself for neglecting to read the planet's fact sheet as the two captains followed the laughing children.
It should be noted, purely for academic reasons, that neither of their respective civilizations had ever invented horror movies.
-----
The dank and dusky interior of the warehouse was peirced by rays of afternoon sun. It revealed rows of bookcases filled with assault rifles and ammunition, jeeps, personel transports, and helecopters. The light had yet to completely reveal the floor, and larger machines lay hidden in the dark corners. Six people stepped through the doorway (Well, if you want to get technical about it, only five people actually stepped) and into the warehouse.
"I did not expect this," Alexa noted in her standard monotone.
"AWESOME!" Wally suddenly shouted out while running farther in. What he had responded to was, against all reason, a five story tall bipedal robot.
"Hey!" Seargent Irons suddenly called out while inspecting one of the jeeps. He held up as small flag that bore the unmistakable symbol of the German National Socialist Party. 'You some kinda commie pinko?"
"Vat? No, no," Bernard backpeddled," I bought zem ven the cold var ended. Zey ver on ze discount."
Jen and Gary, unlike the others, had stayed as close to the entrance as possible without actually leaving the entrance.
"Gary?" Jen asked.
"Yes?"
"I want to get out of here. Now."
-----
Dear planetary leaders or applicible replacements,
We are deeply pained by the precious loss of life your planet has recently endured. Please accept this decorative fruit bowl as a show of our sympathy. Also, you may be feeling like reparations are in order. Our council is one step ahead, and has already sent a war ship to the source of the attackers. It will determine the location of any more of them, and then wipe out the entire solar system with a bomb we have newly developed (Avalible to the public this fall. click this link for more information). Thank you, and look out for the Galaxy Aid concert being held for your benifit in the coming weeks.
Yours,
P. Harfenglafenflaven
-----
Below the surface of the city, under the remains of an out of the way record store, something stirred.
Flash back three months. The Twinkies, newly born, had only fleeting visions of civilization. Deciding to create their own, several twinkies were selected to go into hibernation and discover the meaning of civilization. Each had their own subject and all were packed in out of the way locations to safeguard them. However, after the discovery of interstellar travel, civilization was placed on the back burner, and all of the hibernating Twinkies were deemed too useless to wake up. And so they were all abandoned a full week before they had completed their research. In the time between they had been killed by various accedents; all of them, except one.
And so the last conscious Twinkie in the world crawled out of a pile of Beatles and Pat Benatar LPs. It knew it was the last one left. It knew it would have to lead a new civilization.
It knew... that red was the new black but backwards red caps were *so* two thousand one.
-----
"So all the way to the left and up is first gear?"
"No, that's reverse."
"Then what's left and down?"
"*That's* first."
Jen's crash course in stick shifts wasn't working out to well, but it was all Gary could manage considering his current condition. Even though, he was begining to reconsider leaving. Sure, Bernard was a complete psycho, and the others were going along with his plans to the letter, but that wasn't too much different from the shelter. And it was probably much safer in here than outside...
"Herr Hartcourte! Frauline Harland! You have forgotten your uniforms!" Bernard shouted as he ran towards them. He was now dressed in a blue-grey uniform decorated with plastic medals, and had a monocle stuck in one eye. In his hands were two skin tight leather outfits.
Jen slammed on the gas and both of them took off without the slightest hesitation.
Posted on Jul 13, 2003, 8:23 PM from IP address 216.175.95.220
Just thought I'd share that when I clicked on the second chapter's link, it came up with a download prompt. Not to mention that I had to open it in Textpad without it being in some freaky, Windowsese language.
It could just be my computer, though.
Viper
Who's considering signing up for this show...
Posted on Jul 7, 2003, 11:35 AM from IP address 210.50.110.29
And rather than rely on email, I'll just post it here. In chapter 1, Chandra takes Tegretol (epileptic anti-seizure medication) and Amaryl (for type 2 diabetes), since she's apparently needs these on a daily basis, if you're going to cover a few months times, you need to think about where she's getting her drugs. Especially since she apparently left them in her apartment.
Cosmos
Posted on Jul 8, 2003, 4:15 PM from IP address 12.82.76.250
Well, I don't know if I can justify this acurately...
by
(no login)
...but perhaps because she's been under the control of the Twinkies, she's had no need to take it because they've been controlling her brain functions. And since seizures are some odd function of the brain, the Twinkies may have been powerful enough to stop those seizures. She will probably need to take it now that the Twinkies are gone.
Now, if you feel the need, you may berate me soundly about the head and shoulders.
Ow. That quickly?
Oh. It's just you. <throws him into the wall>
-Sherlock
Posted on Jul 8, 2003, 7:42 PM from IP address 205.188.208.101
At the risk of coming off as a complete bitch, if I haven't already...
by Anonymous (no login)
That's something you need to think about when you write. Sometimes you can't go with an idea you like, no matter how cool or funny you think it is, because it logically doesn't work. Yes, I realize I'm complaining about logic in a story concerning giant mutant Twinkies. No, that doesn't mean you can throw all the rules out the window. Once you've established the rules of the universe (or in this case, once the previous chapter has established them) you're going to confuse the reader if you just start ignoring them. This creates plot holes. And this is a big, gaping one. Ignoring the fact that epilepsy is caused by changes in brain chemistry, why would the Twinkies care enough about one individual human to stop her seizures? Why not just discard her and get another? And besides her seizures, if she has type 2 diabetes and is off her pills there's a good chance she'd wind up hyperglycemic.
...at any rate, it's your chapter, and you can write what you'd like to write. But try to keep a critical eye on the details.
Cosmos
Posted on Jul 9, 2003, 6:04 PM from IP address 12.82.81.169
...an ongoing health concern in which a person's blood sugar is elevated for an extended period of time or is higher than normal range when the person has been fasting for at least eight hours.
Basically, it means the person is not diabetic, but their body doesn't process sugar properly for some reason.
Anything that applies to diabetes will apply to hyperglycemia.
t.ogre
qwfh
Posted on Jul 10, 2003, 3:31 AM from IP address 143.166.224.135
I don't see how its related to Quasispace, but I really don't care. Although, to be honest, I'm not sure how well this will work for an impro. Once you get past the goofiness of giant twinkies taking over the world, there really isn't much there unless someone writes something really good each time. I'd consider signing up, *cough*, but I'm smart enough to know that I'd probably end up completely screwing the thing up at this point. So I'll either wait until I think I have something to write for this one or wait for a new one. Actually, I'll probably do what I usually do: say I'll do something and then viciously refuse to do it for weeks. But hey.
Posted on Jun 16, 2003, 9:57 PM from IP address 208.151.120.110
<i>I don't see how its related to Quasispace, </i>
It's not supposed to be related to Quasispace. It's a separate story altogether, written specifically to be an improfanfiction.
<i>Once you get past the goofiness of giant twinkies taking over the world, there really isn't much there unless someone writes something really good each time.</i>
Stranger concepts have started impros rolling. Heck, RECBT could be labeled as a fighting game fanfic and its already attracted video games writers, anime fans, and casual readers to write for it. I haven't played any KOF since 1998 and I still enjoy reading it. We once had an impro on post-apocalyptic otakus in the United States where half of the regular writers haven't even set foot on the US. And it doesn't even have to be a masterpiece chapter everytime. What an impro needs to live are chapters and something that moves the story along. Sometimes, the best developments arise only because the impro's story moves along...
<i>I'd consider signing up, *cough*, but I'm smart enough to know that I'd probably end up completely screwing the thing up at this point. </i>
This is sad because you never know until you try.
I don't know t.ogre's intentions, but unless this is a moderated impro, you have complete control of what you want to write in your chapters. The rule of thumb is just to say yes to the previous information and roll with it.
I wish I had the free time I had back in college so I can back up my words with action by signing up, but hey... I'd really like to see new writers step up.
'Sides, I already have a chapter that's been in backlog for a year. I need to work on that...
Mark Poa
Posted on Jun 18, 2003, 9:03 PM from IP address 210.14.31.18
It's like New Haven with less interesting characters. It could lead to something interesting, but as of right now the two halves of the story (The serious situation of the three humans stuck in a post apacolyptic world, and the comical living twinkies) clash way too much for any sort of coherant story to come out of it.
Keep Left-->
Posted on Jun 17, 2003, 11:40 PM from IP address 216.175.95.220
When I originally co-wrote this with black dub, I did not include the prologue in the story (the whole "intergalactic welcome wagon" section before the quotes). I don't think it's relevant why the apocalypse occurs; I think it's sufficient that it does occur and these characters are forced to deal with it.
dub asked Wanderer for feedback on this story back in the day and one of the things Wanderer stated was that the reason for the apocalypse absolutely had to be included. Because of that feedback, I wrote the prologue explaining what had occurred to cause this apocalypse.
Now that I have completed the explication, I ask these question:
Does this story *need* the prologue? If not, does it read better with or without it?
Any response to this post is greatly appreciated.
Thanks.
t.ogre
qwfh
Posted on Jun 19, 2003, 8:25 AM from IP address 143.166.224.134
...isn't all survival horror derived from classic horror movies, such as *Night of the Living Dead*?
Just askin', y'know. (And it's rhetorical, so I don't need an answer, even if I'm wrong.)
Anyway, this story was an idea I've had bouncing around in my head for at least fifteen years. The date on the original text document in which I documented these ideas was *1989*.
I've got like four or five other stories that I've started and not been able to continue, as well. Seems I can come up with good beginnings for stories, but I never seem able to finish them. Maybe I just need to start co-writing everything, or at least do a lot more planning before I write. Only problem is that I seem to write in infrequent sporadic bursts. Granted, I seem to write well and I'm inspired for a good bit of time, but something always happens and the real world decides to intrude upon my moment of Zen, and I can't seem to pick up where I left off.
Okay, now I'm rambling. I'll end here.
t.ogre
qwfh
Posted on Apr 28, 2003, 7:26 AM from IP address 143.166.83.133
Sorry, but the end of semester's taking a lot of time. I was hoping I could get to that (and editing) this past weekend, but that obviously didn't happen. Maybe this weekend.
Cosmos
Posted on Apr 28, 2003, 5:21 PM from IP address 12.82.80.69
It was obvious that more than one person wrote this starter. The pacing of the story jumped erratically in places, which interrupted the otherwise consistent flow of the prose with irregular intervals.
The humor was forced, if not outright lame. My apologies, but the most laughs I can get out of this is a brief chuckle in reaction to the sentient twinkie, and that's about it. Sometimes I'm having trouble figuring out whether this is a dark, serious survival horror tale, with some vain attempts at funny, light-hearted moments, or a total farce disguised as some sort of black comedy.
The characters are not endearing enough, much less likeable. But since this is the starter, and the first part of the story, this could be forgivable. At least, it's a much better read than some stories over at improfanfic.com.
Still, despite its faults, I find some measure of entertainment from it. I'd read the next chapters, if anyone will be continuing this.
-Sig
Posted on Apr 29, 2003, 5:01 PM from IP address 210.23.250.47
Thanks for your feedback. I hope to get a chance to write another chapter soon in order to get a bit more character development.
And as far as the humor within the story, neither dub nor I were looking for humor, *per se,* but rather setting up the basics of the story (the only outright humor I went for was the Keith Richards bit). The humorous aspect is the sheer absurdity of the premise -- that a Twinkie could ever become sentient.
t.ogre
qwfh
Posted on May 4, 2003, 4:51 AM from IP address 216.40.210.72
Obviously knowing Rhiannon, I knew that Rhiannon's birthday is later in the year. 1989 to 2003 is fourteen if your birthday is January first. Rhiannon'd be only 13.
<i>obviously, you had a birthday in recent months, making you fifteen.</i>
You don't count the same year you were born as your first birthday.
I don't want you to take this the wrong way, but you shoud check YOUR math.
-Sherlock
Posted on May 17, 2003, 6:29 PM from IP address 64.12.96.202
One: She still said she was fifteen, so you're still off by two years. Basically that means that you're in no position to imply that I don't have the mental capacity to understand what you meant. Switching roles, are we?
Two: I find it infinitly amusing that it took you over a week to come up with a counter response.
Three: Yeah, my logic got fucked up somehere along the line, but I fail to see how you can accuse me of failing to see your 'logic' when you were still wrong.
Four: I don't know her personally, fuckwit. I couldn't know she had a birthday later in the year. I simply assumed that it was earlier to add up to fifteen, although, again, my logic was fucked up there.
Five: Either Chibchari is a lying psychobitch, and just said that she was fifteen so you would be her friend, or she meant to say fourteen, and gave you the wrong birthdate somehow.
I think that's it.
Posted on May 18, 2003, 6:10 PM from IP address 198.81.26.203
When I say something and you reply, and I reply, there's always something I see that you do not. There are things I don't see, as well. And when I reply with something that I see and you don't, you always think that I'm trying to pick a fight with you and you never seem to think that I could be talking about what I know.
Now let me just say that some aspects of your reply kinda struck me as blind.
Starting with Number One, she still said that her birthday was 1989, which would make her 13, 14 after her birthday. That wasn't implying anything about your mental capacity when I argued your point. I knew what I was saying.
You say on your second point that I had to think for an entire week and a few days to think up a reply to that post. Let me just say that I think that was the stupidest thing I have ever seen you write. Why would it take someone a whole week to think up something on a MESSAGE BOARD?! If I'm away from one region for a while, so what? I don't really frequent the Impro board because there's a LOT less activity, and the impros aren't clearly marked. If there was another one I was aware of, then it should probably have the tag "[IMPRO]" by it so that people don't waste their time searching around.
On point three and four, you were assuming, and we all know what that does when you do: It makes an "ass" of "u" and "me." [/blatantpun]
And finally, point five: Perhaps you should get to know Rhiannon. She's in tenth, same as I am.
Now, all this adds up to the fact that you still think that I messed up some kind of logical process while thinking that Rhiannon was 13. I DON'T think that she's 13, she said that her birth date was a few years later than I thought it was.
Do you see any further reason to discuss this? I sure don't.
-Sherlock
"Rockin' around the clock tonight!"
Posted on May 19, 2003, 8:50 PM from IP address 172.139.156.6
Damn. If this keeps up, I'm gonna have to start deleting posts, and I *hate* deleting posts, especially since NW54 does goofy shit when I delete posts.
t.ogre
qwfh
Posted on May 20, 2003, 11:15 AM from IP address 143.166.83.132
"When I say something and you reply, and I reply, there's always something I see that you do not. There are things I don't see, as well. And when I reply with something that I see and you don't, you always think that I'm trying to pick a fight with you and you never seem to think that I could be talking about what I know."
That seems to happen every other time I speak, and I've been here for about 14 months.
- The General
Posted on Jun 7, 2003, 10:10 PM from IP address 209.158.202.118
So, basically, if I wanted to write the next part...
by ChibiChari (no login)
I'd ask, be put on the queue, and then have a week or so to write how many words about whatever I wanted, as long as it was within the basic realms of sane continuity, and I tried to keep to the same style of writing, and had people proofread it?
Is that right?
Hmm.
-ChibiChari
"Um, no, that's not what I wanted. And that sentence... is way too long."
Posted on May 26, 2003, 2:19 AM from IP address 64.75.148.210
Do you remember asking for profiles for the RBQF impro, using the form we stol- er, borrowed from Octogon Rumble? I don't know if you still want them, but here's mine.
Name: Cosmos
Sex: Female
Physical Age: Mid-twenties
True Age: Unknown
Also Goes By: Cosmos. That's the problem with only having one name.
Residence: The top two stories of the building that houses her bookstore: Wardenclyffe Tower
Height: 5'10"
Weight: 160
Eyes: Blue
Hair: Black, mid-back length.
Primary Goal(s):
To pay the bills at the end of the month.
To live as close to a normal life as is possible in Dream City.
Secondary Goal(s):
To build up some sort of nest egg, so she doesn't have to worry about the bills at the end of the month.
To fill as many of her customer's special orders as possible.
To find out exactly what causes all the weird stuff that happens around her.
Strengths/Abilities:
-Very good marksman. Although she tends to favor a paintball gun (paint can be chemically cleaned from books, bullet holes can't) she could be highly lethal depending on what sort of weapon she picks up, any projectile will do, really. Even with the paintball gun, she can be highly distracting to incapacitating.
-Serviceable knife-fighter and fairly comfortable with hand-to-hand. She can defend herself, but close combat isn't her first choice.
-Sensitive to any sort of dimensional disturbance, allowing her to detect anything within about a mile of her and home in on the disturbance.
-When Cosmos is under extreme stress, there's a fairly good chance a portal will open to somewhere else and produce an object that is often of use to her in the situation she's in. How much use it is varies, however.
Weaknesses/Quirks:
-Is attracted to dimensional disturbances, often approaching them in the face of better judgment.
-Is reluctant to become involved in a conflict unless lives are on the line. She will do the right thing and help out her friends, but there will be a lot of grumbling involved.
-Loves her building. Any attack or damage to Wardenclyffe Tower, actual or intended, will send her hunting for blood.
-Hates censorship and book-burning in all it's forms. Very passionate about free speech.
-Her sense of humor can best be described as dry wit. She takes a certain cynical amusement in life in general and her life in particular.
Likes:
Books
Wardenclyffe Tower
Iced Coffee
The sound rain makes on the roof
Soundtracks
Her rooftop garden
Steady customers
Dislikes:
Lingering, damp cold
Censorship
Reality Television
Lounge Singers
Background:
Cosmos doesn't actually remember anything prior to arriving in Dream City. Considering where she lives, and the usual backgrounds of people who show up in that city without memories, she's a little paranoid about her past. But as time passes and no one shows up claiming that she's their clone, evil twin, destined warrior, or the product of an advance but unscrupulous genetic engineering program, she's relaxed a bit. She still doesn't want to talk about her past, though. If she's any of the above, she doesn't want to know.
Quite frankly, she isn't any of the above. She didn't strictly exist before she appeared in Dream City, she's basically a cosmic typo. She doesn't have any great destiny; a fact she would no doubt be relieved to know.
Cosmos is the voice of reason crying out in the wilderness, which means that she tends to lead a rather frustrated life. She also has a bit of a big sister complex, meaning she will do her best to help the people around her even if they don't directly ask her to, especially if they're younger than her. She can be a source of unexpected obscure knowledge... living in a bookstore will do that to a person.
Fellow Authors, please ask me before you:
-Depict Cosmos as a coward. Combat is not her first choice, and she sees nothing wrong with running away if she's clearly outmatched, but she will not abandon other characters. In a hopeless situation, she will either try to talk the other characters into a strategic retreat or, failing that, knock them over the head and drag them to safety. If neither of these avenues are open, she will stand and fight. She will, however, loudly and repeatedly state the foolhardiness of doing so.
-Depict Cosmos as a complete prude. She's a normal twenty-something woman when she's not locked in a theater being forced to watch deranged sex with deranged people.
Fellow Authors, please do not:
-Write something with me in it and not let me see it.
Posted on May 4, 2003, 7:07 PM from IP address 12.82.83.167
First Name: Lainer
Last Name: Lainer
What, Like Lainer Lainer?: Exactly!
Sex: Male
Physical Age: Twenty four.
True Age: Twenty four.
Also Goes By: Subway, but only if he doesn't have enough money for a taxi.
Residence: The office building he sort of owns in Dream City's fourth borough.
Height: 5'10"
Weight: 154 lbs
Eyes: Green
Hair: Blue in a pony tail that goes a few inches down his back.
Primary Goal(s):
XPs
To save his beloved car
Secondary Goal(s):
To make it to heaven.
To light up the sky like a flame.
FAME!
Strengths/Abilities:
-The coat. It's a bit more common place in Dream City than in other places, but it's still a super powered piece of hardware that gives him just about every power any video game character has ever had. In addition it also has an extensively stocked hammerspace. It also makes him functionaly immortal.
-Can absolutly beat the CRAP out of someone with a mop. Not a pole, or a length of pipe, only a mop.
Weaknesses/Quirks:
-The coat. While it is stupidly powerful, it almost never works unless Lainer is in life threatening danger, and even then it's not a sure thing. The chance of pulling anything useful out of the hammerspace is equily remote, because it is mostly filled with junk. Busts of TV actors from the 1980s, Pokemon fan art, SEGA Saturns, stuff like that. And if having a particular video game power at some point would be detrimental to his health (such as while crawling through a patch of mushrooms) he will almost always gain that power at the worst possible time. Finally, the coat typically won't keep Lainer from dieing; it just keeps him from staying dead.
-Has a perchent for chewing up scenery in fights if at all possible for no other reason than the fact that it looks cool. However, this will never hurt innocent bystanders, and will typically not hurt the intended victim either.
-Will almost never get mad or angry with anyone about anything. There are rare occasions where he can get mad, but they are rare.
-The above is irrelevent if his car is involved. You stay the hell away from his car, you hear?!
Likes:
Video Games
Giant Robots
Action Movies
His '72 pastel orange AMC Gremlin
Fads
Instant food
Boss fights
Dislikes:
Scientists
Power outages
Authority
Background:
Lainer was probably the Destined Hero from some obscure RPG universe, but he's not terribly concerned with ever getting home; mainly because of how heros always get shafted after saving the world. In Dream city he's been supplying himself with Cup Ramen and Famicon games by temping at the various buisnesses around town and around the multiverse. He's also been buying a good deal more of them after every other person living and working in his apartment building disappeared a few months back. Not having to pay rent or utilities almost makes the unpredictable and devastating portals in that part of town bearable.
The temping is how he came across the coat in the first place. He *ahem* borrowed the prototype from dataDyne about a year ago, and they've been tracking him off and on since then. They don't really need the prototype anymore, seeing as how they now have fully functional versions, but it's the principle of the matter.
Things were pretty idylic until, a few days ago, his car suddenly stopped working. All the doctors said it was a lost cause, that he should scrap it and get on with his life. Lainer can't accept that, and as we all know, anything can be solved if you throw enough money at it. Now where could he find lots of money?
Fellow Authors, please ask me before you:
-Make Lainer get mad. As already stated, Lainer barely ever gets mad, so it would have to be a special occasion.
Fellow Authors, please do not:
-Write something with me in it and not let me see it.
-Murder me in my sleep. It's just not a nice thing to do.
Posted on May 5, 2003, 1:43 AM from IP address 172.156.152.183
Name: Dragomorph
Full Name (never used): Pufpopil Dragomorph
Sex: Female
Physical Age: Approximately 18
True Age: 3
Also Goes By: Drago
Residence: A small apartment two blocks away from the Dream City theater district
Height: 2'11"
Weight: 70
Eyes: Black
Fur Color: White
Primary Goal(s):
To make it big as a serious dramatic actress
To prove to the world that Dragomorphs are more than cute comic relief for RPG heroes
Secondary Goal(s):
To keep herself going to avoid coming back to the Dragomorph Forest a failure
To find a steady source of work that doesn't require cheesy supporting roles or mercernary jobs
Strengths/Abilities:
-Excellent actor, in spite of her short fluffy appearance. If she were a human, she'd probably be leading a Broadway production right now. (See weaknesses)
-Surprisingly competant at mercenary work, largely in part due to the tendency for opponents to underestimate her.
-Is not deterred by seemingly impossible odds, but not because she's an optimist. Rather, it's because she's probably come up with some logical (in her mind, at least) explanation for why things are the way they are.
-Fire breath and low-level dragoon training.
-Temporary flight.
Weaknesses/Quirks:
-She's short. And fluffy. Needless to say, she doesn't get a lot of respect.
-Tends to be overly sensitive about herself. Gets very defensive as a result.
-Has an odd habit in times of extreme danger (and only rarely) to pass out, resulting in strangers coming in to save the day. Furthermore, she has no memory of what has passed, which confuses her when she's accused of breaking the fourth wall in this manner.
-Long ears don't help in fist fights. Trust us.
Likes:
Video Games
Independent Cinema
The Classics
Fresh Garden Salad
Monty Python & other quirky sources of humor
Video Game soundtracks
Anime
Dislikes:
Xenoracism
Being picked on
Funny Animal Cartoons
Being called by her first name
Injustice and Evil
Background:
There's a small section of the RPG Universe called the Cute Animal Land, home to such creatures as moogles, wind rats and other such creatures whose sole purpose for existence is to add to the marketability of role-playing games. Among these groups is a small, obscure species known as dragomorphs, who are a mixture of dragon and rabbit. In this enclave, all dragomorphs are considered to be of the same family, and thus all have "Dragomorph" in their names, along with some nauseatingly cute first name.
Among these cute little critters was born Pufpopil, known simply as Dragomorph to the outside world. From the start, it seemed as though she was destined for greatness -- her capacity for acting was incredible, landing her a starring role in several dragomorph dramatic productions within the first several months of life. (Dragomorphs age approximately six years to every human year, and thus mature relatively quickly.) Deciding it was time to make her way in the world, Dragomorph said good-bye to her fellow bunny dragons and made her way in the world, convinced of her rise to stardom.
Reality, however, is a harsh place, and in Dream City, Dragomorph soon learned about the aesthetic nature of show business. Turned down for major roles, she often found her only source of revenue coming in funny animal cartoons. Occasionally, she was offered work in less wholesome work, but her healthy sense of intraspecies sexuality made her turn these roles down quite quickly. Eventually, with her funds dwindling to nothing, she was forced to take on mercenary work, although being of the "good" alignment she tended to turn down any work that seemed too evil. Thus, while she takes on such jobs to pay the bills, Dragomorph keeps trying -- and hoping -- to prove to the world that dragomorphs, too, are people.
It should be noted that Dragomorph hates -- I mean, REALLY hates -- her first name. In fact, she despises the pandering her species does to try and attract RPG heroes, including adding "puf" to the end of their sentences. To that extent, she never tells people what it is.
An extra note: the odd "fourth wall" destruction she's capable of channeling has less to do with psychic abilities and more to do with an odd connection to her author, shared by other characters of that author. The only difference between her and the others, though, is that not only does she not know about this, but she doesn't seem to want to find out. Chalk it up to maintenance of reality.
Fellow Authors, please ask me before you:
-Depict Dragomorph as overly naive. She's got a freaking weird sense of logic, but she's not stupid.
-Use the "Fourth Wall" plot gimmick. Beyond the fact that the characters are all my own, it's something that should be saved for extreme dire circumstances, because it's really just a reference to her desperation move.
Fellow Authors, please do not:
-Write something with me in it and not let me see it.
-Kill Dragomorph. That's just mean. :-(
Posted on May 6, 2003, 7:50 PM from IP address 66.165.22.100
I'll be sure to figure out some way to format these things and stick 'em in a snappy-looking subdirectory for future reference. (It has a PLOT?) Suggestions on just how it should be done are welcomed.
...
...would it be terribly egomaniacal and mastubatory if I posted mine here, or...?
--RoPOH
"Addiction to DDR's just the same as any other addiction: You just take it one step at a time." *rimshot*
Posted on May 11, 2003, 2:58 AM from IP address 24.29.43.234
Forgive the spelling errors. I don't seem to have anything with spell check handy.
Name: Jacob Bocephus Elias, not that he'll identify himself as anything more than Jake Elias.
Sex: Male
Species: Human. Full-blooded. Maybe.
Physical Age: Early to mid 20s.
True Age: All versions of his records, and his memory, say 22.
Also Goes By: Storm God
Residence: An apartment in Midway, near Fantasyland.
Height: 5'10
Weight: 160lbs
Eyes: Blue
Hair: Brown
Primary Goals:
To learn as much magic as possible.
To figure out the story behind the asylum and its surrounding dimensions.
To see as much of the world as possible, after fulfulling the above goals.
Secondary Goals:
To create a set of true runestones, as the mock stones he uses are limiting his power.
To learn a way to accelerate the enchantment process. As it stands, the above goal will take over 30 years to complete.
To get revenge for Episode 104. Thief and Ice aren't the only targets, though...
Strengths/Abilities:
Strong magical aptitude. Can usually sense changes in the ambient mana level and detect magical items without trying.
Extensive knowledge of rune magic, plus the ability to use cantrips and pun magic, allows him to improvise a variety of magical effects.
Passable skill with a knife and stronger than the stereotypical mage. He's not completely helpless without his magic.
Farm boy from magical town. Knows his way around animals and plants, some of which have yet to be classified by scientists. Can also deal with some of the more exotic beings, like faeries and elementals.
Weaknesses/Quirks:
First reaction to a problem is to break out the runes. If that doesn't work, a cantrip is in order. Bad things tend to happen when Jake uses cantrips, even if he gets what he wants.
First reaction to hostility is to throw lightning in its general direction. No good ever comes of this.
Tends to get flashy with the magic. Changing the weather and chucking lightning bolts is dramatic enough in itself, but his sleep spells are so flashy, it's a wonder the special effects don't wake up the target.
Terrible temper. Goes from totally calm to incredibly pissed with few stops along the way. Tends to make him look schizophrenic.
Rune magic is time and energy consuming. Cantrips can only be used once, and the wording is more important than the intention. Pun magic requires an audience. Jake's only normal spells are Healing and Information College.
Foot-in-mouth syndrome around women. Five minutes with Jake would make Kasumi Tendo act like Akane Tendo.
Has trouble keeping up with pop culture. He knows the latest happenings in Iraq, but he thinks Pokemon is new. This makes him look clueless.
Has *no* resistance to spells whatsoever. In addition, it is nearly impossible to screw up a spell thrown *directly* on him, even if people are beating the mage about the head as the spell is cast. Jake is the bitch of any Final Fantasy Oracle.
Casts no shadow. There are many people who are convinced that Jake isn't quite human...
Likes:
Magic, particularly air/lightning and water/ice magic.
Magical girl anime.
Brainy, somewhat socially-awkward women. He's convinced that his soul mate will be someone like Willow from "Buffy the Vampire Slayer". That may change if he ever sees her as the Wicked Wiccan of the West Coast...
Rain.
CCGs. He's also a sucker for the phrase "collect the whole set".
Pokemon, and not just the game or anime. This is Dream City, after all.
Dislikes:
Dry weather.
The terminally self-righteous, especially if they're defending something that is clearly on the pitch black side of the gray area.
Militants, whatever the cause.
Being treated like a hick or an idiot.
People who can't give a straight answer. He's been known to set them on fire.
Violent sex. S&M totally creeps him out. As for scenes of rape... there's a reason why Charanda is the only person from ep. 104 that he *doesn't* want to hurt in some way.
Bears. Don't ask why.
Background:
Jake's past is something of a mystery, even to him. He remembers growing up on a farm in a small North Carolina town. Actually, from Jake's descriptions of the town, it's located in North Carolina only twenty days (which may not be consecutive) out of the year. In any event, the Elias family isn't your typical bunch of farmers. After all, how many people till soil with Earth spells, or use Air-Golems armed with scythes to harvest grain?
Jake's life was relatively uneventful (well, there was that time when he animated the army of zombie field mice) until he fished a large crystal out of an old well. Upon touching it, he was transported to the location of a similar crystal in a strange parallel world. He immediately encountered a pair of Elves, named Lorne and Arlen. Meeting them has given Jake some doubts as to his life story.
Lorne claims to have seen Jake and Arlen before - in an insane asylum. Touching the crystal where Jake appeared sent the group into an alternate, run-down version of an office in said asylum. Records indicate that Jake, Lorne, and Arlen are all patients there, suffering from various delusions. Lorne stated that while travelling through yet another dimension linked to the asylum, he met several people he recognized as fellow patients. Some of these patients, in their various incarnations, have implied that the asylum isn't what it seems. All things considered, that's one hell of a feat.
According to the records, Jake is Arlen's son, and Lorne is his brother. Lorne briefly traveled through another dimension with other inmates, a human soldier named Duke (Jake and Lorne's father), and an alien named Kaltar (Arlen's brother). The enigmatic family patriarch, Duke's father, is a man named Kaliba, the only member of the family who isn't an inmate. He lives in North Carolina...
After exchanging Lorne for a Shaolin monk named Fivel, Jake & Co. went off to meet Kaliba, which involved a train ride from China to North Carolina, across the Pacific, with stops in Atlantis and a Midwestern town that is now nothing more than an impact crater. At a stop in Nashville, Jake stepped off the train... and right onto another crystal. He appeared in Dream City, and none of the crystal's mates were in sight. He has yet to see Arlen or Fivel.
That was over a year ago. Since then, Jake has made a living doing magical odd jobs. Because of his experience, most of these jobs are in the farms and villages in Fantasyland (boosting crop yield, removal of vermin and low-level monsters, altering the weather to favorable growing conditions, along with the occasional Healing spell). To be close to his work, he's rented an apartment in neighboring Midway. This seems to be tainting his views, as he thinks this is typical for "The Big City(tm)".
Fellow Authors, please ask me before you:
Have Jake use a cantrip. Since they can only be used once, I'd like to keep track of what was used.
Have Jake start a fight. He may have a temper like a nuclear weapon, but there are guidelines to arming the warhead.
Work with the asylum dimensions. *I* barely understood what was going on.
Use the background characters from Jake's stage. I only own one of them.
Fellow Authors, please do not:
Saddle Jake with a Southern accent. He doesn't have one, despite his alleged state of origin. An apparent side-effect of the movements of his hometown is that Jake doesn't speak with any identifiable accent, unless he uses words unique to a particular dialect.
Write Jake as an idiot. The hamster may be a little lazy, but he can get some pretty good mileage out of the wheel when he wants to.
Write something with Jake in it and not let me see it.
Let me know if I screwed something up.
-Z
Posted on May 11, 2003, 3:52 AM from IP address 24.130.81.103
...I'm gonna take a stab in the dark here and say that this is gonna be separate from QPT's continuity (It has a PLOT?). Therefore, The Quest For Vengeance (tm) wouldn't really apply.
Aside from that, it's good.
--RoPOH
<shadow_dub> That reminds me of something Gavok said last night.
<shadow_dub> When Jumpy and I were discussing which Naked X-women should be in X3.
<shadow_dub> And Gavok said "Juggernaut."
Posted on May 11, 2003, 11:55 AM from IP address 24.29.43.234
Only three things are going to survive a nuclear war: cockroaches,
Twinkies, and Keith Richards. Keith is gonna come strolling out with
his guitar slung on his back. <in British accent> "I saw a bright light.
I thought we was on!"
-- unknown comedian, "Just for Laughs" comedy festival, late 80s
[Spengler picks up a Hostess Twinkie from the workbench.]
SPENGLER: Well, let's say this Twinkie represents the normal amount of
psychokinetic energy in the New York area. According to this
morning's PKE sample, the current level in the city would be a
Twinkie 35 feet long weighing approximately six hundred
pounds.
WINSTON: That's a big Twinkie.
-- "Ghostbusters," written by Harold Ramis and Dan Aykroyd
==========
There is always a first moment; this was that first moment, when it was
first self-aware, when it first knew life. It found itself in a cocoon
of sorts, lying on its side in the floor of some sort of building, large
with rows of foodstuffs and tile on the floor, dark except for the glow
from the flames of the city burning outside the frames of what used to
be large tempered-glass windows at the front of the building.
It wriggled about and with a rustle and pop, it struggled free of that
sheath that surrounded it and observed as many of its brothers and
sisters did the same. It knew nothing other than the fact that it was
alive. It began to move itself slowly along the floor, toward the
strange orange glow. It was aware of movement for a long time, and its
progress along the linoleum was slow.
It suddenly stopped and quivered, as if sensing the air. It then seemed
to make a decision and moved again toward the orange glow coming from
the front of the building.
As it moved forward, a pocket-sized poodle entered the building,
sniffing the air. The dog padded through the store, up and down several
aisles, sniffing at various items on the shelves and on the floor. The
dog turned up the aisle where it lay still.
It waited as the dog came and sniffed and licked it. The dog began to
nose at it, rolling it over on its back. As the dog attempted to lick
the bottom of it, it compressed, spraying white creamy foam into the
face of the dog. The dog did not even have a chance to yip before
falling over, dead, head dissolving.
It moved into the pool of dissolved flesh and bone, spongy body
absorbing the semi-fluid. It grew in size as it soaked up the viscous
mess.
And suddenly it knew what was outside the building and knew the dog's
name was Fluffy.
And Gregor Mendel and James A. Dewar spun in their graves.
-----
Keith Richards came wandering out of his London flat, cigarette hanging
from his lips, beer bottle in hand, guitar strapped to his back,
oblivious to
the destruction around him as the city burned to the ground.
"Hey, where is everybody? Where's the stage? I saw a bright light. I
don't remember there being a concert today."
An eight-and-one-half foot long cockroach jumped out of the shadows and
bit Keith's head clean off, swallowing it whole.
Keith's body dropped to the ground and crumbled into dust.
The cockroach stood there for a bit, savoring the flavor of human flesh
and bone before suddenly staggering to one side and rolling over on its
back, antennae and legs thrashing in the air. It laid there, kicking,
for five minutes or so, before other cockroaches descended upon its
prone form and ripped it apart, feeding on its flesh. They in turn
ended up on their backs until others came.
Thus was London purged of cockroaches.
This message has been edited by t.ogre from IP address 143.166.83.134 on Mar 14, 2003 9:51 AM
Posted on Mar 14, 2003, 9:33 AM from IP address 143.166.83.134
Anyway, I plan to be done by this time next week at the very latest.
Will it rock your socks?
Sirs, it will rock so hard that you head will spin.
Your head will spin so fast that it will go backward in time... back to a time when bugs wore suits, answered doors and ended their sentences with "sir."
dub
...stupid squirrel.
Posted on Mar 14, 2003, 12:40 PM from IP address 68.1.138.9
Okay... well, for starters, we need three things... and by "we" I mean "I":
1) *pulls a random TFC llama out of thin air*
Player(5): TEAMS PLZ K THNX
b) Some point where "we" say, "okay, that's enough; anyone else that shows up can join RBQF2, or something."
III) Some knowledge of everyone's backstories. I was planning on coming up with a backstory page sometime, so.. yeah.
To be perfectly honest, I don't know where to start. Figuring out who the "Hero Team" would be might be first, but judging from some other fictional fantasy fighting tournaments and the correlation between the main writer/creator and the team leader (ACR - Kyo Misfire; OR - Wandy), the answer is both obvious, terrifying, and slightly insulting.
ONIKO: Save the world. Play DDR. Save the world. Play DDR.
KAO: Damn it, Oniko! This is NOT a hard decision to make!
ONIKO: I know, I know! But if the world gets destroyed, Max 3 won't be released!
KAO: ...
DUB: We are *fucked.*
It's a semi-given that Searcher is the Cheap SNK-style Final Boss (tm), but everything else is nonexistent.
...did that make sense to anyone else?
--RoPOH
"I could if I wanted to."
Posted on Mar 14, 2003, 2:30 PM from IP address 24.117.173.170
First, get permission. The last thing you want is for someone to throw an internet temper tantrum and say "I never said you could use sowandsow! If they give permission, they can't pull permission, just like in the MSTings. The story isn't going to have all kinds of wacked out fucked up stuff in it, I think. I mean, it's pretty much just a rip from the Octagon Rumble, right? So we won't suddenly have Thief getting Whoever drunk and sexing he/she/it up.
Second, create the teams after getting permission. Look at who you get. Say if you get black dub, t.ogre, Lance, Oniko, Brandt/Thief and Ryukage respond.
dub, Oniko, Thief and t.ogre wouldn't work on a team 'cause the first three have a touch of the hentai.
Lance and ogre wouldn't work, unless they reached some kind of Kyo/Iori agreement.
...
I like that idea. Two bitter enemies having to fight the greater evil?
dub and Brandt wouldn't work as Brandt is a super-good, while dub is practically villainous. Laws? What laws?
Oh, and there will be a dub redesign sometime soon. It will keep with the MST's canon, but it will be a redesign.
dub, Brandt/Thief and Ryukage... don't really have anything in common.
See what I mean? Just throw a little thought into it and it should turn out fine.
Third- Make it clear that what one person writes cannot be ret-conned due to prima donna bullshit.
Fourth- Get good backstories going. I'm not sure if the theatre action should be canon or not, as this could be a neat AU thing.
Fifth- NO RETCONS.
Sixth- Make it clear that you can't play favorites. I mean, if Lance shows up in the story, then someone with a vendetta against Shade could fuck him up but good.
That's stupid. That brings me to seven-
Se7venth- No killing of characters unless absolutely necessary. And when it is absolutely necessary, have the character leave Quasispace instead of dying.
Eighth- If this is your first night at Fight Club, you have to fight.
Ninth- Insure that all characters stay in character. dub would never say god followed by a curse word, or even the spelled out version of "omg." And yet, he will still tell someone to "Go fuck yourself in your stupid ass!" ...well, he owuldn't say that, but he isn't afraid to curse. OOC is a bad thing. And don't give me that creativity shit either. It's stupid. Fuck that.
Tenth- This isn't just a "Hey, let's fuck around lolllololoO!!!one!!!!" thing. It's a story. It's the written word. Treat it with the respect it deserves.
...that's all I can think of right now.
...geez, I wish there was a way to edit posts after making them -_- I get the feeling I fucked up somewhere up there.
dub
Posted on Mar 15, 2003, 12:33 AM from IP address 68.1.138.9