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PQ and Retrostacja Captain
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 Posted: Mon May 18, 2009 6:20 pm
The Runaways
A lit-adv. lit roleplay
Call us the Runaways. No, not the Marvel series. We don't have super powers, really. We're just a few humble children who decided that the homes we were born in were not the places to be, our reasons varied and some unknown. So we embarked on our own journeys at separate times, from separate places. And by some strange chance all of us met up on the back streets of Chicago. Some are friends, some are enemies, but nonetheless we all must work together to survive. Many of us had no families of our own, so we made one. We might be dysfunctional on many (if not all) levels, but it's the family we chose to be in. Our lives are not easy and not always fun, but we do more than our best to make it through day to day. Will you join us?
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Posted: Mon May 18, 2009 6:21 pm
Rules This is a lit-adv literate roleplay based on a group of homeless kids in Chicago who work together to do things varying from pick-pocketing to outrunning the police, to stop the fighting within their own circle, and keeping their eyes out for 'rival' groups. The rules are simple. Make a profile, PM it to me, when I reply to the PM with a thumbs up you are free to post. I don't expect post styles for your characters, but I want you to think them out. I want at least a paragraph per post. No god-modding.
This is a PG-13 roleplay, just a heads up. The word ******** will be used frequently and there will be mature concepts.
All out of character discussion must be kept at the minimum, and in ((double brackets)).
Like I said, take the profile from the next post, fill it out, PM it, and then go and start posting!
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PQ and Retrostacja Captain
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PQ and Retrostacja Captain
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Posted: Mon May 18, 2009 6:26 pm
Profile
[b]Name[/b]:
[b]Age[/b]:
[b]Height[/b]:
[b]Weight[/b]:
[b]Eyes[/b]:
[b]Hair[/b]:
[b]Sexual Preference[/b]:
[b]Physical Description[/b]:
[b]Personality[/b]:
[b]History[/b]:
[b]Likes[/b]:
[b]Dislikes:[/b]
[b]Speech Color:[/b]
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Posted: Mon May 18, 2009 6:36 pm
Characters PQ Jag "The Ringmaster" Name: The name's Jag, that's it. No last name to hold this guy down.
Age: Legally an adult, illegal alcoholic. You guess.
Height: A staggering six feet five inches ladies and gentlemen.
Weight: Topping it out around a buck sixty. Light as a feather, thin as a board.
Eyes: So much honey in these wide eyed pools, Winnie be jealous.
Hair: It's a mess underneath this hat, trust me.
Sexual preference: Because I look like both, why not play for both teams?
Physical Description: I'm a tall dark pretty kid you can't help but want to talk to. I'm a charismatic sort of guy, what can I say? That could have to do with my slight androgeny...ya know, with this cheek bones and lips and pin straight hips, it's hard to figure out if I either have no boobs or no balls. It works in my favor, because you see I travel that very particularly thin line. My eyes are wide and lost but it's my sly grin that gives it all away.
You'll always see me sporting the nearly infamous cowboy boots and hat with a mixture of gender bending clothes. I might be wearing skinny jeans one day, and a peasant skirt the next. Gives people something to look at. But I do keep style. I'm more of a bohemian than a hobo, but s**t, I'll take anything if it'll keep me warm. Two accessories you'll never see me without? My cello and my cigarette, perched delicately on a long cherry drag that doubles as a string pick if I'm multitasking.
Personality: Like I said, I'm a charismatic sort of person. And I work it until I have nothing left. Whether that means I am out of ideas, or out of my clothes, I don't break promises. I use sex as a weapon and as a method of payment, in case you didn't catch on. It feels good, it's a win win! You can trust me to do anything for a price. Morals you say? If a stupid moral is going to keep me from feeding my family, ******** it.
For the most part I am a laid back person, smoking and letting the music just flow out of me. But if you back stab me, or ******** with anyone in my crew, god won't have time to hear those prayers of mercy. I will ******** your day up and make sure that I will be the last thing that ever ******** you, you got it? I like the word ********. I got trust issues, so if you want to be in the crew, you gotta prove to me you're not gonna cheat or just be a thorn in our side. But you better watch out if you forget that I am not only alpha male, but alpha female. Try to dominate me and I'll just have to remind you of that. Got it? Good. I think we'll be friends.
History: I'm not one to splurge my past, nor am I one to elaborate without reason. Born and raised in New York I was a normal kid until I realized I liked to wear girl's clothes. Not only that, but I wrote boy and girl names in my notebooks with hearts around them during class. That was about when I was thirteen. My dad was (Well, still is, but that's not the point) a high time lawyer and would not tolerate that sort of behavior out of me. My mom was a submissive abused woman who loved me but could never help me. ********, she couldn't help herself half the time. My dad boozed her into submission and obediance so she couldn't lift a finger to help me when he decided to ******** around with me, on multiple levels of that word. I managed to runaway at the age of fifteen after stealing nearly an entire grand from my dad and a handful of expensive jewelry from my mom's room.
Hitchhiked to Chicago by various means, half as a guy and half as a girl. Bought myself a cello, claimed an abandoned apartment building as my own (through even more various and moral shattering means), sat myself on a corner and played music for money. It was after a couple of months that I started pulling other homeless kids off the street and throwing them into my place in exchange for their talents. That's where the other kids come in, although a few of them might be older than me, who knows? I sort of feel like I'm doing a remake of Oliver Twist, and honestly? I'm all good with that.
Likes:
-Music
-Cigarettes
- Booze
- Dresses
- Boots
- Sex
- Adrenaline rushes
- Mixture of paternal and maternal instincts
- Fashion
- Stray Dogs
- Rats
- Sex
- Sun bathing in the nude
-Being nude in general
Dislikes:
-The cold
- The cops
- His parents
- Adults in general
- Cats
- Physical contact he did not initiate
- Bitches
- Not getting what he wants
- Musicals
- Soda
- Gluten (he's allergic!)
Speech Color: Like I said, sloooow like HONEY.Ash Badguy Faust Name:"K" , ditched his real name ever since he moved out on his own. Age: 20 Height: 5'9'' Weight: 190 lbs. His frame is thick and muscular. Eyes: bright yellow. He was born with a very rare case of heterochromia where the melanin in his eyes was so light that it gave him an amberish color. He has to wear thick black shades because of extreme light sensitivity. Hair:Jet black, thick and long, down to his shoulders. Sexual Preference: strait Physical Description: though short for his build he's very strong and athletic. Tattoos of barbed wire coiled around his forearms, with long hair that covers his face. Only his bright yellow eyes can be seen through his thick hair. His skin is pale, from years away from the sun. carries around a guitars like his security blanket. It's an old hollow body like the one Elvis used early in his career. It was a gift from his uncle. his other one was an old acoustic he refinished after buying it in a thrift store. if you're lucky enough to see his pale smirking face, he has snake bites on his lips, and an eye brow piercing. He wears a hoodie, with only one sleeve on its right side. Whenever asked why he's missing a sleeve, he says it lets him play quicker. When not out in public he wears an american flag bandanna to keep the hair out of his face, but when in public he ties it around his exposed forearm. Personality: sarcastic, not afraid to crack a joke at someone's expense. Soft spoken with a short temper, often starting and finishing fights in less than 2 punches. Cares deeply for his guitars and his small amp. On several occasions he risked life and death to save them. He has an ability to read faces and body language, more often than not avoiding anyone who he doesn't like. History: Lived with his mother and uncle, in a very modest home in the suburbs of Detroit. When he was 16 they were killed in a car accident, which is when he moved to Virgina to live with his father, a prominent US senator. His father never thought much of him, often ridiculing the bands he would listen to, the way he dressed, going on and on about how he was an embarrassment to the family. After stealing a couple thousand dollars from the old b*****d he left without so much as a good bye, and trekked his way to Chicago where he met Jag. He respected him for his honesty, with himself and the others. Likes: music sincerity Elvis Presley old school science fiction B rated action horror movies girls in lengere cats his guitars his amp dark haired girls Stephen Colbert hard liquor Dislikes:his father Hollywood the government snobs women's roller derby water smoking country music Speech Color: Green, with envy. 40seven
Name: Michel and only that. Though before when I had a surname it was Longhorn
Age: turning eighteen later this year…
Height: 5 feet 8 and a half!
Weight: 145 to 150 pound depends on how well I’m feeling.
Eyes: Oh, they are blue. Clear blue.
Hair: It’s quite long and wild actually. A mess of pale blond hair.
Sexual Preference: That might not be my thing… But I do like both boys and girls.
Physical Description: Ah, this varies for a bit actually… Or well, not really… I mean I always have my blond messy hair, my big blue eyes and my rather pale skin. It’s just that depending on how I’m feeling I come across differently. On a good day my back is straight and I walk proudly with a smile on my fast. If I’m feeling bad I’m hunched over and even paler than before. What else can I say about how I look? I’m pale… wait, I already said that… Oh well… My body, I’m not really muscular. Quite thin actually but not really scrawny…I also have quite a few scars on my body. Both from accidents and… those not so accidental. Amongst my scars I have around my wrists and ankles, yep. Right around them.
Though I wear so much clothing that none of my scars are visible. You see. I’m always cold. Yes, always. Sometimes more and sometimes less. But always cold. So I like to wear big t-shirts with big hoodies over with big jackets over. I usually also wear multiple socks and I like to wear big scarves and gloves. Not that much into hats though… In the summers I might take of one pair of socks, and I probably won’t wear gloves or a scarf. I guess that’ it, my appearance. I’m just a simple average boy with many scars messy hair and a lot of clothes.
Personality: I’m mad. Crazy. Insane. There’s many ways to put it. Allow me to explain. I hallucinate. Mostly vision hallucinations but I hear things too. I’m not good at talking either. Words often jumble for me. I also find myself being very socially awkward. Sometimes I even find it hard to find the right feeling when I’m faced with something. Like, sometimes I just can’t be sad if someone dies. That feeling disappears. But can randomly come back at any given time. So I’m quite insane. It’s probably hard to know where you have me. But some things never change.
I am usually quite calm. I like to just sit around. I can also be polite and I know how to behave. I am also very caring and extremely loyal to the people around me that I like. After all, they are my family. So you know, on my good days I am a really decent and nice person!
History: My mom was a housewife and my dad was a Catholic priest. I was a quite odd child already from the beginning. I was their only child and we were quite happy when I was little. Then something started happening. Dad beat me and my mom up sometimes… Mom didn’t try to stop him, it was God’s saying you know… After a while I started hearing and seeing all these things… Hallucinations. I tried to hide it all but after a while mom understand that something was wrong so she told dad. He decided that I was possessed by the devil. He wanted to perform an exorcism on me. Mom wanted to take me to the doctor. So nothing of it happened.
Then one day I came home to find mom dead below our stairs. Supposedly she fell, but I think it was dad… After that he decided to perform the exorcism on me. So I was tied to my bed and stayed there for a couple of days before I finally broke loose and ran away. To Chicago where I met some other people that all are my new family.
Likes:
Warmth
Clothes
Body contact
Churches
Reading, classics mostly
Sweets&Cakes
His friends
Dislikes:
Cold
Winter
Churches
Overly religious people
Hospitals
Big dogs
Being alone
Speech Color: The voices say teal to me.
RainbowTunnel  Name: Kit E Age: I'm twelve, but the doctors say I'm sixteen. Height: The last time I was checked I was five feet and five inches. But it's been a few months, so I don't know... Weight: Why do the doctors think I have an eating problem? Eyes: A vacant green. Hair: It looks as if my hair were set ablaze. Sexual Preference: Males. Gender Identity Androgynous Physical Description: I have pasty pale skin, ravishing red hair, and lonely green eyes. My build is petite and on the very thin side. Being flat chested with tiny hips, I am often taken as a boy when I wear more masculine clothing (though sometimes even when I wear girly cloths), but because of my feminin face and often use of pigtails, I am thought of as a girl. My style differs day to day, as I wear clean cloths each day (if I can). I have a few kindergarten/little girl dresses that I like very much, but sometimes I switch it up and have baggy boy shorts with a white button up shirt and a tie. I don't really like jeans, but I take what I can get. Personality: I am rather shy, and don't offer my opinion unless directly asked or I really think it's necissary. I try not to get attached to people, because they are likely to dissapear one day or another. Trying to be polite isn't always possible for me, and sometimes I accidentally say something rude without meaning to. I just want to keep people from being angry with me, so I try and please everyone I can. History: I don't know when I was born, but my first memories are of small white rooms and people in long white coats with masks. They told me that I had something wrong with me, so I lived there. I didn't know what was going on, but they made me do terrible things... if I didn't do them, they would do terrible things to me. Somewhere along the way, I started shutting down, losing the ability to feel emotion. I just had to play dead, and they'd leave me alone after having their way. Just play dead. In my spare time, I would write. There was a nurse who took pity on me and snuck me pen and paper. Writing mostly poetry, it would come out about anything. Through writing, I could find my haven, my imagined worlds where I had a mommy and daddy, and we were happy. Through writing, I could almost feel. Somehow, I got out. The same nurse that gave me the paper helped me get out. She new that horrible things were happening, so she aided my escape. I don't want to tell you how I did it, just in case I get put back in and have to do the same thing again, so please don't take offence. Once I was out, I took to wandering the streets of the city, hoping to find a family. I found out that it was called Chicago, and was almost taken by a group of strange, intimidating men when a few good people saved me. Since then I've been under their protection. Is this... family? Likes: + Family + Happiness + Love + Kindess + The nurse that helped me + Friends Dislikes: + Physical contact + Harsh words + Loud noises + Adults (mostly men) + The colour white + White noise + Violence Speech Color: Violetkingwerewolf Name: I'm often referred to as "Him" or "Her" or "R". Age: Not saying... Height: 1.5 meters (5'6") Weight: I'm light enough Eyes: Working well enough. Hair: From the little others have seen, a dark red. Sexual Preference: I prefer those of the female persuasion. Physical Description: I like to hide myself. I wear a full face canvas mask, with black netting to allow me to see, but keep my eyes hidden. I wear jeans and knee length socks, a t-shirt, a lengthy coat, and gloves. As for my actual body, I'm not tellin'. Personality: Quiet, calm, and intelligent. I prefer not to talk. History: None of your concerns. Likes: Books Dogs Privacy My mask Blades Dislikes:Noise Cats Those who ask too much My uncovered face. Drugs Speech Color: ((Highlight)): White, as it give off the subtly of my voice. Monk65  Name: Shera Marine Keegan, but most people know me as Dice. Age: I’m fourteen, but am commonly mistaken for twelve or sixteen depending on the idiot to whom I‘m speaking to. Height: I’m five feet, four inches tall and still growing. Weight: I weigh one hundred and three pounds. I have better things to spend my money on than food. Eyes: Two olive orbs of gorgeousness. Hair: Strawberry blonde. I keep it short for a reason. Sexual Preference: Boy, girl, hermaphrodite, transsexual. I don’t care. I‘m pansexual. Physical Description: I’m a lithe young thing. I’ve only just started puberty so my breasts are rather small and my hips haven‘t really developed yet. Although I don’t think my hips will get much wider, my breasts may get larger. I have no idea. I have a long torso and long limbs so I always seem taller than I really am when sitting down. I don’t look it either, but I’m rather muscular. People have commonly put their hands on me thinking I’m as soft and sweet as I seem, and looked completely shocked as they felt the hardness of my body. I’m muscle and bone, nothing else. My head is heart-shaped and most people think I’m “innocent-looking” because of it especially when I widen my eyes just a bit. I have almond shaped eyes, thin lips, and un-defined cheekbones even though my face is rather thin. I look like a girl and am rarely ever thought to be anything else unless that‘s what I want a person to see. You will always see me in pants unless I absolutely have to wear a skirt or dress. Skirts are just not practical in the life I lead. Don’t get me wrong, I love wearing them, they‘re just really not practical. I usually have on a jacket of some sort as well. You never know when you need long sleeves and lots of pockets. No matter what I will always wear my dice necklace and sneaker boots. The necklace because it’s lucky and the boots because they’re the perfect mix of comfort, maneuverability, and protection. And I rarely ever leave my messenger bag since it has my entire life it. All of my clothes, my favorite book, my lucky pack of playing cards, and varying sets of dice. Oh, and before I forget… I have a cross shaped brand on the left side of my back just under the ribcage. Personality: I’m kind of two-faced. I can’t help it. There’s Dice and then there’s Shera. Now, I talk about myself as though I’m two different people because I kind of really am. Shera is the for real me. The one who hides in the back of my head telling me my lines. And don’t get me wrong I’m not schizophrenic. I just need to remind myself of a few things. Dice is just a character in the story of my life. Most people only know Dice. Sweet, innocent, laidback, could never hurt anyone, knows just how to get what she wants. She’s a darling girl Dice. Shera on the other hand is a different story with the same ending. She’s manipulative, bitchy, a pathological liar, can cry on demand, and has absolutely no problem starting s**t. To be honest. I like Shera a lot more. History: I have no parents. I never did. I was left at a Michigan hospital by the junkie-b***h who birthed me and was sent to a foster care facility. I’d live with a nice couple for a few months and then be sent back. Live with a shitty couple and then get sent back. Live with an okay couple and then get sent back. For some, reason no one ever wanted to hold onto me. My first memories are of houses I’d never see again, car rides to new places, and people who only ever pretended to care. By the time I’d turned six I was used to the routine. I was already numb. I knew as soon I’d get somewhere new after a few months or so I’d something to screw it up and be sent somewhere else. So, I traveled from home to home. Never really being accepted by the families I lived with or by the kids I was surrounded by. Some were bad, some were good, and some were just okay. Eventually, I just got sick of it. I still remember the day I quit the system. I was twelve years old and was at the worst home I’d ever lived in by far. My body was bandaged and I was in the only night gown I had. I remember sneaking into my “sister‘s” room while she was out with her boyfriend. I’d picked up a bag, shoved it full of clothes, slipped on a pair of jeans, broke open her piggy bank, took her diamond purity ring which she’d conveniently “forgot”, and left her a note apologizing. I knew the sixteen year old would forgive me. She knew how her parents had treated me. She was the one who’d taken care of me after the “accident”. Putting the note in her favorite book I opened her window and escaped. I made my way South after that. Making a living the only way I knew how, gambling, lying, and eventually laying. Likes: Gambling. Stealing. Sleeping around. Smoking. Dancing. Money. Drinking. Dressing up. Bathing. Touching people. Dislikes: Religion of any sort. Nuns. Priests. Reverends. Judges. Animals. Adults over the age of thirty. Pigs of the badge variety. Speech Color: Olive in honour of my favorite commander.
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PQ and Retrostacja Captain
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PQ and Retrostacja Captain
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Posted: Thu May 21, 2009 12:50 pm
Underneath the constant sounds, the very heartbeat of Chicago, the noises from cars to walking to talking to cell phones, played a whole other tune. Slow, deliberate and entrancing, the notes shifting were a breath of fresh air from the deafening life on the street. Few people heard it, and even fewer noticed where it was coming from.
Those that cared to look would be able to see the origin of the music. Perched on an overturned shopping cart was a young person, head lowered and leaning into the cello's musical embrace. Their gender was indistinguishable, between the torn lavender peasant skirt, loose fitting pale green t-shirt, pink and blue paisley tie, along with worn out cowboy boots and a brown fedora that hid the person's face. But the general shape of the person was feminine, long, slender and so absolutely attached to the cello as long slender fingers shifted in their own dance. In the same hand as the bow was a long drag, a cigarette almost out perched on the tip of it.
People felt their hearts ache as the music faded away, the bow lifted from the strings. Down at the feet of the musician was the cello case, a mahogany outside with a plush burgundy lining. Several dozen bills and more than a few handfuls of change nestled their ways into the fabric, and a few more joined them once the song ended. A few sounds of applause brought the musician's head upwards to face his audience.
Even after seeing his face, people were still confused. Angled cheekbones, a soft face, pale lips caressing the drag as it nestled between them, and his eyes....pure honey in wide child-like eyes startled many. While those eyes looked so lost, they could also see the hardness of the homeless life.
"Thank you ladies and gentlemen," Jag said with an innocent grin, the drag now between his teeth. "I appreciate the donations, my family will eat well tonight!" His voice was slightly raspy but strong, and smooth in a way that was a give away to his level of education; he wasn't born and raised on the streets, to say the least.
The crowd smiled (at least some of them did) as they continued on their way to whichever location they pleased. Jag, on the other hand, twirled his cello absently as his eyes scanned the main street in front of him. It was almost time to get headed back Home, the dilapidated apartment building he and his crew were crashing. It was a few blocks down, in deep downtown.
A few of his family would stop by to walk back Home with him....now where were they?
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Posted: Thu May 21, 2009 2:10 pm
taste the salt of my tears
take the wealth of my years
singing in the millennium with you K walked with a swagger, his hands in his front sweatshirt pocket. clutched in his hand was a roll of bills , $1200. He smirked to himself as he replayed the previous events in his head. K was talking to a drug dealer about possibly getting some marijuana seeds to grow and sell for some extra cash when he saw an expensive BMW parked in a red zone by a grocery store with the emergency lights on. He isn't in any real emergency, if he was he wouldn't be at some two bit grocery store. K thought to himself. "Ya know what I hate? people who are in such a hurry they have to park in a red zone. What if someone was really in trouble? What if, that car blocked an ambulance from saving an old lady?"K was now on the move, with his goal in mind. he munched on a carrot, sharpening his eye sight slightly as he creeped between people like a wraith. Noone so much as protested when he jumped behind the wheel of the idle BMW, but gave him more than enough room to drive it away. He sped off from the super market minutes before the privileged punk returned to find his ride vanished, hopping it was some David Blane brand prank, and that he was on TV. But no, his car would never return, and he only had himself to blame. Though he was very sure of himself he was the victim, his denial would grow and grow. Meanwhile K enjoyed the handle of the car, and took it around for a casual drive. The british engineering of the suspension, transmission, even the expensive leather smelled sweet. After a good hour when the needle of the gas indicator hovered over the E, K brought it into a chop shop, and collected his small reward. he walked up behind Jag and put his arm around his shoulder, leaning into him as he did. " Well my brother, make sure you wear your dress rags tonight, I'm buying dinner,"resolutions for show
old ways don't seem to know
singing in the millennium with you
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Posted: Fri May 22, 2009 2:13 am
Michel walked slowly through the crowd of people rushing off everywhere. His hands were in the pockets of the big black jacket he wore on top of red t-shirt. His legs wore a pair of tight dark blue jeans that were a bit too short, something that didn’t show due to the knee-high knitted beige socks he wore on top of the pants and under the one size to big, black and worn boots. Michel was humming slightly to himself as he aimlessly walked through the crowd.
Then he turned and walked through it again. And again. No one noted either this behavior or the fact that this boy while walking back and forth and humming also seemed to wave a lot with his hand in front of his face as if an insect were there. There was actually. A bee that buzzed annoyingly back and forth while singing “God bless America”. Oh, did that sound odd? Maybe it seems a bit more plausible if you were told that this little boy simply hallucinated. He was used to that by now, so he didn’t let it get in the way for what he was doing.
What was he doing? Let’s take this step by step. He picks out someone who seems the most distracted and off in their own world, who also seem to have something in their pockets. Then he move in and the moment he passes them he also grabs whatever he can get his hands on. Yes, pick-pocketing. With his pockets filled with random things Michel looked over at the clock with peacocks flying around it and noted that it was time for him to head Home and first meet up with some of his family.
So he let out a small sigh and put both his hands back into his pockets and with his back slightly hunched and his eyes down to the ground he slowly started walking down the street towards the meeting point. "Hey! Stop that boy!" Michel nearly jumped out from his skin when he heard that voice and he turned around to see a business point at him and run towards him. Probably someone he had bumped into. Oops.
So he ran. Fast. Through the crowd and into small alleyways and through places only he knew of an used to get away. It took him barely one minute to lose the business man. Then he smiled to himself and stretched his back up a bit and looked for his friends. He spotted two of them quite easily, Jag and K. Both of them quite noticeable in a crowd. Michel’s smile widened as he approached them. ”Hello K. Hello Jag. Have things gone well for the two of you today?”
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Posted: Fri May 22, 2009 7:27 am
There was no doubt in his mind that it was K who draped his arm around Jag's shoulder, even before his friend spoke. Although K only played for one team, the two shared the ties of brotherhood. It was easy to feel that connection the moment K put his arm around him, and Jag also leaned into the embrace.
Smiling mischeviously, Jag turned his head just slightly, raising his brow with curiosity. "Are you asking me out on a date? Why K, I never knew." His tone was filled to the brim with laughter as he quickly kissed K on the cheek before slipping out from under his arm. Crouching on the ground, he pulled out a small purse out from one of the compartments of his cello case. It clanked softly with the hint of coins as he opened it. Indeed this was where he kept the coins people donated to him, and today he was shoving the bag near to the brim. The bills he folded and slipped deep into his one boot. "And you smell like new car, were you sleeping in the cars at the dealership again?
Quickly packing away his cello and sliding the strap of the case over his one shoulder, he turned to see Michel approaching. "Yes dear Michel, yes it has. K has offered to take us out to dinner tonight, in fact." Reaching out, he ruffled the kid's hair, then stepped forward and kissed the top of his head. "Your cheeks are flushed, were you running? Ah, no matter, I think it's fair time to head Home.
Taking Michel's hand and smiling at K, Jag started to lead the way back. Home was only a couple blocks down, nestled deep within downtown Chicago where the nights were just a bit darker and colder. Home was an apartment building that was boarded off and closed up to the world. No one has touched it in years, except for the darker residents of downtown. And Jag had made sure through all the means he had available, he kept those people away from Home. K and Michel only knew half of those circumstances; even in a fit of rage Jag would never say some of the things he's done to guilt the two.
For some reason, he had the weirdest urge to sing God Bless America..
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PQ and Retrostacja Captain
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Posted: Fri May 22, 2009 12:21 pm
taste the salt of my tears
take the wealth of my years
singing in the millennium with you " Tsh, grow an actual p***y bro then we'll talk," he retorted, and chuckled as they lifted open the dummy boarded up door. K lead the way as he ducked under the caution tape, and went to his room. He stuck 8 bills in a guitar case and unrolled the remaining 400 and folded it into his pocket. He returned into one of the main rooms with a zipo lighter and began lighting candles to illuminate the dark environment. As he lit a few candles in each room he recounted his story to the others. resolutions for show
old ways don't seem to know
singing in the millennium with you
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Posted: Sat May 23, 2009 2:45 pm
Oh, wow. Dinner. That’s fancy!Michel smiled quickly at K before he nodded at Jag when he mentioned that Michel looked a bit flushed. ”Ah, yes, I ran. Some man noticed what I were doing...” He knew that he needn’t explain the event further. It was obvious enough what had happened with only those few words. So Michel grew quiet and when Jag took his hand he looked up at him and passed him and extra smile. Then the three of them started walking towards their Home. The short walk passed quietly with Michel mainly staring down at the ground.
When they had safely reached Home Michel quickly let go off Jag’s hand and skipped away across the room. He hummed a melody he made up himself as he sat down leaning against the wall by an old window. His hands began digging in all of his pockets and he emptied out all his junk on the floor in front of him. Michel might have seemed a bit distant as he carefully emptied his pockets and went through it all, but he was also listening carefully to K who was telling him and Jag about his day.
When K had finished talking Michel was halfway through his sorting of the things. He had four piles. One for money, one for receipts, one for strange random things and one last pile for important documents of all kinds. ID’s and driver’s licenses counted into that group. That sounds so fun, K! Michel looked up at him with a bright smile on his face. If I knew how to drive a car I would do it all the time! And I would like to drive really fast too. If you don’t it’s kind of unnecessary...
Michel nodded to himself before a frown appeared on his face. But I would still have to be careful. I wouldn’t want to hurt myself. So, only drive really fast where there’s no houses to collide with. Another nod came before he continued sorting his things. When all of it were in neat piles Michel took the pile of receipts and leaned back. He liked reading receipts. When he did that he usually also guessed what kind of person it could be who had bought all the things. For example a really long receipt with mainly food probably belonged to a mother or a father.
Simple entertainment, oh yes.
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Posted: Sat May 30, 2009 11:34 pm
Kit was skipping down the narrow street, noting how the buildings sagged and the large cracks in the pavement have long since been repaired. Sawdust from cheap bars were sparce on the sidewalk, and the putrid smell of gasoline was ripe in the air. The structures were cast deeper and deeper into darkness as evening came upon them, and the more shadey folk lurked about.
I shouldn't have come back so late when I'm wearing my dress... Kit thought nervously. There were constant reports of violence of all sorts in the area, espeially after dusk. Keeping his/her head down, Kit stopped skipping and made his/her way Home as quickly as possible while trying to look like he/she wasn't in a hurry. The worst thing to do was attract attention to yourself.
Unfortunetally for Kit, he/she was stopped just on the corner near Home. His/her pursuer was a larger man that was quite obviously under some influence. "Hey there girly," he slurred, "What's the big.... hurry, huh?" Freezing up, Kit couldn't muster a responce of any kind. "Why don't you come with me, huh? I'll show you a good time fer twenty bucks... How 'bout it?" Kit started to panic, but that made him/her even less mobile than before. When he/she didn't say or do anything, the man suddenly got angry and grabbed Kit's forarm. Before he could drag him/her away, Kit screamed loud and shrill. She feared nothing more than physical contact from strangers.
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Posted: Sun May 31, 2009 12:01 am
Just as Jag was counting up his money for the day, he heard a cry outside. It was a familiar enough voice to send chills shooting down his spine. Dropping the cash into the cello case once more, he reached over and grabbed a dented metal bat, which was obviously used before for something other than recreational sports.
"Michel, stay here." It wasn't a request, and it was by far not Jag's normal casual tone of voice. There was something almost feral in the way his words came out in little more than a growl. The bat clanked against the floor as he stood, glancing only momentarily at K before he bolted for the steps, his skirt floating out behind him.
He knew K would be at his side momentarily, and he knew that he would also need K to make sure Jag didn't beat the s**t out of whoever was touching Kit. Quickly reaching the corner, he shot his hand out to the man and gripped hard onto his hair, pulling full force backwards to get Kit out of his grasp.
Kicking out the man's knees from the side, Jag threw the man on the ground with such force that a sickening crack echoed in the nearly empty street. "Kit, get inside." He didn't wait for a reply before he took a nice solid swing at the nearly unconscious man on the ground. "Don't." Swing. "With." Swing. "My." Swing. "Family."
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PQ and Retrostacja Captain
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Posted: Sun May 31, 2009 12:16 am
Kit could barely resist the man, as he nearly towered over him/her. He/she started wimpering, thinking all was lost. Suddenly, the man's head jerked backward, and Kit saw Jeg's furiated form appear as the cause. The man's hands were wrenched from Kit's arms, and he/she held him/herself instinctively once they were away.
Jeg beat the man with his wrecked bat, brutally driving the metal into the stranger with no mercy. But Kit was more compassionate than Jeg; some would call it being too soft. He/she didn't want the man to be hurt more than was necissary, (necissary being what's needed only for self defence) and said quietly, "Stop...!" He/she said it so softly it was barely audiatable, even to him/herself. Jeg didn't stop.
"Stop!" Kit gently took Jeg's bat arm in his/her small, slightly shaking hands and forced him to look directly at him/her. This was meaningful for Kit, as he/she would avoid touch if the circumstances allowed, but his/her concious couldn't let this go. His/her large, wide eyes were frightful and upset, but non the less determined to make the violence end. He/she couldn't bare it, not even to a sleazy, drunk rapist. "Stop."
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Posted: Mon Jun 01, 2009 1:04 pm
taste the salt of my tears
take the wealth of my years
singing in the millennium with you From behind K grabbed Jeg and lifted him off with one arm. " He's done bro. He's done," K held a tight grip on him till he relaxed. He inspected the now beaten lush. " Still alive, but he'll be feeling ya in the morning. Get Kit back to the house, I'll drop this guy off at the hospital," He listed the man up over head and fireman carried him away. resolutions for show
old ways don't seem to know
singing in the millennium with you
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PQ and Retrostacja Captain
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Posted: Mon Jun 01, 2009 2:53 pm
There was a split moment between Kit trying to snap Jag out of his blind rage and K lifting him up that Jag didn't remember where or who he was. Looking in Kit's eyes, he felt dizzy and dazed as he tried to pull his thoughts together.
When K easily lifted his pencil thin body, everything more or less came back to him. Shaking his head as he was put down, he felt his face to realize there was blood on it, as well as the bat still clenched tightly in his one hand.
Nodding, he couldn't bring himself to look at Kit. "C'mon Kit, let's head Home. We're gonna have a good dinner tonight, K and I made bank." Smiling finally he started walking slowly back to the House, ignoring the faint sounds of police cars.
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