I'm about 5'9, not counting the extra two inches my puffy hair adds on. I wear a pale yellow tank top, and Kahki Carho pants, with leather boots as a base. My hair is long, and hazel, and all of my clothing is covered in oil (which I plan to wash off). I estimate my breast to be C-Cup, although I've never been sure. My right arm is Prosthetic, and made of high quality Bronze, and is specially moddified to be as accurate as possible.
On my person is really only a pocket knife, and I'm not very proficient with it either, since that's not my forte. I carry a belt that holds tools at the ready, however.
((this made me lol, also mechamage may i ask a fractal what?))
*upon the man being dragged away he flexes his right wrist again to disarm the knife*...*upon exiting the "boxcar" he heads to a nearby map and memories the route to his place of living, but instead of heading the most direct route he takes the way least traveled with fewer people and more shadows*
*along the way he meets quite the shady character and in a quick transaction pays quite a large sum of money for a cubic centimeter of metal inside what looks like a jewelry box, the entire transaction takes about 5 or 6 seconds, from a distance it would have simply looked like the two bumped into each other, following this he takes a more direct route home*
Bro: "Stay sharp, good man," the interviewer nods in approval as he sends you your way to the gates. You present the guards with your various badges and IDs, and you are allowed to pass into the city still carrying your various articles of dangerous equipment. You are familiar with the style of the Federation's architecture, and the grandeur of the city is not a distraction to you. Your prescribed apartment is on the lowest ring, but you know you'll be contacted by your superiors to discuss your work within the day. You make sure your radio is functional, that you will not miss the call when your time comes.
For convenient and efficient travel, a steam-powered monorail station beckons citizens nearby.
DigDug: The day's special is the popular local drink, "Sang Noir", translating to "Black Blood". The barkeep is steadfast in protecting its reputation as a strong brew, just how the northmen seem to like it. You order a single glass to sample it for yourself.
Fifteen seconds and three sips later, you're pretty sure he was telling the truth. It is almost unbearably strong, but it is absolutely delicious and it warms you to your core. Drinking larger amounts of it would likely result in uncontrollable amounts of fun, as well as making foolish decisions that would normally seem mortifying.
MechaMage: You pose a high and proud stance, admiring your reflection. Ending this haughty self-approval, you move further into your new home. It is quite accommodating for a man of middle class; the entrance immediately opened to the kitchen, wherein you are supplied with a working refrigerator, a microwave, a table for <four and a sink with running water, among various cabinets and shelves that you'll surely find helpful at some point in the future.
A brief hallway connects the kitchen to the bedroom. You enter and familiarize yourself with the furnishings: A king size bed with a night stand, a simple desk with a couple drawers, and a roughly 24" television atop a wide dresser. There is another door extending from the hallway, undoubtedly leading to the bathroom.
Monk: Simply gorgeous. You laugh with pity at the upper-class women who must adorn themselves with overpriced clothing and overconfident personalities to look beautiful. You are hundreds of floors below them, yet you are hundreds of times as appealing. You pose in a way that would make you appear both sexy and shallow, were it performed in public.
This mirror, as you back away and observe its surroundings, is in the kitchen, across the room from all of the important appliances and things that actually make it look like a kitchen. It is a fairly small room, crowding together a mini-fridge, a toaster, a sink, and various shelves. There's a table that would fit two people at most, and it occupies much of the free space.
A door near the mirror and across from the entrance opens to your bedroom. Inside is a small bed, a small dresser, a small television... pretty much everything you'd expect in a bedroom, just... in small form. Speaking of small things, there's a bathroom connected to this room.
Ozmonius:Rawr. What you lack in coordination, direction, and common sense, you clearly make up for in looks. You strike an innocent and cute pose, wishing all the world had been there to see it.
A writer tactically copies and pastes his previous work, as it was deemed to apply in this situation just as the one from which it was taken.
This mirror, as you back away and observe its surroundings, is in the kitchen, across the room from all of the important appliances and things that actually make it look like a kitchen. It is a fairly small room, crowding together a mini-fridge, a toaster, a sink, and various shelves. There's a table that would fit two people at most, and it occupies much of the free space.
A door near the mirror and across from the entrance opens to your bedroom. Inside is a small bed, a small dresser, a small television... pretty much everything you'd expect in a bedroom, just... in small form. Speaking of small things, there's a bathroom connected to this room.
Killer: It's about time. You'd waited too long and fought too hard for that deal to go through. You suppose you'll truly be testing the Federation's security in the days to come. You pocket your newfound material, keeping your hand locked tightly over its container.
Your home is just a couple minutes' walk away, but something is... wrong. You are stopped in your tracks by a strange feeling. You slowly look around, seeing nothing of interest. Your attention is drawn to nearby rooftops and catwalks as a mysterious figure breaks his gaze from you and runs away, into the unknown.
I rush to the window and stick my head out. I'm up so high! This is perfect!
With a huge grin, I hop down to my stuff and pull out a pencil and some paper. Studying the rough dimensions of the window relative to each wall, I dart my eyes to the paper. A few blobs I create represent my project: A balcony hanging out the window, over this level of the city, and facing toward the open sky.
I'm gonna need some materials! To the shop! As quickly as I came, I head back out the door, shutting it with my foot and turning the key in...some direction. I fly down the stairs, back to the lobby, and head back outside.
hmm thats discouraging *backs into a shadow making sure no one else is around, he takes the metal out of the container opens a slot in his right arm and grips the metal tightly over it, the metal starts melting slowly at first then more quickly until its all dripped into the slot which he then closes* i'll have to get that back later.*he then continues walking the rest of the way to his home*
*along the way there is a mirror, based on looks you would have never guessed his place in society you would think he was a rundown old man, he is of average height 5'10ish, slightly underweight, messy hair already turning gray, eyes that just seem to gaze on into the distance, not really focusing on anything in particular, you wouldent even be able to be tell his right arm or left leg were fake unless you took really close look at them as they are covered in a flesh like rubber, he walks with an almost undetectable limp the result of constantly doubting his own work, hes wearing jeans, a long sleeved shirt, and a long black sweat shirt that opens in the front with pockets on either side that he usually keeps his hands in*
((Frankly, I think this whole project needed more coordination and thought put into it beforehand. I mean, why did we need three? Since we're all on the individual levels of relatively powerless people, it's not as if the players from different games will ever interact with each other... This all happened to fast. One day, I'm told it will exist, the next, it's open and garnering players with suitably high expectations.
Goodness, what a train wreck. It doesn't help that two of the three GMs are are arguably the busiest teenagers in the forum, especially RP- and game-wise.))
((It becomes progressively more difficult to keep that pace, unfortunately. I very recently realized the most important thing in making an RP: how interested the GM is, possibly even more important than how interested the players are. It takes a player
((There is no "way of Cliff". It's necessity. If I stop doing this, it won't have been for lack of effort. I'm sure Cliff_Racer feels the same way about anything he's had to give up on. It's not like we abandon things because we don't care; it's because we have to, or else EVERYTHING we do would suffer.))
((There is no "way of Cliff". It's necessity. If I stop doing this, it won't have been for lack of effort. I'm sure Cliff_Racer feels the same way about anything she's had to give up on. It's not like we abandon things because we don't care; it's because we have to, or else EVERYTHING we do would suffer.))
((Well, this was an experiment after all. I guess the user-run interface encourages lack of GM's attention. Things have been going pretty well and the players were into it, but as long as a GM doesn't exist, the show can't go on. I understand the situation and am for your decision. Perhaps we can see something like this again, but improved.))
All Hail the Tail! viewtopic.php?f=6&t=28798
[simg]http://i.min.us/ilBwks.PNG[/simg]
On my person is really only a pocket knife, and I'm not very proficient with it either, since that's not my forte. I carry a belt that holds tools at the ready, however.
((this made me lol, also mechamage may i ask a fractal what?))
*upon the man being dragged away he flexes his right wrist again to disarm the knife*...*upon exiting the "boxcar" he heads to a nearby map and memories the route to his place of living, but instead of heading the most direct route he takes the way least traveled with fewer people and more shadows*
*along the way he meets quite the shady character and in a quick transaction pays quite a large sum of money for a cubic centimeter of metal inside what looks like a jewelry box, the entire transaction takes about 5 or 6 seconds, from a distance it would have simply looked like the two bumped into each other, following this he takes a more direct route home*
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Retired StaffFor convenient and efficient travel, a steam-powered monorail station beckons citizens nearby.
DigDug: The day's special is the popular local drink, "Sang Noir", translating to "Black Blood". The barkeep is steadfast in protecting its reputation as a strong brew, just how the northmen seem to like it. You order a single glass to sample it for yourself.
Fifteen seconds and three sips later, you're pretty sure he was telling the truth. It is almost unbearably strong, but it is absolutely delicious and it warms you to your core. Drinking larger amounts of it would likely result in uncontrollable amounts of fun, as well as making foolish decisions that would normally seem mortifying.
MechaMage: You pose a high and proud stance, admiring your reflection. Ending this haughty self-approval, you move further into your new home. It is quite accommodating for a man of middle class; the entrance immediately opened to the kitchen, wherein you are supplied with a working refrigerator, a microwave, a table for <four and a sink with running water, among various cabinets and shelves that you'll surely find helpful at some point in the future.
A brief hallway connects the kitchen to the bedroom. You enter and familiarize yourself with the furnishings: A king size bed with a night stand, a simple desk with a couple drawers, and a roughly 24" television atop a wide dresser. There is another door extending from the hallway, undoubtedly leading to the bathroom.
Monk: Simply gorgeous. You laugh with pity at the upper-class women who must adorn themselves with overpriced clothing and overconfident personalities to look beautiful. You are hundreds of floors below them, yet you are hundreds of times as appealing. You pose in a way that would make you appear both sexy and shallow, were it performed in public.
This mirror, as you back away and observe its surroundings, is in the kitchen, across the room from all of the important appliances and things that actually make it look like a kitchen. It is a fairly small room, crowding together a mini-fridge, a toaster, a sink, and various shelves. There's a table that would fit two people at most, and it occupies much of the free space.
A door near the mirror and across from the entrance opens to your bedroom. Inside is a small bed, a small dresser, a small television... pretty much everything you'd expect in a bedroom, just... in small form. Speaking of small things, there's a bathroom connected to this room.
Ozmonius: Rawr. What you lack in coordination, direction, and common sense, you clearly make up for in looks. You strike an innocent and cute pose, wishing all the world had been there to see it.
A writer tactically copies and pastes his previous work, as it was deemed to apply in this situation just as the one from which it was taken.
This mirror, as you back away and observe its surroundings, is in the kitchen, across the room from all of the important appliances and things that actually make it look like a kitchen. It is a fairly small room, crowding together a mini-fridge, a toaster, a sink, and various shelves. There's a table that would fit two people at most, and it occupies much of the free space.
A door near the mirror and across from the entrance opens to your bedroom. Inside is a small bed, a small dresser, a small television... pretty much everything you'd expect in a bedroom, just... in small form. Speaking of small things, there's a bathroom connected to this room.
Killer: It's about time. You'd waited too long and fought too hard for that deal to go through. You suppose you'll truly be testing the Federation's security in the days to come. You pocket your newfound material, keeping your hand locked tightly over its container.
Your home is just a couple minutes' walk away, but something is... wrong. You are stopped in your tracks by a strange feeling. You slowly look around, seeing nothing of interest. Your attention is drawn to nearby rooftops and catwalks as a mysterious figure breaks his gaze from you and runs away, into the unknown.
Seldom is this good news.
With a huge grin, I hop down to my stuff and pull out a pencil and some paper. Studying the rough dimensions of the window relative to each wall, I dart my eyes to the paper. A few blobs I create represent my project: A balcony hanging out the window, over this level of the city, and facing toward the open sky.
I'm gonna need some materials! To the shop! As quickly as I came, I head back out the door, shutting it with my foot and turning the key in...some direction. I fly down the stairs, back to the lobby, and head back outside.
*along the way there is a mirror, based on looks you would have never guessed his place in society you would think he was a rundown old man, he is of average height 5'10ish, slightly underweight, messy hair already turning gray, eyes that just seem to gaze on into the distance, not really focusing on anything in particular, you wouldent even be able to be tell his right arm or left leg were fake unless you took really close look at them as they are covered in a flesh like rubber, he walks with an almost undetectable limp the result of constantly doubting his own work, hes wearing jeans, a long sleeved shirt, and a long black sweat shirt that opens in the front with pockets on either side that he usually keeps his hands in*
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Retired StaffGoodness, what a train wreck. It doesn't help that two of the three GMs are are arguably the busiest teenagers in the forum, especially RP- and game-wise.))
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Retired StaffFor a game to go well, the players don't have to care that much, as their effort can be minimal - The GM has to love the RP enough to keep going even when it's inconvenient. I was sucked into this at almost the last minute, and I'm not sure how much I care about its progression. Sure, it's interesting, but every RP is to me. It takes something exceptional to keep me going. It takes something I've made or tailored for myself.
It requires a major time investment. It's tough.))
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Retired Staff((Well, this was an experiment after all. I guess the user-run interface encourages lack of GM's attention. Things have been going pretty well and the players were into it, but as long as a GM doesn't exist, the show can't go on. I understand the situation and am for your decision. Perhaps we can see something like this again, but improved.))