Rudolf was born in Germany, but his family moved to America when he was six. Constant bullying due to his name meant he tended to avoid socializing - his parents were mechanical engineers, and they always had the latest computers, and Rudolf found he had a knack for programming and, later, decryption. He enjoyed slight notoriety in hacker circles as "Hollywolf" after cracking several celebrities' wireless networks and making their security camera setups streamable. Rudolf was home from a summer internship for a Silicon Valley company when his family's apartment complex caught fire. Faulty wiring meant the smoke alarms never went off, and Rudolf, along with many other tenants, due of asphyxiation from the smoke.
I suggest someone make a character that died by auto-erotic asphyxiation.
Steve Stevenson was a Catholic Priest who
ok i'd better stop right there
Zoel on
A magician gives you a ring that, when worn, will let you see the world as it truly is.
However, the ring will never leave your finger, and you will be unable to ever describe to another living person what you see.
Todd was a skater boy, but his girlfriend said "See you later boy" because he wasn't good enough for her. So he became a superstar, slamming on his guitar, showing her pretty face what he was worth. The he was hit by a drunk driver and died three weeks later in an ICU.
Doobh on
Miss me? Find me on:
Twitch (I stream most days of the week) Twitter (mean leftist discourse)
"Come on, Cohen. You want to tell us, don't you? It'll get you out of this room, and you'll never have to see this guy again."
His eyes and gold jewelry sparkling in the darkness of the slaughterhouse, he gestured back at the large ugly man, his wifebeater covered in blood, his hot breath steaming in the air.
"You sure you don't want to say anything? Hank, ask him again."
Hank lifted Cohen out of the pool of blood that was already spreading on the concrete floor with one hand. With the other, he smashed the man in the face with his other fist, sending the bloodied Cohen to the floor.
"I'm going to ask you one more time, Cohen. Where. Are. My. Guns?"
The gaze that the beaten man returned held only malice. Hank couldn't help but admire it a bit. Armando was ruthless, and Cohen didn't seem afraid of him... or of Hank. He wondered how many times he'd have to hit him. It was a casual thought. He didn't really care.
"Boots."
The large heel on Hank's motorcycle boot slammed into Cohen's ribs. The little man let out a small explosion of pain accompaning a cracking noise, and a single broken tooth, probably one he'd been holding in his mouth. No wonder. It was gold. Hank looked at the glimmering metal shape in the dark red pool. Beautiful. It was wrong to kick a man when he was down, yeah... it still felt kinda good. Best time, maybe.
"A dozen TEC-9's. Was that so much to ask? Why aren't they in my guys' hands.? I promised two to Hank. He might not like that, man. I think maybe you took my money like I was some kind of punk. It's not about the money, Cohen. I woulda paid more. But I don't like getting treated like a punk. Where. Are They."
This time Hank started booting Cohen out of his own volition. He didn't like the cold of the warehouse, the way Armando wanted him to show off his size by wearing an undershirt, that he was beating a guy for bullshit money when he could be home watching the Raiders lose. He kicked Cohen for every inconvenience he could think of.
"Hey, hey! Relax, guero. He can't tell me nothing if he's dead."
Armando squatted down, making sure only his shoes got any blood on them, that his pinstriped pants and silk shirt were in no danger of being soiled. Cohen was wheezing what sounded something like words. Hank broke him. Mabye too badly. Armando got up with a smile.
"I knew I could trust you Cohen. Hank... get rid of him."
Hank knew all too well what those words meant. He knew it wasn't right. And he was going to do it anyway. He put on a white jacket nearby to get ready for the ugly part.
Four men had packed themselves into the old Crown Victoria. In the driver's seat, a large framed thug in sunglasses turned the ignition as the car seemed to unwillingly shudder to live. He revved the engine, it's 8-cylinder motor suddenly roaring vigorously.
"Are we seriously pulling a job in this piece of shit?"
"Don't talk about my car like that, man. She's just fine."
"Yeah? Well I don't like the idea of sitting on like... like what? Somewhere about a half mil of coke in something that might break down."
"I said it's fine. And it's got good mirrors, lights, no obvious 'pull me over please' crap... also, stop trying to do the math. We just move it."
The men took a chance to check their weapons. Hank chambered rounds into a pair of TEC-9's. 9mm. Modified for full automatic fire. Barrel shroud. High-capacity magazines. About as illegal as you could get, he mused... but then again, so was transporting narcotics. At the back of his belt was a semi-auto pistol that he didn't bother to check. He'd cleaned it that morning. He stowed the machine pistols under the driver's seat.
"You ladies ready?"
"Yeah," repeated the other three, one by one, as they similarly treated their own banned firearms.
The Crown Vicky rumbled out of the warehouse near San Pedro, down a few sidestreets, and on to the Harbor Freeway.
"The fuck, Hank? The 110?? This is going to take forever."
"What, you're in a hurry now, Chuy? We don't look any more suspicious than the rest of the trash out here. We'll be fine. Tranqilo."
"There's more than Cops to worry about."
"That's right. Us, for example."
"You're a real comedian, Hank."
"Guys... we've got pounds of cocaine wrapped in plastic and korean newspapers shoved into baby clothes. And that's what passes for knowing what you're doing today. You can't see the humor in that?"
The car remained relatively quiet as it moved through the hazy streets. It was hot. When the Santa Ana winds blew all bets were off. Shit blew everywhere, desert heat came down into the basin, fire departments held their breaths. Heat, chaos, trash... it's the American Dream thought Hank.
"You know what?" Chuy spoke up again, after several minutes of silence, "No, I don't see no humor in this. Money sounds too good, we picked it up too easy, and now we just cruisin' up to Hawthorne like it's no big deal."
"Yeah, that's what we're doing. And then, the good part, we get paid."
"Ain't right."
"Of course it ain't right. We're moving snow for a drug ring. Your cousin Armando set it up. Erika said I could trust this job. She said Kique was cool."
"She's a bitch, man."
"Don't call that bitch a bitch, Chuy."
A half an hour later, Hank considered that Chuy may have been right. Sometimes a little paranoia can go a long way The cops got to the drop point way too fast, Chuy and the other two died too fast, and his TEC-9's ran out off ammo way too fast. His car got hit by .40 caliber rounds so rapidly it could have been a machine gun. Maybe it was. He wasn't even sure how many times he got shot. As he lay on the ground, the last daylight Hank saw was obscured by blood and Hawthorne's Finest pointing guns.
The short man adjusted the red tie on his dark suit and straightened himself up before walking through the thick steel door, which locked behind him. The guard on the other side of the reinforced glass nodded at him. He pulled back the steel chair and sat down, opening the briefcase and removing some file folders before looking up at the two men opposite him. A stoic-looking guard with a shotgun stood behind a shackled man seated on the other side of the stainless steel table, a lit cigarette in his mouth.
"Mr. Walker? I'm David Connors from the Legal Defense --"
"Yeah, I know. Just spit it out."
"Well, it seems that we may very well be able to appeal your death sentence."
"Appeal."
"Yes. Though you've already been convicted, I have a report from several doctors indicating that you were not notified of your Miranda Rights while you were concsious."
"So what? I head that shit plenty of times."
"Henry..." The lip of convict's scarred face snarled a bit at the mention of his given name, as the Connors earnestly put his hands together in front of him on the table. "This is very serious. We're trying to save your life."
"Bullshit."
"I'm serious. In the case of your arrest, there were several --"
"Not that. You. Your whole act is bullshit. You really think you're trying to save my life?"
"That's why I'm here, Henry. Capital Punishment was not administered in this case --"
"No. That's bullshit again. You don't want to save a guy like me. I've already committed another murder since I was in here. He was a rapist. Turns out he used to live about three miles from me. I stabbed him in the neck with a bed-spring I twisted off and sharpened on the floor. Did you know a person can do that... David?"
The lawyer stammered a bit and tugged at his collar.
"What we want --"
"What you want," barked Hank, "is some kind of award for me not getting executed. You want to be a Big Damn Hero. Right? Fuck. Off."
"Mister Walker --"
"I said fuck off!"
Hank leaned back far enough to get the cigarette in his hands and flick it into Connors' face. The guard didn't move.
"Now get out of here before I do something that makes Jasper back there club me in the back of the head. It hurts."
The lawyer quickly shuffled his papers together, stuffed them into his briefcase, and nearly jumped out of his skin when Hank raised his knees and banged them on the table. Connors' exited somewhat desperately, banging on the door several times before he left the room. Hank stared for a moment at the cigarette burning away uselessly at the other end of the table. The guard, Jasper, finally spoke up.
"Alright Hank... we both know the drill. I gotta put you back in."
"Aw, come on, Jazz." Hank turned and smiled, his large teeth framed by a scarred face. "Neither of us want to go out there yet. Let me have another smoke, you take it easy for a couple minutes, and we'll get on with it then, alright."
Jasper put another cigarette in Hank's mouth and helped him light it. Hank didn't try to drag it out to stay out of his cell... he just tried to enjoy the smoke and stop thinking.
NPR broadcasted several pieces on Capital Punishment in various states, interviewing lawyers, victims, and death row inmates. The intent of the producers seemed to be to raise the awareness of the death penalty in the United States. Dozens of such pieces were recorded and nationally aired.
"There are an appalling number of inmates who will be administered capital punishment in this state. Hank Walker was imprisoned a short time ago, the sole surviving criminal in a shootout in Hawthorne. Lakshmi Jones-Hernandez interviewed him recently on death row."
"Hello, Hank. I'm -"
"Don't. Just get to what you want to ask."
"Okay... Do you have a family, Hank?"
"No. I'd probably turn into my Dad... or maybe I'm just too sickened at the idea."
"What do you mean by that?"
"I'm a criminal. I don't live like you people. It's a different world. I didn't get caught this bad for a long time. I survived. I stole food when I was a kid. I stole cars as a teenager. I grew up, it got worse. I started working for people. Assault, Battery, Arson, and things I don't even want to say. On my own time, I mugged, murdered and robbed. I shit-kicked guys into the hospital --"
"It says here you're also guilty of rape. Is that true?"
"No. The rest is probably true."
"Okay... so... no family? No friends?"
"No. Ah f*ck, I'm lying. There was this one kid, his f*cking liberal parents had to name him 'Dove'. Think about that for a second, a boy getting that name pinned on him. He watched me fix up my old Chevelle in the driveway, I showed him some stuff. He tried out for Pop Warner because of me... and he's a hell of a linebacker now. I watch the games from my car. Used to."
"So you like kids? Why is that?"
"Yeah. I'm not some creep in a van, if that's what you're thinking. They just aren't scared of me. They say things that aren't stupid. Kid tells me he's ugly, he's just saying what's right and it's nothing else. I like that."
"Weren't the police concerned?"
"Yeah. But I wasn't doing nothing wrong. Didn't even bring weapons with me went I went to watch the games."
"Do you resent the police for profiling you?"
"Profiling? No. They should profile guys like me. Look at where I am. I'm a murderer. Yeah, I don't like Cops, but that's because I'm a criminal. And they got even more useless than cops out here with their bullsh*t planned community badge-mokeys. I know criminals when I see one."
"What do you mean?"
"You wouldn't get it. I can tell a guy who's casing a house when I see one. I can tell a rapist who's looking for a place to hide so he can jump soccer-moms or their teenage daughters when they're jogging. I know a dude prowling a schoolyard when I see one. I can see guy who beats his wife and kids when after work. We used to have little 'talks' sometimes."
"You protected your neighborhood?"
"No. I protected myself."
"From who?"
"Normal people."
"You made a bond with that child though?"
"Different. He's a kid. They still got things in common with me."
"So you played football?"
"Yeah. Boxed a little too. Wasn't that good. Glass jaw."
"It sounds like you lived in a residential area."
"You already had my address. Yes. Nice neighborhood. No sense in hiding when everyone knows you're a thug. I wasn't popular."
"What does that mean?"
"I'm not a nice guy. You don't understand that, do you? You got your shiny shoes, you ask dumb questions, and you're too good looking. You're not a person, you're a target."
*cough*
"Was that a question? Yeah, I smoke. And I'm going to finish it."
"Can you describe what happened that fatal day in June?"
"This is how you talk? 'That fatal day in June'? Everyone knows what happened. Me and a few other idiots were middle men on a coke deal. The cops had us... drugs, illegal weapons, and a bunch of crimes they were itching to stick on me. We were on the street. I used the car for cover, they died getting shot in the back. I sprayed down a bunch of cops with a pair of TEC-9's. You know what that is? Whatever. They're illegal, of course. And they are not that accurate. I killed a few of them. And a little girl who was on the street. And apparently some other 'bystander' or something."
"How do you feel about that? What was going through your mind?"
"What are you, a psychiatrist? I don't feel anything. I was surviving. That's just the way it is."
"What happened next?"
"Woke up in a hospital bed surrounded by doctors and a buncha uniforms with guns. I got shot five or six times, I think. They start telling me all this shit I didn't understand 'cuz I was so doped up and eventually I ended up here."
"So you survived being gunned down by the police while the rest of your gang died?"
"I'm lucky that way. And they weren't my gang."
"You've been convicted of many capital offenses. Did you commit all of those?"
"You read my file. Doesn't matter."
But you're going to be executed tomorrow."
"The hell you asking me something we both know already?"
"You haven't appealed your case?"
"No. You know that, too."
"Are you aware of the protests being held outside the prison?"
"They don't know me. They can't in their wildest little activist dreams imagine that I deserve to be here. They don't know that people like me are why there's prisons with electric chairs in them. F*ck 'em. Nobody's going to miss me. And it's better than getting knifed in an alley."
This interview was never aired on NPR.
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Viscount Islands[INSERT SoKo HERE]...it was the summer of my lifeRegistered Userregular
edited April 2010
I was just about to make a criminal guy.
I even looked up a name for it.
Viscount Islands on
I want to do with you
What spring does with the cherry trees.
Oh man, I remember that Waiting for a Man game. Shame it was so short-lived.
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Viscount Islands[INSERT SoKo HERE]...it was the summer of my lifeRegistered Userregular
edited April 2010
Eirya Dondonyo
Eirya, or just Eir as she preferred to be called, worked nights at an unhealthy looking bar and club that was located on a not-well known street with no sign signaling to the people on the road that a bar even existed. People found their way there regardless, like roaches find the places where you can't get at them.
On a normal night, you'd walk in the old oak door and wave through the heavy wisps of smoke and see Eir behind the counter or walking by with a box of something or other in her hands. She'd be wearing an long sleeved cotton shirt with slightly torn jeans, and her lanky black hair hanging over her heavily-tattooed neck. Just like the rest of her body.
"Night Chuck." She'd say with a grimace if you were a regular. If you weren't you just got a suspicious frown. No one wondered what a nice girl like her was doing in a place like this, because for one she wasn't nice. And two, it seemed only natural. She was part of the place, too familiar to let go even if she slacked. She didn't, and basically became the co-owner of the place alongside Rel Hemson.
She had a way with people and seemed stringy enough to be able to handle herself. Now and again there'd be a cigarette in her mouth, but not for long. She sketched when she was alone.
She drowned.
Viscount Islands on
I want to do with you
What spring does with the cherry trees.
I suggest someone make a character that died by auto-erotic asphyxiation.
Not going to play, but here's an idea that someone can tweak if they want.
Computer programmer for a decent size insurance company. Likes to stay fit and active, is a bit shy/unsocial but is a fairly normal kind dude.
One Monday, he fails to come into to work. Two more days pass before police are called. His body is found partially naked, hanging by the neck from a rafter in his attic studio apartment and a usually stable looking chair lying on it's side.
Police report states he's been like that since about sunday morning.
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Raneadospolice apologistyou shouldn't have been there, obviouslyRegistered Userregular
edited April 2010
that's not how you do autoerotic asphyxiation
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Caulk Bite 6One of the multitude of Dans infesting this placeRegistered Userregular
38 year old male who gave up a career in baseball when he was caught using steroids in college. Since his promising career ended, he has moved back to his hometown of Sarnia, Ontario, becoming one of the gym teachers and the baseball coach at his old highschool. Thoroughly letting himself go and hitting the bottle, Thomas pours himself into the team he coaches, hoping to relive his youth through them. Driving home after having a couple beers and watching his school's team lose yet again, he lost control of his car, crashing headlong into a streetlamp. The two students he was driving home walked away from the accident with only minor injuries.
Alcoholic gym teacher who takes his school sports way too seriously? Who didn't have one like this.
Not actually applying, I just read the other entries and this got stuck in my head so I wanted to spit it out.
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Viscount Islands[INSERT SoKo HERE]...it was the summer of my lifeRegistered Userregular
It really is. It's difficult to pick the actual rules out of the bullshit fluff.
and then there's the hunter book. With all of it's fan submitted art that ranges from bad, to decent, to light-boxed from the cover one of the Devil May Cry games.
oh and the layout is indeed a bunch of bullshit. it's not so bad once you figure out what pages have the needed crunch and you bookmark them with a sticky note or something.
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Tommy2Handswhat is this where am iRegistered Userregular
edited April 2010
dangit
my character is never gonna get in with you guys posting all these good characters
fuck
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IpseDixitTreat me like a pirateAnd give me that bootyRegistered Userregular
Todd was a skater boy, but his girlfriend said "See you later boy" because he wasn't good enough for her. So he became a superstar, slamming on his guitar, showing her pretty face what he was worth. The he was hit by a drunk driver and died three weeks later in an ICU.
Frank Nealson was an electrical engineer settled comfortably into a life of adequacy, repairing electrical lines and transformers on telephone poles out in bum-fuck nowhere west Texas at the ripe age of 31. A scientific mind , he had always delved into science fiction and the like with an overwhelming hunger tempered by a level-headed working ethic. However, due to some financial complications he was unable to complete college, landing him in his current occupation.
So there he was, on a hot summer day in July, strapped to a telephone pole reading Asimov after successfully repairing the damaged transformer. He found it pretty calming up there most times.
It was shame he got so wrapped up in that story though.
His charred body was found a week after the storm, hanging by the harness.
I'm not even sure if I should be part of this with all the crap I'm juggling, but this idea was rattling around and refusing to leave:
In his youth James Gregor was a student of various soft sciences, and made a living privately tutoring younger university-goers in topics ranging from philosophy to psychology to mythology.
A Scottish national, he decided to follow his girlfriend Harriet back to the States after some stupid fight which saw her leaving Edinburgh in order to return home. They soon forgot about it and made up, and James eventually landed a job as a security guard at a classy apartment block; he had a patient, careful mindset that made it bareable.
When he was 28 years-old, James took Harriet on a road trip to Alaska with the intention of proposing.
A few hours into the journey a drunk-driver headed up the road the wrong way and hit their vehicle, killing Harriet instantly.
James survived the impact with only minor injuries. So after barely a minute of consideration, he stepped out of the car and threw himself into the path on an oncoming truck.
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Der Waffle MousBlame this on the misfortune of your birth.New Yark, New Yark.Registered Userregular
Viscount Islands[INSERT SoKo HERE]...it was the summer of my lifeRegistered Userregular
edited April 2010
Vinton was a assistant engineer at Disney World. A dream job, for some probably, but for him he hated it. He didn't want to be working on Little Mermaid's Ocean Adventure or some more bullshit like that. He wanted to make things that actually had some purpose. A young man in his mid-twenties he always planned to go into some other research and development job, maybe with the military. He was certainly smart enough to do it, just never bothered.
He usually sat in the tiny office space within the rides and smoked a little and read some books, fictional and more scientific. His hair was long and brown, slightly greasy and pulled back into a dorky ponytail. He wore glasses and one or two bits of acne usually marked his face. Despite this he could be somewhat attractive if he ever bothered. He never did.
On a quiet day in the park, the manager contacted him and told him there was a malfunction in Space Mountain. He sighed and pulled the cigarette from his mouth, exhaling a long, lazy wisp of smoke. He set down Cat's Cradle and said, "Ya, on my way."
He died that day of by over a thousand volts of electricity coursing through his body, through a faulty, open wire within the walls of Space Mountain.
Viscount Islands on
I want to do with you
What spring does with the cherry trees.
Vinton was a assistant engineer at Disney World. A dream job, for some probably, but for him he hated it. He didn't want to be working on Little Mermaid's Ocean Adventure or some more bullshit like that. He wanted to make things that actually had some purpose. A young man in his mid-twenties he always planned to go into some other research and development job, maybe with the military. He was certainly smart enough to do it, just never bothered.
He usually sat in the tiny office space within the rides and smoked a little and read some books, fictional and more scientific. His hair was long and brown, slightly greasy and pulled back into a dorky ponytail. He wore glasses and one or two bits of acne usually marked his face. Despite this he could be somewhat attractive if he ever bothered. He never did.
On a quiet day in the park, the manager contacted him and told him there was a malfunction in Space Mountain. He sighed and pulled the cigarette from his mouth, exhaling a long, lazy wisp of smoke. He set down Cat's Cradle and said, "Ya, on my way."
He died that day of by over a thousand volts of electricity coursing through his body, through a faulty, open wire within the walls of Space Mountain.
Vinton's death would be a thousand times better if his corpse were caught in the ride for public display.
It's not as good as the third one down (the first one i did) but i just keep doing it.
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Kane Red RobeMaster of MagicArcanusRegistered Userregular
edited April 2010
As a purely hypothetical question, is it acceptable to punch the guy who is playing an evil character in a neutral/good group (and thus making it difficult to maintain party coherency in character) in the dick next time I see him?
I'm pretty sure he just doesn't realize how hard he's making it for dudes to hang out with him. You have my permission though.
E: I didn't bother having people choose alignments, I'd rather someone does what feels right for their character and kinda decide that after a bit. Mathias's thing is he looks out for himself and Yoruichi and tries to get some fightin' in along the way. I didn't envision this including cannibalism.
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RankenphilePassersby were amazedby the unusually large amounts of blood.Registered User, Moderatormod
edited April 2010
man, you know what's hilarious?
tossing a pair of rust monsters at some dudes
ate up the only +2 items they had found so far, a set of delver's chain and a sweet fire maul
buh-bye
even better is the look of absolute panic the tank and the cleric get when they realize what they're about to fight
"What's this? Oh a fresh corpse... his leather armor is fine but his sword looks ancient, pitted and scarred, beyond repair, as if it were ancient, covered in rus.... oh fuck"
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Tommy2Handswhat is this where am iRegistered Userregular
edited April 2010
a monk would fucking ruin some rust monsters like nothing
only thing he's got is some ki focuses and those can be pretty much anything
"Well, I guess for the moment I am training with this wad of dirt. Whatever"
Posts
Rock Band DLC | GW:OttW - arrcd | WLD - Thortar
Steve Stevenson was a Catholic Priest who
ok i'd better stop right there
However, the ring will never leave your finger, and you will be unable to ever describe to another living person what you see.
Twitch (I stream most days of the week)
Twitter (mean leftist discourse)
the role of Hank will be played by Ron Perlman
tentative myth weavers charsheet... i may have fucked a couple things up
quick backstory bits, may do some more later
"Yeah? Well I don't like the idea of sitting on like... like what? Somewhere about a half mil of coke in something that might break down."
The men took a chance to check their weapons. Hank chambered rounds into a pair of TEC-9's. 9mm. Modified for full automatic fire. Barrel shroud. High-capacity magazines. About as illegal as you could get, he mused... but then again, so was transporting narcotics. At the back of his belt was a semi-auto pistol that he didn't bother to check. He'd cleaned it that morning. He stowed the machine pistols under the driver's seat.
"Yeah," repeated the other three, one by one, as they similarly treated their own banned firearms.
"There's more than Cops to worry about."
"You're a real comedian, Hank."
The car remained relatively quiet as it moved through the hazy streets. It was hot. When the Santa Ana winds blew all bets were off. Shit blew everywhere, desert heat came down into the basin, fire departments held their breaths. Heat, chaos, trash... it's the American Dream thought Hank.
"Ain't right."
"She's a bitch, man."
A half an hour later, Hank considered that Chuy may have been right. Sometimes a little paranoia can go a long way The cops got to the drop point way too fast, Chuy and the other two died too fast, and his TEC-9's ran out off ammo way too fast. His car got hit by .40 caliber rounds so rapidly it could have been a machine gun. Maybe it was. He wasn't even sure how many times he got shot. As he lay on the ground, the last daylight Hank saw was obscured by blood and Hawthorne's Finest pointing guns.
"Well, it seems that we may very well be able to appeal your death sentence."
"Yes. Though you've already been convicted, I have a report from several doctors indicating that you were not notified of your Miranda Rights while you were concsious."
"Henry..." The lip of convict's scarred face snarled a bit at the mention of his given name, as the Connors earnestly put his hands together in front of him on the table. "This is very serious. We're trying to save your life."
"I'm serious. In the case of your arrest, there were several --"
"That's why I'm here, Henry. Capital Punishment was not administered in this case --"
The lawyer stammered a bit and tugged at his collar.
"Mister Walker --"
Hank leaned back far enough to get the cigarette in his hands and flick it into Connors' face. The guard didn't move.
The lawyer quickly shuffled his papers together, stuffed them into his briefcase, and nearly jumped out of his skin when Hank raised his knees and banged them on the table. Connors' exited somewhat desperately, banging on the door several times before he left the room. Hank stared for a moment at the cigarette burning away uselessly at the other end of the table. The guard, Jasper, finally spoke up.
Jasper put another cigarette in Hank's mouth and helped him light it. Hank didn't try to drag it out to stay out of his cell... he just tried to enjoy the smoke and stop thinking.
"Okay... Do you have a family, Hank?"
"What do you mean by that?"
"It says here you're also guilty of rape. Is that true?"
"Okay... so... no family? No friends?"
"So you like kids? Why is that?"
"Weren't the police concerned?"
"Do you resent the police for profiling you?"
"What do you mean?"
"You protected your neighborhood?"
"From who?"
"You made a bond with that child though?"
"So you played football?"
"It sounds like you lived in a residential area."
"What does that mean?"
*cough*
"Can you describe what happened that fatal day in June?"
"How do you feel about that? What was going through your mind?"
"What happened next?"
"So you survived being gunned down by the police while the rest of your gang died?"
"You've been convicted of many capital offenses. Did you commit all of those?"
But you're going to be executed tomorrow."
"You haven't appealed your case?"
"Are you aware of the protests being held outside the prison?"
This interview was never aired on NPR.
I even looked up a name for it.
What spring does with the cherry trees.
Rock Band DLC | GW:OttW - arrcd | WLD - Thortar
Eirya, or just Eir as she preferred to be called, worked nights at an unhealthy looking bar and club that was located on a not-well known street with no sign signaling to the people on the road that a bar even existed. People found their way there regardless, like roaches find the places where you can't get at them.
On a normal night, you'd walk in the old oak door and wave through the heavy wisps of smoke and see Eir behind the counter or walking by with a box of something or other in her hands. She'd be wearing an long sleeved cotton shirt with slightly torn jeans, and her lanky black hair hanging over her heavily-tattooed neck. Just like the rest of her body.
"Night Chuck." She'd say with a grimace if you were a regular. If you weren't you just got a suspicious frown. No one wondered what a nice girl like her was doing in a place like this, because for one she wasn't nice. And two, it seemed only natural. She was part of the place, too familiar to let go even if she slacked. She didn't, and basically became the co-owner of the place alongside Rel Hemson.
She had a way with people and seemed stringy enough to be able to handle herself. Now and again there'd be a cigarette in her mouth, but not for long. She sketched when she was alone.
She drowned.
What spring does with the cherry trees.
His handle is clever, though.
Rock Band DLC | GW:OttW - arrcd | WLD - Thortar
Not going to play, but here's an idea that someone can tweak if they want.
Computer programmer for a decent size insurance company. Likes to stay fit and active, is a bit shy/unsocial but is a fairly normal kind dude.
One Monday, he fails to come into to work. Two more days pass before police are called. His body is found partially naked, hanging by the neck from a rafter in his attic studio apartment and a usually stable looking chair lying on it's side.
Police report states he's been like that since about sunday morning.
He says with an air of authority and experience.
:winky: x a bajillion
Alcoholic gym teacher who takes his school sports way too seriously? Who didn't have one like this.
It really is. It's difficult to pick the actual rules out of the bullshit fluff.
What spring does with the cherry trees.
and then there's the hunter book. With all of it's fan submitted art that ranges from bad, to decent, to light-boxed from the cover one of the Devil May Cry games.
oh and the layout is indeed a bunch of bullshit. it's not so bad once you figure out what pages have the needed crunch and you bookmark them with a sticky note or something.
my character is never gonna get in with you guys posting all these good characters
fuck
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:^:
So there he was, on a hot summer day in July, strapped to a telephone pole reading Asimov after successfully repairing the damaged transformer. He found it pretty calming up there most times.
It was shame he got so wrapped up in that story though.
His charred body was found a week after the storm, hanging by the harness.
This is fuuuuun.
But I am not gonna do it right now cause I am hungover.
In his youth James Gregor was a student of various soft sciences, and made a living privately tutoring younger university-goers in topics ranging from philosophy to psychology to mythology.
A Scottish national, he decided to follow his girlfriend Harriet back to the States after some stupid fight which saw her leaving Edinburgh in order to return home. They soon forgot about it and made up, and James eventually landed a job as a security guard at a classy apartment block; he had a patient, careful mindset that made it bareable.
When he was 28 years-old, James took Harriet on a road trip to Alaska with the intention of proposing.
James survived the impact with only minor injuries. So after barely a minute of consideration, he stepped out of the car and threw himself into the path on an oncoming truck.
A thousand times this.
NWOD's rules are so good, too, but its like they're trying to make it as hard as possible to learn.
He usually sat in the tiny office space within the rides and smoked a little and read some books, fictional and more scientific. His hair was long and brown, slightly greasy and pulled back into a dorky ponytail. He wore glasses and one or two bits of acne usually marked his face. Despite this he could be somewhat attractive if he ever bothered. He never did.
On a quiet day in the park, the manager contacted him and told him there was a malfunction in Space Mountain. He sighed and pulled the cigarette from his mouth, exhaling a long, lazy wisp of smoke. He set down Cat's Cradle and said, "Ya, on my way."
He died that day of by over a thousand volts of electricity coursing through his body, through a faulty, open wire within the walls of Space Mountain.
What spring does with the cherry trees.
Vinton's death would be a thousand times better if his corpse were caught in the ride for public display.
It's not as good as the third one down (the first one i did) but i just keep doing it.
If it was evil to start with, the DM should be punched for letting him use the character in the first place.
E: I didn't bother having people choose alignments, I'd rather someone does what feels right for their character and kinda decide that after a bit. Mathias's thing is he looks out for himself and Yoruichi and tries to get some fightin' in along the way. I didn't envision this including cannibalism.
tossing a pair of rust monsters at some dudes
ate up the only +2 items they had found so far, a set of delver's chain and a sweet fire maul
buh-bye
even better is the look of absolute panic the tank and the cleric get when they realize what they're about to fight
"What's this? Oh a fresh corpse... his leather armor is fine but his sword looks ancient, pitted and scarred, beyond repair, as if it were ancient, covered in rus.... oh fuck"
only thing he's got is some ki focuses and those can be pretty much anything
"Well, I guess for the moment I am training with this wad of dirt. Whatever"
we know you like monks
Twitch (I stream most days of the week)
Twitter (mean leftist discourse)
I don't need to hear it every page
Twitch (I stream most days of the week)
Twitter (mean leftist discourse)
oh you done it now
Dubh is
The Post Nazi