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[The Sheryl Crow Role-Playing Game IC/OOC] Hard to make a stand
Posts
The red-head reaches out to grab the flier, and turns her back on Reznor, Mikael, Trasha and Ke$ha. "We gonna get this $10, enter the battle, and totally own our way to opening for Sheryl?" She chews her gum some more, and blows a bubble whle tapping her foot to illustrate her impatience.
"Ke$ha? I'm insulted, Trent. I would've prefered to triumph over someone with actual talent. Or at least sex appeal. Can she even talk, or does she need to lipsynch that too?"
"Don't you see," he says, "My band has been specifically designed to counter any advantages you could bring to the table. My mastery of the industrial will easily out-perform any shouting that Rollins can throw out. Ke$ha's out-performed you, Gaga, by having the biggest selling song of the past year. Michael here will bring some accessibility to the melodic death metal elements we'll blend into our performance. And Trisha..."
His eyes gleam for a second, his wicked grin increases even further in width.
"... is a girl drummer."
The group pose together as the fog machine spurts out another burst, billowing around them and accentuating their smug sense of superiority.
"I bet you don't even have a name for your band yet," he continues as the group unposes, "Perhaps another passe video game reference, Pine?"
"Yeah, we've got a name for our band," Kim says, her grin growing ever wider. It's almost creeping off the sides of her face now. "But we'll talk about that in a moment. You've got one girl drummer, huh? Well, we've got one, too." Here, she brandishes her drumsticks. "And we got a guy drummer, also. We've got a MATCHING PAIR, REZNORBITCH!"
She takes a stick in each hand, and holds them tightly, her knuckles whitening at the intensity of her iron grip.
"We..."
The red-head shows her teeth in a rictus grin.
"Are..."
Beads of sweat show up on her forehead.
"THE CROW RIDERS!"
As she screams, Kim raises both hands and her face to the skies.
"And we're here to make you SCREAM and think about SHERYL and stuff!"
"ONE!"
Drumstick crash.
"TWO!"
White-knuckle grip.
"THREE!"
A WALL of SOUND!
"FOUR!"
Kim then says, as an aside to Henry. "You know, like that song in The Crow soundtrack that you didn't write and stuff. But made relevant."
After nodding with satisfaction at himself, he pauses.
"Wait, where are we going to get $10? I have ... a dollar and two dimes right now."
Gaga sizes up said chumps, "You spent all your money renting that fog machine, didn't you Reznor?"
Before anyone can say that's impossible, the metal dude pulls out his money and is shocked to discover a gold coin and two smaller ones, with some old lady in a tiara's head on the back of each.
Reznor and the rest of the crew start laughing madly, but when Gaga questions their own financial situation, they go white.
"W-well," stammers Reznor, "Fog machines are expensive to hire, you see, and not to mentioEVERYONE BAIL!"
On command, the group runs out the door, Trasha flipping everyone a double bird before picking up the machine and chasing after her band into the open air outside the auditorium.
She looks at her drumsticks, then tucks them back in her skirt. "I really don't want to play drums y'know."
"Surely we could find a way to earn the cash together? Otherwise this isn't much of a band."
She thinks on this for a moment. "That's enough to do the dance, but I don't think we want to. I say we either set up here, and stick around until we're told to move, or go take over some space at the..." She bites on her lip. "At the... Whuuuuu. Uh. Whuuuuuu. Why. Emmmmm."
The effort on her face is obvious, and sweat starts to break out on her brow. "Cee Ay. Or we just take a subspace route back to my apartment and practice in the living room with a captive audience. An american taught me how."
someone roll for henry's physical ability to do pushups until they teleport
i assume that will be a stamina roll
Sheryl'd it!
Henry drops and gives the band 20 with such force that it actually opens a tear in spacetime.
"Okay Kim, you're sure you can get us there? Don't accidentally take us to Antarctica!"
Kim shoulders her guitar and backpack, and produces a doorknob from the pocket of her track top. She then opens a door in midair, and gestures into the doorway.
Once through, they end up in the living room of Kim's apartment, and yes indeed, there's a drum kit in there. The hi-hat's been knocked over, and the double-kick setup on the bass has had the beaters have been replaced with a hammer (wrapped with firm cushioning) and a huge lollipop (without cushioning), but it looks like a fairly decent kit overall.
"You don't need a microphone, but sure. There are a couple in that box by the consoles," she says flatly, gesturing towards the TV and games stuff. "I think the best one is the Rock Band mic. People haven't tried eating that one as much as the others."
Throwing the devil horn handsign to Kim in respect (hammer of Thor style bass dude!) he begins warming up with a few quick blast beats as everyone tunes their insruments and selects keytar patches and such.
Tak! Tak! Taka taka taka taka!
http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/2907038/
PRESIDENT'S DAY
EXIT WOUNDS
CRAWL THROUGH TO FREEDOM
AND GO FUCK YOURSELF
HHHRRRRAAAAAAAAAA
edit: kay i right i should probably read the rules again
"I guess I go with bass then, if Ms Stuffmewith Germanotters is on keytar, eh," she mutters to herself with a vague frown on her face. She opens the case, and inside is a bass. And a can of mace.
She slides the strap over her shoulder, plugs into a convenient amp, and checks her tuning. Check check.
Kim then flexes the fingers of her right hand, letting the bones crackle and pop as she strains them, before placing her left gently on the giraffe-like neck of her Thundercrank.
Experimentally, she strums out the first few bars to 'Every Day is a Winding Road', before catching the machine-gun thrum of a beat that Bmb is slamming out. As Henry starts to scream in that rantacular manner of his, Kim's foot starts to tap. Her head starts to nod.
She ignores the scent of wet bear (like wet dog, but hairier) in her apartment's living room, and puts her fingers to the thick metal strings.
What pours forth from her none-too-tender ministrations is a bit of Skunk Anansie, a little Northern Exposure, and a whole lot of RAGE Against the Machine. I guess there's a bit of Sex Bob-omb's golden years, and a smidgin of Shatterband, but hey. Kim Pine puts out some Fat Bass Steaks, and dear god, there's a lot of meat on them.
Fat Bass Steaks: 1d6 2
Sadly, one only Sheryls It if they hit their skill exactly, Shoe.