Stars, Stripes, Rock 'n' Roll and a Cold Root Beer

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Stars, Stripes, Rock 'n' Roll and a Cold Root Beer

Post by Magical Monkey on Sat Nov 17, 2012 11:39 am

Stars, Stripes, Rock 'n' Roll and a Cold Root Beer


15 cents for a Frostie's Old Fashioned!

"The muffled thunder of dialogue comes through the walls, then a chorus of laughter. Then more thunder. Most of the laugh tracks on television were recorded in the early 1950s. These days, most of the people you hear laughing are dead." - Chuck Palahniuk.

Welcome to an era of change, hope, growth, optimism and sunshine. Welcome to the days where the men were good-looking, the women were strong and all the children were above-average. Welcome to a time where the root beer is on tap, where the fashion is slick and where the flags fly high. My friends, welcome to 1955. Welcome to an entirely new zeitgeist, one that is warm, hopeful and hinted with liquorice. Enjoy your stay, see the sights, hear the sounds, feel the breeze and taste the rolling creaminess of a freshly pulled root beer across your tongue. Welcome.

***
"So you've been to Michigan?"
"Yeah man"
"So where'd you visit?"
"Papen man. I went to Papen. The 'rents lived there, so I went ya know? I wasn't on tour or any of that jazz."
"Sure. And what was it like? What was Papen, Michigan like?"
"That place is strange. Its got bad vibes. At first, it was okay, nothing out of the ordinary. But by the third day... Something I can't describe... The place was really wiggin' me out, man!"
- On-Air Conversation about touring in America with popular Rock 'n' Roll musician Zappy Johnson. Circa 1959.

The town of Papen, Michigan is a strange town indeed. Situated on the southern shores of Lake Michigan and boasting a population of approximately 50 000, the town seems to be completely normal. From its red-and-white schoolhouse, to its stone Town Hall, to the local burger joint, the town appears to be a shining example of American suburbia. But all those who live there know the town is anything but normal, and visitors tend to describe the town as having "bad vibes".

They say it began in the early 19th century, with the town's founder, Franz von Papen. A Prussian Junker on a search for fame, fortune and glory, von Papen started the town on the false premise of gold. But who'd ever heard of gold in Michigan? However, communication was slow back then, and it was only when the crowds of hungry gold diggers turned up that von Papen had discovered that there was no gold to be had. Destitute and overcome with a unique anger that would later be dubbed "von Papen's Madness", the immigrants lynched von Papen, tortured his wife and drove his children into the wilderness. Today, the infamous "Lynching Tree" still stands in Barrow's Botanical Garden, and the town's name serves as a macabre reminder of its sinister origins.

Whether the stories of von Papen are myths, legends or the cold, hard truth, no-one is certain. But from the so-called "Torso Murderer" that plagued Papen in the 1910s to the mysterious bound-and-gagged African tribesman that was found on the main street one morning in 1948, things have never been peaceful or normal in Papen. So when a bunch of people from the future mysteriously appeared in the storage closet of Jimbo's All-American Burgers, it was hardly a surprise that it happened in Papen.

***
Hello! Welcome to the RP! This is a science-fiction/historical/drama/awesome roleplay. Set in the 1950s, an era remembered in fuzzy nostalgia by the denizens of today, this roleplay details the adventures of a few said denizens of today who are sent to the aforementioned era. Specifically, they are sent to the storage closet of Jimbo's All-American Burgers in Papen, Michigan in the year of 1955, the 18th of March. Why are they sent there? Who/what sent them there? What will they make of this brave new world that is the 1950s? In the end, will they stay? Leave? Nobody knows, but there is much to find out.

This roleplay is very open-ended; the story is highly nonlinear. Many different genres are mixed in, and really, it is up to the players to decide the direction. The nonconformity to traditional roleplay genres and conventions is why I think this will be a lot of fun. Although supernatural/sci-fi elements may be mixed in later as the story progresses, this RP is, at its core, about humans interacting with their environment.

So how will your character fathom the 50s? Join and find out!

***
Rules:
  • No godmoding, autohitting or any of that nonsense. Regardless of the fact that is isn't real life, your character is human and therefore behaves like one.
  • Please follow basic grammar and spelling conventions. nuthing ruuinz a gud rP than . that some1 wid TERR!BLE grammar n' speeling.
  • Please refrain from one-sentence posting. At the bare minimum, post three sentences. If you're out of things to say, describe your environment, your feelings, maybe your current thoughts.
  • Remember that as the creator of the RP, I reserve all power regarding it.
  • Try to get along with your fellow RPers. It isn't too hard.
  • Pay attention to timezones. If two people are online, don't spam posts while the other four (or whatever number we happen to have) are asleep. That is the kind of behaviour that ruins a good RP.
  • Out-of-character is to be done in (parentheses), [square brackets], {braces} or with "OOC" clearly indicated beforehand (eg. "OOC: I need to sleep").
  • Please actually stay in character. If you write your character to be a shy, nerdy type dude, do you really think he's going to take on six buff greasers at once? Of course not!
  • Above all, have fun!

***
Character Creation:

All characters shall be PM'd to me for approval. Though it is highly likely you'll get in, I reserve the right to say "No".

Code:
[b]Player's Username[/b]:
[b]Name[/b]:
[b]Age[/b]:
[b]Nationality[/b]
[b]Gender[/b]:
[b]Physical Appearance[/b]:
[b]Personality[/b]:
[b]Possessions[/b]:
[b]Personal History[/b]:
[b]Other[/b]:

***
IMPORTANT NOTICE: The RP is currently a work-in-progress. I'll be writing a "Beginner's Guide to the 1950s" below and editing this post here over the next few days, and hence, it is advised that you don't apply until I am done with all that. Of course, discussion, questions and expressions of interest are more than welcome. Thanks.


Last edited by The Magical Monkey on Sun Nov 18, 2012 4:32 pm; edited 5 times in total
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Re: Stars, Stripes, Rock 'n' Roll and a Cold Root Beer

Post by Magical Monkey on Sat Nov 17, 2012 11:40 am

RESERVING THIS POST FOR THE "BEGINNER'S GUIDE TO THE 1950'S".
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Re: Stars, Stripes, Rock 'n' Roll and a Cold Root Beer

Post by Magical Monkey on Sat Nov 17, 2012 11:40 am

Yukine wrote:Player's Username: Yukine
Name: Arthur Kirkland
Age: 23
Nationality: English
Gender: Male
Physical Appearance: http://img-cache.cdn.gaiaonline.com/a4615152b99cace1094a80e413f83692/http://illiweb.com/fa/pbucket.gif
Personality: Very bitter and sarcastic, particularly towards the French. He tends to mask his feelings and keep a distance from people to avoid getting hurt, and lashes out at anyone who gets too close. He acts like a gentlemen to women and is very sweet towards children, unless someone starts to get on his nerves.
Possessions: A pair of glasses that he carries around in a case in his pockets, and only wears when absolutely necessary; he is quite embarrassed about needing to wear them.
Personal History:The second youngest of five brothers, born and raised in London. Arthur's mother died at the birth of his younger brother, when Arthur was only six; his father, in his grief, became an alcoholic and neglected his children for four years before abandoning them altogether. Arthur and his younger brother were ultimately raised by their two eldest brothers, which Arthur never felt truly comfortable with due to their teasing and over-indulgent drinking. He left home at the age of 18 and moved to Chicago, where he settled into a much humbler life working at a bookstore. He never informed his brothers of the move or gave them his address; the only contact he retains with them is an occasional email exchange with his third oldest brother.

Yukine wrote:Player's Username: Yukine
Name: Aurel Stelymes
Age: Fourteen
Nationality: Romanian
Gender: Male
Physical Appearance: http://illiweb.com/fa/pbucket.gif
Personality: Quiet and reserved; very self-conscious. He looks up to those older than him and is usually very respectful; he also has a soft spot for younger children and the elderly. He can be quick to anger and becomes rather blunt or rash, leading him to reckless courses of action. Normally he tends to keep to himself, though he opens up to his family and a few select friends.
Possessions: A small butterfly knife given to him by his father for self-defense, although he is reluctant to ever use it.
Personal History: Born in Bucharest to an upper middle-class family, Aurel led a normal life with little complications; his parents struggled very little economically, he had a good relationship with his younger sister by four years, got good grades in school and got along well with most of his classmates. However, an incident at his age of eleven resulted in his left ear being completely cut off, leaving him with a nasty scar on the side of his head. His classmates began to stay away from him, repelled by the scar and his now much gloomier outlook in life, and his number of friends began to diminish. Physicial and psychological treatment for both him and his sister, who as an infant developed cerebral palsy, quickly drained their family's income and forced them to move into a less expensive neighbourhood, as well as for Aurel to switch schools.
Other: Extremely self-conscious of his scar, he wears a hood at all times except when in private with family or very close friends. Speaks Romanian and Russian perfectly with a rudimentary understanding of English.

Llyn wrote:Player's Username: Llyn
Name: Ivan Petrov
Age: 30
Nationality: Russian
Gender: Male
Physical Appearance: http://fc09.deviantart.net/fs42/f/2009/112/d/7/APH__Sir_Ivan_Braginsky_by_helix_fate.jpg
Personality: Cold and calculative. He’s quiet, but not in a shy way; more of an “I hate everyone leave me alone” kind of way. While he normally hates ‘weak’ things such as immaturity and weakness, he has a soft spot for children and admires their innocence. He broods more often than not and tends to sit in a corner and enjoy the misery of others.
Possessions: A bloodied water pipe that he hides in his specially-made trenchcoat as a form of defense. Along with a scarf given to him from his sister – he keeps plastic wrap in his pocket for when he needs to take it off.
Personal History: The son of the Russian ambassador in the United States after the Cold War, Ivan was raised in a strict, isolated home with his older and younger sister. His older sister was sensitive, but also quite rebellious and left her home the day she turned eighteen. When Ivan tried to go with her, he was beaten for the first time by his enraged father. He was twelve at the time and barely understood what had happened – his sister had been seven
Other: Has a very pronounced accent and enjoys ending all of his sentences with ‘da’.
Llyn wrote:Player's Username: Llyn
Name: Sophie Isabelle Beaufeuille
Age: 22
Nationality: Half French, Half English
Gender: Female
Physical Appearance: Light brown, shoulder-length, wavy hair usually tied up in a bun with bangs hanging on her sides. Stands at 5'6" but seems a lot taller as she usually wears heels. Has violet eyes, pale skin and a slim build.
Personality: A very forward person, who acts reckless and stubborn to hide her insecurities. Is an extreme nationalist, and not extremely religious. She loves picking on other Europeans, namely the British. She can come off as both rude and very suave. Is easy to annoy though not particularly easy to anger. She tends to keep her private life separate from her public. Tries to keep herself somewhat distant from others. Can get physical if she feels threatened. Loves cats and children. Is a bit of a bitch to strangers.
Possessions: A notepad and a pen; due to her waitressing.
Personal History: French mother, and British father; was a result of a one-night stand between the two of them. Due to this she has developed a deep hatred of all Englishmen (she thinks that they're all douchebags, essentially). Her mother died when she was 19 and she moved out to escape the nightmares.
Other: Can cook really, really well. Maintains a rose garden. Is extremely racist (to Europeans). Likes making fun of Arthur's height.

Magical Monkey wrote:Player's Username: Magical Monkey
Name: Simeon IV von Saxe-Coburg-Gotha
Age: 27
Nationality: Austrian
Gender: Male
Physical Appearance: If one saw Simeon on the streets of any major metropolis, it could be safely assumed that he was yet another rich kid, probably working for his father's multinational. He sports a light beard of stubble, that is shaped around his defined jaw. Above that, he has an aquiline nose, that gives him an air of nobility. He has sparkling blue eyes, seated below two mildly bushy eyebrows, and a crop of dirty blonde hair that is always perfectly quaffed to one side. Often, he can be seen wearing tailored suits that look far too expensive. Complimenting his suits, he has a gold IWC watch, jewelled cufflinks and pointed shoes that were probably imported from Italy.
Personality: Simeon IV is both highly intelligent and highly arrogant. His problem-solving skills and ability with numbers are especially sharp and fine-tuned, reflecting his years in various Swiss boarding schools. His arrogance is borne of a combination of the latter (being smart) and the fact that Simeon IV is very rich. He has a distaste for all things considered "pleb", including people, and tends not to hold back his tongue. As would be expected Simeon IV is also incredibly spoilt. He has done very little menial or physical work in his life, if any at all, and refuses to change that fact. However, Simeon IV is actually quite insecure, especially about his family life. He often plays up his arrogance to hide this fact, and envies just about anyone who has loving parents.
Possessions: A top-of-the-line smartphone, a crocodile-skin wallet containing at least a thousand dollars in crisp notes, a small plastic bag containing about 2 grams of high-quality speed, a glass pipe, butane lighter, a blister packet of Nurofen tablets, a jar containing about 14 pills of 54mg extended release Ritalin.
Personal History: Simeon IV is distantly related to the deposed Bulgarian royal family, a reminder of which is his name. His father, Artur von Saxe-Coburg-Gotha, was a quicksmart, billionaire insurance executive in the 80s. His mother was a socialite by the name of Eloise Warburg. Simeon IV's mother divorced his father when he was about three years old, and his father had little time for him. He grew up in boarding schools dotted across Switzerland - attending the same schools as Arabian Princes and the junior Rockefellers. As a result he became increasingly estranged from his father, who attempted to rectify this fact by showering him with gifts, which he never delivered in person. After graduating, Simeon IV obtained a bachelors in Economics and as a result of his father's connections, entered the world of a Wall Street Stockbroker. Simeon IV is very good at what he does, and lives a life of luxury. However, the stress, constant demand for work and bitter personal insecurities has led Simeon IV to fall to amphetamines for energy, euphoria and stimulation.
Other: Simeon IV is addicted to stimulants, namely amphetamine and methylphenidate.

Holding spots for any further players.


Last edited by Magical Monkey on Sun Jan 20, 2013 11:41 pm; edited 1 time in total
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Re: Stars, Stripes, Rock 'n' Roll and a Cold Root Beer

Post by Yukine on Sat Jan 19, 2013 1:21 pm

(Note: Unless specified otherwise, everything in Aurel's perspective is in Romanian.)

"So... Aurel. How is school going?"

The tiny, dingy room remained oppressively silent as Aurel ignored the question, preferring to twist the fabric of his left sleeve between his fingers. The woman sitting across from him betrayed a small sigh of impatience and frustration, shifting her position on the armchair as she leaned closer to him. He in return moved away from her on the uncomfortable leather sofa, cringing slightly as the cushions squeaked unpleasantly.

"I need you to talk to me, Aurel. It's the only way we'll make any progress."

Again he ignored her, his eyes flickering to the old-fashioned clock hung on the wall to his right. Still another forty-five minutes to go - there was no way he would be able to stay silent for that long. Might as well respond now, before she started moving on to more delicate questions. With a noise of irritation, he reluctantly lifted his head to look at his therapist, eyeing her critically.

"... I'm doing fine." The woman's responding smile, full of compassion and pity, made it clear that she didn't believe him for a second.

"If you were, your parents wouldn't continue to insist that you come see me. Now then," she began, straightening in her seat as she smiled more sincerely at him, "since you've decided to cooperate, what would you like to do? I know you don't like talking, so maybe we could play a game instead-"

"Talking's fine." A stare of blank surprise was all he received in reply for a few moments, before she managed to school her expression into another easy smile.

"All right, good. Let's start with your new school. It must be difficult for you, switching schools, mm? Leaving your friends behind?"

Maybe it would be, if I had any friends to leave behind in the first place. Everyone had stopped talking to him by the time his parents told him he was switching schools, with only one exception - Alida, the daughter of one of his father's workmates. And she wasn't exactly a friend, more a nuisance that liked to tag along and make teasing, sometimes insensitive remarks. Even after he'd moved to a new house and transferred schools on the other side of town, Alida somehow managed to find him just to pester him.

"It's... not so bad," he finally admitted. "The school's okay. The teachers aren't too mean. Other students don't really talk to me, though." They just stare.

"You haven't told anyone about the reason you transferred, have you?"

"... No. Mrs Chisca, I-"

"Now, Aurel," she cut him off with one of those miniature smiles of hers, "I told you to call me Diana."

"Diana. I really don't think this is working," he replied firmly. "This isn't helping me at all."

"You need to have more patience. Therapy doesn't work overnight. Now, then... about these classmates of yours..."

***

Completely useless. I don't see why my parents bother - nothing she says helps me. What's the point? Aurel thought angrily as he made his way down the street, his hands buried deep in his jacket pockets. The chilly wind in the air and the darkening clouds he could see looming above the city held a promise of rain soon, much to his dismay. Winter had come early in November and was now dragging on through mid-March; Aurel had yet to see hints of crisp spring coming anytime soon. At least, if there's rain, he granted, it means it's not cold enough for snow.

He could see the corner that would lead into his street just off in the distance, so he huddled deeper beneath his jacket and quickened his pace. The sun had already set and, as if the biting wind wasn't enough to encourage one to go inside as quickly as possible, these neighbourhoods were notoriously unsafe after dark.

His breath misted in front of him more often as he began to walk quicker; a nervous, dulled panic began to stir inside him as his distressed mind graced him with less-than-pleasant imaginings. The sound of what seemed like footsteps behind him almost made him freeze, his heart pounding inside his chest as his imagination ran wild with fear. It wasn't too difficult to make his panicked body move forward even faster, the instinct of flight flooding his system as the winter wind flew into his ears and eyes, temporarily deafening and disorienting him.

Something's wrong. This wind, it's too strong-! His thoughts were interrupted by a second blast of wind so powerful that it knocked him backwards, without the chance to react with much more than a squeak of surprise and fear. Instinctively he closed his eyes and covered his face even more with his jacket hood, struggling to remain steady against the wind - only to be hurled backwards into a hard, flat surface, knocking the breath out of him and leaving him slumped on the floor, gasping for breath.

I... I don't think I broke anything, he thought with relief as he gingerly pressed against his arms, neck and back. Probably lots of bruises, though. At least - wait. It's... warm?

Glancing around in surprise, Aurel noticed that not only was it all but pitch-black around him, but he could no longer feel even a hint of a breeze. In fact, it didn't seem like he was outside at all; the surface he was lying on felt more like wood than asphalt, and rather than the chilling smell of winter, he could smell cinnamon in the clearly stagnant air.

Where... Where am I?
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Re: Stars, Stripes, Rock 'n' Roll and a Cold Root Beer

Post by Magical Monkey on Tue Jan 22, 2013 10:19 am

There we go... That's the good stuff mused Simeon IV von Saxe-Coburg-Gotha, Approaching lift-off... It was a strange sight indeed: A young, handsome and extremely well-dressed stockbroker tapping a suspiciously illegal-looking white powder into what looked like a meth pipe. The two images weren't compatible with each other at all; exchange the young stockbroker with a bruised hooker or the meth pipe with a flute of champagne and you'd have the appropriate drug/person combination. But it seems reality has little regard to stereotypes, as there he was, an overpaid, pseudo-aristocratic yuppie, sitting upon a leather armchair in an apartment that overlooked Times Square, tapping white powders into a glass pipe.

Simeon finished measuring out the suitable dosage, There's about 40 milligrams in there, and fished around for his lighter. His hands scurried past a crocodile-skin wallet and through embossed business cards until it found the lighter, which was leather bound and engraved with a Copperplate "S. Saxe-Coburg-Gotha". He flicked back the stone and heard the rush of a butane-fuelled flame. He then put the pipe to his mouth, began to gently suck in air, and held the vibrant blue flame to the bulb of the pipe.

Immediately, he heard the all-too-familiar bubbling sound of the powder evaporating. He watched it intently; eyeballing the powder as it vaporised into a milky mist. Then, when he was satisfied with the amount of vaporisation, he closed the lighter and sucked in the vapor with an almighty intake of breath. The harsh, chemical flavours of the vapor entered him, defiling his tongue and lips. They felt as if they were corroding his mouth and throat - as if Simeon had inhaled some sort of ungodly World War I chemical weapon that would only come in a box labelled Achtung!. But he held his mouth closed, refusing to cough or exhale. Only when he was certain that he had absorbed as much of the vapor as humanly possible did he entertain the notion that he should exhale. And so he did, blowing what was left of the milky vapor out in a relieved sigh. Then, the rush hit him like a boxer from a Sylvester Stallone film. Bam!

In this world, the majority of illegal drugs fall clearly into two categories: performance-enhancers (steroids, diuretics et cetera) and recreational drugs (just about anything else). By and large, most drugs that kids talk about in hushed tones, cannabis, salvia, heroin, fall squarely into the latter category. They have no performance-enhancing qualities. You'll never find a kid walking into a calculus test with a head full of THC and a conviction to succeed. But amphetamine, now displacing his bloodstream's native population at a rate that would make the Trail of Tears look like Woodstock, did not fit into either categories. Instead, it straddled the line in between. Which was the exact reason Simeon's personal and professional life had evolved to depend on the drug.

Simeon rocked back in his chair as the rush of euphoria accumulated in the front of his head, then, like an Amazonian waterfall only seen on Nat Geo, it thundered down in tremendous magnitude, right to the tips of his toes. His eyes dilated, his muscles tightened, his jaw clenched, his temples buzzed and his breathing became the well-timed bellow pumps for his machine of a mind. The rush was short-lasting though, and the euphoria dissipated into a warm equanimity. That was the primary difference between amphetamine and its much uglier cousin, methamphetamine. Whereas meth would send you on a 12-hour steam-train of ecstasy and perceived invincibility, amphetamine, said to have given Jack Kerouac the ability to write On the Road, is much more muted. Confidence, concentration, clear-headedness, motivation and energy were Simeon's order of the day, and amphetamine supplied this in ample amounts.

Right then, let's get to work thought Simeon. In front of him, three monitors blared information at him. Two were running Bloomberg terminals, and from them waves of decimalised numbers, esoteric abbreviations and intrusively colourful graphs spouted forth. On the third, a Windows 8 desktop was present. It displayed a mundane collections of icons and the factory-setting wallpaper. Simeon had no time for the third desktop. Although he had a cushy desk job at an investment firm during the hours of 9am to 5pm, the more exciting money-making experiences Simeon had were as a night trader. For hours he'd sit at these three screen, hitting keys with a cocksure rapidity that would make Hirim Maxim squeal. Buying a stock, then selling it in an instance. Organising futures contracts only to realise three had expired and one had quadrupled in value. Selling bonds while advising his associates to do the opposite. This was what Simeon was built for.

Unfortunately, tonight would not be one of those nights. All the preparations were in place: The perennial mugs of espresso upon his desk, scrawled notes from the night before were hastily thrown onto the floor and replaced by fresh paper, a packet of half-opened cigarettes sat salaciously, a stressball was ensconced behind the keyboard and Simeon's head was elevating on amphetamine's magic carpet. But as aforementioned, no night trading would get accomplished tonight. Simeon could never guess what was about to happen, and he would never suspect that it would begin with something as innocuous as a strong wind.

"Hang on!" vociferated Simeon at no-one in particular, "The windows are closed!" He stood up and scanned the apartment. Indeed, he was correct. He had closed all the windows to keep the native smells of the Empire City: the eminent stink of old trash, old hookers and fresh car exhaust. But still, the wind blew, seemingly from... Nowhere. Simeon did a double-take. As well as not knowing the source, he couldn't discern the direction the wind was coming from either. Yet, it buffeted him, throwing his mildly wrinkled suit up in a frenzy, threatening to blow the glass pipe right out of his mouth. It seemed to be coming from all around Simeon, besieging him from all possible angles. And the most grievous offence was not the wind or its haphazardly indeterminable direction, but the fact that it seemed to be only effecting him. Only a few meters away from him, his desk sat in tranquility. Under any normal circumstances, logic would decree that the pad of paper Simeon had set out would be all over the apartment by now. But there the pad sat, unperturbed by the winds. What in the name of Monica Lewinsky am is this crap I'm sucking on? he thought, eyeing the stem of his pipe and he continued to inhale the last vestiges of the amphetamine vapor.

Then, a final gust of wind delivered the executioner's blow. It came out of nowhere, carrying the weight and speed of a U-Boat torpedo. And like some poor British merchant ship captain, he could do nothing as it pummelled into him. For a moment, Simeon stumbled around like a drunk in some early Irish novel, then he closed his eyes, wincing in pain. I don't have time for this bullshit. For a few moments, it suddenly seemed to Simeon that he was floating in a space of nothing, then as abruptly as that sensation began, it ended. He literally fell out of that void-like area, pulled by gravity onto some sort of hard surface. As if prompted by an unseen autocue, pain sparked up all over his body. He groaned, lying there for a few moments, pipe still clenched in his mouth. The surface he had fallen onto was cold, and the air was thick with the smell of cinnamon. I'm going to destroy that assbag of a dealer cogitated Simeon furiously, What is this anyway? Smokable LSD? Gingerly, Simeon opened his eyes, and was greeted by darkness. W-What? Simeon sat up quickly and shook his head, before looking around again. Still totally dark. This is the weirdest trip I've ever tripped... he concluded. He did, however, hear - and to an extent, feel - a hurried gasping, as if someone had been winded.

"H-Hey!" he hollered into the darkness, "Who's there?"

(I shall write a second character soon enough, do not fear.)
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Re: Stars, Stripes, Rock 'n' Roll and a Cold Root Beer

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