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

"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.

Yukine wrote:Player's Username: Yukine
Name: Arthur Kirkland
Age: 23
Nationality: English
Gender: Male
Physical Appearance: http://img-cache.cdn.gaiaonline.com/a4615152b99cace1094a80e413f83692/https://2img.net/h/i362.photobucket.com/albums/oo64/Sasori-Danna-San/6631724_m.jpg
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: https://2img.net/h/i431.photobucket.com/albums/qq31/LittleKitty-Chan/tumblr_mcoex3Zhrj1rjy9w0o2_1280.jpg
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.

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.)