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| Two To Tango, One To Win | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Apr 16 2012, 05:50 PM (325 Views) | |
| Midnight Rider | Apr 16 2012, 05:50 PM Post #1 |
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The Super Cereal
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This picks up right after this thread. We couldn’t agree on how to divide the reward so Showdown! Peter wiped the sweat off his forehead with his hand as he stepped out of the backroom of Big Z’s. The brothel the man had set up was tastefully done despite the clientele. Peter leaned up against the bar and watched the ladies strut their stuff out on the floor to entice the patrons. They were a sight to behold and it got Peter’s heart racing to watch some of their moves. The colored lights bounced around the room highlighting the various madams in a blaze of reds, oranges, blues, greens and yellow. After a few moments a bead of sweat splashed onto Peter’s glasses. This crowded room was blazing hot and the women weren’t helping the situation. His hand was still wet from last time he needed something more permanent to deal with this issue. Peter looked about the bar area and there he saw it, the bar tender’s handkerchief. The bartender just used it to dust down the counter top and there it was unattended, all by itself and ripe for the taking. Checking to his left and right Peter made sure no one was watching him as he discretely stepped away from the bar. Peter took it slow going towards the hanky so he didn’t draw attention to himself. The sweat beads on his forehead were multiplying and he needed relief soon. Peter mingled with the patrons delivering one liner cocktail jokes as me excused his way through the throng of people. Then the crowd seemed to part before Peter and he had clear shot at the rag. Saddling on up the bar Peter acted like he was just going to order a drink when he grabbed the rag. “Victory!” he thought to himself but when he went to pick it up there was a tug on the other end. Jesse, from earlier, had also grabbed the handkerchief! The two men locked eyes; if glares could kill the brothel would have exploded. At once the commotion in the building stopped and all eyes locked on the two men with a death grip on the rag. The patrons retreated to the sides of the wall in frightened anticipation of gun play at any moment. Each man stood there unyielding in their desire for the rag. As they tugged and pulled on the bit of cloth Peter and Jesse found themselves in the middle of the room. The lights cut out and a big spotlight kicked on a few seconds later, the two men were bathed in white light which glistened of the sweat on each man’s forehead. Then from up in his booth the DJ shouted, “There’s only one way to settle this, on the dance fllllooooooorrrrr!! Two men enter and one man leaves, and then the other man leaves a little later with the prize!!” “Alright then!” Peter proclaimed “DJ spin that shit! Give me a little Commonwealth sound!” |
![]() Gordon "Stone" Hennigan, SPECIAL: 5.6.9.3.5.10.3. Level: 6 HC Peter McCullough SPECIAL: 4, 4, 4, 10, 10, 4 , 4, Level 3 HC THE CURSE OF THE MUMMY The spirits have taken an interest in you for all the wrong reasons! Unexpected challenges will come to you during your RPs but the rewards doled out will be much juicier. It is possible to live with such a curse, but if you would rather live curse free, you could simply sell the corpse and wash your hands of the whole situation. Lmgthev: MBP is handsome LonesomeDrifter23: Sometimes I think MBP is a being made entirely of satire. | |
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| Midnight Rider | Apr 16 2012, 05:56 PM Post #2 |
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The Super Cereal
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Peter's Jam Peter popped his collar and took to the center of the dance floor. The music was pumping through him and Peter felt every music note like it was his heart beating. He lost himself into the rhythm of the record and started out slow bobbing and weaving to the base beat. After a few seconds it was time to start pulling out his tricks. He didn’t know what kind of moves Jesse had and in this moment he didn’t care. Hundreds of miles from home, tonight at this second this was a Commonwealth dance floor and Peter was going to show them how the best traders get down. Right as the song got to the lyrics Peter started moving his arms and legs doing a little bit of the "Protectron" before diving into a move he called the “Double Entry System.” It almost looked like Peter was filling out his assets and liabilities column at the same time when he finished that move. A quick spin around and then it was time to "Back the Caravan Up." The audience went wild as Peter moon walked backwards with his “wagonteam.” “Enough fancy dance moves for the moment,” Peter thought. “Let’s something that’s always a big hit with the crowds.” It was time for the "Annual Report." Peter a step forward and then slid his foot back, immediately placing his next foot forward. He repeated this move while moving his bent arms forward and back together. Once he got up to speed and was moving quickly he looked as though he was running. Then when the audience got tired of that, Peter pivoted on one foot faced in the other direction and did it all over again. This was an oldie but a goodie and it was nice sometimes to stick with a classic. Jesse might have thought himself lucky so far but Peter was just getting started it was time to Open Up The Books. Peter started getting crazy Commonwealth on the dance floor. The song was flowing through him now and nothing was going stop him. He "Balanced the Ledgers" and "Cooked the Books." “That’s right,” Peter thought, “I’ve balanced my assets with my liabilities and equity. Let's see Jesse bring this kind of precession.” This was good but he needed to be great to beat Jesse and that meant digging deep. He was bearing his heart and soul out on the dance floor but he knew that if wanted that hanky there had to be more. There was a move he could still do Chapter 13 Liquidation. It was risky but he needed that rag more then ever. To do it though he’d need to build up some serious momentum. A couple Inventory Turnovers got Peter up to speed and then he went for it. Peter leapt into the air and spun… once… twice… three times… and then a back flip into a handstand. Peter slammed down onto that floor feet high in the air as he nailed the landing with his hands and maintained balance. After doing the worm real quick to celebrate Peter bowed out of the light and politely encouraged Jesse to bring it. |
![]() Gordon "Stone" Hennigan, SPECIAL: 5.6.9.3.5.10.3. Level: 6 HC Peter McCullough SPECIAL: 4, 4, 4, 10, 10, 4 , 4, Level 3 HC THE CURSE OF THE MUMMY The spirits have taken an interest in you for all the wrong reasons! Unexpected challenges will come to you during your RPs but the rewards doled out will be much juicier. It is possible to live with such a curse, but if you would rather live curse free, you could simply sell the corpse and wash your hands of the whole situation. Lmgthev: MBP is handsome LonesomeDrifter23: Sometimes I think MBP is a being made entirely of satire. | |
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| Cewebwalz | Sep 5 2012, 08:08 AM Post #3 |
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Henshin a go-go baby
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Jesse feet barely lifted off the ground as he glided into the soon to be dance hall. The southern heat was heavier than a Hoboken bargirl with too much food on her plate. The bar was like a sauna, rolled into oven, double dipped in a sunny side up salsa. The room was hot, and as his last name indicated, Jesse was no fan of summer’s dog days. The floorboards where crackling, flames burning holes through the ceilings, and the seas boiled. Truer to reality than hyperbole, Jesse’s forehead felt so water logged that his hand swiping at the sweat was just starting to cramp his sausage like fingers. Permanent replacement or bust, any relief at this point would be ecstasy. He glanced down at his clothing, but he wasn’t at that level yet. What was he, some sort of street vagrant, content with rubbing sweat with nothing but the clothes on his back? He’d rather take one to the back of the head then put himself at their level. Jesse’s digs would remain sweat free eternally, at least from the outside. Hands cracked, sweat membranes and what not over burdened, Jesse spotted salvation. Just like Moses bringing his people to the promised land, Jesse was bringing homeostasis back into check. Fingers cracked, he merged through the dance floor like a madmen, pushing numerous would be funkateers off their hustle rockets. Winters outreached, and like a futuristic, post-apocalyptic version of The Creation of Adam, Peter was on the other end of the hanky. Eyes locked, blood boiling, sweat burning holes through the skin, and fear dripping down. Would it come to bloodshed? Gunshots? Perhaps an 80s music video knife fight? Jesse reached down to his hip, eager to draw the cleaver, when he was interrupted mid-reach by the DJ, the disc scratching as he eyes went wild with anticipation and gasoline fumes. He spits half fire and half sound, “There’s only one weight to settle this, on the prance ccccccccooooooorree!! Do men enter and one man sleeves, and then the other man leaves a little later with the thighs!!” Jesse misheard the funk out of that sentence, but judging from Peter’s anticipation and the near eerie dance madness settling in around the room, he realized that all eyes were on them. Peter slid slowly into the dance floor, and a once almost foreign tune controlled the airflow like a gas attack on a Japanese subway system. He slipped and slided like a goddamn slip and slide was out there rather than a dance floor. His northern style, mathematic antics weren’t going to hold up long in dance court, which was for sure. Jesse stretched out his legs, pulling a classic, New York Ballet stretch out of his back pocket. His muscles relieved, his hands jiving, his feet finking, he moved towards the dance floor as Peter relinquished control of it too him, bowing out of the multicolored disco ball light, sparkling down like a multihued rain shower. Jesse slinked the straight razor out of his afro, he was using it as a spur of the moment afro pick, and dropped it to the floor. His blue jeans, biker jacket, and bear, grizzled chest were open for the world to see. "DJ, I don't know about you, but back in my town, we only danced to the real heebie jeebies, something that'll break out the soul in me. Speak to me, mister DJ. Speak to me the only way you know how.” Half whisper, half growl, Jesse spoke to convey a message. The DJ’s hand fell over a record instinctively. The crowd recentered around Jesse Winters, and as the beat started to pick up, so did Jesse’s heartbeat, his soul wrapped around the tempo and followed its every move. The do little dancer was about to show the world something he’d been stashing in that dark closet of his, right next to the countless numbers of bodies piled on top of each other, for the past ten years. With a flick of both of wrists, his hands tore his biker jacket off, and his bare chest was exposed to the world. It was too hot for clothing, especially for a dancer of his large bore caliber. His style evaporated, he’d have to go on raw sex appeal alone. Jesse started walking in place, legs bouncing back and fourth, if you weren’t looking at the full thing, it’d be unmistakable for the real McCoy. He looked towards the crowd, pointing one finger out, and in a flash, a double barrel ballet spin propelled him into action. A blink and you missed it, Jesse dropped to the floor, hands holding him up in the air for a split second, before his legs dropped to the floor and his chest propped up like a monkey on a diving board. He caterpillar-ed up and caterpillar-ed down, before propelling back up like a helicopter coming out of a nose dive. As Jesse lifted himself up, he felt the sudden improvisational Kung Fu Genius need to put an oriental spin on his incredible improv interpretive style of dance. Hands flew out, and satisfying “Hee-Yahs!” were spit as Jesse threw spin kicks and flying kung fu grips at the audience like a fish out of water. Crane style meditations were tossed in just as soon as they were pulled out and replaced with daring Chinese monkey style turns and flips, pumping them up with fear of a foreign threat. They were being culled, controlled by Jesse’s uber intelligent dance design. Soon he’d have them right were he wanted them. Jesse snapped one of his fingers while the crowd moved in closer, taking only a split second to rest before bursting out with a cloud of undead fury. Hands out stretched like an undead window creeper, the crowd pulled back, intimidated, infuriated, petrified and feeling alive. Jesse walked forwards like a brain eating, blood sucking fiend of zombie Christ proportions. He moaned like a feral beast, hands moving slowly, and then bam! Bursts of energy riding through his reanimated performance, creating a new style of dance-fear mongering. Winters felt something coming, and that was an end. He couldn’t go much longer without feeling defeat; he’d have to go out with a whimper, imitating the universe at heart. The crowd was wowed; he felt the need to bring in some classical style before he let them go though. Wouldn’t be fit of a Jesse Winters performance to not do so. He twinkled and twirled, the crowd feeling his loving side. Jesse tried to show them the depth of his dance experience, stretching and swinging and moving like a queen on the dance floor. He felt free of his whims, his masculinity, Jesse was at home. And at that, the music ended, Jesse gasping with his pearly whites glowing, a smile as bright as the moon flashing as he left the floor. Even if he didn’t come out winning, he came out grinning, and if that ain’t the most important thing of all Jesse didn’t know what was. |
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Jesse Winters - Penitentiary Pugilist 8(+2).5.7.5.5.8.4, Level: 4 -HC- Grace Van Vliet - Indie Incinerator 5.7.7.5.5.4.7, Level: 3 -HC-
full-sized avatar "What is Adderal, anyhow?" - Funky Fan | |
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| Zilabus | Sep 7 2012, 08:12 PM Post #4 |
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Er'ry day I'm overseein'
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"Totamaneli ya'll, the groove don't stop. Let's jump quick, into a real cheer off." "The black dynamo!?" The crowd roared. The great white hope!" The crowed cheered! "Uhhhh, just give it to that guy, I don't care."
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Eli "Slim" Ambrose SPECIAL: 3, 9, 2, 7, 9, 3, 7 Level: 5 Bucket town reputation: -175 Equipment Weaponry: Molotov, Cherry bombs, Combat Knife, Laser pistol, Tack Mines, Smoke grenades, Syringes. Armor:Post-war suit Tattered leather jacket Inventory Homemade shotgun, Gumballs, Bedspread Mentats x3, Psycho x2, Jet x1, Wiskey x2, vodka 4 1/2 x Hides, 15 LSB dollars Appearance Caucasian Very tall, lanky, and slim, jet black hair in a greased into a subdued pompadore style. Dark eyes and a cleanshaven face. Brown Windowpane suit. Kelly "Featherweight" Capozzi | |
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