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Salvation or damnation; Marshel v. Winston. Lives are at stake.
Topic Started: Jun 1 2014, 04:52 PM (434 Views)
Zilabus
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Er'ry day I'm overseein'
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Rules:
This is a winner takes all "give and take" style showdown. Only the outcomes of Victory, Draw, and Loss are achievable. There is no sort of option for a 'partial victory' or what have you in this scenario.

The time limit on a reply is Three days (exactly seventy two hours from the last post as noted by the forum) unless there is some sort of very convincing extenuating circumstance.

If three days passes unresponsive the other party simply needs to post a final post in which they take the victory and escape (or celebrate, as the case may be.) Posts are to be made in their final condition. Editing is not allowed.

The post limit is 30 total. - each participant gets 15 posts total.

Stakes:

FP's Loss will result in:
The church will be left as nothing more than burnt remains.
The death of Maria.

LD's loss will result in:
The death of Winston.

In this showdown reputation will also come into play and effect the reputation of the winner.

A draw is possible although very unlikely - and will only come into play if both characters seemingly relent.

Set up

Marshall has returned to the church just in time to catch Winston red handed. Literally.

Marshall has just entered the church from the large front doors as Winston was dragging Maria's near-death body to the crucifix at the opposite end. Unbeknown to either of you, she clings to life, however unlikely. She keeps a rare and precious stim-pak for emergencies in her clinic. If Winston is defeated she will survive. If he isn't she will surely die.

The church is completely empty save for the two of you.

Marshel is Enraged! For the duration of the showdown he will experience +1 STR

Winston is Prepared. For the duration of the showdown he will experience + 1 INT

Marshel has the first post.
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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TheTyrantOfTyrus
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What is YOUR meat agenda?
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Maria and Marshel never had much of a friendship, aside from the mutual greetings when they would pass each other. A nod, a shake, a murmur of a name that would call forth all those vivid memories. She certainly wasn't an idiot, so the Pastor would always find that speck in her. She certainly wasn't idiot enough to believe that the coincidence between the arrival of Marshel Vic and her subsequent employment by him and the death of the church squatters was simply that. A coincidence. No, she knew obviously and she probably kept that in the back of her mind, waiting for it's use at a later date. An investment, perhaps. However, the Pastor might not have been a smart man-and certainly not a man of medicinal means-but both if the inhabitants of the newly created Reformed Church of Lutheran knew which one of them was the one who made the poison in the first place. So they kept their existences separate, the popular White Doctor of Bucket Town and just another villainous, hated Padre who is one step close to prison and another step to death.

And death was what he had found. At least, almost "death." Red fell on red, blood stained the rugs once more. The capricious spirits of the dead seemed to bound up and down Marshel's mind, while Maria struggled desperately as life and blood seeped through her. There were two-and-a-half souls in the church the Pastor could see all too. Maria's would-be murderer had a stern, unfeeling face with greying hair and greasy hair. Their eyes met with a spark of lightning and clash of thunder.

The Pastor unholstered his flintlock pistol and levered it towards the figure, but all that it could manage was a click and a spark. He realized he didn't load it this morning, as he was running out of cartridges, nowadays. Dashing forward, the assassin's hand flashed behind him, trying to unholster some weapon of sorts. Realization struck Marshel, whether it was blade or ballistic the murderer would reach the Pastor before he could scrounge his pockets for a cartridge, reload, and likely miss.

Red fell on red, the blood stained the rugs once more, and capricious spirits bounded with a fervor and fury that was like to shadow all the petty conflicts of men. Maria's blood lead towards her almost lifeless body, across the rough rugs. And under the murderer's feet.

Marshel fell onto one of his knees, scraping it against the hardwood floor. Fiery blood whipped in his veins, as electricity stormed in his brain cells. Callused hands grabbed roughly at the rugs, it crushed and creased and the Pastor jerked the rough, crimson rug straight from under the assassin's feet. Now, it was clear that Marshel was just as tall as the other combatant, but it doesn't matter. As the ancient cults of the past had once proclaimed: "the bigger they are, they harder they fall."

To be specific, the would-be murderer found himself experiencing a second of zero gravity and then another second falling. His knee cracked under him, groaning he pushed himself back up. The murderer's eyes took time to recover from the tumble, he recognized a speeding Marshel wielding the end of the carpet. The Pastor tossed the fabric into the assassin's face, before with Marshel put all the momentum of his sprint into his knee. It connected.

The assassin sprawled backwards, his arms thrown back as he seemed to embrace the air. Marshel approached him after flicking open his razorblade. A soft croaking came from under the thick fabric of the rug. Light flashed along with a war-axe, as the assassin threw himself onto the Pastor.

The axe's head flew towards Marshel's throat, but what it found was his hand. The ruckus in the church was certainly loud, seeing as the two of them were against the floor and as one of them croaked through a broken nose and fewer teeth than he had before, the other writhed and howled as metal crunched through bone. However, the Pastor forced his his free hand to ignore the pain and gripped against the shaft. The Pastor thrusted the butt of the axehead to bash the assassin in his broken nose, ripping the axehead free from the twitching ruin that was Marshel's left hand. He cursed while the Pastor thrusted the butt again with more force, cracking against the man's jaw. And a third time, except the murderer had expected this one and the butt met only empty air.

Smothering his bloody hand against the assassin's face, he reeled back as bare bones and flesh bashed against his own broken face. A grip loosened on the shaft of the war-axe, while one tightened. Marshel jabbed an elbow into the hard rubber of the murderer's vest and ripped the war-axe out of his grasp. Marshel swung for the throat.
Marshel Vic HC
7 4 8 6 6 4 5

Aryanna Leatherback
9 2 7 2 4 8 5

Charlie Klams
5 4 5 6 8 8 3
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lonesomedrifter
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Sexual Magneto
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Blood oozed from the poor girl’s throat. She wasn’t anything to do with this. Her death would just be a message to the pastor, telling him to change his ways. Her cloudy eyes stared up at the dark ceiling, icy sweat dribbled down her face, mixing with the blood and pooling on the floor. What little life she had left was almost gone; her struggling slowed and became weaker. The assassin dragged her cold, almost limp form to the crucifix. The Pastor would get the message. Her blood was on his hands, at least metaphorically.

A cold breeze entered through the door with the pastor. The assassin dropped the dying girl and faced the man. His face was lit only by the small candles on the wall and the moonlight protruding through the broken window. They locked eyes. The pastor’s wrinkled ebony face and hunched figure made him seem like a fragile old man but Winston saw through it. He was a killer just like him. He could see it in his cold brown eyes. This so-called man of god had taken almost as many lives as Winston had. This man didn't have a heart, or a soul, he was just a power-hungry husk.

The two killers stood in silence, save for the whistling wind and the blood-gurgling girl. The priest drew his flintlock and fired. Winston closed his eyes, ready for the judgement of the afterlife, but judgement did not come. The flintlock simply clicked. God had chosen his side today. Winston approached the priest slowly, reaching for his axe as he did. His steps echoed ominously off the hardwood floor and then were muffled. The pastor reached down and pulled the red rug from under him. Winston toppled to the floor in a mess and dropped his axe. He shook the confusion from his mind just in time to see the pastor darting towards him. He thought quickly and swung the musket like a club, connecting solidly with the pastor’s jaw and knocking him into the pews.

Winston got to his feet quickly. The pastor lay between the rows of pews. Winston closed in and prepared his musket for the killing shot. The pastor kicked out, catching Winston’s bad knee. Winston tumbled back. The pastor climbed out from the pews and threw a punch. Winston evaded and fired. He yelled out as he crawled across the floor. His ears stung with ringing. He couldn't hear the pastor coming up behind him. He squealed with pain as the razor ran across his back, leaving a crimson crack across it. Winston flipped onto his back like a turtle. The pastor stood over him, he had benevolent face, but evil eyes. The razor flashed as he brought it down. Winston wasn’t going to be killed by a fucking pastor. He kicked out with his good leg, knocking the pastor back and Winston crawled away. He grabbed his axe and threw himself at the pastor.

Winston swung the axe for the throat, but all it found was the pastor’s hand. The pastor’s nostrils flared and his eyes swung around wildly. The pastor slammed the axe head back into Winston’s face. Blood spurted out of his nose and a tooth came loose. The second smash knocked the tooth out. Winston predicted the third and dodged. The pastor shoved his wounded hand in Winston’s face. While he was distracted, the pastor wrestled the axe from Winston’s grasp and swung. Winston ducked down, the axe swinging clear over his head. He thrust the stock of the musket at the man’s family jewels and brought it up, smashing the man on the bottom of the jaw. The pastor collapsed, the wind gone from his lungs as he cradled his package.

Winston dropped on top of the incapacitated pastor and clubbed him with his musket. The pastor stabbed, but the rubber vest saved the assassin. He spat the tooth along with the blood that had gathered out onto the pastor, blinding him. Winston straightened himself and swung for the pastor’s skull.
Edward Fairfax The III
Level: 2
SPECIAL: 3.7.3.9.7.8.3.
Armour:Crude Post-War formal outfit, Breaking Bad Chem Suit
Weapons: The Phazer, Lead Pipe, Golden Glory (Tier 1 GC Revolver)
Inventory: Courtroom Lunch, Afterburner Gum, Bricklayer's Fan Package

Rebecca Delacroix
Level: 2
SPECIAL: 7.8.4.8.4.4.5
Armour: Duster Coat
Weapons: Homemade Shotgun, Hatchet
Perks: Guardian Angel
Misc: Medicine Bottle (Mixed), Blonde Wig
+15 BT Reputation
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TheTyrantOfTyrus
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What is YOUR meat agenda?
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
When Maria's would-be murderer had dodged a bullet-or in this case, an axe to the throat-he had tried to thrust the stock of his musket firmly into the Pastor's groin. He certainly felt it through his core, his stomach began to boil with the aches and pains. Shadows were dancing across the wall, as his eyesight began to fade. A fuzzy film came over his eyes, but he could pass out later. He felt air seep from his chest and into the atmosphere through his mouth. The assassin still stood and so would Marshel.

The murderer had thrown himself against the Pastor, raising his musket like a club. But he had seemed to have forgotten that Marshel wielded his axe. The axe and it's wielder thirsted for blood, as steel flashed forward and hacked deep into the wood of the stock. Having carved deep into the musket, the axehead was lodged firmly into the musket stock. The assassin's thick fingers held contently onto the barrel of the musket for the minute of moments, but that was enough for the Pastor. Curling back his feet, he pulled harshly on the shaft of the axe. The momentum caused the assassin to be pulled in as well, so the Pastor thrusted his feet and smashing against the murderer's stomach.

Maria's murderer reeled backwards from the force, as he grasped his belly. He watched with wide eyes as Marshel ripped the axe from the stock with his bare hands and began to hack off the handle with two quick successive blows. He threw down what was left of the musket-which was the barrel and the now useless firing mechanism-and advanced with his axehead. But the assassin had taken the advantage and snatched a switchblade from his hidden armament.

The Pastor swung wildly at the man, for he had the reach of the shaft and axehead whilst the murderer only had a blood-crusted knife. However, he did not back away but rather dashed forward with him holding the blade backwards. The assassin advanced towards the Pastor, digging and slashing his switchblade into Marshel's shoulder. Smoking black blood poured through Marshel's suit, but he gritted through all of it.

He twisted his shoulders and pivoted his abdomen, and the murderer found the axe's steel thrusted deep into his side. They were both screaming now, unbridled anger, fear, passion. Marshel wrapped his wounded hand around the assassin's throat, he carried him. Blood was everywhere, his and the murderer's. The shadows were dancing, etching all the emotion that was seeping out of the crimson blood and pink flesh.

The pews were hard oak, thick with age. Dusky in the dim light, they stood with golden shine. The Pastor heaved the murderer upwards towards the heavens, than he threw him down. He had wished that he was strong enough to break the man against the heart, to carve a hole so deep and abysmal that he could personally hand off Maria's murderer to Satan himself. But he settled with breaking the man's neck against the pew.
Marshel Vic HC
7 4 8 6 6 4 5

Aryanna Leatherback
9 2 7 2 4 8 5

Charlie Klams
5 4 5 6 8 8 3
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lonesomedrifter
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Sexual Magneto
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
The axe dug deep into Winston’s side, carving out a chunk of his flesh. He felt the cold metal inside him, twisting and turning. Air darted out his lungs and his stomach churned as warm blood began to drip on the crimson carpet. His vision darkened, the pastor, the church and the dying girl began to slowly fade away. He shook his head and locked eyes with the man. Winston threw his head forward, knocking the pastor back. He tripped over the crumpled carpet and slammed on the floor with a resounding thud and crack from the old wood. Winston head filled with vengeful red clouds. Winston glanced down at the dying girl. She crawled slowly across the church floor, towards the cellar, leaving a red smear. Her skin as white as milk; clumps of red stuck in her hair.

Winston grabbed the axe, still stuck in his side, and pulled it out. The priest stamped his feet and charged like a bull. Winston threw the axe, however he had overestimated his skill at this, and the axe handle bounced harmlessly off the pastor’s chest. The pastor slammed Winston against the pulpit. It cracked and groaned with the weight of the two men pressed against it. The lustrous blade inched closer to his throbbing jugular. Winston reached out with one hand and delayed the blade’s search for his blood. The pastor was too strong, the blade kept moving. The sweet embrace of death was only an inch away. His eyes focused on the blade, the line between this life and the next. On the other side, he could see his family. His daughter, his wife. They stood with smiles behind the blade. He could just let go…

No.

He needed to suffer longer. He wasn’t there to save them. He had to suffer for his wrongdoings before he could be reunited with his family. His mind cleared. He swung a brutal slap across the pastor’s face. The blade disappeared from his view. Winston reached up with his free hand and jammed a finger deep into the pastor’s wounded hand. The pastor squealed in pain, his eyes shut. Winston grabbed the back of the man’s head and slammed it against the pulpit with a dull thunk. The pastor’s eye’s spun in his head. Winston kicked the priest in the stomach and he fell back.

Winston darted forward, knife in hand. He swung for the man’s throat, but he dodged. The pastor grabbed him by the throat and lifted him with his incredible strength. He was on the edge of death for the second time in the last thirty seconds. The pastor dragged him across to the pews. Quiet croaks escaped his throat as his supply of air slowly drained away. NO. Winston stabbed his knife deep in the pastor’s arm. The pastor backed away with a growl, and Winston collapsed to the ground. Winston crab-crawled across to the stunned pastor and kicked him into the pews. Winston sprinted across the church to the dying doctor. He lifted from the ground and held the knife to her throat. The priest stopped a few feet away.

“Take another step closer and I’ll finish he--" Winston was cut off by something thick and heavy crushing his nose. Winston backed away from the girl to see that the pastor had thrown a bible at him. He muttered a few swears under his breath as the pastor moved in. Winston side-stepped, leaving the pastor to trip over himself and topple to the floor. The assassin reached down and grabbed his head, and in one movement, brought the knife to his throat.
Edward Fairfax The III
Level: 2
SPECIAL: 3.7.3.9.7.8.3.
Armour:Crude Post-War formal outfit, Breaking Bad Chem Suit
Weapons: The Phazer, Lead Pipe, Golden Glory (Tier 1 GC Revolver)
Inventory: Courtroom Lunch, Afterburner Gum, Bricklayer's Fan Package

Rebecca Delacroix
Level: 2
SPECIAL: 7.8.4.8.4.4.5
Armour: Duster Coat
Weapons: Homemade Shotgun, Hatchet
Perks: Guardian Angel
Misc: Medicine Bottle (Mixed), Blonde Wig
+15 BT Reputation
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TheTyrantOfTyrus
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What is YOUR meat agenda?
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Rough, callused fingers gripped the slick. sweaty hair on the back of Marshel's head. Then he felt his head lurch forward towards the wooden pulpit. Putting his gashed forearm between his head and the pulpit, blood splattered when they connected. Floral, oaken embroideries were fed with crimson rain, the pulpit creaked as it collapsed on to it's back. With Marshel with it. The Pastor found himself vaulting head first over the pulpit, he skidded across the floor with old bones.

The murderer darted forward with knife in hand, he leaped onto the upturned pulpit. He slashed at the Pastor, however Marshel slid under the slice on his knees. The pulpit shifted from under the murderer's feet as the Pastor lifted the pulpit. Maria's would-be murderer found his footing all too uneasy as the flat surface stood vertically sheer now, he fell with a thunder. But as he collapsed, the murderer's legs were crushed by the pulpit. He howled but that too was silenced as it met with the heel of a leaping Marshel.

The Pastor whipped around, he threw a punch and it scraped against the assassin's forehead. Marshel pushed through unabiding hands, he grasped around the murderer's neck as he pressed his knee unto the man's chest. His thumb pressed against the adam's apple as the rest of the digits tightened ever so slowly. The murderer's ribs creaked under the weight, but then something flashed out.

The Pastor had forgotten about the knife, which was now lodged into his thigh. Another flash came replacing the knife with a gaping, bleeding hole and gorging the blade deep into Marshel's forearm. Dashing backwards, the Pastor felt himself crumpling from the pain so he turned unto his belly. With all his might, he pushed himself up. Or at least, he would've tried. He felt the razor-thin edge of the knife against his throat. It was a primitive instinct, as instinctive as the three drives. The drive to eat, to sleep, and to mate. So the Pastor tore a chunk of meat out of the murderer's forearm. His grip on his blade loosened, Marshel went berserk now. Copper blood now filled his mouth and he drank it as though it was the sweetest nectar. He screamed as he twisted himself.

He wrapped an arm around his leg then proceeded to thrust his head into the murderer's belly. The assassin croaked as the Pastor wrapped his free arm around the man's neck. He growled now, he stampeded forth like a bull. Bashing the back of the man against the double doors of the Church. Tearing them asunder, both of them collapsed into a heap. Onlookers came.

"Get... Maria." He groaned.
Marshel Vic HC
7 4 8 6 6 4 5

Aryanna Leatherback
9 2 7 2 4 8 5

Charlie Klams
5 4 5 6 8 8 3
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lonesomedrifter
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Sexual Magneto
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Winston held his knife in an ice-pick grip as the pastor darted at him from across the upturned pulpit. The preacher was faster than Winston and caught him with a brutal kick into the chest. Winston arched back and yanked his trapped legs out from under the pulpit. The wooden floor sighed with Winston as he slammed into it. The pastor snapped back and jabbed. The fist brushed against Winston’s hair as he slid out it’s path.

The pastor dropped on him and clasped his hands firmly around the assassin’s windpipe. His pupils dilated. He could feel the pastor’s deathly grasp constrict like a boa, choking the last few gasps of air from him. The lights dimmed and the room faded, all Winston could see was the pastor’s furious face. The face of his murderer. Winston rebelled against his fate, slamming his knife deep into the pastor’s thigh. The grip loosened and blood spurted out onto the floor. Winston followed up by hammering his elbow into the pastor’s throat. He croaked and stumbled back, clutching at his Adam’s apple. Winston crab-crawled away and got back to his feet.

The two squared off once more, eyes locked as they rotated around the room like two old lions having one last showdown. Winston lunged forward quicker than his old knees would have liked, thrusting his knife for the preacher’s clenched neck. The pastor stumbled back, barely avoiding the flurry of strikes. The hard wooden pulpit met his back. Winston let out a thin smile, certain that the next strike would be the fatal one. He swung his knife across. The pastor ducked and caught his wrist. He stretched his arm out far from his shoulder. Winston struggled but the pastor was stronger than him. The pastor slammed his open palm into Winston’s elbow, bending his arm like rubber. There was a sickening crack as the bone broke and ripped through his skin, spitting blood into his open mouth as he screamed.

Winston dropped the knife and stumbled back. The pastor caught the knife and advanced towards him with renewed resolve. Winston felt tears well up in his eyes as the pain engulfed his bod. He swung his working arm in an arc, knocking the knife from the preacher’s hands and sent it sliding across the floor. The pastor countered with a fearsome charge. The two men flew back, crashing through the wooden doors. The pastors iron grip released as the two fell out into the pale moonlight. A small crowd had gathered, intent on seeing what all the noise was about.

Winston got carefully to his feet, cradling his arm like a new-born child. He scanned the crowd quickly and spoke.

“The pastor killed the Doctor!” The beaten old man yelled, pointing at the blood covered pastor with his good arm.

(OOC: Using reputation to convince the crowd, as Winston’s BT rep is -50, whilst Marshel’s is -225. Using Endurance 9 to continue fighting with the broken arm.)
Edward Fairfax The III
Level: 2
SPECIAL: 3.7.3.9.7.8.3.
Armour:Crude Post-War formal outfit, Breaking Bad Chem Suit
Weapons: The Phazer, Lead Pipe, Golden Glory (Tier 1 GC Revolver)
Inventory: Courtroom Lunch, Afterburner Gum, Bricklayer's Fan Package

Rebecca Delacroix
Level: 2
SPECIAL: 7.8.4.8.4.4.5
Armour: Duster Coat
Weapons: Homemade Shotgun, Hatchet
Perks: Guardian Angel
Misc: Medicine Bottle (Mixed), Blonde Wig
+15 BT Reputation
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Midnight Rider
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The Super Cereal
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Okay this showdown went into extra innings in the cbox. Unfortunately FP would not agree to RP the court case in the thread so I can not show you the events that followed the cops arriving. Winston to his credit had a big city lawyer on his side while Marshal employed the services of the country lawyer Matlock. The big city lawyer used a host of legal tricks to prove Winston's innocence but in the end the rural wisdom of Matlock held sway. As a result Winston was found guilty of two counts attempted murder and lost the showdown. It was not a conventional win but it was still a victory for FP and law.

Effects
Quote:
 
Winston - You lost the showdown and have been found guilty in a court of law. You were sentenced to death by hanging. Your body still hangs from an old lamp post near the entrance of the town as a warning to those that would disregard the Copperton Police.

Marshal - +50 Bucket Town Reputation Its great that you alerted the cops but a real hero would have finished the assassin off themselves. At least that's what the folks around town think.

Maria lives and the church is still standing.
Posted Image
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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TheTyrantOfTyrus
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What is YOUR meat agenda?
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
((CP told me that it was okay to get Winston's Inventory))
Marshel Vic HC
7 4 8 6 6 4 5

Aryanna Leatherback
9 2 7 2 4 8 5

Charlie Klams
5 4 5 6 8 8 3
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