Roleplaying

Oh clouds, how exciting. She seemed concerned to see him gazing and smiling at the sky. He perplexed her, as did many collective members. Perhaps it was because she had been living in the streets only months ago, unsheltered from the harsh reality of the world. Compared to the streets on New Chicago the collective was a safety haven. She looked down at the earth she walked on. Even the ground seemed less malicious. There was no harsh, cracked pavement, nor carelessly broken bottles or alien critters that wished to strike where she walked. Maybe this place made these people too unaware of the dangers outside these fences.

Greg most certainly had her attention. Lorin had listened carefully to his explanation which was sounding all the more promising the further he had went on. But what exactly would it entail? All of the hunting tactics she knew were tactics her father had taught her, or tactics she was forced to learn herself for survival. She had her suspicions as often when life threw you opportunities that sounded too good to be true, they were. "I'd be willing to learn a new hunting tactic," she seemed somewhat cautious though. "What would this tactic involve?"

As they moved closer to the entrance of the camp she could hear the zombies hissing and gurgling. Either something had upset them, or they hadn't been fed for quite awhile.

Greg took a deep breath and stretched his arms out as if he was going to hug the sky, and that was what he imagined he was doing right in that moment. In his mind, he was soaking up the sun, holding its warmth between his raised hands and breathing in the clouds. It made his chest swell up wonderfully and his ribs swing open wide, stretching his lungs to their full length and loosening the muscles between his ribs. It felt good to be open, upright, and moving.

He lowered his hands and walked with a new stride. Then he gave Lorin his default grin.

“Thieving – this tactic involves thieving.”

The sun slowly crept its way higher in the sky, intent on warming the clouds and gaining a good perch above the city. It watched the movers and shakers of the world below with grim interest, disappointed whenever any particular subject wandered out of the reach of its sight and into shadowy places. That didn't matter much, however, because there were always others to look at.

For example, the journey of two particular subjects from the Vaudeville Collective all the way to the edge of Center City was an exciting one to watch. It was unusual territory for a Collective member to wander into. The few times any of their kind wandered into the high roller's territory they didn't always come back. They became pets, slaves, footmen, informants, but more often than not were later found dead.

Center City was, perhaps, the darkest part of the city despite it's dazzling lights.

Lorin never dared to venture into this territory unless she was being chased or was truly desperate. She wished to ask Greg if they were going to steal from any particular individuals, but felt it was wise to not mention their intentions in such hazardous territory. The best course of action at this point in time was to trust Greg had done this before and to follow his lead. Since she hadn't explored this territory often it didn't take long for her to feel disoriented by the unfamiliar landmarks and alleys. There were many alarming rumors of the crimes that were committed on these streets.

She was putting in a great deal of trust that Greg wasn't going to get them killed. Any mistakes made here could have dire consequences and she preferred that she not die today, or worse. There were many fates worse than death in this vicious territory. There was the possibility or being captured and tortured, being sold into slavery, becoming a host for some alien, and plenty worse fates than that. The thought of any of these fates befalling her was a motivator to stay alert. 

Greg looked over at Lorin and gave her a reprimanding smile (something few could master). “Kötümser, relax. You look like you're about to commit a crime. Here, duck into this alley with me for a moment.”

He made it seem casual, even purposeful enough that he attracted no more attention than he would have if he'd entered a downtown restaurant. The alleyway itself was clean, as if it was scrubbed down once a week with hefty bristles and dangerous cleaning chemicals that were government issue. This wasn't unfamiliar to Greg, and he knew the importance of leaving the area as cleanly as he had found it. Therefore, the best place to almost make an obvious mess would be out of sight – he chose a dumpster. With the Grocer Official stamped boxes left out by the locals he created a small, covert barricade that made this adopted fort invisible to the street.

“Step into my office, if you please,” he said, smiling at Lorin and waving her to join him behind the wall of cardboard.

Relax? How could she? Her instincts screamed to her that she shouldn't follow someone who asks her to follow them into an alley and behind a wall of cardboard. They urged her to escape to a safer area and to never come back to this place. Already she was well out of her comfort zone. Her mother had been killed by gang violence, and of all the areas of New Chicago for that to happen this would be one of the most likely location for that to happen to her. No, she was stronger than her mother. Her father had been stronger than her, but she was smarter. She wasn't going to be foolish and look for trouble with any gangs like he had. Lorin did her best to look like she wasn't afraid of anything, but on the inside this place terrified her. This was an area both her parents had instructed her as a child to avoid no matter what.

She had to be able to trust Greg, especially in such a dangerous part of town. She followed him behind the wall of cardboard. Already she had decided she was going to go through with whatever Greg had planned. She didn't walk with him all this way into dangerous territory to just turn tail as soon as they reached their location.

Greg crouched near the dumpster and pulled his bag around. “You've probably never met Kliso, but it likes to employ me for jobs like these. The short and sweet is we break into a three-piecer's pretty little suite, rob him of all his food, clip this special little bug-” and here he held up an old fashioned USB - “into his private computer, make sure we check the back of cupboards for any good wines or ales, then skip out leaving his place perfectly clean but totally wiped.”

From his pack he pulled out a neatly folded pile of clothing. He separated it into two piles and handed the larger of the two to Lorin.

“I got you some new clothing, we only use this for jobs, it's nice, and we can't get it too beat up. Oh, also shoes, you're gonna need those, you can take them off once we get out of the public eye, but until then you have to wear 'em.”

He repositioned himself and tugged off his shirt, revealing a spotlessly white tank top and a handful of deep scars that permanently pocked his skin. They were covered in seconds with a recently ironed button down, and then one belt was swapped with another. While he worked on redressing himself, he said,

“Don't suppose you're any good at putting up hair? I'm not really good with braids or pony tails or anything like that.”

This sounded more complicated than she was expecting it to be, but at the least Greg seemed to know what he was doing. It didn't completely sound like a suicide mission. She glanced at the pile of clothes for only a moment. Shoes? The last time she had worn those were when her mother had still been breathing. Even then she had hated them. Decent clothes were more likely to get them stabbed as others might become under the false idea that they had a few equally decent things to nick.This job was what was best for her and the Collective though. Chances were the type of person they were stealing from had a great deal of decent food. Much better in quality and quantity than what Celeste or Jett could ever bring back from any dumpster.

Lorin seemed concerned to see just how deep some of the scars Greg had were. It seems he must've failed a few of these 'hunts'. She felt it was very possible she was making a mistake trusting him, but felt she was obligated to stay when food for the camp was on the line. If something went awry, although she was smaller and frailer than many species of alien and ghouls with purer blood, she was strong enough that she could crawl back to camp if desperate enough. She had had her fair share of injuries in the past during a time when she was still living on the streets. Before the Collective the only thing she could do about her injuries is hope that they healed on their own. She hadn't known how to treat wounds or stop the bleeding, so she was already accustomed to toughing out nasty injuries.

"I know how to put my hair up," but barely. It had been another seemingly trivial action her mother forced her to learn. She would prevent her from hunting or passing time with her Father until she could successfully preform that action. Putting up her hair was the last thing she'd do as changing her clothes would force her to fix her hair again anyways. She paid no mind to anything in particular while changing her clothes. The sounds and scents of Center City were familiarly new. Old scents and sounds mixed with unfamiliar ones to completely change the unique ambience of the area.

“Well, yours is-” Greg looked up and stared at her hair. “Never mind. It needs to go up. I can do yours. If you end up being as good at this as I think you'll be, then we need to do something about your hair, sweetie. No offense, of course, but matted hair is not in right now.”

He paused from replacing his boots with skating shoes and grabbed at his bag, rummaging through it with a frown on his face. Eventually his hand reemerged with a small, silver comb. He put it down in front of her and went back to the business of unlacing.

“Comb it out, then let me clip it back.”

Busy working fingers slowed until they were moving no more, and Greg looked up at her from under his hair, eyes wide with an unexpected revelation. Back into his bag he went with a certain ferocity to his actions and a bright sheen to his eyes.

“Here!” - he held up two matching clips - “Yes! I am so good. We can go matchies! My law, we will look so cute. It's subtle, but still noticeable.”

There were few words she couldn't stand, and sweetie was one of them. It was a nickname you used for a child and it made her feel foolish. To her it was a worse insult than any curse word out there. She would have preferred a simple 'take care of your hair' comment. Lorin knew there was no way she'd be able to use the comb just yet, unless she wanted to endure a significant amount of pain and lose an equally significant amount of hair. First she used her sharpened nails to force loose any knots, and if one was too stubborn her sharpened nails would just cut the whole knot out. This took a few minutes to do to all of her hair. Combing it went far quicker and easier afterward since she had removed the worst of the knots by hand.

At the word 'matchies' and 'cute' she gave him a very special glare that could only mean 'I want to rip your face off'. Already she was well out of her comfort zone mentally and physically, and by this point it made her want to mess up on Greg's behalf.

The old clothing and boots went back into the bag, and a small hand mirror in great need of polishing came out of a secret pocket. Greg placed it between his knees and began playing with his hair, pouting and sighing at his reflection with each attempt to pull it back.

“It just doesn't look right... no... no... oh law that's bad... almost...”

His ghoul half was deep in thought, mulling over the bits of information Kliso had hammered into his head the night before. He'd already thought through the majority of the plan, but there were a few points he was hesitant about, possible hiccups that could fall in the way of a smooth burglary. Outwardly, however, there still wasn't any hint of brilliance or thought on his features. In any case, it wasn't that he was smart or had a quick working mind. He was resourceful, true, and a fast thinker when need be, but besides thieving he put little thought into his life.

Finally he pleased himself with his hair, and a proud smile reflected back at him from the mirror. He slid this back into its padded pocket and then stood, dusting of his hands. “Alright, your turn, doll. Refrain from biting or growling, please, I'll try to be quick.”

Doll? Dolls were flimsy things that were meant to be controlled. Was he implying she was just some puppet? It wasn't hard to offend her unintentionally, and what could be compliments to some could upset her. Lorin would have sunk her claws in the dirt, but then remembered she was wearing shoes. What idiot had invented these things? There was a reason some sentient beings had nails on their feet and she believed it was so they could defend themself. Why would they handicap one of their defenses? She hadn't grown accustomed to civilized life quite yet, as from a young age she was on her own in a survival mindset. If she needed to talk to someone, she'd argue over whatever bench or box she used as shelter with someone in the same situation she was.

At first she flinched away from Greg's hand not used to anything other than negative physical contact. Maybe she should have spent some time actually socializing with others instead of arguing at most sentient beings and growling at dogs that invaded her space. For the purpose of this 'hunt' she'd let him touch her hair. You better be quick or you might lose a finger.

“Your hair could feel so nice, honey, you've gotta let me shampoo and condition it sometime. Trust me, no one can tell right now that your hair's gone at least a day without washing, but some soaps could work wonders for this beautiful head of hair you've got,” Greg said jovially as he fixed her hair back like his own.

The practice on his hair had done him good, and he was finished in no time with Lorin. He stood back and surveyed her new look with a scrutiny only found of people with good taste in fashion. After a few up-and-down sweeps with his eyes he nodded resolutely and took up his backpack, refitting everything into its properly organized space. Undoubtedly, he was pleased with his work and the clothing he'd chosen for her and felt an unspoken reverence towards the ghoul-human for accepting his plans so easily, especially taking into consideration how perfectly she looked the part.

“You're looking real good, I wish I could let you keep that clothing, but you know how it is. Hmm. I'm going to have to think about making an expanded wardrobe for you. Let's head out! Oh, and, well, try to look less uncomfortable, like, don't walk so far away from me. We're single, young adults walking Center City together, we gotta fit in.”

He left the alleyway as calmly and casually as he'd entered.

Never could she imagine herself permitting Greg to wash her hair. She was already tense as it was, feeling that Greg was too close to her face. What she considered her personal space was much larger than what was typical. He was fortunate she had managed to repress her urge to snarl and snap at him.

The clothes were softer, cleaner, and simply better made than what she was accustom to. It was probably either produced by expensive machinery, or by steady and skilled hands. Although she appreciated being able to wear such clothes, at the same time it was essentially a sign that stated 'I have money! Stab me!' Wearing such clothes came at a risk in cities like New Chicago.

She listened carefully to the small amount of useful information he had to provide. Seem less uncomfortable? Hopefully she'd be able to when just being present in this part of the city frightened her, then there was the concern about the probability that whoever they were stealing from had bodyguards posted at his home while he was away. That's if he was away, Greg had never specifically said he wasn't there so she assumed he wasn't. If she couldn't stop herself from being frightened, she'd put on her best act to make it appear like she wasn't afraid. She only stayed as close to Greg as necessary to make their act seem more genuine.

As he led the way through the streets Greg kept his eyes glued to the shops, imagining what clothing he would have bought if he'd been one of the privileged members of the upper class. It was a constant stream of thought going on his mind. When he'd been younger, at times, Jett would catch him drawing on the walls with chalk or charcoal, designing the newest fashions and creating a clothing line that would have had both practicality for the thief and enjoyment for the yuppie all in one. 'Girly' was what his best friend had called him for a long, long time, but they'd gotten over it, and Greg, though he'd retired drawing on the walls and floor, continued to constantly design and imagine.

He also watched the people around him with curiosity. On days where he felt he'd contributed handsomely to the Collective and had time to do what he wanted he would often sit on benches in Center City to people-watch. Of course, when he was on a job he was much less attentive to those around him and spent much less time infatuated with determining who they were from their appearance, manners, and interactions with others. That didn't mean he stopped watching. He never really did.

“Lorin, do you like your ghoul side?” Greg asked as he watched the crowds around them. “I wish I'd been either full ghoul or full Ildorian. Nuance Ildorians can go just about anywhere and do just about anything, and ghouls can go just about anywhere and do just about anything. We're half-breeds, though. If you'd been full human you'd probably be living here in Center City. If I'd been full Ildorian I would have been living here, too. But if we'd both been ghouls, we wouldn't get to live a life like these people. We'd get money, sure, if we were bounty hunters or gun runners, and we'd be playing the background. I think that makes me dislike my ghoul side, when I think about it like that. It's not because I want to be good, ghouls aren't bad, I'd just prefer, if I had the choice, to live out here where I could make opportunities.”

Earth is a dangerous place, whether in the hybrid-infested countryside or crumbling, dark cities, but no place is more dangerous or rough than New Chicago. Whether out on the streets or high in the penthouses, no one's truly safe.

The world has become a new place. Some people call it impossible, but others just call it apocalyptic. There's barely a government, and what's left of it is corrupt and dangerous - the people live in factions, gangs, or try to survive on their own, and the only peace between them are through the pacts that have been made. The rich thrive and keep themselves safe, but anyone unfortunate enough to be less than that spends every day hoping to stay alive.

Species:
Ghouls - they're intelligent beings, humanoid in appearance. Their skin rots, and their lifespan is determined by how long their meat stays on their bones.

Zombies - they're dumb and benign unless angered or bothered. They're brainless, so essentially they don't do anything except wander around, bump into things, and (on the occasion) turn into a terrifying killing and flesh-eating monster. These aren't characters, but they can be used by any writer as a tool, the way one would write about a pet or object a character interacts with. If you plan on using a zombie, PM me to clarify what you want to use one for.

Humans - just like us, but now they share their planet with many other species. Many feel cheated out of their home, and most scramble to keep their kind from dying out.

Aliens - there are many, many kinds, and over the years they've adapted to the newness of the world. From tall to small, these creatures come in all shapes, sizes, and origins. (PM me to clarify what kind of alien you would like to be - it has to be your own creation or one that someone else in the roleplay has made up).

Mutts - an alien-human, alien-alien, ghoul-alien offspring.

Hybrids - always different, always weird, hybrids are animal-human-zombie creatures. Whether four legs or two, each species of hybrids are as oddly animal as they are humanoid. Some can talk, most can't, but all have a highly feral nature and are willing to 'defend' themselves quickly through force.

Additional - any species you think should be on this list that isn't. PM me if you have any ideas.

None yet.

THE ROLEPLAY SLOGAN: Falcon hug that piece of beef jerkwad

No godmoding, guys - be cool

Come up with your own, unique charater, but make their personality realistic. No one likes a Mary Sue or an impossible character.

You only get to kill another character, or injure, if you have the writer's permission.

Don't let things that happen in character affect or influence how you treat someone out of character, and please don't use your character as a way to get at another roleplayer. Don't be cheap.

If you want to write a huge post, go for it! Write a huge one! But, before you do so, write up a message in the OOC chat to let everyone else know it might be a bit and to wait to post until you finish.

If you need to write a post that connects directly to a previous post, but you're worried that someone else might post before you can finish writing, say something in the OOC chat and everyone will wait to post until your done, but you only have a 4 hour window to finish up and post.

Always check the OOC before you post, just so you know what's up.

Breaking the rules can end up in being expelled (kicked out, or whatever you want to call it) from the roleplay depending on the offence.

Lastly, if you have any questions, hit me up. If you choose to be an alien, mutt, or hybrid, send me a message giving me more information on your character as well as an example of what your roleplay post might be like so I can get a sense of what kind of writer you are. If I like your moxie, you're in.