Post by Dipper Pines on Sept 16, 2017 4:16:05 GMT
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I'm in a good mood! My only request is that, should you decide to join, your character also be relatively human. (Thank you very much for respecting this!) Rapidfire and posts < 500 words are both fine, too.
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[attr="class","jawneogtypline01"]AN
[attr="class","jawneogtypline02"]URBAN
[attr="class","jawneogtypline03"]MYTH
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[attr="class","jawneogcell jawneogcl03"]465WORDS
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[attr="class","jawneogtxtcont"]He spent his off-hours, digital watch flickering in the dark and hung loosely on the ball of his wrist, plugging through weird bulletins. Not run-of-the-mill weird. Not your average, menacing and fashion-dated black figure walks through walls into toaster weird. Top of the line weird. The numbers—boxy, sharp-angled and toxic waste green—cut ridges into the dark like faraway glow sticks. They blazed, a hazy neon film as the night-time gloom settled between endless, zigzag paths of beach sand and untamed wild.[break][break]
1:31 in the morning looks like a dead zone, like there's no one else left alive on the planet. Different from back-yonder, Mason thought idly and gnawed at the shredded plastic of his (still-intact, those things survive inter-dimensional travel!) ballpoint pen. From home, where the city lights snuffed out stars that reminded him of spilled glass marbles across a fresh blacktop.[break][break]
On the island, the horizon fades into a murky ink puddle as though nothing exists. It flakes and congeals like cooking oil on water. He wondered what skulks out there, at the faultline where the island ends and the ocean curls inside-out. Misadventures told him just too much sea and an invisible videogame wall that he walked into once.[break][break]
There must be something, the words stubbornly grumbled to his sister one muggy afternoon, but the library fudged him over with its collection of ripped-out books, their pages gutted and jagged at the spine. So instead: Mason Pines, good at improv and charged with nervous energy, like a twitchy, red-hot plasma globe trapped inside a sixteen-year-old boy's body, took to investigating.[break][break][break][break]
Time is reported to reverse in an abandoned strip mall in the evening. The incident occurs near to the second and third weeks of the month, and sometimes people seem to forget things as it happens. Like they don't have a sense of time, either, like they lost it. [break][break]
Tue, 23 May 2015 03:34:44 + 0000; archived Spectrum feed, on the topic of paranormal activity.[break][break][break][break]
He slowed uneasily and his sneakers sank into squelch-wet ground, squinting at a skeleton of crumpled, ash colored drywall and boarded windows. Little patches of brick poke out where the paint peeled, blinking cream and warning-sign yellow when he raised his flashlight. Blood vessels of grass and reeds climb its corpse, almost apocalyptic and overwhelmed by scattered hints of urban decay.[break][break]
"Hey, anything's worth a shot, I guess," and Mason dug the pen cap against the grooves in his back tooth, aiming the light spot deeper into the pit stashed between the doorframe and the front wall. A tenacious, decent body slam and then mocking silence, "Thanks for nothing . . ." [break][break]
If a little force didn't convince it—[break][break]
—maaaaaaybe some patented Pines demolition, then. Should have brought Mabel for twice the fun, but: no brother’s perfect.
1:31 in the morning looks like a dead zone, like there's no one else left alive on the planet. Different from back-yonder, Mason thought idly and gnawed at the shredded plastic of his (still-intact, those things survive inter-dimensional travel!) ballpoint pen. From home, where the city lights snuffed out stars that reminded him of spilled glass marbles across a fresh blacktop.[break][break]
On the island, the horizon fades into a murky ink puddle as though nothing exists. It flakes and congeals like cooking oil on water. He wondered what skulks out there, at the faultline where the island ends and the ocean curls inside-out. Misadventures told him just too much sea and an invisible videogame wall that he walked into once.[break][break]
There must be something, the words stubbornly grumbled to his sister one muggy afternoon, but the library fudged him over with its collection of ripped-out books, their pages gutted and jagged at the spine. So instead: Mason Pines, good at improv and charged with nervous energy, like a twitchy, red-hot plasma globe trapped inside a sixteen-year-old boy's body, took to investigating.[break][break][break][break]
Time is reported to reverse in an abandoned strip mall in the evening. The incident occurs near to the second and third weeks of the month, and sometimes people seem to forget things as it happens. Like they don't have a sense of time, either, like they lost it. [break][break]
Tue, 23 May 2015 03:34:44 + 0000; archived Spectrum feed, on the topic of paranormal activity.[break][break][break][break]
He slowed uneasily and his sneakers sank into squelch-wet ground, squinting at a skeleton of crumpled, ash colored drywall and boarded windows. Little patches of brick poke out where the paint peeled, blinking cream and warning-sign yellow when he raised his flashlight. Blood vessels of grass and reeds climb its corpse, almost apocalyptic and overwhelmed by scattered hints of urban decay.[break][break]
"Hey, anything's worth a shot, I guess," and Mason dug the pen cap against the grooves in his back tooth, aiming the light spot deeper into the pit stashed between the doorframe and the front wall. A tenacious, decent body slam and then mocking silence, "Thanks for nothing . . ." [break][break]
If a little force didn't convince it—[break][break]
—maaaaaaybe some patented Pines demolition, then. Should have brought Mabel for twice the fun, but: no brother’s perfect.
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[attr="class","jawneogcred"]JAWN
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I'm in a good mood! My only request is that, should you decide to join, your character also be relatively human. (Thank you very much for respecting this!) Rapidfire and posts < 500 words are both fine, too.