A Scene of two men and confessions

Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by Jack Shade, Jan 26, 2010.

  1. Alright, this is the spot to chat, post sheets, and start plotting.

    The stat system (open)

    Stats will be done on a point system. You start with 10. Buying the first rank costs one, the second rank costs 2, etc. You can earn points for good responses and achievements. Think of it kind of like the House Points from Harry Potter. I may regret this later, but as of right now, there is no cap.

    All dice rolls will be 1d20. Roll your dice and add your rank, if necessary, to get your final score on the roll.

    If you are playing a normal human, you can skip this next part. If you are playing a supernatural, PAY ATTENTION!

    One of the problems I was having was figuring out how to balance the supernaturals and the normals. What I decided to do was evaluate things for supernaturals on a case by case basis, to account for the fact that your werewolves, for instance, may be different from someone else's. Put your powers in your CS, and I will determine a point cost for them. If you want to add in weaknesses, like sunlight, silver, or the fact that your powers become more difficult to control with emotion, those will give you extra points to work with. In short, if you are a supernatural, don't put in your skills until I tell you to.

    The Skills

    Strength- pure physical power. Simple enough.

    Dexterity- flexibility and nimbleness. Will be used to dodge.

    Mundane Knowledge- There's a lot to be said for smarts.

    Magical Knowledge- How well you know the supernatural side of the street.

    Fortitude- Mental toughness and determination

    Resources- Maybe you have access to money, or you've built My First Spellcasting Lab in your bedroom. In short, this represents useful things you have access to.

    Contacts- If resources is what you have, then contacts is who you know. Maybe you're good friends with one of the teachers, or know (God forbid) who to get illegal substances from.

    Perception- how alert you are. Can be used to pick up on details that might otherwise slip past you.

    Diplomacy- How persuasive you can be. Can be used to get information, or get people to see things from your point of view.

    [CS for students

    Appearance (Picture or description)


    Age (13-18)



    Normal Human, Powered Human (Witch, psychic, etc.), or nonhuman (Werewolf, vampire, etc.)

    If NOT Normal Human: Supernatural description (This is where you say what you are, and if it's a species you've created yourself, a little bit about them)

    If NOT Normal Human: Supernatural powers

    If NOT Normal Human: Supernatural weaknesses




    Anything else

    CS for teachers: Same as student, but age must be over 21 and it must be mentioned what class they teach.
  2. The confessional booth was a bitter cocktail of old pine, sweat, no comma before "and"] and fear. A thousand sinners at one time sat in the God box indulging secrets they couldn’t tell their wives, husbands, children, or even pets who could ["couldn't"] care less about skeletons in proverbial [unnecessary word] closets. Sliding in backwards, Kyle flung himself upon deflated purple cushions and pressed his face against the meshwork frame separating man from god [capitalize] . Small wonder indeed that even the menial comforts of cheap pillows were provided in the first place. Confession was interrogation without the bright light or offering coffee as the going price for condemnation [good] . Beyond the tiny holes pinpricked for sound, a shape in drapes languished in still life [too flowery - you've got three metaphors in one sentence - stick to one] . Kyle frowned into the rigid wire before shifting to the opposite wall. It was unbecoming for his lifeline to the Almighty to be so lively, so human. Honestly, he was expecting something a little more impressive. With agonizing ease, the soapbox prophet shifted in his sardine tin and coughed through the opening lines [three metaphors again - stick to one] .

    “Welcome my child, how long has it been since your last confession?”

    “In this church, or in general?” the words were hissed with too much spit ["spite"?] to be a whisper but not enough gruff for a bark [end at "whisper" - it's more powerful] .

    “Your last confession to God [comma] my son.”

    “My father works in accounting.”

    “Excuse me?”

    “Works in a bank actually,” Kyle admitted with a frown, “But jobs with money is all accounting to me.”

    There was a small ["brief"] silence, followed by another polite whisper of fabric on cheap upholstery. He could taste the confusion [who are you referring to? And how the hell does he "taste" it?] . “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

    “Son [italics] , you said son [italics] and I was correcting the mistake.”

    “We are all God’s children, my son,” and in between the syllables crawled a chuckle too wet to be anything but gagging on jello [he's eating jello? or is this another metaphor?] . Kyle thought of his own quivering dessert back home and [wondered] why he made the stuff if he hated it so. “Do you know your Act of Contrition?”

    “Not by heart, but I got the gist of it.” Rolling his eyes up [unnecessary word] toward the ceiling, Kyle counted the scratches on the surface. If confession was always in a box like this, did that mean God hated claustrophobic people? Not afraid of small spaces himself, he did know a friend who would fall into fits if forced inside this sweaty outhouse.

    “He’ll probably go to hell…” Kyle murmured, and if hell was all about torture then it would be out of the coffin and into the matchbox. God had to hate claustrophobics, otherwise he’d ["have"] put a footnote in the bible.

    “Excuse me?” The tone was sharp, a sobering reminder that God was everywhere, even if that everywhere was only in the booth beside him. For half a moment the enormity of everywhere bricked ["bricked"?] a ["any"] means to a response. If God was everywhere then why hadn’t people exploited Him yet? One could sin and be absolved without ever leaving the couch, or their primetime football. The thought was comical and Kyle couldn’t help a giggle. “Nothing man…err..father [capitalize]. [speech marks] Can we just skip to the confession part?” The Godphone sighed cracks into deific illusion [what the fuck?]. The inhuman conduit to God suddenly a drooping man playing dress up with red ringed eyes and a failing prostate. Kyle recoiled from the image and started for the door [this makes it sound like he's left the booth and his heading for the church door - needs rewording], catching himself as he remembered his purpose.

    “Tell me your sins.” The old man commanded.

    “I killed a guy,” The admittance was a barbell on his chest which promptly coiled in his stomach [mixed metaphors - a barbell can't coil] “Shot him point blank with a gun…not mine, my dad’s…the gun I mean” Taking a sharp breath, the priest consumed the sinful air and breathed it out mottled [can a breath be mottled?] , like a broken vacuum.

    “You did what?” The question was incredulous, as though the old man expected it all to be a lie…a lie in God’s doghouse. So Kyle bent his nose against the separator, repeating the confession as calmly as he could without sounding patronizing. “Who did you kill and why did you do it, my son?” The ‘why’ was always the hardest part and Kyle clicked tongue against teeth apprehensively, tapping the grate as if sounding a drum roll. At least divine connection was up and running. Every hint of monotony and habit had vanished from the priest’s voice like smoke in a strong wind. The image of a doddering elder faded back [unnecessary word] to the comforting imagining of a heaven [hyphenate] bound telephone wire…a wire with a voice.

    Kyle pressed his forehead to the wood, as though he could push through the pine scent and into a dream. "Reason be damned, I killed myself and need to know if God’s really good for the whole mercy deal.”

    “But, my son, how can you speak with me if you’ve taken your life?” Kyle could have throttled the wretch, chocked him with his own biblical logic [how is the priest using Biblical logic?] . Instead he tapped a code with the crest of his head and bit back sarcasm.

    “Who knows, who cares, I pulled the trigger and the deed is done…now what can the big man up top do for me?”

    “I don’t know, I’ve never had a dead man ask for forgiveness.”

    “Don’t you have a book you could look in? A cheat sheet for redemption? I tried the internet but you can’t trust Wikipedia.”

    Godvoice went quiet, probably conferring with the everything and nothing. Kyle drew half circles with his body, sliding around the small room as if caught in a whirlpool. His nerves were on fire and his breath sparked with static. For the recently departed he’d never felt more alive. Perhaps, he thought with sudden clarity, I should have brought a lawyer.

    “I can’t help you,” the wire said. A silence so thick not even a pin drop could pierce it filled the confessional between Kyle and Godvoice, a sort of suffocating finality that made its home in funerals. “When a person dies, they die with the sins they committed on their soul…I cannot absolve the dead of their sins, [new sentence] that is for God to decide.”

    “So that’s it?” Kyle snapped, “My goose is cooked, I’m up in smoke?” The revelation was more jarring then he’d foreseen and for a moment he could only sit and absorb the verdict. But moments were born of misplaced breaths and stumbled thought, not nearly cobbled enough to assuage the sense of betrayal he could taste bubbling on his tongue [too flowery - cut out the fancy words] . “Fuck your God!” he spat between the tiny holes of separation, “What am I supposed to do now?”

    “Have you tried another faith?” Godvoice remarked sardonically, dropping the veneer of understanding which linked the living but not the dead. The confessional was no longer welcome, more a prison for the piteous repentant then a drive by for clemency and Kyle retreated from the menace rather than risk a confrontation [enough with the flowery shit] . “Try the Hindus on Fifth and Bull,” Godman called to him from the safety of his Sin Jail, “But you may need to be ["a"] caterpillar to fit in with their reincarnation.”
  3. Name: Izar Ekko

    Age: 28

    Gender: Male

    Sexuality: Bisexual

    Appearance: (Tats, Piercings, birthmarks, scars, etc.) Izar stands at about 5'9, somewhat narrow shouldered. His usual build is thick and muscular, however when he's dropping off the radar, he loses weight and his muscles soften, giving him a much more waif like appearance. Izar has light brown wispy hair, his skin a light olive tone. Izar had an abusive childhood so the skin on his back and arms are mottled with scars, and was nearly rendered blind by his father. His eyes are a muddled gray and unfocused, by despite how they look he isn't sightless. The incident merely left him with scarred corneas and color blind. Izar doesn't have any tattoos or piercings, but he has a birthmark that's similar to paint splatter, to the left of his navel, and another on the inside of his thigh.

    Personality: Izar is borderline Psychopathic--his mother had him tested. He can be quite cruel when the need arises and unsympathetic. He has very little to no value for anyone's life let alone his own. He can be very arrogant and manipulative, but quite the charmer when the need arises. Izar only has a soft spot in his heart for animals. Izar has become quite the liar and manipulator, and does so unashamedly.

    Likes: Reading, Art, watching TV, playing mind games, animals, sweets, the rain, sleeping in, expensive clothing, fancy cars, alcohol.
    Dislikes: People, children, being told what to do, being sick, being alone.

    Greatest fear: Being Forgotten.

    What they want most: To be important to someone.

    Other: Izar owns two Doberman Pinschers and has a slight addiction to sweets.​
  4. Thanks for the help on this one...I'm updating the thread with the entire short story...if one would care to browse.
  5. DO ET NAO!

    I like it!