The 10 PM Chronicles (Drifter and Mglo)

Drifter

Foxy Virus
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One Post a Week
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Adept, Advanced, Prestige, Douche, Adaptable
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Male, Female, No Preferences
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Adaptable
Favorite Genres
Modern Fantasy, Sci-Fi, Low Fantasy, Historical, Horror
In a dilapidated motel room at the end of the world, an antiquated television hummed to life. Its picture was choppy and made worse by the stilted delivery of the solitary figure who adorned the screen. He wore a navy blue suit jacket and a black tie, the corners of his mouth besieged by involuntary twitches as he spoke. The dim glow of the monitor sent vermin of various sizes scuttling under wrecked and rotting remnants of wooden furniture.

"San Luca has entered a miniature renaissance, as the city once ranked among California's most dangerous now boasts its very own team of seemingly superpowered guardians. These heroes, self-identified as "The Shitlords", have proved far more valuable than their flippant moniker suggests. Rates of violent crime are down drastically in the year since they were first spotted getting involved in police business and citizens are treating them like characters straight from the pages of a comic book. Similar to a Hollywood blockbuster rendition of an origin story, the sky appears to be the limit for these young heroes. However, there remains a question on many minds that simply isn't on anyone's lips: if The Shitlords are our Teen Titans, our X-Men, our Justice League, then how long before we encounter our Brotherhood of Evil, our Hellfire Club, our... Injustice League? I wouldn't be worth my salt as an investigative journalist if I didn't speculate that we stand on the verge of an era of supervillainy. For all concerned and interested parties on this fair planet, this is Mitchell Lubbock signing off for tonight."
__________
Dani Espinosa sat cross-legged on her bed and squinted at a grainy photo she'd enlarged on her laptop without any consideration for its fidelity. She wasn't sure what she expected to find this time, as she'd spent hours staring at it over the course of several months, but it was going to kill her if she wasn't right about this.

"I swear to god, Lee, you're tripping balls if you really think Squander's taller than Siphon," she called out, finally reverting the picture to its regular size.

"Siphon's on a ledge in that shot. If you just pulled up the one from the Valentine's Day drug bust, you'd see them all on level ground," a voice from the other room rang out moments before her older sibling emerged with a rolled up newspaper in hand, unfurling it and pointing to another group photo of the Shitlords, this one from much earlier in their career.

Dani gave it a polite glance in true little sister fashion, but knew deep in her soul that Lee was wrong and that no amount of so-called evidence they dug up was going to convince her otherwise. The Shitlords had been a little quiet of late, so the pair of them had to update the site with some kind of content and they weren't afraid of sometimes dipping into Buzzfeed levels of trash journalism. A "Definitive Height Ranking of The Shitlords (And What that Means for Compatibility Within the Group)" was steaming garbage, but hell was it fun to write. Lee was working on some gorgeous cover art for the quarterly fanzine so it fell to her to pump out an update. She had wanted to do another quiz, but everyone else was in agreement that it was tacky to post two quizzes back to back.

"Don't make me text the others," Lee warned, vanishing back into their adjoining bedroom. Again, Dani knew it was an empty and meaningless gesture and hit submit on the post with a satisfied grin.

__________
The suburb of Travers, just outside of San Luca, was a hotbed of activity for those who considered themselves fans of the nation's first "superheroes". The Shitlords had so far been quiet in the month of September, leading to some speculation that they might have started a new year of school, perhaps as college students. This rumor allowed young fans to dream of running into their idols on local campuses. It allowed older cynics to dismiss them as a passing fad who had wisely decided to rejoin society before they were too far gone.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, the truth was much more complicated than the rumors. In fact, the truth was about to change the lives of some of their biggest fans, and alter the nature of the hero game forever.
 

Drifter

Foxy Virus
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One Post a Week
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced, Prestige, Douche, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female, No Preferences
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Adaptable
Favorite Genres
Modern Fantasy, Sci-Fi, Low Fantasy, Historical, Horror
Noah wasn't a man with a lot of space in his messed up head for shame even though he was sure he should be feeling something of the sort as he peered at his old high school from atop a roadside billboard. He at least had the common sense to forego binoculars or anything too suspicious and he settled for what little his naked eye could discern. He wasn't sure what he was looking for. He'd know it when he saw it, that's what he was telling himself. He scanned the top floor windows time and again, knowing full well that every senior in attendance that day would be up there. He just wanted to see, wanted to check in...

"You bringing him flowers after school or something?"

He heard the obnoxious crack of gum before the clattering of impossibly high heels. That must mean she'd used her power to get up here. He stood, stretched his back, and leered at her.

"You see a goddamned bouquet of roses here, smartass?" he snarled, crossing his arms.

Zahra raised a manicured brow and giggled, "So you had the flowers all picked out? Cute. You know, if you had a job, maybe you could afford to pamper the boy like you so obviously want to."

"This is my job. I patrol the city. Suits me better than whatever it is you do all day," Noah still bristled but he began to get over his initial alarm.

Zahra walked forward and kicked her leg up to perch it upon the rail, shading her eyes against the afternoon sun to join in on Noah's rudimentary investigation. She pursed her lips, blew another spearmint bubble, then stepped back, "He's in there. Nobody's on fire. Can we now please return to the part where we're keeping an eye on the citizens who actually need us?"

Zahra Almasi's power stopped time, allowing her to hold on to precious moments for just a little longer than the average person. Noah always wondered how someone with such a gift could be so impatient. He looked back her way to see her face aglow with the soft blue light of a cellphone. Her thumbs moved lightning fast across the keyboard and her lips twitched as she sounded out the message she was composing. Patiently, he waited for her to be done. When she slid her expensive case back into the single pocket in her pants, he readied a serious sounding lecture about attentiveness when in service to the city. Instead, what came out was, "I passed you in Sweet Smash."

"About time. I deleted that game a week ago."

He was really trying. She was their newest member and she didn't mind how much of a grump he could be, but none of his friendly overtures seemed to be getting through to her. Now he was stuck with a serious puzzle app addiction and no conversational ground to show for it. In fact, he was almost acutely able to get the girl to go off on him. Yet here she was, climbing a utility ladder thirty feet in impractical shoes to check up on him. He didn't understand it.

"It's called retail," she said.

He blinked.

"That thing I do all day? It's called retail. I sell overpriced coffee with silly Italian names to women who wear ugly blouses to work at uglier office buildings. You're right that this suits you better," the hint of her smile was wistful.

"Is that what you want to do with the rest of your life?" He wasn't really thinking about his question. He was just enjoying the opportunity to talk.

"Hell no. I can't even imagine myself in five years, let alone when I'm eighty or whatever. But I think I'd like to do this for at least a while longer," she stopped, "And to clarify, not this this. This whole watching you try to have a proper heart to heart? Makes me want to blow my brains out. I mean that I want to help people. Again, people who actually need help and not people who are probably in the middle of a boring physics lesson."

Her tone stung but his skin was tough enough to take it. She wasn't the first person to question whether he had a heart, soul, whatever the human part was that allowed people to communicate was. She wouldn't be the last. What stung the most was that this eternal layabout was actually right about how he wasn't doing the hero thing very well. He flipped a couple of birds towards the school building before he began his descent back to ground level.
------------​
A bead of sweat trickled down Ardo's neck as he surveyed his half of the dorm room. His bed was made, desk was organized, and small selection of posters, pictures, and knickknacks positioned in a way to simulate comfort in this strange place. He knew the fan was in one of his remaining boxes but he didn't have the stamina to unpack them quite yet. The part of him that had been excited to move into one of the older dorms with its unique period architectural features quickly shriveled up when he realized that meant no central AC. He really, really loved AC. To make matters even more precarious, exhausting, take your pick, was that the university had emailed yesterday and told him that his roommate assignment had changed and that more information was forthcoming. Ardo hadn't paid much attention to the small blurb about Casey, Casper, whomever he was supposed to be living with, but he liked having at least the tiniest sliver of identification so that when a stranger showed up at his door, he could greet him with the proper name.

All at once, he felt something like a fly buzzing just behind his ear. He cursed, swatting aggressively only to find there was nothing there. The buzzing got quieter and soon was replaced by the hushed voice of a woman. He had no idea what she was saying, but she sounded just vaguely familiar. Ardo chalked it up to the thin walls of dorm living and assumed someone next door was watching a movie. When it finally stopped, he took a seat on his bed, bounced to test the firmness of the mattress pad underneath, and set to massaging his temples.

A few moments later, a knock at the door brought him to his feet. The knock was almost musical, like the drumline from every major pop hit, rapid and clear and intentional. He went to open it and saw a skinny blonde stranger on the other side, dressed in baggy sweats and carrying what looked to be a sleeping bag.

"You must be Bradley," Ardo greeted him with an outstretched hand and suddenly his mouth went dry. Bradley? Where did that come from?

The sand in mouth feeling didn't go away even when the young man grasped his hand and smirked, "Pleasure to meet you. I do so hate having to introduce myself but college life asks you to say your name so many times that it almost starts to lose its meaning." In fact, that gritty feeling grew worse. Bradley released his hand and looked his roommate up and down before continuing, "Speaking of, what is your name? And tell me you're not a morning person."

"Eduardo. Call me Ardo," he decided to put the name mystery to the back of his head for now, but he made sure he wouldn't drop it. He had a sneaking suspicion but it was much too soon to test ridiculous theories. "I do rather like mornings, but I think all my classes are pretty late in the day this semester. I'll also be out late from time to time so I'll need to sleep in." He wasn't sure how often they'd all be able to meet for their nighttime excursions. His roommate still deserved a fair warning. In fact, depending on how keen this apparent night owl was going to turn out, he might have a lot of work cut out for him in the making excuses department. His thoughts began to flutter and he began to wonder if anyone would buy the story that he was an escort by night.

Bradley unrolled the sleeping bag and placed it atop the otherwise unmade bed, looked satisfied with his work, and turned back to Ardo.

"Feel free to say no, but would you like to lend a hand in carrying some stuff up? I packed pretty light, but now I've got a ton of bags as a result."
 

Mglo

Whatever you do, do it with style.
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Adept, Adaptable
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Primarily Prefer Male
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Depends on the character I end up playing, BUT I do try to take an active role in pushing plot forward regardless. Uh, so I guess I'm fine with both.
Favorite Genres
As long as the plot's good I'm in. That says nothing useful though... so I'll say: sci-fi, fantasy, I'm curious enough about horror to add it, aaaand action? yeah, ok, sure, action!
"Hi! I'm Kelly!"

She was bright and bubbly, and couldn't have been able to smile more if she tried. Eagerly she held out her hand with a level of innocent excitement that made Eloise feel insultingly inadequate. If it were not for the sound of a pop song that probably defined a generation abruptly replacing the previous song booming out of the bright pink speaker on the even brighter pink bed, Eloise might have been rude.

"Oh! I love this song! Don't you? it's so catchy. Oh, I hope you don't mind my taking over the right side of the room, I've pretty much finished unpacking and settling in. If you need any help, I'm more than willing! Have you had the chance to tour the campus? I came with my family a month ago and I feel I've got a pretty good idea of things, maybe we can go see where our classes will be? I can show you around!"

Eloise's inexpressive face did not seem to faze her even as she waited with a smile for what seemed an uncomfortable amount of time. Eloise was simply at a loss. "Eloise Braddock, nice to meet you," she said at length, now offering the hand she had neglected to reply with earlier, "a friend is coming to help later... their way of keeping connected is by being useful - or helpful rather. I suspect they'll want to extend their use- helpfulness in walking through campus," she made her excuse and even volunteered a faint smile. A moment later she remembered to add, "b-but thank you for your kindness." Eloise had never made such an effort to be amicable, but at the beginning of summer she had quietly challenged herself to keeping her powers out of her college life. Now that she was going to be sharing the room with Kelly, the challenge had begun.

"Oh! I see, no problem we'll have plenty of time to do other stuff!" Kelly didn't need to say it, anyone could have sensed it in the air. The disappointment. The unasked question of possibly joining Eloise and her friend. But Eloise wasn't anyone, cooly she walked in cutting confidently through the air she did not sense to drag her luggage in, pull out her phone to send a quick text, and then walked out to bring in more of her things.

To: Cavan Mohana
Help unpack.


Cavan read the text on his way out of Physics class. Staring at his phone longer than it was necessary sent him straight into a person going the other way.

"Woah! Uh, sorry mate. My bad, my bad. Was in a hurry, um, I'll get you a drink from the Ven Machine next time!" said the tough looking guy as he rushed away before Cavan even had the chance to breathe.

"What's this?!" said a voice over Cavan's shoulder, "Mohana you sly dog! How- is this- lemme see OH SHIT! You've got Eloise's number AND she's texting you? I didn't know that girl could love, but damn dude, how'd you get her to say yes? Hey Ted check this out. Wasn't your weirdo brother super into her for years?" Michael was loud, and Cavan was trapped under his arm struggling to find a chance to get at his captive phone.

Once upon a time the mention of Cavan's dating would have received some joke about Mr. Paston finally getting his way; nowadays it was a point of interest of the more popular variety.

"S'at true Mohana?" Ted calmly reached for the phone and gave it back to Cavan after glimpsing at the screen for a quick second.

"Our dads are long time friends, sometimes her dad's too busy so dad and I help out every now and then," he lied. Their dads did know each other, that much was clear, but no friendship that bonded two families together had ever been apparent. "Anyway, I'm on the other side. Better go if I don't want to be late. See you later," time never let him get away with a lie but if he was quick enough to make an exit, Cavan could manage little white lies.

Why Eloise was texting him when Ardo was already on campus had him wonder. It was also strange for her to allow anyone to handle her personal belongings, which made him type up a worried question just as dark dust fell between his fingers. He realized it was his phone case breaking down and let go without thinking. His phone flew from floor to crowded stairs, crashing multiple times before someone accidentally kicked it into the wall and someone else, or a couple of someones, stepped on it. It was dead.

The halls and stairs were empty when the bell rang. Cavan’s shoe poked pathetically at the broken thing at the bottom of the steps.

“Shit man, that sucks,” Darryn moved to stand next to Cavan, handing him that drink he’d promised. In solemn silence Darryn took a sip from his soda can, looking down as if upon a grave, “been with you awhile?”

It took Cavan a moment to realize Darryn was serious, “practically new if I’m being honest.”

Darryn hummed in understanding, “dunno what’s worse, losing a longtime girl, who you shared lots of memories with, or losing a gold digger you’ve recently invested all your time and money in. On the one hand you’ve got all the good memories still, on the other, bitch took your money and hopes and left you hangin’...” Darryn bent over to pick up the phone and chucked it in the nearest trash bin. “She wasn’t worth the grieving,” was his parting sage advice. Darryn walked away feeling so cool there was an extra dose of swagger in his strut.

“Yo Viv, I just had a moment with a good looking senior. Gave him one of them healthy juice things from the Vending Machine,” they weren’t supposed to be in the Journalism room, but Vivian had a spare key she’d been too lazy to return to the office after the previous Journalism teacher up and quit his job.

“Did’ja get the picture? Bunch of rumors are going around about that dude being Squander. The cousins’ brother’s friend’s sister took the pic at UC San Luca all incognito and shit. Guy’s got some suspicious behavior. Anyway, I think that senior’s name is Calvin or something, he’s real popular,” Darryn pulled a chair over to where Vivian was sitting and made himself comfortable, dirty shoes on the desk and all.

“What college guy hasn’t got suspicious behavior?” she was reading a comic book, unbothered by having skipped class just to hear Darryn’s revelation. “Guy looks short in the picture. Squander is nearly Siphon’s height, so he can’t be the guy. You’ve been duped.”

“Heights? Where you getting that shitty info from?”
 
Last edited:

Drifter

Foxy Virus
Original poster
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays
Posting Speed
One Post a Week
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced, Prestige, Douche, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female, No Preferences
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Adaptable
Favorite Genres
Modern Fantasy, Sci-Fi, Low Fantasy, Historical, Horror
The school day was winding down as Dani splayed out on her bedspread unperturbed by even the slightest twinge of guilt about skipping. She did feel bad that both Darryn and Viv had to endure a day of useless lecturing, but she'd rather it be them than her.

Views and comments had been rolling in all afternoon and she was soaking them up. Some, as expected, were trolls and idiots who came to devalue her craft. Others merely had wrong opinions, but she welcomed their voices nonetheless. The glorious few whose comments gave her the strength to go on, however, were the ones she scrolled the comments for. She knew most of their usernames by heart. They spewed platitudes like "Another great read!" and "You're the best Shitlords fansite hands down!". They could be bots for all she cared. As much as she enjoyed opening up the forums for polite debate, discussion, and rampant speculation, she enjoyed the praise just that tiny bit more.

With all the blood rushing to her head, it reminded her of something terribly important. While the whole gang knew about the meet-up tonight, she had been tight lipped about details. What started as simple procrastination could derail the whole ordeal if they didn't present as a unified front.

Her intel was good. She'd followed this guy's lead before and gotten the greatest pics of her young career (in fact, that same picture sat proudly on her nightstand). Her contact alerted her to an old sugar refinery in San Luca proper, in the industrial district where she and her friends had already traced a string of disappearances. That refinery had to be the epicenter of whatever strange nonsense was going on, and according to her man, the Shitlords thought so too. They'd been seen scoping out the place, and tonight they were going to make their move.

And she was going to be there.

Her hands searched the comforter for her phone and dashed off a text to their ongoing group conversation:

We were right abt the sugar. Meet here when u get out.

Lee, getting it almost instantly, banged on the adjoining wall to signal their approval.

They were wrapped up in a project that they didn't quite have a name for. It was multimedia or something. Lee was acutely aware that college application deadlines would be approaching and that their portfolio was a tad bare bones and a bit, ah, one note. By choice, they were a painter. Watercolor felt the most natural to them and their room was full of canvases and stacks of specialized paper, all bearing delicate blushes of color. Charcoal was hit or miss. Collage was frustrating when the materials were scarce. Lee had no eye for photography but they were willing to try something with whatever the group managed to snap tonight.
__________​

For some reason, he couldn't get over the sleeping bag. Ardo had been watching Bradley unpack for about an hour now and his jaw had finally stopped dropping to the floor whenever the blonde kept removing increasingly expensive items from otherwise nondescript bags. He had a whole surround sound system with him. All seven pieces. Yet Ardo couldn't get past the sleeping bag. Why would such an obviously and obliviously rich kid be lugging around a sleeping bag? Clearly, Bradley could have hired movers to get a king sized antique sleighbed into the narrow space if he so desired.

Ardo was trying his best not to be caught staring. After all, he had his own half of the room to settle. He had finally unearthed his fan from a box and had situated it on his desk, letting it hum pleasantly in the background while he worked in silence. Bradley, on the other hand, was whistling and humming, unable to stick to a single song for its duration before proceeding to stumble through another Billboard hit.

When Ardo was sure his roommate was sufficiently distracted, he pulled out his phone. In the era where privacy was a myth, he kept telling the group to switch to something a little less mundane than a group text. Nevertheless, it was a losing battle. He swiped past a few useless notifications and finally settled in to type a message.

Did you find the hawk's nest yet? If it's a red tail, we don't have to bother with the eggs.

__________
"He takes the bird thing too seriously," Zahra remarked, looking at the text Noah had just turned his phone to show her.

"We try our best not to leave an obvious phone trail, but I'm sure this isn't fooling anybody anymore if someone actually cares enough to track us," Noah ruffled his hair. They still weren't technically in position. He had wanted to take the detour and Zahra got her day's worth of bitching him out over it. Now she was complaining about having to make the trek like... what was the word she was so fond of?

"We're going all this way on the bus like plebs when an uber would get the job done in half the time," she was moaning from behind him on the bus, pressing a hand to her forehead and practically wilting into the garish orange molded plastic seats.

"Hey, here's your tip Mr. Driver. Thanks for dropping us off at a long abandoned factory where we have no discernible business being. If the whole thing goes fucking sideways, you never saw us," he sneered, a little too loudly. He drew the ire of a tiny old granny nearby, clearly offended by the harsh language. She clicked her tongue and ruffled like a hen. He narrowed his eyes at her.

"Rideshares make a killing off dropping braindead twentysomethings off at abandoned properties. They'd never question it. We were either doing one of those ghost things or trying to make out incognito," she took one look at her companion, looked away, and corrected herself, "No, you're right. They'd know it wasn't a carnal thing between us."

She wasn't very good at this yet. She didn't understand the dangers of leaving behind a trail, especially with what little info they had about whatever was going on at the refinery. They weren't sure what they were up against. Gangs might seek retaliation. A one off serial killer, if they got away, could try their hand at picking them off if they got a solid lead. They were playing a dangerous game. Zahra was fixated on playing.

The little old lady got off at the same stop as the mismatched young adults and gave one last seething glare before shuffling off. Noah checked to make sure nobody else was around before he pulled his posh companion into a side alleyway. They had mapped the route beforehand and it was thankfully a straight shot if they didn't mind skulking around behind dumpsters. He hadn't given Zahra the right to protest. They would be in position shortly, ready to take the pulse of the site before they busted down its doors at dusk.