- Invitation Status
- Look for groups
- Looking for partners
- Posting Speed
- 1-3 posts per week
- Writing Levels
- Give-No-Fucks
- Beginner
- Elementary
- Intermediate
- Adept
- Advanced
- Adaptable
- Preferred Character Gender
- Male
- Female
- Nonbinary
- Transgender
- Primarily Prefer Male
- Genres
- Cyberpunk, Horror, Survival, Bizarre/Surrealism, Paranormal, Romance, Fantasy, Sci-fi, Supernatural, Grimdark.
This is a private roleplay. The OOC can be found here.
Chapter 1: Ball up that fist, son.
A heavy atmosphere lay like a thick blanket over The Gravel Pit. It was an anxious feeling, ripe with determination to the point that not even a single soul in attendance wasn't tensely awaiting the signal. It was a windy evening, the wild air stirring up little dust devils and childishly whipping around the lightest pieces of gravel snatched up from the ground. It felt a little like a sandstorm every time a gust of wind snaked through the pit and tugged at clothes and hair. And still, everyone stood their ground while a bead or two of sweat trickled down the sides of their faces, poised and ready to pounce at a moment's notice. There was nothing but the hum of the wind and the beating of their own hearts in their ears now...
The Gravel Pit belonged to the reigning bosozoku gang and for many years now it had been a custom to hold an annual rumble for the local delinquent gangs. But there were rules, of course.
"No weapons."
The voice was surprisingly smooth and boyish, considering the owner's tough reputation. Ueda Ren sat crooked in his seat, one leg draped over the arm, a cigarette between his lips. His dyed blue hair was slicked back, held in place by the gang headband across his forehead. And although his face could have been considered attractive, it was also marred by a lot of scars. Lazy was his gaze as it shifted over those who were in attendance that evening. Eight gangs in total. Some of them were bigger than others, holding more members or beefier fighters. Some were smaller in both numbers and build, but were twice as skilled at fighting.
If anyone should ask, Ren's money would be on those G-Tech punks. Fighters since they were just babes and for some, the urge to ball up their fist had even been bred into them. Most of those kids there that night were just going through a phase or looking for a hobby. But those from G-Tech, well, fighting was a way of life. Ren knew that much, considering he used to wear that uniform only a few years back.
"Fight until you can't stand. The last one standing wins," he said behind a puff of the cigarette's smoke. Since it was The Gravel Pit, the rumble would be easily hidden away from the public because of the mountains of gravel and dirt that lined the property, acting like sponges for sound and barriers to block vision. The innards of the Pit held a few smaller piles as well and one large pile of scrap metal and motorcycle parts, though the latter had been put there by the bosozoku who had made this place their little hangout spot ever since the company the Pit belonged to went under. Now it was used for parties and fights like the one about to start and it was Ren's job as current leader to supervise. And so, gracefully, he lifted his hand and as he brought it back down, he shouted, "FIGHT!"
The sound of rocks shifting and feet scuffling filled the air as some forty odd teens sprung into action...[/hr]
Chapter 1: Ball up that fist, son.
A heavy atmosphere lay like a thick blanket over The Gravel Pit. It was an anxious feeling, ripe with determination to the point that not even a single soul in attendance wasn't tensely awaiting the signal. It was a windy evening, the wild air stirring up little dust devils and childishly whipping around the lightest pieces of gravel snatched up from the ground. It felt a little like a sandstorm every time a gust of wind snaked through the pit and tugged at clothes and hair. And still, everyone stood their ground while a bead or two of sweat trickled down the sides of their faces, poised and ready to pounce at a moment's notice. There was nothing but the hum of the wind and the beating of their own hearts in their ears now...
The Gravel Pit belonged to the reigning bosozoku gang and for many years now it had been a custom to hold an annual rumble for the local delinquent gangs. But there were rules, of course.
"No weapons."
The voice was surprisingly smooth and boyish, considering the owner's tough reputation. Ueda Ren sat crooked in his seat, one leg draped over the arm, a cigarette between his lips. His dyed blue hair was slicked back, held in place by the gang headband across his forehead. And although his face could have been considered attractive, it was also marred by a lot of scars. Lazy was his gaze as it shifted over those who were in attendance that evening. Eight gangs in total. Some of them were bigger than others, holding more members or beefier fighters. Some were smaller in both numbers and build, but were twice as skilled at fighting.
If anyone should ask, Ren's money would be on those G-Tech punks. Fighters since they were just babes and for some, the urge to ball up their fist had even been bred into them. Most of those kids there that night were just going through a phase or looking for a hobby. But those from G-Tech, well, fighting was a way of life. Ren knew that much, considering he used to wear that uniform only a few years back.
"Fight until you can't stand. The last one standing wins," he said behind a puff of the cigarette's smoke. Since it was The Gravel Pit, the rumble would be easily hidden away from the public because of the mountains of gravel and dirt that lined the property, acting like sponges for sound and barriers to block vision. The innards of the Pit held a few smaller piles as well and one large pile of scrap metal and motorcycle parts, though the latter had been put there by the bosozoku who had made this place their little hangout spot ever since the company the Pit belonged to went under. Now it was used for parties and fights like the one about to start and it was Ren's job as current leader to supervise. And so, gracefully, he lifted his hand and as he brought it back down, he shouted, "FIGHT!"
The sound of rocks shifting and feet scuffling filled the air as some forty odd teens sprung into action...[/hr]