Z0rr0w
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| Joined: 06 Jul 2008 |
| Total Posts: 14027 |
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| 16 Sep 2015 06:44 PM |
Original Thread: http://www.roblox.com/Forum/ShowPost.aspx?PostID=174284362
Character Sheet:
Name: Conrad Chaukraut (the "chau" being pronounced "show")
Nickname given on the island: Dogpiss
Age: About thirty or so, but if you prefer a more specific number I'll have it be thirty-six.
Gender: Male
Appearance: Standing about a meter and eight tenths tall, Conrad has a messily cut chevron of a mustache which merges with his large sideburns, also messily cut. The bird's nest on the top of his head takes the shape of an upside-down cauldron, brown in color, dry in texture, and dancing into unconventional positions with every gust of wind. He sports two dull, lime colored eyes, which go almost unnoticed with his yellowing, brownish teeth (where not missing, of course.) His nose resembles a flipped over mushroom, which is a bit too large for his face, his eyebrows bushy and also seemingly way too large.
(You haven't written out clothing, which wasn't actually required by the appearance section. If you'd like to write out your character's clothing now, you may. Otherwise, you can continue with your character stark-naked until he finds some clothing somewhere. Also, you haven't given your character's skin color. Your character's skin color is very important. I need to know your character's skin color.)
Today was a bad day. This was the case because today you were selected to be the gunman. Someone had decided to try to be logical and get work done on the island by seeing if he could start up a little company to write poems to light up everyone's day. Now, it seemed, that he would be the one to get lit up.
Now, why would having to murder someone make this a bad day? Either because your moral compass isn't completely out-of-whack and you'll feel bad about it, or you'll end up inhaling the smoke from the gun through your big nose and then you'll cough a lot. There are not many things that are stated in the world to be flat-out good or flat-out bad. But, coughing is considered to be objectively bad.
You were scheduled to go execute the poet in about five. Every appointment ever was scheduled in about five. In about five is a phrase created by the island, which roughly translates to 'whenever.' When you feel that it's been about five, you can head out to the center of the island to shoot some guy. Or, you could take your time and see what there is to do on the island. Or just lay around in your little hut for awhile. |
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| 16 Sep 2015 07:03 PM |
| (Well, I guess I'll be a white guy on an island inhabited by, uh, whatever it's inhabited by, can't quite be sure yet, and set my excuse for clothing as a woolen skirt of a thing to hide my man-parts that I haven't taken off for a while, now, along with the rudest of primitive sandals. Is that alright?) |
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Z0rr0w
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| Joined: 06 Jul 2008 |
| Total Posts: 14027 |
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| 16 Sep 2015 07:05 PM |
| Yes, that's alright. You'll find out what races inhabit the island pretty soon. |
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| 16 Sep 2015 07:13 PM |
| What does my hut look like? Contain? Smell like? Where is it in relation to other stuff on the island? I might as well see if there's any reason to take my time before this poor bastard has to kick the bucket at my hand. |
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Z0rr0w
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| Joined: 06 Jul 2008 |
| Total Posts: 14027 |
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| 16 Sep 2015 07:27 PM |
| It's a fairly small one-room abode. There's a bed with a blanket made out of a bunch of hairs. Beside this bed is a tiny wooden table with a candle on it. Sometimes, you light this candle when it's dark and you don't want it to be dark. To the back of your hut is an opening that serves as a window. Though, why you'd want to look outside is a question for another day. The hut smells like you do, that is, not very good. This is likely due to the lack of female visitors in your hut. The hut is positioned to the North, at the edge of the island. There are two other huts next to your hut, which both house angry males who like to yell about which group of people is able to throw a ball better. |
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| 16 Sep 2015 07:38 PM |
In that case, I better make sure this skirt of mine is still covering everything, then leave through the door I suppose is there, or at least the opening where one might be, and set off on my journey South, to where I can cut the poor poet's dread, pondering, and waiting short with one quick trigger pull.
Or not, after all, I'll have a gun, and I could do something about it. Wait. No, no, no, they'll have guns too - I'll have one shot for the entire island and the entire island will have a shot each for me. As far as I can tell, that's not good. Whatever, once I get there I'll figure it out. |
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Z0rr0w
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| Joined: 06 Jul 2008 |
| Total Posts: 14027 |
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| 16 Sep 2015 09:07 PM |
Soon, you arrive at the center of the island. There's a man with a silly hat on strapped to a tree. "Has it been about five yet?" he asks while a short girl pokes him with a stick. "Are you dead yet?" a man dressed in a dirty white shirt and brown pants questions. "No." "Then it hasn't been about five yet."
A little distance away from the man strapped to the tree is a campfire with several people gathered around it. "Is anyone interested in this story I have? "No." "No." "No." "I'm going to tell it anyway." "Don't." "I'm not going to tell it." "Good." "I'm an Easterner," a man who is clearly white says. "That's very interesting," everyone else says in unison. "I have several mental disorders," a young girl who clearly doesn't have any mental disorders says. "We're so very sorry for you," everyone else says in unison.
A little distance from that campfire is a man drawing in the sand with a stick. From what you can see, it looks like he's writing. It also looks like he's spelling the names of several different fruits incorrectly. |
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| 17 Sep 2015 01:52 PM |
| Alrighty then, I better just get on with it. The quicker I make it for myself and him the easier and the better, so I better just find where that gun is or who has it for me. |
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Z0rr0w
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| Joined: 06 Jul 2008 |
| Total Posts: 14027 |
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| 17 Sep 2015 02:01 PM |
One of the men standing in front of the future member of the Dead Poet's Society is holding a flintlock pistol, though he's not doing anything with it and appears to be waiting. "Why can't you shoot me now?" the poet says "Why would I do that?" "Because you're holding the gun already, it's only logical for you to just end me now." "It's talk like that which gets you shot." "Oh." |
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| 17 Sep 2015 02:07 PM |
I make a subliminal snorting sound at their conversation.
"Ey', uh, what's up?" I ask, not really giving two rocks about what he might answer, "gimmeh the gat, maybe?" |
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Z0rr0w
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| Joined: 06 Jul 2008 |
| Total Posts: 14027 |
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| 17 Sep 2015 02:12 PM |
The man with the gun looks at his wrist as though some kind of time-telling device was there. There wasn't a time-telling device there. "Oh, I guess it's been about five already," he says, pushing the gun into your hands, "when you're done, there's breakfast in the Mess Hall. It's show-and-tell day there, too. Maybe you could find a friend if you decided to participate."
He then proceeds to scoop up a bit of sand and puts it on his head, rubbing it into his hair before walking off.
"Please kill me," the poet tied to the tree says, "or kill this tree so I can leave. I think I could use this tree as a rowboat." "Thinking is what got you here!" the short girl says cheerily, before poking him again with the stick and walking off to follow the man with sand in his hair. |
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| 17 Sep 2015 02:18 PM |
Might as well do one then the other, in the order he said so. If only, though.
I then pull back the hammer, stepping back a safe distance from the man, holding the flintlock forward with my right arm, and my left arm behind my back, then motioning the muzzle of the thing up, where it would be directly facing his upper chest, if my eyeballing isn't mistaken, and dropping my index finger onto the trigger, releasing the hammer back down and hopefully launching a lead ball into the poet. |
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Z0rr0w
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| Joined: 06 Jul 2008 |
| Total Posts: 14027 |
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| 17 Sep 2015 02:23 PM |
| As expected, a round ball pops out of the weapon and pops into the poet. In doing so, the gun makes a really loud noise which attracts the attention of the people by the campfire briefly, before they go back to their no-doubt-extremely-super-interesting conversation. Looking back at the poet, there's blood dripping down from where you'd shot him. He seems to want to shout in pain really badly, but something is preventing him from doing so. In about five, he's no longer alive. He is, however, still tied to the tree. Somebody will come and untie him and use his body for furniture and food, maybe, if they're in a good mood. Or you could untie him yourself. Or you could not bother yourself with the work, which is the logical thing to do, and go about your day. |
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| 17 Sep 2015 02:29 PM |
| Uh, now what? Oh, yes, the mess hall! And, of course, they're doing show and tell, of all things, which gives me a reason to keep lugging this gun around in case they prevent you from entering without a showpiece. With that being said, (thought) I solemnly dance my way over to the eatery. |
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Z0rr0w
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| Joined: 06 Jul 2008 |
| Total Posts: 14027 |
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| 17 Sep 2015 10:02 PM |
Soon you arrive at the Mess Hall with gun-in-hand. There doesn't seem to be anyone interested in asking if you brought an item for show-and-tell day, so you're free to walk inside.
Assuming you don't have more pressing matters to attend to, you find yourself inside of the Mess Hall. It's a fairly large building made out of wood. All around, people are sat at dining tables, all of them dressed differently. They're shoving food into their mouths, either for sustenance or entertainment, as they talk about nothing that matters. There's a stage at the back of the Mess Hall, a straight walk from the door. There's currently a man on stage holding a tiny rock.
"This is my rock," he says, pronouncing 'rock' as 'rawk' while simultaneously stretching out the 'aw' sound. He continues to go on a bit of a tangent as to how the rock was a gift from his girlfriend, who he mentions will never be shown or introduced to anyone here. His tone of voice leads you to believe that he doesn't actually have a girlfriend, or that his girlfriend is secretly a guy that's only pretending to be a girl. You get that last part from the amount of upset and guilt laden in his voice.
At the left of the Mess Hall is a little section where people line up to get their foodstuffs. |
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| 20 Sep 2015 10:28 AM |
| Might as well step into this line and try to identify what these people are eating while I wait. |
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Z0rr0w
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| Joined: 06 Jul 2008 |
| Total Posts: 14027 |
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| 20 Sep 2015 12:23 PM |
It looks like today is waffle day. You can tell it's waffle day because people go into the line with nothing and leave with a waffle. You overhear some conversation in the line as you wait.
"Je...je ne pas aimer les croissant." "What are you trying to say?" "Oh, oh-hoh, I forgot, you're not as refined as me and only speak one language." "I think you just strung together a bunch of words you saw in a book." "Shut up!" "They don't even flow right." "You shut up right now whitey!" "You didn't even conjugate or use your negatives properly." "Stop stop stop!"
You're soon served a nice waffle by a nice girl who looks to be about... pretty young. The right age for that creepy Old Man Henderson who sits around at the edge of the island gazing into the distance. "There's some toppings and stuff over there!" the girl says cheerily, pointing over there to some toppings and stuff.
TOPPINGS AND STUFF: Whipped Cream Cherry Chocolate Chips Syrup Honey Blueberries
DRINKS: Milk (from cow) Milk (from girl) Water |
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| 20 Sep 2015 03:48 PM |
| Seems like a legit enough meal, but I doubt it'll last more than an hour. Though, it seems I can just allow myself to take some syrup, douse the waffle in that, then take some milk, type two, of course, in a glass or whatever it's served in, then find a table where I can indulge myself and ponder about some freedom or adventure. |
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Z0rr0w
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| Joined: 06 Jul 2008 |
| Total Posts: 14027 |
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| 20 Sep 2015 03:55 PM |
You leave the line with a glass of milk and a plate of waffle-and-syrup. You manage to find a nice, empty and quiet table where you can eat your food and ponder about whatever you choose to ponder about. The short girl from earlier is on stage now, holding a stick. "This is the sword I used to poke a guy before he got shot!" she announces happily. "That looks like a stick," someone says with a mouthful of waffle. "It identifies as a sword!" "Oh, okay." Everybody claps. |
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| 20 Sep 2015 03:58 PM |
Hmm, she wasn't the one from today, was she? Don't think so, at least.
Is there some sort of waiting line for this stage? I scan the area out of pure curiosity, or out of lack of memory, or both. |
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Z0rr0w
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| Joined: 06 Jul 2008 |
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| 20 Sep 2015 04:06 PM |
There doesn't appear to be any kind of line. Though, quickly, you figure out how people are chosen to come on stage.
"Who wants to be on stage next?" the short girl asks as several hands go up. "Okay, you!" she says, pointing her stick which identifies as a sword towards a man, before leaving the stage and having her place taken by the man that was pointed at.
The man holds up a piece of paper with some kind of graph drawn on it. "This is a graph showing the deterioration of our society over time. See, here is where we started. At a high-point where we were all very intelligent and able to reason. Now here is where things went down, you can see this is also the start-point of those nickname ceremonies. Now, while correlation does not imply caus-"
He's stopped by a piece of waffle being thrown at him, and then by a large man tackling him off the stage. You can hear him screaming for help as he's dragged out of the Mess Hall. The short girl goes back on stage. "Who's next?" she asks. |
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| 20 Sep 2015 04:21 PM |
| I'll just finish this waffle and drink this milk before I go back to my hut. Nothing to see in this hulking waste of matter. |
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Z0rr0w
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| Joined: 06 Jul 2008 |
| Total Posts: 14027 |
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| 20 Sep 2015 04:32 PM |
As you consume your meal, somebody else goes on stage holding up a crudely-made drawing consisting of several colors and shapes and lines. You're unsure of if this 'art' is abstract, or just stupid. "I made this. It's a representation of my hopes and dreams," the boy holding it says. "How long did it take you to make?" someone asks. "About five."
You've soon finished your meal and head back to your hut. There's something pinned onto the wall of your hut, however. The note reads: "I know you're saner than everybody else here. Do you want to get off this island? You can't possibly enjoy all these people talking about nothing. When the sun sets in about five, meet me at the south end of the island, just where the ocean starts." |
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| 20 Sep 2015 07:28 PM |
I nod at what he says, then tear the note off the wall, crumbling it up so nobody else will care enough to read it, then stowing it away under something. Whatever time it is now, it's clearly not sunset, so I better conceive of some activity to do.
Hey, consciousness, what's something I usually waste my time with, here in prison? |
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Z0rr0w
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| Joined: 06 Jul 2008 |
| Total Posts: 14027 |
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| 20 Sep 2015 08:20 PM |
| There are many activities to do here in your hut. You could sit out and watch people pass by and count how many of them are cute girls. Or, you could try looking around for an object to bring to the next show-and-tell day. You could even join one of the island's famous Campfire Jerkcircles, in which people sit around a campfire and talk about how great they all are. Or you could just take a nap. |
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