Nightkill and G-Tech make an rp (Closed)

[Alleniana]

oh gee.
NS on phone.
hell.

It's not as bad as NS on PSP. You can't even open spoilers, copy/paste ANYTHING, or post links.

Sounds worse than NS on Kindle.

[Neo Arcad]

It's not as bad as NS on PSP. You can't even open spoilers, copy/paste ANYTHING, or post links.

Sounds worse than NS on Kindle.

It really is. I'd prefer a Kindle, to be honest, and I've used NS on one.
Also: you have to type by selecting one letter at a time with a control pad from a phone-style nine-button interface.
It is NIGHTMARISH.

[Nightkill the Emperor]

My Internet is fucking up. I'm using my phone's data plan to post. I don't know when the Internet issue will be fixed.

I made some threats and got the Internet back.

[Rupudska]

My Internet is fucking up. I'm using my phone's data plan to post. I don't know when the Internet issue will be fixed.

I made some threats and got the Internet back.

Question: Is this the normal way to get services to start working again in India/South Africa/I forget where you are at the moment?

[Nightkill the Emperor]

I made some threats and got the Internet back.

Question: Is this the normal way to get services to start working again in India/South Africa/I forget where you are at the moment?

India.

And making furious threats is how I get most things done here. After the first time or two, I can be polite because they get the message.

[Alleniana]

Question: Is this the normal way to get services to start working again in India/South Africa/I forget where you are at the moment?

India.

And making furious threats is how I get most things done here. After the first time or two, I can be polite because they get the message.

[Nationstatelandsville]

Name: Thulani "Timothy" Smith (yes)

Age:: 45-years-old

Ethnicity: Black (Zulu, specifically)

Sexual orientation: Disinterested, and irrelevant to his duty of shooting khakis (I love this list).

Religion: Protestant (?)

Languages: Various Bantu (primarily of the Nguni variety), Afrikaans, Dutch, and English

Appearance: A naturally rotund type of fellow, though he has a spent good amount of his life very lean indeed. He has a naturally wide face, with deep-set eyes, gray and stormy. His hair has gone entirely white, perhaps a bit prematurely, the little that is left. He is nearly entirely bald, but has a close-cut (on a good day) beard beginning at his sideburns. He is now covered with the wrinkles of age, gnarled fingers and wizened mind. Tall, and currently underweight.

Personality: Thulani Smith is tired of your shit. He's been around for a while, has seen some stuff, and would really quite like to have a drink, thank you. Around his superiors, social or otherwise, he'll try to conduct himself with a semblance of politeness, which is helped greatly by the fact that he is immediately able to dip into an aura of Morgan Freeman-eqsue "magical negro" zen. But don't believe for a focking second that that is who he is; he isn't interested in giving you advice, he doesn't care about your problems, and, in fact, he isn't very fond of your having a face in the first place. If he considers you inferior, he'll gladly tell you to fuck off. Repeatedly.

History: Thulani, or "Timothy" for you focking braks (I'm having so much fun) who can't speak the native tongue without putting more holes in it than a machine gun, is the son of a KwaZulu-Natal native who fled for the (relative) safety of Cape Town when Thulani's mother was killed in one of the many skirmishes over it. It has been suggested that the source of Thulani's rather unusual last name is a remark made by his grandfather to a stupid khaki that couldn't quite wrap his tongue around Nguni. This is really quite likely, given the Smith family's propensity for dry wit and general disdain for everyone else. Not that they can really be blamed.

Thulani's father had been a farmer in KwaZulu-Natal; in Cape Town, he was professionally starving. He worked odd jobs for the richer classes, which is a nice way of saying he stole a bunch of shit. Whatever food was acquired was, more often than not, pushed directly into Thulani's reluctant stomach. This finally caught up to the elder Smith in 1890, when Thulani was 15, and disease (likely syphilis) destroyed his already frail body. A year or two afterwards, Thulani fell fast through several echelons of the criminal underworld, before ending up in jail for an incident he'd rather not discuss. Not soon after, he was nearly executed for another incident he'd rather not discuss, but got off through means he would really rather not discuss. He was released from prison in 1897 - again, a nice way of saying he escaped and killed a guard in the process. Upon his escape, he spent some time generally shitting around. Some say he fathered a coloured child with an Afrikaner during this time. Those who say this tend to immediately have a broken pool cue shoved in their eye. To his unending joy, war broke out in 1899 and he was able to find more stable work as a mercenary for the English under an alias he would, you guessed it, rather not discuss.

This war was the Second Boer War. He would rather not discuss it.

Afterwards, Thulani was able to use some connections made in the War to make a hasty retreat to England. Though it was no KwaZulu-Natal, his life there was absolute shit, being a Zulu immigrant in the London slums. Through further wartime connections and several acts of utter depravity, Thulani was able to gain some medical knowledge from a washed-out Scots doctor with a heavy drinking problem. (But I repeat myself.) It wasn't much, really; as it turns out drunkards don't have very steady hands. Through rigorous study, dedication, hope, and courage, however, Thulani managed to work his way up in life, earn (read: falsify) a doctorate, and immediately get deported back to South Africa.

He drank a lot in those days.

It has since been three years since returning to Cape Town, and Thulani has fallen in with the Company for food (and drinking money), masquerading as a skilled combat medic from the War. He tries not to kill too many people.
RP Sample: Fuck you.

[Nightkill the Emperor]

Name: Thulani "Timothy" Smith (yes)

Age:: 45-years-old

Ethnicity: Black (Zulu, specifically)

Sexual orientation: Disinterested, and irrelevant to his duty of shooting khakis (I love this list).

Religion: Protestant (?)

Languages: Various Bantu (primarily of the Nguni variety), Afrikaans, Dutch, and English

Appearance: A naturally rotund type of fellow, though he has a spent good amount of his life very lean indeed. He has a naturally wide face, with deep-set eyes, gray and stormy. His hair has gone entirely white, perhaps a bit prematurely, the little that is left. He is nearly entirely bald, but has a close-cut (on a good day) beard beginning at his sideburns. He is now covered with the wrinkles of age, gnarled fingers and wizened mind. Tall, and currently underweight.

Personality: Thulani Smith is tired of your shit. He's been around for a while, has seen some stuff, and would really quite like to have a drink, thank you. Around his superiors, social or otherwise, he'll try to conduct himself with a semblance of politeness, which is helped greatly by the fact that he is immediately able to dip into an aura of Morgan Freeman-eqsue "magical negro" zen. But don't believe for a focking second that that is who he is; he isn't interested in giving you advice, he doesn't care about your problems, and, in fact, he isn't very fond of your having a face in the first place. If he considers you inferior, he'll gladly tell you to fuck off. Repeatedly.

History: Thulani, or "Timothy" for you focking braks (I'm having so much fun) who can't speak the native tongue without putting more holes in it than a machine gun, is the son of a KwaZulu-Natal native who fled for the (relative) safety of Cape Town when Thulani's mother was killed in one of the many skirmishes over it. It has been suggested that the source of Thulani's rather unusual last name is a remark made by his grandfather to a stupid khaki that couldn't quite wrap his tongue around Nguni. This is really quite likely, given the Smith family's propensity for dry wit and general disdain for everyone else. Not that they can really be blamed.

Thulani's father had been a farmer in KwaZulu-Natal; in Cape Town, he was professionally starving. He worked odd jobs for the richer classes, which is a nice way of saying he stole a bunch of shit. Whatever food was acquired was, more often than not, pushed directly into Thulani's reluctant stomach. This finally caught up to the elder Smith in 1890, when Thulani was 15, and disease (likely syphilis) destroyed his already frail body. A year or two afterwards, Thulani fell fast through several echelons of the criminal underworld, before ending up in jail for an incident he'd rather not discuss. Not soon after, he was nearly executed for another incident he'd rather not discuss, but got off through means he would really rather not discuss. He was released from prison in 1897 - again, a nice way of saying he escaped and killed a guard in the process. Upon his escape, he spent some time generally shitting around. Some say he fathered a coloured child with an Afrikaner during this time. Those who say this tend to immediately have a broken pool cue shoved in their eye. To his unending joy, war broke out in 1899 and he was able to find more stable work as a mercenary for the English under an alias he would, you guessed it, rather not discuss.

This war was the Second Boer War. He would rather not discuss it.

Afterwards, Thulani was able to use some connections made in the War to make a hasty retreat to England. Though it was no KwaZulu-Natal, his life there was absolute shit, being a Zulu immigrant in the London slums. Through further wartime connections and several acts of utter depravity, Thulani was able to gain some medical knowledge from a washed-out Scots doctor with a heavy drinking problem. (But I repeat myself.) It wasn't much, really; as it turns out drunkards don't have very steady hands. Through rigorous study, dedication, hope, and courage, however, Thulani managed to work his way up in life, earn (read: falsify) a doctorate, and immediately get deported back to South Africa.

He drank a lot in those days.

It has since been three years since returning to Cape Town, and Thulani has fallen in with the Company for food (and drinking money), masquerading as a skilled combat medic from the War. He tries not to kill too many people.
RP Sample: Fuck you.

Approved.

[Nightkill the Emperor]

I also may have created a monster I cannot control by showing Nat the slang list.

[Neo Arcad]

Feel free to tell me I fucked up on the history bit, I just made assumptions with Bechuanaland considering the proximity of the British-controlled North West province.

Name: Jinx MacKenzie
Age:: 27
Ethnicity: Half-Irish, half-Boer.
Sexual orientation: Straight?
Religion: Calvinist
Languages: English, with some command of Afrikaans and a smattering of Zulu.
Appearance: http://img194.imageshack.us/img194/3703/sgdj.png
Personality: Detached, but generally affecting the air of a British woman of class. This is a thing that she generally is not, because British women of class do not often find themselves in her line of work. Really, she's not quick to anger, not particularly gloomy or upbeat... just a rather middle-of-the-road person.
History: The daughter of an Irish captain in the British Army, part of the garrison of Bechuanaland. Her mother was a Boer. She was born in 1893, in Bechuanaland, and therefore was only seven when everything went to shit. The violence across the border threatened the tiny garrisons of Bechuanaland, but surprisingly, the little British desert colony held on for another eight years. This was largely due to the lack of interest from the Germans in Namibia, halfassed resupply efforts every once in a while from whatever British authorities in Rhodesia or the Northwest felt the most charitable, and most importantly, the lack of any significant crystal deposits. The garrison that Captain MacKenzie commanded was left largely to its own devices. Though they had to grow their own food and lost some to disease, including Jinx's mother, the fort was still standing until a marauding band of African raiders crossed the Molope river on a wild goose chase after a rumored crystal cache. They plundered Bechuanaland's remaining unmolested portions, and eventually came upon and destroyed the fort, after a struggle with the unprepared, outnumbered, and poorly armed garrison. Captain MacKenzie and the then-14-year-old Jinx escaped on horseback into the dangerous region of Limpopo. It took them six months to reach another British outpost, in the North-West Province, during which time a near-death encounter with a band of marauders gave Jinx the crosshatch scar on the left side of her face that she still bears today. Nonetheless, they arrived in Vryburg, and as he was still a commissioned officer in the British Army, in a region where good leaders are rare, the Captain was soon given a new unit to head up. Jinx was raised in the North-West, on the dangerous gas-choked frontier. She and her father, on the rare occasions when he wasn't away leading his cavalry troop on various operations against the Germans or Freistaters or whatever other rabble decided to spring up, would often talk of leaving and going to Ireland or America, and saved up for that purpose. She was taught how to shoot a rifle, read a map, recognize animal or human tracks, and ride a horse, as the dangers of the region somewhat outweighed those social norms. But when Jinx was 23, her father's military career finally met with disaster. He lost his left leg below the knee on patrol. Unable to join the Army in her father's place, she instead found employment with a less scrupulous outfit- the Company. She was introduced through one of her father's contacts with the more... grey elements of military society. (READ: Whoever in the Company's hierarchy would deign to have contacts with British Army men who work on the down low behind their officers' backs. Pick your man.) Finding her to be talented with an automatic and rather useful in other ways, the Company set her to work as a soldier of fortune. She now seeks to earn the money to pay off various debts accrued, and help her father retire comfortably in Ireland or New York.
RP Sample: BITCHES LOVE CANNONS

[Nightkill the Emperor]

G, read Neo's app for me, I'm a bit busy working on other things. I'll also be working on the IC soon enough, if everyone's well and accounted for.

Then we'll collect all the apps in one nice list and stick them in a Reserved post.

[G-Tech Corporation]

That app seems in order Neo, consider yourself accepted.

[Nightkill the Emperor]

Nat, make a list of who is accepted and and link the apps.

If you can't, Indi, do that.

[Nationstatelandsville]

Nat, make a list of who is accepted and who is not.

If you can't, Indi, do that.

Indi should.

[Norvenia]

As the only actual Calvinist here (and even I only half-qualify), I can testify that there are more Calvinist characters involved in this one RP than I have seen in all other NS RPs put together for as long as I've been on the site.

[Nightkill the Emperor]

As the only actual Calvinist here (and even I only half-qualify), I can testify that there are more Calvinist characters involved in this one RP than I have seen in all other NS RPs put together for as long as I've been on the site.

Calvinism tends to have had a massive impact in South Africa.

But you likely know that better than I.

[Neo Arcad]

As the only actual Calvinist here (and even I only half-qualify), I can testify that there are more Calvinist characters involved in this one RP than I have seen in all other NS RPs put together for as long as I've been on the site.

Calvinism = predestination = I only kill people because it's God's prefabricated plan = it's okay to kill people.

Ergo, it's the chosen religion of the mercenary and the cutthroat.

[Nightkill the Emperor]

I'm working on the IC, after I do some posts in EH.

I'm also rewatching In the Loop for the 80th time or so.

[Alleniana]

As the only actual Calvinist here (and even I only half-qualify), I can testify that there are more Calvinist characters involved in this one RP than I have seen in all other NS RPs put together for as long as I've been on the site.

Calvinism = predestination = I only kill people because it's God's prefabricated plan = it's okay to kill people.

Ergo, it's the chosen religion of the mercenary and the cutthroat.

That works

[Constaniana]

Name: Thulani "Timothy" Smith (yes)

Age:: 45-years-old

Ethnicity: Black (Zulu, specifically)

Sexual orientation: Disinterested, and irrelevant to his duty of shooting khakis (I love this list).

Religion: Protestant (?)

Languages: Various Bantu (primarily of the Nguni variety), Afrikaans, Dutch, and English

Appearance: A naturally rotund type of fellow, though he has a spent good amount of his life very lean indeed. He has a naturally wide face, with deep-set eyes, gray and stormy. His hair has gone entirely white, perhaps a bit prematurely, the little that is left. He is nearly entirely bald, but has a close-cut (on a good day) beard beginning at his sideburns. He is now covered with the wrinkles of age, gnarled fingers and wizened mind. Tall, and currently underweight.

Personality: Thulani Smith is tired of your shit. He's been around for a while, has seen some stuff, and would really quite like to have a drink, thank you. Around his superiors, social or otherwise, he'll try to conduct himself with a semblance of politeness, which is helped greatly by the fact that he is immediately able to dip into an aura of Morgan Freeman-eqsue "magical negro" zen. But don't believe for a focking second that that is who he is; he isn't interested in giving you advice, he doesn't care about your problems, and, in fact, he isn't very fond of your having a face in the first place. If he considers you inferior, he'll gladly tell you to fuck off. Repeatedly.

History: Thulani, or "Timothy" for you focking braks (I'm having so much fun) who can't speak the native tongue without putting more holes in it than a machine gun, is the son of a KwaZulu-Natal native who fled for the (relative) safety of Cape Town when Thulani's mother was killed in one of the many skirmishes over it. It has been suggested that the source of Thulani's rather unusual last name is a remark made by his grandfather to a stupid khaki that couldn't quite wrap his tongue around Nguni. This is really quite likely, given the Smith family's propensity for dry wit and general disdain for everyone else. Not that they can really be blamed.

Thulani's father had been a farmer in KwaZulu-Natal; in Cape Town, he was professionally starving. He worked odd jobs for the richer classes, which is a nice way of saying he stole a bunch of shit. Whatever food was acquired was, more often than not, pushed directly into Thulani's reluctant stomach. This finally caught up to the elder Smith in 1890, when Thulani was 15, and disease (likely syphilis) destroyed his already frail body. A year or two afterwards, Thulani fell fast through several echelons of the criminal underworld, before ending up in jail for an incident he'd rather not discuss. Not soon after, he was nearly executed for another incident he'd rather not discuss, but got off through means he would really rather not discuss. He was released from prison in 1897 - again, a nice way of saying he escaped and killed a guard in the process. Upon his escape, he spent some time generally shitting around. Some say he fathered a coloured child with an Afrikaner during this time. Those who say this tend to immediately have a broken pool cue shoved in their eye. To his unending joy, war broke out in 1899 and he was able to find more stable work as a mercenary for the English under an alias he would, you guessed it, rather not discuss.

This war was the Second Boer War. He would rather not discuss it.

Afterwards, Thulani was able to use some connections made in the War to make a hasty retreat to England. Though it was no KwaZulu-Natal, his life there was absolute shit, being a Zulu immigrant in the London slums. Through further wartime connections and several acts of utter depravity, Thulani was able to gain some medical knowledge from a washed-out Scots doctor with a heavy drinking problem. (But I repeat myself.) It wasn't much, really; as it turns out drunkards don't have very steady hands. Through rigorous study, dedication, hope, and courage, however, Thulani managed to work his way up in life, earn (read: falsify) a doctorate, and immediately get deported back to South Africa.

He drank a lot in those days.

It has since been three years since returning to Cape Town, and Thulani has fallen in with the Company for food (and drinking money), masquerading as a skilled combat medic from the War. He tries not to kill too many people.
RP Sample: Fuck you.

Does he have any friends named Aaron or Blake?

[Nationstatelandsville]

Name: Thulani "Timothy" Smith (yes)

Age:: 45-years-old

Ethnicity: Black (Zulu, specifically)

Sexual orientation: Disinterested, and irrelevant to his duty of shooting khakis (I love this list).

Religion: Protestant (?)

Languages: Various Bantu (primarily of the Nguni variety), Afrikaans, Dutch, and English

Appearance: A naturally rotund type of fellow, though he has a spent good amount of his life very lean indeed. He has a naturally wide face, with deep-set eyes, gray and stormy. His hair has gone entirely white, perhaps a bit prematurely, the little that is left. He is nearly entirely bald, but has a close-cut (on a good day) beard beginning at his sideburns. He is now covered with the wrinkles of age, gnarled fingers and wizened mind. Tall, and currently underweight.

Personality: Thulani Smith is tired of your shit. He's been around for a while, has seen some stuff, and would really quite like to have a drink, thank you. Around his superiors, social or otherwise, he'll try to conduct himself with a semblance of politeness, which is helped greatly by the fact that he is immediately able to dip into an aura of Morgan Freeman-eqsue "magical negro" zen. But don't believe for a focking second that that is who he is; he isn't interested in giving you advice, he doesn't care about your problems, and, in fact, he isn't very fond of your having a face in the first place. If he considers you inferior, he'll gladly tell you to fuck off. Repeatedly.

History: Thulani, or "Timothy" for you focking braks (I'm having so much fun) who can't speak the native tongue without putting more holes in it than a machine gun, is the son of a KwaZulu-Natal native who fled for the (relative) safety of Cape Town when Thulani's mother was killed in one of the many skirmishes over it. It has been suggested that the source of Thulani's rather unusual last name is a remark made by his grandfather to a stupid khaki that couldn't quite wrap his tongue around Nguni. This is really quite likely, given the Smith family's propensity for dry wit and general disdain for everyone else. Not that they can really be blamed.

Thulani's father had been a farmer in KwaZulu-Natal; in Cape Town, he was professionally starving. He worked odd jobs for the richer classes, which is a nice way of saying he stole a bunch of shit. Whatever food was acquired was, more often than not, pushed directly into Thulani's reluctant stomach. This finally caught up to the elder Smith in 1890, when Thulani was 15, and disease (likely syphilis) destroyed his already frail body. A year or two afterwards, Thulani fell fast through several echelons of the criminal underworld, before ending up in jail for an incident he'd rather not discuss. Not soon after, he was nearly executed for another incident he'd rather not discuss, but got off through means he would really rather not discuss. He was released from prison in 1897 - again, a nice way of saying he escaped and killed a guard in the process. Upon his escape, he spent some time generally shitting around. Some say he fathered a coloured child with an Afrikaner during this time. Those who say this tend to immediately have a broken pool cue shoved in their eye. To his unending joy, war broke out in 1899 and he was able to find more stable work as a mercenary for the English under an alias he would, you guessed it, rather not discuss.

This war was the Second Boer War. He would rather not discuss it.

Afterwards, Thulani was able to use some connections made in the War to make a hasty retreat to England. Though it was no KwaZulu-Natal, his life there was absolute shit, being a Zulu immigrant in the London slums. Through further wartime connections and several acts of utter depravity, Thulani was able to gain some medical knowledge from a washed-out Scots doctor with a heavy drinking problem. (But I repeat myself.) It wasn't much, really; as it turns out drunkards don't have very steady hands. Through rigorous study, dedication, hope, and courage, however, Thulani managed to work his way up in life, earn (read: falsify) a doctorate, and immediately get deported back to South Africa.

He drank a lot in those days.

It has since been three years since returning to Cape Town, and Thulani has fallen in with the Company for food (and drinking money), masquerading as a skilled combat medic from the War. He tries not to kill too many people.
RP Sample: Fuck you.

Does he have any friends named Aaron or Blake?

Thulani Smith has no friends.

[Alleniana]

Does he have any friends named Aaron or Blake?

Thulani Smith has no friends.

He should become a psychologist.

[Neo Arcad]

I'm simultaneously proud and disappointed that my app didn't even get read.

[Nightkill the Emperor]

I'm simultaneously proud and disappointed that my app didn't even get read.

That app seems in order Neo, consider yourself accepted.

[Neo Arcad]

I'm simultaneously proud and disappointed that my app didn't even get read.

That app seems in order Neo, consider yourself accepted.

I don't think he read it. I'm pretty sure he just said, "Yeah, it's accepted, fuck it." I mean, I felt like I rather mangled the Bechuanaland bit...