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by Relikai » Wed Jun 08, 2016 4:39 pm
by Torsiedelle » Wed Jun 08, 2016 4:43 pm
Relikai wrote:Just a heads up Miyuki's still here, basically chilling out in the clinic while her human throat adapts to its magical ability.
by Relikai » Wed Jun 08, 2016 4:56 pm
by Tiltjuice » Wed Jun 08, 2016 8:30 pm
by Northwest Slobovia » Thu Jun 09, 2016 7:39 pm
Swith Witherward wrote:IF you don't want in on the Xeno jungle thing, send your character through Alpha gate. This will free them up for the Building or for your own stories. Talk it out here so you all can open the gate and step through on your next post. There are tubs at the Gatehouse still, so they can take one to the village and rejoin the cast.
IF you want in on whatever odd story Cer has planned, have them brace themselves. His posting schedule is pretty slow, so the pace won't match stuff at the village or Building.
by Cerillium » Thu Jun 09, 2016 8:00 pm
Northwest Slobovia wrote:Swith Witherward wrote:IF you don't want in on the Xeno jungle thing, send your character through Alpha gate. This will free them up for the Building or for your own stories. Talk it out here so you all can open the gate and step through on your next post. There are tubs at the Gatehouse still, so they can take one to the village and rejoin the cast.
IF you want in on whatever odd story Cer has planned, have them brace themselves. His posting schedule is pretty slow, so the pace won't match stuff at the village or Building.
I face an IC vs OOC conflict here.
IC, there's no reason Sandy should leave the team to the tender mercies of large hairy (scaley) things in the jungle.
OOC, I've got things for him to do, places for him to be, and stories to run.
What I'd like to break the deadlock is a slowly-developing medical crisis that will provide an IC reason for Sandy to leave. I'm not sure what that should be, and it never needs to materialize, just loom on the horizon for long enough for Sandy to leave.
I wear teal, blue & pink for Swith
There is a fifth dimension beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man’s fears, and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of imagination.
by Northwest Slobovia » Thu Jun 09, 2016 8:07 pm
Cerillium wrote:I'll make it easy on everyone: won't be much of an adventure in the jungle. I've been sternly reminded of my 2014 promise to get IAPA off the ground for the summer. Failure do to so will result in Swith morphing into Segata Sanshiro and kicking my ass: "You must play IAPA! You must play IAPA!"
by Giovenith » Thu Jun 09, 2016 9:11 pm
by Altito Asmoro » Thu Jun 09, 2016 9:19 pm
Chedastan wrote:OPERATION: HARKER
DIMENSION: 134A
LOCATION: EARTH
TEAMS: DELTA, TANGO
He was concerned about Harker insisting to stay though, but he could respect the reason explained. "Don't worry Minerva, I'm not abandoning you yet." He then called over to her to confirmed from the cargo bay.
by Tiltjuice » Thu Jun 09, 2016 10:11 pm
Giovenith wrote:Will have Groundtown reply up tomorrow. Sorry for the wait.
by Chedastan » Fri Jun 10, 2016 9:20 am
Altito Asmoro wrote:I was about to worried that one of them or at least one of them (Either one of you who involved in the operation )would be angry at Harker for trying to stay, even with the reason explained.
by Tiltjuice » Fri Jun 10, 2016 4:15 pm
by Altito Asmoro » Fri Jun 10, 2016 4:51 pm
Chedastan wrote:Altito Asmoro wrote:I was about to worried that one of them or at least one of them (Either one of you who involved in the operation )would be angry at Harker for trying to stay, even with the reason explained.
Oh yeah that, I guess the story has to go where it feels like going somehow.
by Ganonsyoni » Fri Jun 10, 2016 8:47 pm
by Cerillium » Sat Jun 11, 2016 5:24 pm
I wear teal, blue & pink for Swith
There is a fifth dimension beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man’s fears, and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of imagination.
by Cerillium » Sun Jun 12, 2016 7:00 pm
I wear teal, blue & pink for Swith
There is a fifth dimension beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man’s fears, and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of imagination.
by Giovenith » Sun Jun 12, 2016 7:04 pm
Cerillium wrote:My mission post is delayedThe Fennec is busy. Busy, busy Fennec. She thinks she can grill. The Fennec is abusing beef. You think I jest? No. No, dear PL family, I do not.
The thing with Fennecs is that they have runty forelegs. How they scratch their own butts is beyond me. And Fennecs have tits. They cover their tits with new teeshirts bearing Sanders logos. Rather than take the shirt off and put on something suitable, this Fennec insists on putting all the meat at the very front of the grill in order to keep her tits from burning while she uses her runty arms to flip things. Flip, Fennec, flip with those runty, runty arms.
The Fennec doesn't understand why the front of the grill doesn't grill as good as the back of the grill. She compensates by turning the flame all the way up to high. The grill takes on a fresh glow. The International Space Stations reports odd flickering coming from our state.
Burn, Fennec, burn the meat with your stunted grill knowledge and vorpal flame. Flip and burn, and burn and flip. That's prime rib. Glorious prime rib, O! I lament your sizzling cries as the juice evaporates from you. Woe, is me, woe, that I should eat shoe leather thanks to Fennecs and Sanders. Damn you, Sanders. Damn you for bearing tit-covering logos on your shirts.
I need a beer. No, I need two.
"Don't you kill my Minerva," the Fennec croons as she slides her sacrifice to Satan onto my plate. The salad beside it snickers and winks at me as if to say We look more tasty, don't we?
I do not want to kill her stupid character. I only want my prime rib to be edible. Breathe, damn you! But this is futile. It will never moo again.
The murderess returns. "Okay, I'm done cooking. I'll be back later. Need anything from the store?"
Cooking? Is that what you call it? The fuck, Fennec? I'm waiting for the leather to cool so I can smack it with a hammer and pour the ash into my beer. A man needs his steak in one form or another. Come Fennec. Look at my ash-beer. Smoke curls from it. I can taste Cthulhu with my eyes. Go away, Fennec. Go away.
And off she went to see her new baby cousin.
I do not know what to write for Minerva. In my famished state, I neglected to ask What comes next for your pilot and the high altitude. I'm stalled. Two hours have passed. Nothing.
by Northwest Slobovia » Sun Jun 12, 2016 7:11 pm
Cerillium wrote:My mission post is delayedThe Fennec is busy. Busy, busy Fennec. She thinks she can grill. The Fennec is abusing beef. You think I jest? No. No, dear PL family, I do not.
The thing with Fennecs is that they have runty forelegs. How they scratch their own butts is beyond me. And Fennecs have tits. They cover their tits with new teeshirts bearing Sanders logos. Rather than take the shirt off and put on something suitable, this Fennec insists on putting all the meat at the very front of the grill in order to keep her tits from burning while she uses her runty arms to flip things. Flip, Fennec, flip with those runty, runty arms.
The Fennec doesn't understand why the front of the grill doesn't grill as good as the back of the grill. She compensates by turning the flame all the way up to high. The grill takes on a fresh glow. The International Space Stations reports odd flickering coming from our state.
Burn, Fennec, burn the meat with your stunted grill knowledge and vorpal flame. Flip and burn, and burn and flip. That's prime rib. Glorious prime rib, O! I lament your sizzling cries as the juice evaporates from you. Woe, is me, woe, that I should eat shoe leather thanks to Fennecs and Sanders. Damn you, Sanders. Damn you for bearing tit-covering logos on your shirts.
I need a beer. No, I need two.
"Don't you kill my Minerva," the Fennec croons as she slides her sacrifice to Satan onto my plate. The salad beside it snickers and winks at me as if to say We look more tasty, don't we?
I do not want to kill her stupid character. I only want my prime rib to be edible. Breathe, damn you! But this is futile. It will never moo again.
The murderess returns. "Okay, I'm done cooking. I'll be back later. Need anything from the store?"
Cooking? Is that what you call it? The fuck, Fennec? I'm waiting for the leather to cool so I can smack it with a hammer and pour the ash into my beer. A man needs his steak in one form or another. Come Fennec. Look at my ash-beer. Smoke curls from it. I can taste Cthulhu with my eyes. Go away, Fennec. Go away.
And off she went to see her new baby cousin.
I do not know what to write for Minerva. In my famished state, I neglected to ask What comes next for your pilot and the high altitude. I'm stalled. Two hours have passed. Nothing.
Cerillium wrote:So it may turn into a collab for Delta and Tango, if players don't mind?
by Chedastan » Sun Jun 12, 2016 7:18 pm
Cerillium wrote:My mission post is delayedThe Fennec is busy. Busy, busy Fennec. She thinks she can grill. The Fennec is abusing beef. You think I jest? No. No, dear PL family, I do not.
The thing with Fennecs is that they have runty forelegs. How they scratch their own butts is beyond me. And Fennecs have tits. They cover their tits with new teeshirts bearing Sanders logos. Rather than take the shirt off and put on something suitable, this Fennec insists on putting all the meat at the very front of the grill in order to keep her tits from burning while she uses her runty arms to flip things. Flip, Fennec, flip with those runty, runty arms.
The Fennec doesn't understand why the front of the grill doesn't grill as good as the back of the grill. She compensates by turning the flame all the way up to high. The grill takes on a fresh glow. The International Space Stations reports odd flickering coming from our state.
Burn, Fennec, burn the meat with your stunted grill knowledge and vorpal flame. Flip and burn, and burn and flip. That's prime rib. Glorious prime rib, O! I lament your sizzling cries as the juice evaporates from you. Woe, is me, woe, that I should eat shoe leather thanks to Fennecs and Sanders. Damn you, Sanders. Damn you for bearing tit-covering logos on your shirts.
I need a beer. No, I need two.
"Don't you kill my Minerva," the Fennec croons as she slides her sacrifice to Satan onto my plate. The salad beside it snickers and winks at me as if to say We look more tasty, don't we?
I do not want to kill her stupid character. I only want my prime rib to be edible. Breathe, damn you! But this is futile. It will never moo again.
The murderess returns. "Okay, I'm done cooking. I'll be back later. Need anything from the store?"
Cooking? Is that what you call it? The fuck, Fennec? I'm waiting for the leather to cool so I can smack it with a hammer and pour the ash into my beer. A man needs his steak in one form or another. Come Fennec. Look at my ash-beer. Smoke curls from it. I can taste Cthulhu with my eyes. Go away, Fennec. Go away.
And off she went to see her new baby cousin.
I do not know what to write for Minerva. In my famished state, I neglected to ask What comes next for your pilot and the high altitude. I'm stalled. Two hours have passed. Nothing.
So it may turn into a collab for Delta and Tango, if players don't mind?
Will post reply to Pony and Giovenith shorly. Need to hunt down Agy to wrap up that story as well.
by Tiltjuice » Sun Jun 12, 2016 7:32 pm
Cerillium wrote:My mission post is delayedThe Fennec is busy. Busy, busy Fennec. She thinks she can grill. The Fennec is abusing beef. You think I jest? No. No, dear PL family, I do not.
The thing with Fennecs is that they have runty forelegs. How they scratch their own butts is beyond me. And Fennecs have tits. They cover their tits with new teeshirts bearing Sanders logos. Rather than take the shirt off and put on something suitable, this Fennec insists on putting all the meat at the very front of the grill in order to keep her tits from burning while she uses her runty arms to flip things. Flip, Fennec, flip with those runty, runty arms.
The Fennec doesn't understand why the front of the grill doesn't grill as good as the back of the grill. She compensates by turning the flame all the way up to high. The grill takes on a fresh glow. The International Space Stations reports odd flickering coming from our state.
Burn, Fennec, burn the meat with your stunted grill knowledge and vorpal flame. Flip and burn, and burn and flip. That's prime rib. Glorious prime rib, O! I lament your sizzling cries as the juice evaporates from you. Woe, is me, woe, that I should eat shoe leather thanks to Fennecs and Sanders. Damn you, Sanders. Damn you for bearing tit-covering logos on your shirts.
I need a beer. No, I need two.
"Don't you kill my Minerva," the Fennec croons as she slides her sacrifice to Satan onto my plate. The salad beside it snickers and winks at me as if to say We look more tasty, don't we?
I do not want to kill her stupid character. I only want my prime rib to be edible. Breathe, damn you! But this is futile. It will never moo again.
The murderess returns. "Okay, I'm done cooking. I'll be back later. Need anything from the store?"
Cooking? Is that what you call it? The fuck, Fennec? I'm waiting for the leather to cool so I can smack it with a hammer and pour the ash into my beer. A man needs his steak in one form or another. Come Fennec. Look at my ash-beer. Smoke curls from it. I can taste Cthulhu with my eyes. Go away, Fennec. Go away.
And off she went to see her new baby cousin.
I do not know what to write for Minerva. In my famished state, I neglected to ask What comes next for your pilot and the high altitude. I'm stalled. Two hours have passed. Nothing.
So it may turn into a collab for Delta and Tango, if players don't mind?
Will post reply to Pony and Giovenith shorly. Need to hunt down Agy to wrap up that story as well.
by Altito Asmoro » Sun Jun 12, 2016 7:33 pm
Cerillium wrote:My mission post is delayedThe Fennec is busy. Busy, busy Fennec. She thinks she can grill. The Fennec is abusing beef. You think I jest? No. No, dear PL family, I do not.
The thing with Fennecs is that they have runty forelegs. How they scratch their own butts is beyond me. And Fennecs have tits. They cover their tits with new teeshirts bearing Sanders logos. Rather than take the shirt off and put on something suitable, this Fennec insists on putting all the meat at the very front of the grill in order to keep her tits from burning while she uses her runty arms to flip things. Flip, Fennec, flip with those runty, runty arms.
The Fennec doesn't understand why the front of the grill doesn't grill as good as the back of the grill. She compensates by turning the flame all the way up to high. The grill takes on a fresh glow. The International Space Stations reports odd flickering coming from our state.
Burn, Fennec, burn the meat with your stunted grill knowledge and vorpal flame. Flip and burn, and burn and flip. That's prime rib. Glorious prime rib, O! I lament your sizzling cries as the juice evaporates from you. Woe, is me, woe, that I should eat shoe leather thanks to Fennecs and Sanders. Damn you, Sanders. Damn you for bearing tit-covering logos on your shirts.
I need a beer. No, I need two.
"Don't you kill my Minerva," the Fennec croons as she slides her sacrifice to Satan onto my plate. The salad beside it snickers and winks at me as if to say We look more tasty, don't we?
I do not want to kill her stupid character. I only want my prime rib to be edible. Breathe, damn you! But this is futile. It will never moo again.
The murderess returns. "Okay, I'm done cooking. I'll be back later. Need anything from the store?"
Cooking? Is that what you call it? The fuck, Fennec? I'm waiting for the leather to cool so I can smack it with a hammer and pour the ash into my beer. A man needs his steak in one form or another. Come Fennec. Look at my ash-beer. Smoke curls from it. I can taste Cthulhu with my eyes. Go away, Fennec. Go away.
And off she went to see her new baby cousin.
I do not know what to write for Minerva. In my famished state, I neglected to ask What comes next for your pilot and the high altitude. I'm stalled. Two hours have passed. Nothing.
So it may turn into a collab for Delta and Tango, if players don't mind?
Will post reply to Pony and Giovenith shorly. Need to hunt down Agy to wrap up that story as well.
by Torsiedelle » Mon Jun 13, 2016 4:33 pm
by Ganonsyoni » Mon Jun 13, 2016 5:49 pm
by Fvaarniimar » Tue Jun 14, 2016 1:40 pm
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