it's battle fatigue.... and secret lsd testing....right that's it...

... what crazy? I'm an architectural consultant.

I will try to get this started tomorrow after work.. I have most of the info that i need from your characters.. anything else is just small stuff that we can work out later..
Looking over everyone, this looks to be a good group.. We start tomorrow.. Be ready to reply.

Mike Out.

Im a guy who thinks ducks are watching him whats crazy about that?

Do you know how many satellites the government has in space?
No. How many?
Twenty-three. Do you know how many biblical artifacts the government is keeping at the Pentagon?
No.
Twenty-three. Don't you see a pattern here?

oops, just realised I forgot to put a name on my character

so then, my character will be called Fred Cooper

KaymeeraUnleashed";p="563587 wrote:

Do you know how many satellites the government has in space?
No. How many?
Twenty-three. Do you know how many biblical artifacts the government is keeping at the Pentagon?
No.
Twenty-three. Don't you see a pattern here?

"Yeah. Someone's read Illuminatus! too many times."

The thread is up and running and can be found here: http://www.reallifeforums.com/viewtopic.php?t=19486

I am goign to do my best to update every other day.. assuming you all respond that fast..

I'm sorry I'm late! I'm ready now.

Name: Erin Skye
Age: Collegey
Height: Shorter than you
Appearance: Skinny with reddish brown hair pulled into pigtails on the corners of her head. She wears a form-fitting white t-shirt, a blue vest, some loose jeans, and clomps around in beat up, heavy boots. A small camera bag hangs on her right side.
Background: Despite her love of photography, Erin’s not very good at it. She’s the head (and only) photographer at her school’s newspaper just because no one else wanted it. No, she’s not a photography major. No, she’s not a journalism major. Erin is a marketing major. And she hates it. But you wouldn’t know it by talking to her, because she doesn’t say much. As her (few) friends will tell you, Erin likes to keep to herself. Something else they’ll also tell you is that she’s fiercely loyal to them. She keeps things bottled up all the time, even if they’re positive so she comes across as emotionless. This can tend to cause dramatic outbursts where, through the tears and yelling, Erin seems to hold herself a different way, hinting at the idea that she has potential to be a real person. Also, she smokes because she thinks it makes her look cool.

Name: Richard Roberts, a.k.a. "Strebor" to his freinds
Age: 19
Height: about 6'3"
Weight: 192 lbs
Appearance: A complete poser goth, he has fake, porcelin vampire fangs, a black trench coat, black shirt, black pants, black shoes, black lipstick, black nails, pale skin. Around his neck is a pentagram with the star pointing up. Hair is short, dyed black (real color is blond) and spiked. Large, black boots with
Background: Once a jock, he showed up at home one day in his new wardrobe. He was kicked off the football team after dyeing the entire team;s uniforms black, as well as painting the helmets, which happened to be the opposing team's colors for the game that night. He's in the middle of repeating his senior year, and hangs out with a group of people who tell people they are vampires, although most of them would faint at the site of blood, and are vegan. He wears the pendant thinking it means hell, not realiseing it's upside down. His parents are very rich, his father an optical surgeon, his mother a famous circus clown (she regrets teaching him to paint his face white).
Possessions: Walet with major credit cards, $100 cash, mace, and adhesive for the fangs. He also has a book of crappy poetry in his pocket.

Too late to toss in one more? I'll be good.

Welcome Eric.. Feel free to post your character, or run a concept by me tomorrow at work..

Haven't any of you ever BEEN in a Denny's? It's old crabby bastards as far as the eye can see. As such:

Eric "Quiet" Steppe

Age: 49

Official Education: 9 years in the armed forces, Special Ops, circa 1970s. Bachelor Degrees in Psychology, Philosophy and English, from the University of Colorado (Amazing what the military will pay for). Lessons that only having an ex-wife can bestow on a man.

Background: A local to the city, he's lived there since his divorce several years ago, back down in Texas. Supposedly a fresh start in a new city, it's mostly turned into another place to reflect on the past. Self-employed as a writer of various minor books, he's kept mostly to himself since his arrival. Occasionally he'll break out of his shell and hang out at the local bars, swapping war stories and showing off scars from this war or that with the other veterans he happens to run across. At present, he's waiting on a call from his editor about a new novel he's recently written, as to whether it will finally lever him out of mediocrity, or be rejected once again.

Description: A tall, lean fellow, about one-seventy, with a grin typically plastered on his face. Short black hair, just beginning to sprinkle itself with grey. The wrinkles around his eyes don't take away from the amused twinkle within them.

He's an outgoing sort of man, always willing to make a sly comment whether it's his conversation or not. Whether the comment is appreciated or not, he tends to grow on people after awhile. His humor is amusing with a dash of cynicism thrown in, but that's likely just from his outlook on life. He's seen alot in his day, and it's more than enough to flavor his perceptions on people, life, and so forth.

He's managed to keep a fair bit of his physique from the old days when he dodged incoming fire for a living, and is decent shape for his age. Given the option, he'd really rather joke a fight away, then start swinging. He's quicker than he looks, for an 'old guy', however. He didn't get those vaunted scars from body-boarding, after all.

He typically strolls around in casual attire, jeans and a t-shirt, and a light, dark blue jacket to keep off a bit of the chill. He refuses to wear 'old man shoes' as yet, and sticks to comfortable sneakers. A mild ache in his right leg (when the barometer drops like a stone) makes the cane he carries around with him necessary once in awhile, though he carries it as often as he leans on it, it seems. Still under the impression he's not getting old, apparantly, that one.

Possessions: An old school veteran gone soft, he hasn't forgotten quite everything they taught him. He carries around a pocketknife, his father's, which carries the common trait of every old knife: It never, ever seems to get dull. Along with that, his cane is hardly a wooden dowl. The pommel is a crafted, ornate image of the Eye of Horus in polished bronze.

His wallet contains a few twenties, and always a few ones for tips. Like most older folks, he's collected more keys than he really knows what to do with, and they make a noteworthy weight in his jacket pocket.

The other pocket holds his cloves, a bad habit he never really shook, but he's still as healthy as most. He was smoking them before they were cool, practically. A steel-plated zippo practically as old as he is accompanies the cigarettes, along with his reading glasses case. Don't worry, folks, he can see just fine. Clipped to his belt, leading into his jeans pocket, an antique pocketwatch, with a pouncing raven carved on the facing in silver. A small picture of his ex-wife is clipped inside the watch, which stopped running ages ago.

He owns a small apartment on the west end of town, and has a few thousand in his bank account, the rest tied up in stocks per the advice of his editor. Never know when you'll strike it big on the market.

Posted Mon Dec 05, 2005 1:39 am:

Yeah, I've been reading the previous thread. All I can say is it's summed up here:

Making his way towards the food court, Peter looks down at his shotgun, checking to make sure that it is loaded, and pops another 4 rounds in. As he cocks it, he hears a large crash from in front of him, if he were to look back over his shoulder he would find out that he is all alone.

Peter looks back over his shoulder, and finds out that he is all alone.

"Shit."

Late but never unwanted

Name: Hal Jordan
Age: 22
Height: 5'11"
Weight: 172
Eyes: Black
Hair: Black w/ a white streak on the right side
Appearance: He wears regular cut blue jeans that fit comfortable (thou some girl say they are a little tight) and a Black button Long sleeve shirt with a black undershirt. Covering up his halfway pulled back hair is a black wool cowboy hat. And around his waist is a bike lock chain he uses as a belt.

Background: During high school he kept to the background so no one could notice him. It was not that hard since he breezed through classes and he never did anything school related. He would even find a place to hide during school assemblies. But as the last year of school came around he did not know what he was going to do. The counselors constantly bugged him while he did nothing. Finally after graduating with honors, which he only got by the skin of his teeth, he had nowhere to go. Without any idea of what to do, he ended up enlisting in the military. Just like school he went unnoticed by the others and even by the drill instructors. As the final week of basic training was about to end, he had a heart attack. After a few weeks rest he was fine but the army had to discharge him. Now he is just floating around looking for jobs just to live.

Possessions: Bike Lock chain, pocketknife, backpack, a checked out copy of ‘The Zombie Survival Guide', 40 dollars.

No green lantern ring?