Post by Archangel on Jul 15, 2007 17:52:48 GMT -6
OOC: Ok guys, this was supposed to be a little private RP between Mickenzy and myself. We were going to run it through PMs on our other site, just to practice and get back into the hang of roleplaying. But, since we're both here, and we can write just as well here as in private, we see no problem with posting this here and letting others read it! You can join if you want, it's not a very strict RP, but just...try to run it neatly, ok? Thanks!
The Greatest Vacation Destination in the Universe! Come Visit the Most Beautiful Pleasure Planet of All Time! Be the First to Visit Paradise!
[glow=red,2,300]SHANGRI-LA[/glow]
The advertisements were everywhere. They were plastered in hyperfilm all over the sides of buildings. Giant hoverbillboards proclaiming the newest vacation spot for the rich and famous crowded the air-lanes. And every channel on 3DTV had at least three beautiful vids proclaiming the wonders of Shangri-La. And yet, had he ever really SEEN pictures of the place? It wasn't likely. Everything they ever showed were stock photos of places like Old Bermuda, and the pleasure planet Mars-5. It was all so silly.
And then, the contest was announced.
Three winners, it said. Three lucky grand prize winners...blah blah blah....trip of their lives...blah blah blah.... Shangri-La. Those last words caught almost everyone's attention. Quickly rewinding, a hundred thousand people watched the ad again, and listened carefully. "All you need to do to win the grand prize is play!" Play what, they all asked? "Play what? Why, the Galactic Lottery, of course!" A collective sigh was heaved over the entire world.
The Lottery tickets were instantly the most precious commodity on the planet.
And yet...the Lottery is never predictable. As it turned out, while one out of every hundred residents of New Amsterdam City bought at least 25 tickets, and some as many as 1000 in one week, there were still people who dropped by after work and bought a ticket every Friday.
At least, that's what Crash Miller did.
******
Name: "Crash" Miller
Age: 25 and 3/5
Sex: Male
Race and/or Nationality: Crash is a Brawn, born on the planet Artemis-7, but currently he lives on Terra, in New Amsterdam City.
Appearance: Crash, being a Brawn, is exactly as you might guess. Brawny. He's a big guy, REALLY big, but a lot of his muscles have gone to fat from disuse. Standing maybe 6'5", with a chest of 58 and a waist size of at least 52, he bulks over normal Terrans. His eyes are the distinctive blue striped with dark brown, the stripes running like spokes in the wheel of his iris, and he has a peachfuzz covering of dark brown hair on his head and his face, the common "scraggly" hair of a Brawn. Big hands, broad shoulders, and a lot of hair on his arms, with slightly less on the rest of his body, basically describes him. He always wears his synthdenim overalls, working as he does for a mining company in the Deep Underground below NAC, and a dark stained shirt underneath, which might at one time have been white. Oh, and of course steel-toe boots.
Special abilities and skills: Brawns are experiments into genetic hormonal changes. Basically, all Brawns are male, born on Artemis-7 in the incubator labs of Umbrella Corp. (Hehehe, it's a good name. *shrugs*) They have been treated as zygotes with a special genetic mutation that radically increases testosterone levels in the body, along with other male hormones. While large doses of testosterone in adult males, in the form of steroids, results in enhanced strength and muscle mass but many horrible side-effects, the gigantic naturally-occuring levels in a Brawn cause different effects. Basically, when a Brawn is born (usually after 16 months of gestation), he is incredibly, unnaturally strong. He looks like I have described, huge and muscled, and his strength is at least 5 times that of a normal human. Plus, these enhanced men have incredible determination, drive, and...lust. Also, for some strange reason that has to do with the release of the Magic Realm, all Brawns have a strange affinity to the stone. While stone is not "alive", per se, they do speak to it, and it speaks back. Depending upon the level of the affinity, Crash's being quite advanced, a Brawn can even cause minor stone movements, such as rockslides, sinkholes, and other things. Crash is everything a high-powered Brawn can be.
Weapons and/or items: He carries with him his sonic hammer. This device emits sonic pulses along with the initial physical contact to enhance the "punch" of the tool. For such a small tool (even though it is larger than a normal hammer, it is nowhere near the size of a sledgehammer), it packs an amazing punch, even able to smash ferrocrete.
Area of Specialty: Mining and moving the rocks.
******
The ship was luxurious. It was, in fact, the single most impressive ship Crash had ever been on. In a way, it was something he never would have even been within 20 feet of, normally. However, his luck had turned.
Who knew buying a Lottery ticket could be so profitable?
He sat at the bar in one of the three nightclubs on the space yacht, even though it wasn't night yet, and downed strong drinks by the pint. It was the atmosphere that got him the most. All those rich snobs, all those socialites, all those actors and musicians. All the "beautiful people". And here he was, one huge Brawn, shoved into the middle by a stroke of luck, not "beautiful" at all. Unless you LIKED the completely manly, rocky, pockmarked visage covered in peachfuzzy hair that hung over the big, fat body that smelled strongly of sweat and sex (he couldn't help it. It was his hormones). Not many of the pretty little anorexics here liked that kind of thing. Plus....there was no way they'd mingle with someone so poor.
Being lonely wasn't all that unusual for the Brawn.
He sipped his quadruple whiskey and sighed, hoping that this trip wouldn't be too long.
He couldn't wait to see Shangri-La.
****************************************************
Name: Denise Cassar
Age: 23
Sex: Female
Race and/or Nationality: Cindarian, but has been staying on Terra researching records in the New Amsterdam City Archives.
Appearance: Cindarians look very much like Terrans but for their silver hair and slightly slower aging process. Denise has grey-green eyes and dresses in the typical earthy tones commonly found on her home world; deep burgundy khaki pants, matching scoop neck t-shirt, and a dark olive green coat that looks to be more of a cloak only with sleeves and a collar. This particular Cindarian wears her long hair back in a ponytail with a light layer of bangs wisping over her forehead. Her gold-rimmed and round-lens glasses lend her a bookish appearance, but the other accessories of her outfit seem to be at odds with that; charcoal black combat boots, rough-and-tumble holster strapped around one thigh, and a wide matching belt. Slim and standing no taller than 5’7”, she looks almost like a librarian who’s trying to look tough.
Special abilities and skills: Denise is a pretty good markswoman, and somewhat acrobatic though it’s not like she goes about turning cartwheels every few seconds. She’s good at long-distance running and can hold her breath for a considerable amount of time. Also, she possesses a “spark” ability that she generally keeps secret because it can be used to open locks, even non-computerized ones.
Weapons and/or items: The coat she wears actually contains a device within its weave that can grant the wearer camouflage; it doesn’t work when it’s wet, however, and would it would need to dry out before it could be used again. The gun she carries is a semi-automatic that can fire 12 rounds before needing to be reloaded.
Area of specialty: Research… legitimate or otherwise.
*******************
It had been a complete fluke... a joke even. Denise sighed as she sat at a remote table in the lounge. Of course, the place was crowded enough that she couldn't have the table to herself, forcing her to sit with a couple that couldn't seem to keep their hands off each other. Wrinkling her nose a little and eyeing them with disapproval, she sipped her drink and made a mental note to give her friend a smack upside the head when she returned from Shangri-La.
It had been her friend's idea to purchase tickets for the Lottery, and she'd given one to Denise along with a grin and the perky remark that you couldn't win without one. Denise hadn't particularly wanted to win; she had been busy researching the files of a relative that had gone to New Amsterdam, purchased some real estate, and then seemingly vanished. She'd taken it upon herself to put the family at ease and try to figure out if their loved one was deceased or simply cutting ties. Instead she was on a packed luxury ship, martini in hand, and headed for some new-fangled resort planet. She didn't think her family would consider it time well spent.
With another disgusted look at the couple sitting across from her, she finally got up from the table and began pushing her way through the inebriated crowd toward the bar. Maybe there'd be an empty seat there and she could just stare at the contents of the bar instead of watching the rich make out two feet away from her. She'd have stayed in her cabin, but that would've been boring. She'd also already tried the other two lounges onboard, but they were just as crowded and the music was less tolerable, so this was it.
As she slipped through the mass of people, she earned some snobbish looks, her clothes most likely considered not nearly dressy enough for being there. Too bad for them. Denise neared the bar and kept having to stand on tiptoe to see if she could spot an open seat. She was skeptical she'd find one, but searching for a new place to sit was better than what she had been doing a moment earlier.
After nearly spilling her drink on a posh woman who was dancing as if she were part ostrich, Denise made it into the sort of no-man's-land space that always seemed to be between the bar and dancefloor. There were no seats immediately free in front of her when she broke free of the crowd, but there was still some length of the bar to check out, so she set off to her right wondering if she'd be lucky enough that maybe some drunkard had fallen off his stool.
The Greatest Vacation Destination in the Universe! Come Visit the Most Beautiful Pleasure Planet of All Time! Be the First to Visit Paradise!
[glow=red,2,300]SHANGRI-LA[/glow]
The advertisements were everywhere. They were plastered in hyperfilm all over the sides of buildings. Giant hoverbillboards proclaiming the newest vacation spot for the rich and famous crowded the air-lanes. And every channel on 3DTV had at least three beautiful vids proclaiming the wonders of Shangri-La. And yet, had he ever really SEEN pictures of the place? It wasn't likely. Everything they ever showed were stock photos of places like Old Bermuda, and the pleasure planet Mars-5. It was all so silly.
And then, the contest was announced.
Three winners, it said. Three lucky grand prize winners...blah blah blah....trip of their lives...blah blah blah.... Shangri-La. Those last words caught almost everyone's attention. Quickly rewinding, a hundred thousand people watched the ad again, and listened carefully. "All you need to do to win the grand prize is play!" Play what, they all asked? "Play what? Why, the Galactic Lottery, of course!" A collective sigh was heaved over the entire world.
The Lottery tickets were instantly the most precious commodity on the planet.
And yet...the Lottery is never predictable. As it turned out, while one out of every hundred residents of New Amsterdam City bought at least 25 tickets, and some as many as 1000 in one week, there were still people who dropped by after work and bought a ticket every Friday.
At least, that's what Crash Miller did.
******
Name: "Crash" Miller
Age: 25 and 3/5
Sex: Male
Race and/or Nationality: Crash is a Brawn, born on the planet Artemis-7, but currently he lives on Terra, in New Amsterdam City.
Appearance: Crash, being a Brawn, is exactly as you might guess. Brawny. He's a big guy, REALLY big, but a lot of his muscles have gone to fat from disuse. Standing maybe 6'5", with a chest of 58 and a waist size of at least 52, he bulks over normal Terrans. His eyes are the distinctive blue striped with dark brown, the stripes running like spokes in the wheel of his iris, and he has a peachfuzz covering of dark brown hair on his head and his face, the common "scraggly" hair of a Brawn. Big hands, broad shoulders, and a lot of hair on his arms, with slightly less on the rest of his body, basically describes him. He always wears his synthdenim overalls, working as he does for a mining company in the Deep Underground below NAC, and a dark stained shirt underneath, which might at one time have been white. Oh, and of course steel-toe boots.
Special abilities and skills: Brawns are experiments into genetic hormonal changes. Basically, all Brawns are male, born on Artemis-7 in the incubator labs of Umbrella Corp. (Hehehe, it's a good name. *shrugs*) They have been treated as zygotes with a special genetic mutation that radically increases testosterone levels in the body, along with other male hormones. While large doses of testosterone in adult males, in the form of steroids, results in enhanced strength and muscle mass but many horrible side-effects, the gigantic naturally-occuring levels in a Brawn cause different effects. Basically, when a Brawn is born (usually after 16 months of gestation), he is incredibly, unnaturally strong. He looks like I have described, huge and muscled, and his strength is at least 5 times that of a normal human. Plus, these enhanced men have incredible determination, drive, and...lust. Also, for some strange reason that has to do with the release of the Magic Realm, all Brawns have a strange affinity to the stone. While stone is not "alive", per se, they do speak to it, and it speaks back. Depending upon the level of the affinity, Crash's being quite advanced, a Brawn can even cause minor stone movements, such as rockslides, sinkholes, and other things. Crash is everything a high-powered Brawn can be.
Weapons and/or items: He carries with him his sonic hammer. This device emits sonic pulses along with the initial physical contact to enhance the "punch" of the tool. For such a small tool (even though it is larger than a normal hammer, it is nowhere near the size of a sledgehammer), it packs an amazing punch, even able to smash ferrocrete.
Area of Specialty: Mining and moving the rocks.
******
The ship was luxurious. It was, in fact, the single most impressive ship Crash had ever been on. In a way, it was something he never would have even been within 20 feet of, normally. However, his luck had turned.
Who knew buying a Lottery ticket could be so profitable?
He sat at the bar in one of the three nightclubs on the space yacht, even though it wasn't night yet, and downed strong drinks by the pint. It was the atmosphere that got him the most. All those rich snobs, all those socialites, all those actors and musicians. All the "beautiful people". And here he was, one huge Brawn, shoved into the middle by a stroke of luck, not "beautiful" at all. Unless you LIKED the completely manly, rocky, pockmarked visage covered in peachfuzzy hair that hung over the big, fat body that smelled strongly of sweat and sex (he couldn't help it. It was his hormones). Not many of the pretty little anorexics here liked that kind of thing. Plus....there was no way they'd mingle with someone so poor.
Being lonely wasn't all that unusual for the Brawn.
He sipped his quadruple whiskey and sighed, hoping that this trip wouldn't be too long.
He couldn't wait to see Shangri-La.
****************************************************
Name: Denise Cassar
Age: 23
Sex: Female
Race and/or Nationality: Cindarian, but has been staying on Terra researching records in the New Amsterdam City Archives.
Appearance: Cindarians look very much like Terrans but for their silver hair and slightly slower aging process. Denise has grey-green eyes and dresses in the typical earthy tones commonly found on her home world; deep burgundy khaki pants, matching scoop neck t-shirt, and a dark olive green coat that looks to be more of a cloak only with sleeves and a collar. This particular Cindarian wears her long hair back in a ponytail with a light layer of bangs wisping over her forehead. Her gold-rimmed and round-lens glasses lend her a bookish appearance, but the other accessories of her outfit seem to be at odds with that; charcoal black combat boots, rough-and-tumble holster strapped around one thigh, and a wide matching belt. Slim and standing no taller than 5’7”, she looks almost like a librarian who’s trying to look tough.
Special abilities and skills: Denise is a pretty good markswoman, and somewhat acrobatic though it’s not like she goes about turning cartwheels every few seconds. She’s good at long-distance running and can hold her breath for a considerable amount of time. Also, she possesses a “spark” ability that she generally keeps secret because it can be used to open locks, even non-computerized ones.
Weapons and/or items: The coat she wears actually contains a device within its weave that can grant the wearer camouflage; it doesn’t work when it’s wet, however, and would it would need to dry out before it could be used again. The gun she carries is a semi-automatic that can fire 12 rounds before needing to be reloaded.
Area of specialty: Research… legitimate or otherwise.
*******************
It had been a complete fluke... a joke even. Denise sighed as she sat at a remote table in the lounge. Of course, the place was crowded enough that she couldn't have the table to herself, forcing her to sit with a couple that couldn't seem to keep their hands off each other. Wrinkling her nose a little and eyeing them with disapproval, she sipped her drink and made a mental note to give her friend a smack upside the head when she returned from Shangri-La.
It had been her friend's idea to purchase tickets for the Lottery, and she'd given one to Denise along with a grin and the perky remark that you couldn't win without one. Denise hadn't particularly wanted to win; she had been busy researching the files of a relative that had gone to New Amsterdam, purchased some real estate, and then seemingly vanished. She'd taken it upon herself to put the family at ease and try to figure out if their loved one was deceased or simply cutting ties. Instead she was on a packed luxury ship, martini in hand, and headed for some new-fangled resort planet. She didn't think her family would consider it time well spent.
With another disgusted look at the couple sitting across from her, she finally got up from the table and began pushing her way through the inebriated crowd toward the bar. Maybe there'd be an empty seat there and she could just stare at the contents of the bar instead of watching the rich make out two feet away from her. She'd have stayed in her cabin, but that would've been boring. She'd also already tried the other two lounges onboard, but they were just as crowded and the music was less tolerable, so this was it.
As she slipped through the mass of people, she earned some snobbish looks, her clothes most likely considered not nearly dressy enough for being there. Too bad for them. Denise neared the bar and kept having to stand on tiptoe to see if she could spot an open seat. She was skeptical she'd find one, but searching for a new place to sit was better than what she had been doing a moment earlier.
After nearly spilling her drink on a posh woman who was dancing as if she were part ostrich, Denise made it into the sort of no-man's-land space that always seemed to be between the bar and dancefloor. There were no seats immediately free in front of her when she broke free of the crowd, but there was still some length of the bar to check out, so she set off to her right wondering if she'd be lucky enough that maybe some drunkard had fallen off his stool.