The role play thread was fun but I think it needs some simple rules:

1. NPC characters are off limits: You can write actions for them but can't make them your own.

2. The space is neutral: no one's character has ownership, we're all guests.

3. No killing another person's character.

4. No world changing: The world as it's written is fixed, and changes to the scene have to follow from the last writer. No undoing events.

5. All author characters need to be from your comic and have a picture.

6. A limit of two characters each.



Does that seem fair?

The setting is a late night cafe.
The cafe staff and owners are NPCs

Ace Kinkaid is quietly sipping a cup of coffee, sitting by himself, watching the shadowed world outside.

ozoneocean wrote:
The role play thread was fun but I think it needs some simple rules:

1. NPC characters are off limits: You can write actions for them but can't make them your own.

2. The space is neutral: no one's character has ownership, we're all guests.

3. No killing another person's character.

4. No world changing: The world as it's written is fixed, and changes to the scene have to follow from the last writer. No undoing events.

5. All author characters need to be from your comic and have a picture.

6. A limit of two characters each.



Does that seem fair?

Can I help it if my character Belinda Brandon really does own a bar? ;) That I really do have an Al Lewis figure who is the police chief? Muldoon is actually a Victor McLaughlin figure though. But making it all neutral is better.

Two women came in toting shopping bags wearing nice suits, hats and carefully coiffed hair. One sat, took off her pump and rubbed her foot. The other stood by carefully adjusting her make-up with her compact.
“Searsha, I love this shopping, the clothes the just frilly and fancy everything but these shoes.”
“Larya, it's as far as you can get from home. Who'd ever think I'd like coloring my lips but this lip-stick, waterproof and it tastes good!”



(Needless to say they are not dressed as in the picture but in clothing appropriate for the time period of the original painting circa 1942)

Valentine reads the paper and sips his coffee. The atmosphere is nice here, and there is some eye candy. A little older than his type (granted, probably a decade or two younger than himself). He sees nothing in the paper about himself. Sure, it was a slight blow to the ego, but he picked the right place to lie low.

He calls a waitress over. “Hey, cutie. Could I get a refill of coffee?” He refrains from a butt pat. Not the right setting. He can hit one of those wings places later.

He hopes this isn't one of those places where cops hang out. Maybe he was far enough away to not be recognized. Things do tend to get forgotten and cool down quickly. Crazy modern world where tragedies and disasters upstage each other on a weekly basis. How convenient.



(Valentine is a fairly tall and muscular man in his late 40's. His curly crimson hair and a long facial scar are his most striking features.)

That night, Samantha was incredibly tired after her match against an opponent of hers, an MMA Heavyweight Champion, “The Exterminator”. It was an underground fight, practically illegal, but she didn't care.

She yawned and stretched her arms, “That was fun!” she said in a thick Guyanese accent.

Suddenly by the window of the diner, she saw a young man drinking his coffee, and other colorful band of characters. Tired and hungry she walked inside of the cafe.

She walked inside and sat down next to the blonde adventurer.

She yawned again as she waited on the Waitress to take her order.

Suddenly her stomach growled, “Oh Jeez! You're gonna get food! Sheesh!” She playfully elbowed the young man to her left, “Body parts, amirite?”




(Samantha Bridges is a 17 year old curvaceous girl like the picture above)
_______________________________________________________

Ace stretched, yoawns and take a sip off his coffee.
'A lot of action in here tonight' he thinks to himself.

He looks over appreciatively at the pretty girl sitting next to him.
“What brings you out here this late dahlin'?”

Valentine makes a call on the cheap little flip phone. “Hey. It's me. I drove all night but I found a place. Motel is booked up. I'll get a room after someone checks out. Is the heat still on?” He gazes across the room at the teenager. Nice legs on that one. “He can't still be mad about – What was I supposed to do? Yeah yeah. I get it. Her family is influential. I'll find someone less connected next time.” …

“No. I'm in an all-night cafe.” … “The bars are closed. I'm not going to sleep in the car. I've been in that thing for hours.” … “Nah. it's a quiet place. Just a couple guys here and a fair handful of luscious–” … “Nah. No one like that. Pretty sure I can control myself for a while. Call this number when things cool down. If I toss this phone, I'll contact you with a new number.”

He hangs up and slips the phone into a pocket. The waitress brings him his coffee. “Thanks, Love,” he says. “You're a doll.” He looks at the TV in the corner. Crap. It's on the news. Not a good idea. Even if he wasn't in the paper, national media might rat him out on a slow news day. He can't hang his hopes on politicians saying stupid stuff or a mass shooting. “Could we change the channel? News is so depressing. Maybe you could find a sitcom or a game show?”

Not much on at this hour, but the waitress finds Mr. Ed. Fine, Valentine thinks. It's terrible, but it's fine. He pretends to watch, while fantasizing about other things.

“Waitress, two coffees with cream and two hamburgers deluxe, plenty of onions.” Larya said, "And we'll want mayonnaise with our chips, er- fries.“

The waitress eyed them a moment and snapped her gum. Their accents, ”Youse two from outta town?“

”Europe,“ Searsha offered with a slight smile. ”France and Holland“ She continued pointing to herself and then Larya.

”Can't help but stare, but I sees all kinds, really well dressed coming from Broadway and all, but you two right out of Cosmopolitan“ The waitress said.

”Far too curvy to be models, they all look like sticks or little children.“ Larya replied as her coffee arrived along with a creamer. Searsha sipped her own coffee. She loved the cream frothing ever so slightly on the top. She wondered where she could get fresh milk in this day and age. Probably have to go out to a farm. The tastes these people don't know they're missing. Instead it's always sugar.

”Especially me.“ Larya laughed. She was very busty and kept looking down hoping she wasn't showing too much cleavage.

Searsha poked her and switched to French, ”Not a worry your tit will not fall out. Not that the guys in here would take notice.“

”Yeah, as vultures circling on that girl.“

”Predators and prey. It is harmless. We be just overly sensitive to it. We are here to relax and enjoy. Isn't that so? Our swords and spells are at home, we go into battle armed with our credit card! Vive le American Express Gold!“

”Clubs close far too early.“ Larya sighed. ”I be not ready to go back to the hotel."

(Re-written to make their French dialogue sound archaic.)

Samantha turned to the young adventurer. She had a sunny, innocent smile on her face, “Just got back from a competitive fighting ring after stealing the title of Heavyweight! It's no big deal though! However, I would be lying that the Exterminator wasn't a challenge…NOT! Haha!” she said, “So what about you? You seem like a busy fellow! Are you a hero?”

________________________________________________________

Valentine overhears the conversation. Europe, huh? He's been meaning to visit again sometime. He went once when he was younger. That explained some of the oddness of these women. He tried to stay informed on subcultures. Swords and spells were decidedly geeky, but they didn't look like LARPers. Wiccans didn't do much with swords. European might explain it.

Could explain the completely inappropriate necklines too. Then again, American women were no better. What had they said? Predators and prey? With girls who bared all for everyone, they were clearly the predators luring the prey. He prefers finding his company at campus libraries, lectures, foreign film festivals. There he can be the hunter, and he knows how to charm. Quiet girls, ones who don't hear flattery often, were so much more interesting – and easier to control.

This place is safer for him for now. Those college girls had an effect on him. That high schooler – or middle schooler? had set him back a bit. Better to stay in the dark places. Better to watch the predators try to snag him. It could be amusing, playing hard-to-get with whores. Would it make any difference if they knew who he was? Maybe. Maybe not.

He probably should just stay quiet, but he can't help engaging a little. “Aren't you cold?” he asks Larya.

“Pardon? It is June, is it not?” Larya fluttered her eyelashes in feigned disbelief.

Larya looked down at her sleek Dior double breasted suit. The neckline was between her breasts and being well endowed, no matter how she tried there was always cleavage. They just didn't quite tailor suits for women built like her. She had had to have it taken in but no matter what foundation undergarment she wore it was always OKAY TITS, UP YOU GO! There was at least a hint of frills and lace from her chemise.

She pulled up her chemise as delicately as she could.

"Ton décolleté mon amour {Your neckline my love}" Searsha said before taking a healthy bite of her hamburger.

Je sais ce qu'il a dit! Je m'amuse.{I know what he said, I am having fun!} Larya hissed at Searsha under her breath.

(My apologies to any French speakers out there; I'm using Google translate as my French is nonexistent.)

(Please note Searsha and Larya are NOT wearing what is in their picture, instead dressed in designer suits and very expensive accessories. So they don't look like ordinary street walkers but high priced “escorts” ;)

“Same on every continent,” Valentine mumbles and drinks his coffee.

He can't wait to get a hotel room. Too bad the fancy hotels don't take cash. He could use a massage. A proper massage, not one at an establishment between a tattoo parlor and a pawn shop.

“You are over-generalizing.” Searsha said dabbing her mouth with a napkin. "And why you assume us to be putain? Can't a well dressed woman be out at this late hour without being accused of making her money on her back?“ She looked at him harshly and swallowed heard. Larya grabbed her elbow, mouthing a silent ”no“.

Searsha continued, ”Some of us did, and we worked very hard so we no longer had to sir. We resent those who assume we still do merely because of what clothing we choose. I am sorry but I must have left my wimple back in the dressing room.“ She shook her head, ”No sir, I cannot read minds, but I have seen that look enough times to know the thinking behind it nas pas?“

Larya rubbed Searsha on the back and leaned close and said in a stage whisper, ”Let us finish here, settle the bill, go back to the hotel and I will give you a nice massage."

She even said it in English to make sure the man understood every word.

“I never suggested anything of the sort. Not that I care if you are working girls. That's not my business. Hell, I know CEOs that dress like that. Not sure why, but flaunt what you want.”

He looks at his paper. Not sure why they would think he thought that. This wasn't even the right neighborhood. He'd been to enough cities to know where the seedy places were, and as a rule, avoid them. His freelance deals in alleys are a distant memory. His boss sets up jobs. And he doesn't have to pay for company (well, not directly; a nice dinner and good theater seats go a long way). He wouldn't be caught in a nasty den of sin.

Foreigners probably don't understand the language. Whatever. Half the women he sees dress like that. It was a sign of the times more than anything. Skin everywhere, no mystery left in the world. Valentine is disgusted that they'd associate him with such filth, but he holds his tongue.

He then adds, "Enjoy your visit. I hope all your encounters are more pleasant than me. Après la pluie, le beau temps."

He wants to go home to his condo in his city and away from the vulgar-minded public. But for now, it's cash only in a place where his face isn't posted and name is unknown.


(Btw, Val's inner voice for women is to call them all whore, slut, etc. Not literal. And yes, he is a self-centered hypocrite.)

usedbooks wrote:


(Btw, Val's inner voice for women is to call them all whore, slut, etc. Not literal. And yes, he is a self-centered hypocrite.)

(their mind reading picked up those surface impressions. To me seemed like we were in perfect sync.)

Searsha stood and nodded. “No harm done.” She had grease on her glove. Throughout she had never removed the fine glove over her left hand. She glanced up and proceeded to the toilet.

“My friend has had a hard life. She looks for the better weather but it is so hard to find, let alone keep.” Larya picked up her hamburger and opened wide. Real beef. And was that a touch of some spice? Food could be so bland when your only spice was salt. She added a touch of mustard to the burger and took another bite.

“Wil-il-ilbur” Larya glanced up at the TV and laughed. Must be a vintage TV show, they hadn't aimed for the 1960s and the man had a cell phone. The chips, french fries were nice and crisp but the mayonnaise was salty and sweet. Fresh eggs and not so much sugar!

Searsha made doubly certain to close and lock the door behind her. She took the glove off and it lost all form as the hand disappeared. She shook out the glove, said a brief incantation in her native tongue and it was fresh and clean again. She put it back on and once more there was a left hand. She would not allow herself such vanity except when she traveled. It reminded her of stuff. Like her childhood as a courtesan and losing her hand for thievery and so many battles still yet to be fought. But while here she was not the clawed sorceress but a normal woman with two hands. But her past sometimes wouldn't let her go.

It was an easy enough spell to maintain but she did it so rarely it was quite a luxury after so many years one-handed. She was about to take out a cigarette when she spotted the no-smoking sign. Another cup of coffee and she'd take Larya up on that offer of a massage.

bravo1102 wrote:

usedbooks wrote:


(Btw, Val's inner voice for women is to call them all whore, slut, etc. Not literal. And yes, he is a self-centered hypocrite.)

(their mind reading picked up those surface impressions. To me seemed like we were in perfect sync.)

(Copy. I was unaware of the mind-reading, as is Valentine. So it is a quite accurate exchange. Such ability would be very inconvenient for him to be on the receiving end. XD )

“So you're a fighter then?” Ace asks the girl sitting next to him. “Yeah, ah'm a hero. I'd say that fits me pretty damn well, through and through! Wanna see sumthin'?”

Ace pulls out a big Colt Walker from a side holster.



“Would you lookit that! Ain't she a beaut? Real antique. Unloaded O'course. Kicks like a mule! Biggest bandgun in the old west. She's ma new right hand. When you're off bein' an advernturin' hero, you need some mighty strong protection. This fits the bill nicely. Wanna hold it?”

He offers the unloaded gun handle first to Samantha.

Samantha was starry eyes at the gun. She held it and was lost in awe, “This is a real cowboy Colt! My grandpappy had something like these but he'll never let me have one!” she said with awe, “Whoa! This is so cool! You must have taken all bad guy's lies with this thing!”

Samantha regained her posture, “Yeah, I'mma fighter, I'm a martial artist, practiced Shaolin Kung Fu, White Lotus, Boxing, and Brazilian Jui Jitzu. No biggy.”

________________________________________________________

The waitress backed away from the counter. “Hey we don't want no trouble.”

Larya bit into another potato wedge. She'd given up on the mayonnaise. too sweet. “It is fine my dear with the proper permits. Even without so long as it is unloaded and he carries no means of loading. A Colt Walker is a black powder pistol requiring cap and ball. It would take a while for him to load under any circumstances.”

Searsha returned from the toilet and grabbed a fry. “Avoid that tomato sauce. All sugar and salt.”

“What, the ketchup? It's the good stuff Heinz!,” the waitress protested.

Searsha leaned close, "It is a great hamburger regardless and the fries are c'est magnifique. We have simpler tastes.“ She bit into an onion ring.

”Feeling better?“ Larya glanced from the Colt to Searsha sensitive for any sudden moves from either direction. Searsha nodded. ”Another round of coffee please."

Crap. Seeing the gun, Valentine remembers he left his Smith & Wesson in the truck. Such a long drive that it slipped his mind. He didn't care for guns, loud and impersonal, but if he gets recognized, he might need it. It was a compact model, easily concealed. He didn't get it to show off.

He calls the waitress over. “Hey, Sweetie. I left something in my car. I won't ask a stranger to trust me to return – which I will, so I want to settle my bill before I nip out to get it.”

“Ya, sure. Let me go fetch your bill, and – ”

“Not necessary. I had coffee, a ham sandwich, and a delightful server.” He hands her a $50 bill and flashes a puckish smile. “This should cover it with tip.”

She looks at it, then at him. “Sir, I think you made a mistake. This is a –”

“No mistake. Don't bother bussing my table. I'll be right back.”

He saunters outside and to his truck, where he finds the small handgun. Prepare for the worst. Hope for the best. He slips it into his waistband. Then he looks back at the cafe. He must've been really tired when he pulled in. Look at all those windows. That's not so good. He puts on a baseball cap and some costume glasses. Better.

He returns to the cafe. The waitress smiles at him.

Damn, I'm charming. He thinks. “Thanks for watching my seat, Love. Had to grab the old reading glasses. The paper is giving me eye strain.” He settles back into his seat and orders some tea and onion rings.

Samantha seeing the reaction of the patrons handed the gun back to Ace, “I want to know how you got this thing so I can get it!” she continued, “Have you been all over the world?”

The waitress finally reached to Samantha, after regaining her composure from the gun, “How might you have today, miss?”

Samantha pondered, “Oh it's not a lot: just 7 cases of eggs, 12 double bacon cheeseburgers with a hill of fries, 5 hashbrowns, 2 doughnuts, and a lovely cup of orange juice!” she said with a child-like voice, “That's all I'll be havin'!”
________________________________________________________

“Thanks.” Ace says as he accepted the big pistol back and slipped it away in a brown leather holster.

“That's a lotta food you're gonna be packing away. Where's it all gonna go?”
“Hey dollface” Ace looks up at the waitress “Can I get a cheese omelette?”

For the first time Ace notices the two classy women and the scarred fellow in the baseball cap. Something about him seemed… off.
He hadn't exactly told the truth about his gun being unloaded, it was only missing the caps. Unseen by everyone his fingers slipped down and expertly placed all the caps on the nipples.

He glanced again at baseball cap from eyes shadowed under a floppy blonde fringe. Someone to watch for sure.

"Sa virilité est chargée et amorcée.“{his virility is charged and primed] Larya whispered finishing off her potatoes.
”Priez, ça ne va pas prématurément“(pray it doesn't happen prematurely] Searsha stifled a giggle. He was very skilled and she didn't notice a glance or a twitch once as he placed each cap on the nipple.

The door opened and in came a heavyset man with a large hand truck with racks of bread, donuts, muffins and other baked goods. The smell wafted through the whole cafe.

”Bakery delivery, Hey Flo, Mel, Alice" the man announced and greeting the whole staff as he wheeled the truck behind the counter and into the back.

“Nous avons été servis avant les autres”{we were served before the others} Searsha stifled another giggle. vite, vite

Beaux et habillés comme nous sommes, nous devons être de gros bêtisiers.{Beautiful and dressed as we are, we must be big tippers} Larya looked back at the other man. He obviously didn't want to be noticed, so she would respect his privacy. Best let sleeping dogs lie especially after Searsha's outburst. Though a tete a tete would have been nice. Manage a trois even. Poor fellow didn't realize what the opportunity he let slip.

“Dessert?”

“American apple pie?”

“And Ice cream? Certainly and add another hour to our work-out later?” Larya had slipped back into English. There was no harm with this being overheard. The teen had such an appetite because she was in training. Larya understood that, but neither she nor Searsha had need to bulk up like that. “Think the teen is a strong fighter?”

“Remember when we were her age? Bruises on top of bruises and we always wanted more. Now we have advantages.” Larya took another sip of coffee and waited for the other patrons to get served and the baked goods put away before raising her hand to flag a waitress to order dessert.

Bakery deliveries to all night cafes often happen in the early morning hours. I work overnights, those guys are busy and the smell is very strong. I named the staff just for flavor and convenience in referring to them? It's the staff of the diner in the sit-com Alice

Stringy, while Ace and everyone else wasn't looking, ate the food–tore it up while her stomach still remained flat.

Outside, a woman dressed in red and black was outside standing by the wall away from the windows smoking. Victoria puffed, minding her own business while smoking. She took out a necklace holding the Badge of Kappa as it radiated yellow light.

“Damn it all,” she said, “Just one evening without any quarrel. This bitch!”

Suddenly she heard a loud belch from inside the Diner, “The least she could do is say excuse me. Looks like I just have to wait before she leaves. It is too late in the evening for me to fight to fight this jackass,” she sighed.



Meanwhile back inside, Samantha's plate is clean, looks as if the plate was put in a Dishwasher, fresh out. The waitress was stunned, frozen in place, “Jesus, where'd you put it all?”

“My gut!” She said with a child-like giggle, “Excuse me.”

“But…its…it's still flat!”

“What? I'm not supposed to be flat?” Samantha was confused, “I mean, I am curvy if that's what you mean?”

“Are…what are you?”

“Just a hero with a big appetite!” Samantha quipped, “I can pay it through my Grandpa's credit card!”

“O-okay then?” the Waitress said. Samantha smiled.

_______________________________________________________

Valentine rubs his eyes under the costume glasses. That chick ordered enough for a large family, and it's gone. Some kind of side show trick? She could have a genetic metabolic condition, although that would usually lead to a taller, slimmer build with no muscle tone.

Valentine muses, she would make an interesting vivisection. He smiles. Can't hurt to just think about these things, can it? It's practically academic. And not so different from working with cadavers in medical school. He couldn't act on it now in any case. He left his instruments and supplies back in Mapleton.

He shakes off the fantasy and checks his watch. Time is crawling. He starts to reminisce on his accomplishments as he sips his tea and relaxes a bit.

The waitress plonks down an omelette in front of Ace. He greedily laps it up.
Hmm… not bad. He thinks.

He sees a suspicious red and black shape outside the big glass front of the cafe.
“Hey doll” he addresses Samantha next to him in a whisper, “is that someone you know? She thinks she's being sneaky, but there's not much place to hid out there”
Ace chuckles

“She knows YOU, I can tell. Keeps on reacting every time you burp or make a sound. Need any help?”

He pats the big Colt Walker in its holster.

Searsha strode over to Samantha and picked up her check. “You're in training. As a fellow fighter I respect that. It would be my pleasure to take care of this for you.” She paused and smiled slightly, “Your – grandfather? Has enough debt if he has to provide for such an appetite.”

Searsha took out a cigarette case, removed a dark narrow cigarette and tapped it on the case's cover. “If you'll excuse me.”

She handed off the check to Larya. "Let them fight their own battles mon amour“ Larya said quietly.

”Curiosity not combat dearest."

She stepped outside and lit the cigarette and breathed in it's fragrance. She only allowed herself to smoke in places tobacco was cultivated. Too many anachronisms in her line of work without introducing this noxious addiction someplace it was unknown.

Valentine makes note of the number of unescorted women out at this late hour. A good sign of the perceived safety of the streets. He came to the right town to hide out. The city he left was on high alert. Parents were imposing curfews; college girls were only found in numbers. Everyone there seemed a little tense.

But here there is nothing like that. On the other hand, the opportunities for mischief are very tempting. He's glad he left behind everything except the handgun and garrotte (the latter was more habit and sentiment).

He also has a small portable radio. Old technology has its benefits. Not relying on WiFi or containing GPS is a good thing. As much as he is enjoying the fact that cafe patrons (matrons?) aren't currently privy to TV news, Valentine would like to be informed. He slips on the headphones. None of the stations sound familiar. He's well away from his own city. He tunes it to a station playing news and listens for key words (serial, armed, at large…) as he slowly snacks on onion rings.

The lady outside seems to be looking for someone. But no officer would hunt alone for him. They never played fair. He also found it insulting when some woman was sent after him. Putting a uniform on a chick like some kind of costume party. They looked like they should be rubbing on a pole.

This one's not in a uniform, though. Dressed weird. The weird ones are really out tonight.

Betty walks up to the cafe after a hard day in the ship yards. She really needs a hot meal and somewhere to wind down. This place looks inviting… the warm light through the big windows is so welcoming at this hour. It's an island of light in the middle of all this darkness.

She notices a strange figure outside in the shadows… At this hour it's probably just some sad prostitute. Whatever.

Inside she sees a familiar figure face. Ace Kinkaid. What's he doing here? Should she say hello? Ace always seemed a bit chaotic for some reason, not entirely trustworthy. Just as likely to put his life on the line to save you as he was to sell you out.

Two rather snooty looking ladies, a shady looking all-too-handsome type in a baseball cap and a bouncy little teen rounded out the other patrons. She made up her mind.

She plopped down heavily onto the stool at the counter next to Ace.
“Ace!” she barked. “Who's your little friend?”

Ace looked around surprised “Betty! What're YOU doing here? Where's…”

“Pinky?” Betty supplied. “Don't know, don't care. I've just spent 14 hours banging in hot rivets. All I want is a hot meal and a hotter cup of coffee!”