Grey
Dialectical Hermeticist
THIS GAME IS NOT ACCEPTING MORE PLAYERS AT THIS TIME.
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Nightshift
- Thread starter Grey
- Start date
Teh Frixz
That lady robot
Stella Holmes
The stars man...just reach for them
Born and raised up in Idaho, Stella is a young woman constantly reaching for something just out of grasp. At a young age it became painfully obvious that her goals of becoming an astronaut were just dumb dreams. Her eyes weren't good and going through school, neither were her grades. Struggling to identify herself, eventually she came to find herself. A year into a state school and she already knew enough to get out of the public eye.
Dropping out, Stella took her belongings and the last of the money her dad left to her to travel the US. The world opened up. Man shit was going down since the 60's. Her cute little suburban life was a lie, given to her mom to keep her from knowing the truth. Her dad didn't die of cancer...JFK wasn't killed by Oswald...the natives living off the earth knew the tricks to see the world and she was going find all of them.
Stella is a young woman, about twenty three years old. Her hair is a dirty blonde, long and dreaded. Her eyes are a dull green, matching her dads. She's about five two and could be pretty if she wasn't wearing a ratty hoodie and reeking of weed. Her jeans need a good washing and when working, she wears a tin foil lined disposable cap given to her by the owner of the little diner she worked at.
The stars man...just reach for them
Born and raised up in Idaho, Stella is a young woman constantly reaching for something just out of grasp. At a young age it became painfully obvious that her goals of becoming an astronaut were just dumb dreams. Her eyes weren't good and going through school, neither were her grades. Struggling to identify herself, eventually she came to find herself. A year into a state school and she already knew enough to get out of the public eye.
Dropping out, Stella took her belongings and the last of the money her dad left to her to travel the US. The world opened up. Man shit was going down since the 60's. Her cute little suburban life was a lie, given to her mom to keep her from knowing the truth. Her dad didn't die of cancer...JFK wasn't killed by Oswald...the natives living off the earth knew the tricks to see the world and she was going find all of them.
Stella is a young woman, about twenty three years old. Her hair is a dirty blonde, long and dreaded. Her eyes are a dull green, matching her dads. She's about five two and could be pretty if she wasn't wearing a ratty hoodie and reeking of weed. Her jeans need a good washing and when working, she wears a tin foil lined disposable cap given to her by the owner of the little diner she worked at.
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Runcible Spoon
The Once and Future Procrastinator
Well, this is me.
My name is Jerry Bennet.
I was born and raised in Terminal, Nevada and I've no real future... My mom's a drunk, my dad's been out of it since Iraq. Still finds enough presence of mind to judge me. I dropped out of high school junior year. School really wasn't really my thing and I figured I'd make it big in Vegas and it'd be fine. But my parents didn't exactly see it the same way. Before I knew it I was out on the streets, parents kicked me out. S'pose it didn't help things that they found my stash of weed... Straw that broke the camels back and all. Well, at least on my dad's side. Pretty sure if my mom had her way she'd start making me share. But whatever, that's history. Friend's letting me hole up at his place while I get on my feet. Even helped me get a job at the Gas 'n Gulp... Been a few months since then, things have calmed down and I'm considering checking if I can come home. I doubt I will, though. I'm sure they'll come to me soon enough...<p><a href="<fileStore.core_Attachment>/monthly_2014_11/57a8c0ca60c56_JerryBennet_pdf.068d9541aef33877165f9104e13284e7" class="ipsAttachLink ipsAttachLink_image"><img data-fileid="34353" src="<fileStore.core_Attachment>/monthly_2014_11/57a8c0ca60c56_JerryBennet_pdf.068d9541aef33877165f9104e13284e7" class="ipsImage ipsImage_thumbnailed" alt=""></a></p>
Jerry Bennet.pdf
Shining Lotus Sage
Avatar of Vanity
Lottie Grover is a worn knit cap that keeps stick-straight hair from looking flat. Lottie Grover is a dog-eared moleskine overflowing with clippings from Tom Wolfe, Helen Thomas, and Judith Miller. Lottie Grover is stained teeth from the burnt coffee that keeps this nightshift gig going; moreover, the jitters make her feel more authentic. Lottie Grover is a lot of compromise and denial, dreams made of indignation instead of hope.
Lottie Grover is a towering birch, five–ten and still pretending she doesn't care that puberty didn't give her what her mother had promised. Lottie Grover is an ink-stain on fingertips, not quite aesthetic, but charming when you recognize the labor behind it. Lottie Grover is not a Loretta: she was named for her grandmother, and still wears a hand-me-down ring, to remember.
Lottie Grover. Age 19. Birthplace, Terminal. Condition, Ironic. Still writing bad bylines and thinking she's clever. Still working out the details of her famous signature. Still working up the courage to tag it somewhere. Still flaunts that crooked nose-ring she did herself. Still looking for a good typewriter in garage sales. Still stuck here, because the universe is unjust.<p><a href="<fileStore.core_Attachment>/monthly_2014_11/57a8c0e25efb6_LottieGrover_pdf.483c5fde279f7289e5bdcb638400e6bb" class="ipsAttachLink ipsAttachLink_image"><img data-fileid="35243" src="<fileStore.core_Attachment>/monthly_2014_11/57a8c0e25efb6_LottieGrover_pdf.483c5fde279f7289e5bdcb638400e6bb" class="ipsImage ipsImage_thumbnailed" alt=""></a></p>
Lottie Grover.pdf
Lottie Grover is a towering birch, five–ten and still pretending she doesn't care that puberty didn't give her what her mother had promised. Lottie Grover is an ink-stain on fingertips, not quite aesthetic, but charming when you recognize the labor behind it. Lottie Grover is not a Loretta: she was named for her grandmother, and still wears a hand-me-down ring, to remember.
Lottie Grover. Age 19. Birthplace, Terminal. Condition, Ironic. Still writing bad bylines and thinking she's clever. Still working out the details of her famous signature. Still working up the courage to tag it somewhere. Still flaunts that crooked nose-ring she did herself. Still looking for a good typewriter in garage sales. Still stuck here, because the universe is unjust.<p><a href="<fileStore.core_Attachment>/monthly_2014_11/57a8c0e25efb6_LottieGrover_pdf.483c5fde279f7289e5bdcb638400e6bb" class="ipsAttachLink ipsAttachLink_image"><img data-fileid="35243" src="<fileStore.core_Attachment>/monthly_2014_11/57a8c0e25efb6_LottieGrover_pdf.483c5fde279f7289e5bdcb638400e6bb" class="ipsImage ipsImage_thumbnailed" alt=""></a></p>
Lottie Grover.pdf
Wolf Ghost
New Member
Hello? Are you still not accepting roleplayers?
Hello? Are you still not accepting roleplayers?
Hello? Are you still not accepting roleplayers?
