Dizzy00

@TheEyeOfNight I think I would like to try what you said, running it in PMs first. Also It's nice to meet you @Saerwen Talmiel

Hello!

I'm unsure how to proceed. Do we plan it out and then write? A back and forth of ideas so the story has a less chunky flow... I'm actually fairly new to this stuff. I've never flipped a coin to decide the outcome of the plot (It's so awesome)! *Excited word vomit* gvjhbkjnlkmdxscgyukcihkncnk ciknd

and... tails

That sounds fabulous (obligatory action scenes and everything). I'll flip a coin. Heads she succeeds. Tails she doesn't.

Catalina del Sur had been a lovely tropical paradise. A network of drying scrubs held the sand dunes together along with a few leafy palms. The sky was a light blue and the sun reminded her of cellophane—the way it seemed to crinkle into nothingness around the edges. She remembered the relaxing sound of the turf as it rolled into white foam on the sand. Karla took a drag of her cigarette thinking the weather was colder than she had anticipated. She groaned and huddled her blue frock closer. She’d stolen it from a drunk sergeant in San Juaquin Boulevard, a place she used to hang out at to play cards. The old oversized jacket’s sleeves dragged on the cobblestone street, the ground painted them mud grey as her feet made their way to Louie’s. The down-trodden avenue wore itself down to mud as she approached the east side of the city. The apartment complexes were steadily replaced by mills and canning factories. Pipes along their roofs expelled a foul-smelling black smog. She exhaled and let the smoke from her cigar blend into the dreary weather and gray polluted sky. Louie’s sat boldly as the shortest building on the street. It would’ve been mashed between two canning factories had it not been for a dusty little alley with a dead end. Women in inviting dresses and heavy makeup lured men into the alley with propositions and glances. Karla shifted her weight to her heels and pulled the door open with a staggering step. The crowded bar welcomed her with the aroma of whiskey, tobacco, and sweat, as she entered the building. She elbowed her way through the crowd and reclined on a wall next to two female workers strutting their stuff. They glanced at her questioningly. Was she one of them? She offered them a cigarette. The blonde accepted giddily. The other, a more serious looking brunette didn’t smoke. “What are you here for, honey?” the blonde asked. “Marks” Karla replied. “Us too,” the blonde sniffed, “Lots of them here tonight. ‘That right, Emy?” Emy nodded soberly. “Not that type of marks,” Karla said coolly, “More like him.” Her curls swayed as she motioned her pointy chin at a heavy man in a stained tank top with four empty tankards on the table. He was downing a fifth one greedily with his fat and flushed lips. A sash hung by his side. Karla could almost hear the change jingle in his bag. “Not a regular,” the blonde noticed. “No. I think he's new around here...” Emy whispered. Karla put her smoke out on the sole of her boot. “I’ll give you thirty percent of what I make here tonight if you help me distract him.” The blonde girl took a huff of the cigarette, “What do you think, Emy?” Emy smiled. …. Emy pushed the bowl aside and sat on the table with her legs crossed. The man looked startled. The blonde chimed in quickly with a long-drawn “Haaaaaai.” Karla poked her way behind the table where the girls lauded over the man. The inside part of the cuffs on the sleeves had been polished to blades. She brushed the man with the inner sleeve and the sash parted to two. She didn’t miss a beat as she pulled the sash away from the man and into her lap. ... “That was easy,” the blonde giggled walking her way. “Here is your cut,” Karla smiled handing the women thirty dollars. “Nice.” “Thank you...” “Duchess,” the blonde smiled. “Thank you, Duchess.” Duchess squealed, “See the one over there? He’s new too.” Karla peeked casually at the man. He had a slight build, sleek black hair, and intense green eyes. He had a small black book with him, and an expensive looking pen engraved with gold. “The trouble with him is gonna be the jackal," Karla thought. Duchess simpered, “I thought you were good.” “We’ll try the pen first,” Karla planned, “If he notices, it’ll be too small to raise a fuss. If he doesn’t. I might have myself a new jacket. I just need you to distract the jackal.”

Karla woke up with a sour and smoky taste in her lips. She blinked her raccoon eyes open and squinted. Half a cigar hung from her lips. The other half burned off during the night; its ashes blemished her chest. She brushed off the ashes noting the sting. Creme colored candles stemmed from empty rum bottles, they emanated a warm yellow light, and revealed a handsomely-decorated bedroom with a low-hung ceiling. A maroon jacket was strewn over an elaborately carved wooden chair, two copper goblets littered a night stand on her left, and a blotch of wine bloodied the fur rug. Directly above the stand was a lamp with a beautiful hand-blown-glass case covering a warm flame. A cute boy lay by her side tangled in the golden bedspread. His smooth back was peppered with freckles and his strong legs stuck out from the sheets. She smiled. Not a bad night. Karla leaned against the headboard and scoffed happily. She spotted her blouse, sword, cross, and canister on the stand, and reached for them. She covered her chest with the blouse, popped open the canister, and watched a few fags roll in the tin container. She stuck one between her teeth and lit it with a quick hand. Karla stood up, pulled on her blouse, buttoned her trousers, rummaged through the drawers, snatched a handful of coins from a poorly hidden sack in the drawer, and stuffed her pockets. She stopped to check her hair in the mirror, and caught him waking up. She continued fixing her hair. "Hello gorgeous," she smirked not looking back. The boy smiled. He had one of those big syrupy smiles she was a sucker for. "Hey, where are you going?" "Louie's." He frowned. "You got a boyfriend?" "A girlfriend, actually." His eyes widened. She wheezed. "I'm joking," half-lying she closed in on him, "Louie's is a bar downtown. Nowhere a cutie like you would go." Chuckling, she tugged on his blonde beard and stole a kiss. "See you later," she whispered in his ear. She kicked the door open and bowed out dramatically. A landlady stared daggers at her as she quit the ship. Karla winked at her. The lady scowled and slammed the door. Karla balanced over the rickety bridge connecting the tethered air-ship to the main apartment complex. The handrails kept her safe, but she spread her arms out anyway, pretending it was a perilous walk over a plank. She craved a warm ginger ale and her own cot above Louie's Tavern. She took a long deliberate drag from her cigarette before deciding to use the fire escape. She didn't want to see any more tenants and enjoyed the morning chill.

OK, I'll start on something right away.

I'm on-board for any co-operation or whatever. Keep me posted when we formally start.

Sounds Great!

Karla Junco (Alias) Nickname: La Gachí, Cat Queen, widow, butcher's niece City of Birth: Catalina del Sur (Spain and Mexico hybrid culture meant to stem from a Fantastical location to batter fit world) Age: 18 Religion: Catholic Influence Living in: Slums, or with butcher Livelihood: Petty thief, pickpocket, scammer Status: single-never married Mother Tongue: Spanish Home: shelters, neglected attics, basements, sewers, streets, slums, churches Background Karla was born to a vagrant, in Catalina del Sur Monastery. The mother was hopped on Pichje* only semi-aware she was pregnant or even in labor. Consequently, the child underwent Pichje withdraw, nearly dying in the process. The mother was arrested by authorities shortly after. Once free, the child's mother visited irregularly, usually inhibited by Pichje. The youth disappeared regularly from the confines at the church. This behavior was sometimes associated with visits from the mother or attempts to find her. The mother disappeared completely when the child was ten years of age. Cause for disappearance is still unknown. Karla Junco, then known as Isabel Castro, was incarcerated on charges of assault, battering, underage inebriation, panhandling, fraud, and misconduct. The Church eventually dropped her name from the register for sexual misconduct, aggression, and gang affiliation. * Pichje is an illegal narco-depressant. The drug is usually administered in the fold between the lip and teeth with syringe. The drug originates from Pichjemas syrup, a flower-cousin of the poppy. Side effects of using pichje include depressed senses, visual or auditory hallucinations, and peeling and/or bruising around the administered area plus orifices of the face (long term). It is also prone to irritate the digestive and mucus systems, making addicts look like they are crying; hence the term wailers or wailer or in Spanish chilladores or chias is used to describe addicts. Characteristics: Addictions: cigarettes, drinking Bad habits: Picking at teeth, man-eater Color of Eyes: Dark brown The color of Hair: Dark brown Her hair is a mop of fussy brown curls. They are usually braided and pinned on the top of her hair with cloth. Conceals an ice pick, and lock pick. The color of Skin: Caramel Good habits: precise, straightforward, perfectionist, collected Face: Sharp and full of angles, deep set dark yes, heavy lashes, full lips, small nose, broad smile Weight: gaunt, light (Nearly anemic) Build: like a column, bones visible under unhealthy paling skin Mental characteristics, quick-witted, grudging, confident, more rational than emotional, curious Emotional characteristics: cold, calculating, witty, charming, will usually come off as rude Clothes Top: Light or cheap cotton and wool, sometimes combined with shawls Bottom: lose light skirts and slacks, sometimes a mix of pants and skirts combined, assortment of belts, ropes, and holsters for carrying sword, drinks, banjo, and to keep her clothes on her emaciated frame. Other: Stolen blue army blazer Black leather boots

Mary was adept with a needle. Right now, she was stitching a seam for a teddy bear’s head from a scrap of pink flowery material Dora found. Mary wanted to give it to her sister as an apology. She was sorry for being a bad girl. Now, her pretty sister looked like a pirate. Dora wasn’t fit for a pirate. She was a princess. How would her sister be a princess with an eyepatch across her face? Even a pretty one with lace embroidery and flowers? She’d made some embroidery to decorate the eye patch a week earlier. Dora loved it. At least she still had a princess’ smile. Her pretty sister... The nurse kept staring at her while she worked. It made her uncomfortable. The nurse didn’t let her put the needles in her mouth. Not for the cool sensation that soothed her gums—Not even for holding while you tied off a knot. She missed the cold of the needle between her lips. She tried it one more time and the nurse jumped in and took her from behind by the wrists. Mary shrieked and kicked her legs. The momentum flung her backwards off her chair. It hit the floor with a metallic clang. The nurse crawled over her, pinched her mouth in her fat hand and tried to retrieve the needle. Mary wiggled under her weight and spit the needle out. It landed in a shiny glob of spit on the nurses’ forehead. Mary began sobbing. The nurse got up and wiped the spit off her brow with a handkerchief. Once the girl cried herself out, the nurse picked up her rigid body and placed it on the chair. She sat motionless atop the chair momentarily; then, puckered her lips, retreated inside her hospital tunic, and rocked back and forth. Suddenly something crashed. The nurse took Mary by the arm and forced her outside the supervision area thrashing. It was the only place she could hem. Mary screamed and jerked free. She smacked the nurse's arm away and sank in the spot outside the supervision room humming intensely. A boy with an ugly mouth smiled stupidly, as two guards forced him away. A girl in a straight jacket seemed to dance with the nurses. The other patient, a boy with blood dripping down his mouth, crept into a corner, her nurse tried to force him out of it, and he kicked her in the stomach. Dora felt a stab in her foot. There was a pin there. She pulled it out, examined it, and placed it in her mouth for safekeeping.

in the land of fortnight where salty tryhards and nooby no skins and tons of raging kids a warrior will rise known only as the red night

Cool that's 2 ppl, then

The mouse smiled. Often, humans worried about animal-types walking around barefoot. What about he splinters? The rocks? et cetera. But the reality of the situation was that the pads on her feet were as strong as rubber soles. The heavily callused feet assured that she never felt the rocks or woods she might step on. Paws made it impossible to keep the floor clean. The folds where skin met skin created crannies that collected mud and pebbles they scratched floors and browned carpets. Wrapping talons in cloth kept this mess from occurring. The children would stop at the place mat at the burrow and remove the rags from their feet before dinner. It was also slightly more socially acceptable than baring the rough, hairy and often scaly hind legs in a human setting. The mouse waved her hand away at the girl's concern. " Its no bother, except for the dirt." She picked up the pastry in a lady-like manner using the tips of her fingers to avoid any stains. She blew the oozing jam. It cooled instantly against her breath forming a layer of skin. She nibbled the edge and smiled. A shy little grin of a smile she covered with the tip of her hand. Even now , in her late age, as specks of white littered her coat, she had preserved that girlish charm that had snagged Howie.