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    • supernal

      Vote for Valucre [March]   03/24/2017

      Voting for the month of March is open on TopRPSites! Vote for Valucre daily and help new members searching for a place to roleplay discover the same joys you have in Valucre. You can vote daily, so make voting for Valucre a habit. Discussion thread

Mister Karma

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About Mister Karma

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    God of Nostalgia
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  • Gender
    I'm a Ze
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  • Occupation
    Freedom Seeker, Free Thinker, Non Published Writer and Non Published Game Dev

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  1. I like Gordon Freeman, he's my favorite Spartan in Metal Gear Solid: The Force Awakens.

  2. So ah...writing is still a thing in my repertoir.  I've just been tired and cramming my other work into my already packed schedule.  Starting 55's next week until the peak season is over.  Which could be up until Crimbas.

  3. I'm going to do a showing of my friend's anime that I voice in and then go right back to surviving a nuclear wasteland ^_^ Come join!

  4. I still do the Twitch thing o.o

  5. Having an existential crisis, thinking about what comes after death.  I thought I was over this.

  6. Guess I gotta redact some story ......

    1. SlyBlue78


      loooooooooooooooooooooove youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu

    2. Rin


      Use hover crafts and robots. All the kids will love it lol

  7. Late reply is late but..... Why am I getting hugged? O.o I thought I was the Boogerman.
  8. Amazon is so worth leaving Save A Lot

  9. I'll be off the writing scene again until things with work die down.  Meaning I'll write.  Just won't be as high quality as before.

  10. It's got delicious sound, great food...

  11. Earned myself another GIF icon.  By earned, I mean I ported it from a preexisting URL.  Does this make me a thief?

  12. "No, no please! Really, I don't know who you're talking about!" cried the petrified man in the baler, blue eyes wide with terror as store manager Travis Lacount closed the blue steel-grated gate. The manager looked bored, having done this to his hundredth victim of the year. The year, being the operative word, and he was only halfway through. How many more people needed a message sent to their families saying they got into a terrible work accident? Especially now that the United Commonwealth was on his ass to inquire anybody who looked anything like a decaying drug addict or tattooed, muscular wolf demon, Travis was already up to here with them. Ol' Billy MacFarland was going to be next if he didn't leave the store. They were docked out here for, what, a week? Their first day, he already baled seventeen uncooperative people. Arching a brow, the manager pushed the large green button and backed away, raising both of his hands as two of his employees--brothers of his in two separate guilds from the one he was with--got their hoses ready to clean yet another gooey mess from the baler's insides. Their backroom, despite the mess of stock all over the place and unopened boxes stacked hastily on one another against the walls and grazing the ceiling, didn't look like much of a place to put on this kind of shitshow. It looked more like a store where there was a lot to do, not enough time to do it, and all hell was going to break loose anyway. Just like Travis intended it to look. "Hey, when one eye of yours pops out, I'll tell ol' Billy RedFace there I found a meth addicted cyclops in my store after I interrogated a lying, piece of shit addict," the manager grinned, laughing over the hum of the machine and blood-curdling screams of the man. "Mattie, tell me what he looks like when it's done, there, will ya? I got a commander to meet with...again," he told the man to his right, patting him on the shoulder with a hand before making his way to the front end of the store. "Probably look the same as the rest of them, but whatever," he finished to no one in particular. ~~~~~~~~~~ The large man sitting in the office sipped gingerly at his steaming cup of coffee that the slightly fat assistant manager, Mikey, prepared for him. It wasn't any Stellar-Dollars, and it certainly wasn't any Dippin' Pastries, but it did its job for now. It kept William "The Razor" MacFarland from ripping into the nearest person with every weapon in his arsenal, which right now were just his huge, beefy arms. Still, those were more than enough to pop a head off someone with the right amount of force. Silence draped over the room like a heavy blanket, no interaction between the beefy commander and the portly assistant manager of Super Grocery Bros., save for the occasional cold blank glance from The Razor's direction. The office was a cramped little space, with only two desks against one wall, a couple of chairs about two feet across from them against the opposite wall, and rows upon rows of filing cabinets to the Razor's left. He didn't care about the contents. He took a glance every now and then at the second desk, watching the security feed that was "wired" throughout the giant market. More, it was a series of aura-powered crystal balls connected to one massive collection of screens that showed an approximate image of what each ball gathered. The mulleted form of store manager Travis Lacount finally barged into his own office, and with a single, gravelly demand, whipping a thumb behind his shoulder, the man bellowed "Outta here, Mikey! Business time with my man Billy!" Nervous Mikey, a portly, balding, graying man, stammered, "Y-Yes, Travis, sir!" and out he went, careful not to even breathe on his boss. The angry manager slammed the door behind him, smirking at the sad whimpers of his assistant from beyond the dense metal door. "Not a good way to treat your assistants there, Trav," MacFarland spoke in his trademark baritone, which still shook the thick walls like a minor earthquake. Travis turned suddenly, eyes wide as though William insulted his ancestors. He was about to take a step towards the large man, but MacFarland knew the game, standing up from his seat and clearing a full two feet over the smaller man of 5'8". The coffee cup in his hand was tiny. "Stick your finger in my face again like I'm some kind of shit stain, and you're going in that bail there...probably call you Peter after." Travis, gaping and simply sitting on his desk, just spat, "I don't tell you how to do your job--" "So don't tell you how to do yours, I get it," MacFarland repeated blandly. Same shit every day this past week. Sitting back down, he finished his large cup of coffee--large by normal sized men's standards. "This guy tell you anything?" There was sudden screaming of bloody murder coming from one of the screens, Travis laughing like a schoolgirl at the implied scene that he got bored of watching many times before. It had a rejuvenated feel to it, and as he turned to watch, MacFarland's glare burned into Travis's psychotic skull. The manager turned his head back, arching a brow curiously at the commander. "What? Those are the sounds of industry happening! I like watching my work in progress!" he protested, making The Razor roll his eyes. "That's about as productive as me replacing my airship's engines with eight tons of soap," The Razor said passively before segueing into his next point, "How many more people are we going to question about the princess and the wolf demon before we get an answer?" Travis laughed loudly, clapping as though The Razor told the funniest joke at The Redbone Comedy Club. He laughed so hard, he almost fell off the desk. "Well...?" the burly commander asked through gritted teeth. Travis shook his head and hands, trying to focus on the conversation. "Alright, right right, right....right...that might take the entire town we're in before we have a remote scent to work from, but ahhhh....." A finger raised, a stall, his jaw dropped as he was stuck in thought. MacFarland crushed the paper cup in his large hand with ease, and Lacount quickly finished his sentence, "People are always coming through this town, new and old faces alike. Maybe we could find a few unfamiliar faces, drag them in here like I did that poor sap and--?" "No, no one's going to be a victim of this 'honest' industry anymore!" seethed an angry Razor, tossing his crumpled cup into the garbage pail with a little more force than required to do such a task. That tiny paper cup? Yeah, it almost toppled the small barrel with the force MacFarland had behind his throw. "I agree with getting out there. Let's actually socialize with people this time." He nodded his massive head to the door. "Have your pussy guy there run your market while you're with me. You're on Commonwealth business." Travis frowned a sad frown. A very sad frown. "Again?! Aw, man, but crushing people is so much fun!" he pouted over the petering screams of the poor soul in his aura-fueled baler. He slid off the desk, grabbing his overcoat and slipping it on. "You get the--" MacFarland was already on it, swinging the door quickly and patting Travis on the shoulder, making the manager seethe quietly in pain. The Razor grinned in satisfaction. He could make a psychotic man feel pain. ~~~~~~~~~~ Nathan Marshall was at the airship dock, hands pocketed in his casual blue jeans as he chewed on the end of a cigarette. His brown hair grew longer and shaggier since last he dealt with the Red Blood Moon Children, now barely touching his eyes and shoulders. He was beginning to think the mission to return to his home universe was not worth the effort he and his military were putting in. Never mind the power the Ogre Tail had with them, whatever the Children were cooking up was not going to be pretty. After the power he witnessed with the halfbreed girl named Rin and the mercenary wolf pup Dave, he couldn't shake the feeling since then that they were important ingredients to what that blue haired man Garnet was mixing. A recipe for disaster, a recipe that this world was soon not going to enjoy. Beings decaying from the inside out from simple little trinkets being sold on the streets, soon from the shelves of markets, big and small alike, across the globe of Valucre... He shook his head, burying his face in his hands with a disgruntled groan, letting the unfinished cigarette fall from his mouth. "I need some fresh air, not this...tobacco shit!" he grumbled, leaving the dock.