sorry (you can answer privately) if I cannot go back two years and read every thread, is there any way I can know what is happening with specific people? I am sorry if it is obvious and am just missing something.
((Tumblr is telling me this is recent, but if not I apologize uouThe blog is restarting somewhat! So there’s no need to catch up with any of the previous content. We’ll be starting fresh with some new ideas.In the future however, we can consider making semi-regular plot updates! They’d be under a plot summary tag if we do :3 T You could also try going through their tag. Thanks for the question! -Mod Tabs))
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Hey-o all you lovely AU loving people! The askthemobscast blog is having an open casting call for some characters! We’re rebooting the blog and in this fresh start we’d like to see some new people in our group. Currently these are the characters open for application. We’re a very friendly group and welcome anyone and everyone! If you’re interested in applying for our group the application can be found here. We also have a set of rules that will have more additions as we see fit but the current rules are here.
Our rp’s are set in the 1920’s when mobsters were getting started or already were established. The Prohibition is in full swing and everyone wants to take advantage of the easy money that can be made, while at the same time making sure they are the only few benefit from it.
I’ll be fiddling around with the blogs theme for a while so if you go to the blog and it’s funky, that’s why.
Also, it looks like we’ll be revamping the blog and putting all past arcs and canons behind us and starting fresh in the new world (one that is just a smidgen less dark), stay tuned!
It's been a hard few weeks. Adjusting to life like this was turning out to be harder than he'd anticipated. Every time he made an attempt to move the tongue that wasn't there he thought of Strawfingers grinning and eating it.
He shook the thoughts away, adjusting his hat down. The mobs knew who he was, despite his efforts. The whole Dinosaur thing was falling apart anyway, it'd never really been his best gimmick. The mask had been shit too. Still, he had his guns and his mask, so he had decided to come out tonight and handle this job before anything else.
Teep pulled the wire further down the back of his head. When it irritated his ears, he knew it would stay on. The revolver was in his hand, Super Jim was across his back (if things went wrong).
He walked up to the doors of the would-be pigeon coop. Inside, he heard the radio emitting smooth sounds. He heard the sound of drunken laughter. Safe houses exactly where no one would look for them. He had been informed that these were Creeper houses. He had no proof, of course. Could have been overtaken, if it was actually a mob base.
The exclamations of how some of them bragged about killing others confirmed for Teep that these were definitely someone who needed exterminating.
Extinction, he thought to himself. That was a good one. He'd remember that.
He walked up to the door and tapped it lightly. The radio drowned him out. Thin wood.
He took a few steps back from it. Teep lifted Super Jim off of his back and set up the bi-pod stand on the bottom. The gun was set up on a small pile of bricks, left on the roof, seemingly all roofs, in the case of suddenly needed repairs.
He laid down on his stomach, lining up the sight on the barrel with the door. He slowly loaded the bullet chain into the side, supporting it with one hand to easily feed the gun. Once he was sure he'd set himself up, he opened fire.
The machine gun's sound had never been good to his ears, he hated how deafening it was to be so close. He fired in short bursts, for gun maintenance and for his own ears.
The wood instantly splintered. He heard the brief sounds of screaming, but did nothing to stem the bullets. The door started to open for a moment, and the gun stopped whoever was exiting.
After two minutes, the bullets run out. Teep waited thirty seconds, a man took a step out, dressed in a leather jacket, his hair with far too much gel in it. The man said something, he couldn't make it out. The man extended a gun at him.
Part of his head disintegrated when Teep fired his revolver. No one else made their way out.
He clicked the bipod up, slung the machine gun over his shoulder again. He made his way back to the fire escape and climbed back down to his car. His guns and his mask were left in the trunk. He moved to the driver's seat and started back home to rest. He needed to see Minty in the morning anyway.
She stumbled on her way out of her apartment. Her shirt hadn't even been properly buttoned, as she'd decided she would handle it on her way. She was still fixing her skirt when she dropped the keys. "Fuck," she muttered, crouching to grab them. She worked them into the top lock and twisted until she heard the click. Theclick meant safe from damage.
She lifted her purse, dropped her keys in, and mad her way down the stairs. She opened the door to the street and the city hit her like a ton of bricks. The scent of the pollution, the powerful sun rays, and the sight before her overwhelmed her senses. She covered her eyes from the sun and rubbed them, checking that her vision was not lying.
A man was waving to her. His pants were black. His dress shirt was white. His waist coat was the most vibrant purple she'd ever seen. His hat gray, a purple band wrapped round it.
"Evelyn," his hoarse, giddy voice called out. "Morning! Morning glory and all things holy!"
"Mr. Fingers," Evelyn said, more to herself, and made her way across the street. She quickly buttoned up her shirt. "What're you doing here?"
"Please, today you can call me Straw. Or Jim. It's not my name, but it's easier than other names, I guess."
"You haven't answered my question," she said, impatiently.
He opened the passenger car door for her. "Israphel has put us together for a job of his. I thought it'd be nice to let my man drive us there together." The man whom he'd referred to tipped his hat to her.
Strawfingers was insane, Evelyn had figured out quickly. It honestly made no sense where he'd come from. His motives seemed to shift hourly. He slaughtered men in one second and was talking about how much he loved hoop trundles the next. This sudden turn of heart was actually natural for him, she supposed. "Alright," she answered and stepped into the car.
Strawfingers shut the door. Click.
Click means safety.
He took the seat behind her and they made their way out of the city. "So, what's the job he's got for us, today?"
"We've got a cop, doesn't wanna play ball," Strawfingers lit a cigarette, "I've got him up in a cabin by my second farm, usual place. Goody wants us to talk to him, make sure he comes to our side of thinking. You know. You do the talking. I do the 'talking'. "
"Goody?" She inquired.
"You know, like John's whole Good Man thing? Goody seems content with Reverend John being dead, but I don't wanna forget him so soon."
"You did perform a massacre, which I still have to get sorted out. That's enough for Israphel."
"Yeah," Strawfingers agreed.
Evelyn sighed, supporting her head on her elbow. She stared out the window. The city fell behind them as the road became gravel, then dirt. The skyscrapers and suburbs became corn fields. Soon, the corn fields turned to wheat fields, the cue that they'd entered Strawfinger's zone.
She heard a click behind her. She turned. Strawfingers was loading his gun. "Might have to put a bullet in his knee," he explained, "they always talk after that." Theclick meant protection.
She stared out the window again, watching the wheat zoom past. The scarecrows in the distant made her feel unease. She knew that there was no straw beneath the burlap.
A finger reached over and stroked her shoulder softly.
"I always loved this skin of yours. Such a perfect olive color. Dark, but not too dark. I had a friend once, used to say there was a difference between Foreign dark and nigger dark. I always said, difference between beautiful dark and field dark."
She turned her eyes to get a good look at him, but stopped on the driver. His face was impassive. Not an emotion in sight.
"What are you talking about?" She asked, looking back at him. She shrugged his hand away.
"I don't like my scarecrows darker than my burlap, is all." He smiled softly.
"What are you-?" Click. The click meant resistance.
There was an ear shattering bang. The bullet burst through the upholstery of her seat. Her white shirt seemed to explode upwards, into a read splatter. The bullet struck the windshield and went off into oblivion. She started gasping at nothing.
The driver stopped the car.
She grabbed the door handle as fast as she could. The door flew open and Evelyn tumbled out. She started crawling away in the dirt, as fast as she could from the car. A hand was grasped over the wound in her stomach.
The door opened behind her. The door slammed. She crawled faster, dragging herself by an arm.
Click. The click meant security.
Strawfingers fired his second bullet in the air. Evelyn winced.
Click. The click meant preservation.
Strawfingers fired the third bullet to her right. Evelyn crawled left.
Click. The click meant refuge.
Strawfingers fired the fourth bullet to her left. Evelyn crawled right.
Click. The click meant insurance.
Strawfingers fired the fifth bullet in front of her. Evelyn stopped moving. She started crying.
Click. The click meant salvation.
The sixth bullet struck her spine. She heard the crack. She felt her lower half experience the jolt and she screeched. She felt her organs tear inside her. The bullet had gone through her groin, she could feel the blood pooling beneath her.
Everything felt hot. Everything was going numb.
She looked up at the shadow that came over her.
Strawfingers crouched down and offered her his cigarette. She took it in her lips and took a drag.
"I sorta liked you," he said. "Tolerated you, at the least."
"Please," she squeaked out.
Strawfingers stood, clicked his heels together. The click meant danger.
He stepped over her. Evelyn felt him sit across her back. She shut her eyes. "Please," she begged, but said nothing else.
She felt the scalpel's cold metal on her neck for a moment, then felt the blood spilling out from her neck.
Everything went black after that. But, before the blackness became all that there was, before she found herself in nothingness, she heard him stand. And she heard:
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Sips, why is your "stuff" better than others? What makes it stand out?
“‘Stuff?’” The man laughed, as he leaned back in his seat and put out his cigar on the armrest. He reached over and grabbed a fistful of dirt that was on his desk, letting it run through his fingers. “Let me tell you something about my so-called ‘stuff’,” he said, a glint in his dark eyes. “This here SipsCo dirt is so pure, you could fucking eat off of it and it’d make your food taste delicious. You could wipe your ass with this dirt and still eat off off it.” He sat up and held it up to his face, a sly grin creeping across it. “But you might have to be a little more creative if you want the full dirt experience.” He picked out small white flecks in the soil, and took a deep breath, sighing quickly afterwards.
"That’s all the info I’m gonna give you, so unless you’re gonna buy some of this here primo dirt, get the hell outta my office."
Friendly reminder that if you send questions, make sure it's addressed to someone specific, or you make it clear it's to everyone. I have a few sitting in my inbox that I really don't know who to send to, and I may just send it to a random character as doing an all question takes more work especially if it's a more role-play-ie type question :)
