jayseven

So I've only had BISHes from ReZboy Dannyboy goaferboy Chairdriverboy Dysonboy ... so this is another cat call to y'all who wanna play. I'll PM reminders when I have more guarenteed TIEM

Best result of teh day? Charlie's 7-0 thrashing of whoevertheopponentwas; all 7 goals scored in teh first half. Madness. AWESOME Totally prepared for you. Inurface! Friday's games are the top 4 versus the four relegation battlers! Any results going against the norm will shuffle things, but I'm hoping that we all lose :P Then down to the last two games - dom and ReZ for me :P my goal difference floats me for now, but I'm feeling good...

hey guys - The write-up is indeed very lengthy, but the future ones shouldn't be as long once scenes and people are set-up as they mostly were in this first night's events. Sorry to the several people I've confused with my PMs and such! I'm about to hop on a train and be a little busy tomorrow with bereavement plans soo, but i'll try to update this tonight/tomorrow night, but won't write anything up 'til thursday.

(sorry if this is too long...) 1st Night The smoke marbled in the lamplight, projecting down onto his ‘slab’. He spat on his pea-green rubber gloves and rubbed them together until the goo was a hue of pink. With a squelch, he pulled out the last bullet, this one in the liver. ‘well now, lookee here…’ He gave himself an imaginary pat on the back, and replaced the cigarette, into the kidney bowl-cum-ashtray, sitting abstractly between jayseven’s jaw and collarbone. He turned to his journal, and entered in some more figures and notions into specific boxes from the rows and columns that filled the page. ‘Looks like a lotta people targeted the sheriff before his downfall.’ He remembered the letter he, too, had sent to jayseven the previous night. Connor sighed. Fat load of good that is to know, huh. Extinguishing the cigarette and hurling his soiled garments into a corner, he slumped away up the stairs to bed. *** As always, all the lights are on at Moriarty’s, but barely a sound was heard. Besides the boss’s drawling. ‘Hussy! Will you stop fidgeting for one second. I’m jist askin’ a few questions, is all.’ ‘Aw Moriarty, c’mon now, you’ve been asking me these nonsenses all night! The nights are mine, boss, you know that.’ ‘Ok Scarlett, just one more question;’ Moriarty swigged and sucked at the dregs of his third bottle, swaying a little more than usual; ‘if there were two guards, and two doors, and onnuvvem had a key to the truth, and the oth’ad a truth to the key, but you knew not which, then which door would know to know first, and which how would you know to as—’ ‘Oh, that’s just it.’ She starts to leave. ‘That’s just about the biggest pile of crap I ever heard.’ Go to bed. *** Out on the causeway, another interrogation, of sorts, was taking place. Vincent was man-handling the brown horse, laying one hand after another, mumbling something about lengths of wood and nails. ‘Hush now, gee-gee. If someone gets hungry enough, you’re gonna need a wooden overcoat too, mmm?’ He shouts over his shoulder at the fellow behind him, each of them a pen and paper in hand; ‘that question is just bull. What sort of answer do you expect?’ ‘It’s not a crap question, sir. I think it’s awful vital the town has its freedom t’speech n’all.’ ‘Listen once again, I am the undertaker. If I were you, I’d be more worried if my sense o’ humour wasn’t so darn morbid, y’understand? Now go on, git. I have a feeling she’s for me.’ The editor tipped his hat, despite Vincent not looking nor caring, and made his way home. Vincent slicked his eyebrows apart, and ran his fingers through his hair, and gave a curt bow. ‘Good evening, Mister’ she opened. ‘Might I speak with you more… privately?’ With not another word, she took him by the hand, and away down the alleyway behind the surplus store. The horse harrumphed, and trotted behind awhile, as horses do when they don’t know to mind their own business. *** Pinkie Pete swore he never knew no songs by heart, he just let his fingers do all the thinkin’. Such clear-headedness was troublesome for any pioneer of the west, so Pete was glad for the job in Barbar’s saloon. Amidst the chatter and hubbub were few familiar faces. Near enough every able-stomached man chose Barbar’s pot-rottin’ juice over Moriarty’s finer malts, as a matter of beans rather than principle. But interestingly, the Pastor and the Postman were at Luke’s table. Luke was chewing on an unlit cigar, as was his habit. He was laughing and slapping his thighs at his own jokes, while the Pastor and the Postman were looking the worse for wear. ‘Wossamatta boys! You caving so soon? But I’m only up twelve dollars!’ Luke chuckled. ‘Whish onovvyoo do I di… do I di… dooeyerect mi’woords to?’ The Pastor’s cards were half in his hand and half face-up on the floor, or the table, or wherever they’d slipped out. One hand trying to lean on his waist, the other arm pointing at the Luke in the middle. ‘Eff you… Eff you see… Effuseenaman? Bigman. Teepee. ‘Eey… Eey livsinoneofem! T’istroo.’ ‘is that who you’re looking for?’ Luke pointed at a man stood with the saloon doors still swinging behind him. A man with crocodile-skinned shoes and a white hat. The man was looking around the bar, until his eyes rested on the piano player. Before he could start to make his way there, the dog-collared Pastor had halted him. While the pastor was blabbering, the postman was nodding off, then catching himself. Luke plucked the cigar from his mouth and winked at Pete. Pete nodded, and slunk off. ‘Well there, Postie, it’s not closing time, but y’ought go home because I don’t think you can stay here.’ The postman collected himself and left, with one leg tap-dancing and the other doing the waltz. Outside he paused to remember the way home. ‘Rye.. Rye’arr buss.. sshh.. shhwee---’ ‘Alreet, Postie?’ Pete steadied the postman with an arm, and turned him like a weathervane points him towards his house. ‘Jes’ keep on straight, you’ll be home in no time.’ The postman tried to doff his hat in thanks, but instead knocked his glasses off, which hung on their cord around his neck. ‘Fankyoo, sunny! I nevr much thi’ drink, y’know.’ He set off, like a dizzy bee, muttering the wrong words to himself all the way. *** Back inside, the pastor was making efforts once more, and to entirely the wrong person still. ‘Confesh! Confesh! You! You… don’ seeeeem t’look… like yoo. Nunnofyoo doo- *hic* -ooo…’ ‘Confess?’ He spat. The pastor nodded. ‘Yesh! I want to forgeev…’ The pastor had opened his arms, and motioned to hug the newcomer. Slapping his hands away, the stranger snarled. ‘I will confess nothing to an inebriated sonofa bitch who shames the cloth he carries on his pot-bellied frame as yourself.’ ‘Confesh! Yoo mush, yoo injun, yoo.’ ‘Ok. Ok, I will confess this. I ain’t no Indian, y’hear me? I’m only here for one reason.’ ‘Wosshat? N’injun? Sheeet…’ ‘Let’s just say my mother don’t want two sons no more.’ *** Barbar saw the Deputy enter the saloon, and put down his glass and cloth. He went and greeted Dirk, who quietly whispered in his ear and took him out of the saloon, a grip on his arm. *** Pete, happy the Postman was far away enough now, pulled his pickings from his pocket. On the front was written ‘to jayseven’, while on the back was written the Postman’s first name. Inside, the letter read; I’m good. ‘Huh. Well how ‘bout th—‘ But before he could finish, it went black for Pete. Once Charlie was sure Pete was unconscious, he let go of the potato bag closed over his victim’s head, Charlie was pacing up and down, scratching at his arms. ‘Shuddup. SHUDDUP sally. Shut uuuup. No. No. Yes, this is the right guy…’ *** The doc seemed half-frenzied when he walked into the deputy’s office. Barbar was behind the bars, sharing some joke with Dirk. ‘Uh, howdy boss.’ Doc started, ‘it’s bout time for your check up, yessir.’ ‘Ah, doc, sure thi—’ BLAM. BLAM BLAM BLAM. BLAM. BLAM. ‘say, Doc, maybe we best do this another time, huh?’ *** The all-familiar cacking laughed had long died down. Snake-skinned boots had left the scene. Between the flapping of the doors was spied a body, slumped on the floor, leaning on a barstool with a frozen hiccupping face, was the vacant body of Moriarty. Tellyn is dead. He was Moriarty, a drunk investigator who more often than not got things wrong. He was good. *** ‘Oh, Vincent, yes, Vincent… oh…’ She moaned, behind the supply store. ‘What, Scarlett?’ ‘I love it when you nibble me that way.’ ‘… Honey, that ain’t me.’ She begins to turn blue. She screams. *** Elsewhere, a man checked his traps, unable to sleep, while another slept under the stars, dreaming of gold. *** The postman finally made it home, and sat in his chair with one shoe off and on, and hurriedly leafed through the letters before he forgot who he was looking for. He dropped them all on the floor, and by the time he had re-arranged them he had done and lost the thought. Who was he looking for again? He held a letter in his hand, certain it wasn’t the one he was going to open, but full of urge to open it anyway. I am good, it read. 1st Night is over. 2nd Day begins now. 19 Remaining Players Zell Mundi Ellmeister Cube Gizmo MoogleViper Not_So_Tiny MadDog Jonnas Dannyboy_the_Dane Coolness Bears Mr-Paul Dyson Nintendohnut The Fish Eenuh Maase The Lillster Jimbob 10 votes is the majority.

I'm not a teenager, and I'm not compensating!

Ok! This has sunk down a bit, but it's time. Please PM me with THREE BISH things. I will be asking for more at a future date. Don't make them too hard or stupid. If I disagree with the potential, then I will definitely tell you and advise you to make a new suggestion. Cheers!

Cheers again, Dyson! Votes so far (11 is the majority) No Lynch (14): Cube, Dannyboy, Coolness-Bears, Lillster, MadDog, Eenuh, Dyson, nintendohnut, maase, jonnas, not_so_tiny, mundi. MoogleViper (1): Tellyn Tellyn (1): Moogle Viper The first day is over. The sun sets over an unsettled town. Please PM me with your decisions. I will initiate the next day once i have 90% of the targets, so get them in sooner than later. As I said before; you should all post during the day phase unless told otherwise. Failure to do so for two days straight will lead to exclusion from the game. I ain't shitting with you. I will PM warnings and reminders, but they will not continue forever.

There's not been a mafia yet that I've not taken part in, so I'll sign up here too, though I'll restrain from sending you a PM about my role just yet, mostly because of the points Dyson made.

Yeah, it's odd. I spent about 20 mins trying to sleep, but instead I was composing an album of memories. So I got up and sent my uncle a long message trying to capture them all. I don't really believe in any afterlife, yet I've been directing my thoughts to her all day. It's odd. I doubt there's anything wrong with you at all. I figure that if there is any sort of afterlife then they'll just be wanting you to carry on, and to live a good life... But yeah. Odd! Strange. Weird.

Fuck yeah, King Prawn! Great song. Shorty is/was into tsunami bomb, but I've only heard a couple of their tracks.

I've read teh book Dan read for thread-inspiration (seeing as it's my book that I lent him, it's no surprise...) and thought long and hard on what to do if zombies invade. I used to think 'oh, go to a port and board a boat', but the book tells you how silly this can be. Basically, 'let's go to a shopping centre' or 'let's go to an army base' are pretty much the only thoughts about three million other 'local' people will be thinking, so it's best to avoid. My flat here has three doors to get through before the outside worlds joins me. Through three windows there are the offerings of roof access, and after blocking the main entrance to the flat, it would be from there that I'd try to lob my home-made grappling hook onto the costcutters opposite. Made from sheets and clothes, binded with selotape and glue, we would then proceed to enter the costcutters for rations and supplies. Daily we would get onto the roof and chalk out the current date and the message "HELP! SURVIVORS HERE". ... I've thought about a lot, from weapons to poo buckets. Main problem is I'm moving out in just over a month, so all plans will either have to be scrapped or typed up and passed on to the next occupants via binder form.

So I've spent most of the day working on the new mafia thread that I'm GM to. Very scared that it'll fall apart! My mum called up and stuff. Besides the usual 'how are you doing?' try-not-to-unveil-my-life-failings conversations she told me that my aunt, who has been suffering from cancer for the last 3 years, died on thursday. Was very,very strange hearing it. Not really told anyone yet. Got half a mind to trip to australia for the funeral but most of the family are doing something on thursday down south, so I'll probably go for that. So weird. Not really lost anyone in my family before. Felt like crying on the phone to my mum, but since then it's just... I feel like I ought to cry, though I'm not, so yeah. Don't reply saying "sorry j7" because I don't need that at all. Some of Nami's friends from her hometown are over tonight and we're gaming it up. Good fun. Going to leeds tomorrow to relax and paint. Feeling odd aboutlife in general. Hum! It is a great book (I'm lending it to the bugger!), though I didn't realise they were planning a movie! I imagine they'll amalgamate some of the stories into single characters. Great book, though!

Cheers Dyson No Lynch (8): Cube, Dannyboy, Coolness-Bears, Lillster, MadDog, Eenuh, Dyson. MoogleViper (1): Tellyn Tellyn (1): Moogle Viper There we are

No lynch: 5 Tellyn: 1 MoogleViper: 1 That's how I do it, right?

Season 5 warning; it's slow to start, but gets awesome for the last 5 or so episodes.

The town clock had just started to chime for the twelfth hour. ‘The sky. Nothing but the sky.’ And with a smile, his soul departed. Sheriff jayseven promised he would never lay down on the job, would never rest until he had shown the townsfolk true peace, but even Atlas himself wouldn’t have stayed on his feet with that much lead where your lungs are supposed to be. His shooter stood still. The barrel of his gun was red raw with heat from the six blasts. He held it to his cigarette and puffed on it a few times, before doffing his Dillinger hat. ‘Wrong answer, bub.’ The clock finished ringing. He couldn’t see them, but he knew they were there behind netted curtains, holes in the timber walls or even under the planks. He felt like reaching out and stroking the tension. It felt so good. His chuckle started low and scratchy like gravel, but by the time he finished it even the pastor in his church could hear it. He knew that out there, behind one of those windows, there would be five others laughing with him. As he was starting to catch his breath, he took a bow, turned, and walked. ‘Who was that man in the snakeskin boots?’ someone whispered behind a stack of crates next to the saloon. ‘Beats me. All I know is I ain’t set for tryin’ t’answer no question of his.’ A black horse walks past, and exhales noisily. jayseven is dead. He was the Sheriff, a man trying to hold the town together. He was good. The deputy stood down from where he was watching. He walked over to his former boss’s body, and crouched down. A thin stalk of barley hung drearily from his mouth. ‘Gee, boss. I sure do hate to see you like this. I’ll see to it you get what you want.’ He plucked the star from the shirt of his former boss, and put it in his pocket. ‘I got the feeling we won’t be needin’ this a while.’ He stood up and walked away. Looks like San Luis is in trouble, once again. Day 1 begins now. You know what to do. If not, then… ask someone else. I just spent about 4 hours sorting this shit out. Links: End of Day 1 1st Night End of Day 2 2nd Night

Yeah, I figured But next time I will most certainly be implementing some of these ideas. I've sent out about 7 of the roles so far, and have some people coming over now so I won't be able to finish it all off tonight. I'm off to Leeds tomorrow so, please, have some patience! I aim to get this all done very soon indeed.

Ok, I've got most people's responses. I'm writing up the roles now - done about 4 so far, so patience please I'm really trying to make each character interesting. I was going to really mix-it-up and make the game more role-playing than before... but it's a little too complicted for my first go, so it'll be fairly regular.

Ah yes! Of course :P I think it's me that got my wires crossed. But I still think the nuke went off in the first incident, because they poured concrete over it... The past/present workings of the show annoys me because I find it tricky to decide which tense to use! Mokong; which bit with sun and frank talking to christian, and which part with christian and claire? I can't recall the specific ones you speak of.

DHL LIE. Re-delivered at 10am? All three of us were sitting inthe lounge and nay a buzzer were rung. Bah-ity.

The actor playing Jacob was in Dexter's first season as Paul, the blonde's jailbird husband. I think? Damn. I was traipsing around IMDB for ages to check my guess. Slooow!

They were building the hatch to control the electromagnetism anyway -- and we know that they will be pouring concrete on the anomoly because of a nuclear leak, which leads me to conclude that it was indeed the nuke that set it off in the first place. What bothers me is exactly what is the Swan for, anyway? If they were building it to test this electromagnetic field then where are the experimental elements in the Hatch? All we know the hatch to be is a button to release the energy that flares up. If they didn't drill into the energy pocket while building the swan that releases flares tehn they wouldn't have needed to build the swan, nor make a button, if you follow me. Or maybe i just missed something real simple :P

Badlands. In a similar vein to Natural Born Killers and True Romance, only 20 years earlier and without the cinema sheen. Martin Sheen takes a young Sissy Spacek on the run after killing her father, and will tolerate no witnesses to end their love. Terrence Malick is an unbelievable director. He compacts a 140 minute film into 90 minutes, sparing nothing in this terse story. His musical score grows from the xylophone intro that is embedded in the cultural consciousness through gentle guitar ditties and progressing the tension with wafting choral waves that cumulatively build climax after climax. He's made less than half a dozen movies over a career spanning over 4 decades. He is a man of the art, that even directors like Spielberg try to replicate. There are no surprises or twists. All characters, ultimately, act in an inevitable and, in a sense, rational way so the viewer is never surprised -- just gripped, saddled up in the back-seat. Mawesome.

Smallville Finale Good and bad. Was expecting more of a fight. Lots of "but how will they deal with that" stuff for next season. Shorty told me a little about;

Yeah, I think ReZ has the trickiest trial ahead, to be fair. Gaggle Vs. ReZ next week shall carve the abyss that moogle, cube and I will be trying to claw our way up. I know Villan isn't worried - but he's going to have a dire defence against me, and I just hope that's enough to scavenge a point.