Announcements: Cutting Costs (2024) » January 2024 Copyfraud Attack » Finding Universes to Join (and making yours more visible!) » Guide To Universes On RPG » Member Shoutout Thread » Starter Locations & Prompts for Newcomers » RPG Chat — the official app » Frequently Asked Questions » Suggestions & Requests: THE MASTER THREAD »

Latest Discussions: Adapa Adapa's for adapa » To the Rich Men North of Richmond » Shake Senora » Good Morning RPG! » Ramblings of a Madman: American History Unkempt » Site Revitalization » Map Making Resources » Lost Poetry » Wishes » Ring of Invisibility » Seeking Roleplayer for Rumple/Mr. Gold from Once Upon a Time » Some political parody for these trying times » What dinosaur are you? » So, I have an Etsy » Train Poetry I » Joker » D&D Alignment Chart: How To Get A Theorem Named After You » Dungeon23 : Creative Challenge » Returning User - Is it dead? » Twelve Days of Christmas »

Players Wanted: Serious Anime Crossover Roleplay (semi-literate) » Looking for a long term partner! » JoJo or Mha roleplay » Seeking long-term rp partners for MxM » [MxF] Ruining Beauty / Beauty x Bastard » Minecraft Rp Help Wanted » CALL FOR WITNESSES: The Public v Zosimos » Social Immortal: A Vampire Only Soiree [The Multiverse] » XENOMORPH EDM TOUR Feat. Synthe Gridd: Get Your Tickets! » Aishna: Tower of Desire » Looking for fellow RPGers/Characters » looking for a RP partner (ABO/BL) » Looking for a long term roleplay partner » Explore the World of Boruto with Our Roleplaying Group on FB » More Jedi, Sith, and Imperials needed! » Role-player's Wanted » OSR Armchair Warrior looking for Kin » Friday the 13th Fun, Anyone? » Writers Wanted! » Long term partner to play an older male wanted »

The City Is At War {{IC}}

a topic in Uncategorized Roleplay, a part of the RPG forum.

Other roleplay stuff, either inactive or otherwise. Roleplays that don't fit within any of the other categories.

The City Is At War {{IC}}

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby OrangexDoorhinge on Fri Oct 24, 2008 12:30 am

{{HERE IS THE LINK TO THE OOC BOARD}}
the-city-war-characters-needed-and-ooc-discussion-t12648.html
{{Knock yourself out...}}



*Plot:
The city of Boston, MA is at war with the inner workings of itself. It is mid-November of the year 2008, and it looks like the end of the city is near. When one looks around himself, all he sees is flashing lights, clouds of smoke, fires, streams of water, and rain. Lots and lots of rain. It was about three months ago when it all started, when the evils began to take over the city.

Life used to be normal, it was content, and all were happy. City life was hectic, but it was what the people wanted. One would get up at 6:30 AM, and head off to work by 7:00 or 8:00. After a full day of working, they would come home to an empty apartment. Some would just plop themselves upon their elaborate furniture, while others would go out to one of the many nightclubs. Some would go out for a date, while others would simply walk their dog in the cool evening air. The city was just like any other city, until mid-August.

On the night of August 17, it began to rain outside. This was not just a small shower like any other night, it was a torrential downpour. Life continued its normal routine, but in the morning, Boston realized that exactly 101 of its inhabitants were missing. The humans were gone, nowhere to be found! The majority of the kidnapped were children and teens between the ages of 5 and 21, with a few exceptions here and there. No one knew where they went, how they were kidnapped, or what had happened to them. The town was devastated.

Slowly, more citypeople were taken. They were always taken when it was raining outside, and they were alone. First, they would complain of an itch or red mark that grew somewhere upon their skin. Soon after, the red mark would turn to a deep green color, looking almost like a patch of grass. These signs were the warnings of what was to come next; the teeth. The football-shaped sore on the human’s skin would suddenly bore two pierces on either side of it. They were bite marks, and each oozed a drop of blood. Once they were cursed with the bite, most were then kidnapped.



*My Intro:
Rain poured out from the sky, falling down on a figure standing upon the banks of a river. The dirty waters of the Charles River splashed beneath her feet. Skinny jeans and a red-black plaid sweater didn’t offer much protection from the downpour, and she shivered slightly. The girl looked about fifteen. She had a very adorable face, with slightly-pointy-but-rounded features. Her skin was a pale color, with spots of rosiness upon her cheeks and nose. Dark brown hair was attempting to stay dry underneath the hood of her sweatshirt. A bright red headband separated her side bangs from the rest of her soft curls, which looked prettier when they were dry. She was very beautiful, but yet, there was a sadness that seemed to overshadow her. Her dark brown eyes cried out for help, for an escape, to be rescued from this place of deep sorrow.

The girl stared at the chaotic city surrounding her. Fire trucks and ambulances were rushing around like madness, and they still couldn’t seem to get anywhere fast enough to save anyone from the disease. It seemed like a ghost was after the city of Boston, and it kept taking away from her. The girl thought of Cassie and Adam, which brought back memories of happier days. There was a time when she was happy to be here. There was a time when she enjoyed living in Boston. There was a time when she felt loved. It seemed like so long ago that she was happy, and when she wasn’t alone. She was loved by friends and family, and they assured her of stability.

“Romeo, save me. I’ve been feeling so alone,” A song played from somewhere deep inside the pockets of the hoodie. Hah. That song suits me right about now. She thought as she pulled her magenta RAZR cell phone out of the deep abyss of her hoodie. Libby again, maybe she’ll have something good to talk about. “Hello?”

“Missy! Where are you?” A high pitched voice travelled through the speakers. It was unclear and crackly from the torrential downpour.

“I’m at the river, why?” Missy replied. Her very best friend in the world was on the phone, and was usually to take her mind off of depression.

“Oh my god! Missy, your mom is at my house right now, and she’s frantic looking for you!” Libby didn’t sound very happy.

“Why is my mom at your house?” Missy asked. Libby’s voice sounded unbelievably worried, and Missy didn’t want to be terrified any more.

“Listen, Jake is missing.” Silence. Jake? How could this be possible? Not him too! Tears trickled down Missy’s face. Within the past month, two of her closest friends had gone missing. And now, it was Jake; her brother.

“No…” She couldn’t think of anything to say. Her mind was too troubled to function. First it was Cassie, that night when we were coming home from the Loop. Then it was Adam, after the football game. Now its Jake, my little brother. Missy was growing angry towards the world. She picked up her feet and started to run towards her best friend’s house. Why does it have to be Jake? Why couldn’t it be me instead? Jake’s only 11, and he has Aspergers!

Nothing could make this day worse. Too many things had gone wrong, and this was the last straw. Nobody could make this pain go away, and nothing could overcome the sorrow that came with losing Jake. I will find him. I will find Jake. I’ll find the others, too! They won’t be lost to this evil forever, because I will save them. I, Missy Graybill, will free Boston, Massachusetts from this evil disease that has engulfed us…
Last edited by OrangexDoorhinge on Fri Oct 31, 2008 11:30 pm, edited 4 times in total.

Tip jar: the author of this post has received 0.00 INK in return for their work.

OrangexDoorhinge
Member for 16 years
Conversation Starter Conversationalist

Re: The City Is At War

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Ylanne on Sat Oct 25, 2008 8:05 pm

If one had walked into MIT's computer lab down near the Math Major Lounge, and peeked in, they might have seen nine students hard at work, eyebrows narrowed, fingers flying across keyboards, worried looks on their faces. An Irish looking girl with bright red hair in a ponytail with a T-shirt reading "Save the Rainforests", an autistic looking Slav boy wearing plaid, a pair of scrawny Japanese boys in polo shirts, a Muslim girl in hijab, a young man with an afro and a tie, a young woman with Sicilian features in a trenchcoat, an older man with long braided hair and a beard, and an Afghan girl wearing an outfit from Abercrombie and Fitch.

She was Zufash Isupzai, hunched over the computer, alternately typing at high speed and reaching for another potato chip, surrounded by the forced silence often found in a library, broken only by the occasional "can you fetch that from the printer for me, thanks". Her long, dark brown hair was pulled back with a pretty clip, and cascaded over her shoulders. The computer was displaying a Microsoft Word Document. If one had looked over the student's shoulder, they would have seen the body of a paper, reading something to the effect of the following:

The United States Government, beginning under the Reagan administration, began to provide large amount of financial aid to the mujaheddin in Afghanistan in 1978. This flow of money, estimated to be as much as twenty billion, continued through 1992 (Dixon). Some sources, particularly left-wing critics, claim that the Central Intelligence Agency funded not only the Afghans, but also the Afghan-Arabs, and in particular, Usama bin Ladin. They are also proponents of the claim that the CIA trained Bin Ladin and several of his operatives in covert sabotage tactics at CIA facilities. On the other hand, the Department of State denies that financial aid was ever given to the Afghan-Arabs, nor was any such training given to Bin Ladin's men (Department of State).

After fifteen more minutes frantically typing, Zufash saved the document twice, printed it, and practically sprinted down the hallways, all the way to Building E53, the Hermann building, to catch her Political Science professor. She burst out onto Killian Court, and then shoved another student off their bicycle, shouting "I'm taking this, Cindy; I'll drop it by your dorm tonight!" to the response "Whatever, Zufash," and pedaling as fast her short legs could go down Memorial Drive, soaked in the torrential rain, the sound of loud sirens screaming through the air, a firetruck almost totalling her on the wet, slick roads. Finally, she burst into the building, and dropped the ten page paper, panting, on Professor Gardham's desk, speckled with drops of water coming from her hair.

"I finished my paper," Zufash said, doubled over, taking deep breaths.

The Professor, a stout man of about sixty-five, his greying hair cut in a crew cut, slowly picked up the paper. "I see," he said, amused, then abruptly stood up. "Thank you, Zufash; I'll be in my office tonight until eight if you have any questions."

Professor Garham gathered his books and put them in a large bag with MIT's logo, pulled on his overcoat, and headed for the door, Zufash, who had caught her breath, following him into the hall. "Be careful," the Professor said. "With all that's going on, there is no such thing as paranoia." With that, he nodded, and closed the door behind them, walking confidently down the hallway.

Zufash rode the bike back to Cindy's dorm and left it locked to a pole in front, then walked down the street to Starbucks with an umbrella, where she treated herself to a strawberry creame frappuchino. She sipped the drink slowly, and watched the news tick by on the TV screen.

"Neither McCain nor Obama wish to concede at this point, as election results have yet to be released, due to massive recounts in Florida. Both contend that it is very likely they have won, as well as the possibility of the opposition's victory. Back to the desk, Frank."

"Good evening. Today, it is raining once again. The increase in kidnappings reported over the past few months have continued, with the latest report coming from the Boston Police Department."

Zufash sighed. She didn't want to think about the kidnappings. There were rumors flying around, of everything from God's wrath to Al Qaeda to extraterrestial beings and everything in between. Quite frankly, she didn't care what it was. She just wanted it to stop. She swallowed the last of her frappuchino, then tossed it in the can. Zufash walked slowly back to her apartment, the umbrella shielding her from more rain, although she was still soaked through anyways.

As she walked up the stairs, shaking herself off as she went in disgust, she noticed a young woman pacing back and forth in front of the apartment door. It must be Atousa, Zufash thought. Among the respondents to a "Roomate Wanted" ad Zufash had put out in the Boston Globe was a Harvard criminal justice major named Atousa Jumaani, of Iranian Parsee extraction.

The woman, dressed in a long black abaya, with a beige khmar wrapped around her head, was roughly the same height and build as Zufash. She smiled cautiously when Zufash stopped at the top of the stairs, dripping rainwater onto the carpet.

"You must be Zufash?"

"Hi," Zufash said, extending her hand. To her surprise, Atousa pulled her into a welcoming embrace, the traditional greeting. "So, come inside. I won't bite." Zufash fumbled in her purse for her key, before finding it and opening the door. The apartment was sparse, a television on a small table, a couch, an armchair, a kitchen table with four chairs, and a few paintings of horses and pianos framed on the ivory wallpaper.

"Out of all the interested potential roomates," Zufash said, motioning for Atousa to sit, "I got a member of Hell's Angels, a Communist party member, a Senator's daughter, an ex-convict, and you. I figured you and I would be most compatible. So, tell me about yourself. Impress me."

"My name is Atousa Jumaani. I am a criminal justice major, with a concentration in Criminology, and a minor in Latin. I attend Harvard University, and work as an intern in the FBI's Honor Intership Program. I like Salvador Dali, Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, good French cooking, Desperate Housewives, and James Patterson." Atousa smiled, lighting up her countenance.

Zufash laughed. "We are SO going to get along."

"I hope so," Atousa said, when Zufash's cell phone rang.

"Sorry," she said, and picked up the phone, not recognizing the caller ID. "Hello? Who is this?"

"Um, is this Zufash?" An unfamiliar male voice said.

"Depends on who's asking."

"You might, um, remember me," he said, uncomfortably. "I'm, uh, I'm Zach Davis?"

Zufash resisted the tempation to scream and hurl the phone across the room. Instead she said, in as icy a tone as she could muster, "Yes, Zachary, I do happen to remember you. What do you want and how did you get this number?"

She smiled quickly, as Atousa gave her a puzzled look.

"Well, um, you know Paul?"

"Of course I know Paul!" Zufash said, just on the cusp of a full-fledged shout. "Do you think I'm stupid or something?!"

"No, of course not, but, um, well, Paul's kind of been missing for two days, and well..."

"Well what?"

"I was kind of wondering if he was, you know, with you."

"Oh, yeah, sure," Zufash said bitterly, rolling her eyes. "Not after he ran off with you."

"Oh," Zach said on the other line, sounding disappointed, even defeated. "Well, he's been missing, and he always comes home, like, exactly at--"

"Six-thirty," Zufash said. "I know."

"Yeah," Zach said lamely, "and he didn't come home the other day. I guess I'll call, you know, call the police. I think he was kidnapped."

"Kidnapped?" Zufash felt her heart slam to a stop.

"Yeah. You heard the news lately?"

"Do I look stupid to you."

"So, yeah. Um, bye." Zach hung up. Zufash stood in her apartment for a moment, just holding her phone, before it automatically disconnected on its own. Then she remembered where she was, and that Atousa was with her, and she forced a smile, but it didn't quite come out right; instead of lightening up her face and the mood, it looked like someone tried to make a robot smile, or a death row prisoner an hour before execution.

Paul Henderson was kidnapped. So what? It wasn't like Zufash cared, after all, this was the man who cheated on her in a gay relationship! Why should she feel sorry? In fact, she should be happy. At least, that was what Zufash said to herself. But in her heart, she knew that she did care. And though she would never admit it, not even to herself, she still loved her former boyfriend.

Kidnapped. Zufash shook her head. Then, she spoke again, her voice a little quiet. "Atousa, would you like some green tea?"
​“Another world is not only possible, she is on her way. On a quiet day, I can hear her breathing.”
― Arundhati Roy

“The only way to survive is to take care of each other.”
― Grace Lee Boggs

“every day is another chance to practice living out the values that matter most to us. to be our best selves. to be the legacy we want to leave.”
― Mia Mingus

Tip jar: the author of this post has received 0.00 INK in return for their work.

User avatar
Ylanne
Groundskeeper
Groundskeeper
Member for 16 years
Promethean Conversation Starter Author Inspiration World Builder Conversationalist Friendly Beginnings Novelist Greeter Arc Warden Party Starter Contributor Person of Interest Storyteller Beta Tester Builder Cult Leader Concierge Tipworthy Donated! Lifegiver Visual Appeal

Re: The City Is At War {{IC}}

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby OrangexDoorhinge on Mon Oct 27, 2008 1:02 pm

{{Sorry about this, guys, but I'm posting on here to poke this board back up again. It hasn't had any action so you have to go to like the 3rd page to find it. So...hopefully we'll get more players!}}

Tip jar: the author of this post has received 0.00 INK in return for their work.

OrangexDoorhinge
Member for 16 years
Conversation Starter Conversationalist


Post a reply

Make a Donation

$

RPG relies exclusively on user donations to support the platform.

Donors earn the "Contributor" achievement and are permanently recognized in the credits. Consider donating today!

 

Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 1 guest