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Halloween Fantasy (part 2)

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Job done, Professor Ramsbottom-Hill made her way towards the garage dig, pulling off the heavy workgloves as she walked. Now free to think about things other than the repercussions of bodging the statue lift, Bodil found herself wondering about several things at once. They were going to need more security... The report to the university... The press function later today... Getting more experienced archeologists and fewer students...

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Halloween Fantasy (part 1)

((Is anyone else like me? Do you do most of your deep thinking in the shower/bath? Well, what follows comes from that kind of automatic idle thinking and then added to during the few minutes after getting into bed before sleep takes you. I wasn't going to post it because it is just a silly and self-indulgent fantasy so you can blame Jake Grimes for me finally putting this idea, born in soapy wetness, into words. DISCLAIMER: FE Lore has definately taken a back seat.))

 

 

 

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I'll be back in a minute my sweet.

Joe headed towards the pond. Kirsten would be a while he knew. She always was when she was buying pretty things. But even so he had to be quick. Turning a corner he dialed into the 986.76MHz. As soon as the voice at the other end responded Joe cut him off.

"Meet me at The Tap in five minutes. Don't be late, I don't have much time. Oh, and bring a bag of diapers. I'm supposed to be buying diapers."

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Too pretty not to post.

Sorry, but this clip just gives me goosebumps. This is where I am currently trading Laughing

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ex2nGIvbiVI

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It's been a blast

It really has. Three years, almost exactly... wow. During that time I've met some wonderfull people and made some good friends. Aaaaand that's about as maudlin as i'm going to get and I don't really need to say anymore because you've pretty much all has the same experiences. Thanks to everyone I've ever RP'd with for making the game as much fun as it has been.

Anyway, I thought I would try and round off the characters' histories a little like they do at the end of films like Animal House. So then...

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On The Edge Of The Barrel ((OOC info unless you are involved))

"It's hard to get out of the barrel. It's slippery around the edges and people are happy to see you fall back in." Robert Downey, Jr.

The rain had almost stopped and now the streets gleamed in the moonlight and the piles of refuse and dead dogs had that just washed 'sheen' that would last only until the sun came up.

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Just a Job (part five)

Tossing the thermos through the open driver's window, Joe continued on to the rear of the car. There, he dropped the tailgate and reached inside and reappeared clutching the wire handle of an old but 'looked after' hurricane lamp. Giving the fuel reservoir a few more pumps to get the pressure up, Joe lit the thing and lowered the tubular glass lens. He set off towards the house.

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Just a Job (part four)

Rating:

"Two hours. Two bloody hours!"

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Just a Job (part three)

He was going to need a spade.


Joe cursed under his breath. A flashlight yes but he hadn't reckoned on having to dig the trapdoor out from under half a ton of assorted rubble.


"Well," he said, looking out beyond the burnt down wall towards the old tree at the far side a small garden meadow. "That's just my bleedin luck ain't it now." He climbed and slid over the blackened remains until he at last jumped down onto the sun-parched grass and set off across the meadow towards the tree.


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Just a Job (part two)

Joe made his way carefully across the wet, slippery hills of charcoal and plaster towards where the kitchen used to be. Once or twice he nearly lost his footing and was gratefull for the few remaining charred beams of what had once been the skeleton of the house.

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Just a Job (part one)

Joe shifted down to a safer gear for the rough dirt track. But still the car bounced and lurched along in a cloud of brown dust and a screech of protesting shock absorbers.

"Ow!. Shit!" He grimaced and wondered if his spine was going to survive the journey. He was getting too old for this.

What the fuck, he wondered, was he doing here. This was crazy. This was ancient history, best forgotton. But the 'delicate' conversation he had had yesterday in the middle of a field of bloody crabs had nudged a dim memory.

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Leaflet campaign

The following hand-flyer can be found in every bar, at every auction house and in every ballistics workshop from Odenvill to Los Alamos.



NFO_Ammunition.jpg


Edited to add: Btw, this is also the lable used on every box.

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Back...ish

Hey chaps and chapesses. Got released from hospital yesterday so i currently spending a week of R&R with my sister and brother in law. The operation has left me pretty exhausted for much of the time so i doubt i will make it in game this week. But hey,  at least I can still annoy everyone on FERP :)

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Away for a while.

((I'm going to be gone from the game for at least a week from tomorrow, maybe two. With luck though I'll be on FERP again from around about the end of next week. Don't bother opening this, there is no more :D. See y'all soonish.

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"Do you know anything..."

"...of her whereabouts?"

Joe arrived back at the apartment still angry and flustered from the brief talk with Reavy. Fortunately, Kirsten was not home yet. The last thing he wanted was more questions.

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Due to personal reasons.... Yeah it's one of those.

((Due to a combination of a bit of burnout and a bit of work related stress (hell is too good for them) I'm going to take a few days off from FE. However, AH supply and ammo production will continue as normal. See you all next week :)

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Life, The Universe and Everything puckers up.

Joe was standing by the window looking at the photo of another long ago girl and was feeling pretty low. Around him, the apartment, and Joe himself for that matter, was reverting back to its original state. It was the morning of the third day after Kirsten had gone and the washing up, the laundry and Joe's personal hygene were all equally neglected. Cigar smoke floated in the morning sunlight flooding in through the windows and though the pungent aroma was still managing to keep the smell of old sweat and unwashed plates at bay, any casual visitor would say it was close.

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Parting gift

Joe woke up before the alarm clock went off. He always woke up before the alarm clock went off. In fact, he had often wondered why he had wasted so many chips on a piece of pre-fall tech that consistantly failed in its advertised function. He sighed and stretched, not too much though in case he got a cramp, and lay there between the clean sheets feeling reasonably content with life, the universe, and everything. Clean sheets, new bed, freshly painted and decorated apartment.

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Uncharted waters

Joe sat and stared at the figures in the ledger. And stared... and stared. His eyes were seeing the figures and were desperately trying to convey what they saw to the brain. But the brain was busy. The door was closed and a a 'Do Not Disturb' was hung on the door handle. Behind the door an argument was going on.

"Are you insane?!"

"Probably, but that's never stopped me before. In fact it's got me out of one or two sticky situations in the past."

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Love's young dream

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Cupid had his work cut out with Joe Spivey esq. Those dainty arrows of cutesy love and butterfly feelings in the stomach had no chance against the deep passion Joe already had for chips, chips and more chips. Faced with such a challenge, Cupid flew back to the celestial arsenal and dusted off the bazooka of groin aching lust. Unaware of what was about to befall him, Joe was hard at work between the mailbox, his 'office' and Rodney the auctioneer. Cupid awaited his moment, then pulled the trigger on Joe Spivey.

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Paint job

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It is early evening back in New Flagstaff. Only a few shoppers are hanging around the vaults and vendors of the square, the only recognisable one being Dan Cross who is asleep next to the work bench he has set up. Joe's car is parked in front of the auctioneer's block and Rodney, the auctioneer, is leaning forward on it watching Joe who is engrossed in painting over the worst scratches from his recent trip. Joe is muttering to himself, cursing weirdos, kids, hillbillies and mercs with equal vehemence.

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Above and beyond

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What's brown and bald and screams a lot? Yup, Joe on a trail bike. On the plus side though the woodland creatures, even the big hairy ones with sharp teeth, got the hell out of the way.

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Deliverence

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A day, a night, and most of another day trapped in a car with anyone can strain a relationship. Let's just say there were tantrums, feelings were hurt and there were occaisional tears. Tuki, on the other hand was fine.

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Clear and present danger

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Joe drove away from Citadel like all the beasts of hell were on his tail.


In the back seat Tuki continued to protest and rattle on and on about duty and patients and this and that and God doesn't she ever shut up! Joe's hands tightened on the steering wheel and he chewed hard on the unlit and soggy mess that was his cigar.


He had no idea where he was going. The only thing he was familiar with in Deadfall was that cess-pit of a town where he had a few customers and some dodgy contacts. He stared out the windscreen at the desolate landscape. What an effing shithole. No, Deadfall wouldn't do, had to be somewhre else. Joe tuned out whatever it was Tuki was prattleing on about until it just became background noise. He needed to think.

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Rumour: Upsetting the balance.

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Joe fell out of Beau's slightly more sober than he would normally be at this time of night... ok, morning. Really? That time already?


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Mutant Powers in RP

One of the unique features of FE is its mutant powers. They work very well 'as is' for PvE and PvP but their use is a little bit hazy in RP and the potential for godmoding is huge. Take telekenesis for example. How can we determine what a player can do with this awesome power? Can they lift a spoon? A car? A house? The logical thing would be to say that you can't lift anything with your mind that you couldn't do physically. And then there is combat between players. How do you RP that?

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Browsing the adverts (Rumour)

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Hands clasped behind his back, Joe rocked backwards and forwards on his heels infront of the bar notice board perusing the bits of paper, torn off beer mats and the occaisional proffesional looking notice.


"Nothing new, nothing new, he's dead, nothing new, in jail,... hello, what's this?"


Making sure no one was around to see, Joe pulled out his glasses and put them on. He leaned closer to the small, neatly printed card in the bottom corner.


 


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Mixing business with pleasure (A Rumour)

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 It was a game he'd never grown tired of. Ever since he was a nipper in the playground. Ahhhh the simple pleasures. And let's face it, seeing how high you could piss up a wall was about as simple as it got.

Due to the lack of actual toilet facilities around the main square at New Flagstaff, Joe relieved himself against the wall of the container under the Union guard's platform. Of course, he wasn't the only one and the ground here was always muddy and the grass was an unusual shade of yellow.

 

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Well, It's kinda like an onion... y'know?

It started with that punch.

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Conversations in the wee small hours.

At a table in a smokey corner of the bar three drunks are discussing gangs.


Amos is a fat, ruddy faced man who sweats openly and his thick lips always seem to be disgustingly wet.


"Well, what about the... wossname, the White Crow?


Joe sits back in his seat, nursing his pint on his growing beer belly. He makes a great show of pondering the question, pulling deeply on his cigar as he looks to the nicotined stained ceiling while he gathers his thoughts.


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