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Messages - van

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Announcements / Re: new ca search!
« on: April 26, 2020, 10:27:03 AM »
come join our cult homies we have cookies

Helping Hub / Re: Badlands Opinions?
« on: April 07, 2020, 11:20:18 PM »
yeet skeeting in here as one of the few members, someone who's been here for years, someone who's been through all but one leadership, and someone who's watched the groups evolution. i'm not alone in having spectated in the groups evolution throughout the years, but i think almost everyone can agree (through no fault of anyone) that something has gone wrong somewhere along the line.

personally? the last time i really adored the badlands, and felt nothing but excitement regarding it as a whole, was during charlie's reign, and i think there's a pretty good reason when you compare it to the leaders that have come afterwards. there was a theme (mafia) but it wasn't forced upon you. there was badness, but it wasn't especially overt.

they were, like hoot pointed out, a shadowclan/slytherin/baddie variation. ask people to pick a hogwarts house, there will be more than a few who pick slytherin; ask someone to pick a clan, there's more than a few who favor shadowclan. there's a reason behind this. there's an appeal in something dark and wicked, and these groups embody it. they're not nice, they're not sunshine and rainbows. they're self serving (slytherin literally embodies ambition), they embrace dark colors and essences, and they don't try to convince you they're nice or the good guys. but they aren't going around, killing people because they feel like it and just want violence and bloodshed. there's a good reason people reminisce about mobsters and organized crime, but not ted bundy and ed gein. it's like that dichotomy between bad boys and bad men; there's an aesthetic behind the guy in a leather jacket and a motorcycle, one that a cheater and abuser lacks.

it's midnight and i'm running on three redbulls, so i can't find the ways to describe this exactly, but there's a balance that needs to be achieved for a bad group to be bad, but not bad. i've always felt like charlie/beatles did this really well, in a way that even i can't figure out. i think a big problem that i've seen the group run into in the last few leaders in regards to the badlands being bad is too often, there's either too much of an attempt to justify things, or too little. we don't need to have an enemy because of some personal offense, and just "i feel like being enemies" is too hard to relate to. a lot of charlie's actions had some logic behind them (usually some kind of desire for power, and furthering the group = furthering himself), but the bad things he did were never excused. there wasn't ever any attempt to excuse his actions, they were a means to his desire for power, and i think it was a good execution in his actions.

and this isn't me saying we need a charlie 2.0, or that every leader needs to be like him. there was one and only, he had his reign, and the world moved on. but we've had a lot of leaders attempt to be bad, but never executing it in the same way, and thus, they never received the same following and activity that charlie's muse offered. there's always too much of an attempt to justify their actions and have members sympathize with the character, or too little and the character just feels off-putting.

the badlands as some civilized society, allied with almost everyone, and raiding npc's will never interest me, and likewise, a lot of people i think. the badlands as some truly evil entity also repulses me. i don't want serial killers or fighting rings, because it's hard to write in those scenarios, and as we saw with that evil group plot years ago, very few people have any interest in playing just evil.

charlie's reign has raids where he literally yeeted children, but they were occasional. there were events with other groups, but it wasn't easter eggs and holiday parties. they had enemies, but it wasn't 24/7 war, but occasional fights and heaps of occasional tension. beatles wasn't afraid of them being the bad guys, but they were always deeper than just bad guys.

no leader is going to be the same as the next, but i think fundamentally, if we want to see a fragment of the former activity and life the group had, it needs to harbor the same general idealism. it isn't a family friendly group to raise your kids in, we can't justify every bad thing we do, and we can't force people to be serial killers or pirates or anything else. the mafia theme worked really well because no one had to have a parrot and play pirate, but there was an easy air to it that characters felt comfortable with. the group crossed a lot of lines (again, yeeting a child) but there wasn't public torture and free for all killing.

this is just a lot of rambling, but i think my real message here isn't that events or drastic changes to ranks or bandanna's matter in the long run. they're details we should mind, but overall, the alignment and sense of justification of the group is what has really mattered much.

even artistotle has pointed out that bad people only befriend people who serve some use or purpose to them (be because jim is famous and it gives them cloud, or because bob helps them move their couch), and i'd personally like to see more of that power hungry, self serving, slytherin personality be reincorporated. having an ally for peace's sake doesn't make much sense if we want them to be bad guys; i'd love to see more of a "you don't serve a good enough purpose to me, so i'll call you neutral, and while we're not gonna actively attack you, you aren't our friend so we'll do whatever we want with you." want to show that a leader is bad, or that they want to be in the upper hand in all of their outside relationships? demand more give and less take from their allies; not "we'll help each other" but "you'll help us, we won't kill you". if a group is in any way negatively aligned, they really shouldn't ever view someone as a friend or an equal, but instead a means to an end.

this is kind of long and i'm tired and hungry, but i hope y'all get what i mean? but i'm not interested in some massive theme, or gladiator fights, or Neutral Nancies. i want bad guys who don't apologize for being bad, but serve some sort of purpose, like wanting more power, and understand that order and organization in necessary to get it. i've tried over and over again for a while to be super active in the group, because historically it was always my favorite place to be, but at the end of the day, the neutral alignment and lack of focus and direction the group has had for a while has always turned me off. this isn't anyone's fault, and ik every leader has done their best, but fixing aesthetic issues isn't going to do much; we need to figure out an orientation for the group, we need to figure out where the line is drawn, and only then will it make any sense to give a shit about events and bandannas, tbh.

« on: March 29, 2020, 12:01:33 PM »
i'll riot if brad doesn't win.

« on: March 21, 2020, 11:55:29 AM »
username: van
link to what you’re advertising: click
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windclan is back in business with a new leader, and more importantly, [url=]new hp tryouts[/url]!

General OOC / Re: the real tea ????
« on: January 23, 2020, 11:53:44 PM »
honestly? valid
i don't think i know anyone in MT
most people i know are on the coast, with a few in central

« on: January 13, 2020, 03:23:43 PM »

monroe didn't understand many things in life. she didn't understand algebra, or why female deer didn't have antlers, or why life was so short and shitty and fleeting. she didn't understand why people had to die, and she most certainly couldn't comprehend how the hell someone could be there one minute, and the next just... just not be. the idea that one minute could suddenly be your last minute blew her mind, the idea that your brother could be your brother one minute, and a corpse the next. her chest ached at the memories of the night it had all happened, all those weeks ago, when her parents and hendrix were fine right up until they weren't, and yet she'd hardly cried. she'd hardly grieved. she'd hardly mourned. she'd simply moved on, ignored the problem with the hopes it would go away, and instead focused on the then and there. her, eddie, and this weird ass lodge with these weird ass people. (seriously, who the fuck willingly lived in this weather?)

but now nik was gone. she didn't know him well when they were younger; she'd been sixteen and smitten with eddie, occasionally sneaking off to rope alfie into their antics, and nik had simply been their brooding older brother, but there was still something sore about losing him. even if they hadn't been best friends, he was a piece of a life from long, long ago, and the realization that he was gone hit her like a ton of bricks.

she didn't speak, but stood closer to the front, near the brothers. partially because she didn't exactly know anyone else, and partially because it felt right to be close to him in these last moments, as eddie gave some brooding speech about the dearly departed man. when his words concluded and he returned to the group, monroe was quick and quiet to step towards him, pulling him into the tightest hug she could manage with her stature. at first, it might have seemed like she was trying to comfort him, but anyone who inspected closer could tell that she was more or less seeking it (and maybe offering it to a degree as well). she simply stood there, seconds ticking by, face buried in his shirt, one of the few people present who understood the fresh pain of losing a brother, but more so upset that another person she knew was gone yet again.

Flintlock Lodge / Re: BLEW THINGS OUT OF PROPORTION » open, joining
« on: October 16, 2019, 12:08:26 PM »
it'd been too long. six years or so since she'd been roused by her father in the middle of the night, told in hushed whispers to pack her things. ❝we have to go,❞ he'd told her, panic and anxiety in his eyes, and though it'd broken her heart, monroe understood she couldn't question him. her father, her mother, they'd done everything for her and hendrix, and if they asked her to give up some teenage romance and the place she'd called home for a few years, she'd been alright with that.

exactly why they'd gone, she still didn't quite know. her father had only told her that that family was dangerous, and they were safer away from them. she didn't probe more, not because she'd been tamed and made docile, but because that was all she had to know. her parents would have done anything for her and hendrix's safety, and they'd left a good business venture for that very reason.

but there he stood. edmund stirling-moray, looking a little more grown and jaded, but still the boy she'd known and loved. the boy she'd snuck out with nearly every night, the boy she'd crossed off most first's with, her first love. sure, she'd had flings in the last six years, but it was only people who came and went. there'd always been an understanding that it would be temporary with them, but with eddie? she'd really, genuinely loved him, and truth be told, there hadn't been any closure. there was no break up, no goodbye, no i-never-want-to-see-you's or i-hate-you's. it'd ended without resolution, and even after all these years, seeing those blue eyes made her chest tighten.

he slung his coat around her shoulders, but just as soon as he did as much, she was moving forward. arms wrapped around his chest, she squeezed tightly, stronger than one might think a five-foot-four botanist might be. she didn't move for a long moment, squeezing him firmly and burying her face in his chest, and when she did finally step back, once cool golden eyes were now growing red around the outside, tears lining up but not falling.

❝everybody's dead, eddie.❞ she said quietly, small frame seemingly sinking into the coat, leaving her swallowed whole. ❝mom, dad, hendrix,❞ her voice cracked a bit at the mention of her twin brother's name, ❝they're all dead. i-i heard people talking about how the whole pack of stirling-moray goons had turned up here, flintlock-something, and i-❞ she took deep breaths, wiped her eyes carefully, tried to compose herself. hendrix, the big-burly-man he was, had always been more of the emotional one; monroe had always been good at staying calm under pressure. ❝i know it's been years, but i could always trust you, eddie, and right now i just- i just need someone i can trust.❞ she said quietly, teeth sinking into the flesh of her lower lip as she offered him a pleading gaze, desperate for him to take her in, or back, or... anything.

Flintlock Lodge / BLEW THINGS OUT OF PROPORTION » open, joining
« on: October 16, 2019, 12:03:01 AM »
tw for mentions of loss, fire, and drugs.

a ghost of smoke followed her. she was was gretel without her hansel, leaving a trail to tell her how to go home. except, there was no home, and her version of breadcrumbs dissipated within a few steps. the home she'd always known, the place she'd had as a symbol of safety to return to when the world was on fire, had ironically gone down in the same manner. some fuckers had thought it was sweet, sweet justice to burn the farm down. maybe it was, in fact, justice or irony or some other shitty word for deserving that the farm would go down in flames, considering what they grew there. all monroe could think it was anymore was shitty.

the brunette looked about as put together as ever. loose waves hanging down about her shoulders, brushed but still casual, a tee shirt and hoodie adorning her shoulders, jeans frayed at the knees from years of working in them. her only makeup consisting of chapstick and mascara, though she could have certainly made use of some concealer to cover the bruise on her cheek. anyone who knew monroe carter understood that the young woman wasn't much of a fighter; she'd been raised on a goddamn pot farm by a pair of hippies. she and her late brother had been named after marilyn monroe and jimi hendrix, and she really only knew the basics, considering her family's business. she could aim a gun and pull the trigger, she could throw a punch, and that was about it. her brother, ten minutes older and as many inches taller, had gotten more rigorous training, but monroe had always been content with her plants.

and now she had none of it. the farm was gone, her family was gone, her friends were gone. in a night, her world had quite literally gone down in flames, and she was the only survivor, smelling like smoke and rivers and weed. still, even as she stopped by the border, dropping what was left of her blunt on the ground and stomping the small embers out, she didn't grovel. she didn't cry over what she'd lost (she'd done plenty in the last two weeks), nor did she worry for her dwindling supply of drugs. she only stood, holding herself to conserve warmth, waiting in hopes that the last living people she knew were, in fact, on this shitty mountain, while the weed carried the skunk-y scent of her hobby and career upwind.

( shitty but sis is here )

Los Santos / Re: fuck this [open, morning sickness]
« on: August 23, 2019, 10:38:19 PM »
pregnancy was something carter probably ought to be... more concerned about. she was, after all, a married woman, and there was always a risk of pregnancy in her particular situation. luckily, she was the daughter of a doctor, well trained in medicine herself, and though she couldn't entirely prevent it, she understood the precautions to take. and thus far, she'd survived to twenty-nine without a child, and hadn't considered ever having one. she wasn't opposed to the idea, but instead simply hadn't thought of it. their lives, for so long, had been about survival, and living felt foreign to carter.

❝are you alright?❞ the words tumbled from carters mouth as she eyed selena and the plant, having just unintentionally witnessed the scene. it was fairly common knowledge among most people that carter was well trained in medicine, though the precise details and formality were generally not mentioned. ❝please tell me it's a hangover and not sickness.❞ she said with a halfhearted sigh, not wanting to deal with some flu spreading around.

« on: August 19, 2019, 08:59:42 PM »
carters scars weren't physical, and truth be told, she was grateful for it. not for vanity, she didn't have the spirit to be vain, but because scars told a story. the bigger the scars, the louder the story. they talked about pain and sin, about the things you'd chosen to do and the choices you'd been forced to make. even in perfect silence, they spoke volumes. everyone had a story, but scars were putting the text in bold and upping the font to thirty-six.

no, her scars were beneath the flesh. lines and holes, telling a story in the more subtle ways. in the way she struggled with eye contact, in the way that they hardly had mirrors in their home, in the way that she clenched her jaw around people. the text was small, a dark grey, less easily read. she didn't ever want her story to be easily deciphered, she didn't want people to read it like a slash across the throat or a wounded eye. but, hypocritical as it was, as much as the blonde didn't want people to read the words on her page, looking at charlie, she was curious what his story was.

one foot in front of the other as she moved along a few yards behind her husband, arms crossed and eyes trained on the canine, occasionally shifting up to the man, she paused a few feet away, lowering herself to a crouch as she peered at the dog. ❝gotta wonder how the hell he survived that, though.❞ she mumbled, a sympathetic crease in her brow. ❝i mean, medically speaking. he's gotta be pretty damn tough to get through it, no pain medications, no way to deal with infection.❞ she didn't look at charlie, to her credit. just kept her gaze trained on the dog. ❝any ideas as to what you'll call him?❞

Los Santos /  bruises on both my knees \\ open, meet and greet 
« on: August 16, 2019, 02:32:58 PM »
carter had a quiet, unassuming sort of presence. she moved with ease, with confidence, but nothing about her really suggested anything about her as a person. there was no charm twinkling in her smile, no mischief in her eyes, no danger in her step. she might be a timid wife, the calm to her husbands storm, just as easily as she could have been a crazed killer, discretely hidden behind walls she'd put up long ago. maybe she was a little of both, or something else entirely.

all anyone could really tell, as the blonde stood with arms crossed in front of her frame, lips pursed, eyes attentive, was that whoever, whatever carter was, she kept it hidden very, very well. a year or so, they'd lived in this city, and the only person who knew any shade of her was the man she'd known for the last decade-and-a-half. and anyone who thought that this wasn't intentional, that she hadn't build those walls on purpose, was simply dense.

❝okay everyone, lets have another go at this meet and greet thing.❞ she called out, eyes searching the small group before herself, figuring the least she could do was let them think they knew her. ❝share your name, and a little bit about yourself.❞ most facts, in general, tended to be quite boring, but it felt kind of strange to only share your name. too short, too routine. ❝i'll start us off: i'm carter montgomery, i've lived here almost a year now, i'm almost thirty, i have a twin sister somewhere, and i'm afraid of heights.❞ it was as personal as carter ever really got, and that, in itself, was progress.

« on: August 16, 2019, 01:25:21 PM »

Los Santos /  heaven won't let me in \\ open 
« on: August 13, 2019, 10:51:05 PM »
if you asked carter montgomery if she believed in god, you might receive a blank stare, a long moment of silence, then witness a feeble shrug of her shoulders, hear her mumble ❝probably❞ under her breath. she'd been raised by doctors, by people of science. she, herself, hadn't been spared from years of textbooks and charts and all the other dreadful things that came with education. but believing in science didn't mean not believing in god. her parents, though never devout, were certainly believers.

the truth was, after twenty-nine years of living, carter hadn't ever seen evidence. she wasn't searching for proof of a god, she didn't look for men walking on water and turning water into booze. rather, she searched for proof that there was someone beyond this plane of existence who hadn't given up on them all. twenty-nine years, and so far, she hadn't found anything.

and yet, carter found herself seated in a booth. the wood behind her back, beneath her thighs, was well worn but still sturdy. the church the booth resided in was in good condition, all things considered. a little worn, a little weathered, but it stood strong and someone had kept the place clean enough. bibles, the pages flimsy and yellowed from time, were all about. some had been vandalized, pages torn out and crumbled on the floor, but others had been respected. names were jotted inside of many, and whether they were the names of previous owners, or the names of those someone was praying for, it wasn't clear.

but carter sat there, a book open on her lap, staring down at one of the aged pages, a mixture of emotions on her features that left them impossible to read. highlighted on the page, done long before, and underlined, was one verse in particular. ❝do not murder,❞ she read aloud, her voice hardly above a whisper, but carrying through the empty building in the silence, ❝and anyone who murders will be subject to judgement. matthew, nineteen-eighteen.❞ she let out a long breath of air, staring down at them for a moment in the silence, before her gaze shifted upwards, focusing on the statue in the front of the building, which had seen better days, and slumped a bit in her seat, as though whithering beneath the weight of it. ❝damn, man, i'm thinking i might be too hard of a case for saint jude thaddeus.❞ she murmured, head craning backwards in a tired bit of defeat.

( idk what this is really, but uh, it's? something? )

Los Santos / Re: * it ain't easy // OPEN: PIANO
« on: August 13, 2019, 10:07:48 PM »
carter was always made weak by the sound of something beautiful.

her eyes were trained forward, arms crossed in front of her body, one leg landing in front of the other as she walked towards the low hum of music. sure, over the years she'd heard people play, but every time it still enticed her. there was something beautiful, something magical about the high notes that escaped with every tap of fingers atop keys. she'd never learned piano, or any other instrument, for that matter. in elementary school, before the world went and ended, she'd played a plastic recorder, but even with some vague "training", it'd been ear piercing. she'd never learned how to make noises that beautiful, didn't really have too much of an interest in learning, but listening? she always loved listening.

dogs had gathered, and among them stood the blonde, shifting through the bodies of the canines who largely ignored her. though she was tempted to comment on the sounds, call it beautiful, she didn't want to disrupt the noise, disrupt the stream of sound. instead, she stood there, quiet and observing, listening with lips pressed together in the slightest bit of a smile.

( wow carter, you contribute so much to this thread )

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