Roll: 5
Annie remembers the sounds o fighting in the bck seat. She shouted, as one does, and the sounds dimmed, though they never really went away. Long rides were always like that. It was frustrating, but it was normal. Annie’s mind was elsewhere, anyway. The traffic was bad today, and people were goingtoo fast for the conditions. Much too fast. Annie’s heart raced, her hands clutching the wheel tightly. The bright lights in the other lanes were stabbing into her eyes, sharpening her headache, nd increasing her rustration. She yelled again. Then she screamed. Then …
Then nothing.
Then a loud honking.
Then a hand on her wet shoulder.
The lights in the other lane were not as bright, but her headache was splitting, and not all the wetness on her face was from the rain. Annie let’s herself be guided out of the road (why was she in the road? That’s not sae at all!) and into a building where she sits, numbed by … what was she doing?
Roll: 5
I’m in a lot of troule he thought. [color=yellow ]Sam knows. He knows, and he called someone about it. It’s the police. They’re going to be here soon. I have to get out.[/color] He eyed the window, and in his panic, the thought of crashing through flitted across his mind.
”Starn?”
He’s gonna do it. He stands, and moves forward. He’s gonna crash right through. He unlatches the lock. He’s gonna have to pick all those shards out of himself.
”Starn, what are you doing?”
“He slides the window up. Sam’s gonna be even madder. Starn sticks one leg through, bends down, and swings out.
”Starn, Stop this. Come back in here. Be reasonable.”
He’s gonna have to tuck and roll, when he hits with all that broken glass around him. He stildes to the ground, one foot touching, then the other. He adjusts his pants, brushes off his shirt. He has to run! He turns and careully slides the window down.
”Be sure to lock it behind me, Sam!” Starn waves as he walks off, checking his pockets for all the bits he had in there, counting his fingers and wriggling his toes.
Roll: 6
"Sorry lady, I already work here, I just took a wrong turn while trying to remember where I left my tools. Sorry to bother you."
”Oh! No, I’m sorry, I must not have recognized you. Here, let me help you get your bearings.”
Somehow, the receptionist is impossible to resist, and Jack gets a long tour of the building, though not of the entire complex. In the process, the woman gets Jack’s name out of him - not his given name, of course, he hadn’t used that in years. But the name Jack Harper is now on her clipboard, along with the notation “Janitor - 3rd shift. Plant A.”
Back at the custodial closet / utility room, the lady excuses herself to her duties and leaves Jack to his. He goes inside, changes into the uniform and closes his eyes for a moment. It onoly just occurred to him that he’d been up all night - long enough for the office ot open and a receptionist to come in. Looks like the toilet will have to wait for the next guy. It’s not like he’s getting paid overtime, after all.
Roll: 4
Well will you look at that, a potato! Well, the illusion of a potato anyway.
Do potatoes even exist outside of the illusion? Then again the tactile sense of eating is naught but a dream so I suppose food is an illusion as well. That said, I had something there. If I can get further and control it better, maybe I can tear it asunder and see what truly is. To start ... let's make this better-looking.
Stan concentrates hard, wiping a drip from his nose idly on his sleeve as he stares into his breakfast with the intensity of a man who thinks only his concentration is holding reality together at all. Fter a while, the food does start to look better, thoguh how exactly is hard to say. Pperhaps the mash is smoother, creamier. Perhaps the peas are brighter, fuller. Perhaps the aroma is richer. Maybe Stan is just getting hungrier. He picks up the fork and pokes the mush a bit, then takes a tenative bite. Suddenly Stan realizes he hadn’t tasted the … the “potato” … before he tried this experiment, so he couldn’t tell if it tasted better or not. He ponders trying again, but as he looks down a the plate, the whitish goop has disappeared, leaving but a smudge in the bottom of the dish. Huh. Unreal, indeed. He thinks as a bit of pea disappears as well, going to the same fate as the potato.
Roll: 3
Jeremy tries to remember his undercover persona, but the years have left it a bit stale. He opts for surly silence, giving out words a few at a time until he gets his bearings. Frankie notices his mood, and makes a comment, but doesn’t seem to mind much. He chats a bit randomly, talking about sports and the weather and other generic stuff. He doesn’t talk about any of their old acquaintences though.
“So .. you never said what’s up with that outfit.” He remarks idly, as they wait in line for a coffee, several blocks out of Jeremy’s route to work. Maybe he should call in, to let them know he is gonna be late. Or absent.
Roll: 1
Losing control a little, Joseph tosses the trash cans around in a rage, causing the men to chase him down the block. They catch him, and, as per the rules of back alley minor bulleying everywhere, tossed him into a Dumpster. Or rather, a Trash Co Brand trash disposal unit. Not as roomy, not as well maintained, but just as filthy. He struggles to climb out and thinks, once more of home, and family. It was a long time ago and far away. A galaxy away, it feels like. Maybe one of his relatives would take him in, if he went back. Maybe. He wasn’t too kind the last time he was there.
Roll: 1
Ed looks at the form, and at the shopkeeper, who crosses his arms and shifts his weight, eyeing Ed sternly. Ed pulls out the pen, and hesitates. Somehow, he just can’t fill the form out. If he did, they would know about it, and they would have an excuse. They already took his kids.
At this thought, anger courses through Ed.
“Look, I’m sure we can come to an arrangement.” He says, trying almost successully to keep the anger from his voice. “I’m sure you have a … special plan, for privileged members of a, shall we say, a Premium Club? Expidited delivery, reduced red tape, that kind of thing. For the right price, of course.”
“Get out of my store before I call the police.”
Hey, I may or may not keep using color text in the turn posts. If I do, don’t expect them to remain consistent. Since I write the updates in MS Word, and the colors don’t port over. If you DO prefer a particular color for your chatracter, put it at the end of each post like thus: ((green))
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Topic: Insanity: Roll to Keep it Together (Read 33365 times)