The Knights Next Prequel

[Bookish Ocelot]

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How many people seemed interested? Right now, we have four characters...

 

[I think I am here.]

39 minutes ago, BookishOcelot said:

How many people seemed interested? Right now, we have four characters...

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We have ten people in the planning PM, but I guess we could start now. Start a little smaller scale, and then as people make characters they can enter in.

 

[+Sorana]

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Sounds good.

Where do we want for our characters to meet? And do we have a first plot?

 

[I think I am here.]

Just now, Sorana said:

Sounds good.

Where do we want for our characters to meet? And do we have a first plot?

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We could have them meet at a 70s Disco  Maybe Wita serves food there, giving her a reason to be there, and the others can because what 70s character doesn’t like disco?  As for beginning plot, again, maybe something smaller that builds into the Cold War? Perhaps a murder in an alley that that was clearly done by Investiture, and the police doesn’t pay attention to it for some reason...

 

[+Sorana]

Just now, I think I am here. said:

We could have them meet at a 70s Disco  Maybe Wita serves food there, giving her a reason to be there, and the others can because what 70s character doesn’t like disco?  As for beginning plot, again, maybe something smaller that builds into the Cold War? Perhaps a murder in an alley that that was clearly done by Investiture, and the police doesn’t pay attention to it for some reason...

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Sure!

Or she was supposed to meet some people there. I can come up with something. I like the disco idea a lot.

 

[old man moomba]

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Give me until the end of the day.

 

[Bookish Ocelot]

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Party it is then. Where should it be?

 

[+Sorana]

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Somewhere in Britain? Maybe London?

I personally would prefer Edinburgh or Fort William, but maybe London is more logical.

 

Edited July 29, 2019 by Sorana

[overlord stick]

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So, I'm sad to announce I will not be a part of TKNP, or at least not for now. I have realized that, I do better with RP's when I have a few to focus on, and lately I've been a part of more than would be best. I might join in, but it'll be a bit till then. Sorry guys...

 

[old man moomba]

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I'm thinking my character could be a mobster who was sent to the British Isles on a mission to do... something. Give me a bit, I'll write it up tomorrow morning.

 

[old man moomba]

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Whew, Finally got it done

Spoiler

Name: Quinn Minnan
Age: 20
Gender: Male
Investiture: F-Gold
Occupation: Works as a 'courier' of sorts for the Irish Mob.
Appearance: A bit below average height, leanly muscled. Wears a white tank top tucked into dark blue jeans. He wears leather combat boots worn a dark brown color, and a long coat the same color. He has several tattoos of swirling runic and Celtic designs on his upper body. His fingers are adorned with quite a few gold rings, most of which are metalminds. 
Personality: Pragmatic, does what needs to be done to protect himself and those close to him. He's ok with people, but is quickly annoyed by those he deems stupid or incompetent. He has few true friends, and would probably betray most of those who call him a friend with the right motivation. He has few morals, but does care about people. 
Background: Quinn was born to a family of Metalborn Irish immigrants in Boston. His father joined the Mob when Quinn was about 10, and Quinn's older brother got involved around three years later. He himself joined at the age of 16, after his father bought him a 1969 AMC Rebel and taught him how to drive it. Quinn quickly fell in love with the car and became a suburb driver. His skills got the attention of some higher-ups in the organization, and he ended up driving from city to city, transporting illegal and sometimes dangerous cargo to Mob leadership. 
Quinn's car: Quinn drives a 1969 AMC Rebel 2-door hardtop. It's painted matte black, with a single stripe of gold running down the driver's side.

 

[AonEne]

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I also have to drop out, sorry. I'd be happy to keep planning and worldbuilding and ideas-ing in this, and maybe I'll do an NPC or two, but for now I can't join full-on with a character.

 

[I think I am here.]

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A shame you guys can’t join . Anyway, I’ll get this started off in traditional 70s Disco manner . I won’t mention the location so we can decide it later.

“So that’s where I come in!”

Marcel said, having to shout to the gorgeous woman on the leather-topped barstool next to him so the music wouldn’t drown out his voice.

“Oh! What do you do?!” The woman shouted back, leaning closer to him. She had green and yellow leggings with some large frilly design at the bottom, keeping up with the fashions.

Marcel of course had his own fashion he was keeping up with. Red and white coat, frills at the cuffs.

“I walk in, tell the police how the man died! And boom! Criminal caught!”

“Ooh, like something out of that new film! The one with - what’s his name? Pacino or somethin’!”

“The Godfather!”

“Yes! Like that!”

“Sort of! Except usually those organized crime types are for the experienced guys!”

“And what are you, French man?” She said it in a romantic way that put a smile on Marcel’s face, despite the fact that without the contact lenses she’d be running.

“Well, I’m not exactly a licensed Forensic Pathologist yet! I sort of work at a graveyard for now!”

“A graveyard?” The woman asked, face twisting to a frown. Marcel nervously took another sip of his drink.

“Yeah, just for now!”

“Ok... I’ll see you around!” The lady said and left in a hurry, the frills of her green clothing fluttering around like ribbons. Marcel made a mental note not to tell people his job again. People didn’t like the sound of grave watcher.

Sipping his drink he turned on his barstool and looked to the dance floor, the music, the neon lights, the 70s! Slowly he stood up. A little disco never hurt anyone...

@Sorana

@BookishOcelot

@Dr. Dapper

@Wyndlerunner

Edited August 5, 2019 by I think I am here.

[+Sorana]

Friday night and the lights are low

Wita moved to the music, lost herself in the lights, in the beats. It was easy, so easy to loose herself to the beats, to the music -

Looking out for a place to go

Her short dress played around her thigs, left her knees uncovered, twirled around her legs whenever she moved. She liked that dress. It hugged her waist, was wider around the thigs and it was short. Easy to move in, the wider cloth around her wrists twirling around her arms, whenever she moved.

Where they play the right music

She was but a face in a crowd, nothing more than a part of the larger mass of bodies moving, dancing. Some were trying to talk, shouted over the music, some moved together as a couple, some stared at her figure, most ignored her.

Getting in the swing

Wita loved it. The anonymity. There was no need to think. She knew the songs, came here weekly, sometimes daily. Danced, until her legs were tired and her feet, then she left. Quietly, without talking so someone. The staff knew her, allowed her to come, as long as she didn't cause a rucus. Sometimes they even looked after her, sometimes they didn't. Depended on who was here.

You come to look for a king

Another turn, her feet skitting over the scratched dance floor, moving quickly, expertedly, while she lost herself to the music, turned around herself, stepped forward, backward. She loved the song. It was well known, everybody around here knew it. Which was why she loved it. More dancers meant more anonymity.

Anybody could be that guy

A couple kissing in the corner, his hands pulling her close, showing her against the wall.

Night is young and the music's high

Wita raised her arms, followed the flow of the crowd around her, listened to the words. Night was young. Nobody would miss her, they were used to her arriving back at the dorm late. They knew she was here dancing.

With a bit of rock music

A woman in another corner. Watching her, observing her. One of the barmaids here, on her break right now. Keeping an eye on her. As they always did. Wita wanted to scream. tell them, that she didn't need it. But the arguments. Arguments were hard. They tended to pierce the cloud, needed for her to think clearly. Which wasn't an option. She never thought clearly.

Everything is fine

Everything was fine. She didn't need to think. She could leave that to others. Almost angry at her thoughts she stared to store more and more, until her thoughts moved like slugs, not able to keep up with her surroundings anymore. Everything was fine. She could dance. There was no need to think.

You're in the mood for a dance

She moved with the music, lost herself completely. She was one with the music. The chorus, soon the chorus, and then she would be gone, would have lost herself completely, as she always did.

And when you get the chance

You are the dancing queen. Happily Wita turned around herself. Around her, the crowd sped up, when those aorund her regocnized the chorus. She made sure to move with them, to be a part of the crowd, unimportant, just a little part. Her foot hit something solid and she stubmled, hit the ground before she recalled to catch herself to try to regain her balance. Around her people stared and she lay there, stared at the ceiling and thought about a good way to react.

@I think I am here.

@BookishOcelot

@Dr. Dapper

@Wyndlerunner

[Bookish Ocelot]

You are the Dancing Queen

Young and sweet 

only seventeen

Asger rolled his eyes, but smiled. He loved this song, however much it was overplayed. It was his last night before he’d start on his way to the USSR. He was going to party hard, and to hell with the consequences. He could deal with those tomorrow morning. 

[Wyndlerunner]

1 hour ago, BookishOcelot said:

You are the Dancing Queen

Young and sweet 

only seventeen

Asger rolled his eyes, but smiled. He loved this song, however much it was overplayed. It was his last night before he’d start on his way to the USSR. He was going to party hard, and to hell with the consequences. He could deal with those tomorrow morning. 

Charles smiled unashamedly, as he grooved to the beat. As the chorus of the fantastic tune kicked in, he noticed a fellow near him rolling his eyes, but a smile on his face. He strolled over to the man, "Hello there sir," he proffered a hand, "Name's Charles Williams, Freelance investigative journalist." and Soother extraordinaire he added to himself. 

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It brought quite a smile to my face to read those lyrics- ABBA's one of my favorite bands.

Also, just a thought, but it would appear that we are doing MB Era 3 before Brandon

 

[WrathofaShardKitten]

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Here's my character.

Spoiler

 

Name: Kira Rose

Age: 18

Appearance: Reddish-blond hair, blue eyes. A little over five feet tall.

Nationality: American?

Clothing: Black knee-high boots, skirt, shirt, and occasionally a jacket.

Investiture: Edgedancer, first ideal

Spren: Alyssandria

Occupation: Translator

Skills: Speaks fluent Portuguese, German, and English and can make herself understood in French and Spanish. Can read Latin. Good at dancing.

Family: Mom (40), dad (41), older brother (21), and little sister (13). Her brother’s name is Issac -- he's currently in the army -- and her sister’s name is Summer.

Personality: Everything is just a little bit exaggerated. She’s trying to pretend that everything is normal, and not fully succeeding. She’s social, though rather more reserved than before. She has a hard time opening up all the way, and doesn’t talk about the important stuff very much, and has a hard time asking for help. She would do anything for her friends and family.

Backstory: Two years ago, Kira’s best friend committed suicide. She promised herself that she would never let that happen to anyone else. Then, only a year after that, Summer vanished. No one has seen or heard from her sister since, and her family believes her to be dead. All except Kira. Kira believes her sister is alive. Alive, and in danger. Kira has been working ever since then, gathering funds and trying to find her sister. She swore the first ideal during this time and attracted Alyssandria.

 

 

 

[old man moomba]

Quinn stared glumly at his glass of beer, watching a bead of condensation slowly bumble its way down the side. Finally, he picked up the glass and took a drink. He wasn't leagally allowed to drink yet, but at the pubs he frequented, age wasn't an issue. He sighed audibly, setting the glass back down on the bar, attracting the attention of his 'guide', a huge man with spiky oramge hair who insisted everyone call him 'Big Brother'. Quinn had asked the man if he'd ever read 1984 and had been met with an enthusiastic no. Most of the other mobsters they'd spoken to in London had called him 'Big' or 'Bug', as they pronounced the word. Quinn himself had quickly adopted the moniker, since saying 'Big Brother' was both long winded and stupid. 

Big clapped him on the shoulder, nearly dislocating it. "London got you down again?" the man rumbled, "I've got just the place-" 

"Will you shut up about that damnation disco!" Quinn exploded. Big had mentioned his favorite disco no less than seven times since they'd got to the pub. "I'm not going! Not to drink, not to dance!" 

"But-" Big got out, before Quinn silenced him with a withering glare. He drown his glass of beer and slammed it on the table. 

"Gimme a shot of scotch." he muttered sourly to the chuckling barkeep. The man, still smiling, poured Quinn a shot, which he drowned. "Right. What were we talking about?"

"The... uh... disco I wanted to take you to?" Big offered meekly. Quinn frowned at the large man, realizing that he would continue to plug the venue until Quinn actually went there.

"Ok, ok. If I go to this disco that you enjoy so much, will you stop offering it as a solution to my every problem?" 

Big shrugged. "Sure. We're probably leaving town tomorrow anyway." 

"Fine." Quinn said, still annoyed at Big. "You pay the tab, here and there." Big shrugged, which Quinn interpreted as a 'yes'. 

Quinn slid of his stool and walked out into the cool night, spinning his car keys around one finger. His car sat parked in an alley about a block away. He began to walk briskly to the car, whisling 'The Court of the Crimson King' under his breath. His whistle changed to a hum as he unlocked the door and hopped in. Quinn pulled out, barely missing a taxi, and drove back to the pub to pick up Big. 

The orange-haired man grinned at Quinn and waved as if they hadn't seen eachother literally two minutes ago. Quinn popped the door and motioned for Big to get in. The man slid into the Rebel's passenger seat and began giving directions before Quinn had even said anything. Quinn drove, resigned to his fate, as Big interspersed directions with random anecdotes which had no relation to their current situation. 

After what seemed like a three hour jaunt though the poorly lit streets of London, they finally pulled up in front of the disco. The neon glow of the sign grated on Quinn's eyeballs as he parked the Rebel. Big vaulted out the car and nearly tripped trying to open the driver's side door. Quinn opened the door himself and shoved the Irishman out of the way. He walked to the doors with a deliberate saunter and dramtatically yanked them open before striding inside like he owned the place.

[+Sorana]

11 hours ago, Wyndlerunner said:

It brought quite a smile to my face to read those lyrics- ABBA's one of my favorite bands.

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Glad to read this Means I picked the right song.

Do we have a rough plan for the plot? Head to the USSR together?

 

[I think I am here.]

1 hour ago, Sorana said:

Do we have a rough plan for the plot? Head to the USSR together?

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I don’t know, most of our characters don’t really have strong motivations to go to the USSR  Maybe the RP starts wth our characters finding a dead body, and the whole plot takes place in one night?

Dancing Queen,

Feel the beat from the tambourine, oh yeah,

Marcel moved in with the crowd, swaying to the music and advancing to the centre. His eyes were attacked with all the colours and patterns of the clothing, the lights that bathed the room in red, and then blue, and then green. Marcel blinked a couple times and smiled. Below him the beat pulsed through the flooring, a universal rhythm that the disco revolved around, no matter how chaotically.

“You can dance,” Marcel whispered the lyrics to himself as they were sung, swaying his head and continuing to walk forward. “You can jive, having the time of your life.” There was a shuffle in the crowd a little ahead, not one of the dancing shuffles Marcel had seen become popular but something that had yanked the people in front of him out of the flow, the hypnotic music.

Coincidentally, the lyric: “Ooh, see that girl” was sung just as Marcel stepped forward, seeing a teenage girl on her back in the middle of the disco, staring blankly at the ceiling. Marcel laughed and pushed past one more person. He kneeled down next to the girl, only now realising his foot had been tapping to the beat of the song.

“Very nice,” he said. He still had not lost his French accent after years of living in London but thankfully it had become much lighter than it had once been. “I didn’t think it was possible to try and go to sleep in the middle of a disco! Are you alright?”

@Sorana

[+Sorana]

52 minutes ago, I think I am here. said:

“Very nice,” he said. He still had not lost his French accent after years of living in London but thankfully it had become much lighter than it had once been. “I didn’t think it was possible to try and go to sleep in the middle of a disco! Are you alright?”

Wita slowly turned her head, when a man kneeled down next to her. He was talking. She looked at him, thought about his words, what they meant and then slowly nodded.

"I stumbled."

She stated and pushed herself up, glancing at her arms in a try to determine wether she was hurt or not.

"I was the dancing queen."

A bright smile spread over her face, lit it up in the colourful and changing lights of the disco. He had an accent she might have been able to place, but it involved thinking and she was doing a lot to prevent any clear thinking on her part.

Sugar, ah honey honey
You are my candy girl
And you got me wanting you

Wita used his shoulder to push herself up to her feet, when the next song started. Her left foor hurt a bit, but it wasn't grave. She would feel nothing of it by tomorrow.

"That's a jive."

She told him. You could dance a jive alone, or together, but he had to know. This was a disco after all. They all knew about music, about dancing. Still grinning she extended her hand towards him.

===========================

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Well we discussed that by the end of TKNP the perpendicularities aren't connected anymore. So maybe they stumble into that? Maybe the process of the disconnection has already started and those with investiture can feel it.

I think we should decide on a general direction first. Spy oriented cold war setting or detective dead body investigation or we focus on the investiture part.

We also should decide if we want to be those separating the perpendicularities, or those failing. If we fail, maybe gov could tell them to do it, they can easily know who is invested and who not, and per chance that means our characters are in the same group.

 

Edited August 6, 2019 by Sorana

[I think I am here.]

2 hours ago, Sorana said:

Wita used his shoulder to push herself up to her feet, when the next song started. Her left foor hurt a bit, but it wasn't grave. She would feel nothing of it by tomorrow.

"That's a jive."

She told him. You could dance a jive alone, or together, but he had to know. This was a disco after all. They all knew about music, about dancing. Still grinning she extended her hand towards him.

“I know a jive,” Marcel said and smiled, stood up. He was much taller than her, and while he had originally thought the girl was drunk, it seemed she didn’t have the telltale signs of someone under the influence of too much alcohol, Just living in the moment, then, and Marcel could respect that.

He took her hand and did a little jive, the empty space where the girl had been lying down now instantly occupied by frenzied dancers. He looked at the girl, she seemed to enjoy the disco a lot. “You like ABBA?” He asked, raising his voice as to not be drowned out by the tsunami of sound encompassing them.

[+Sorana]

1 hour ago, I think I am here. said:

“I know a jive,” Marcel said and smiled, stood up. He was much taller than her, and while he had originally thought the girl was drunk, it seemed she didn’t have the telltale signs of someone under the influence of too much alcohol, Just living in the moment, then, and Marcel could respect that.

He took her hand and did a little jive, the empty space where the girl had been lying down now instantly occupied by frenzied dancers. He looked at the girl, she seemed to enjoy the disco a lot. “You like ABBA?” He asked, raising his voice as to not be drowned out by the tsunami of sound encompassing them.

"I love dancing."

Wita clapped her hands when she saw that he knew a jive and laughed in delight. She matched her movements to his, mirrored his figures, added a spin here and there. She started to store less, her thoughts picking up a bit when she executed some of the more difficult figures. After a few beats she remembered that she'd never answered his question.

"And I like ABBA."

With a wide gesture she included everything around them, thoughts about a good way to explain what she meant. It took her maybe half of the song, but then she'd come up with something, that wasn't completely off. Only partially.

"Sometimes fast, sometimes slow, never boring, leaving you low. Give in to the beat, give in to the dance, you never know, when there is another chance."

She rhymed, although she somehow knew that the rhythm was off and the rhymes were only mediocre. But it was fun. To try to rhyme. A bit like solving a riddle. Although it was bad without the time to think about it. Laughing again she whirled around her own axis, matched her movements to the beat of the bridge and looked at him again. She couldn't recall his face, but that didn't mean much. She had trouble remembering faces, if she didn't saw them regularly.

"First time around here?"

Her voice was light, she only partially cared. He was here, he knew how to dance. He would vanish again. Nothing more but a face in the crowd, carried away but the surges of time.

"The music will get better, the closer to midnight it is. They play the great songs to greet the new day."

Edited August 6, 2019 by Sorana

[Bookish Ocelot]

Asger shook the man - Charles?- 's hand. "M'name's Asger," he said. "I work for NATO." True, but not the whole truth. But it was as much as he could share.

@Wyndlerunner

Edited August 11, 2019 by BookishOcelot

[I think I am here.]

23 hours ago, Sorana said:

“First time around here?"

Her voice was light, she only partially cared. He was here, he knew how to dance. He would vanish again. Nothing more but a face in the crowd, carried away but the surges of time.

"The music will get better, the closer to midnight it is. They play the great songs to greet the new day."

They danced. A part of Marcel wondered whether to be offended by the question of whether he was new around here, and if the girl had assumed that from his accent. But she seemed genuine, and from what he’d made out not that type of person. But he had to be careful with meeting others; he knew first hand looks were deceiving.

“I can’t wait,” Marcel said and looked up, to the disco lights, swaying with the music. He wasn’t as caught up in it as the teenage girl, but he was also having fun.

“I can only imagine what music would be better than this.”