Verdance

I believe Shatter blew up my heavy military aircraft

The bald man compounds chromium. Out of sheer luck, the penguin trips and falls and drops the sandwich at the bald man’s feet, and he proceeds to run away with it.

Nomu lands and tries to wake the other character up. “WAKE UP!” unfortunately, sign language isn’t very effective at this task.

Nomu stops making the silly face and silently works his magic. The floor suddenly emanates sickness around the boy, causing him to suddenly lose strength and health.

Nomu pulls a drone out of hammerspace and flies out of reach, making a face at the boy.

Inkwell panics as Sanguine turns on him, hands forming blades, and draws Shadowlight. An idea strikes him, and he swings the black nib at the killer flaw. The form disappears immediately, the author’s creation of that body erased for the moment. The ordered darkness core is mostly depleted.

Nomu, angered by the petty murder of his close friend Froggy, when the boy could have simply handed him back, loads a pebble into his slingshot and fires. As soon as it hits the boy, due to reality bending to lyrical delivery, he is deconstructed into his base elemental components.

Cheerful pop rock music that

“My name is N-O-M-U”, Nomu signs. “You killed my frog.” He pulls out a slingshot.

Iromem stares blankly. His vision isn’t quite focused on Lyric. “I… can’t remember. Maybe I died. Maybe I almost died. Then suddenly… this force, it healed my wounds. He fumbled in the pocket of his robes, a pocket he knew was empty. His fingers found a small token of dark iron, like a coin, framing an octagon of cloudy green glass. He stares at it, transfixed, then suddenly fumbles it, spinning on the ground to lay at the other’s feet. Inkwell shrugs. “Okay.” —— Sanguine heard it. A minion of the astral one, calling out in triumph. He focused on that sound, that sensation, more real than the others, pinned down like a body suffocating under layers and layers and layers of warm cloth. He did the intuitive thing and ripped through the cloth. Suddenly, he found himself blinded by the city. The insolent one leaned against the building that had rejected him, and a new person, a boy, really, stood nearby, smelling of prismite. “Heh. Narration, you called it?” Sanguine licked his lips. “I’ll have your blood too, boy.”

Nomu is sad. He considers whether this boy is a threat. He has recently remembered that he can’t talk, so he starts gesticulating wildly in unadept sign language. “Why. Did. You. Do. That?”

Why are there so many ooklas. Whats the ookla lore

The puppy barks and licks all their faces. It is adorable.

Hurrah. *all vector force from the blunderbuss is converted into impulse energy instead of crush force, leaving you undamaged but changing your physical location from Brazil to Canada* youre welcome

Nomu shrugs. The door is shut now, anyway. He hands the boy a frog from his pocket.

Inkwell blinks again. Rather awkwardly. “Really? Um, sorry for your loss?” he’s not canon to TLT and the TLT inkwell wouldn’t know anything about Coder’s Shardbar

Inkwell silently wishes he was doing something useful like plotting against the Witherlord. He downs his guilt in Dr. Pepper. he blinks. “Oh. Yeah that’s rough. Trust me though, you’re not alone. I had friends back home, before TLT, that had a lot of similar issues. Stick with them. Show them you care. It will be difficult, and I can’t promise you anything based off of your unique situation, but more likely than not everything will be fine. Just don’t lose hope.”

Nomu, a silly clay robot man from a music video several other characters Nomu drop kicks the clay zombie equestrians out of the hallway and shoves the door shut, then waves a silent hello to the new friend.

The Glockinator. Is two Glocks connected by a red dot. TABG *excessive, unreasonable, and unexplainable amounts of recoil renders the .50 caliber rounds of Shatter’s forces completely useless as the laws of physics submit themselves to the whims of god on a drunken coding rampage* *I appear randomly in Brazil, and point blank you with a blunderbuss*

Inkwell does his best to express empathy. “Your friends are doing horribly? Like, they’re not well or they’re treating you badly?”

This is an RP and I am basing everything I know off of TheRussianBadger, sooooo *abandons exploding Warthog and opens fire with the Glockinator*

There is no “sucking at RPs”. There is only how much time you choose to invest in them. I tend to be very reactive on stuff like TLT and let characters flow naturally, other people take hours and respond to half a dozen people at once. It’s not a question of inherent value.

*I move into the gunners cockpit and open fire before they manage to set up, utilizing the Washing Machine of Doom to mow down any infantry forces whilst simultaneously running away backwards* *this is funny*

Ah. I’m bouncing between two other threads tha aren’t doing that. Thanks for checking me!