Creative Challenge: Post 8

Carol enjoyed playing practical jokes. It annoyed him, sure, but she was the damned cutest thing, and he wasn't going to let that stop him from flirting with her.

The first one had been hilarious, to be sure. She had hidden in the cubicles till after everyone else had gone home, then planted piles of, well...She was a dirtier girl than you might have expected, and the boss was none too please about having to get his carpet steam cleaned the next day. Nobody had expected her as the culprit; she confided to Rick secretly one day, bent over in his cubicle. Her little pink mouth had been so close to his ear, he had to stop himself from shivering and imagining what those lips might feel like on his, well…

He was a dirtier guy than you might have expected, too.

Some of the jokes were a little less than funny, though. She had planted a very convincing prosthetic of a bloody severed limb (head, foot, hand, etc) into everyone’s filing cabinets. Most thought it was a laugh, but Judy had freaked at hers, having come in late and missed the big joke. She fainted, knocked her head on her desk, and had to get seven stitches. After that, the company executive had sent out letters detailing that anyone found setting up, or having initiated, a joke in this manner would be suspended at the very least.

So the jokes were tamer after that. Desktops changed to immediately frightening images that turned out to be cheesy on further inspections, people’s memos switched around, things like that. A few more warnings got sent out, but no more serious threats. Rick thought these were cute, and she probably only did it because she was exceptionally smart and very bored; he could sympathize. But getting his memos tucked into other people’s boxes so he got things handed in late got irritating after a while. His solution was to flirt her into submission, take her home, have a great time, and then politely ask her to stop fucking with him.

But not literally. That part was okay.

So, one day, at the proverbial water cooler in their office (they had celebrated the purchase of an expresso machine), when no one else was around, he swooped in.

“Hey, Carol?”

“Hm?” she asked, smiling innocently. That’s one thing he loved about her; that cutesy, innocent smile that convinced you she could have done absolutely no wrong.

“I was wondering…” he leaned in closer, lightly touching her arm. “What would you say to you an I skippin’ out of this joint at 5 and gettin’ dinner together?”

“Like, on a date?” she asked, giggling. He returned her giggle with a chuckle of his own.

“Yeah, yeah, like a date,” he said. She turned to him, and, rather unexpectedly, started brushing her fingertips down his arms, so gentle it almost tickled. He glanced around; no one was paying any attention to them.

“I think I’d like that,” she said, caressing him. He felt giddy as her hands ran down the back of his neck, under his ponytail, down his…

Ponytail. Suddenly his head felt a lot lighter, and he was fairly certain it had nothing to do with his giddiness.

“But not looking like that of course,” she said, giggling, and withdrawing her hand to show a thick wad, several inches long, of his beautiful, shiny brown hair.

His mouth fell open. Now people were looking, and laughing. He felt his face redden as she leaned in; he wasn’t sure if it was with embarrassment or anger.

“Keep off, player, or next time I’ll cut off something that won’t grow back.”

She giggled venomously, and left him standing there. Carol did love playing practical jokes.

Creative Challenge: Post 7

He didn’t look anything like she expected. Somehow, she expected the deadliest man on Earth to be a little more...buff? But this skinny twenty-something in front of her was gangly, raggedy, and scruffy, like a tramp or a beaten street dog.

Or a lizard, she supposed. The rumor of his animal hybridity was something she hadn’t really believed in, and yet somehow, despite it being unimaginably true, that also turned out to be a disappointment. She had expected great wings, or fangs that went to his chin, or for his body to be completely covered in scales or hair. Instead, he looked like had jaundice, with yellow eyes and paler skin than she would have expected on someone from south of Mexico. His tail was kind of impressive, a big, snaky scaly thing coming out of his ass, but looked more like a hinderance than anything helpful.

“So?” he repeated. She shook her head to clear it, and put on her most convincing fake smile.

“So, Mr, uh…”

“Sal. Just Sal,” he said, lighting a cigarette. She coughed politely to try and get him to put it out (she never much liked smoke), but he just looked at her and puffed it anyway. Frowning, she shuffled her papers and glanced at them again.

“Well, Sal…” she paused. “I’m sorry, but you really don’t look like you-”

She felt the bullet race past her ear and hit the brick behind her. The little click and puff sound that had accompanied its exit from the barrel had been barely audible over the traffic of the street behind them. She felt herself utter a little involuntary scream and drop her papers; she hadn’t even seen him draw the weapon.

She watched as he fitted the cigarette lightly between his teeth and pick up the papers; the gun was gone again, holstered inside his long jacket. He rifled through them, raising his hand to his mouth to draw the toxic stick away, exhale, and replace it.

“Five million,” he said quietly. She blinked. “And I want a private plane, hotel room booked and paid for, and hooker money.”

“Sal, you can’t possib-”

“I do,” he said, thrusting the papers back into her arms; she quaked. “I do possibly mean it. I want five million dollars, a couple of good French whores, and I’ll get your double-trouble pair tagged out two days after I land. I want a return plane exactly eighteen hours I land the shots. You can feel free to bug me, GPS me, put cameras in my room, whatever to make sure I’m on track, but no surveillance.” He exhaled smoke again; she coughed.

“Nothing upfront?”

“Just the whores. I trust you.” He cocked an evil smile, and she noticed the shift in him: his leaned musculature that she had taken for lankiness, his hardened face, the yellow eyes that only held control, and bemusement.

They had planned to have him killed in an ‘accident’ after the assassination to keep him quiet. Clearly, this was impossible, and unnecessary; he had no interest in secrets. Just killing, and his money.

A.D.A.M.

My robot character, ADAM, who was created to impress Orgs around the world with his ability to preform humanly impossible tasks and think for himself. What they didn't realize was that, in giving him AI, they allowed him to develop feelings, and thus gave birth to the first sentient, non-human creature.

Edit: I drew this one at school, without my originals, so here they are, to give you a comparison:

Silva the Sleepy Hematologist

I'm proud of my shading, even though the picture isn't perfect.

This is Dr. Silva Ian Nickson, a British Hematologist (Blood Doctor) who got turned into a vampire by a guy desperate to avoid becoming his mother's vampiric assistant (Banor). He journeyed/booked it to America to dodge the murder of his spousally abusive father, where he got a job at a teaching hospital and has worked there ever since. He is particularly known for always being tired and 'cold', as he seems to always be wearing a turtleneck and pair of gloves, even in the summertime in Chicago (really, to keep the sun from burning his neck and hands, but most everyone just thinks he's weird and has bad circulation, since he's so pale).

And, he's almost a complete wimp, so instead of drawing him in some sort of cool, official-looking doctor wear, he's in slippers and a bathrobe.

Was so tempted to make the slippers have bunny ears.

When the world needs a hero...

...A childish, gay guitarist of a popular alternative rock band will pretend he's Batman.

Iunno, I thought I should sketch something, so here is a really bad 1/2 hour sketch of Brian Tram, better known as Batman, an eccentric, hyper, and slightly retarded 19 year old bat-human hybrid. He's part of EKM, a band consisting of runaway experiments who have used their inhuman appearances and powers to make a name for themselves in the world of music, passsing their oddites off as costumes and stage tricks.

Yoseph Bartholomaus Ostheim

Yayayayayyayayyayay!

Less fail Joe!

than last time! Tried experimenting with smaller more realistic eyes and less anime hair. Worked better. Wewt.

For those who are out of the loop, this guy, serious as he looks, serves mostly as a comic relief character in the Modern RP. He's a biochemist who works for the Org, has ADHD in the worst degree, and has a lab partner (amongst other things) named Colin.

S.I.R.I.U.S.

What I couldn't remember to write on the page:
S entient

I ntervention

R etrieval

I ________

U nit

S even

Never actually came up with anything for the second 'I', so suggestions are welcome.

((No, 'Superbly Indescribable, Really Incredibly Uber Sexy' doesn't count. Sorry Stephanie/Tea.))

I might color this one, but the only bits to color are his face...

I'm very pleased with how this turned out, especially since I did it with pen...wewt!

(And if you're wondering what 'GMH' means in the tag, it stands for Genetically Modified Human. Most Modern RP characters can have this tacked on.)

XXXXX

She needs a name. A spontanious creation in Philosophy class, I guess she's a subject of the org.