“届けて, 切なさには名前をつけようか ‘Snow halation!’”
The harpoon lodged itself into the Ocean Soul’s chest following a powerful toss from Pork Soda, the beast desperately trying to hit the tether to destroy it and release the harpoon, to no avail. The Ocean Soul had underestimated its opponents, who were currently singing some sort of song, perhaps a sort of war cry, meant to display their superior strength.
“想いが重なるまで待てずに, 悔しいけど好きって純情”
It had to do something! It released the Calamus Root in store within its mouth, ready to spit it out, before Sayonara Kodoku picked the Ocean Soul up, shut its mouth tight, and tossed it over to Pork Soda. With a thrust of its fingers, the porcine stand pierced the Ocean Soul’s eyes, blinding it.
Then, the two stands rushed at it, sending forwards a barrage of blows, breaking bones, claws, and disorientating it, before getting ready for a finisher. Pork Soda picked the Ocean Soul up by its tail and began spinning around, the rapid movement disorientating the fish and sending it closer and closer to its doom.
No, no! It couldn’t let this be! The Ocean Soul was a hunter, and even if its prey had gotten a leg up on it this time, it wasn’t going to give up! It could barely remain conscious under the pressure as the porcine stand spun it around, its already severe wounds getting exacerbated, but it had to do something!
Just one shot! Just one precise shot and it could use the opportunity to escape, to recover! The porcine stand was spinning it around by its tail, so the Ocean Soul could calculate the stand’s position! It just needed to regain its bearings, focus on getting a shot aimed, and it could use its spit to-
SLAM! With a brutal impact, the Ocean Soul was slammed into a nearby rock. It felt itself sinking in the water as the two stands approached it, its imminent doom coming closer and closer with every movement they made.
It needed to escape, but it couldn’t bring itself to move. The two stands made their way towards it, floating above the ground as they loomed over the barely conscious beast.
Was this going to be it for the Ocean Soul?
“微熱の中 ためらってもダメだね, 飛び込む勇気に賛成 まもなく start!”
Like hell it was.
Gathering the little remaining energy it had, the Ocean Soul spat out the Calamus Root stored within its mouth, mixed with its saliva. Hitting the ground underneath the two stands, two long spikes quickly sprouted out of it and towards their bodies.
Though Sayonara Kodoku’s tough skin didn’t get pierced, the force of the growing spike sent it flying into the air, incapacitating it, if only for a moment. Meanwhile, Pork Soda wasn’t as lucky as it, the spike piercing through the left side of its body, tearing through its left leg and shoulder. The Ocean Soul couldn’t hear anything from underwater, but it was sure that its user was reeling in pain right about now.
Using the remainder of its energy, the Ocean Soul bolted away, desperately trying to remain conscious as it swam away from what it once considered its prey. It didn’t even look backwards, fearing that doing so would give its opponents the time they needed to finish it off for good. It didn’t even keep track of how far it swam, or for how long its opponents had chased it, or if they had done so at all. Its body was searing in pain, broken bones and wounds all over it.
Eventually, it couldn’t bring itself to swim any further, losing consciousness and sinking down into the ocean, not even the searing pain keeping it awake as it began to rest.
The Ocean Soul had lost, but this wasn’t the end of the beast. Though barely, it had managed to escape this encounter with its life.
The results are in for Match 10. The winner is… ‘Agnes’ Bayley and Prince Cosmo, with a score of 80 to the Ocean Soul’s 60! Category | Winner | Point Totals | Comments |
Popularity | Players | 25-5 | The word of the voterbase was clear: the vast majority felt that the Ocean Soul was handily defeated by the players. |
Quality | Players | 23-22 | Reasoning |
JoJolity | Ocean Soul | 22-23 | Reasoning |
Conduct | Tie | 10-10 | |
“AAAAGH! GODDAMIT, STUPID FUCKING FISH!!” Agnes screamed in pain while clutching his leg, body strewn onto the nearest island, carried by Sayonara Kodoku. “IT STABBED THROUGH MY GODDAMN LEG!! FROM THE FOOT, TO MY WAIST, TO MY FUCKING SHOULDER! AAARGH, DAMMIT, WHERE’S JENNY WHEN YOU NEED HER!!”
“You should be happy we got away with our lives. The Ocean Soul isn’t going to come finish us off any time soon after what we did to it.”
“OH, REAL RICH COMING FROM THE ONE WHO
DIDN’T GET STABBED IN THE FUCKING LEG BY THAT MONSTER. DO YOU WANT ME TO STAB YOU AS WELL SO YOU CAN SEE HOW IT FEELS?!” Agnes started rummaging around his surroundings with his right hand, searching for a sharp object to use for his “demonstration”.
“Frankly, you deserve it. Don’t forget that you are the cause for this all. Were it not for your foolishness, Webb would still be alive, and this would not have happened to you.” Cosmo chided.
“PFFF- WHATEVER!” In between his heavy breathing and pained cries, Agnes let out an audible sigh. “Fffffuck this, I’m gonna check my phone to see if there’s any connection here so that we can get the hell out of this place ASAP!” Agnes picked up his phone and pulled it up, taking a look at it.
“That will not be necessary. There is no connection here anyways, and I am certain that a helicopter has been sent out to retrieve us, or at the very least ascertain what might have happened to-” “Shut up, I’m getting a message from Cairo. ‘Don’t worry, Agnes, we have sent your location over to Vitus, and help should arrive in about fifteen minutes.’” Agnes looked at his phone in confusion. “Vitus? Who’s that asshole?”
“Vitus is the man who sent the helicopters out. The one which you indirectly crashed. Nonetheless, let me see that - I have a hard time believing that your phone is capable of picking up a signal when we’re so far away from any cellular towers.”
“And why should I care about what you believe, huh? Here, take a look for yourself!” Agnes shoved the phone in front of Cosmo's face, the dog looking intently at it and seeing… nothing beyond a simple homescreen. “What is this supposed to be. This is your phone’s home screen, and though that horrendous chimera at its center is an affront to anything and everything I believe in, there is no notification here. Could it be that you are perhaps hallucinating from the pain?”
“Wh- you can’t see it?! Don’t fuck with me!” Looking at the dog’s deadpan expression, Agnes could tell that that wasn’t the case. He looked over at the phone, spotting it right there, as clear as day - a notification for an sms from Cairo themselves, containing what he read out loud! “Fuck you, I’m not hallucinating! If anything, you are!”
Cosmo was about to retort, when he spotted something over the distance - a sailboat. It was old and decrepit, seemingly having gone through significant damage and yet still remaining intact, somehow. It clearly didn’t belong to Vitus, and likely wasn’t Cairo’s either. On the boat, he saw a silhouette of a haggard man, but the distance meant that he couldn’t exactly tell exactly what he looked like.
“Someone is coming.”
It wouldn’t be much longer before Agnes and Cosmo were able to get back onland, learn what terrible things they’d missed, even if they still had a wait and a talk ahead of them. Left to nurse grievous wounds, this seaborne menace has seen this chapter of aggression momentarily closed, but further inland, the waters of a laundromat are being braved by a time traveler and a woman in chains. Scenario:
Sound’s Garden Eastern Strip - A Golden Limousine
The evening was beginning to set in, the lights of the islands of the area beginning to flash on and dot the sky as two women rode through the city, looking out through the windows as they relaxed in luxury. Cybil Antoine was one to travel in style, and now, with a companion in tow, was no exception.
“A strip that absolutely comes alive at night… Makes me feel almost nostalgic for Vegas,” her redheaded travel companion mused as she looked out, “speakin’ of which… you ever play anything like that, Cyby? Cards, slots, so on. We could try Heartache Casino, maybe, if we have time sometime… I bet you’d just have to throw your name around to get up on its higher floors.”
“It’s Cybil,” the wealthy woman emphasized, with an exhaustion begotten by this having been far from the first time, “or Miss Antoine… Either way, I am not a ‘Cyby.’ Get it right next time, alright?”
“Right, yeah, I know you’ve told me… I’m just a nicknamer by heart. Cross my heart, though! It won’t happen again!” Alexis Williams seemed… As serious as she could get about something like that, as curiously carefree, even devil-may-care, as the performer could get.
“Commit it to memory, then. Despite how much a fool you can act, I’m sure you know how much I had to pull to get you onto this stage.”
“Believe me, I do appreciate it!” Alexis answered, focus now turned away from the topic of gambling and onto that. “Putting on a show at one of the biggest stages in Los Fortuna, bigger than anything I’ve done before… I know our group has had some bad luck lately, with Bucket causing that trouble down at the fish market, and how down on herself Leo has been since that dumb show she said she got roped into, but we’re still the freakin’ Judecca Highrollers, right? I want to show the world that, and from their box, I want to show the rest of our team that we’ve got no better option than to face it all with a grin.”
“How very like you,” Cybil answered, neutral in her tone, careful not to betray the affection in such a statement as she pondered their current status, where they would be playing.
Alexis wouldn’t be headlining, unfortunately, though admittedly, her act wasn’t the sort of thing that did that anyway. Rather, a certain piece of immensely beloved local talent, a rocking performer who went by TD/MD, would be having her play immediately before her at the Alexander Dickinson Amphitheater, just a drive over a rapidly approaching bridge away. Cybil had been a little annoyed that one of her statues had been overshadowed by a plane crashing near it, not to mention had a desire to spread further the local influence of their team, and so she had arranged with the heads of the entertainment industry of Los Fortuna to see to it that her personal favorite performer among the allies and associates she’d made was onstage at the best possible place for a person wanting to be noticed.
She curled her lips at a cell phone which found its way to its hand, then, narrowing her eyes at its screen. “No word back from your backing band… Where are they? How inconsiderate not to send word on this, especially at how that Mr. Sins recommended them so glowingly.”
“I’m sure they’ll show,” Alexis answered, “and if not… We can make do, can’t we?”
“Of course,” Cybil answered, only to have her eye finally drawn back out the window by the sight of a vehicle which had pulled into the lane directly next to theirs as their limousine crossed the bridge.
Another golden limousine was directly next to them now, this one almost pointedly bigger, longer, more decked out in jewelry, and it seemed to be headed exactly the same way. Cybil, rather than confused or alarmed at the coincidence, simply thought aloud, “that would probably be Mr. Sins… Speak of the devil.”
“Amazing how quickly his casino recovered from nearly burning down…” Alexis mused aloud. “I heard that one of the people who trashed it sent him to the hospital, too.”
“An overreaction I’m certain, from what I know about the man. Absolutely terrified of a little pain, a little elbow grease… I’m not one to gossip, but I can’t help but wonder how a man like him even managed to become so prominent, so consistently successful.”
“Right,” Alexis answered, smirking and putting her finger up to her lips, “I won’t spread that around, then. I know how to schmooze with that type if the need arises.”
Los Fortuna Canals - The SS Sledge Sister
Admiral Pineapples was more comfortable on his own boat, but as far as the fleet of the Masters of Funky Action went, there was no real reason to send out more than one boat for this right now.
“Man, I can’t believe nobody else is ridin’ with me,” his companion, Rudolf Pavlova, said after downing an entire bottle of water in a single gulp, on the tail end of an hourlong keytar solo. “The rest of the Masters better at least make it to the Alexander! It’d really bum me out harder than when Wrenn shot me down if none a’them made it!”
Sorry, but I’m really more the headlining type! Playing second-fiddle to a man in a speedo opening for some local star sounds fun and all, but, I’d totally just overshadow them, I bet! So I should really probably stay out of it! That sentence, clear in its passive-aggressive scathingness, had put Wrenn Aflight’s declining of this gig pretty succinctly. As the man more or less everybody on the team could tolerate, listen to, and generally have a good time with, Admiral had been tasked with asking the other star performer of the team to join Rudolf on the gig he’d accepted opening up for locally beloved rock star and all-around idol TD/MD.
Not wanting to break Rudolf’s heart, he more or less told him the short version, ‘he couldn’t make it,’ and then volunteered his own services for the younger man. “You won’t be out there with none of your allies, though, Nureyev! For I, Admiral Pineapples, will aid you in coordinating every moment of your work! This will be one of the worthiest usages of my tactical mind in a long time, I’m sure!”
“I hope you’ve gotten those hour-long solos out of your system now, Nureyev,” Pineapples warned with an amused, lax tone, “you’re only going to have thirty minutes onstage before the headliner has to get ready, and there’ll be trouble if you bleed into that.”
“I know, I know,” Rudolf answered, casually, as he slipped into an open-chested bathrobe mainly meant to function as the legal requirement of public decency until it was time to perform, “I’m not one to step on anyone’s toes, let alone the star of the show. Live and let live, yeah?”
“I’m curious, though, and you never told me…” The Admiral asked, cracking open a beverage of his own and taking a sip, “how did you manage to get such a part as this in the first place?”
“Oh, that’s simple!” Rudolf said, the thought to answer having simply not occurred to him.
A few weeks ago - A beach in the Waterfront District.
“Alright! Thank you, Los Fortuna! I’m here all day, and all night, and all tomorrow too, baby! Party never stops!” Rudolf had just finished the latest of his performances to a small crowd of beachgoers, shredding through the end of his one-man keytar rendition of 2112 and transitioning into a truly epic medley of the extended Family Guy, American Dad, and Cleveland Show OPs.
As the crowd dispersed, a corporate suit-looking type of guy, bronze-skinned with neatly-groomed hair, remained, eyeing his keytar curiously and smiling artificially. “That was an excellent show, Mr… Pavlova, I think it was? You have such an undeniable energy about you that I can see when I lay eyes upon you… You’ve star material.”
“Am I being poached?” Rudolf asked, tilting his head, “‘cuz I assure you, I am a free agent! Not about to be scooped up by some label and forced to chill out the party churnin’ out music I don’t feel in my soul.”
“Nothing so abrupt, no… I’m a Manager, representing TD/MD. You can call me Thutmose. Anyway, she has a concert approaching rapidly, and we’re struggling and scrambling to find local, new talent and performers to open for her. We’ve managed to secure a lot of artists already, but the most important spot… Playing right before her… That, still, we have a particular need for, and I think you would serve it perfectly.”
“So I accepted!” In the present day, Rudolf finished, “why not, yeah? I can spread the party to tens of thousands at one of the biggest venues in town!”
“Scouted on the street, hm… That’s awfully lucky.” Something about this struck Admiral as odd, but he supposed it was all the more reason it was good he was backing his friend and ally up. He had a strong hunch there was more to it than appeared.
Rudolf’s party yacht would disembark soon, ported on the central-most island of the places which made up Sound’s Garden, and the party would make their way forward from there.
Sound’s Garden West Side - Outside the Alexander Dickinson Amphitheater
At the same time, a self-important first step was taken out of a pair of golden limousines, one a heel clacking first out of it and a short, stocky woman in pinstripe emerging, the other dress shoes leading up to a tall, lean man in a gold and yellow tux, grinning and running a hand through his slicked-back hair.
Cybil Antoine hadn’t had the “pleasure” of a personal conversation with Tigran Sins before, but had happened to overhear some of him during her meeting with that Thutmose man, and then and there, she had known everything about him, and knew that she had already had the displeasure of knowing dozens of men like him.
Still, though, one needed to be cordial in times like this, so as Alexis came out behind her, and a very strongly built-looking, mean-looking man with brown hair and a nice vest, attached to the lapel of which was a Heartache Casino brooch (a bouncer? A bodyguard?) stood by Tigran waiting to see what he wanted or what he did, she approached the man who dared to try and be more golden than her Stand. “Mr. Sins, I believe… I believe we’ve crossed paths, briefly, but we didn’t really have a chance to speak.”
The man tensed a bit, only to relax slightly again when he saw that Cybil intended only to speak. “Cybil Antoine, right? I’ve heard you’ve been making a hell of a lot of waves around town lately, so I must say I’m excited to meet you too.” He looked back past her, towards Alexis standing and stretching outside of her team’s limo. “Would that be your star you’ve got going on? Certainly she’s got charm.”
“Hi, right in front of you,” Alexis answered, teasingly passive-aggressively waving, “yeah, I’m going up before TD/MD.”
“She’s a very important star around here, you know… So you’d better put on a show that leaves them wanting for more of the best.” Tigran’s attendant spoke, then, sounding dead serious as he looked them over. “A lot of people have come here just for this, just for her sake… It is completely imperative you keep that in mind.”
Tigran simply nodded, concurring, “couldn’t have said it better myself, Fox.”
Shortly after that, the pairs went their separate ways, shifting through VIP areas of the area of the main structure of the amphitheater, series of comfortably shielded stadium halls that it was.
“Still no sign of the band… Still no word from them either. I’m cross now.”
Alexis, then, stopped in her trail, looking at a schedule which had been printed out and emblazoned upon a green room wall. “Uh, Cybil, you’re gonna wanna take a look at this.”
“Hm?” Cybil raised an eyebrow, turning to face what her partner was pointing at, and then glared again. “Who the hell is Nureyev, and why are they listed at the same time as you?”
“There’s gotta be some kinda mixup or somethin’, man… I know about this ‘Alexis Williams’ it talks about, and hear she’s a Vegas Performer, damn fine one at that who can really strut her stuff. But we ain’t in Vegas at all, so what gives?” Rudolf himself was gesturing at a printout version of much the same piece of programming, he and Admiral Pineapples having wandered much the same series of halls.
“Hrm…” Admiral, now, took a look at the sheet himself, combing over the names before Rudolf on the list and speaking names aloud. “‘Arancini,’ ‘Tenacious-er E,’ ‘Guy and the Fieris’ Heavy Metal Barbershop Quarter,’ all as scheduled… What the hell? Yeah. We’re the only acts double-booked like this, and you say you don’t know this woman personally?”
“Not in the slightest,” Rudolf said, “never laid personal eyes upon her! So maybe there’s a typo, yeah… I know! We could track down Thutmose! But, uh… Where the hell’s Thutmose right now?”
A distorted voice shout-whispered, “I heard that he was visiting TD/MD’s green room.”
“Huh? Oh, thanks!” Rudolf accepted that advice uncritically, beginning to make his way, but Pineapples looked, at least, in the direction it came from, seeing then flashes of a short-looking person in a maroon turban, face bandaged but mouth section bulging with something hidden underneath, and a pair of aviator goggles, as well as a tunic, trousers, and many bulky scarves adorned in the forms of climbing stick figures.
Looking at the man, Pineapples couldn’t help but feel suspicious, but hell, there was a lot shady going on here. “Yes, thank you, Mister… Who am I thanking?”
“No,” the figure answered dismissively, “think little of it… I’m just another interested party watching the show. If there’s confusion, then, I want to see it resolved fast! If you’ll excuse me, though, I need to make my way to my box…”
“Strange man…” Pineapples shook his head, not wanting to leave Rudolf alone to deal with this strange situation. He knew from hearsay and rumor that there were some truly dangerous things lurking in the bowels of Sound’s Garden, and Rudolf, more heart than head, was bound to be barreling into it.
Sound’s Garden - The largest and nicest green room in the halls of the Alexander Dickinson Amphitheater.
Metra Doria sat before a makeup chair as assistants fussed and fussed with her hair, her face, her clothes, occasionally being met with polite thanks, compliments, or idle chit-chat, representing a sort of familiarity the team had had with the pale, short-dark-haired girl with a single blue streak through her front left locks. She stared at her own dressed-up eyes in the mirror, one silver, one blue and at once black-striped through the iris. As she sat here, initially clad pretty casually and low-key, she was Metra, but as the outfit she had selected was put together, she would become TD/MD.
She was being cordial before now, but all of the small talk had ended as soon as her manager came into the scene, knocking, being invited to come in, and then doing so.
“How’s the show going, Thutmose? I wish I could see Guy and the Fieris do their thing, but… Makeup, I swear.”
“There’s… People insisting upon speaking, Metra. They’re performers, the ones before you, and they seem annoyed. I tried to shoo them away and tell them to work it out, but that only incensed the old-timers with them, and now they want to speak to you. I tried telling them it was a waste of your time, but-”
“This close to going on?” Metra narrowed her eyes at the reflected form of her manager. Always, it was one thing after another with this guy. Though most of the time, one might assume there was something not worth it going on here, she knew Thutmose well enough to know there might be problems. She sighed, shutting her eyes now. “It had better be important… Let ‘em in.”
And like that, a quartet of two twenty-somethings, a middle-aged woman, and an old man barreled in through the door at once, all talking over one another and expressing confusion with the other’s very existence and presence. It was making the half-prepared girl more uncomfortable than sitting in a chair for awhile just to get ready for a show often did, so she raised her voice, calmly but authoritatively, literally seeming to drown out their babbling in the process. “Quiet down, alright?! One at a time.”
There was a little more whispering among the four, then, and it was the pinstripe-suited woman who stepped forward among them to speak the crowd’s mind. “TD/MD, I presume… This ‘Thutmose’ man, he has made a grave mistake in the scheduling. My associate Alexis here, and this half-nude man carrying a keytar around, they have not met before today, and they certainly did not intend to collaborate before you. Your manager has refused to listen to reason about this, so we are taking the matter straight past him to you… Resolve it at once, and we can be on our way.”
“What?” Metra, facing them all, blinked, shaking her head and glaring at Thutmose. “Again? How does this keep happening? You overbook acts right before me, and it’s such a disaster I’ve started to need to allot extra time to cleanup guys after those sets… It was bad enough before, but it’s seriously getting out of hand, man. I can’t keep dealing with you if you treat everyone else you deal with like this. You’re done working with me. We’re through.”
“B-but… But Metra..!” Thutmose was flabbergasted, looking almost terrified at the prospect. “Please, be reasonable..! I need this job, understand? I’ve got gambling debts, and-”
“Whoa whoa whoa,” the keytarist (Rudolf, or Nureyev, according to the program) interjected then, “let’s not ruin a man’s life over me and Lexy here, yeah? I looked into the history of this place, the Alexander Dickinson… Named after a big dead deal Philanthropist, so basically a dude from the 90's who gave his all to culture in this city, funded all kinds’a stuff! Would a man like that want a man to be fired in his own memorial stadium?”
The logic seemed to confuse nearly everyone there, not least of all Metra, whose response, after a moment, was, “Huh? You… Are you saying it doesn’t bother you?”
“He’s saying that!” Thutmose pleaded. “I am certain he’s saying that!”
“I don’t mind, either…” The redheaded Alexis said next, nodding and looking around at nothing in particular. “Yeah, I think we can work with that… The band he set us up with bailed on us anyway, right? So… Music might help, and it’s not like the things we do step on each other’s toes, yeah? So whatever, I’m sure we’ll still leave a bigger impression.”
Cybil, then, pursed her lips. “If it doesn’t make a difference to you, then, and we’re all on the same page… But still, this is so very inconvenient.”
“Agreed…” Pineapples looked to Thutmose. “Be more responsible in the future, aye? I think even if you keep your job right now, you’re gonna be on thin ice for now. And give up on gambling, if it’s sunken you this far.”
Metra nodded. “Agreed. I can’t guarantee I won’t start looking for a new manager, but… You’ve been good to me, at least. Clean up your act.” Then, she looked over the quartet. “I’m seriously sorry about this… You say you had backup, but they’re not showing up now? I, uh… I don’t know what happened to whoever those were, or why they fell through, but I have something I can do to help both of your shows exist at once: six of the best stagehands I've got.”
At that, the star snapped her fingers, and from the shadowy corners of the room emerged two trios, three men in a pose one well-versed on incidents in the early 20th century Roman Colosseum might compare to Awakening One’s Masters appearing before the Masters of Funky Action, three women in turn also sliding in before the Judecca Highrollers in perfect sync, stepping in with the coordination one might associate with, as a weird example, teenage mobsters jazzed about a dude being sent to the ninth circle of hell.
All six were muscular, clad in black sleeveless shirts, leather gloves, pants, boots, and bandannas over their heads, and all around, they gave off auras of immense reliability.
“Harry, Mark, and John, and Thorn, Dusk, and Luna… I kid you not, these guys can basically do anything and everything you ask of them. If they didn’t much prefer supporting other people to being in the limelight themselves, they would be as big as I am. Treat them well, they’ll learn fast, and they’ll be invaluable to making your bits work. But, uh… I’d hurry it up. Guy and the Fieris probably only have a couple more encores in them, and then you’ll have fifteen to set up. I wish you all luck..!”
Metra Doria had been a bit of a miracle for the grateful performers and put-off older supporters, who had in turn both begun to explain their intended strategies and how those might change to their crew members, who understood alarmingly fast.
“Man…” Rudolf whistled in relief, chuckling. “What a scare that was… But you, Lexy? You’re alright, actually.”
“Thanks,” Alexis answered in turn, still trying to figure this guy out, “you don’t seem bad yourself… I almost kinda feel bad that we’re gonna totally eclipse you out there.”
“Y’think so, huh?” Rudolf answered with a grin, pointing forward with a friendly competitiveness. “Well, the party don’t get drowned out by a damn thing! I’m gonna get all these good people pumped as hell, and they’ll be cheerin’ for me even when that Metra chick goes on!”
“Ooh, I’m starting to feel a bit competitive…” Alexis answered, good-naturedly chuckling and folding her arms. “Wanna see who gets the crowd more pumped? Loser, uh… Buys the winner overpriced concert t-shirts. These things need stakes, right? Heh…”
At the somewhat tongue-in-cheek suggestion, Rudolf nodded. “Sure, yeah! That, and the pride of bein’ one of the best in the city! May the best team win!”
OPEN THE GAME!
Location: The Alexander Dickinson Amphitheater, one of the biggest outdoor venues in the entirety of the Metropolitan area, in the buildup to TD/MD’s headlining act, wherein both of your teams have had a performer set to open for her. The place is packed at a capacity of tens of thousands of people.
The stage is a competently designed semicircle which is roughly 30 meters across for length and maximum width, with plenty of room all over and the various necessary fixtures upheld off the ground. It is raised up about 2 meters off the ground. Its back half is partially covered by the overhanging roof of the backstage area a dozen meters above.
The backstage area spreads out about 10 meters from both sides and the back of the stage, being somewhat indoorsy and absolutely full of things one could expect an excellent stage production to have, including, of course, sturdy rafters which lead up to the ceiling area overtop the stage. Both sides have had time to arrange for some extra things to be brought in.
Goal: With a leadup of fifteen minutes before acts, and a half an hour where both of your performers are onstage at once, you have a show to put on, and that is not getting ruined by this overbooking. So, with Rudolf and Alexis up on stage, and Pineapples and Cybil each operating their abilities and managing a three-person stage crew, outperform your opponents!
Given the vastly different skill-sets of the competitors, the goal is to execute on your vision better than your opponent executes on theirs. You will be judged and voted on the following criteria, in decreasing priority:
- Feasibility - Whether your performance is actually within the bounds of what your Stand and Stats would imply.
- Skill Use - A close second in relevance; how well you integrate your User Skills and Stats into your performance. While your Skills will help in completing this objective, they do not provide an automatic advantage by merely existing and must be woven into your strats, as per usual. Even the best of artists can have abysmal live performances.
- Stand Use - Similar to the above, and similarly important. How cool, creative, and well-integrated is your Stand use. Put another way, wow the judges, voters, and viewers at home! This is more or less just the same as before.
- Environment Use - How well you use and integrate the auditorium - its features, its backstage, its stage, and the hearts and passions of its occupants - into your performance.
- Efficiency - How much quality footage you obtain and how well you use your time. This does not mean that setup for more complex performances is automatically penalized, but do try to minimize ‘deadtime’ and maximize the amount you perform.
Additional Information: There is a huge simp for TD/MD in the audience of the match, and he is connected enough that he will have both of you successfully and canonically killed if you ruin the show before the headliner can go on; therefore, murdering your opponents or audience members (“the ol’ Abraham Lincoln Tech” as they say in the biz) on an audience member is a loss condition. Not at all a moral thing for the record.
Stage Crew members for the respective teams (Harry, Mark, and John on the MFAs, Thorn, Dusk, and Luna on the Highrollers, if you care about their names) have 4s in strength, agility, endurance, Stagehand, and Backup; pretty much, anything their associated team asks them to do, they’ll be able to do, at minimum, competently. Though they won’t, like, murder for you. Generally you can use them for moving props on/off stage, extra bodies or on-stage back up performers, speaker and soundboard control, and/or on-stage camera crew as well as managing any other stage controls. Pretty much everything save for pyronetics and lighting is in their purview.
There are also dedicated lighting guys, totally neutral in your squabbles, who are going to do an entirely too good job adjusting their focus and making things work exactly as is needed so attention is on the stars of the show. They will also be coordinated with a third party camera crew that will be streaming the live feed onto screens for the audience. These feeds can be replaced or split screened with your own crew’s footage, but otherwise they will generally be in control of what is shown on-screen.
Players can be assumed to already have well-rehearsed their plans of action, the in-universe basis for the modified plans of the match, and have knowledge about every aspect of the stage, even if parts of their initial plan obviously need to be modified to account for new challengers also occupying stage space. If something performance related isn’t insanely, “years of training to do competently required” level hard, but would still require some practice ahead of time, they have had it to, at absolute max, somewhere between a 2 and a 3. Players, don’t overly-game this, though; the ‘stars’ of your performances should be the sheeted unique abilities of you, your skills, and your Stands.
All stands can be seen on camera and on the live feed for the audience's viewing pleasure.
Team | Combatant | JoJolity |
Judecca Highrollers | Alexis Williams | “This one is for the guy who keeps yelling from the Balcony, and it’s called ‘We Hate You, Please Die.’” Gymnastics is a sport of rhythm and pace, this performance should be no different for keeping your momentum. Make as seamless transitions as you can between the acts of your performance! |
Judecca Highrollers | Cybil Antoine | “Prepare to have your minds obliterated by… The boys! And Crash!” You have a whole crew of people working for you here, no need to do any heavy lifting by yourself. This is their job after all, better put them to work since that’s what they are here for. Make the most use out of your stage hands in your performance! |
Masters of Funky Action | Rudolf "Nureyev" Pavlova | “What is with this band? They’ve… changed. Have you noticed they don’t have instruments? Where’s all this amazing noise coming from?” Keeping the audience’s attention for a full 30 minutes should be a piece of cake for the world’s greatest dancer, you can keep the party rocking even between your different acts. Make as seamless transitions as you can between the acts of your performance! |
Masters of Funky Action | Admiral Pineapples | “You and your fireballs and your demon hipster chicks / you’re talking the talk and it’s pretty slick / You think you’re so great, but you’re missing the point / You gotta have friendship and courage and whatever!” You’re all in this show together, you and your crew of stage hand. Everybody should be contributing here, no man left behind. Make the most use out of your stage hands in your performance! |
Link to the Official Player Spreadsheet
Link to Match Schedule
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submitted by DON'T ASK, DON'T TELL MOTEL | WEEK 1 The neon light fixture cast a pink, seedy glow throughout the dirty room. Saggy wallpaper peeled away from the walls in places, exposing the wooden slats underneath. The ashtray on the coffee table was overflowing with cigarette butts, each of the filters stained with lipstick. "Jesus, what's taking them so long?" Smacahoe asked, the sharp heels of her hooker boots shredding the shag carpet as she paced back and forth across the motel room.
Euth shrugged, neither interested or invested in the current events. There were a million other things she'd rather be doing than attending the emergency winners meeting that Smac had called, but since the bitch had brought her back to life, she guessed she could stop by. Smac took another long drag of her cigarette, swatting away at flies with her free hand. "And you better have put a towel down on that chair first-" Smac hissed, "-I'm not losing my deposit because of you."
Euth rolled her eyes. She lay draped across the armchair, tapping away at her iPhone. The smell of her rotting flesh had only gotten worse since her resurrection, so she wore a dozen tree-shaped air fresheners around her cadaver-like neck. In all honesty, Smac wasn't in much better shape. Whenever she looked down whatever was left of her brains would ooze out of the bullet wound in her forehead. She'd solved the issue temporarily by shoving a tampon into the hole. There was a knock at the door. "Ugh, finally-" Smac exclaimed, dropping her cigarette into Euth's drink, "-it's about time those irrelevant whores showed up."
Smac pulled the door open, revealing the co-winners of season three: Angie Apathy and Erathelle. The stench of death and decay from the motel room hit the two like a tonne of bricks. "Christ-" Erathelle spat, pinching her nose, "-it smells like Cathe in here."
"We were honestly surprised to get your invitation-" Angie said, "-we'd heard that you died."
"Not that being a corpse made a difference to your drag career-" Era added, "-or lack thereof."
Angie's eyes darted around the room, looking for a place to sit. She took one glance at the crusty bed sheets and decided she'd rather stand. "Anyway…" Angie said, "... you said there was an emergency?"
ONE HOUR LATER "So basically, to summarize everything you've told us-" Angie started, "-every Dragula contestant - winner or otherwise - was murdered once they left the show?"
Smac nodded, lighting yet another cigarette. "And Fanta's murderous alter ego shot you in the face during the Wasteland Weekend challenge in our season?" Era said.
"And then she disposed of my body by packing it into a trunk and donating it to GoodWill-" Smac confirmed, "-which I'm still pressed about because I never got the trunk back."
"I bet it wasn't even real Louis Vuitton." Euth said in an attempt to be shady, but the others ignored her.
"Anyway-" Smac said, "-after I died I went straight to hell-"
"Obviously." Era added.
"And that must have been when Fanta's subconscious could no longer fully conceal the memories of the killings-" Angie explains, "-and she began to develop a sleeping disorder."
"Didn't she come to you for a diagnosis?" Era asked.
"She did-" Angie replies, "-she was having night terrors. I suggested that they were a manifestation of guilt."
"So Fanta ended up at the Dragula exhibit Alex's Di$count Dragworld-" Smac continued, "-which is where all the bodies ended up."
"Except for mine." Euth corrected her.
"And she took your body-" Angie said, "-probably because you were her most recent victim, and she was subconsciously drawn to you."
"That's when she contacted me-" Era interjected, "-hoping I could use witchcraft to contact your spirit."
"The dumb bitch not even realizing she was the killer the entire time." Euth said flatly.
"So I organized a meeting between Fanta and Satan-" Era confesses, "-mostly because I couldn't be bothered to host an actual seance."
"Fanta struck a deal with Satan to resurrect me temporarily so I could help judge the new season-" Smac explains, "-which I was NOT thrilled about because the new cast is filled with fats and flops."
The other three winners nod in solemn agreement. "Anyway, when I told Fanta she was the killer she was in complete denial-" Smac continues, "-even when I brought Euth back from the dead."
Euth waves sarcastically at the others. "And Fanta's denial stems from her having no awareness of her murderous alter ego-" Angie elaborates, "-except for the small details that overflow into her nightmares."
"But what happens if the violent personality takes over again?" Era asks, "- won't it be pissed off that you've tried to expose her?"
"I'm from Brooklyn, okay-" Smac replies, "-that bitch don't scare me."
The exposition-heavy conversation is interrupted by a knock at the door. The winners stare at one another tensely, not quite sure of who the new arrival could be. Euth rolls her eyes, climbing to her feet. "Whatever-" Euth murmurs, "-it's probably just the maid."
"Don't open it!" Angie cries, but it's too late.
A familiar, curvaceous figure struts into the room, coldly staring each of the winners up and down. "Chill-" Euth replies, "-it's just Fanta."
"Oh no-" Fanta purrs, pulling a ritualistic dagger from behind her back, "-I'm not Fanta…"
"...I'm Anastasia Five."
SAN BERNARDINO MOUNTAINS | WEEK 8
The churning sounds of wheels on a train track commence the episode, the establishing shot of a moderately vintage train with three carriages passing through the rugged countryside. The engine coughs a steady trail of smoke into the air, the name ERATHELLE LOCOMOTIVES etched above the austere cowcatcher in an industrial goldleaf font.
The passing environment was reflected on the trains polished exterior: jagged, monotonous hills topped with an abundance of verdant forestry, civilisation in the far distance but wild animals such as horses in closer proximity. Skies are blue, the tranquil scenery allowing for a moment of peace, before the camera switched to the warm interior of the train.
THE BIPOLAR EXPRESS | WEEK 8
Beige walls, leather armchairs, marble surfaces illuminated by golden LEDs and bottles of champagne were in view of the lens, showcasing the luxurious-appeal. This train was made for the upper-class and the richest only, or at least one would think, before cutting away to the next carriage...
The bitter wind whistled through the rickety wooden walls, where the cold seeped into the dark and dingy interior. Empty cans, covered in rust and congealed pet food rolled about on the dirty floor. Here and there musty piles of damp hay and newspaper had gathered in the corners, barely visible in the dim candlelight.
Spread across a flattened sheet of newspaper was a collage of Aristo photos, partially congealed beneath the melted wax of a crooked candle. The flame hisses and flickers, teardrops falling from Bella's face as she mourns her former challenge partner. Within one of the stalls, amid a heap of moldy hay was the slumbering, mammoth frame of Portia. Her sleeping form calling out to the other beluga whales at sea, quickly falling further and further away behind her as the train headed east.
The piggish sounds of snorting echoed around the carriage as Tish crawled about on hands and knees, following the stale scent of food. She reached out for a rusted can of tuna, scanning the inside for any stale, forgotten morsels. Striking gold, she lifts it to her gaping maw of her mouth, her greedy tongue slobbering about the inside searching for the precious nutrients. Finally, Bianca sat perched on a crate near the back of the carriage, a look of tempered rage and disgust on her face as she carved a message into the walls - WIN HIGH WIN HIGH WIN ROBBED! NEVER AGAIN! the sawdust gathering at her feet.
Biancas eyes peeled away from her masterpiece as angry footsteps stomped towards the cabin. With a forceful kick, the rickety door was blown off of its hinges, the noise causing Portia to be yanked out of her slumber.
"Shia!" She cried, drool running down her chins.
Fantasia Four held a kleenex to her nose as she entered the contestants carriage, a lousy attempt to block out the stench of poverty. Water trickled in behind her along with shards of porcelain. It's almost like someone had taken a wrecking ball to the bathroom.
Nobody was prepared for her sudden Scottish accent.
"HOW COME SOMEBODY DOESN'T KNOW HOW TE FLUSH THA TOILET AFTER THEY'VE HAD A SHET!?!" Fanta roared.
"It wasn't me!" Bella cried, trying to defend her Aristo shrine.
"WELL IT WAS FUCKIN ONE O YEHS!" Fanta screeched "DISGUSTEN!"
Fanta stormed back into the flooded luxury cabin, making splashes with each angry stomp.
All of the eyes in the carriage turned their judgemental gaze towards Tish, who blushed as she tried to back away into the corner.
TEN MINUTES EARLIER
The windows rattled in their panes as heavy footsteps echoed throughout the carriage. Floorboards groaned and dust fell down from the ceiling as the physical equivalent of a stampede from Jumanji made its way across the train.
An iPhone attached to a GoPro swished about through the air haphazardly, shattering a fraction of a chandelier.
"Shoutout to all my Tishinators out there!" Tish cried, throwing gang signs with her spare hand, "Thank you for all of your support!"
Her current Instagram Live had been her most successful yet, she'd never had this many people watching her at once before. A moment later, the third viewer signed out.
"I can't believe we're at top 4 isn't that wild?" Tish asked, posing for the camera, "I couldn't have done it without you guys! Do you want some scalding hot tea?"
Claudette - one of the two viewers in the room- started to type something but quickly deleted it.
"Reddit Dragula Exclusive!" Tish wheezed, sucking in as she squeezed through a doorway, "Fanta's taking us on a field trip for the top 4 challenge, isn't that bananas?"
We were inside a gorgeous bathroom now. Polished marble and sparkling porcelain. Vanilla candles. Floral arrangements. Hand towels folded into swans. Tish holds the GoPro up as high as possible so her two viewers can take it all in.
"The contestants aren't allowed up here in the hosts carriage-" Tish whispers, "-but I won't tell if you don't!"
Claudette starts typing again. Deletes it. Leaves the room.
It's just Anita watching now.
"Okay Tishinators are you all ready?" Tish asks, dropping to her knees, "I'm going to try and beat my personal record today…"
Tish pulls her crusty LuluLemons down, aiming towards the expensive Japanese SmartToilet across the room.
"3… 2… 1…"
Tish groans as she launches her record-breaking fecal matter into the air. The screen goes black. We hear something shatter, followed by the frantic flow of toilet water.
WASHINGTON DC | THREE DAYS LATER
The everlasting train journey to Washington DC had finally concluded, the finalists and hosts stepping out of the sliding carriage doors and stepping into the fresh air - much to the pleasure of the finalists after having to share a singular cubicle between themselves, and especially Tish. A momentary time lapse occurs which brings the contestants to the destination of this week's challenge after a severity of further travelling.
The finalists stand in a line before a monumental building - The White House, confused as to why they were here, but more so disgusted that they were in proximity to President Trump himself. A establishing shot reveals that half of the building was dilapidated in piles of ash, an abundance of it’s structure collecting at the right side of the property, whilst the left somehow maintained it’s architecture. The camera cuts away back to the shocked expressions amongst their faces, Portia’s mouth agape.
“Pretty annoyed we didn’t get to Hollywood. You know, I was born to act ther-”
“The apocalypse got this place pretty good, they weren’t joking when they had it as the MTM theme. I thought it was just all studio sets.”
Tish interrupts Nikki Blonsky as she observes the catastrophe before her. The focus shifts to the background where the hosts approach in an inquisitive manner, Smacahoe watching her step, worried about her louboutins getting stained by the smog of cheeto dust blowing across the floor.
“Wow. Erathelle really did bomb this place-” she pushes past the lot and grabs onto the fence, the name of Erathelle drawing attention from the finalists, “I hope Angie died from a heart attack before the explosion.”
Fantasia elbows Smac before pulling her over to stand before the contestants, receiving a slap on her hand as she does so. Bella remains confused, and quite scared of the situation; taking on the expression of a William Mckinley High School student during Becky Jackson's famous shootout. Bianca on the other looked like she was sweating piss, her nausea unsure to be a product of genuine illness, or the fact that a Cath look alike security guard just raised his arm and released the stench of his pit.
“If Diana was here, she’d be pitching a tent right now.” Bella pinches her nose to block the smell out.
“Anywho, welcome to this weeks destination for your final challenge of season four. Before we explain the challenge to you, we have some very special guest visitors… inside the building behind us.”
The gates open from behind the hosts and the camera enters, rapidly zooming to the entrance, the canvas of flower coronations become a blur of colour amongst the gardens. A crescendo of tense piano music plays, the handle turning-
[PORTIA]: Ugh, we’re finally getting to meet the people that will pass their crown down to me. Such an honour.
One door opens. A figure can be seen approaching, one more step away from entering the light. Whoever it was was quite small, dressed in a schoolgirl outfit with a tramp stamp on her right thigh, such details becoming visible before their face enters the frame.
“SKSKKSKS, Sonya, you were meant to come lat-”
The tense music stops as the sound byte of a vinyl scratch replaces it; what the fuck is that? Replicating the sound of Diana’s lisp, there was only one queen this could be. Flashback Mary?
“Flashback Mary?”
Bianca begins to retch again as the camera returns back to the finalists, Bella taking a quick step away from her.
“No, I grounded that flushed away looking bitch last week.”
Fantasia reassures the girls that the queen was indeed not present. A loud slam can be heard in the distance, and from the prior look of the disheveled hinges of the opposing door, it was safe to assume that the problem was squashed.
The group begin to walk down to the building as the gates slam shut behind them, a flash of lightning forming a flare on the lens like a horror movie cliche. Whatever they were about to was much worse than expected, the finalists unsure on entering when the sounds of snakes echoes throughout the establishment and out of the doors. The hosts smile as if the noise was expected, gesturing to them follow into the wrecked chaos.
“I cant wait for this one.” Fantasia looks around the surrounding ruins, as if she was expecting a guest visitor.
A silhouette rapidly approaches the contestants…
The creature steps forward, setting her vicious eyes upon the contestants of the top 4.
The eruptions on her skin were placed irregularly. Although her body was exposed for the better or worse, it seemed as if though her skin was a veil - a fortunate one for those who might lay eyes upon her. She had bulbous, purple growths spotting her - as wide as an onion and likely just as stinky as one - that were only slightly opened to allow the leaking of an orange, milk-like liquid that dripped down to her toes. Her skin was a blank canvas upon which the horrifying painting was placed - white, bleak, but covered in scales. Hextagonal-like protrusions delimited her skin and allowed the milk of her body to flow down much more coursively, gathering in drops at the outer edges of her skin. She only had three fingers and three toes - that were thick, long, and rendered immobile, likely only effective for a run on all fours. The tailbone had a thick protusion which coiled around her that was decorated with metal spikes that bursted out of the tip - almost as if it was a flail, yet no one could know if this was engineered by her servants to give her a more fearsome appearance, or if this was a true weapon of her own body. Her face, distorted and serpentine, was an unforgettable sight. With eyes elongated in a triangular manner and a clear lack of lips, Erathelle mimicked the devil-like appearance of an albino serpent. There were scales attached around her eyes in a greater bush that extended from her nose to her hairline, almost as if they were eyelashes. Her hair, however, was another component of this predator organism. A large, green caterpillar started at the very edge of her scalp, sucking upon her brain as it pleased, and extending down to the ground, trailing behind her like a queen's cape. The caterpillar oozed with the orange milk, being a fountain of it as the liquid escaped through all sides that it could - both rear and mouth. Erathelle licks the milk off of her face, watching the contestants with a great curiosity. "Hmm, delicious. Tastes like talent", she says, grinning from her ear-to-ear, "it seems we're in for a feast, tonight, Angie." Another silhouette appears around the corner as she slithers forward towards the four, her eyes going from left-to-right in rapid manners as she analyzes them. "If this humble supermonster could spare one word of advice...", she says on a coy tone, "it would be to put your makeup on and go get ready sweeties cause according to Smacahoe you're the weakest links."
The camera zooms closer in onto the presence of the other figure.
The hand polished obsidian of the hallway is illuminated by tastefully recessed fixtures at the beginning and end of the passage, the bright pools of light showing that no expense was spared regarding the carefully carved decorative elements, and exotic building materials that developing world children most likely died to procure. The stretch of inky darkness in between perfect for the sharing of secrets and the making of plans, the unseen determining the seen.
Italian made heels mar the floor’s burnished gleam and the silence. Angie hits her mark at the first pool of light, casually giving herself optimal posing space and making the assembled parties wait for it. Her crown balanced on her head at an insouciant angle, her hair an impeccable angled curly bob of vivid red violet, styled for volume, each tendril impeccably defined to fall in an asymmetrical cloud just below the cheekbone.
A vivid smoky halo of cobalt blue shadow decorates her lids, thick mascara swooping up in a matching shade, sharp slashes of apple red blush announcing Angie’s cheekbones into the room before she has fully entered it. Her lips are a matching red, slick and shiny as freshly spilled blood.
Her sharply tailored suit jacket has extreme and exaggerated power shoulders, padded to a near perfect “T” shape as the double breasted style slopes down to a whittled wisp of a waist, an expanse of bare alabaster skin visible beneath. The slimmest of cigarette style pants cling to her curves, and allow an excellent view of the gleaming black patent of pointed toe D’Orsay style stilettos beneath. The bright white of the suit has been hand painted all over with black Stephen Sprouse style graffiti, announcing Angie as a supermonster, queen of folders and diamond crowned ghoul, amongst other text. She brandished her sparkling winner’s scepter like a weapon or a walking stick as she poses, hand on hip. She strides forward into the darkness, coming closer to the contestants and judges at the far end of the hall.
In the darkness, everything changes, vibrant glow in the dark colors revealing sunken sockets and bulging eyes surrounded by fluro red patches of exposed muscles, glowing blue planes of exposed and inhuman skull, lips pulled back into an insane rictus, a dark hollow where a nose should have been amongst all of the vivid color.
The lines of her suit’s silhouette vanish in the dark, but the glowing text on the fabric announces itself in horizontal block lettered text, with a sickly yellow glow:
OBEY
CONSUME
REPRODUCE
SUBMIT
With a final stride, she reaches the brightly lit end of the hall, taking her place alongside Era, Smac and Fanta, once again looking perfectly human. With a smile, she offers her advice to the top four:
“Greeting ghouls! It’s been amazing watching you fight your way to the final episodes, so if one of you wants to inherit Erangie’s crown, now’s the time to focus. Look over your floorshows and your notes from the course of the competition, and outdo your biggest competition…..YOURSELF. Every queen in this room is obviously a gore gore girl, but no one can do you better than you. What haven’t you shown us? What tricks do you have up your sleeve? Show us what you love, and we’ll likely love it too.”
[BELLA ESMERALDA]: Holy shit, Angie and Era are here. They’re perfect. We have been blessed.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome your two current reigning super monsters - Angie Apathy and Erathelle.”
The final four commence a round of applause for their entrances, Angie and Era smiling back.
“These two are a prime example of how to be victorious, and so has Smacahoe all season long. With this being the final four, one of you will win in due time, and so they will past the crown down onto you.”
Portia points to herself.
“We hope that their entrances inspired you, because this week, you are all taking on the one challenge that has been planned for almost every season - Serpents of Society. Inspired by the manic theory that political leaders are actually serpents, you will all be creating your own political figure persona, including a floorshow demonstrating their appearance and mannerisms, whilst accompanied by a speech of what they stand for.” Smacahoe explains, turning to Fantasia.
“The second part of the challenge is to create a second floorshow to the theme of serpents, where you will show the serpent form of your political persona. In this floorshow, you must demonstrate the reptilian form of your politician, traits of their personality, mannerisms and their intentions should be recognisable in their reptilian form, whether that be in their appearance and or how they interact with the environment.”
CHALLENGE SUMMARY:
For this weeks challenge we are taking inspiration from the crazy theories that leading politicians in power (and celebrities) are reptilians. This theory became viral in recent years for how crazy it sounds, so there is plenty of information accessible online if you need to look into it.
You will all be creating your own political figure character and a speech which shows what your character strives to achieve for the world, for their country. It is your choice whether you go down a serious or comedic route, but make every decision carefully as it is the final four. Your speech is not a scene, you will be writing an actual speech - as voiced from your character - entailing what they want to fight for and change, also being one of the few opportunities for characterization.
There will be two floorshows this week. The first floorshow will show your politicians appearance and look, you will have an opportunity to show their mannerisms through environment interaction so take advantage of it all. A more specific environment will be out with the episode, but it will be set in the interior of the white house, so make sure to take inspiration from that. This is a great opportunity to get in some character through the look and movement, although it seems quite a simple theme with little to do, the challenge of creating a distinctive character is there.
The more important floorshow, although both should be treated with equal priority, is your reptilian/serpent floorshow. The theory this episode is based on says that many people in power are reptilians, and have two separate forms. In this floorshow, you must demonstrate the reptilian form of your politician, traits of their personality, mannerisms and their intentions should be recognisable in their reptilian form, whether that be in their appearance and or how they move around the environment. It is suggested you consider showing it through both. This floorshow will take place in the ruins of the white house - which has been neglected and abandoned due to the apocalypse in the MTM. The first floorshow will be in the normal state of the white house for narrative purposes.
CHECKLIST:
- Politician Speech
- Politician Floorshow
- Reptilian/Serpent Form Floorshow
DEADLINE: Tuesday 21st May, 9pm CST.
SPREADSHEET: https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1wysBvt45oyuoBP1apJ89H7r2sG3Asow_Fl5S3KJyojc
submitted by Football tips listed here are for today’s matches, with more details when viewing each individual competition. The predictions from this section are created using an advanced system that learns from each past result to come with different betting tips for markets like final result, over/under, number of goals, goal scorers among other. Browse below for matches played today in various soccer Sports betting winners and losers: Buccaneers, not Chiefs, have been the better bet this season . Frank Schwab. 26 January 2021, 10:16 am · 6-min read. Against the spread records aren’t kick off home team % chance home odds draw odds away odds % chance away team prediction; today 17:30 Min deposit £5 and 1x settled bet requirement to release Bet Credits. Min odds, bet and payment method exclusions apply. Returns exclude Bet Credits stake. Time limits and T&Cs apply. Sign up here; Online Football Betting. FA Cup TODAY 17 :30. Swansea: v: Man City: HOME: DRAW: AWAY: BT1: More markets: Recent Form Last Head-To-Heads at Swansea Recent Form; A W A W H W H D A W H W. Most recent 2021-02-07 2021-02-08 2021-02-09 today 2021-02-11 2021-02-12 2021-02-13. Select date . competition. competition start time country. Sort by . select. click to select competition. Spain-FA Cup Italy-FA Cup Netherlands-FA Cup England-FA Cup Portugal-FA Cup France-FA Cup Brazil-Serie A Belgium-FA Cup Austria-Bundesliga Greece-FA Cup Croatia-1. Division Slovenia-Prva Liga Cyprus-1. Division Turkey Get free football predictions, soccer predictions, football and soccer tips. Goldenbet.com tips have success over 60%. Try statistical predictions, best soccer tips 1X2. Best football predictions for today. Today 05:45 2668. Grenoble Foot - AS Monaco. Grenoble Foot 7.17 draw 4.80 AS Monaco 1.40. 117> Soccer - Austria - Bundesliga. 1 X 2 . Today 11:30 719. RB Salzburg - FK Austria Vienna. RB Salzburg 1.18 draw 7.26 FK Austria Vienna 12.77. 126> Soccer - Greece - Greece Cup, Group 1. 1 X 2 . Today 11:30 3440. Olympiacos FC - Aris Thessaloniki FC. Olympiacos FC 1.54 draw 4.18 Aris Thessaloniki FC 5 Recommended soccer bets for today. Top bankers for today - most sure games to bet. SoccerVista - football betting List of top football betting opportunities for today. All major soccer leagues included. What is banker of the day? Main page Bet of the day Picks by email Livescore Statistics Bookmakers Contact FAQ Recommended football bets by SoccerVista.com. Sunday 7. Feb Monday 8. Feb Tuesday High odds,poker and casino,live matches,big bonus,wide offer 2021-02-06 2021-02-07 2021-02-08 today 2021-02-10 2021-02-11 2021-02-12. Select date . competition. competition start time country. Sort by . select . click to select competition. Italy-FA Cup Spain-Laliga England-FA Cup Turkey-FA Cup Cyprus-1. Division France-FA Cup Portugal-Primeira Liga Belgium-FA Cup Saudi Arabia-Premier League Italy-Serie B Netherlands-FA Cup Thailand-Thai League 1