Kenso

[FONT=Verdana][SIZE=1]Well, having seen my fiance playing on the WiFi and seeing that it looked like a lot more fun, I found myself giving this game one more shot. I think the hardest part for me is that when you're racing in the Grand Prix, you pretty much have to drop yourself out of competitive mode and just try to have fun. The problems I mentioned in my last post are still there, but a little patience goes a long way.[/SIZE][/FONT] [FONT=Verdana][SIZE=1]I've taken to ripping through the Time Trials rightn now. You can nab a couple of good unlockables that way, and I'm doing pretty good on it. I've actually got the Expert Staff Ghosts unlocked for all the new Wii courses. I'm gonna hit the retro courses tonight, see if I can't finish off my streak. Crazily enough, I actually unlocked the Expert Ghosts in the Special Cup on my first run throughs (aside from the one in Moonview Highway, which took three runs, as I kept getting flattened).[/SIZE][/FONT] [FONT=Verdana][SIZE=1]All that said, this game on single-player is definitely NOT for the over-competitive. The AI and item bombardment will likely lead to excessive anger. But playing on the WiFi is loads of fun. Time Trial is actually kind of fun too. It lets you get a good feel for the tracks without most of the stupid crap. However, it will likely make you hate some stages even more, when the in-stage obstacles start killing you.[/SIZE][/FONT] [FONT=Verdana][SIZE=1]As a random aside, how does everyone rank in the Grand Prixs? I'm having some severe issues getting star ranks in a lot of them (though I imagine I'd nab them easily on 50 CC and 100 CC if I went back and tried it again now). I think between all the CCs and Mirror Mode, I've only got star ranks in 3 cups (can't check because I'm at work). It seems very random on what it takes to get them. But I'm working on nailing them too, since that nets some SWEET unlocks too. I just wish this was like Brawl, where everything had at least 2 unlock methods (even if it were something like 'race this many WiFi matches'). I liked that in Brawl, where folks who weren't so great could still find a way to unlock everyone.[/SIZE][/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana][SIZE=1][URL]http://www.lfgcomic.com/page/144[/URL][/SIZE][/FONT] [FONT=Verdana][/FONT] [FONT=Verdana][SIZE=1]I'm not even going to explain this link. Just click it.[/SIZE][/FONT]

[SIZE=1]The streets are quiet as I walk, at least as quiet as they ever get nowadays. Nothing big is going down, nothing to catch my interest. By the end of the night, I’ll probably take a few out just to get them off the streets, but when it’s early, they have to at least nab my attention somehow. A smile lifts my lips as I pass by an old decrepit basketball court where there’s actually a game going. Some things will never change, and that’s a good thing.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1][/SIZE] [SIZE=1]As I walk through Raiha’s part of town, I keep an eye open. Many gang members lived around her, and it wasn't hard to find their homes, and things can get a little messy. The main streets are loud and crazy, but nothing abnormal. Crazy shit’s always going down around here. I walk past an alley and notice a cop car down around the middle, with someone in a bulky-looking trench coat or something nearby it, and maybe someone near the hood. The alley is dark, so it’s hard for me to make out.[/SIZE][SIZE=1] [/SIZE] [SIZE=1]But my instincts are already at high gear, and my hand is on my right gun as I make my way up the alley, slowly. As I get nearer, the scene shifts into focus. The first thing I notice is the cop. He’s standing by the hood, and his gun is out. He’s a big son of a bitch; probably does construction work in his spare time. Looks like he’s around 6’4”, 260 lbs, easy, and he’s got a gun pointed at someone.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1][/SIZE] [SIZE=1]By default, I follow the gun’s aim to the girl in the trench coat. The jacket hides most of her, so I can’t make out much, but I get the odd feeling I’ve seen her before. And I notice she’s not staring at the gun, but at something on the hood, so I follow her gaze.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1][/SIZE] [SIZE=1]What I see there brings my gun up, and fast. That face I know. The cop’s monster of a left hand is covering the side of Raiha’s face, holding her down to the hood. Her shoulder is bare, shirt shoved roughly aside in a slipshod attempt to get at some skin. As I take in the whole scene in, I realize her pants are off, apparently tossed to the side.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1][/SIZE] [SIZE=1]The cop has used his foot to shove her feet apart, pants at his knees. His member was straight up and hard, and he’d obviously had some time to get excited. I notice Raiha’s eyes, realize she sees me, and I can see the tears rolling down her face, though she makes no sound. It doesn’t appear the cop or the other girl has noticed me, too engrossed in the scene.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1][/SIZE] [SIZE=1]I yell, grabbing the fucker’s attention. He turns to face me, switching the gun’s aim to me. By the time he’s turned, my gun is aimed down, and I pull the trigger. That’s one problem down. At least he won’t have to worry about finding a woman ever again. He screams and drops his gun, clasping his hands over his wound, screaming any number of obscenities at me.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1][/SIZE] [SIZE=1]My approach is slow, purposeful. I take two more shots before I reach him, taking care of his elbows and most of that region of his arms. There’s an evil smile on my face as I get near him.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1][/SIZE] [SIZE=1]“Remember this face, asshole, because this will be finished when I see you in hell.”[/SIZE] [SIZE=1][/SIZE] [SIZE=1]I place the cold metal of the barrel against his forehead and let him think about that for a second; just long enough to let the fear settle in his eyes. Then I pull the trigger. I watch as his body drops to the ground, and then turn to Raiha, trying to keep my eyes up to let her maintain at least some of her dignity. I’d grab her pants, but I don’t really know where they’ve gotten to.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1]By now, the killing look has left my eyes, although I’m sure she already saw it. Hopefully, it doesn’t scare her away. “Anything else that needs to be taken care of?”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=1]I have officially come to the conclusion that I am DONE playing this game. VS mode isn't going to be half as much fun without everything unlocked, and unlocking everything is IMPOSSIBLE for anyone who's only an average player. The difficulty level of 150 CC is absolutely ridiculous, and the possibility of an item completely ruining your chances are more like guarantees. On top of that, the same one or two computer characters are the only ones that ever pose a real threat (a constantly reoccurring problem in the series), so if you have just ONE bad race, you're screwed. 150 CC has ripped the fun out of this game entirely, and I'll be leaving it to the other people in my house to play, because I'm done with it.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=1]OK, looks like Clark ain't out for the count yet, necessarily. As Blayze is taking leave, we're going to assume the Macks decided to beat it, their better judgement telling them that our dear sheriff wasn't really worth tussling with for Clark. Kent's (Zen) thing with Clark is personal, and I'm not certain he even knows there's a bounty out on Clark in Colorado, so unless our wedded couple decides to bust the news (meaning they're going to be leaving town practically as soon as they show up), Clark's got some time. That said, anyone have any specific direction they'd like to see this head? As I said, I'm wide open to suggestions around here. [/SIZE]

[FONT=Verdana][SIZE=1]First things first: I call Chad Kroeger of Nickelback for my image.[/SIZE][/FONT] [FONT=Verdana][/FONT] [FONT=Verdana][/FONT] [FONT=Verdana][SIZE=1]That said, this sounds kind of neat. You mentioned the possibility of using other instruments. Are you only permitting any specific kinds, or is it a 'use your imagination and tell us how it works' deal? Also, can it be done using only your voice? If so, can you perhaps increase your abilities by using your voice and your Ax? (Perhaps giving you the option of magic even if you're using a Bass Ax?)[/SIZE][/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana][SIZE=1][B]Aaryanna_Mom[/B], your poem gives off a feeling of excitement and joy at the prospect of heading out for a little bit of fun. It flows well and it's just enjoyable to read.[/SIZE][/FONT] [FONT=Verdana][/FONT] [FONT=Verdana][SIZE=1][B]Darren[/B], you went with an angle we can ALL relate to. I like that. While nowadays those thoughts are in my head in work instead of class, I can still relate.[/SIZE][/FONT] [FONT=Verdana][/FONT] [FONT=Verdana][SIZE=1]I liked both poems a lot, but [B]Darren[/B] gets my vote because of how well I can relate to it.[/SIZE][/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana][SIZE=1][B]Raiha[/B], I like how your poem is a story and not just a description. It didn't flow very well to me, but to be honest, neither of them did, and I'm not sure why (perhaps because I'm not used to poetry).[/SIZE][/FONT] [FONT=Verdana][/FONT] [FONT=Verdana][SIZE=1][B]Rachmaninoff[/B], your poem is well-written, though it feels wordy to me. It's expressive, but it feels very harsh, like it's trying to say the desert is something unnatural and out of place.[/SIZE][/FONT] [FONT=Verdana][/FONT] [FONT=Verdana][SIZE=1]All that said, and this is a very hard decision, my vote goes to [B]Raiha[/B], namely because of the poem's storytelling.[/SIZE][/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana][SIZE=1]Well, I suppose I should start inputting on these things.[/SIZE][/FONT] [FONT=Verdana][/FONT] [FONT=Verdana][SIZE=1][B]Treble[/B], like everyone else, I liked the simple nature of your poem, and found myself wishing for that dive right along with you.[/SIZE][/FONT] [FONT=Verdana][/FONT] [FONT=Verdana][SIZE=1][B]8bit[/B], while I don't dislike the ocean, I have a marked appreciation for the harsh realities of the world, and your poem is a stark reminder that it's not all beauty and glory out there on the water.[/SIZE][/FONT] [FONT=Verdana][/FONT] [FONT=Verdana][SIZE=1]That said, my vote goes to [B]8bit[/B].[/SIZE][/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana][SIZE=1]Allamorph, Bebop has been mentioned at least twice in the last ten posts. Just thought I'd point that out.[/SIZE][/FONT] [FONT=Verdana][/FONT] [FONT=Verdana][SIZE=1]I should also make a note that when I watched DBZ (a habit I stopped long, long ago), I was vaguely saddened when [spoiler]Frieza butchered Krillin on Namek[/spoiler]. I like the little guy.[/SIZE][/FONT]

[SIZE=1]My sleep schedule is absolutely horrible. I generally go to bed between 12 and 1 (sometimes later) to get up at 6 for work. On weekends, I've been known to skip sleeping completely. Other times, I'll go to bed around 3-4 and sleep until 10 or 11. But for the most part, I actually tend to run on 4-6 hours of sleep comfortably. I've actually found that I can't stay asleep for 8 hours regularly, so my sleep schedule being kinda whacked is rather mandatory.[/SIZE]

[quote name='Aaryanna'][COLOR=DarkGreen][FONT=Book Antiqua]That's my mom's age... 50 :p[/FONT][/COLOR][/quote] [SIZE=1]In the name of Kossuth, aren't there some sort of laws against revealing that sort of information about one's parents? @Korey - Yeah, no big man. I think everyone has done that on the net at least once. I just thought it was amusing because you listed her in your 'would be missed' bunch, but didn't know that she was, well, a she. On a side note, I'd miss Rach. If for no other reason than the constant musical link containing posts (although I don't think I've clicked one of those yet.....I really should). I would definitely notice if Rach vanished. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=1]The elbow thing made me want to cry. I've dislocated my shoulder more than once, and that hurts like hell. I can't imagine what a dislocated elbow would feel like. Anyway, very nice scene. I especially approved of the little detail of Erica needing to remove the shoe from Annie's throat. [/SIZE]

[CENTER][B][FONT=Verdana][SIZE=1]After Hours[/SIZE][/FONT][/B] [B][FONT=Verdana][/FONT][/B] [/CENTER] [LEFT][FONT=Verdana][SIZE=1]It's barely three miles to the Y from the station, but in that span I'd been swung at twice, ran away from four times (including both people who swung at me), and nearly hit by a car once. Typical fare, nowadays. Unfortunately, being one of the few cops who tries, my face is fairly well-known. Alright, that's not the only reason, but I digress, at least for the moment. But cops aren't well-liked. We get attacked, a lot, especially if we try. The block or two area around the station is one of the most dangerous parts of the city, instead of the safest.[/SIZE][/FONT] [FONT=Verdana][/FONT] [FONT=Verdana][SIZE=1]I have to smile a little as I finally make it. A cute little girl I know as Rai is just showing up for her dance class. She works at Social Services, but we've probably said more to each other at the Y than we have on the job (which is saying something). I toss a greeting her way as I get close, turning it into a bit of a come-on. It's a silly thing, but she knows I'm going to, and I know she's going to respond in a negative. She's not interested in any guys that I know of. Makes me feel better. At least it's not just me.[/SIZE][/FONT] [FONT=Verdana][/FONT] [FONT=Verdana][SIZE=1]"Heyyy, Rai. What're you doing here?"[/SIZE][/FONT] [FONT=Verdana][/FONT] [FONT=Verdana][SIZE=1][COLOR=black]"What do you think? I'm not here to see you. Fuckass."[/COLOR][/SIZE][/FONT] [FONT=Verdana][/FONT] [FONT=Verdana][SIZE=1]She pretends to glare at me and I laugh. It's funny and cute, and she probably knows it. I let my eyes wander, enjoying the dance clothes she's in. A man can't help it really. Of course, this gets me flipped off, and the desk guy laughs instead of me.[/SIZE][/FONT][/LEFT] [FONT=Verdana][SIZE=1][LEFT] But frivolties are over at that point, and I turn to head for the weight room. The locker room is tucked in the back, and I head there. After all, it's really hard to work out when you're wearing rather large guns. I find an empty locker and tuck my belt and weapons in it. I'm not really worried about them getting taken, and there is no lock on the locker when I close it. Around here, nobody fucked with anybody. It was like the Y was some unspoken neutral zone, at least in the weight room. You left your grudges at the door. [FONT=Verdana][/FONT] [FONT=Verdana][SIZE=1]As I step out of the locker room, I glance around. There's a lot of familiar faces, some of them enemies, other acquaintances with no special connections. I don't really keep friends. They keep dieing. I recognize some as being part of the Indies and nod their way, as friendly as I get. Though we're technically opposed sides, the Indies know I don't mess with them. It's a favor to Rai. I know her brother is one of the important folks within the Indies, so they're the one bunch I leave alone. If I can't stop them all, I can at least be selective about who can keep running, and as much as I oppose exactly what they do, they do it as cleanly as possible. Hell, to my knowledge, Lil'Z hadn't actually killed anybody yet. Damned impressive statistic right there.[/SIZE][/FONT] [FONT=Verdana][/FONT] [FONT=Verdana][SIZE=1]I step over to one of the all-in-one machines and kick up the resistance. I stretch first, knowing better than to start exercising without them. After ten minutes of stretching, I start on the machines, working through various exercises, doing my best to give every part of my body a workout. Well, almost every part. You didn't see too many women in the weight room. I've probably been exercising for about an hour when one of the martial arts instructors approaches me.[/SIZE][/FONT] [FONT=Verdana][/FONT] [FONT=Verdana][SIZE=1]I left the classes a while ago, but he wants to spar. Checking the time, I figure I'm cool with it. We go into the mat room, and I kick off my shoes. We both start relaxed, but he attacks first. For the most part, he's faster than me, and I barely respond in time to block. It's not that I'm slow, but the masters tend to move at insane speeds.[/SIZE][/FONT] [FONT=Verdana][/FONT] [FONT=Verdana][SIZE=1]But it's been a long day, and I want to relax. Spars are a good source of stress relief. Today, I'm stepping it up. I remind myself to focus more on him and less on the world around me. That's my biggest problem. I'm used to thinking like a cop, and that means I've got to watch everything. It distracts me, slows me down. But not in here. It's one-on-one, no reason to think otherwise.[/SIZE][/FONT] [FONT=Verdana][/FONT] [FONT=Verdana][SIZE=1]He's beating me against a wall, forcing his advantage, landing nothing solid but not giving me any openings. But now I want this. I can't lose. Some of the guys I'm going to run into on the streets are more dangerous than he is, and I don't want to rely on my guns. I decide to let a shot through, at least partially. Taking advantage of my reach, I step into a punch and swing. Off-balance, he can't respond. His blow catches my upper arm, sliding up towards my face, but the impact from my hit keeps it away.[/SIZE][/FONT] [FONT=Verdana][/FONT] [FONT=Verdana][SIZE=1]He doesn't waste time being shocked. Now we're both going with equal zeal. Some people are watching, waiting, as though class should've started. But we don't give up. I'm feeling exhausted, but so is he. As he aims for my face with a punch, I drop and kick his feet out, circling the foot I used up and back around, dropping it on his chest as he goes parallel with the ground.[/SIZE][/FONT] [FONT=Verdana][/FONT] [FONT=Verdana][SIZE=1]As he hits, my heel in his chest, he acknowledges defeat. Which is good, because I was fairly certain I didn't have much left in me for that, not without a break. Fighting one-on-one was so much damned harder than fighting against groups. We say our byes and I leave the room, realizing that class really should have started as I glance at the clock. I stop at the locker room for my belt and guns. Nobody questions those, not in this day and age.[/SIZE][/FONT] [FONT=Verdana][/FONT] [FONT=Verdana][SIZE=1]As I leave, I see Rai again, and wave. I'd love to ask her to dinner, just for a quiet night with someone, instead of the usual crap, but I know better. So it's just me and my cooking again tonight. Granted, I can cook, but I don't always want to. The walk home is only another mile. I just make myself some pork chops and rice, which takes me no time to eat.[/SIZE][/FONT] [FONT=Verdana][/FONT] [FONT=Verdana][SIZE=1]I glance at my guns and stand up to head for the door. Work might be over, but my night was just beginning.[/SIZE][/FONT][/SIZE][/FONT][/LEFT]

Excuse me for a second while I laugh at Korey a bit. Sorry, man, but indifference is a girl. That said, there's a few people who I'd miss on here if they vanished out of nowhere. I'm beginning to take a liking to Raiha (who, by the way, is even more fun to talk to on AIM than on the OB), and after the April Fool's thing, Des got kicked so far up the awesome ladder it's disgusting. ((Actually, I think it may've run out of rungs at that high.)) Most of the people have already been listed elsewhere, and as long as I've been a member, I just recently started posting regularly, so I probably haven't even registered on their radar yet.

[quote name='inwardscream']I don't know if I am reading this wrong (I have been know to do that, being the person I am) but I don't think I have written about the Macks, only Holt and his constant drunken shenanigans and mishaps. Just looking for a bit of clarity.[/quote] [SIZE=1]No, you're very, very right. That should be addressed to Blayze (and will be in a second). You use the same font style, at least in your bios, and I was just quick-glancing through when I typed that. Sorry.[/SIZE]

[FONT=Verdana][SIZE=1]Well, looks like we have ourselves off to a rather interesting start. Gunfight, exploding blacksmith shop, talk of a jailbreak (credit to the Macks for not being dumb enough to shoot the sheriff), and Lord knows what's still coming. And we've lost one character (who hadn't actually posted yet, so no story effect) due to IRL circumstances. Wingman is dropping out because he just won't have the time to keep up with it.[/SIZE][/FONT] [FONT=Verdana][SIZE=1]That said, I'm going to hold off posting to give those who haven't yet an opportunity to do so (I'll likely send a PM to all of them tonight). Also, does anyone have any specific plans for what they're planning next?[/SIZE][/FONT] [FONT=Verdana][SIZE=1]To be quite honest, I'm running this off the cuff, and had expected a bit more time before Clark died, and it's not looking like he's going to last long, what with half the characters trying to kill him (although he's not likely to go down without a damn good fight - the reason I suggested multiple characters). So if anyone has any potential plot hooks in mind, I'm certainly open. I like input from RP participants when I run them anyway. So if you have any input at all, feel free to post here (or PM me, if it's something you want to work things up to, without letting everyone knows what's up yet).[/SIZE][/FONT] [FONT=Verdana][SIZE=1]On a side note, Blayze, keep in mind the Macks as you have them written are wanted, and turning in Clark is likely to result in their arrest also. Just something they may wish to keep in mind (especially since they're BACK in Arizona right now).[/SIZE][/FONT] [FONT=Verdana][SIZE=1]On an additional side note, also at Blayze, I owe you a kudos (assuming you didn't look it up). And a [IMG]http://trashmenagerie.com/images/CCC/Cookie.jpg[/IMG][/SIZE][/FONT]

[SIZE=1]Both men holstered their weapons as they moved to leave the bar. After all, it wasn't much of a show if they already had their weapons drawn. Clark glanced over at Jake as he stepped away. "Pour me a whiskey, good man. I'll be wanting it once I've taught this youngster a lesson or two." As they stepped onto the saloon's 'porch', Clark smiled at the prospect of yet another dead body at his feet. Although the chances of them actually hitting anything were fairly slim. Unless you'd been in it a while, adjusting to aim through the heat haze was awful damned difficult, as Clark had discovered. And no matter how many times he learned it in his travels, if he spent more than 2 or 3 months away from the blistering heat, he'd have to relearn it again. Clark's hands rested just above his pistols as he turned to face the man who'd gone and been dumb enough to challenge him. What the fuck kind of Injun was dumb enough to challenge any real man to a gunfight? Then he realized he didn't know the young man's name. Call it strange, but Clark hadn't yet killed a man whose name he didn't know, at least not in a showdown. "What's you're name, boy?" "Kent Kotsee." "Thanks. Always good to know who I'm gonna kill." Hands rested above pistols as people gathered at windows. No one needed to say when there was going to be a showdown. You could feel it. There was no question as to what was going on. You just headed for the windows. Clark's fingers curled and his mouth began to open. He was drawing before he finished the word. "Dr-" Two gunshots broke through the silence, thundering above Clark's words. Kent spun as he realized Clark was unarmed, his gun drawn, and a third shot put him in the same predicament. Clark went to stoop and lift a weapon, but a fourth shot removed his hat, and he stopped. Sheriff Morrison stood just outside the general store, a smoking pistol in his hand. "If either of you gentleman make moves for your weapons, I guarantee that you will find you no longer need them." Neither of the men was that stupid. Kent only wanted to kill one man here, and Clark hadn't survived as long as he had in this trade by being reckless. Morrison walked over to Kent, picking up Kent's pistol before prodding the young man with the one in his hand. "Move." Kent complied, following the sheriff's directions and heading toward Clark. Jake stepped out of the bar, taking Winslow's weapons and handing them to Morrison, who tucked all three of the additional pistols into his waistband. "Thanks, Jake." "Don't mention it." Morrison kept his gun trained on the two men. "Both of you, march." The jail was at the end of the road, but it was obvious which building it was. Morrison allowed Clark to retrieve his hat, but that was the only delay in them getting to the jail. Both men entered without an argument before Morrison closed and locked it behind them. "You'll be in there for at least tonight. I'll decide what I want to do with you both later." He placed their weapons in a storage cabinet that he then proceeded to lock before leaving the office and heading for the saloon. [/SIZE]

[center][SIZE=1][B]Weight of the World[/B][/SIZE] [LEFT][SIZE=1]My hand is cramping up from writing so much. In front of me is a rather large desk with stacks upon stacks of paperwork. Around me are similar desks, except their wastebaskets are full of paperwork. I shake my head in disgust. Glancing at the wall, I find myself reading the seal painted there again, our motto set in gold against a navy blue background.[/SIZE][/LEFT] [SIZE=1][B]To Protect And Serve[/B][/SIZE] [SIZE=1]Again, I look around the office. Some protectors. Some of the desks have build-ups of dust upon them. To most of the people I work with, there's no point. "Otaku City has gone to hell, and you can't beat Satan," they tell me. I listen to the screaming down the hall, where people are locked behind bars, far more in a cell than really fit. Perhaps I can't beat Satan, but at least I can slow him down.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1]I let the black pen drop as I affix my signature to one last piece of paper. I stand and stretch, my fingertips brushing the 8-foot drop ceiling. A glance at the clock says its 4 p.m. Pretty fucking late, considering I started at 3 a.m. Good thing I don't sleep much.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1]I head to the locker room, ready to get out of my uniform and into civilian clothes. I think of hitting the showers, but it's one of my workout days, so there's no point in it yet. I look around the locker room as I strip, wondering how it could be so empty. As I put my service Glock into my locker, I pull out two Mark XIX Desert Eagle .50 AEs (10-inch barrel) and tuck them into belt holsters that I'll soon be wearing.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1]I have to chuckle as I close my locker and prepare to dress. It's kind of amusing that I can wield bigger weapons in civvies than what I can in uniform. Goes to show how behind the times we are. Of course, it's taken me sometime to learn to wield two of them, and it's not easy. I generally end up just switching to one instead of reloading. I only bring out two if it's REALLY messy.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1]I tug a t-shirt over my head before stepping into a pair of cargo jeans with wide belt loops to accommodate an extra-thick leather belt that slides through my holsters, putting one on each hip. Spare mags sit in the pockets. I pull a pair of running shoes on as I leave, punching out at the clock near the door.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1]The noise outside erupts into a fury as I step outside the office, no longer protected by soundproof walls and glass. Sounds like there's another gang fight to my left. I don't really have it in me right now, so I continue on. For now, at least, it's off to the Y.[/SIZE] [/center]

[SIZE=1]The June sun was high in the afternoon sky, and blazing hotly down upon Wayne Drinlo's already suntanned back. The sounds of a hammer echoed through the town, each strike driving yet another nail home. He paused to look up, shielding his eyes from the sun and taking in the clear blue sky before wiping his face with the shirt hanging from his waistband. Glancing to his right, he saw Sheriff Morrison walking down the main street, probably heading towards the general store. He smiled and thought about walking over and seeing if the Sheriff wanted to give him a hand. A huge man like that would likely prove useful in helping build the stables. But the Sheriff was on duty, and would not take kindly to being bother over non-duty related tasks. Pulling his hat low on his eyes, Wayne lifted his hammer once again and set back to work. A noise at his back caught his attention, and he stopped and turned. In front of him stood another man, not quite 6' tall, well-armed but looking as though he was staring death in the face. Wayne spoke, his voice soft and soothing. "Anything I can do for you, sir?" The other man's voice was gruff and worn. "I was hoping I could find myself some water." Wayne turned and pointed down the street. "The saloon is three buildings down from here, on the right. The bartender's name is Jake. He'll likely have something you can drink." With a tip of his hat and a "Thank you kindly, sir," the other man turned and walked on while Wayne went back to work. ~~~~~~~~~~ Marion Morrison was not completely oblivious to the man that came dragging his way into town. He watched from the window of the general store as he approached Wayne, continuing to watch as Wayne pointed out the saloon before going back to work. Marion stepped over to one of the shelves and removed a canteen. Stepping over to the counter, he tossed the money down. The blonde behind the counter looked at the canteen and laughed. "Another canteen? That's the third one this month." Marion shrugged, his broad shoulders keeping his shirt stretched tight. "Well, what can I say? I tend to lose the things." A deeper voice spoke of from behind Marion. "Perhaps, but we only get new stock on certain items so often. We're going to run out if you keep this up." Marion glanced over his shoulder at the other man in the store. Green eyes were watching his every move, and Marion senses some annoyance. "I'll keep that in mind, Jeremy. If you'll excuse me, I have things to attend to." He turned to the blonde and tipped his hat. "Good-day, Celes." Celes watched as Marion left the store, heading in the same direction she'd just noticed some new person in town going. "A kind man, our sheriff is." Jeremy shrugged. "If you're on his good side." ~~~~~ Clark slowly made his way down the street. As tough as he was, walking through the Arizona desert with limited water and no horse took its toll on most men. He was hoping all he really needed was water. Lore really wasn't far enough away from Colorado for his tastes. He kept his hands away from his weapons, not wishing to draw any more attention than he was already getting. The saloon was a fairly nice-sized establishment, with a simple sign declaring its purpose. He raised his voice a little as he pushed through the swinging doors. "Hey, barkeep! Any chance a thirsty man could get some water here?" [/SIZE]

[SIZE=1]Well, we all know what this is for, so I don't have to say much right now. [URL="http://www.otakuboards.com/showthread.php?t=58898"]Auditions Thread[/URL] [URL="http://www.otakuboards.com/showthread.php?t=58928"]Main RP Thread[/URL] [/SIZE]

[SIZE=1]Ok, here goes. hugoxx, Odin, and Sandy, you're in. Wingman, you're in, but there's a couple of things I need to say first. Your bio seems a little too run-on and hard to read. Posts are going to need to be clearer than that, or I'm going to have to pull you. Also, you said your character's weapons were her father's. However, her father died 5 years ago, in 1873. The pistols are 1877 DA Lightnings, which didn't exist at that point. Something doesn't match up, and will need to be fixed. Now, onto a few additional characters (more will likely come as I realize I need parts filled) [/SIZE] [SIZE=1][B][U]Characters within Lore, [/U][/B][B][U]Arizona[/U][/B][/SIZE] [SIZE=1][/SIZE] [SIZE=1]GENERAL STORE OWNERS[/SIZE] [SIZE=1][B] Name: [/B]Celes Drianne (Real Name – Celes Brayden)[/SIZE] [SIZE=1][B] Age: [/B]30[/SIZE] [SIZE=1][B] Gender: [/B]Female[/SIZE] [SIZE=1][B]Personality: [/B]Celes is incredibly personable when treated kindly. Always cheerful, Celes is willing to lend an ear to anyone who needs one. While most people can’t help but like her and often trust her with their deepest secrets, Celes is not so very trusting in return, and prefers to keep her past in the past.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1]Unlike many of the more hardened folks in Lore, Celes very rarely swears, and carries herself in a rather dignified and proper manner, though she is careful to make sure this doesn’t come off as snobbish. Celes has not been known to touch alcohol since she arrived in Lore. When approached on the subject of why, the response is simply, ‘It does not agree with me,’ with no further explanation.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1]Celes is, for the most part, very even-tempered. Very few things make her angry, and she is careful to NEVER lose her cool with a customer.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1][B]Physical Description:[/B] Celes is, simply put, stunning to look upon, at least if you like blondes. She is fairly tall for a woman, 5’10” with a nicely-sized chest and otherwise slim figure. Her hair is long straight, and practically yellow, and her ice blue eyes give away her every emotion.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1]Celes has never been seen in Lore without long sleeves, a habit many find rather strange, considering the often scorching heat. Indoors more often than not, her unblemished skin is fairly pale, something she is rather happy about.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1]Celes always seems to stick out in Lore. Usually clothed in fine dresses with matching boots and parasols, Celes looks like she belongs on the East Coast somewhere, perhaps in Atlanta. Her clothing hints at the money she possesses, even if no one ever sees it.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1][B]Biography: [/B]Celes was born Friday, January 14, 1848, just after midnight. The daughter of a plantation owner in North Carolina, she grew up incredibly spoiled, though exceedingly well-educated. She had kind parents who raised her softly, not even once raising their voices in anger. They were firm but gentle, and while Celes never felt the last, she nonetheless had the utmost respect for her parents, and was obedient nearly to the point of robotic.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1]Celes was raised with an older brother, Jeremy, two years her senior. When war broke out in ’62, Celes began to worry that her brother would be forced off to war, never to return. Her father convinced her there was nothing to worry about, certain the war would be won by the South well before her brother would be old enough to join. Her father had a permanent limp (a reminder of a poorly healed childhood injury), and was exempt from service, and Celes’ fears of losing family members to the war were temporarily calmed.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1]As the war drug on, however, her fears began to resurface. Extremely close to her brother, who she spent nearly every waking moment with, she became quite anxious as his 18th birthday grew near. She pleaded with him as the day came closer, doing all she could to convince him to stay at home. It was during this time she realized just how much she cared for him. On his 18th birthday, he left for war. Celes cried for a week.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1]After that week, Celes got alcohol through any means she could think of, and spent much of the time drunk. For the rest of the war, she fought with her parents over her drunkenness, every day waiting for news of her brother’s death. The news never came. Then news of the surrender came. It was nearly a year before her brother finally made it home.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1]Her brother was appalled with her drunkenness, and his disapproval is what led her to break from the substance she had become quite addicted to. The process was difficult and painful, and she almost couldn’t bear it. She attempted suicide one night, just to try and stop the pain. Thanks to her constant shaking, she could not manage to slice deep enough, though she has horribly scarred her arms (the reason for the shirts). Her brother walked in on this, stopped her and controlling the bleeding.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1]From that point on, they were inseparable. He helped her through the withdrawals and dealing with her family. He even slept on the floor in her bedroom, just to make sure she was OK. This went on for a while, until Celes’s 18th birthday. At this point, her parents would not allow it to continue, claiming that it was not right for a boy to sleep in an adult girl’s room unless married. The siblings listened to their parents, spending all their time together during the day, but sleeping separately at night. For 6 months, they did as they were asked. Then one night, when Celes was feeling particularly down, Jeremy snuck into her room to comfort her. Though she does not know just what made her do it, even today, Celes kissed him that night, and instead of being appalled or anything like that, he returned the kiss.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1]It went slowly from there, the siblings continuing their forbidden affair behind their parents’ back. Their father died from pneumonia in ‘69, and Jeremy came into possession of the plantation. He sold it and the two left, Jeremy taking a different last name so that their relation would not be known. They got married in Louisiana in ’72, and ended up in Lore in ’74. They’ve been here ever since.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1][/SIZE] [SIZE=1][B]Name:[/B] Jeremy Drianne (Real Name – Jeremy Brayden)[/SIZE] [SIZE=1][B]Age:[/B] 32[/SIZE] [SIZE=1][B]Gender:[/B] Male[/SIZE] [SIZE=1][B]Personality:[/B] Jeremy is a man full of energy, always looking for something to do. The problem with that is, he doesn’t like people too much. That’s more because he’s always worried about his and Celes’ secret getting out, but all the same, he tends to avoid people. This makes him rather restless much of the time. Celes has tried to get him to interact, but she’s been relatively unsuccessful so far.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1]Jeremy tends to be very blunt when dealing with customers, his responses generally short and to-the-point. While Celes often warns him that this is rude, he just wants to get the money and continue on with his day. Needless to say, he doesn’t often deal with the customers.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1]Jeremy likes to spend one night a week drinking, usually Friday or Saturday. He tends to stick mostly to whiskey, though he’s known to change it up every now and again.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1]When loosened up, Jeremy likes a good card game, and he never shows up at the bar with more than he can afford to lose. This is the only time he’s known to interact happily with the other townsfolk. He is an honest player with a good poker face, and he does not carry a weapon to the table (as a matter of fact, the Driannes only own one weapon – the shotgun kept beneath the counter at the store as a just in case).[/SIZE] [SIZE=1][B]Physical Description:[/B] Jeremy is of just above average height, standing at about 6’ even. His face is long and thin, and he keeps his dark brown hair short. Unlike many of the men in the area, he keeps himself remarkably clean-shaven. His dark green eyes are the biggest secret to his poker face. He long ago learned to keep his emotions hidden, a trick he learned on the battlefield. In his early battles, he realized that the more his allies realized he was afraid, the more afraid they would become. So he learned to hide his fear, deadening his eyes to any emotion.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1]Jeremy generally sticks to wearing tan cowboy boots, a faded pair of blue jeans, and a button-down denim shirt, its sleeves rolled up. He finds them practical and tough, making them exceedingly convenient in this harsh atmosphere.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1][B]Bio:[/B] See Celes Drianne. While he did see his fair share of action, Jeremy has not participated in any of the major battles of the Civil War.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1][/SIZE] [SIZE=1][/SIZE] [SIZE=1]BANKER/CARPENTER[/SIZE] [SIZE=1][B] Name: [/B]Wayne Drinlo[/SIZE] [SIZE=1][B] Age: [/B]24[/SIZE] [SIZE=1][B] Gender: [/B]Male[/SIZE] [SIZE=1][B]Personality:[/B] Wayne is a relatively quiet man, prone to quiet introspection and long hours thinking. Well-trained in the use of a gun and his fists, he prefers to avoid conflict at all costs. Hard-working and intelligent, he is likely the youngest banker this area has seen. He is honest to a fault, and while many people assume the only way he could’ve gotten the gold he has at such a young age is through dishonest measures, the fact is simply that he got lucky at a mine claim out in Bodie, California.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1]Wayne is not above having a good time, and he’s seen at the saloon at least once a month, though he paces his drinking to ensure he never has more than a buzz. He is mildly paranoid, and is known to jump at the slightest loud noise, a side effect of the amount of trouble he dealt with in Bodie (such as the gunfight that claimed his father’s life).[/SIZE] [SIZE=1][B]Physical Description:[/B] Wayne stands at only 5’6, but weighs around 160 lbs, his stocky and muscled frame giving him a bit more mass than might be expected. His hair is a sun-bleached blonde, as he spends almost all of his time not in the bank outside. His dark brown eyes miss nothing, and his constant time outdoors means he has a perpetual tan. Unlike most bankers, Wayne is not known for formal attire. Often in jeans and boots, Wayne’s shirt is more likely to be tucked in his waistband being used as a sweatrag than it is to be on his body.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1][B]Bio:[/B] Wayne did not grow up with a lot of money. A New Yorker by birth, his father often worked multiple small jobs to keep the family afloat. While never truly lacking thanks to his father’s hard work, things weren’t necessarily easy for them. Even so, the hard work took its toll on his father, who often suffered from bouts of depression.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1]Wayne’s father would not allow him to search for work until he was 16, believing strongly in a child being allowed a childhood. As soon as he was allowed, he found himself a job as an assistant for an accountant. While his jobs were originally menial tasks (cleaning the office, etc), the accountant realized that Wayne had a good head for numbers, and taught him the trade.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1]When whispers that gold had been found in Brodie, CA reached his ears, his father decided it was time to take a risk at a better shot in life. He brought Wayne with him, leaving his mother in the care of relatives. His mother was relatively frail, and his father worried she wouldn’t survive the trip (later events would show this was likely true).[/SIZE] [SIZE=1]With just two of them, the trip was much shorter than it may’ve been otherwise, and they were lucky enough to make it pretty much without incident. They staked a claim the very first day they arrived, thankfully having beaten the current rush by a full year. As luck would have it, they found a small amount of gold (his father had staked the claim on a hunch and nothing more) in a short period of time, and they start to mine rather enthusiastically after that.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1]Both were ecstatic to find they’d hit a rather rich vein, easily finding more in gold than they’d likely made in the years past. Of course, a rich vein came with serious troubles, and the two very quickly found themselves engaging in regular fights for their land. While they didn’t necessarily survive unscathed, they held their own for a good six months, getting gold as they could, even eventually hiring on another man.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1]This other man proved their downfall. Around 8 months after they arrived, the man got in a drunken brawl with another miner, and guns were pulled. Wayne’s father tried to stop the gunfight, but the other miner paid no heed and fired. Drunk as he was, he missed his target, but the bullet lodged itself in Wayne’s father’s heart, and there was no saving him.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1]Wayne pulled a gun at that point, unloading into the drunk, then reloading. The man they hired, who they’d warned about getting drunk and starting fights, stared at him and pointed out that the other guy was dead. When Wayne told him the rounds he’d just loaded weren’t for the other drunk, the hired man turned to run. Wayne grabbed his shirt, spun him around, and pistol-whipped him. [/SIZE][SIZE=1]He told the other man that he’d take this quickly and like a man, or Wayne was going to make it really hurt.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1]Realizing he was dead either way, the man took two steps back, crazy enough to fumble for his gun. Wayne had pulled the trigger before the man’s gun cleared his holster. That was the last incident he dealt with in Brodie. He packed what gold they had gotten (which was plenty), and left. After a few weeks, he’d arrived in Lore, and sent off a message to his mother about his father’s death. A return letter informed him that the shock of the news had killed her.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1]Wayne did not take his parents’ deaths hard. He’d avenged his father’s death, and he was honestly surprised his mother’s health had not failed her earlier, and was already expecting the news, making it easier to take. While having no original intentions to stay in Lore for more than a month or so, he realized he could do well to set up the bank they were lacking, and so decided to make his home there.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1]The bank is relatively new, but Wayne has already proven to be fair and honest in his dealings, though brutal in collecting debts, at least when necessary. Wayne does various carpentry jobs as needed, and the folks in Lore know to look for him around town if he’s not at the bank (he will take a break mid-job to handle banking business if needed). His big job right now is constructing a rather large stable near the general store, as Jeremy is looking to expand the business into caring for the animals of any visitors to Lore.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1][/SIZE] [SIZE=1]SHERIFF[/SIZE] [SIZE=1][B]Name: [/B]Marion Michael Morrison (kudos and a cookie to anyone who gets this reference WITHOUT looking it up)[/SIZE] [SIZE=1][B]Age:[/B] 32[/SIZE] [SIZE=1][B]Gender:[/B] Male[/SIZE] [SIZE=1][B]Personality:[/B] Marion is about as rough-and-tumble as they come. He does not put up with anything from anyone, and is as quick with his fists as with his guns. That said, Marion is a polite man when not angry, and is something of a charmer with the ladies. He is methodical in what he does, and even his voice is low and slow, when he chooses to speak.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1]Marion is a drinker and a smoker, though he does not drink when on the job. He’s not known for gambling, but many a would-be cheat has found himself tossed from the saloon when Marion found out.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1][B]Physical Description:[/B] At 6’4” and 240 lbs, Marion is likely the single largest man in Lore. His dark blue eyes are kept shaded by a white hat, resting atop short brown hair. Tanned from years in the West, Marion is well-built, with large, rough hands that have seen far too much fighting. He wears a dark blue denim shirt at all times, a white bandanna tied around his neck. Black jeans fit snugly to his lower half, flared just enough to fit over his tan boots.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1]Marion's tan gunbelt is a permanent fixture on his body, a single Colt .45 Peacemaker sitting in a custom holster on his right hip. He keeps his own Winchester ’73 Lever Action, as popular with him as with anyone else, in his office.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1][B]Biography:[/B] Marion did not start off in any way that might’ve led one to believe he’d end up like he did. Born to a New York lawyer in the winter of 1845, Marion was raised with money. He was an only child, as his mother died in childbirth and his father never remarried. Educated and well-groomed, he spent much of his youth catered on by his family’s various paid servants, all of them colored. Marion’s father, Robert, was surprisingly open minded, and not only did he ensure the children of his servants were educated, he encouraged Marion to interact with them.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1]Being a young boy, many of these interactions were of a rough nature, the children brawling in the backyard and engaging in any number of physical activities. Robert, an asthmatic, was glad to see his son enjoying the beauty of the outdoors. The summer after Marion turned 12, a gunfighter turned showman came to visit New York. Marion became quite taken with the skill the man displayed, wondering if he too could perhaps display that level of skill with a firearm.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1]Robert, of course, submitted to Marion’s request to find someone who could teach him, and the showman actually agreed to take Marion with him for a time (for a rather pretty sum of money). Over the next year, Marion was taught to use a handgun and a rifle, learning quickly and showing some natural talent with both. The next summer, Marion returned home, and the gunman went on to continue shows in other places. Marion would not see him for a very long time. Now that Marion had entered his teenage years, Robert decided it was time to introduce him to the family business. Marion quickly decided that lawyering wasn’t for him, though he did develop a sense of justice to match his father’s.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1]To Marion, the Civil War started as some far away story that wouldn’t much affect him. However, as older cousins left, some coming back in boxes, others not coming back at all, and some just not coming back in one piece, he began to realize that it was far more serious than he had first thought. Upon his 18th birthday, he signed up to go to war.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1]As late as he joined, Marion didn’t get to see much combat. But he saw enough to harden him. When he returned home, he was a very different man than when he’d left. He was no longer content to sit at his birthplace and watch the world go by, but he had no clue what to do with his life. Nearing his 20th birthday, he decided to go to school to become a lawyer, for no other reason than to pass the time. He got through school with some difficulty, though he did pass a bar exam. He actually worked with his father until he was 26, helping put many a criminal behind bars. But he wasn’t satisfied.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1]Finally, a friend of his had the idea to head west and see what they could find there. Marion could see no real reason not to, as he was rather bored in New York. Until he was about 30, Marion and his friend were bounty hunters, traveling throughout the west looking for criminals they could make some money on. For the most part, things went well. They never had a bounty outshoot them, though a few did manage to escape. Marion’s friend ended up dying when his horse broke his leg in a concealed hole, throwing his friend and breaking his neck. The loss of his partner is what made Marion decide to settle somewhere on his own. He traveled for a few months before stumbling upon Lore. The town had just lost its sheriff (natural causes), and Marion decided to step in. He’s been there ever since.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1][/SIZE] [B][U][SIZE=1]Outside of Lore[/SIZE][/U][/B] [SIZE=1][/SIZE] [SIZE=1][B] Name: [/B]Clark Winslow[/SIZE] [SIZE=1][B] Gender: [/B]Male[/SIZE] [SIZE=1][B] Age:[/B] 47[/SIZE] [SIZE=1][B]Personality:[/B] Clark is a killer, plain and simple. He takes pleasure in taking lives, and isn’t necessarily prone to making it quick. :place>Clark:place> gambles, drinks, smokes, and takes his share of women, often whether they like it or not. He pays no heed to anyone, and is not known to work well with others, although he’s had his share of partners in crime.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1]Of course, this is only when Clark is being, well, Clark. A rather accomplished actor of sorts, Clark [/SIZE][SIZE=1]can put on nearly any personality he wants. [/SIZE][SIZE=1] He will often play the part of the well-mannered gentlemen fallen upon unfortunate circumstances to gain the trust of those around him before trying anything at all.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1]Clark is very, very patient when he wants something. Shrewd and tactical, he very rarely moves to soon, or messes up plans. However, when not planning something, his temper is something for legends. Most of his trouble comes from people that insulted him in some way, real or perceived. He’s killed more than one man on the spot for saying something just a little bit wrong. He never stays around long afterward.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1][B]Description:[/B] Clark’s description can be found, for the most part, in the Auditions topic. He stands around 5’10”, with a well-toned medium frame. He does not look as old as he is.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1][B]Bio:[/B] Clark’s past is something of a mystery. Even he cannot always keep track of where he’s been and who he killed there and when. He does not ever seem to forget a comrade’s face, however. His last known location was a town called Dreary, Colorado. He left after killing a sheriff and three deputies who were after him for the rape of one of the saloon girls.[/SIZE] [SIZE=1]I think that's it for now. I'm going to leave sign-ups open for people who want to make additional characters, but any new users who may want in should PM me first. Note that the above characters are open for having control handed over, so if you want to run one, PM me about it. [/SIZE]

[quote name='Zen'][SIZE=1][COLOR=royalblue]Then, out of nowhere, Gavin's enormous body flew out of nowhere,[/COLOR][/SIZE][/quote] [SIZE=1]Not a bad chapter overall, but what's with this line? It just doesn't read well at all. I don't have a suggestion for fixing it at this moment, but have two 'out of nowhere's in one sentence just doesn't work.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=1]I'm going to post some older pics of me. My hair's a bit shorter now, and I'm not so clean-shaven. That, and I've gotten rid of the acne. [url]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v389/Maverick_Kossuth/6c787eb1.jpg[/url] [url]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v389/Maverick_Kossuth/ec3379c5.jpg[/url] FEAR THE EVIL SMIRK [url]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v389/Maverick_Kossuth/71beec6b.jpg[/url] Nothing great, but not much I can do. I've got to see if my dad knows where his digicam is. [/SIZE]

[FONT=Verdana][SIZE=1]OK, first, my initial post (which I thought I made, but apparently didn't): I actually did join the Air Force back in '05. A little out of shape, but I managed. I actually got through BMT, which is probably one of the absolute worst experiences you will ever have in your life (not counting a war zone, which I can't speak on). Tech school sucked, but not as bad as BMT. However, while I was in tech school, I found that I couldn't keep up for some reason. Turns out I have asthma and the cartilage is pretty screwed in both my knees. Thanks to that, I'm actually no longer in. To be honest, if I could go back and make a different decision, I would. To me, the military wasn't worth it. I would've gone crazy by the time tech school was over. Every little detail in your life is planned, and at least in my squadron, everyone ended up paying if someone screwed up. Not my idea of a good life. That said, I have the utmost respect for the people who can handle it, and who are crazy enough to keep with it. I understand the need for a military, though I think that some militaries (specifically, the U.S.'s) needs to be more focused on things closer to home, but that has nothing to do with the soldiers and everything to do with the politicians. That said, you rather amuse me Sandy. Before I go into a complete response, I pose a question to you: If you were to choose between killing someone and watching your family die, would you really watch your family die? THAT is how many soldiers view the wars they fight. They fight to take out the threat that exists to their family, your family, and everyone else's families. Just because I haven't been in a war zone doesn't mean I don't know people who have. (As a matter of fact, one of my best friends has already been in Iraq twice, maybe three times - it gets difficult to keep track of with the length of deployments and all.) The fact is, your perfect little world of lollipops and rainbows does not, and will not, exist. There is no such thing as a country where you don't have a least some reason to keep a weapon in your house to protect your family. Man tends to be a violent animal, a fact that we can't just tuck away and deny because we don't like it. Pacifism is far too idealistic, and the fact is that some people need to die. And soldiers are not merely trained killers. Most, if not all (I'm not certain here), are trained in fields that exist in the civilian community. The fact that they can fire a gun doesn't make them a trained killer. It makes them someone who is ready and willing to protect themselves and those they care about. Don't mistake my views here. I'd love for a world where no one had to die. But we don't live in that world. So militaries are necessary, and you need to be willing to stand up to the other side, and kill if that's what's needed. Lollipops and rainbows stop being the world you live in when your 6. You just can't live by ideals for that world when you're an adult. [/SIZE][/FONT]