AboutHey, The Original Communist here!
Y'all can call me TOC, Commie, Nissy, etc. etc.
You can usually find me chillin' in the AT or laughing at all the idiots (though not generally posting myself) in the GD.
And I love love LOVE corny pickup lines, or even just generally offensive or strange ones.
(******** me if I'm wrong, but is your name Jane?)
To sum myself up in two words?
A mask and a patch
Under which a smile hides.
And a long since faded map
With which she leads and guides.
And finally her victims,
The whole unsuspecting lot
Are thrown into a cauldron
And she gets to stir the pot.
Her heavy woolen skirt clung to her legs as she climbed through the rubble of her once fair city with the others of her guard. A scout had seen movement here and with her pistol gripped firmly in her hand, there was little that could escape her. For a moment the group paused, and in this relative silence there came a small whimper; a child had revealed themselves. She approached them, hidden under a slab of concrete, and attempted kind words through her thick, protective mask. The child screamed and crawled deeper into the rubble, lost to the wasteland.
beatnic dress with hem of lace
gun accent held in place
posed like a picture on the wall
gun goes off, doesn't stall
white shirt red one
and then a thump
now he lies there like a lump.
As the last of the planets natural resources died out, the modern world was thrown back in time. People were forced to return to the customs of the Old West, riding horses as cars became trophies for the absurdly rich and famous, and wearing thick, covering clothing as the sun glared harshly upon the barren lands.
Among the harshest of them was the town of Ryplion. Reserved for the slim, sharp-eared folk (deemed outcasts by the rest of society for their looks), the land was practically a desert with hot, angry winds tearing through nearly constantly. Most folk chose death rather than calling Ryplion home. And most who tried to do so? Failed miserably.
Only the toughest survived in this wasteland, and only the most ruthless managed to be successful. At the top of the food chain of Ryplion, and even all of the surrounding areas stood The Sheriff. Yes, even to other towns they regarded her as The Sheriff, even if they had their own.
Legends about her spread wide across the land. Some say her skin had been darkened and toughened so much by the grueling sun and sands that she no longer bled when cut. When other people, tourists and such, pointed out the scar on her portrait, they told the story about how it was from her teenage years when she single-handedly thwarted a gang from robbing her family's saloon.
The story varies, sometimes she got a knife to the face, sometimes it was a broken bottle, and some believe that it wasn't the fight at all that did but that a piano wire snapped when she was trying to tune the instrument.
The story behind the eyepatch is usually attributed to the robbery, much like the scar, but again, tales grow taller over time and a handful of folk say that both of her eyes are just fine, and she only wears the patch because staring at both of those yellow eyes would be akin to staring at the sun.
If you do manage to make it to Ryplion and, by some strange twist of luck, manage to meet The Sheriff and ask her about the rumors all you'll get is a deceptively soft chuckle and a ring of smoke in your face.
Who is that woman?
She looks... businesslike and stuff.
Hold on! Why's she bald?
Profile made by Sexual Innuendo, my n***a from the middle east. neutral