Turt

The hand once offered grew too tight, The bird trapped again by fear and spite, Forever owned and never free, She thought this day would never be, Once again caged, her future unclear, If only, she thought, I can last through the year. But attention grew thin, no more desire, No longer shiny and new, she felt expired, Better things came, off her person flew, “Forever and always” ended far too soon... Owner abandoning her, key in the door, She stretched out her wings as she’d done before, She changed her name and sold off her cage, As for her story she was turning the page. She found a new space and made it her own, A little nest that she could call home, But still it felt empty, this being alone, Though surrounded by friends she wanted for more, Somebody to listen, to love and adore. She tested the water, the air, and the land, What it was that she sought she didn’t fully understand, She tasted her freedom and tried out new stuff, Hoping one day, just maybe, she would feel like enough. With her new found life she sang and she flew, Until she landed on something new, This thing felt different than others she tried, To find this new person who she felt good beside. She made a decision that this was the thing, She would fight to keep that which made her heart sing, Taking a risk and making a choice, She batted her wings and used her strong voice. The battle internal finally subsided, Voices arguing on what she decided, But for once she knew this was what she wanted, No matter if it left others daunted, Finally now she thought of only herself, Putting her feelings above anyone else. The comfort she felt was reminiscent of home, Or at least the idea that people made known, She felt unburdened, untethered, and new, The happiness she found each day only grew. To a year in the city she finally pulled through…

Born and abandoned July 27th 1996, Bray Bradford grew up in the foster-care system in Bend, Oregon. Not knowing his birth family and being constantly berated and beaten under the care of his foster parents, he learned early on that a chosen family was so much better than whichever one you just happened to find yourself in. Naturally a caring little guy, Bray was the one who took the punches on the playground, always sticking up for his friends. He would often give his government funded lunch to those whose bellies he could hear growling in the lunchroom. He'd always find any way to help his friends whenever they needed it, even if that meant he would go without or get in trouble. His group of friends always included the weird ones, the different ones, the ones who didn't belong, as he knew in his heart that those were the ones who needed love the most, and he considered these friends his family. Bray tried his best to keep away from his foster home, frequently overstaying his welcome at friends' houses until he was forced to go home, but by the time he was 15 he decided the streets felt far more friendly than returning to that awful place. Dropping out of school and abandoning his foster family, he scrounged up money anyway he could, dumpster diving and selling things he found to pawn shops and turning in recyclables. Finally he earned enough to get him closer to the coast, where he always wanted to call home. He'd heard eclectic people lived in Portland, so he hoped he'd fit right in. In Portland he quickly found friends amongst the other colorful folk of the city; artists and vagrants and weirdos, finding his niche with a group of gutter-punks that called themselves "The Trashers." Along with his old life, he left behind his name and started going by Trashcat. Since his friends thought of him positively, as a human possum. He learned to live his life opportunistically, scrounging and taking anything he could get. Oftentimes this was a bad dare for $20, a strange drug that didn't have a name, food that probably wasn't safe to consume, and many times it was just a really bad decision. This often ended him up on the wrong side of the law, overnighting in a holding cell instead of sleeping in a dumpster or park bench that he much preferred. He made and proudly wore his ACAB patch on his jacket and often times found himself the grown version of that kid on the playground; taking a baton to the head protecting a drag queen from riot police, snatching food from the market for his friend with the bum leg who lived in the alley, and providing any help he could offer his friends no matter the cost to himself. Always showing sometimes overbearing amounts of love and care to those he held closest, as he considered them his family. Through the next few years he collected patches, some he bought and some he made. He sewed these carefully onto his worn denim jacket, wearing them proudly as badges of honor, telling people before he could speak who he was and what he represented. The Trashers, frequently haunting house shows and dimly lit clubs, decided they should try to put together their own little tour. It was Trashcat's genius idea to make a floating stage that they'd be able to freely and illegally dock at parks along the Columbia River to make money and perform for the people. With the help of his long time good friend Eggs Javier, he spent one drunken night at the beach fastening together sealed up 5 gallon water bottles with loads of duct tape. Eggs helped Trashcat wobblingly up onto the makeshift raft as it floated in the water, and they cheers'd enthusiastically to the fact that it held under his weight. With the joyful chug of that last beer, both of them conked out. Trashcat unfortunately still on the raft. Trashcat woke up sputtering out seawater, his face in the sand, the raft and Eggs nowhere in sight. As he sat up confused, his head reeling, he wrung out his jacket and saw a large pier looming to his left, it didn't take him too long to realize he'd wound up in Los Santos. At least it wasn't as bad as the time he fell asleep in some fishing net and woke up in Singapore. As Trashcat meandered through the town he had no idea how he could get back to Portland but decided he'd do what he always did and just try to get by, collecting lost items people carelessly tossed out on the streets. He managed to save up a little bit of money, planning at first to buy himself a rusty beater and head back North if he could (not knowing that Los Santos was an island.) When he got to the low-end car lot he saw a Burgershot employee getting in and out of a car with her brow furrowed. Always overly friendly, and feeling that pang in his heart at her poor confused face, he chatted her up. Upon finding out she was just short of affording her first car he pulled out the crumpled bills he'd just secured from the pawn shop and insisted she take them. Later that night, as he found a safe place to ditch his Citybee, and a comfortable bush to hunker down in, his good deed kept him warm through the night. The coming days, as he made himself more familiar with the city, he found himself helping others everyday. Mostly people new to the city, even though he himself wasn't an expert, he did what he could to get them onto their feet and set them on their way, oftentimes spending every last cent he had. These friends, and yes they were all what he considered friends, would run into him later on, telling him of their new jobs or car acquisitions or budding relationships and he'd feel that warmth is his heart he always sought. As he zooped about the city on his scooter, making colorful friends at the pier fishing, selling off other people's trash, finding comfortable bushes (some even having tasty berries he could forage,) the thought of returning to Portland moved further and further from his mind. One fateful night as he drove past city parking, towards the bus stop he frequented, he overheard a man with the head of a dog trying to talk to a taxi driver. They both seemed awfully confused in trying to communicate with one another, but Trashcat's only thought was to see who the adorable puppy belonged to. The dog man said he belonged to "Alpha" and Trashcat thought about this as the taxi pulled away. He sat at Legion Square for a while talking to a confused man about where impound was, when the dog man came running over, panting and begging for a ride to Mors Mutual. Trashcat of course let the strange man onto his bike and took him where he needed to go. He introduced himself to this dog man, who he'd come to know as Wolfgang, and felt a strong connection to the adorable scrappy pup. Wolfgang asked if he'd help him move a couple more of his vehicles, which he gladly did. They chatted all the way, and Trashcat even handed keys to his own scooter over, already feeling immense trust for the man he only just met. Trashcat talked about how he lived his life on the streets and Wolfgang considered this sad. Trashcat pondered why that was. I mean, he'd gone so long doing this, surely it was the only way to survive, he didn't need much else. As they talked, Wolfgang told Trashcat about his faith and his family and their believing in Flarg who created all things. Trashcat was bewildered by this, having never really been taught about religion he took this as fact and marveled at it. Wolfgang went on to say that the enemies of Flarg were Boofa, which were more or less the cops, which Trashcat knew all too well they were the oppressors. He knew immediately this was a faith that suited him. Wolfgang and Trashcat spent the better part of the night riding around together, quickly referring to one another as best friends. Wolfgang took him to city hall and the police station and all around the city, introducing him to all matters of people. In a tragic turn of events they came around a corner into a cop car that was carelessly blocking the flow of traffic. The evil cops laughed at poor injured Wolfgang, howling in pain on the sidewalk, as Trashcat cried and pleaded that they would help his friend. But the heartless monsters they were, proving their evilness, scurried away after promising Wolfgang a large sum of money for his injuries they surely never intended to retrieve. After the traumatic bonding experience at the hands of evil Boofa, they made their way to the hospital and got patched up together, for the second time that day. Trashcat stared at the happy fishes swimming around in the lobby's fish tank. He talked with Wolfgang about how the fish must be happy cause they had a home, and a family. Wolfgang told Trashcat he could join his family, then he could have a home, and a family, and be happy. A lone tear eased its way down Trashcat's face, he'd never known a real family, could this be his opportunity? Trashcat enthusiastically welcomed the offer, but Wolfgang said he would have to talk to Alpha first. Continuing on their adventure around the city Wolfgang pointed out a beautiful church up on a hill in the woods, saying that if Trashcat should join his family, that would be his home. The following week Trashcat spent his days lurking around the city, doing what he did best. All the while checking his phone religiously, just waiting for a text from his best friend so he could start his new life with his new family. After a few days passed he wondered if that day would ever come, thinking maybe he had come on too strong like he often did, or perhaps he was too smelly and weird... One of these nights he over did it on some strange, most probably poisonous berries, something that happened from time to time. He woke nearly 30 hours later to find the text had finally come, only it came the day prior... He started to lose faith, thinking perhaps he squandered his only chance. He resigned to buy himself a rusty van to lay his head down in at night and meddled about the city a bit each day, just hoping he'd catch sight of his buddy. Always making it a point to drive down Route 68 and gaze up at the place that was meant to be his home. Trashcat woke up late on his birthday, stretching out in the back of his van. He thought about the day, how he was now 27 on the 27th and that must mean something would happen. He always thought of things matching up to mean some deeper thing, much as he never took anything to ever be a coincidence. He decided he'd head towards the pier and see what the day would bring. On his way he noticed his good friend, Chuck the Taxi Dude, and pulled over to have a chat. While Chuck relentlessly tried to rizz Trashcat up, his ears perked at the sound of a familiar voice. Across the street he saw several people wearing tall white hats and amongst them, was his best friend Wolfgang. Forgetting instantly about Chuck, he bounded across the street towards his buddy. In the throws of their emotional reunion he was introduced to Wolfgang's Alpha, Scoobie Bathsheba, who looked carefully over Trashcat's scrungly form and told him that he'd heard good things. Several people crowded around him and Trashcat stood shyly by, feeling he must be being judged, he thought about his moldy hair and dirty clothes as the man looked him over, he waited to hear a "no," or a "go away," or any of the things he'd become used to hearing. After a short awkward wait and many overlapping voices, Scoobie simply told him he would have to be Bath-tized and take the name Bathsheba to be a part of their family. They fitted him with a radio and Wolfgang hopped in his van to drive him out to the Church. Pulling up to the beautiful Church he followed the congregation over to a small graveyard where they all bowed their heads to their passed loved ones. The bells chimed as he stood solemnly by and he felt the love reverberating between all of them. As he passed through the doors of the church, he took in the beautiful interior, he felt an overwhelming sense of calm and safety surround him. Slowly walking up the aisle between the pews towards a large tub where Scoobie stood, he felt only peace and love. Scoobie spoke from behind him as Trashcat stood in the tub, he carefully looked over all the faces of everyone in the pews, knowing barely any of their names but already feeling so connected to them. He promised to uphold their beliefs, and the teachings of Flarg; to love and accept everyone as they are and work towards the betterment of the community as a whole. Things he had always considered a part of him, now put into words more eloquently than he could have ever thought. As he was dunked beneath the water, warm hands on his shoulders, he gazed up at the man holding him under. Through the squiggly filter of the water he could see Scoobie's calm face above him, his two eyes becoming one as the water undulated. Trashcat felt somehow safe as the air escaped his lungs, feeling immense trust for the man who could easily drown him. Being breached to the surface once more he felt lighter somehow, new, and well a little bit cleaner. The significance of being reborn on his birthday not lost on him. He looked around at his new family, all of them cheering, and smiled wide, accepting the communicator hat onto his head. He was a Bathsheba. Exhausted from the day's events Wolfgang showed him to their shared bedroom and Trashcat's eyes welled up at the sight of a real bed. He happily flopped over onto the cot, Wolfgang nuzzled up to him and quickly he drifted off. Hours later he woke with a start, recounting what happened and where he was. He eased quietly out of his cot and snuck out as he used to all those years ago in his foster home, past the other occupied beds and quietly as he could out of the Church. Trashcat drove down to the store and after picking up a few supplies he sat in the dim light of the backseat of his van and worked carefully at his project. He applied red puffy paint as cleanly and neatly as he could to two swatches of black fabric he'd cut from an old shirt. Taking great care, he loosened the threads around two of the patches on the back of his jacket, placing them into his pocket, replacing them with the new ones he'd just made. Lifting his jacket to the light, he smiled widely, satisfied with his work. He snuck quietly back into the church and curled back up in his new bed, in his new home, amongst his new family, ready to start the next chapter of his life.

High enough to be flying, the bird was born, feet to the ground, her wings untorn, but muted and caged was she doomed to stay, eyes fixed to the sky where the other birds played. Finding her voice, she wished she could sing, that others could hear, and save her from the sting, but they lashed at her wings, and locked tight the door, her voice sighing and crying, knowing she'd sing no more. A risk; taking flight from the height, her only way down, and tumbling and stumbling again on the ground, she sought out some shelter, while broken her wing, maybe here she could find somewhere safe she could sing. But the other birds came down, from their heights to her side, threatening to peck her to death by the eyes, they told her to flee, tearing wings from her back, the safety she found all but faded to black. To danger she crawled and in cages she stayed, hoping just one day she could get away, they plastered her up with a pair of fake wings, and kept her screaming so she never could sing. After ownership changed, some bought and some sold, another cage offered but this one in gold, "from here you can sing, but just on request," it wasn't quite freedom, but it was the closest and best. Her wings ached and arched, and she beat at the bars, no tasting of freedom with someone in charge, she'd stare out the window to the places beyond, to the magical place in her dreams, she grew fond. The cage door was open, she took her last chance, she hopped out the door without backward glance, the journey a long one, the roads roughly paved, still she followed the lights, to the place names are made. Her wings still broken, but finding her voice, the flavor of freedom was burden of choice, she saw all the places she wanted to see, and sang songs to people she had only dreamed could be. Here in this unholy and desecrated land, she never thought she'd be offered a hand, but it came to her freely, unshackled and new, and they helped healed her wings and again she flew. With doors unlocked, come and go as she pleased, still better she felt with her person, at ease, from cage to cage, once surrounded yet alone, she knew that here, she'd found her home.

the amount of dudes who have introduced themselves as "yeah I'm pretty famous"

Hey y'all, pretty new to RP, today was my second day playing and the first day I actually interacted with anyone. Trying to be less anxious and introverted as I am really looking forward to making some friends and fleshing out my character some more. And Blythe can't believe she's finally in Vinewood. "Hopped off the bus in LAS, just a dream and my cardigan, Welcome to the land of fame excess, am I gunna fit in? Hop in a cab, here I am for the first time, Look to my right and I see the Vinewood sign, This is all so crazy, everyone seems so famous!"