JellyFaun

Game on

I am...baffled to say the least. I feel very targeted and also feel that your post was unnecessary and rather cruel. I put a lot of work into my roleplay, be it on Trixie or Charlie or Wolfgang or even the short lived Memaw Fish. Wolfgang is a character that is a lot of things to me. He is one i get to have lots of funny shanigans and interactions with the Bathshebas with, one where I get more serious MD and law enforcement roleplay and also one that has a really really deep backstory that not many people get to interact with. I know he is a lot to deal with and that is by design. He suffers from a multitude of mental issues that all stem from a series of linked incidents: PTSD, Lycanthropism (an actual real world medical condition), dissociative personality disorder, anxiety/panic disorder and addiction. And back when he was new he was entirely feral and non-verbal, living in the woods with animals. This is all part of his backstory and based on actual research I have done. Wolfgang is also an outlet for me to be silly, unmask my real-life autism in a way that enriches others without being socially unacceptable, and a way for me to have fun with my friends. This extremely thin targeted attack has really hurt my feelings. But I am so happy to see how many people are standing up for the way I choose to roleplay.

Wolfgang pulled up to the bank in the taxi and clambered out, chattering on the radio to Stelio that he would meet him up there. He went inside, got his money out, and returned outside to sit and wait like a good boy. It was an average, boring day. Sun was shining, cars going by, people swearing about speeding tickets at that camera. It almost made him feel sleepy as he waited for Stelio. And then a trill met his ears and changed his day, and possibly his life, forever. Mousey. A prey driven dog, he leapt to his feet and stared around for the source. And then he saw her...Mousey. She had a mouse face but a body like a human's. She trilled again as she ran over to him. They circled, staring, making little animal noises at each other. In all his life, he had never met someone like him. Someone who had an animal face and actually spoke like one. As they circled, Wolfgang felt a strange pang in his body, that rushed to his face and stomach and made him feel giddy. He felt a need to be near her, to protect her. But he had no idea what that feeling was. It was close to how he felt about his family, about Mummy G...but something entirely different. Soon after, he took her with him. She met his family, who accepted her when he vouched for her. She had been Bathtized and welcomed into his family wholly. And every time he saw her, he got that weird little feeling in his body that made his face feel warm. To the outsider, it was obvious. Wolfgang was in love with Mousey.

Wolfgang thought about Mummy G often. Its hard to not let one's mind wander to thoughts of the past, of those who are gone. Especially when they play such important roles. He visited her grave often, curling up beside it and letting his mind wander to better days gone by. She had been dead almost ten years. In that time, thinking about that made the dog man's head and heart hurt. He didn't like to hear people talk about it. He didn't like their sympathetic airs. He didn't like people speaking a word about her. It brought up memories too painful to bear. A bright flash of blue and red, the sound of bullets, his Mummy staining the earth red while he laid on her, barking ferociously into the muzzle of the gun aimed at his head. And then nothing- memories repressed down and squashed flat. But recently...the Bathshebas started to make the memoryhurt less. They tended her grave with all the others and kept it clean and remembered. They didn't speak ill of her or bring her up in idle conversation. They let him be with her tomb whenever he wanted. They allowed him to move in to where she and he had so many fond memories: the route 68 church. And in time, the wound began to close. He had a new family to look after him, new friends to guide and lead and protect him. Never could they replace Mummy G in his heart, but they could build a bridge over the hole she left behind. A safe. loving family...just as she had been. Remmi, one of Wolfgang's favourite people, met up with him at the DOC, where she was on duty. She offered him a chance to create something artistic- whatever he wanted! He loved arts and crafts and was excited. If his tail was visible to others, it would be seen to be wagging. He took a pen and some paper and laid down to draw on the warm concrete of the yard. He drew a bunny...but didn't like it so he ate the paper. Then he tried to draw himself, but couldn't really remember what he looked like anymore. And then, like the sun shining down brought inspiration, he remembered her...And for the first time, it didn't hurt to think about her. It had been a long time since Wolfgang envisioned her face...The shine of her golden hair in the kitchen window, the tired smile that was always on her face, the gentle way she pet him and how she said "Come on, Wolfgang, let's have our dinner outside tonight." He began to draw, first this way now that way. Her hair. "Wolfgang, how did you get so messy? Were you hunting again, you silly thing?" Her lips. "Good boy, Wolfgang! Get that naughty cat!" Her wrinkles. "Come on, Wolf. Let's settle down for the night." Her heart locket with a picture of him inside. "Easy, boy. Its just the loggers. They won't hurt you." Her nose. "Ouuur Godddddd, is an awwwesome God, he reiiignssss from heavennn above with wisssssdom, power and love, our God is an awesome God!" Her sweet, kind, loving eyes. "I love you Wolfgang. You know that, right?" As he finished the drawing, tears slipped out from under his mask, going unnoticed as they dropped to the warm pavement below.

Wolfgang had a very exciting day! After waking up in the bathroom on the pier, he heard his alpha, calling him down to city hall for a special treat! A tour of the government building lead by the amazing Judith Mason! Upon entering, he noticed she smelled just like a friend, as usual! A bunch of his friends and family were in a big circle- so exciting! He greeted them all and Alpha pet him on the head a bunch! They first went to the lawyer hang out offices and complained about the lack of snacks! Wolfgang was upset...snacks were a favourite. But the big glass office was so impressive and beautiful that he soon forgot the misfortune. Then they went to the law person chat room where all the laws were made! What a riot! Wolfgang wanted to change the laws so that only the Bathshebas were allowed to decide who could be on the Boofa Police force. But such thoughts were too hard to articulate so they moved on. The lobby was okay. It was big and airy and there was water to play in but it was a little boring because Wolfgang had seen it before! And they put up glass so Wolfgang couldn't jump behind it and play on the computers. After that was the bathroom! Alpha Scoobie and good friend Weasel Chad went in the urinals and made their pee cross! It was incredible! Wolfgang watched intensely and then drank out of the tap. It was a real adventure! Then Judy showed them the really cool court room! Wolfgang remembered when he was there last and Brother Beau slugged Judy in the face. It was very upsetting at the time but Judy forgave him! What a nice woman! Then Wolfgang got to sit on the judge's chair and play on the chair, but not touch anything. Then they went to the front and saw the golden Wolfgang statue! Gilded and sparkling gold, except the name was wrong. It said Eddie....Wolfgang didn't like that part. He wanted it spelled right! Wolfgang was spelled W-U-F-F-G-A-N-G not E-D-E-E! After that they went to the secret back exit! What?! An escape door? Amazing! Then they went to an amazing place! Judith's chambers! Wolfgang expected it to look like a castle...chambers sounded so medieval! But this place was not a castle! It was like a big office with lots of papers. But it DID have a round table! So that was cool! Then they saw the bottom of the building where all the other little offices were! It was exciting to run around and jump off the second floor, so safe and easily, but it was a little crowded. Then it was time to end the tour and talk to OJ about some big plans in the future! It was a very fun day for Wolfgang even though he didn't really understand much of what was explained! And he didn't understand why the lawyer he had threatened to bite three weeks before was giving him a wide berth... their fight was ages ago!

Wolfgang did not have many skills. He could run, he could fight, he could hunt as well as any real dog, but he lacked in the skills of men with all their mental facilities in tact. Computer skills, reading and writing above a first grade level, cooking and public speaking were outside his realms of possibility. But he could build. His adopted mother, Mrs. Gilthanus, had taught him to use a hammer, nails and how to move furniture not long after he had been dumped into her life. She taught him about how to draw the eye, how to match basic colours, how to paint a wall. He was strong and strapping and had an incredible tenacity and talent for it once she showed him what to do. In the evenings, they would build chicken coops and dog houses, work on fences and help build homes for the needy. Mrs. G said it was part of their Christian duty, but secretly she was training him to have a skill that might save his life one day. A weird little creature had a strong worth ethic and a beautiful eye for detail was harder to call "useless", and therefore, harder to kill. So one night while chewing on his rubber bone toy and listening to a family meeting, he overheard the plans to renovate the church. He volunteered, much to the surprise of the others. Alpha Scoobie explained the plans, to turn the second floor into a VIP party area on one side and a living area in the other. Wolfgang got right to work the next day, using his specially built faggio (with extra wheels for balance) to go back and forth to Paleto. After about two weeks of work, denying sleep for more than a few hours and only breaking to collect donations for more furniture, it was complete! The VIP area, complete with a bar, arcade, sitting area, dart board and a magnificent stage, shone in all red and purple. The living area beyond, a calm beige- with a bathroom, a kitchen, a parlour and a sleeping quarters. Above it, Ronnie's kindergarten, built at last. And as a special treat for all his hard work, Wolfgang built himself a little yard to play, sleep and be his otherwise useless self!

Kaz is great. Sometimes Scoobie hits Wolfgang and calls him a dumb bitch, but its for Wolfgang's own good.

Charlie Bankshot was down bad and for the first time in her life it had nothing to do with money. Giving up a life of crime when it was all she knew had been unbearable to her. DCC had been boring and MD was strict and stressful. So many rules and memorizing them all had worn her down... Therapist, friend and new boss Kopi had helped where he could, but without him to leash her 24/7, she sat in a storm of temptations the moment he left her side. Pier cars left unlocked, her partners from her old life all having fun robbing banks, the simple delights of annoying cops by tap dancing on their cruisers- all were beyond her reach now. She couldn't even get in a fist fight anymore. And that all made her terribly sad. But her sorrows never surfaced- she hid them down in her belly to fester and brew into depression. She used to be able to go talk to her friends when she felt like this, and they would take her to do something fun. But she had no friends she could be seen with left. And that made her even more sorry for herself. She was a stranger to the legal world and an outcast in the criminal world, alone and surrounded by a shadow of her own making. But in the darkness, a red light of hope with a loud engine. She had just finished training at MD and was idling in her cab, listening to music and waiting for fares that would not come when a group of flashy bikes caught her eye. They were pretty and the people who surrounded them seemed friendly and well aquatinted. As there were no people needing rides anyway, Charlie flicked off her meter and went out to see what was going on. Was it a gang ready to cause trouble? Was it a protest? Was it something new and exciting? It was a soup kitchen the motorcycle club was hosting. Charlie had never seen such a kind gesture in all her life. Thoughts of these people giving a crazy show of gun violence to curb her boredom melted away and in its place, a seed of interest and curiosity. Charlie made a show of herself by playfully moving around their condiments and an entire soup pot, but it was all to gauge reaction. They laughed at her antics and were both kind and polite, allowing her to still have something to eat after the fact. The thought of them made her excited. They were like a gang. A gang with no violence, no police chases, no bank robbing, no weed picking. Legal. But a gang with friends, fun, drinking, gambling, driving, support and events. Family. A legal family. She laughed because the idea had never crossed her mind. She cautiously approached Ava, a face she knew, and whispered what she had said to hundreds of people in her criminal past. "I want in." ((formatting pending))

multiple people in my group have said its a glitch and not a timing issue. either way i feel its relevant.

You guys never cease to be amazing. Quality roleplayers, amazing character concepts and all around a unique and poetic gang. Miss hanging with you guys and so proud and impressed at how much Salvation has grown.

An illegal u-turn was all it took for Charlie to have her 'fun' for the day. When the deputy pulled her over, she parked on the line. "Move to the shoulder. The dirt." She drove into the nearby ditch. "...first time being pulled over, huh? Drive in front of me and stop." She drove in front of him, motorbike's front wheel kissing his bumper. "No. Turn 180 and stop in front of me." She turned, 180 and drove about 20 feet. His backup arrived and he approached her. "May I see your license?" "Why am I being pulled over?" "I will tell you after you show me your license." "Nope. Why am I being pulled over?" "Show me your license." "Why am I being pulled over?" This was the most tedious part of her game. She had to make them annoyed enough to distract them. But on and on they went until he went to issue her a charge for non-compliance. Her chance. She kicked the engine on and sped off. He was out of the car and she had a long running head start. Go uphill into the forest, lose them in the trees was her go-to method. If that didn't work, head higher and try to out-drive them on the way down. If that didn't work, head for the city and get into to the maze of tunnels like the rat she prided herself on being. The first method worked. She heard the sirens die out behind her as she waited patiently among the bushes. Charlie 1, SD 0. But now she likely had a BOLO and would need to be cunning and careful. A few more hours of picking weed lead her to needing gas and a quick repair. She peered into the parking lot of Bayview and saw it was clear of SD. Her smile twitched as she saw Yuki Nakamura, one of the DOC wardens waiting for a repaint or a repair on the ledge. Days before, Charlie had been witness while Naomi had relieved Yuki of one of her vehicles from that same mechanic shop. She knew it was dangerous to mess with law enforcement, especially when wanted for arrest, but she couldn't help herself. "Yuki!" "Not again, Charlie. Not again. Not again." Not a word more did Charlie let her get in edgewise. "What's in the RV, Yuki? Is it drug tables? Coke tables? Mary-jo-wanna tables? How scandelous!" Charlie went up the RV and told the mechanic she was the owner of it, with the poor warden on her heels, claiming contrary and locking the big van. Not one to give up, the mischievous Bankshot slipped into the RV when Yuki unlocked it to drive. It was...grossly underwhelming. Empty unlocked safes and nothing else. With a huff, she hopped out, called Yuki boring, and then noticed the SD van driving into the parking lot. Without even a chance to refuel or repair her bike, she was off again, getting high on the only drug she needed- adrenaline. Too far from the forest to use as reliable cover, up the side of mount Chiliad she went, leaning forward on the bars and muttering "Come on, baby. Good girl. Just a little more." She could feel gravity straining on her bike and knew it had to be affecting the scout behind her too. Gritting her teeth, almost willing the bike to hold traction, she surmounted the side and turned to look over her shoulder. The scout was right behind her. Just as she planned. She took off at a breakneck pace down the narrow traces of the mountain side, no trail and too many bushes to see dangerous rocks. Tears streaming from her eyes and spittle from her lips at the sides, she careened down like a woman possessed, knowing if she stopped for even a second, the scout could catch her- Or worse, crush her beneath its out of control tires. A tree right in her path. She cursed, turning the bike as hard as she could, but this only resulted in a skittering motion. She was no longer a driver, simply a passenger of a rogue vehicle. Bracing for impact, she winced and cut as hard to the side as she could- The tires of the bike hit the tree and deflected her harmlessly to the side, the frame taking the entire brunt and not even stalling. It was a miracle, and she had found the highway with no siren behind her. She slid down the last portion, onto the road, and skittered like a rat into a stone depression cut into the hill's base- an old storm drain. She knew this one well, it was an old hiding place she liked, and she slipped into it comfortably, ducking to not hit the ceiling. Just enough room for her and her bike, which had begun smoking. It had four litres of fuel left in it and the oil gauge flashed 141. A close call. Five minutes later, she slipped out of Bayview. A mechanic friend of her's had let her hide in the garage while he fixed her bike for the parts fee alone. He was a good trusted sort and often aided her, even in her wrongdoings. And not five minutes after that, gunfire on the highway between SD and another gang, she guessed WOO by the colour. Taking advantage of the distraction, she slipped into the hole in the wall that lead to her second favourite drug lab. She began to pick, and only looked up when SD cars pulled inside. Once more, she was on her bike and running as only Charlie runs, heading backwards down the highway and into a bush, peering out of the branches. But this time, SD did not chase. They had bigger fish to fry. 101 plants slipped into the safe that night and Charlie beamed with pride at her accomplishments, and felt sated from adrenaline. With the play of the day done, it was time to get back to work. Noticing low ammonia stocks, she once more mounted her pink and black Manchez and set off for the humane lab. As she turned a corner, a small rock decimated her wheel and the bike bucked her off into the middle of the road. Bruised and cut badly, she cursed, unable to do much but reach for her cellphone. She called MD, reporting she fell off her bike about 200 feet from Pillbox. She smiled as the ambulance pulled up, then stared with horror as SD followed behind. The same man she had been running from all day. After being stitched up and doctored, the officer was ready to take the slippery rat to DOC. But the rat didn't want to go. She tried running (twice), and when that didn't work, she talked. "Okay. I am going to read your rights. You-" "Have the right to remain silent." They said in unison. A pause. "Go ahead." Charlie assured. "Anything you say or do can-" Unison. "And will be used against-" "Please, continue." "Do you want to recite the rights?" "No, I don't know them." "...okay. You have-" "A right to a government appointed attorney during legal questioning." Unison. "...do you understand your rights?" "No. please repeat them. Wash, rinse, repeat. A very frustrated SD deputy sighed and looked at her sourly. "Okay. I am going to repeat these and clarify anything you don't know. You- Charlie Bankshot-" "WHO'S CHARLIE BANKSHOT?!" A sigh. "I'm....uh...chief Bacon. NO WAIT. I'M JOSEPH SANCHEZ." "Okay. You, Joseph Sanchez, have the right to remain silent. Anything you, Joseph Sanchez, say can and will be used against you-Joseph Sanchez. You, Joseph Sanchez, have a right to a government appointed attorney during legal questioning. Do you, Joseph Sanchez, understand these rights?" "...I am really glad you're arresting Joseph Sanchez, he's a menace." She then went limp and laid on the sidewalk and had to be dragged like a child to the car. Keep them annoyed enough to distract them. She wondered how to deal her final blow to the man...and then it came to her. As they turned onto the highway towards DOC, she began to sing. "BAAAAAABYYYY SHARK DO-DO-DO-DO-DO-DOO!"

Chapter 4 The heat and light of the room was not like the sun's and Edmund itched terribly from it. Used to sleeping on rock and grass and hide, the feather blankets were uncomfortable and he pissed when he awoke in them, out of fear. This wasn't the forest, or the dark den but an alien world that drove him into another panic. He ran laps of the room, leaping at the windows and tearing the drapes. An upset bowl and washjug on the bedside table became shards littered on the floor. The closet door was dented with his own shoulder in great plunges. His mask was gone. He smelled different, his skin giving off a stink of flowers that wasn't remotely like himself or his pack and his hair felt oddly light. The pack was missing and he knew some of them were dead. Hunger still ate at his stomach. When the realization that escape was inevitable slid over him, he opted to curl up in a corner facing the door, waiting for death to come for him as there was nothing left to live for. Finally the door creaked, and a blood curdling snarl escaped his lips. He bared his teeth, raised up his shoulders and widened his eyes, like the dogs did when they were angry. The woman, the killer of his pack, stepped inside with a flourish of an apron and looked at the state of the room, and of its occupant. Lip curled to show his gums, hands curled like paws and chin pushed forwards, the menace might have been intimidating if he wasn't eleven at the most. "Oh, aren't you scary?" She chided with a chuckle, closing the door. "Well I hope you're not too upset to have dinner with me." A plate in each hand, she stepped forwards, and he drew away from her, trying to vanish through the wall. Her eyes narrowed, observing and realizing that he wasn't being aggressive, but defensive. He was probably frightened to death. No closer did she attempt and with a clatter, she set his plate on the floor, seating herself beside it. "Come on and eat, buddy." A hand beckoned for him. "You must be hungry." First he kept his eyes on her, then they rapidly flicked to the plate, back and forth. The scent of its contents wafted to his nose; meat and table scraps. It sent his eyes almost rolling into his head and fear was shoved aside by a hunger so ravenous it made the woman jump a little. With a snap and a snarl, the steak was vanquished from the plate and he had curled in the corner again, tearing it apart. He used his hands to pin it while he pulled it off in great chunks. Instead of eating her own meal, she watched him. A multitude of books and documentaries explained feral children prepared her for meeting one, and working with differently abled children for twenty years prepared her for helping one. Juices splattered the walls as he feasted on the steak, and soon went the potatoes and the green beans, all down his greedy gullet. It had barely been two minutes when he was finished. His eyes fell on her and she only had time to laugh as he climbed onto her leg and swiped her own steak from the plate like a naughty dog. She laughed, getting up. He snarled and backed against the wall again, the meat hanging from his mouth. "Don't worry. I'm not going to take it away." And with that, she walked out of the room as she had come, leaving the door open. When he finished, he laid down into another slumber, his belly full for the first time in days. xxx He woke several hours later to the soft strums of a long-play record dancing down the hallway. Never before had he heard music and it was at once both curious and fascinating. With a few gentle taps on the floor, he decided to explore. The woman had fed him, and not laid a hand on him. Despite killing the pack, she didn't seem like a threat now. The woman lived modestly, but to him the den was a maze of passages and doors. Some were open, others closed. One room was painted a soft pink pleasing to the eye and looked newer, and the rest were rustic and shabby, all of wood hand crafted by skilled hands. Tinted photographs hung on the walls above and the red grass beneath his feet was as soft as fur. He followed the passage into a large room where the music was coming from. The phonograph was spinning gently and he sat on his haunches, putting his 'paws' on the lip of the little table and sniffing it. Having never experienced such a thing, the music was pleasant to his ears and he closed his eyes. It seemed to paint pictures in his mind's eye. "That's Mozart. Symphony No. 40 in G minor if I'm not mistaken" He almost fell over in shock as the woman laughed from the sofa, holding a little glass tube with a bulb on the end. "Careful, buddy. Don't hurt yourself." A little smile met the tube as she sucked on its end. Oh, he knew the smell coming from it- familiar and safe. It calmed him almost instantly and he approached her without caution, sniffing at it. She offered it to him almost without thinking, so much was she enjoying her high. "Don't pull too hard, Wolfgang." She felt the name suited him but just at that moment, she couldn't have guessed where she had recalled it from. Even in her stupor, though, she knew he was special, she knew he wouldn't live much longer without her help, and she knew he needed a name. His lips met the crackpipe and that first hit of happiness lasted almost fifteen years.

Memo to myself: hostage story

Chapter Three Starvation took Edmund and the dogs off that mountain. They avoided the thick hard trails that the monsters with glowing eyes ran on, and gave wide berth to the roaring lumber mill. So much noise must have been coming from a huge beast and the sound of the saws painted pictures of grinding teeth in their minds. A little wooden fort, what once might have been a camp of some type but now lay as desolate as their bellies, drew them. The dogs could smell man and Edmund knew to follow their snouts for tracking. There might be a man there now, and he might be alone, and then they would feed again! Broken glass, bullet shells and old clothes littered the ground and the vegetation grew thick in the corners, where creepers and moss had overtaken much of the wooden wall. It was just as wild as the forest, but the scent of man was driving the dogs insane. As they rounded a corner, the source of the stink was found. It was a person, bent over a plot of funny scented plants. They were digging with a little trowel and the plants stood in neat rows. Something shiny lay beside them. Overalls and a low brimmed hat of straw hid their hair. Even Edmund could smell the sweat off their back. One of the monsters that ran on the road slept quietly nearby, but the pack was too far gone to be subtle. They rushed the person in a body, barking and frothing at the lips. The being turned, grabbing the object off the ground in a split second, and the noise broke the world to pieces as the gun went off. One of the dogs flipped end over end and came to rest, dead, bleeding horribly. There was an audible "ch-chh" from the weapon as it was cocked again. Overtaken by surprise and fear, their hunger scared out of them, the pack fled in a mess. Every dog for himself! Another incredible boom and a cut-off yelp and another canid skidded to a final halt in the loose grass and gravel. Edmund, spattered in dog blood, ran as fast as he could. He looked all around for the pack, hoping they were following him, but saw he was alone. And worse, he was trapped. The fort wall was fifteen feet above him and he couldn't find the entrance. He scrabbled blindly on, searching for a place to hide, a place where the ringing in his ears would stop echoing. Sweat smeared into the mask of skin and fur and dripped into his eyes. He bolted for what he thought was a hole in his marred vision and doomed himself. It was a black blanket dropped low on an old clothesline that had half fallen under its own weight. Trying to pass through it, he entangled himself in it. Struggling, kicking and biting to get out, he wound the clothesline around himself. It caught his leg first, then crossed over to his arm and switched across his back. He jerked around viciously, trying to get away from this nightmare, and it cinched about his torso and finally around his throat, where it pulled viciously tight. The noise outside the blanket prison was dying off, though he couldn't hear it over his struggles. He snarled and fussed and rolled about like a hogtied fish. Where was the pack? Why weren't they helping him? Where was the human? Was it looking for him? He turned fast and poked his head through a gap in the net. A shadow of a person stood over him and brought him back to that night at his first home. But then the pack had been with him. He gasped for air. Why was it getting so hard to breathe? The world began to fog over. The person wasn't moving. They still held the stick that had made the world explode and were aiming it at him, but they were slowly lowering it. "Oh my god..." The voice was female and Edmund found the tiniest bit of solace in that. His mother had a voice like that and she sometimes talked to him when she fed him. He thought of her as the world began to turn white. The woman kneeled and put the stick on the ground. A hand reached for him and he took a snap at it, but was unable to put any bark into his bite. A flash of a knife and he knew he was doomed. He faded away...into darkness. The cord was cut from his throat and, after checking his pulse and breathing, the woman was assured he'd only been knocked out. She sighed, looking over his little body with the ribs almost poking through and the many scratches, bites and scars he had. He was filthy, more dirt than skin, and despite his actions and disposition, certainly human. "Well you've been through a lot, haven't you, kid?" She gave a nervous chuckle as she began to unwind the rest of the cord and blanket from him, looking around. The dogs had gone or lay dead nearby. The sun was setting and someone was certain to have heard the gun go off. She counted her weed plants and cursed. Not enough for what she wanted, but she'd overstayed her welcome. "Good luck, kid." Whatever he was going through was not her problem. She clambered into her car and started it, casting a look at the boy on the nearby grass, exhaling a sigh and glaring. She had an order to fill and was already losing the light. There was no time for a feral, dog-minded, vicious, blood thirsty boy who was dirty and starving and all alone in the big dark forest without a mother to cry on or a place to get warm... Another deep sigh, and she opened the car door, stomping out to him. Grasping him up under the neck and legs, she carried him to the back of her car, piling him into the seat and locking the door firmly. Perhaps it was a recent miscarriage that flared up some maternal instinct in her, perhaps it was curiosity in the boy's plight, or perhaps it was the shred of human decency that most criminals claim they no longer have. Whatever the reason, Margaret Gilthanus adopted the boy that night. Despite his many peculiarities and a chance of rabies, she couldn't just leave him there.

Life looks different at the wrong end of a pistol. Charlie had thought the day had been going so well, too! Two stores safely under their belt, a friendly chat with policemen non-the-wiser and the gang had even obtained some silencers! It had been a wonderful, productive afternoon with no arrests. And now, in a cloudy haze from her own hit of a bong, Charlie felt all that happiness of a job well done melt away. She stared at the gun, a little .50. Nothing to sneeze at but hardly as scary as the person holding it. Melody. Melody was a crackshot with any gun but at this close range, there'd be no chance of surviving. "Sorry to kill your good mood, Charlie. But I need some questions answered." She swallowed. "What are the rules of The Underground?" "To not point a gun at Charlie Bankshot?" she answered lamely. "Fair point. But what are the other rules?" "You're breaking rule one." "Answer the question, Charlie. Do we hold up or rob civilians?" "N-no." "Than why am I getting reports of you robbing the men in white and black checks?" Her mind raced. Had she done that and forgotten? Had she had another episode? Had she robbed someone at a lab? Recently? No, she had not been to labs in days. She knew these men were looking for her. Or were they? Broken telephone? Oh god she has a gun pointed at me and she's angry. Just breathe. Focus. "I have no earthly idea. I did not rob anyone!" "Charlie. I am getting dozens of text messages about it." "I didn't! Melody, I swear to you, I didn't do anything wrong. If-" A laugh. A laugh to break through the tension like a cellphone ringing broke through the darkest moment of her life. "I'm just fucking with you Charlie. I just wanted you to know that you've been promoted to Reaper." She could have punched her, but she just sighed as that happy wave returned to her. She slowly rose from the chair, and approached Melody with balled fists, to throw around her neck in a warm hug. She knew she'd fit in here.

Chapter 2 Three weeks had passed since that night. If anyone had come seeking Edmund, their efforts were fruitless. Feral dogs were not exactly uncommon in the area and nobody but one motorcycle ever even came close to his new den. At one point, a huge red beetle had flown overhead, making a dreadful hum. The pack ran for the new home and the cover of the nearby forest and remained low on their bellies until it passed. It circled around thrice that day, then never came back. It was soon forgotten. Set in a small cave in the rock face, he and the dogs had made themselves quite comfortable. There were bird carcasses and a few rotting rabbits littering the floor, but it was never enough food. Dog and boy were thinning out. One of their own had already succumbed to the throngs of wild living-a runt juvenile now lay in the longest grasses, flies buzzing around her still open eyes and the massive open cavity in her chest where the pack had feasted. But the meal, Edmund noticed, was missing something. And that made him irritable. There was no dignity or order in the pack, but there was respect. They killed their prey ruthlessly, bickered over the scraps without mercy. Edmund respected this and demanded respect from the pack in return. He made it abundantly clear that he was still alpha. If any snarled at him, he bit their necks. If any tried to steal his meat, he pinned them and choked them until they stopped fighting. None of them were exceptionally large dogs and he refused to relinquish his status. He washed himself in blood and his own urine to stink like an alpha and his mind, able to work out puzzles and problems, surpassed their tactics. He knew how to flush out birds and rabbits, how to grab rats and he could even climb trees to obtain bird eggs. But there were five of them plus him, and such small game was not enough to sate them when they were so used to fresh chicken and table scraps. Starvation was beginning to drive them all mad. They tried a deer one day. It was walking in the moonlight and its massive antlers caught the stars. A huge, healthy buck like that was almost suicide to attack, but hunger made them fools. They were tactless- loud baying hunting dogs with no master were like toddlers compared to wolves, and it simply trotted away at first. They pursued, Edmund at the head of them. Luck. Luck and a recent landslide alone stopped the buck. It had taken a trail it knew to be safe, a deer run in the shadow of the mountain with thicket on either side, but the rocks that fell earlier in the day now blocked it off. A dead end. The pack approached, jaws dripping, eyes showing white and not one hesitated. Legs flew, antlers caught snapping jaws. A well timed kick with both legs knocked Edmund into the thorns of the thicket. One dog's skull was crushed under razor sharp hooves. The stag stomped off the way it came without harassment or injury, save for a little cut on its neck. The very next day, a hiker chanced upon their home. He was outfitted in blue checkers and a tan vest, wore black pants and carried a big stick in his hand that he used to walk. He had black binoculars that he held to his eyes and often stared at the trees with them. The pack stared at him in turn, battered and bruised, salivating and knowing that they would not have a third chance to get a meal if this one got away. They stayed low, curving along beneath the cover of the bushes, silent as the grave. Edmund was at the head of the pack and lead the charge. The man, back to them, was against a cliff and watching an eagle as it passed overhead. He heard the snarl from Edmund just as the boy collided with his back. Teeth sinking into the neck, he clung on while the dogs grabbed the man's legs and pulled him down hard onto the packed soil of the mountain. Screams echoed off the peaks as they decimated Derek Parker, dying out and giving place to howls. They ate like kings that night and none had ever enjoyed a meal so much. All that remained by the end of the week was bare bones for the crows to fuss over. But it still wasn't enough. They would never have enough living like this and they could not rely on humanity to send one of their own for easy pickings. The first bite of autumn made the pack nervous as once again hunger began to claw at them. They needed to find easier prey and fast.

Chapter One The smell of warm meat and cocaine were among his first memories and now he dreamed of them every night. He no longer dreamed of dogs or Mummy G or of the dark room or of the policeman or the forest or of the hunt. He only dreamed of the scent now, and how warm and comfortable it made him feel. He often loathed waking from it, to face a reality that did not accept him. He had come to the world via caesarian, named after his father Edmund, and might have grown up as a fine boy had it not been for his namesake. A policeman by trade but only protecting the innocent when on the clock, his father had turned to drinking more than was good for him at home. The lived in a humble cottage in the backwoods, secluded and unbothered. He would take out the anger of killed comrades and escaped convicts on those who comforted him, using his hand or whatever else was close to it. His wife was the main target but his son was not free of scorn. The woman watched as her crying baby was allowed her breast but denied his crib, put down in the basement to live with the family hunting dogs for he made too much noise. The basement was dark but the dogs were sweet. The bitch, Carla, had recently whelped and her motherly instincts accepted the babe as one of her own. His mother, the only other human he saw, turned to cocaine to cope. She would have left but she had no job, no family, no friends and no-one to help. Cocaine helped. Cocaine made it bearable for herself and once in a while, she wondered if it would make it bearable for her son too. She would slip it into his food every day. Edmund Jr. grew in this way for ten years. He knew the day and night by a sole window that was too high up for him to see out of. He ate what the dogs ate- usually leftovers or a freshly killed chicken. He slept where they slept and played what they played. When they went hunting with his father, he was left alone in the dark room. He saw his mother when she was sober enough to remember he existed. Carla died. He used a sharp piece of broken glass to carve her face off, so he might finally look like his family. Her puppies grew old and died and their inbred puppies came to respect him as their alpha. They tussled often to make their muscles strong. And one night, they all escaped together. The sound of the cars on the gravel roused him from sleep and the cellar door to the outside was flung open. Bright lights shone in and flashing red and blue popped off his pupils. The dogs were up in a moment, snarling and raising their hackles. They were as unsocialized as he was, and a stranger was trying to breach the den. A man stood in their path, dressed in blue and holding a source of the light while behind him blooms of crimson and azure hid his features. "Good God-" was all the officer was able to say before the dogs and boy charged him. Edmund Jr. felt the grass beneath his feet for the first time. The lights, the noise of the dogs, the whiplash of a stale basement for cool, fresh air jolted and spurred him and he was half-inclined to run back for the safety of the den. But the pack was upon the officer now, biting and tearing at his flesh and their aggression won out. He joined them, pulling a chunk with his teeth. It was a nice meat, sweet and salty, and better than anything he had ever eaten. A boom from a gun sent the pack scattering as one of their own dropped dead. The red and blue men were the takers of peace and life. Edmund Jr. followed the pack as they bolted for the cover of the deep woods. Blood dripped off their maws and his own and adrenaline carried them far into the night, leaves slapping against them and branches cutting paws and hands to ribbons. Fear was soon drowned out by their panting and he found himself able to keep up with them. As the morning sun peeked over Mt. Chiliad, he flopped in the grass to rest with the pack, panting and curling in close to each other. He was tired, and decided that after a short nap, they would all go back to the den. The only trouble was...he no longer knew which way the den was. To be continued!

THREE MONTHS Charlie had cried that night on the pier, where the light of the Leviathan roller coaster flashed with a different colour for every thought she had running through her head. Gretchen had left with Charlie's grey jacket, a sign of her former status, over one arm and the family had gone with her. She had not been kicked out- she had been asked if she was happy. Her mood had been slipping, she had been floating for other groups and neglecting those who needed her. She felt as a stranger since their leader had passed in a storm of blood and bullets. The chapter for that life had closed because behind her forced smile and efforts, Charlie had not been happy. Melody to her then was a casual friend, an ex-member who had left because the vigilante life was not really cut out for her. She spoke to her sometimes. Three months. Three months she had been alone. She was not always by herself in the physical sense- she had a cooking partner, and her pier friends. She carried the odd chat with the old family and of course had her casual acquaintances that didn't shoot her at the drug labs. They may have left her be out of pity or because they knew she had nothing to steal. But despite these relations, she was without a family of the criminal sort. She admired them from afar the way one admires an erupting volcano or a purebred guard dog. The black suits, to suit smooth and mysterious personalities, beckoned to her with grand visions of a world where she was truly wanted, powerful and respected. Among them, one she admired, that she coveted. He, and her own promise to live by her mother's word to never back down, are what spurred her on. She would work hard, hard enough to make them see her. Time passed. She worked her fingers to the bone ripping out plants at labs. She arranged business deals through them. She laundered only through their hands. And, seasoned as a chef, she often took the helm of a large lab and produced enough truckloads of cocaine to satisfy all of Los Santos. She picked more weed, she cooked in the fancy lab, more weed, lab, wash rinse repeat. She wasn't happy...she was just drifting, drifting on a lonesome sea with a hope for a brighter future. Spurts of happiness came from time to time, grooming and stroking her desire to belong, to be wanted. She was once in a while remembered long enough to join them in holding down a lab, and sometimes they would call her to ask her to roll joints. Nothing more. And even though she was hopeful, she wasn't happy. Melody was with her friends, Rising Suns, and they had chatted in a friendly way more frequently than they ever had in the old family. An incident one day dealt a blow to her. Below standard. An ex-girlfriend, a woman she had tried so hard for, loved so much and given so much for, had said she was below standard as a lover, and that she had moved on to a proper lover. The woman's reason for this viperous attack? She was angry at her boss, and Charlie dared to be seen talking to him. Nothing more. She wasn't happy. Melody was able to calm her down and tell her good truths and wisdoms, how it was the ex's poor temper and cruelty at fault. That type of loneliness with an iron strike to the heart, weighs on a soul like Charlie's own, but she was determined...She just had to work harder. Then one day the call came. An old friend, one she had hand-picked for her previous family, appeared to her side soon after, overlooking the sunset on a sandy shore, both unaware that the last light of hope would be sucked out with the last light of day. They told her that they had left the old family, along with the ex-girlfriend, and the black suits had welcomed them as could-be members. A deep jealousy clouded her heart and mind, a soft rage that overtook everything else. She wasn't happy. After that night, she couldn't work as hard. She was unfocused, making easy error after easy error, filled with anxiety that those she was hoping to impress stood watching her fail over and over and over again. She had been in the back of a serious cop car about five times that week and the red and blue made her remember that night on the pier, looking at flashing lights through her tears. But she would not relent simply because three months of trying meant they might reach out any day and welcome her. Melody talked to her in that gentle motherly way that night, on top of the last letter of Vinewood sign, Charlie's special place. She spoke of how unfair it was, how the person joining probably just had better connections, promising her she would always have a home in the Underground if things didn't work out. But she knew how hard Charlie was working and supported whatever she decided. Later that week, Charlie was determined to impress. 500 weed plants. That would get her in for sure. That would forgive any shortcoming; It would rectify her stupidity and prove she was responsible. As she crept into Braddocks, a voice hissed at her to leave. Her old boss, the could-be member now confirmed to be a new recruit, and three of the men she wanted to impress. They told her to leave. They didn't say it was because they thought she was a liability, but she could sense it. Once more, tears in her eyes, she left. She drove straight to the top of a familiar hill, grabbed the rungs of the metal ladder, and clambered to the summit of the last letter in the Vinewood sign. She wasn't happy. Mind and body chilled by the wind and the rain that began to patter, she took off her shoes and curled her toes on the white ledge, looking down into the abyss below and wondering if she would feel any pain at all. Her text messages went ignored. She braced herself for the fall, and hoped she wouldn't regret it on the way down, when her phone rang. Melody. She picked it up and spoke softly for just a few moments. It was the pause she needed. That fraction of a second to pull her back from sorrow and make her realize what sort of error she was about to make. She called her therapist next. She wasn't happy...but she felt she knew what she had to do that might put an end to it. She texted the black suits and told them her story. Being left out for three months, being ignored, being forgotten, being told to leave and being below standard, while people were snapped up in less than a day and members in less than a week had pissed her right off, but she worded it sweetly so bridges would remain unburned. She threw her black wannabe suit into the closet with her other skeletons and hurried to the store, purchasing a pink sweater with donuts. Her hair? Pink. Her bike? Pink. Her mind? A whirl of emotions with pink fuzzy dice on the rearview mirror. She then texted Melody. "Do you... mind if I join you?" The answer was an instantaneous acceptance, a jolly and happy welcome and a radio frequency. That night, stores were robbed, banks were planned, police were run from and laughter and new tears, different tears, washed the sorrow of three months from her mind. And Charlie was happy.

maybe half of them or being able to pick and choose three a month? +1

i like it! i agree with the doctor, though, its crucial 911 and 6666 and other lines like that don't work. +1

i really really love 90% of what is being offered here. +1

I'm so impressed and proud of Damien! Great work! Also 16 new members! Holy fuzzy! You guys are gaining speed!

Sorry Twenty Five I am Charlie Bankshot, part of a part of a wonderful family that loves me. The world is painted black and white and we are the grey that cuts through both. The kind voices tell me I am wanted and needed and that my mistakes are not the end of me. I'm sorry it might not last. Twenty Four I wake up in the city. There are flippers glued to my feet. What the fuck happened? That birthday party was wild and I don't remember any of it. I have no phone, no car, no money, no shoes, no idea where I am and no friends to ask. I am scared. But there is a kind voice in the dark. I'm sorry I couldn't hold my drink. Twenty Three The sheep are annoying to me. My step-sister's annoying and my routine is boring. Fishing doesn't really cut it for me. Would it be too much to ask for a change of pace? I'm sorry I'm complaining. Twenty Two I like the sheep. They're so cute and my new step-sister is nice. I feel like she and Elizabeth would have gotten along really well. New dad is going to take me fishing this week. But this place doesn't feel like home yet. I'm sorry, it will take time. Twenty One Mom wants to get married to this Bankshot fellow. I think they're a perfect match, and it will be nice to not live in a car. I got fired for my attitude again but deep down I know its the smell. I'm sorry I can't keep a job. Twenty Mom met someone new at the hospital. He can't pick up the broken pieces but maybe he'll have a new puzzle for us instead. I'm so tired and if this guy works out, he can help pay for stuff. I'm sorry I can't keep us afloat. Nineteen The broken bones and bruises will heal. Mom is on life support. He's in prison but I want him dead. I'm sorry I wasn't fast enough. Eighteen Mom is screaming and my birthday cake has hit the wall. Dad has kicked the dog three times and I am on my tenth drink. I am happy I am old enough now. I'm sorry I did nothing. Seventeen I can't stop thinking about her. Mom blames me. Remus blames me. Dad might blame me if he was ever sober. I'm sorry I couldn't hit the brakes faster. Sixteen Mom bought me a car! It goes so fast! I can't wait to drive it. But I'm worried. The bills have been piling up recently and dad's been home a lot lately. I hope they were able to afford it... I'm sorry I didn't buy it myself. Fifteen I'm hot and sticky and Sean didn't want to stay the night. He's the only one who came to the party and nobody would find out. When we finished, he told me he had to go pick up his girlfriend. I'm sorry I didn't say no. Fourteen I got a puppy! He's so cute! Mom says he will help me when I'm scared or angry. The therapist says going for walks and playing with him will help with some of the pent up frustration. I'm sorry I wasn't able to control my temper. Thirteen School sucks. Sean graduated with me and followed me like a bad taste. My chest hurts where the ribs got broken. People have been bullying me a lot lately because of my name and then laugh when I fight back. I have to see a therapist at the school. They said I started it. I just hate being called Charlotte. No presents this year because dad didn't get that promotion, either. I'm sorry I called Sean an asshole. Twelve I'm so excited to go to my new school, but I'm a little scared that Elizabeth can't come with me. She gets picked on a lot by that Sean guy. I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough to protect her. Eleven My teachers called home today. Mom sounded angry at dad. I can hear them yelling and keep hearing the word report. Report card, maybe? I'm sorry I'm not smart enough to get all the questions right. Ten I wished to be a doctor one day. Dad told me my birthday wish was stupid. He was just teasing me. I told him he was stupid. I was just teasing him. My bum hurts where he spanked it. I should hide his special sodas to get back at him. I'm sorry I teased him. Nine I tracked a lot of mud into the house after a dirt war with Elizabeth today. Mom rolled her eyes and chuckled. Dad sent me to bed without supper. I'm sorry I got dirty. Eight I got to ride a pony today but I fell off. Dad laughed. Mom picked me up and dusted me off. Elizabeth hugged me all better. I'm sorry I wasn't good enough to stay in the saddle. Seven I gave mom and dad a picture. Mom put it on the fridge. Dad was too tired from working to look at it when he got home. I'm sorry I wasn't a good enough artist to make him feel better. Six I got into a fight with Sean at school today. He took my crayons. I'm sorry I wasn't able to stand up for myself. Five Mom got me a backpack for my birthday with a dragon on it. She says I get to start school in September. I asked if Elizabeth can come with me. Mom said she's not old enough yet. I tried to see if Elizabeth could go in my bag. I'm sorry I wasn't able to make her fit. Four Dad got me a cake with a princess on it. I cried. I hate princesses. I want to be a ninja when I grow up. I smashed the cake. I'm sorry I'm not a girly girl. Three I am Charlotte Aberdeen , part of a wonderful family that loves me. The world is painted black and white and we are the grey that cuts through both. The kind voices tell me I am wanted and needed and that my mistakes are not the end of me. I giggle. I'm sorry I can't understand how much money I cost. Two My mum and dad give me kisses. I'm sorry I'm not old enough to appreciate them. One Cake is yummy. I'm sorry I made a mess. Birth Dad wanted a boy. I'm sorry I was born a girl. (OOC This was HEAVILY inspired by the amazing poem "21" by Patrick Roche. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6LnMhy8kDiQ PLEASE give it a listen.))