i am currently looking for a new e-fed to participate in. i am not too picky
about e-feds, though i would prefer a role-play packet as opposed to a message
board or an "open" role-playing system.
reply to this post or contact me at my email address. i have attached a
role-play so you can see some of my work. it is gimmick heavy, which i hope to
change as the character progresses. he is new, so cut me some slack. =)
critiques on the role-play are welcome. i would like to see what people think
of the character. i hope for some good critiques, but i am pretty sure i will
get the smart remark and other stupid responses.
[Slowly fade in from black. The outside of a seedy bar comes into view.
Variations of the famous Harley-Davidson motoercycle form a barrier around
the front of the establishments wiping away any doubt this place is inhabited
by your stereotypical "white trash." A neon light flashes the name of the
place -- "Hell's Pit Stop." The light is broken and reads "Hell Pi Sop." The
camera zooms in to the front porch of the establishment. A figure is leaned on
the decrepit railing. His head lowered and face covered by the brim of a
stetson. His body is covered by a worn, leather duster. The collar of the
duster pulled up. Long, stringy black locks fall from under the stetson and
run down the back of the
duster. The figure slowly raises his head and removes his right arm from the
banister. He tips the brim a bit in greeting. His voice is rough, hoarse --
years of whiskey and self-rolled cigarettes showing their mark.]
Man: Been awhile ain't it?
[He slowly nods his head.]
Man: It shore has been awhile fer the bear.
[His accent not so much a Texas drawl; more of a slight southern twang thrown
in with an improper use of English grammar. He raises his head to reveal his
face. A scar angles the right side of his face, starting above the eyebrow and
running down to his strong jaw. Brown eyes radiate from underneath the grime
covering his face. A thick goatee clings around his mouth and chin. A
self-rolled cigarette clings to the back of his ear and a match hangs from his
Man: They been sayin' 'at the bear done los' 'is step. I beg to differ. Jus'
'cause I ain't been seen fer some time don't mean I done los' my footin'.
[He slowly shakes his head.]
Man: Nah. Troy Bair still the same ol' sunva*** yer use tah seein'. Only
thin' 'at's changed?
[A grin crosses his lips.]
TB: The place. The time. The style. The attitude.
[A slow nod in affirmation.]
TB: 'at's it inna nutshell. Same ol' me. Jus' a diff'rent outlook. I ain't
'bout to ramble off ev'ry las frickin' thin' I've done. Lemme put it like
this. I'm lookin' tah git back inta the swin' of it. Ready tah see if all 'em
critics was wrong.
They done say ev'ry bear has his day. [He points to himself.] 'is bear's
ready tah git off the porch an' see if they's right. 'is bear ain't had 'is
day, an' I'm figgirin' it's high time tah fin' out. Problem is, yer gonna git
bit if yah git in 'is bear's way. 'at's a warnin' tah all 'em baws out dere.
Ain't no checkin' yerself 'fore yah wreck yerself. Yer jus' gonna git two paws
lockin' ontah yer head and feelin' 'em squeeze as they try tah crush it.
[Troy Bair straightens his posture.]
TB: Fer all of yah wonderin' out dere? I ain't no cowboy. Ain't never seen a
cowboy who could hold 'is liquor longer 'an he could las inna fight. I'm jus'
Troy "Black" Bair. An' I'm lookin' fer a fight.
[He reaches up and pulls a self-rolled cigarette from behind his ear. He
removes the match from his lips and places the cigarette into his mouth. He
drags the match across the wood and a flame comes to life on the matchhead. He
raises the match to the cigarette and inhales. The flame of the match flickers
for a moment before being extinguished by a smoke-filled exhale.]
TB: I's figgirin' someone can gimme what I'm lookin' fer.
[Troy tips his stetson one more time as the camera slowly fades to black.]