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Perhaps For Love, Or Maybe Justice (A Tokusatsu/Magical Girl Quest)

Alright, what weapon should Akemi have?

  • Let her keep the gun!

    Votes: 9 33.3%

  • Give her a sword!

    Votes: 10 37.0%

  • More Magic!

    Votes: 6 22.2%

  • Hand to Hand!

    Votes: 2 7.4%
  • Total voters
    27
  • Poll closed .
Reader mode
Well then. Bold move putting your social life in the hands of someone who hates D100 and is baffled as to their presence in use by sane people. Let's try this...

EDIT: THE PROPHECY
Morrowlark threw 1 100-faced dice. Reason: Social Check Total: 33
33 33
 
Morrowlark said:
I'm quite literally not certain how. As in, how to make it roll.
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Oh you dont?
Ok.
First you need to make a message and send it.
Then press the edit message button and it will show a roll dice option.
Pick it and it will open a menu that lets you roll. You can name what you are rolling.
The top number is the number of dice.
The second number is how many faces it has.
Just edit the second one to 100 and press roll dice.
You get your result and just press save edit.
And done.
 
Morrowlark said:
Well then. Bold move putting your social life in the hands of someone who hates D100 and is baffled as to their presence in use by sane people. Let's try this...

EDIT: THE PROPHECY
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Eh thats a decent roll around here honestly. Its kind of rare that we get above a 50 most of the time. But when we do, boy howdy.
 
Eh, that's a pass, Rei's in a fairly low-stress zone right now.

Alright, rolling done for now, updating some stuff for later.
 
SolarGemX said:
Eh thats a decent roll around here honestly. Its kind of rare that we get above a 50 most of the time. But when we do, boy howdy.
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It's almost like they've got a huge, nearly uncontrollable swing that's just as frustrating for designers as it is for players while providing no material benefit to either or something.

Almost.

Almost like that.
 
Morrowlark said:
It's almost like they've got a huge, nearly uncontrollable swing that's just as frustrating for designers as it is for players while providing no material benefit to either or something.
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lol, I just treat them as big d20 and don't really care that much. It all works out in the end.
 
Morrowlark said:
It's almost like they've got a huge, nearly uncontrollable swing that's just as frustrating for designers as it is for players while providing no material benefit to either or something.

Almost.

Almost like that.
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Ehh.. to each their own. But just you wait for some of the future chapters your reviewing, it will be fuuuun.
 
Kermie said:
lol, I just treat them as big d20 and don't really care that much. It all works out in the end.
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Terminal designer brain, as I said. The emotional reaction is real but it's also equivalent to like, showing a shitty church flyer to your friend who's a professional graphic designer, if you grasp my meanin'.

Which speaking of I'ma see how far I can't get before work tonight. Is there another chunk after the end of Origins that is discrete enough to be its own review or am I just sprinting after that?
 
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Omake: Old, Bad Things (canon) New
  • Apocrypha
    • Don't mind me, just warming up...

    Omake: Old, Bad Things

    There are phone numbers you cannot un-call. There are names you cannot un-say. There is attention which, once garnered, cannot be easily shaken. There has always been an unspoken distance with your Great-Uncle Peter Fredrickson, which, as you became an adult, you understood to be deliberate. Birthday cards, certainly. Well-wishes. He showed up at your grandfather's funeral, and chatted quietly about college, and after that your student loans found themselves paid and then some. But you were never to talk to him.

    The train rumbles on the tracks in a quiet car currently populated by all the no one else that is sleeping elsewhere, while a burner phone rings.

    "Ja," comes an aged, gravelly voice, still familiar to you because the dire portents from your family engraved it into your mind.

    "It's Rachael," you murmur. "Uncle...I need a favor."

    There is a long silence. On the other end of the phone, you hear something shift, and a faint groan as age defeats stoicism. Wood creaks, then door hinges. At last, your Great-Uncle's voice, as quiet and serious as the start of a rockslide. "What thing should make my nephew's favorite and smartest daughter disturb her uncle at such an unholy hour?"

    It's your turn to be quiet. He waits. Waiting is a vital part of his work.

    "...I'm going to have to put college on hold for a while, Uncle," you murmur at last. "I've been insulted by some new blood dredging my Lake for its treasures, and they refuse to make it right."

    "Treasures? They are salvagers, little rose?"

    You smile, in spite of yourself. Your red hair comes from an Irish mother, something that would have been a scandal when Uncle Peter's father ruled...that part of the family, but every card and well-wish and fond note had called you 'little rose'. This would be easier if you didn't very carefully not know where the bodies are buried. "No, Uncle. Not salvagers. Do you know the song Dad played at my send-off to U of M? The one by the Canadian?"

    ...

    "I know it," Uncle Peter answers, and his voice is grave. "That is no business for a beautiful flower, niece. How did you get mixed up in it?"

    "Flowers don't grow on the waves, Uncle," you say with a sigh. "I'm on my way to Chicago to make it stop, but the new blood..."

    "Somehow both struts and hides, yes. As is the way with new blood." He makes a rumbling, thoughtful sound. "What is it you are seeking, my niece?"

    You take a deep breath, and let it out slowly.

    Close your eyes. Breathe again.

    "I need a monkey, and a spider, in Chicago. A water spider, for preference."

    "No metal men?"

    "Your little rose has thorns, Uncle."

    He laughs, caught off-guard, "Ja, more the fool me for ever forgetting that you are your mother's daughter. Mea culpa, little rose. But you understand...this is not family business. I cannot make a gift of this to you."

    You sigh. "I understand, Uncle. And I appreciate your concern, really, I do. But I've sent lilies already, and will send many more."

    "Oh," he murmurs, and his voice cracks with sorrow. "Oh, little rose...I am so very sorry."

    "I'm not," you murmur back. "Will you do this thing for me, Uncle? I will be good for my debts, when my business is done."

    "Ja. You will be contacted in the Windy City. Go with God, Rachael."

    Click.

    * * * *

    YOU
    > I can see you awake you meme-loving slut, this is fucking important.

    TRISTA
    > This kind of romance and respect is why we broke up.

    YOU
    > I called my uncle

    TRISTA
    > FUCKING WHAT

    YOU
    > Are we paying attention now? I'll be the flower girl at the gay wedding of your dreams later.

    TRISTA
    > YOUR FUCKING UNCLE?

    YOU
    > I know I'm a bitch but have I ever been stupid?

    TRISTA IS TYPING...

    TRISTA IS TYPING....

    TRISTA
    > Not when I had clothes on.

    YOU
    > I'm getting real mixed messages here.

    YOU
    > Are you ready to hear me out?

    TRISTA
    > Doesn't seem like the kind of thing you want a written fucking record about.

    YOU
    > I just entered the Chicago suburbs on the train, so I'm like two hours out from the station.

    TRISTA
    > Did you take fucking Amtrak?

    YOU
    > When I said I'm riding it out of spite until the USA finally nuts up and invests in public transportation did you think I was joking? Do I joke about grudges?

    TRISTA
    > Hell kind of Irish girl are you

    YOU
    > The German kind

    YOU
    > So, you gonna help?

    TRISTA
    > Fucking asdfa

    TRISTA
    > You're cooking for me

    TRISTA
    > The good shit. I wanna see bread bowls. I wanna see pretzels. I wanna see that corned beef your grandma taught you.

    YOU
    > You wanna see me do it in only an apron?

    TRISTA IS TYPING...

    TRISTA IS TYPING...

    TRISTA IS TYPING...

    TRISTA
    > You know what, fuck you, yes, hate sex is on the fucking table, are you happy?

    YOU
    > No, but I'll take it

    YOU
    > This isn't how I wanted to meet again

    YOU
    > But I do still miss you

    YOU
    > Where?

    TRISTA
    > First of all fuck you

    TRISTA
    > Second of all I'll see you at the train station

    TRISTA IS TYPING...

    TRISTA IS TYPING...

    TRISTA IS TYPING...

    TRISTA
    > Don't say anything sappy

    TRISTA
    > How fucking dare you honestly

    YOU
    > I'd say I'm sorry but...

    TRISTA
    > I know.

    YOU
    > You really don't.

    * * * *

    Chicago Union Station, if one counts its transient population, is a second small city inside Chicago. Any passenger train going anywhere near the Great Lakes or the Midwest passes through here; even with the crowds being made of exhausted travelers and busy little shits in business suits, all of them trying to mind their own business or purchase food at one of a hundred fast food places or duty-free shops or even lounges, the noise is deafening. You wish you'd gone with your original plan of simply sailing down Lake Michigan, but maybe advertising November Witch like that would be a bad move. Your family is terrifying, certainly. Are they 'battle monsters of magic, malice, and mayhem' level terrifying? You really, really hope the answer to that is 'no'. You've already called up a demon you cannot banish by involving Uncle Peter in this.

    Oh hey there's Trista. Did she. Did she dress up for this? Long silk dress in a stunning shade of midnight blue, blonde hair secured in its ponytail with a jeweled comb you made her in shop class, high heels clicking on the floor, it's, oh wow she looks -

    - like she's about to slap you.

    You let it happen, and rub your cheek. "Still miss me?" Trista demands in a hiss. "What happened?"

    "Not here," you murmur. "...And yeah, every day."

    "I'll hit you again, Rachael."

    "Trista...I'm into that shit."

    Your ex makes a frustrated noise and turns around, barking for you to follow. You rub your cheek, and smile a warm smile, and trail after her into the Windy City.
     
  • New
  • Apocrypha
    • ....this whent from Haunting drowning girl to....
    I dont know how to define this. But it makes me want to have popcorn on the ready...
     
    Kermie said:
    (P.P.S: I'd be down to read these as a standalone series.)
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    ??

    In any event I'm currently operating under the assumption that Rei has that starting vague awareness of Umbra because she was part of the Underworld to begin with & because the skull goons are fucking morons, & therefore that they have a more...typical criminal MO outside of Japan. It pays to be cautious away from home.

    EDIT: YOU CANONIZED IT AGAIN?

    IMMEDIATELY?

    I AM OUT HERE WILDING
     
    Last edited:
    Kermie said:
    It really isn't that hard. Also, it's funny if November Witch just pops up with an Unaddressed Lesbian Ex for me to make noodle incident jokes about.
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    Visiting American unexpectedly transferred from crime drama/magical girl mashup to magical girl/rider mashup, drawn in different art style from other characters, not sure how to handle it but bullshitting hard as is the American way.
     
    Hey Kermie, quick question:

    Is there civilian tech, magic, or magitech that might handle the translation of spoken words that is currently canon/plausible? If so, how...good...is it?
     
    Morrowlark said:
    Is there civilian tech, magic, or magitech that might handle the translation of spoken words that is currently canon/plausible? If so, how...good...is it?
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    Magic, lasts up to a month per spell.

    Uh, it's good but it has this effect where your words sound mildly grating at first. Like when somebody's giving a speech and their mic's just an ounce too loud. That effect usually goes away after half a minute though.
     
    Kermie said:
    Magic, lasts up to a month per spell.

    Uh, it's good but it has this effect where your words sound mildly grating at first. Like when somebody's giving a speech and their mic's just an ounce too loud. That effect usually goes away after half a minute though.
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    And it translates the ones you hear?

    Air Glyph, I presume?
     
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