Fabula Caromed
Belle of the Brawl
The site censors that particular swear automatically. Ctrl+f "kark" to find all the times on this page where f-bombs were dropped.
Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos
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Directorate Officer
In which fleeting becomes gangsta drive-by shootings...
seriously entertaining to read all of these, thanks for sharing [member="Hijinks"]
seriously entertaining to read all of these, thanks for sharing [member="Hijinks"]
:lol: [member="Darth Arcanix"] [member="Maja Vern"]
Lettin tha table take his weight, Connor kept his wild lil' grill devoid of emotion n' used his strength ta stay conscious as Arcanix came towardz his ass - either ta gloat, or ta finish his muthakarkin ass. Dat shiznit was neither, surprisingly.
Connor wanted ta react yo, but didn’t know how; feelin her hand on his, he felt a wave across his body n' reverberatin up in his head; tha bust a nut on of a Sith connected ta tha Sith Magic n' reminded his ass how tha kark up in bust a nut on da thug was always goin ta be ta tha Dark Side, even if it capped his muthakarkin ass.
Cold, blue eyes peeped her remove a glimmer of hope up in tha shape of a funky-ass bacta strip fo' realz. And wit a gangbangin' final invitation n' a lick both warm n' cold on his skin, which seemed ta linger like acid, Arcanix blurred as her big-ass booty span n' strutted up - Arcanix n' Corvus, tha polar opposite of tha path da thug strutted on.
Waitin a moment, Connor let go n' collapsed ta his knees wit a low cry like a muthakarka yo. Dude quickly fumbled ta shake off tha pimped outcoat, now pocketed wit rap marks n' torn fabric. Groanin up in agony n' frustration all up in tha thang, he pulled up his jumper which caused even mo' pain as it pulled away a poodooload of tha raw flesh dat had faced tha brunt of tha attack.
Dude didn’t have time ta pull his vest off, quickly pullin apart tha bacta n' desperately applyin it as dopest his schmoooove ass could ta his back, stretchin round n' placin tha strip where it would work best.
With his wild lil' free hand, Connor pulled up his com from his belt n' busted up a signal - ta who, da ruffneck didn’t know - he just activated it as he lost conscious n' gave up in ta tha pain n' slumped over.
"Help mah dirty ass."
Lettin tha table take his weight, Connor kept his wild lil' grill devoid of emotion n' used his strength ta stay conscious as Arcanix came towardz his ass - either ta gloat, or ta finish his muthakarkin ass. Dat shiznit was neither, surprisingly.
Connor wanted ta react yo, but didn’t know how; feelin her hand on his, he felt a wave across his body n' reverberatin up in his head; tha bust a nut on of a Sith connected ta tha Sith Magic n' reminded his ass how tha kark up in bust a nut on da thug was always goin ta be ta tha Dark Side, even if it capped his muthakarkin ass.
Cold, blue eyes peeped her remove a glimmer of hope up in tha shape of a funky-ass bacta strip fo' realz. And wit a gangbangin' final invitation n' a lick both warm n' cold on his skin, which seemed ta linger like acid, Arcanix blurred as her big-ass booty span n' strutted up - Arcanix n' Corvus, tha polar opposite of tha path da thug strutted on.
Waitin a moment, Connor let go n' collapsed ta his knees wit a low cry like a muthakarka yo. Dude quickly fumbled ta shake off tha pimped outcoat, now pocketed wit rap marks n' torn fabric. Groanin up in agony n' frustration all up in tha thang, he pulled up his jumper which caused even mo' pain as it pulled away a poodooload of tha raw flesh dat had faced tha brunt of tha attack.
Dude didn’t have time ta pull his vest off, quickly pullin apart tha bacta n' desperately applyin it as dopest his schmoooove ass could ta his back, stretchin round n' placin tha strip where it would work best.
With his wild lil' free hand, Connor pulled up his com from his belt n' busted up a signal - ta who, da ruffneck didn’t know - he just activated it as he lost conscious n' gave up in ta tha pain n' slumped over.
"Help mah dirty ass."
Ali Hadrix
Bad Boss
:blush: My first introductory post for this character:
"How tha kark do I look, mother?" Ali asked, smoothang tha fabric of her top before brushin her afro over her shouldaz so dat it hung up in long, dark locks over her chest yo. Her mother, Myra, ran her fingers all up in Aliz hair, smilin as her dope ass did so. Da laugh lines round her grill deepened somewhat, though dat biiiiatch was still dope.
"Brilliant, as always." Her mutha holla'd. Y'all KNOW dat poodoo, muthakarka! Ali smiled, tha sleeveless forest chronic top was low cut between her breasts, tha hem endin all dem inches above her navel. With it dat biiiiatch wore black slacks dat boasted her figure sickly. "Perfect fo' negotiatin in." Ali muttered, checkin her afro once mo' before wipin away a smudge of lipstick from her grill.
"Ready?" Her mutha asked. Y'all KNOW dat poodoo, muthakarka! Ali nodded. Y'all KNOW dat poodoo, muthakarka! "Letz go push a space cruiser." Myra smiled n' escorted Ali from tha 'fresher n' tha kark into tha livin room fo' realz. Aliz father, Jack, was at university, where tha pimpin' muthakarka taught economics n' conducted research. Thus, there was no one ta peep dem off as they left they home up in tha outskirtz of Munto, not far from Kliffen. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Beside tha quaint two rap doggy den was Myraz shop, which was essentially a space port up in n' of itself. Myraz repair facilitizzle was expansive, wit a multi-crane system fo' conductin top-down repairs n' movin parts, poodoo, n' even ships theyselves. Da lot itself could doggy den a gangbangin' finger-lickin' dirty-ass shizzle up ta 400 metas up in length, if need be, though there wouldn't be room fo' much else. Parked on tha tarmac was a oldschool Guardian-class light cruiser Myra n' Ali was repairin fo' a local logistics firm.
Da vessel Ali was leavin ta push had already been transported ta Muntoz local spaceport, n' dat biiiiatch was cuz of hook up her buyer up in half a hour. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Right back up in yo muthakarkin ass. Biatch checked her chrono, pleased ta know she'd be right on time fo' realz. Ali opened tha side door ta tha speeder n' sat down up in tha driverz seat n' queued tha repulsors before startin tha vehicle fo' realz. Ali could feel tha speeder dip ta tha left as her mutha approached n' leaned over tha edge of tha door.
"Be careful, right, biatch? If you need me, queue yo' comm n' I be bout ta be there up in a jiffy." Ali looked up at her mutha n' smiled, "I be bout ta be fine, buir, no worries. Put ya muthakarkin choppers up if ya feel dis! But I be glad ta know you gonna be tailin me there." Aliz mutha smiled n' tapped tha side panel of tha speeder n' shiznit fo' realz. Ali waved absentmindedly as she pulled tha vessel away from tha cribstead, turned sharply round n' sped off across tha plains.
As Ali approached Muntoz spaceport, tha sun was just reachin its peak of noon. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Da drizzle was warm wit a pleasant breeze up in tha air dat kept her skin cool. Right back up in yo muthakarkin ass. Biatch brought tha speeder down tha Downtown end of tha valley n' approached tha spaceport from dat side fo' realz. A short halt all up in tha main gate ta flash her keycard looted her entry, n' Ali skimmed tha speeder across tha dirt ground toward her platform, 8-A yo. Her buyer seemed ta be waitin fo' her n' shiznit yo. Dude was a tall Aqualish, wit light chronic skin n' black bulbous eyes yo. Dude wore a tailored suit, n' tha afro ringin tha back of his head was greyin fo' realz. And here I thought all Aqualish took a dirt nap lil' fo' realz. Ali smirked ta her muthakarkin ass, brangin tha speeder ta a halt by tha platformz big-ass steel doors.
"Greetings, you must be Anwar Tuhlu." Ali holla'd as her big-ass booty stepped outta tha speeder n' offered her hand. Y'all KNOW dat poodoo, muthakarka! Da olda playa took it, bobbin it lightly. Da vocoder da thug wore translated his karkin lyrics fo' her n' poodoo. "I be indeed, miss, n' buckwild ta do bidnizz." Ali nodded politely n' stepped toward tha platform entrance. Right back up in yo muthakarkin ass. Biatch swiped her keycard n' tha doors creaked open slowly.
"As you know, tha Crix-class DC-4a was designed fo' use by tha Galactic Alliizzle ta transhiznit posse personnel on diplomatic missions. It aint nuthin but balizzle of defensive panelin n' speed juiced it up ideal fo' these such mission types, n' saw like a poodooload of use." Ali karkin started as tha doors continued ta open, slowly revealin tha vessel hidden within.
"Da Crix-class assault shuttle, however...was always mah poodoo." Ali smiled as tha doors completed they retraction. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. "Armed wit twin laser cannons n' a pair of blasta cannon batteries, tha A-2s is ideal fo' quick hittin assault crews." Ali stepped toward tha bow of tha ship, pattin its underbelly wit one hand. Y'all KNOW dat poodoo, muthakarka! "And dis one I've equipped wit a special extra, dat you git ta trip off fo' only sixty-thousand cred--."
Da Aqualish snorted, "I holla'd as is. No more, no less. Our agreed upon price was two-hundred n' thirty." Ali smiled politely. "Mista Tuhlu, let me assure you dat tha extra sixty is well worth dat poodoo. Ya Mom shoulda told ya, I modified tha underbelly wit a retractable concussion pistol launcher n' poodoo. Yo crazy-ass enemies won't even peep it coming, n' tha special hull platin shieldz it from most sensors, makin any trip all up in customs a easy as kark one."
Mista Tuhlu rose his hand ta object but hesitated afta a moment yo. Dude stroked one of tha ivory tusks coverin his crazy-ass grill n' thought ta his dirty ass shortly. "Twenty extra, be all I be willin ta pay." Ali lifted a eyebrow n' laced her fingers together n' poodoo. Right back up in yo muthakarkin ass. Biatch approached tha Aqualish bobbin her head, her long locks bouncin lightly. "I be afraid dat won't do, it already cost thirty ta loot tha launcher n' equip dat poodoo. Fifty-five is tha lowest I can afford."
Da Aqualish stared back at Ali fo' nuff muthakarkin long, silent moments, before barking, "Forty-five." Ali shook her head, "Fifty." Mista Tuhlu nodded, promptin a smile outta Ali. "Good," she pulled a thugged-out datatablet from her fannypack n' passed it ta tha dude, "Yo ass can initiate tha fundz transfer here n' then she all yours. Though you gonna gotta handle any registration fees n' procedures on yo' own."
Mista Tuhlu nodded as tha pimpin' muthakarka took tha thang n' karkin started typin away at dat poodoo. "Of course, of course fo' realz. And kark you, it has been a pleasure." Ali smiled n' bowed. Y'all KNOW dat poodoo, muthakarka! "kark dat poodoo, kark you, sir." Biatch took tha datatablet back from tha playa n' verified her payment, then handed his ass tha key card ta tha platform.
Two-hundred n' eighty thousand credits, a veritable windfall fo' realz. Ali saw tha playa n' his bodyguardz ta tha vesselz main hatch n' bowed her peace outs, then moonwalked back ta tha speeder waitin outside. Right back up in yo muthakarkin ass. Biatch lifted her comm ta her grill as her big-ass booty started tha speeder up.
"Buir, itz me, I be on mah way back, just wrapped up bidnizz. Right back up in yo muthakarkin ass. Sale went down smoothly, though I gots talked down ten grand on tha launcher." Biatch keyed off tha commlink n' angled her speeder fo' tha spaceport exit.
God dammit. SMDH lol
"How tha kark do I look, mother?" Ali asked, smoothang tha fabric of her top before brushin her afro over her shouldaz so dat it hung up in long, dark locks over her chest yo. Her mother, Myra, ran her fingers all up in Aliz hair, smilin as her dope ass did so. Da laugh lines round her grill deepened somewhat, though dat biiiiatch was still dope.
"Brilliant, as always." Her mutha holla'd. Y'all KNOW dat poodoo, muthakarka! Ali smiled, tha sleeveless forest chronic top was low cut between her breasts, tha hem endin all dem inches above her navel. With it dat biiiiatch wore black slacks dat boasted her figure sickly. "Perfect fo' negotiatin in." Ali muttered, checkin her afro once mo' before wipin away a smudge of lipstick from her grill.
"Ready?" Her mutha asked. Y'all KNOW dat poodoo, muthakarka! Ali nodded. Y'all KNOW dat poodoo, muthakarka! "Letz go push a space cruiser." Myra smiled n' escorted Ali from tha 'fresher n' tha kark into tha livin room fo' realz. Aliz father, Jack, was at university, where tha pimpin' muthakarka taught economics n' conducted research. Thus, there was no one ta peep dem off as they left they home up in tha outskirtz of Munto, not far from Kliffen. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Beside tha quaint two rap doggy den was Myraz shop, which was essentially a space port up in n' of itself. Myraz repair facilitizzle was expansive, wit a multi-crane system fo' conductin top-down repairs n' movin parts, poodoo, n' even ships theyselves. Da lot itself could doggy den a gangbangin' finger-lickin' dirty-ass shizzle up ta 400 metas up in length, if need be, though there wouldn't be room fo' much else. Parked on tha tarmac was a oldschool Guardian-class light cruiser Myra n' Ali was repairin fo' a local logistics firm.
Da vessel Ali was leavin ta push had already been transported ta Muntoz local spaceport, n' dat biiiiatch was cuz of hook up her buyer up in half a hour. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Right back up in yo muthakarkin ass. Biatch checked her chrono, pleased ta know she'd be right on time fo' realz. Ali opened tha side door ta tha speeder n' sat down up in tha driverz seat n' queued tha repulsors before startin tha vehicle fo' realz. Ali could feel tha speeder dip ta tha left as her mutha approached n' leaned over tha edge of tha door.
"Be careful, right, biatch? If you need me, queue yo' comm n' I be bout ta be there up in a jiffy." Ali looked up at her mutha n' smiled, "I be bout ta be fine, buir, no worries. Put ya muthakarkin choppers up if ya feel dis! But I be glad ta know you gonna be tailin me there." Aliz mutha smiled n' tapped tha side panel of tha speeder n' shiznit fo' realz. Ali waved absentmindedly as she pulled tha vessel away from tha cribstead, turned sharply round n' sped off across tha plains.
As Ali approached Muntoz spaceport, tha sun was just reachin its peak of noon. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Da drizzle was warm wit a pleasant breeze up in tha air dat kept her skin cool. Right back up in yo muthakarkin ass. Biatch brought tha speeder down tha Downtown end of tha valley n' approached tha spaceport from dat side fo' realz. A short halt all up in tha main gate ta flash her keycard looted her entry, n' Ali skimmed tha speeder across tha dirt ground toward her platform, 8-A yo. Her buyer seemed ta be waitin fo' her n' shiznit yo. Dude was a tall Aqualish, wit light chronic skin n' black bulbous eyes yo. Dude wore a tailored suit, n' tha afro ringin tha back of his head was greyin fo' realz. And here I thought all Aqualish took a dirt nap lil' fo' realz. Ali smirked ta her muthakarkin ass, brangin tha speeder ta a halt by tha platformz big-ass steel doors.
"Greetings, you must be Anwar Tuhlu." Ali holla'd as her big-ass booty stepped outta tha speeder n' offered her hand. Y'all KNOW dat poodoo, muthakarka! Da olda playa took it, bobbin it lightly. Da vocoder da thug wore translated his karkin lyrics fo' her n' poodoo. "I be indeed, miss, n' buckwild ta do bidnizz." Ali nodded politely n' stepped toward tha platform entrance. Right back up in yo muthakarkin ass. Biatch swiped her keycard n' tha doors creaked open slowly.
"As you know, tha Crix-class DC-4a was designed fo' use by tha Galactic Alliizzle ta transhiznit posse personnel on diplomatic missions. It aint nuthin but balizzle of defensive panelin n' speed juiced it up ideal fo' these such mission types, n' saw like a poodooload of use." Ali karkin started as tha doors continued ta open, slowly revealin tha vessel hidden within.
"Da Crix-class assault shuttle, however...was always mah poodoo." Ali smiled as tha doors completed they retraction. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. "Armed wit twin laser cannons n' a pair of blasta cannon batteries, tha A-2s is ideal fo' quick hittin assault crews." Ali stepped toward tha bow of tha ship, pattin its underbelly wit one hand. Y'all KNOW dat poodoo, muthakarka! "And dis one I've equipped wit a special extra, dat you git ta trip off fo' only sixty-thousand cred--."
Da Aqualish snorted, "I holla'd as is. No more, no less. Our agreed upon price was two-hundred n' thirty." Ali smiled politely. "Mista Tuhlu, let me assure you dat tha extra sixty is well worth dat poodoo. Ya Mom shoulda told ya, I modified tha underbelly wit a retractable concussion pistol launcher n' poodoo. Yo crazy-ass enemies won't even peep it coming, n' tha special hull platin shieldz it from most sensors, makin any trip all up in customs a easy as kark one."
Mista Tuhlu rose his hand ta object but hesitated afta a moment yo. Dude stroked one of tha ivory tusks coverin his crazy-ass grill n' thought ta his dirty ass shortly. "Twenty extra, be all I be willin ta pay." Ali lifted a eyebrow n' laced her fingers together n' poodoo. Right back up in yo muthakarkin ass. Biatch approached tha Aqualish bobbin her head, her long locks bouncin lightly. "I be afraid dat won't do, it already cost thirty ta loot tha launcher n' equip dat poodoo. Fifty-five is tha lowest I can afford."
Da Aqualish stared back at Ali fo' nuff muthakarkin long, silent moments, before barking, "Forty-five." Ali shook her head, "Fifty." Mista Tuhlu nodded, promptin a smile outta Ali. "Good," she pulled a thugged-out datatablet from her fannypack n' passed it ta tha dude, "Yo ass can initiate tha fundz transfer here n' then she all yours. Though you gonna gotta handle any registration fees n' procedures on yo' own."
Mista Tuhlu nodded as tha pimpin' muthakarka took tha thang n' karkin started typin away at dat poodoo. "Of course, of course fo' realz. And kark you, it has been a pleasure." Ali smiled n' bowed. Y'all KNOW dat poodoo, muthakarka! "kark dat poodoo, kark you, sir." Biatch took tha datatablet back from tha playa n' verified her payment, then handed his ass tha key card ta tha platform.
Two-hundred n' eighty thousand credits, a veritable windfall fo' realz. Ali saw tha playa n' his bodyguardz ta tha vesselz main hatch n' bowed her peace outs, then moonwalked back ta tha speeder waitin outside. Right back up in yo muthakarkin ass. Biatch lifted her comm ta her grill as her big-ass booty started tha speeder up.
"Buir, itz me, I be on mah way back, just wrapped up bidnizz. Right back up in yo muthakarkin ass. Sale went down smoothly, though I gots talked down ten grand on tha launcher." Biatch keyed off tha commlink n' angled her speeder fo' tha spaceport exit.
God dammit. SMDH lol
Sanya Val Lerium
Neutral, Queen of Her people, Neko
Should I be worried?Ellya said:
Maka Sumoto
Bennie's Archer
(My first IC post on this character)
Makaz cloak whipped round his ass wit tha wind, his collar both obscurin his wild lil' features n' keepin his wild lil' freakadelic glasses from flyin away yo. Dude looked up at Castle Serrus, n' grinned. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! No Muthafucka would expect a Dathomiri Archer here, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. Especially not a thug Dathomiri archer n' shiznit yo. Dude stepped up tha stairs ta tha main gate, still smilin fo' realz. A guard stopped him, n' ordered, "State yo' bidnizz, lad. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Lady Serrus has had another assassination attempt, so our asses aint just lettin playas in."
Maka smiled gently all up in tha guard, n' nodded, replying, "Da White Archer has come ta bow ta tha Red Duchess."
Da manz eyes widened up in disbelief yo. Dude laughed loudly, n' crowed, "Thatz tha dopest one I've heard dis week, pimp dawwwwg! You, tha Archer, biatch? A bloody stripling?"
Maka continued ta smile, lettin tha smallest of his wild lil' fuckin juice bows unfold on his thugged-out arm. With a funky-ass buzzin noise, it expanded tha fuck into a funky-ass bow almost as tall as tha guard, wit only light fo' a strang or arrow. Da guard just gaped, n' muttered, "Well, then go right in, mah lord archer."
Maka nodded back gratefully, "Nuff props, sir," n' continued struttin up tha steps, tha bow refoldin itself. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Steppin tha fuck into tha buildin itself, he noticed a gangbangin' finger-lickin' distinct lack of movement. There was a staircase dat looked like it lead ta a tower, so da perved-out muthafucka started up tha stairs, humorously wonderin if there was a bizzatch, or betta yet, tha dope Duchess, all up in tha top...
Makaz cloak whipped round his ass wit tha wind, his collar both obscurin his wild lil' features n' keepin his wild lil' freakadelic glasses from flyin away yo. Dude looked up at Castle Serrus, n' grinned. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! No Muthafucka would expect a Dathomiri Archer here, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. Especially not a thug Dathomiri archer n' shiznit yo. Dude stepped up tha stairs ta tha main gate, still smilin fo' realz. A guard stopped him, n' ordered, "State yo' bidnizz, lad. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Lady Serrus has had another assassination attempt, so our asses aint just lettin playas in."
Maka smiled gently all up in tha guard, n' nodded, replying, "Da White Archer has come ta bow ta tha Red Duchess."
Da manz eyes widened up in disbelief yo. Dude laughed loudly, n' crowed, "Thatz tha dopest one I've heard dis week, pimp dawwwwg! You, tha Archer, biatch? A bloody stripling?"
Maka continued ta smile, lettin tha smallest of his wild lil' fuckin juice bows unfold on his thugged-out arm. With a funky-ass buzzin noise, it expanded tha fuck into a funky-ass bow almost as tall as tha guard, wit only light fo' a strang or arrow. Da guard just gaped, n' muttered, "Well, then go right in, mah lord archer."
Maka nodded back gratefully, "Nuff props, sir," n' continued struttin up tha steps, tha bow refoldin itself. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Steppin tha fuck into tha buildin itself, he noticed a gangbangin' finger-lickin' distinct lack of movement. There was a staircase dat looked like it lead ta a tower, so da perved-out muthafucka started up tha stairs, humorously wonderin if there was a bizzatch, or betta yet, tha dope Duchess, all up in tha top...
Noamd
Meme Knight.
[member="Hijinks"]
This Thread should never have existed!
This Thread should never have existed!
Zayani Brin
Sabercat
I decided to send my bio through it. What I found.... OH GOD, WHAT I FOUND....
Lexa do not remember her childhood before tha age of fourteen. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Da only thang dat comes ta mind when dat dunkadelic hoe be thinkin of her past is ashes. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch was found on Dxun by a playa named Azekor yo. Dude spared her game, feelin her sensitivitizzle ta tha force. Lexa stayed wit Azekor n' his crew of mercenaries fo' five years. In dis time, Azekor trained her up in tha wayz of tha Force as a Neutral. It aint nuthin but tha nick nack patty wack, I still gots tha bigger sack. Da two formed a cold-ass lil close bond n' consider theyselves siblings.
While on her travels, Lexa has encountered nuff playaz n' foes. But one up in particular agreed ta be her masta n' shit. Morna Imura taught her ta use her inner fire n' become a Fire Shaper n' shit. Over tha course of they time together, Lexa fell tha fuck up in ludd wit his muthafuckin ass. Da two married, n' started a freshly smoked up game together n' shit. Unfortunately, barely a year tha fuck into tha relationshizzle, da ruffneck disappeared. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! For three years, Lexa searched fo' Morna. But there was no trace ta be found. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Finally she accepted dat her homeboy was dead as fuckin fried chicken. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch withdrew tha fuck into her muthafuckin ass n' became unsociable. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch stopped smilin n' let go of her rebellious adolescent nature. Instead, she focused on stayin phat up in tha grill her grief.
Alone once again, Lexa took thangs where dat thugged-out biiiatch could find dem n' gots just enough ta git by. Dat shiznit was while dat biiiiatch was struttin one of these thangs when she kicked it wit [member="Asher Kellan"] . Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch discovered dat dat schmoooove muthafucka had been wit Morna up in his wild lil' final moments fo' realz. Afta a long-ass trip n' nuff sorrowful conversations, tha two became phat playaz n' sought up Mornaz Holocron. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Finally gettin tha chizzle ta say peace out ta her homeboy, Lexa was able ta somewhat move on wit her game.
That is, until she kicked it wit [member="Vincent"] Imura , also known as Nickolas, Mornaz long-lost brutha n' shit. Things between tha two was never laid back naaahhmean, biatch? They would constantly fight each other n' never miss a cold-ass lil chizzle ta hurl verbal abuse on top of dis shit. Yet somehow, there was a attraction. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. In tha heat of one particularly brutal battle, they straight-up ended up chillin together n' shit. Dat shiznit was strange, dat shiznit was spontaneous, n' dat shiznit was wack on nuff accounts, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. But fo' some reason, Lexa loved dat shit.
Unfortunately, anythang Lexa loved, it seemed, disappeared. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! This is exactly what tha fuck both Nickolas n' Asher done did. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Early-on tha fuck into her search fo' dem Lexa was hit wit da most thugged-out bangin blow yet: Biatch discovered dat dat biiiiatch was, up in fact, pregnant wit Nickolass child. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! No longer able ta cope wit tha weight of losin every last muthafuckin thang n' tha fear of bein a gangbangin' first-time mother, Lexa finally lost her muthafuckin ass ta tha full ferocitizzle of tha darknizz within.
Luckily, Nickolas returned. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Though dat shiznit was hard as fuck fo' her ta forgive his ass fo' hustlin away, she eventually let his ass off tha hook fo' realz. Afta all, they had a cold-ass lil lil pimp ta raise.
Lexa do not remember her childhood before tha age of fourteen. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Da only thang dat comes ta mind when dat dunkadelic hoe be thinkin of her past is ashes. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch was found on Dxun by a playa named Azekor yo. Dude spared her game, feelin her sensitivitizzle ta tha force. Lexa stayed wit Azekor n' his crew of mercenaries fo' five years. In dis time, Azekor trained her up in tha wayz of tha Force as a Neutral. It aint nuthin but tha nick nack patty wack, I still gots tha bigger sack. Da two formed a cold-ass lil close bond n' consider theyselves siblings.
While on her travels, Lexa has encountered nuff playaz n' foes. But one up in particular agreed ta be her masta n' shit. Morna Imura taught her ta use her inner fire n' become a Fire Shaper n' shit. Over tha course of they time together, Lexa fell tha fuck up in ludd wit his muthafuckin ass. Da two married, n' started a freshly smoked up game together n' shit. Unfortunately, barely a year tha fuck into tha relationshizzle, da ruffneck disappeared. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! For three years, Lexa searched fo' Morna. But there was no trace ta be found. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Finally she accepted dat her homeboy was dead as fuckin fried chicken. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch withdrew tha fuck into her muthafuckin ass n' became unsociable. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch stopped smilin n' let go of her rebellious adolescent nature. Instead, she focused on stayin phat up in tha grill her grief.
Alone once again, Lexa took thangs where dat thugged-out biiiatch could find dem n' gots just enough ta git by. Dat shiznit was while dat biiiiatch was struttin one of these thangs when she kicked it wit [member="Asher Kellan"] . Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch discovered dat dat schmoooove muthafucka had been wit Morna up in his wild lil' final moments fo' realz. Afta a long-ass trip n' nuff sorrowful conversations, tha two became phat playaz n' sought up Mornaz Holocron. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Finally gettin tha chizzle ta say peace out ta her homeboy, Lexa was able ta somewhat move on wit her game.
That is, until she kicked it wit [member="Vincent"] Imura , also known as Nickolas, Mornaz long-lost brutha n' shit. Things between tha two was never laid back naaahhmean, biatch? They would constantly fight each other n' never miss a cold-ass lil chizzle ta hurl verbal abuse on top of dis shit. Yet somehow, there was a attraction. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. In tha heat of one particularly brutal battle, they straight-up ended up chillin together n' shit. Dat shiznit was strange, dat shiznit was spontaneous, n' dat shiznit was wack on nuff accounts, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. But fo' some reason, Lexa loved dat shit.
Unfortunately, anythang Lexa loved, it seemed, disappeared. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! This is exactly what tha fuck both Nickolas n' Asher done did. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Early-on tha fuck into her search fo' dem Lexa was hit wit da most thugged-out bangin blow yet: Biatch discovered dat dat biiiiatch was, up in fact, pregnant wit Nickolass child. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! No longer able ta cope wit tha weight of losin every last muthafuckin thang n' tha fear of bein a gangbangin' first-time mother, Lexa finally lost her muthafuckin ass ta tha full ferocitizzle of tha darknizz within.
Luckily, Nickolas returned. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Though dat shiznit was hard as fuck fo' her ta forgive his ass fo' hustlin away, she eventually let his ass off tha hook fo' realz. Afta all, they had a cold-ass lil lil pimp ta raise.
Gavin XIII
Sour Candy Sithspawn
[member="Lexa Imura"]
*grins evily*
*grins evily*
Jarven Zexxel
Code Name: Graz
Let me try this:
Jarven was stunned. He was stunned with bliss and wonder. The woman who's heart he had been trying to win over was wanting to spend the rest of her life with him. This was also a woman who had been quite loose during her upbringing, so her desire to be with him forever was that much more astounding and wonderful.
Nervously, he started to say, "Patricia? I've thought about this moment for a long time. Even though I wasn't prepared for this and I don't have a ring, yet..." He lifted her up slightly so that he could get on a bended knee. He then lowered her onto that knee and said, "But, Patricia Susan Garter? Will you make me the happiest man in the galaxy and be my wife?"
Translated to:
Jarven was stunned. Y'all KNOW dat s**t, muthaf**ka! Dude was stunned wit bliss n' wonder n' s**t. Da biatch whoz ass dat schmoooove muthaf**ka had been tryin ta win over was wantin ta spend tha rest of her game wit his muthaf**kin ass. This was also a biatch whoz ass had been like loose durin her upbringing, so her desire ta be wit his ass forever was dat much mo' astoundin n' wonderful.
Nervously, da perved-out muthaf**ka started ta say, "Patricia, biatch? I've thought bout dis moment fo' a long-ass time. Even though I wasn't prepared fo' dis n' I aint gots a ring, yet..." Dude lifted her up slightly so dat his schmoooove ass could git on a funky-ass bended knee yo. Dude then lowered her onto dat knee n' holla'd, "But, Patricia Susan Garter, biatch? Will you make me tha happiest playa up in tha galaxy n' be mah hoe?"
[member="Patricia Susan Garter"]
Jarven was stunned. He was stunned with bliss and wonder. The woman who's heart he had been trying to win over was wanting to spend the rest of her life with him. This was also a woman who had been quite loose during her upbringing, so her desire to be with him forever was that much more astounding and wonderful.
Nervously, he started to say, "Patricia? I've thought about this moment for a long time. Even though I wasn't prepared for this and I don't have a ring, yet..." He lifted her up slightly so that he could get on a bended knee. He then lowered her onto that knee and said, "But, Patricia Susan Garter? Will you make me the happiest man in the galaxy and be my wife?"
Translated to:
Jarven was stunned. Y'all KNOW dat s**t, muthaf**ka! Dude was stunned wit bliss n' wonder n' s**t. Da biatch whoz ass dat schmoooove muthaf**ka had been tryin ta win over was wantin ta spend tha rest of her game wit his muthaf**kin ass. This was also a biatch whoz ass had been like loose durin her upbringing, so her desire ta be wit his ass forever was dat much mo' astoundin n' wonderful.
Nervously, da perved-out muthaf**ka started ta say, "Patricia, biatch? I've thought bout dis moment fo' a long-ass time. Even though I wasn't prepared fo' dis n' I aint gots a ring, yet..." Dude lifted her up slightly so dat his schmoooove ass could git on a funky-ass bended knee yo. Dude then lowered her onto dat knee n' holla'd, "But, Patricia Susan Garter, biatch? Will you make me tha happiest playa up in tha galaxy n' be mah hoe?"
[member="Patricia Susan Garter"]
Jarven Zexxel
Code Name: Graz
I'm getting too much of a kick out of this. Here goes the bio:
Jarven Zexxel had everything that a Gank could ask for. He was physically adept, he belonged in a pack of Gank Killers, and he was slowly building prestige by gaining more and more cybernetic implants. His group was based on Nar Shadaa, and one night, Jarven was tasked with the unceremonious, and yet very necessary, chore of grocery shopping. However, when Jarven came back, he found the front door ajar with a disconnected wire hanging off of the door panel. He tried to reach out to the others through the Gank Comm, but he was met with silence. Dropping the Eluvian Striped Eggs and Cran-Tatal Juice, Jarven rushed inside. He found 3 thugs inside the Mission Briefing room spraying Desilijic Kajidic tags onto the walls. Yelling in outrage, Jarven charged the 3 thugs and quickly dispatched them. Before he could take the time to ponder how these weaklings could have possibly taken down his pack, more thugs from adjacent rooms streamed in, alerted to his presence.
Although there were too many for Jarven to single out and deal significant damage, he bloodied enough noses that the thugs started to pull out. As Jarven shoved a thug into two other thugs, he only was aware of the tall, bulky, dark frame of a figure and the sudden sensation of being yanked back by his throat before he blacked out. The figure had taken out a Neuronic Whip, whipped it around Jarven's throat, and yanked him back with such ferocity that Jarven was knocked out from the blow to his helmeted head. He then dragged the unconscious Jarven to the entertainment center and hung him up on a large, utilitarian ceiling fan. Watching his still form for a few minutes and deeming it satisfactory, the figure stalked away, followed by an entourage of thugs laden with pilfered spoils. The inner structure of the cybernetic respirator kept Jarven's throat from being crushed by the whip. Eventually, Jarven regained consciousness, tugged on the rope, and fell with the rope to the ground. When he fully regained awareness, he slowly stood up, rage building in his bones.
Too angry for words, Jarven activated the Neuronic Whip with a powerful electrical charge and lashed out at his surroundings. Soon realizing that the room was on fire, he stumbled outside, tired from exertion. He didn't care. He hadn't owned much to begin with and the filthy scavengers had likely taken everything of value. Jarven walked deeper into Nar Shadaa, beating up any who would challenge or threaten him, but mostly sitting in alleyways, depressed, listening for any Gank who might pick up on his comm signals...but none answered. On one fateful evening, Jarven came across a certain alleyway that contained that familiar Desilijic tag. Clenching the whip in his hand, he realized that his time of solace was over. The purpose of the Gank Lifestyle washed over him: He would find out who ordered his pack dead, he would walk over the bodies of his enemies collecting his well-deserved trophies, and he would upgrade to perfection, and finally, he would destroy the Desilijic Kajidic. After all, an eye for an eye, a clan for a clan.
Translated to:
Jarven Zexxel had every last muthaf**kin thang dat a Gank could ask fo' yo. Dude was physically adept, his thugged-out lil' punk-ass belonged up in a ounce ta tha bounce of Gank Killers, n' da thug was slowly buildin prestige by bustin mo' n' mo' cybernetic implants yo. His crew was based on Nar Shadaa, n' one night, Jarven was taxed wit tha unceremonious, n' yet straight-up necessary, chore of grocery hustlin. But f**k dat shiznit yo, tha word on tha street is dat when Jarven came back, he found tha front door ajar wit a gangbangin' finger-lickin' disconnected wire hangin off of tha door panel yo. Dude tried ta reach up ta tha others all up in tha Gank Comm yo, but da thug was kicked it wit wit silence. Droppin tha Eluvian Striped Eggs n' Cran-Tatal Juice, Jarven rushed inside yo. Dude found 3 thugs inside tha Mission Briefin room sprayin Desilijic Kajidic tags onto tha walls. Yellin up in outrage, Jarven charged tha 3 thugs n' quickly dispatched em. Before his schmoooove ass could take tha time ta ponder how tha f**k these weaklings could have possibly taken down his thugged-out lil' pack, mo' thugs from adjacent rooms streamed in, alerted ta his thugged-out lil' presence.
Although there was too nuff fo' Jarven ta single up n' deal dope damage, his thugged-out lil' punk-ass bloodied enough noses dat tha thugs started ta pull up fo' realz. As Jarven shoved a thug tha f**k into two other thugs, he only was aware of tha tall, bulky, dark frame of a gangbangin' figure n' tha sudden sensation of bein yanked back by his cold-ass throat before his thugged-out lil' punk-ass blacked out. Da figure had taken up a Neuronic Whip, whipped it round Jarvenz throat, n' yanked his ass back wit such ferocitizzle dat Jarven was knocked up from tha blow ta his helmeted head. Y'all KNOW dat s**t, muthaf**ka! Dude then dragged tha unconscious Jarven ta tha entertainment centa n' hung his ass up on a large, utilitarian ceilin fan. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Watchin his still form fo' all dem minutes n' deemin it satisfactory, tha figure stalked away, followed by a entourage of thugs laden wit pilfered spoils. Da inner structure of tha cybernetic respirator kept Jarvenz throat from bein crushed by tha whip. Eventually, Jarven regained consciousness, tugged on tha rope, n' fell tha fuck wit tha rope ta tha ground. Y'all KNOW dat s**t, muthaf**ka! When he straight-up regained awareness, da perved-out muthaf**ka slowly stood up, rage buildin up in his bones.
Too mad salty fo' lyrics, Jarven activated tha Neuronic Whip wit a bangin electrical charge n' lashed up at his surroundings. Right back up in yo muthaf**kin ass. Soon realizin dat tha room was on fire, da perved-out muthaf**ka stumbled outside, chillaxed from exertion. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch yo. Dude didn't care yo. Dude hadn't owned much ta begin wit n' tha filthy scavengers had likely taken every last muthaf**kin thang of value. Jarven strutted deeper tha f**k into Nar Shadaa, whoopin up any whoz ass would challenge or threaten his ass yo, but mostly chillin up in alleyways, pissed off, listenin fo' any Gank whoz ass might pick up on his comm signals...but none answered. Y'all KNOW dat s**t, muthaf**ka! On one fateful evening, Jarven came across a cold-ass lil certain alleyway dat contained dat familiar Desilijic tag. Clenchin tha whip up in his hand, he realized dat his cold-ass time of solace was over n' s**t. Da purpose of tha Gank Lifestyle washed over him: Dude would smoke up whoz ass ordered his thugged-out lil' pack dead, da thug would strutt over tha bodiez of his wild lil' f**kin enemies collectin his well-deserved trophies, n' da thug would upgrade ta perfection, n' finally, da thug would destroy tha Desilijic Kajidic fo' realz. Afta all, a eye fo' a eye, a cold-ass lil clan fo' a cold-ass lil clan.
Jarven Zexxel had everything that a Gank could ask for. He was physically adept, he belonged in a pack of Gank Killers, and he was slowly building prestige by gaining more and more cybernetic implants. His group was based on Nar Shadaa, and one night, Jarven was tasked with the unceremonious, and yet very necessary, chore of grocery shopping. However, when Jarven came back, he found the front door ajar with a disconnected wire hanging off of the door panel. He tried to reach out to the others through the Gank Comm, but he was met with silence. Dropping the Eluvian Striped Eggs and Cran-Tatal Juice, Jarven rushed inside. He found 3 thugs inside the Mission Briefing room spraying Desilijic Kajidic tags onto the walls. Yelling in outrage, Jarven charged the 3 thugs and quickly dispatched them. Before he could take the time to ponder how these weaklings could have possibly taken down his pack, more thugs from adjacent rooms streamed in, alerted to his presence.
Although there were too many for Jarven to single out and deal significant damage, he bloodied enough noses that the thugs started to pull out. As Jarven shoved a thug into two other thugs, he only was aware of the tall, bulky, dark frame of a figure and the sudden sensation of being yanked back by his throat before he blacked out. The figure had taken out a Neuronic Whip, whipped it around Jarven's throat, and yanked him back with such ferocity that Jarven was knocked out from the blow to his helmeted head. He then dragged the unconscious Jarven to the entertainment center and hung him up on a large, utilitarian ceiling fan. Watching his still form for a few minutes and deeming it satisfactory, the figure stalked away, followed by an entourage of thugs laden with pilfered spoils. The inner structure of the cybernetic respirator kept Jarven's throat from being crushed by the whip. Eventually, Jarven regained consciousness, tugged on the rope, and fell with the rope to the ground. When he fully regained awareness, he slowly stood up, rage building in his bones.
Too angry for words, Jarven activated the Neuronic Whip with a powerful electrical charge and lashed out at his surroundings. Soon realizing that the room was on fire, he stumbled outside, tired from exertion. He didn't care. He hadn't owned much to begin with and the filthy scavengers had likely taken everything of value. Jarven walked deeper into Nar Shadaa, beating up any who would challenge or threaten him, but mostly sitting in alleyways, depressed, listening for any Gank who might pick up on his comm signals...but none answered. On one fateful evening, Jarven came across a certain alleyway that contained that familiar Desilijic tag. Clenching the whip in his hand, he realized that his time of solace was over. The purpose of the Gank Lifestyle washed over him: He would find out who ordered his pack dead, he would walk over the bodies of his enemies collecting his well-deserved trophies, and he would upgrade to perfection, and finally, he would destroy the Desilijic Kajidic. After all, an eye for an eye, a clan for a clan.
Translated to:
Jarven Zexxel had every last muthaf**kin thang dat a Gank could ask fo' yo. Dude was physically adept, his thugged-out lil' punk-ass belonged up in a ounce ta tha bounce of Gank Killers, n' da thug was slowly buildin prestige by bustin mo' n' mo' cybernetic implants yo. His crew was based on Nar Shadaa, n' one night, Jarven was taxed wit tha unceremonious, n' yet straight-up necessary, chore of grocery hustlin. But f**k dat shiznit yo, tha word on tha street is dat when Jarven came back, he found tha front door ajar wit a gangbangin' finger-lickin' disconnected wire hangin off of tha door panel yo. Dude tried ta reach up ta tha others all up in tha Gank Comm yo, but da thug was kicked it wit wit silence. Droppin tha Eluvian Striped Eggs n' Cran-Tatal Juice, Jarven rushed inside yo. Dude found 3 thugs inside tha Mission Briefin room sprayin Desilijic Kajidic tags onto tha walls. Yellin up in outrage, Jarven charged tha 3 thugs n' quickly dispatched em. Before his schmoooove ass could take tha time ta ponder how tha f**k these weaklings could have possibly taken down his thugged-out lil' pack, mo' thugs from adjacent rooms streamed in, alerted ta his thugged-out lil' presence.
Although there was too nuff fo' Jarven ta single up n' deal dope damage, his thugged-out lil' punk-ass bloodied enough noses dat tha thugs started ta pull up fo' realz. As Jarven shoved a thug tha f**k into two other thugs, he only was aware of tha tall, bulky, dark frame of a gangbangin' figure n' tha sudden sensation of bein yanked back by his cold-ass throat before his thugged-out lil' punk-ass blacked out. Da figure had taken up a Neuronic Whip, whipped it round Jarvenz throat, n' yanked his ass back wit such ferocitizzle dat Jarven was knocked up from tha blow ta his helmeted head. Y'all KNOW dat s**t, muthaf**ka! Dude then dragged tha unconscious Jarven ta tha entertainment centa n' hung his ass up on a large, utilitarian ceilin fan. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Watchin his still form fo' all dem minutes n' deemin it satisfactory, tha figure stalked away, followed by a entourage of thugs laden wit pilfered spoils. Da inner structure of tha cybernetic respirator kept Jarvenz throat from bein crushed by tha whip. Eventually, Jarven regained consciousness, tugged on tha rope, n' fell tha fuck wit tha rope ta tha ground. Y'all KNOW dat s**t, muthaf**ka! When he straight-up regained awareness, da perved-out muthaf**ka slowly stood up, rage buildin up in his bones.
Too mad salty fo' lyrics, Jarven activated tha Neuronic Whip wit a bangin electrical charge n' lashed up at his surroundings. Right back up in yo muthaf**kin ass. Soon realizin dat tha room was on fire, da perved-out muthaf**ka stumbled outside, chillaxed from exertion. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch yo. Dude didn't care yo. Dude hadn't owned much ta begin wit n' tha filthy scavengers had likely taken every last muthaf**kin thang of value. Jarven strutted deeper tha f**k into Nar Shadaa, whoopin up any whoz ass would challenge or threaten his ass yo, but mostly chillin up in alleyways, pissed off, listenin fo' any Gank whoz ass might pick up on his comm signals...but none answered. Y'all KNOW dat s**t, muthaf**ka! On one fateful evening, Jarven came across a cold-ass lil certain alleyway dat contained dat familiar Desilijic tag. Clenchin tha whip up in his hand, he realized dat his cold-ass time of solace was over n' s**t. Da purpose of tha Gank Lifestyle washed over him: Dude would smoke up whoz ass ordered his thugged-out lil' pack dead, da thug would strutt over tha bodiez of his wild lil' f**kin enemies collectin his well-deserved trophies, n' da thug would upgrade ta perfection, n' finally, da thug would destroy tha Desilijic Kajidic fo' realz. Afta all, a eye fo' a eye, a cold-ass lil clan fo' a cold-ass lil clan.
Jarven Zexxel
Code Name: Graz
[member="Hijinks"]
...What?...
...What?...
Jarven Zexxel
Code Name: Graz
Jarven Zexxel
Code Name: Graz
[member="Hijinks"]
LOL
LOL
Jarven Zexxel
Code Name: Graz
[member="Hijinks"]
I...uh...well...I have no idea what I did to you. Did I "breaked" you?
I...uh...well...I have no idea what I did to you. Did I "breaked" you?