Pink Poogle Toy Forum

I'll set the mood We're all hobos... I think that covered it... Let's RP

( I thought we couldn't do nonsense rps..*shrugs*)

((It's not nonsence it's just not serious at all I'm running an Rp where we can go on adventures as Hobos! these may be dependent on whether the Hobos get a meal or whether they die...))

You're welcome to do a light-hearted role play as long as it doesn't cross the line into complete nonsense and end up spammy.

A small child, her face dirty with filth from the street covered her face and arms. She was an orphan, looking for anybody to take her in. She looked around and sat in a dark and wet alley, advoiding a puddle made from last night's rain. She looks around, her emerald eyes peering through ratty red hair. She wraps her arms around herself trying to keep warm, as the tattered quilt around her provided little heat. [RP danggit >.<]

A somewhat demented-looking person who might pass as a young man in broad daylight scampered through the darkness of the slums and alleyways, searching the ground for anything valuable dropped. He apparently was the scavenging type, working for a handful of coins rather than begging for them. His tattered cloak covered his body more handsomely than the apparel of most homeless persons.

There was an intellectual air about him suddenly as he found a single silver coin, and rose to his full height to examine it, his left eyebrow twitching erratically. The young man than laughed maniacally at his find, and babbled something that made no sense even though it was said in a clear voice. Telling by his cloak and hat, he had been enrolled at a university at some point, and cracked as his mind could not handle whatever tedious things he was being taught. Still, his eyes darted to a young orphan girl holding herself to keep warm. He scampered away again, only to come back with no coin. In his hand was a recently bought jacket, just a couple sizes too big for her and rather expensive even for a privilaged child to wear.

He straightened up from his scampering squat like a gentleman again to hand it to her, commenting calmly on his impulsive buy, "Its big so you don't grow out of it." The young man cared not that his money could have fed him on produce for a month, the coin had come as if by some strnage fate, unlike the smaller ones he always found to get by. Besides, this was the brand of jacket that looked good on anyone and lasted long. She looked like she needed it.

Jeffery Woodworth the 8th woke up in a semi-blind stupour, just like he did most days of the week. You couldn't say it was malnutrition, its amazing what people threw out in this day and age. It didn't seem like any new sickness. 'All those rich people with their bacterial soaps and disinfectant sprays...one of these days people like myself will be the few still resisitant enough to survive the biological holocaust...' Jeffery thought to himself. Such thoughts bobbed about his mind like buoys cut free from their anchors, every now and then it would float back.

Examining himself, he noticed his burlap sack of cans was still there, "a burlap sack is so useful" he muttered out loud. 'Thursday. Maybe thats today? Ah who cares. I have enough cans for collection.' Mr. Woodworths clothing was atypical for his line of work, even a punched out hat that he inwardly expressed great pride in having. 'You've got to look the part for your world to work...work' he thought. His boots were real brown leather, he could be sure of that. What a find that was. Just hanging off that telephone pole. Oblivious to the probable dangers of retrieving them, he had climbed up and meticulously untied them. 'Can't live without real shoes'.

His craggy mind and face scrunched up in syncronisation as he wondered where he was today. From experiance he already knew he had probably drunk something along to the lines of methyl, probably watered down enough not to make the pronounced blur permanent. Waving hands in front of his face, he admired the mismatching fingerless gloves that he could just make out, 'look the part...look the part'. Six..four..two hands. Sight would probably grace his world again in an hour or so. For now perhaps somemore sleep until he was really awake.

*Clickty-Clack*

"Arrrgg!?!"

'You're on a train you insufferable wretch' said Woodworth the 7th.

((Hobos are always on the move and Christopher's char is the only one on a train... ¬_¬ Anyway...))
A beaten boy sat in the corner of the train carriage trying to hide from the other man in there. He was afraid he'd beat him up like the last time.

He'd been minding his own buisness in the carriage. When the other Man had asked him if he had any money. When he'd replied no he'd started to punch him and kick him saying that he had no money for him to steal...

The bruises were still there

The young girl looks to the man that was offering her the coat. Her green eyes grow big with fear, and she scampers down the alley a bit, then slowly comes back, looking at him with a curius look, but stays alert. She portudes a little dusty hand from the quilt wrapped around her shoulders, feeling the coat then blushes loooking at him, taking the coat in her arms and cradleing it. "Th-thank you!" she exclaims, her cheek nuzzling the fabric. She looks back at him and nods, her fingers reaching around her wrist, unclasping a small gold chain bracelet. Her eyes fill with tears as she hands it to him in thanks, a returning gift. She hopes he will use it to pawn it for food. "Please...have it.." she says, looking up with a small smile...

"Go away ya great bloody git!" exclaimed Jeffery with serious irritation.

'I'm here and you cannot get rid of me, nor can you get rid of 5th or 6th, though they are a bit quiter.' Said Jeffery Woodworth the 7th for the umptieth time.

When he was entirely in a right state of mind, Jeffery Woodworth the 8th would occasionally contemplate why his forebears, though not really his forebears, occupied some part of his brain. The 7th had told him several dozen times that the name Jeffery Woodworth was passed down randomly, rather than hereditarily or maternally. It really didn't make no sense to him, he couldn't remember when he began to refer to himself as Woodworth the 8th, he couldn't remember his former name either. "Ah." He yelled out. He remembered he had drunk from that bottle of methylated spirits to shut Woodworth the 7th up. Though those same spirits were probably responsible for him too.

Now that his memory was loaded up and ready for a new day, he crawled over to his knapsack. Red with white spots. His own voice with one of the earlier Woodworths echoing muttered "Very traditional it is". The carriage was occupied by several other people with similar jobs, but fortunately they were seperated by stacks of boxes with labels faded beyond legibility. He had secured his own little grove, 'not much comradery in this line of work.' The train bumped and a box slid forward ever so slightly, allowing access to its vunerable innards.

'Gonna put your hand in there? I remember once back in my day getting a nasty nip from some ravenous mexican walkin pirahna...'. Jeffery ignored the 7th and fished around inside the crate, there was that obnoxious bubble wrap; "that could've been useful last bloody night for bedding"; feeling round some more, making loud pops sure to wake up everyone else, his hand closed on something and pulled it out. "Dell" he said inquisitively. "Palm PC". Jeffery Woodworth the 8th contemplated the possible uses of a Palm PC for the noble American vagrant, and decided there were none. He swiped one anyway.

Jason Sault was sitting on the top of the train carriage, eating a can of beans [oh come on, beans are good!]. Every time the train bumped around a bit, he held onto the railing on the top of the carriage, and stroked his ginger beard. He had shaggy ginger eyebrows, shaggy ginger hair, a shaggy ginger beard, and a shaggy ginger dog.

And there you have Jason Sault in a nutshell.

He looked around to the other boy in the cabin... He had beans...

The boy's stomache growled. He almost jumped out and tried to steal them. But he withheld If he hadn't there was no telling what the other boy would've done...

[Jason Sault is both a man, and on top of the carriage, not in it, CD dear. ]

((:o *baby voice* Well I'm the GM and I say thay you're in the cabin... LOL j/k Who says it's your char anyway?))
The boy looked around and seen the boy was moving towards him. The second boy had came around the corner to see what was moving behind the boxes. It was a young boy. Younger than himself. And badly beaten.
"Hi. What's your name?" he asked. The other boy shrinked away
"KEEP AWAY FROM ME... I don't have anything..."
"Calm down! I only asked your name..."
"... Sorry. I thought you were going to... hut me..."

The girl pushes the bracelet into his hand, then runs off, the coat hanging off her shoulders. She runs to the tracks, then jumps away, almost getting hit by a train. She then looks around and climbs into an empty cart, almost falling out, but then sliding the door shut. She sees a ladder leading to a roof and hesitantly places a hand on it. She climbs up, then sticks her head above, the wind whipping her hair back. She sees a man up there and looks at him. "Um...Hello." she says and stands on the ladder, waiting for him to respond