Vahktang

Dang it. My first game in a while, I'm even the seer, and yet again I'm one of the first to get lynched. What is it about me? Is that why you all like me to play, I'm an easy target Let's get Vahktang. It's like killing an NPC. :) No, I'm OK with it. NPC is fun too. Less time pressure, for one thing. Have fun. And, good hunting. BTW, would anyone have been swayed if I had used my catch phrase: "You'll be sorry." And who here totally disapproves of that sort of thing? More later, Vahktang

Vinka noticed the looks. She had been looked at before and enjoyed it, but not like this, not under these circumstances. Annelise? Tina? Charles? Charles. He just came in. He must have done it. If not, cutting feet off and pushing them down the hill on a snowboard isn't easy. He must at least have heard or seen something. "Charles. "What do you know?" ____________________________ I accuse Charles Montagne - Lord Panther

Once again, I'm an early favorite.I have been one of the first out _so_ many times. Ah well.

The morning _had_ been good.She remembers: She gives a smile back and an encouraging twist of her hips as she walks away.She notes and nods to the others through the lodge as she makes her way through it, then catches site of Brad and comes over to his wave. ‘Challenge can be fun,’ she thinks.“You know I’m there. “Let me just get my boots for my short skis,” and she runs back to her room, giving a glance to both Brad and Gregor as they plan their day. ‘Challenges can be very fun.’ She passes Evangaline on the way to her room, as Evangaline is on her way out. “Hey, tell Gregor & Brad I’ll meet them in the kitchen, OK?“ She nods as Vinka passes her. In her room, Vinka gives herself a once over in the mirror, and does a touch up. ‘Get them to see my eyes. I have pretty eyes.’ She grabs her boots and a small backpack, makes sure the water bottle is in place and rushes to the kitchen. In the kitchen, the boys are standing, talking. And that’s all. She sighs before she enters, then gives them a broad smile. In a simple tone, as a suggestion, she says: “Anybody want to make lunch so we don’t have to come down to the lodge?” The boys are smart, catching on, and quickly make dagwoods and snag soft drinks. Vinka includes some fruit. There are so many fun things one can do with a banana to tease guys and make them think that you don’t know exactly what you are doing. The make their way from the lodge and to the main lift, overhearing Charles and the new girl. Vinka tries not to giggle, but brings the boys close to whisper to them:“But you will survive by being dumb and doing stupid things.” They indulged her in a smile. The slopes were good, and so were they. Cautious in these early hours, the fresh powder invigorating, the company more so. For lunch the brushed off a table and ate quickly, going over plans for the afternoon. To her disappointment, Gregor and Brad were going to separate to track their own trails. She hid a frown and said she’d better go over some of the cross country trails, too. “The owners let me name some of the trails I blaze,” she mentioned. ------------------------- But the scream brings her back. She rushes outside to see the crowd. 'Where is what's their name, the thought passes as she glances over the people. Then she sees it. And joins in on the barfing. Soon it is dry heaves. She can't help but look. 'Corn? When was the last time I had corn? What is that doing there?' She covers up the mess, puts some (_clean_) snow in her mouth to rinse out. "Get me out of here." Somebody, she doesn't remember who, possible several people, help her up and back into the lodge, setting her in an over stuffed chair next to the fire. "Who could have done this? "This doesn't happen in real life. "This is like, the movies, or something. She looks up and notes everyone's face, looking for guilt or some sort of sign. But no, anyone who had done this, then made it 'fun' with the note, would not look guilty. ------------------- OOC: no accusation yet

That was _so_ kewl.Well done. Applause. Good start. There would be no moguls yet.Moguls are made by the actions of the skiers. Hey, if we kill off an NPC first off, shouldn't their name be Kenny? And now, a flashback. Then, back to the action.

Vinka let Brad take the lead with the heavier bags, noting his...athletisicm as he moved. She tried to remember if he was a good kisser. One of the fun things about being around all these athletes: well toned guys who knew their bodies. Yumm. She wondered who she would be roomed with. And if she could follow 'stay away for a few hours' messages. They checked the list and got to her room. Her room mate wasn't there. "Just want to thank you, Brad." "Would have taken me three trips." She smiled and shifted, glad that her outfit included a good quantity of spandex in the design. "Want to come in?"

(looks like I got on the slopes too soon. Sorry) Then the alarm sounded. Vinka snuggled deeper in her bed, cursing that the morning had to come so early. Her dream was disappearing and she wondered if Tina & Gregor would be at Vannacutt Point this year. Tina was drab, but Gregor was kind of hunky. Maybe they would hook up again this year. She looked at the clock and cursed again. If she didn't get a move on, she wouldn't be at Vannacutt Point this year. She almost ached for the great out doors, after months in the city at a boring cubicle job. She got up from bed, noting that last nights entertainment had left before she got up. Good. She hated after sex breakfasts together and the awkward 'you have to leave now' conversations. After her quick breakfast, shower, final packing, etc, she was ready, as was her ride downstairs. A friend with benefits named Jean, always good for a ride to or from the airport. She did a last check of the apartment, and knew she wasn't going to miss this crap hole. She was off to a luxerious resort, where the premiere condo's weren't occupied during the week, and, if you were careful, you could bed down there rather than the dorm like instructor areas. The ride was long, the friend, true, the heliport the same as every year. The flight itself was, thankfully, unexciting. Landing, taking out supplies, and lift off were quick. She shouldered her pack and dragged her other equipment in the ski patrol sled. She did not understand the one suitcase per winter crowd. She was one suitcase a month and if she could have gotten away with it, one suitcase a week. Arriving at the lodge, she stamped off the snow and stomped into the entry hall, calling out: "Can anyone help me with my stuff?"

Vinka waved at Gregor & Tina as they speed up the chair lift, her hands at the controls. The mechanics and clears had done a fabulous job the week before, clearing the snow from the lifts, fixing any minor repairs, and they were all operable. And they were gone. Now it was only instructors at the site while we got used to the runs, until the road was cleared and housekeeping and sales arrived. Three days after that, the opening. Ah, freedom. The two chair occupants disappeared from view and Vinka watched the clock, timing when they would get off at the top. She considered short changing them a few meters so they would have to jump off. But no, we get enough injuries without making a few. She watched the clouds and saw a storm coming in. A few days, probably light. But the peaks were full and there was a one meter layer of new snow just itching to be trod upon. Her cell phone quacked and she looked at the screen. Gregor, which meant they were down. He would operate the next lift for Tina to go further up, but Vinka's job here was done. She shut everything down and was very glad that the lodge had it's own cell. Calls from the lodge to the outside still had to go hardline, but at least the people here could still communicate. She trotted over to her equipment on her mini shoes, the webbing making snick sounds on the concrete but would be proof against going through the powder on the way to the 10 klick medium trail. The morning had her do initial scout on the east 5 click easy trail. She ran names through her head. The owners let her name some of the trails she blazed. Snowbird was a favorite, and there were train tracks up the way, so, Ironhorse would be nice and a treat when the guests found the rails. She snow shoed away from the lifts, away from civilization, her pack on her back, her cross country skis there too. Ah, life was good.

I'm in. My characters name is Vinka Bogataj. Though my family is from Slovenia, I am a pure Coloradoan She is blond, blue eyed, girl next door quality to her, pretty and friendly. It is not just downhill. This is almost a pristine environment. Vinka does cross country and is outdoors most of the time to serve as guide to guests, learning the trails and the area before the season begins. She is rugged and experienced in snow survival, the rumours being that she has stayed overnight in the cold and snow on several occaisions w/out any additional equipment. She is also one of the first to volunteer for ski patrol, and, when she has the time, teaches the firsters classes. (They're all so cute in their suits and short skis) She enjoys the after ski parties, too, and loves to argue the benefits of going 2 kph thru the snow rather than 60.

Erica ignored the prattle around her, sailing through the halls like a great ship, the tides of humanity parting for her. "I wonder how she's going to stuff the ballot box this time?" "Just like how she stuffs her bra." "'Don't buy a jury, buy a judge.' Probably has all the counters on her payroll." "Teachers?" "Yeah." One of her 'escorts' had her books in hand. Inside was her homework, already done. She nodded and they travelled down the halls together. He talked but she didn't listen, only making listening sounds. Marrington, McDowell, McGuinnes, Sanford, Woods, and Lincoln Each had their weaknesses. Each could be worked on. Unfortunately, they couldn't be normally 'bought'. And they didn't know the score so they couldn't be threatened. They'd run to the cops and then they'd be questions... Straight violence was not the answer. Although her chances would improve if each of the others had a black eye, it would lead straight back to her. She would seek out her lieutenant for mid morning break. She'd have good advice. And be able to act on it.

And I can't play. I can't do justice to the game, can't participate as much as I'd like. But the characters are _so_ fun, here are two more, NPC's, if you will. Erica Swan. You've heard of 'Mafia Princess'? This one is. Her father is in 'Cartage' and 'import/export', and she has every oily bo hunk in school chasing after her so they can go up the chain that much quicker. Mess with her and it would be...bad. Her ride is a limo. M. B. Brown Just about every school has one, the kid bussed in for football. M.B. is big, and bad, and hates white folks, and rich folks, and you folks. But he is here for an education and to kick some ass. His big dark secret is what his initials stand for. His ride was given to him by an alumni, a tricked out Mustang, with a place for Nitrous Oxide (currently empty) Use them, abuse them, have fun. I'll lurk. Thanks.

Gnarlitch, love the character. How about an all Seer werewolf in the future? Everyone claims to be psychic, but the wolves are really psychic and brook no falsehoods. Have fun with the game. The spirits will be watching.

Isaac puts downt he cigarette. 'Someone hungry for money, hungry for a job?' 'Bernie.' 'Sides, agents are slime that will do anything for a buck. 'What's yiddish for 'fuck you'? '"Trust me."' ______________________ I accuse Knight => Bernie Frankowitz, The Agent extraordinaire

Isaac is supervising the handing out of pink pages (rewrites) to the actors for the new scripts. "Isaac," says Buzz, "I always wondered. HMS - Her Majesty's ship." "Sure," says Isaac," Or His Majesty's Ship." "So, in the future, Earth is ruled by a monachy?" "Or an empire. And it could be that Earth is not the capitol." "Wait a minute, earth not the capitol. When is this series set? It is the future, right? And where is it supposed to happen." "Well, it could be a long, long time ago. "And we have since forgot spaceflight. "And it could happen in a galaxy far away. Make that far, far away. "What does it matter as the line count is right," says Marisa. "And, speaking of which-" "Line count it fine, Marisa." "Mr. Heinlein," says Debra. "Isaac, please," he says and gives her an inviting smile. "Isaac, then. On page 9. What's a meter?" "Unit of length, a little over a yard." "Then why don't we use yards." "Because the rest of the world uses meters, this is supposed to be a future show and in the future we'll all use the metric system." "Aw, c'mon," says Buzz. "That'll never happen." "Sure it will. We teach our kids now in school, by the time they grow up, they'll insist on the metric system and change the signs. "Then we'll be like the rest of the world. Good for trade, business, science, and foreign affairs." The cast and crew took away their new scripts, reassured again that writers live in their own little worlds.

Whoo hoo.We got a wolf. (OK, you got a wolf. I didn't vote for him.) Now, if the baner does their job right (or the remaining wolf doesn't) we can have our first (?) no PC killed game.

Isaac is sitting in the writers room. His isolation is assured since no one goes in except writers and Production Assistants. There'd be no reason for an above the line to come in. 'Think of it as a mystery story. Who's on the suspect list. 'First off, opportunity, motive, and, and, the other thing. He took another swig from the half empty bottle on the floor. 'A show is so hard to get on, we need someone who would profit from it going down. 'Nobody on this list. 'Except the cameraman. 'He'd been doing black and white for years, this is his first color show, and a lot more work then he's used to. 'And he's get a rep, he'd get a new job when this one is over, easy, and that would give him time to practice to get good at color. 'I bet it's Zeke. Isaac took the papers he was working on out of the typewriter, then his collected notes. He placed them in a folder and went into the cabinet, dropping the folder in the file marked 'HMS Incorporated, season 4'. There were some actual ideas for the fouth season in there, and this file of suspects would be well hid there. 'Especially since it's labelled 'murder mystery episode'. 'A writer uses everything in his life. Isaac put the bottle back in the desk drawer and reminded himself to buy another. He turned out the light and locked the door. He had a party to go to, contacts to be made, smoozing to do. _________________________ I accuse: Deggy => Ezekiel "Zeke" Thompson, cameraman

Gawdz he's good.Got a _cameraman_ to do a _teamster's_ job. Because you're continuing the tradition.Vahktang gets killed early. Oh, f---If the wolves win, you're sure setting us up for a disaster. Good job.

"Shit," said Isaac, then looked quickly around for the kid or, worse yet, the Mother. No sign. He walked off the set to the writers room. 'Not the time,' he thought, 'not the time to pitch Aylan the idea of buying those stories. 'A lot of good ideas, and a lot of poor authors. A few hundred to a few grand could help some of the old masters. Or an up and comer.' 'The point now is to figure out who would want to sabatoge this show.' He sat down after pouring a cup of coffee, considering 'fortifying' it, then rejected the idea. It wasn't even noon yet. 'It's so hard to get a show on anyway, why do they bother. 'Why? Why is easy, they've been paid off by another show or network because they see this show as a threat. It's obvious why. And how is real easy. 'Hmm. Have to work tonight and I'd been planning to go that party Crane was throwing. Ah well, Crane will have another party."

Oops.Yeah. Thanks. If we knew you in dire financial straits we would suspect you more. You need instant cash, so you do nasty things. If you didn't need the money, or owned part of the show, that would probably put you beyond suspicion.

Seelvergh was at the other end of the building, as Isaac had arranged, and when the Standards and Practices guy arrived, Isaac was waiting for him. He already had his allies set up around him. "Mr. Peabody, how can I help you?" Mr. Peabody stops in the darkened stage, blinking from the bright Califonia sunlight he had just come from. Creepy told Isaac to meet Mr. Peabody here as he would be off balance after coming in from outside. "Umh, yes, I need to speak to Mr. Seelvergh. About, ah, casting choices." "Oh, well, he's not available right now, but I was in on the casting session. I can help you." Isaac takes him into the cool of the interior of the building, grabs an ice tea from crafts services for him, then hides him from view behind a prop control panel. "The woman, the alien, from the other caste, that the pilot loves?" "Yes?" "The pilot is caucasion and she's coloured." "Well, actually, both are aliens." "The actress you hired is coloured." "Well, she may have some negroid features, but with a wig, and the make up we'll put on her..." "No. We can't have it. There are places we broadcast to that won't accept, won't air, this show if we have it." "It's fine, Mr. Peabody. Nobody will notice. Even if it may be true. Here. Emmett. Emmett can you come over here." Emmett comes over, trying to look casual, just as he had been instructed. "Mr. Peabody, our make up man, Emmett. When CC, the alien, comes on the screen, what color will she be." "Bright orange. The pilot will be a duller orange." "See, no problem, Mr. Peabody." It takes nearly another half hour and the input of Zeke the cameraman to convince Mr. Peabody, but he finally does leave. As the executive leaves and Isaac is waving him away, Isaac leans over to Emmett and whispers. "You sure she'll show up on black and white sets as black." "That's what you wanted. That's what you paid extra for. I'm only following orders." "Good," says Isaac. "How do you know they won't figure it out." "They all are exectutives, all have the latest sets, color. Won't be caught dead with black and white." "This gets out, you'll never work in this town again." "First interracial kiss on TV. It'll make history. This whole series will be historic. And I'm too talented to be forgotten." 'Too smart for his own good,' thinks Emmett.

LOL How long did that take to figure out?

A combination. Isaac was born in the 30's and cut his teeth on the sci-fi pulps. After a stint in the army, he came to hollywood. While studying writing, he got jobs at the studio. He's been on the staff of a dozen shows, none of the sucesses. But this is almost his dream job. He wants to put in some social commentary and realism, and teach people about science, just like his heroes, and the authors of the stories he's read. He is thwarted by the studios, hack writers, the producers (the actors, the crew, craft services, random people on the street, etc). He is also trying to get a producer credit so that he has some place more secure to go when this show ends. Maybe even do his own show. (also, that's where the money is)

I'm in. I'm the head writer, the guy that approves the scripts (and rewrites them) and gets no respect. I'm... Isaac Heinlein. Trying to decide to be more Heinlein, Harlan or hack. I'll get back to you.

LOL Same here.I had a big sister thing going that didn't pan out. Ah well.

That's right, we're playing a game, not writing a story.Or: Show how good a writer you are. Find a reason for the character to accuse someone. I did. And no, you cannot use my bees. They are already spoken for. And remember: The best way to allow evil to suceed is for good people to do nothing. Yeah, I'm in for that.I call dibs on Gary Gilmore.