Play Roleplay: GAFFugees, GAFFugitives and GAFFigilantes.

A sirene began to blare, its oscillating noise interrupted by the occassional hiccup. With a whirring noise, the steel shutters came down at the windows and the door, effectively locking him in. The gentle blue lights that had lit up the House since the recent Revolution got switched off, plunging his room in utter darkness before red emergency lights popped on. Jay sighed and marked his page before shutting his book.
The pervasive sound of the sirene receded to an annoying hum, only to make place for a looped message riddled with static. "...pissed off, betrayed, and very, very disappointed..//..going to de//te the whole shebang and ca//...listen to a bunch of entitled ingrates yap on././.on about stupid crap while I'm/./...why the House will be turning off the lights and locking up for a little while. I ap//ogize..."
On a cynical level, it amused Jay that the glorious revolution had lasted about two days before getting utterly squashed. He wondered what would happen to the blue wallpaper everybody has so industriously put up everywhere. It seemed that getting rid of the last vestiges of the ruling class required more than a simple rearrangement of the furniture, putting up a new colour and painting "ViVa La ReVoLutioN" on the walls. Oh well.

A new message started playing alongside the other one. It was even more cryptic and fragmentated than the first one, yet this one wasn't leaded with a dire, indigo-coloured sense of foreboding. "Abandon ship! Aban//...new forum we've been .//ing a secret/...Contact us through the ElJay-Network, and..//eaver!"
Nihilist's underground movement. Of course. Time to fly this coop.
He got his coat and his shades and looked around the room. He'd miss his chair.

Most Housemates and GAFFugees could teleport, but they were forced to use the unstable Plotholes that randomly appeared. Jay, however, was one of the few who had mastered the ability of the BAMF!ing in his past. It seemed somewhat unneccessary to actually specify his past immediately and set his personal history in stone: after all, he had never learn to wield the power of the Ret-Con. Instead, he simply donned his shades, shot the room a wry yet photogenic smile and disappeared with a BAMF!, leaving behind the faint whiff of sulphur and cotton-candy.

---

Annnd ontological break here. So, specs and rules, right?
Basically, you play yourself. Or rather, you play your username, or your board identity, preferably a somewhat more dramatic and exaggerated version of it. (For those of you familiar with the Sect and the Soap Opera, you might know what I'm talking about.) Be a protagonist, an antagonist or even a bit character, I don't care. If you absolutely need someone to play against, let me BAMF! next to you, or create something NPCish. The rest of the world (and of the plot) is still somewhat of a blank. I've got some ideas, but really, if I wanted to write a story by just myself, I'd write that and not an RP.

Rules:
1: Don't take it too seriously. Play with conventions, flirt with the fourth wall, subvert some tropes. Have fun.
2: Mind the grammar, mind the spelling, mind the posts before you and don't interfere with the rules of the world that are already defined. (Obviously, since I just included the power of Ret-Con, there should be some playing around this.)

Finally, consider the plot and play it in advance. Sure, you can make it all random and haphazard, but I tend to like it better with continuity and consistency.

It was almost laughable, how quickly the great Revolution was squashed. Surely no one had expected that Lolita was actually gone; Trolls of that caliber couldn't possibly stay away from their haunting grounds for long. Sheba had heard it made them shrivel a little more with each passing hour.

In any event, the deposed had proved to be not quite so absent as expected, and had begun messing with people's access cards to boot. Citizens would wake up unable to leave their rooms, locked in as the System's mechanical voice informed them their keycards were 'invalid'. Kitten's voice crackled angrily over the PA, bitching them out between bursts of static. When the new message began, she knew it was time to leave. Already, Plotholes were forming wobblingly in the air as several Housemates 'ported off to the secret sanctuary Nihilist had established. Jay was one of these; she grinned at him as he poofed off into the ether. That was really cool--she'd have to ask him to teach her how to do it sometime. He was like a better-looking Nightcrawler. Though probably not so good at wall-climbing.

Sheba flicked the stub of her cig into the corner and took one last look around while waiting for a suitable 'Hole to arrive. The place had changed so much in so short a time. When she'd first arrived the wallpaper was lime-green; then the ever-numinous Guru had limped quietly away, leaving Lolita in charge. She'd changed everything to a soft, warm, welcoming rosy pink. Then the Revolution had come, had the angry Housemates had papered over again in robin's egg blue. What color would the new home be? What was it called, she wondered as the arrived 'Hole began to shimmer in the air above her, the tinny voice of its creator squealing that 'liek im Sirus' daughter u know he nevar knowed me b/c he left mai mom an omg he is so hot!!!!!'

Smirking, she raised her arms to let it descend. Stay golden, Suethors, she thought as she BAMFed through.

Somath was amazingly fed up with all this, he'd let everything wash around him and just got on with the day to day activity that he had enjoyed so much, the fact it eventually came up over his head really shouldn't have surprised him, leaders had come and gone, colours had changed, signposts moved, titles given and taken, this ment nothing to him.

Then Somath heard it, a cracked and broken transmission over his personal comm, the leader had been compromised, reply with haste, plan of action needed.

A more composed man would have replied, asked questions and help come up with a plan, at this stage Somath wasn't feeling very composed, he copied the message, cleaned it up, and slammed it through the PA system, without a care for the consequences or even the reasons, Somath grabbed his jacket, threw a few important data pads in the pockets he left his room.

Others were already jumping, through portals or through there own teleportation abilities, Somath, oddly enough, just walked out the front door, a two fingered salute to the servalence cameras marking his exit.

Drama, wank, trolls, disappearing admins... To be honest, Anathema was exhausted. She hadn't come to the House for drama. She came to the House to be entertained, and things had started to go downhill ever since The Incident. Life at the House had stabilized for a moment with the end of the revolution, to be sure, but she knew it wouldn't last long. Verandering getting possessed was just the beginning of the real end.

And then, it came. Everything went dark. For a moment, terror gripped Anathema- was this the end? But no, the emergency light came on and she heard the new admin's message. Sighing like a true professional, Anathema packed her sparse belongings. After GAFF she'd learned to pack light. Thank God she had Inkweaver to let her know where to go and what to do. A few other strained messages filtered in, but Inky's came in loud and clear.

Glancing around to make sure she didn't miss anything, Anathema paused. Sitting curled up in a chair, her face buried in a book, was Blooferlady. Since she was reading, she was oblivious to the chaos around her.

“Bloofer!” Anathema exclaimed, waving her hands in front of Bloofer’s face. No response. “Oh, for the love of…” Anathema sighed. She scribbled a quick note letting Bloofer know where she was going and how to get there and taped it to her forehead; she figured Bloofer was smart enough to figure it out.

Then she looked around; Inkweaver said she’d send her a plot hole, and here it was. She took one last glance back at Bloofer and went through, wondering what she’d find on the other side this time.

Blooferlady had been oblivious to most of the drama going on in the House for the past few days, and only bothered to notice when the walls suddenly turned blue and she ran into them in confusion. She grabbed a book and settled into a chair for a few hours.

Some loud sounds were going on around her, but she figured it wasn't important. She didn't stop reading until her vision was suddenly obscured by something taped to her forehead.

"I CAN'T READ MY BOOK- oh hey what's this?" she said, taking the note off of her forehead. After reading it, she looked around in confusion at the flashing lights and plot holes that were all over the House. She stood up and ambled around, hoping to find someone who she could ask about this new forum.

"Hey, what's going on? What is this new forum? Anathema? Inkwea-" She was cut short as she suddenly plummeted into a plot hole that had appeared under her. Falling, she thought to herself that now wouldn't be the best of times to have forgotten all her books in her room.

The Revolution had gone incredibly smoothly, it seemed the gradual changes did the trick. With leaders changed, tomorrow looked bright. No longer were the GAFFugees and accumulated HoBFers crushed under the will of an immature, pissy little girl who could be trusted so little. No longer was there unaccounted for crimes against the citisens and residents. A cleaner, better, brighter future was on the horizon, and Verandering was humbled in the honour of being the one to deliver. To deliver, for the people.

A delivery that delivered It into a false sense of security.

Gently lulled by the support and transition of the redecoration, the Revolution's harbinger retired into what should have been a brief and pleasant down time. Plans were in effect, morale was high, and opposition was at bay. Little did Verandering know, the one time Its guard lowered was the one time they would strike back. Strick back, they did.

Groggily, It rolled off the couch and shuffled Its feet to the room door. Terror and paranoia struck when it refused to open automatically. Something is wrong, Verandering knew. The door was always set to open when It approached. Verandering twisted Its face into an expression of annoyance and manually touched Its hand to the identification panel. In an instant, red bold letters claimed Its identity as invalid. In that instant, It knew what had gone down.

Trapped, Verandering turned to interpersonal contact far outside the reach of the terrible Old Regime. With no one immediately available, it sent out encrypted distress signals and opened general communication links. Time passed slowly, and five minutes seemed to take five hours. There was no response and the situation was feeling more desperate. Not even graphic novels with hilariously bad fan translations could alleviate the pressure.

Verandering jumped off the couch in astonishment as the first of the plot holes warped in and out of existence. It rubbed Its forehead gingerly and ran a hand through a pack pocket. The realisation that it was all too late, that the fight had been won before there was a chance for retaliation, was ever present in Its mind. This meant one thing, and one thing only. The Underground.

Device in hand and determination in heart, Verandering punched in the correct code combination and was BAMF!ed to the empty halls of The Underground. Here, It could freely explain the emergency, and from here it could stage Its Operation Truth. All that was needed was Nihilist. Verandering took a seat, folded Its hands in Its lap, and waited.

(EDIT: This is my version of what happened to me yesterday, lawl. Apologies to Psy-4, Verandering, and Nihilist for putting words into their mouths and whatnot.

SECOND EDIT: Also, thank you to Psy-4 for allowing the use of his character... and I should add that if anyone else wants to be removed or doesn't like their "character" being used in this RP, please PM me and I'll edit. Thanks!)

~~~

Somewhere in the rooms of the House, Maximilia sat reading under a the light of a single lamp. The House's foundation had been settling lately, and Verandering had assured everyone he had it under control, so she paid it no nevermind when the House started shaking again. "Just settling," she murmured, flipping a page. The dust filtering down from the ceiling made it a bit annoying to read--she had to keep brushing off her book--but other than that, things seemed, well, normal.

Suddenly, the door was kicked in. Looking up in shock, Max saw Psy-4 standing there, decked out in paramilitary gear and holding the most kickass rifle EVER. The light from the hallway shone around him in a blazing halo, and he hissed back to his companions in the hallway, "I knew I could find her!"

"Wha--" Max started to ask, then was yanked to her feet roughly.

"We have to go, move, move, MOVE!" Psy said, his voice pitched low but the words intense.

"My cats!" she said, freaking out because of his intensity which was bearing down on her with the force of a thousand suns. "If the House is collaspsing, I need my cats!" She scooped them up, one under each arm as the House shook around her. That wasn't the House settling, she thought. That was it being fucking bombed.

He shooed her out the door where she saw Verandering and Nihilist guarding the hallway, rifles in hand. Nihilist had on his joker facepaint with a très tendance beret. Verandering had dressed all in black, looking for all the world like he was part of the spec. ops, hired to assassinate some terrorist or something. She clutched her cats closer. "What's going on? Are we being invaded?"

"It's Lolita," Verandering spoke in a low whisper, voice trembling with repressed rage. "And her henchman, Kittenmommy--they're taking over."

"What?!" Max was confused as she was hustled down the hallway. The former Housemates stopped sporadically, kicking other doors open, looking for anyone else they might be able to rescue. "I don't... don't understand. Wasn't Lolita, you know... gone?"

"Dictators like that, they aren't ever REALLY gone," Nihilist spoke up. He clutched Max's arm and shook her, "Wake up, kid!" He narrowed his eyes, "Unless... you are working for her..."

"No!" Max cried. "I wouldn't! I mean, I really didn't give a damn all that much about her, and, uhm..."

Verandering and Psy-4 paid the exchange no mind, laying charges as they passed empty rooms, intent on giving the House the last few blows to bring it down for good. They continued to try doors, looking for people, letting Nihilist confirm Maximilia's allegiance. Was it to freedom, or was it to the Dictator?

"Quick! What is your age?"

"What? I mean, you really shouldn't ask a lady her--" Nihilist raised his weapon. "THIRTY-SIX!" He lowered it again, satisfied and Max rolled her eyes, saying to herself snottily, "But I don't look like it, JEEZ!"

Psy kicked in another door, and held up his hand. "I found another one!" He ducked inside while the three of them waited in the hallway. Max looked around, still confused.

"I don't get it--I thought Lolita was gone. Someone mind explaining?"

"She dropped the bombs, man," Verandering said, his accent light. He shook out a smoke, and lit it. "She dropped the fucking drama bombs."

"What?!" Max gulped, "Weren't you... uhm, our president, Ver?"

He shook his head, "She rewired the codes; and she pressed the fucking button." He blew out a jet of smoke, angry eyes fixed down the hallway, ever-alert for hostiles. "I couldn't get back in to reverse the codes. Nihilist grabbed me just in the nick of time before they were about to come down on my ass." He paused, "We're abandoning ship. The Revolution is over--the Relocation is just beginning."

"Relocation? Where?" Max struggled with her cats, trying to keep them calm. Damn, I should have brought my books too. Fuckers didn't give me time to pack.

"An island," Nihilist said quietly, with a sigh. "I have a private retreat, which... I'm opening to the evicted Housemates."

"No shit?" she asked. Nihilist nodded. "What do you need an island for?"

"Er, nothing..." Nihilist fiddled with his beret. When both Verandering and Max gave him a look, he threw his hands up, "Alright, alright! I kept my Joker shrine there!"

He was spared the two of them commenting on this when Psy-4 came back with Kitbug huddled in his arms. "She's been hit!" he said. "We gotta get outta here, NOW NOW NOW!" The tone brooked no argument, and the group made their way to the exit. Once outside, Max could see the House wreathed in the sickly urple flames of teh dramaz, the shadow of Lolita hovering over the House menacingly.

"Oh my god," Max whimpered, looking at the devastation. Tears choked her. "Will we never be safe?"

Grimly, Verandering nodded as Nihilist said in his deceptively mild voice, "We will be. She will never find us again."

"And if she does," Psy butted in, setting Kitbug down on her feet, "we'll shove a grenade up her ass and see how she likes it."

Ink adjusted her headset, frantically trying to make her message clear to anyone who would hear it.

"Mayday, mayday! The House is in trouble! Treason!"

The lines buzzed and crackled with static. She wasn't sure if this was working, but she knew she had to try.

"Can anyone out there hear me?"

No response on the lines. Static whispered to her. She was already in the Underground Shelter, an image of the House clear to her on her monitor screens. The place was crumbling, and fast. Pieces were disappearing.

"Get your snarks and get out while you still can! Find us! Find InkWeaver somewhere on the internet! The House has been infiltrated! I repeat, the House has been infiltrated! Look for the nearest Plot Hole and go! Grab your snarks!"

InkWeaver felt the ground shake as the House groaned and collapsed further. She gasped, voice cracking, "All those people..."

No! Now was not the time to panic. Grieving would come later. Now was the time for action.

She grabbed her utility belt (complete with spork, shovel, and copy-and-paste functions -- and much more, for only 19.99!), laced up her boots, cracked her knuckles, and jumped into her portable Plot Hole.

"Geronimooooooooooooo!"

Ceres had been dreaming of chocolate cake that night. Cakes and waffles, with sprinklers and syrup. It was the hunger for breakfast what finally roused her from sleep. She yawned, stretched and got up –then noticed she’d been locked in.

“What!?” she cried. She pounded the door, but the steel shutters had come down. Windows too ---there was no escape.

There was a garbled message on loop coming through the speakers. She recognized the voice as Kitten’s, but there was something… strange about it. Then it hit her: Kitten had missed the revolution, hadn’t she? Some sort of covert mission in the Bahamas or something, with no communication to headquarters.

She opened her com signal and dialed Kitten’s frequency. “KM, what the hell?! This isn’t what it look like! Open the shutters, we need to talk! She got a response, but it was garbled. Something about Lolita’s feeling all butthurt about the revolution and how KM was gonna make it right.

For a second, she thought KM had been brainwashed. She’d heard rumors of nasty brain-eating parasites that devoured the victim’s common sense and enslaved their wills to a master. Sort of like Haitian voodoo warlocks created zombies out of those who crossed them. Regardless of the source, it was clear that KM was compromised.

Frustrated and alarmed, Ceres sat down on the bed, ready to wait it out. How long would it take? Would she starve to death? No, chances are she’d died of dehydration first---

But then another message came from an encrypted channel. It was Zeiss and InkWeaver, sending her the coordinates to… somewhere. Perhaps a secret base?

A series of explosions suddenly rocked the house. Ceres owned a portable plothole device, but it was years since she’d last used one, so she spent a couple of minutes trying to work the damn thing. “Open, damn you!” she cried… until it finally did.

Ceres had never been one to carry a lot of baggage. She surviving the previous three houses had taught her to tough it out. With a sigh, she took a last look at the place and leapt into the portal ---for freedom and chocolate cakes.

Jay landed in the white sand. He turned around, now looking in the direction he just BAMF!ed away from. He was glad he had brought his sunglasses. The House used to be surrounded by sprawling, lush grounds that provided plenty of shade, but now that his former home was on lock-down all the greenery had disintegrated into an arid, blindingly white desert that, for some warped reason, reminded him of a bird cage.
In the distance, somewhat distorted by the heat radiating from the sand, the House stood, a bizarre contraption that mixed a Gothic mansion with a futuristic office complex. It had never relied on sensible architecture and now that more and more people lost their faith in the House, it started falling apart. Jay thought he could see a flare-up of urple before the East Wing collapsed entirely. He had hoped for a dramatic explosion as soon as he had made his exit, but apparently, he wasn't as plot-critical as he thought.

He wasn't sure where Nihilist's island was located - somewhere in the Lost Sea of Iecanno, obviously, but it had a French-like name? Whatever. He could look up the coordinates as soon as he could access the ElJay-network. The first order of bussiness was to collect the GAFFugees who couldn't find the island on their own. Now, Nihilist was smart enough to Veil the island, so it wouldn't show up with Google-goggles or a simple Search spell...
Jay took his iProtocolocator out of his pocket and accessed his personal Search Domain. Besides the few obvious search-queries - like 'Jay the Mockingbird' and 'Cris-X' - he added a few new ones. Now, if anyone Searched or Googled for 'GAFFugee(s)', 'Nihilist's Island', 'Verandering's Resistance', 'The HoBaFa Underground' or any combination thereof, Jay would be one of the Found. (He had briefly considered adding 'Lost Island' to the queries, but after a moment of contemplation, decided against it.)
He pressed the button on top of his iProtocolocator. Nothing happened. He pressed the button again. In the distance, one of the turrets of the House collapsed under its own weight, but otherwise, nothing. He shook the little device a bit, pressed again, shook it furiously, and pressed again. Finally, a thin shimmer fizzled in the air around him, vaguely following the contour of his body, successfully unVeiling him.
Now, he hoped some GAFFugees would find him before he attracted the attention of those insipid little spam-bots - or, worse, before the Yahoos took notice of him.

With a sharp shriek, the fractured spelling, emmaciated plot and tortured analogies finally gave up the ghost, unraveling the PlotHole and dumping Sheba rather unceremoniously in a tree. A palm tree. Palm trees not being built to support the weight of a person of any size, it quickly bowed to the ground, causing her to inelegantly faceplant into the sand. Hmm, tiny fragments of limestone and quartz!

Sitting up exasperatedly, spitting out sand and wiping her eyes, she took stock of the situation. She could see the ruins of the House in the distance--how far in the distance, the heatwaves made it hard to tell--on what looked to be a sandbar or small island. She seemed to be alone, though thankfully she had arrived intact and with her backpack. Misty menthols and lighter--check. Cranberry vodka,--check. Individually-wrapped Goodfic bars--check. Printed snarks, sporking equipment--check. She'd also managed to grab odd detritus she didn't recall packing, such as a pair of teacups and several tins of catfood. Also three left socks.

Standing up, she watched a while in silence as the House burned. It was being shaken from within, the windows occasionally lit by the bright flash of explosions. Oh Christ--had Lolita finally snapped and brought out the drama-bombs?!? Whatever the case, she watched in horror as half of the upper floor--the offices, where once the main Snarking had been done--shuddered loose and came crashing down. She silently prayed to whatever Diety may or may not exist, that everyone had gotten out. Though she also secretly hoped the Suethor Dungeon remained intact--the fewer of those in the world, the better.

A sharp buzzing noise off to the left caught her attention, and she watched--with wonder this time--as Jay materialized out of thin air. Heh, now that was cool! She ran up to him, relieved beyond measure to see that at least one Housemate had made it out. He was fiddling some odd kind of device....

"Jay!!!"

Inky didn't so much materialize out of the Plot Hole as she was thrown out of it. She landed in some squishy, foul-smelling mud with a splat.

"Dammit," she said, futilely trying to clean herself off. "Where the hell am I? Stupid Plot Holes..."

The headset she still had on crackled in her ear. A distorted transition was coming through. "InkWeaver, do...opy?... Copy? -- eiss ... fold. Come in, it's -- come in, InkWeaver. -- Zeiss Manifold."

Zeiss! It was Zeiss Manifold! Oh, man, that guy brought the lulz with those dickgirl comics.

"Zeiss," she said, adjusting some knobs on the headset, fiddling with the finicky antenna. "Zeiss, I read you, but not very clearly. It's Inky. Give me your position, Zeiss. I repeat, give me your position, and I will get there as fast as I can. Help is on the way!"

"Survivors... in ruins... go back, Ink. Lurkers... in ruins."

"Lurkers in the ruins? Blast! I'm going back to the ruins of the House, Zeiss. I'm going back. Do you read?"

She pressed a button on her utility belt. "That is... if I can ever get this damn Plot Hole to work."

Tungsten Monk tended towards the oblivious. A bad choice in username had left her with metal skin and a Franciscan robe, and given the opportunity, she preferred to lurk in the back corridors of the House and not display her bizarre appearance (or the fact that she had unwisely chosen to put her skill points into Sarcasm rather than Snark). As a result, she had no idea that the revolution was even taking place--until things got out of hand.

Her computer display flickered, making her frown. Strange things had been happening more and more frequently, and power outages were probably only one more inconvenience to add. She'd suspected that the PA system was trying to tell her something, but it wasn't working properly; as usual, she failed to get the message. Oh, well.

Then the display flickered again. A message appeared in the static, grainy and indistinct: HOBBF COMPROMISED. The sender was nearly obscured, but she thought she recognized the distinct aura of bastardry emanating from the screen. Gaijinguy.

That wasn't a good sign. Tungsten put aside her work and stood up to check the display. The lights flickered again, and the message was almost lost. Quickly, she pulled up Gaijin's message. It was terse and, worryingly, completely straightforward. Now she knew something was wrong.

There was another flicker, and then the crackle of electricity. Something smashed overhead. Tungsten squealed and ducked as part of the roof gave a mighty groan, the metal buckling. Power cables fell to the ground, sending arcs of electricity dancing across the floor. The PA system squealed--it sounded like someone on the other end was whining loudly and determinedly about something.

Panicking, Tungsten rounded on the screen. Something flickered in the corner of the rapidly dying display. Gaijinguy had attached something to the message, and it would only be there for so long. Without even the time to retrieve any of her precious snarks, Tungsten ducked and leapt forward through the plothole. Behind her, the dying forums shrieked as they were deleted by unknown force.

ZoZo never really understood what was going on in life. This was mostly due to her rather unhealthy relationship with marijuana, but she also had an uncanny knack of being absent at the most important times.

Taking a little R&R from the House, ZoZo went to meet a friend. The friend was late, so ZoZo decided to remotely monitor House activity. She could feel something brewing, and wanted to know what it was. Opening up her mobile phone, she tapped in the access codes.

ACCESS DENIED.

The flashing red text was accompanied by a buzzer. Sighing, ZoZo decided she would investigate the matter when she was in a better frame of mind to deal with it.

Three hours and several joints later, ZoZo opened emergency communication channels. Cursing the fact that she had been high throught much of Emergency Evacuation Training, she fired of SOS messages indiscriminately, to any name she recognised.

Kittenmommy swiftly re-established ZoZo's credentials, and she eagerly entered The House, imagining business as usual--or at least, some kind of business. It was empty. She eyed the apocalyptic wasteland. Nothing. A tumbleweed blew by. In the background, she could hear Kittenmommy cursing.

There was a crackle, a human voice barely audible. ZoZo followed it; what else was there to do?

"Compromised... code orange... coordinates..." The message was static as hell, but ZoZo listened. It was the voice of Lysander. Grabbing a biro, she scrawled the coordinates on the back of a Rizla, and took the next Plothole out.

The new place was bright, and ZoZo squinted. Everything was so different. Yet as she looked, she realised the rooms were all the same. There were familiar faces, too. Blinking, she made her way towards the discussion of what the hell was going on.

A million conspiracy theories buzzed in ZoZo's mind, and she rolled another joint to steady herself. With each breath of smoke, the thoughts dissipated.

She put up her feet, and called Why God Why home. Until the next drama at least.

Fairlight's never sure about anything or anyone, she's not even sure what herself really is.
So many contradictory messages were too confusing, so she wandered around the little of the house that was still accessable trying to assess the situation. Who was the real villian here? Who could she trust? And what the hell was that "Mayday" signal all about? All she wanted was something solid to go on but no one seemed to be in a co-operative mood.
After a while she gave up and settled down for a quiet few rounds of Broken Picture Telephone whilst waiting for The Powers That Be to fix everything.

Finally, after people began leaving remnants of the house, luggage in hand, it dawned on her that the idea of the bulk of the membership was not to wait for the House to be repaired but to abandon it and establish a new base.

Fairlight quietly slipped upstairs to collect the few things she wanted and headed for the nearest plothole.
But first she had to change modes, swapping her leopard print top and demin shorts for black trousers, white top and glasses - now she could think.
She strode easily through the plot hole into the shiny new home and neatly unpacked before begining a head-count to discover who else had made it.

The call came through to Ian whilst he was away in one of his fandoms researching a Sue. InkWeaver's mayday was enough for him to Plot-Hole back to the House. He was not going to lose all his hard-earned data to trolls. Even from the start he knew the House was doomed to drama and shit-stirring and tried to keep himself busy and as far away from it as possible.

It was one of those htings he was tired of being involved in.

His Plot-Hole into the sealed House was only five feet from his intended mark, but he was still content with the fact he Plot-Holded into his room at all. He retrieved from a small drawer in his desk a collection of Flash Drives, plugging one after the other into the computer and saving his data. Though his door was sealed shut, the frantic and excited squeals from behind it made him nervous. While waiting for one flash drive to fill, he retrieved his his Uzi from its rack in his closet, checking the magazines to see if they were loaded. For only have five clips ready, it wasn't going to be enough.

Last drive, he thought. The door buckled, and a thin fist broke through. Ian raised his nail-bat high and brought it down, a sickening snap of bone and pained squeals coming throught he new hole in the sealed door.

The Flash Drive was finished loading.

Ian grabbed at the keyring of flash drives, stuck his Uzi clips in his belt and BAMFed before the door gave way to the Sues behind it.
***
Ian BAMFed to the coordinates InkWeaver had given him, sighing in relief as he recognized the others present.

He was home finally.

Rae had been cruising the City of Heroes area in the Pit when she received a notice that someone had sent her a message. Determining Sue-dom among superheroes was a tricky business, but it could be done. She'd taken the nearest plot hole -- No, time travel does not explain away everything, thank you! -- intending to land in front of her favorite spot on the couch where she liked to ball up with a vat of coffee and a red pen, and chain smoke while writing snark. She plipped into place and was left blinking. There was no couch. There was no floor "Whaaaaaa?"

She took her glasses off to clean them. Nope, it still looked the same. The House was nothing but rubble. She had a precious few moments to retrieve a few things from the ruins, but further rumblings from far below hinted she should clear out. What if everything we've got in the dungeon gets out? That was a worrisome thought. She popped a cigarette in her mouth and drawled, "Not my fucking problem. You have fun with that, Lolita." It took a bit to make out what the garbled message had said. The day looked brighter when she discovered there was a new place. She found a safe place, sent off a message through the ElJay Network, and soon enough had coordinates. Even so, she got lost a few times. Admittedly, some of this was because she wasn't paying attention, being rather easily distractible at times. Especially Jay's avatar. She could lose ten minutes at a time staring at its stomach.

The last trip did it. She was barfed out of the plothole amid a great deal of sparkling and high pitched screaming, "OGM Lord Recluse n Ghost Widow n HERO1 r ttly teh OT3 and Mako is their baby!!!" She shuddered, brushed the glitter off of herself, and looked around. An island. Well, that would be a nice change. Now to find the nearest coffee maker.

Deutschtard had always been a quiet one, never causing any trouble, just watching as drama occurred all around hir. Sie didn't see the need to get into anything big, but sie had this six sense that something was going to happen. Sie didn't know when, sie didn't know how, but something was going to happen. "I'll just stay in my room, nothing bad can happen in here, I'm my own little God in here." Sie'd say to hirself, but who was sie kidding? there had to be something sie could do.

Sie'd wanted to join GAFF, but it's big iron gates had already closed for good. Dejected, sie waited, knowing someone would do something and sie'd finally be able to join. When the House had been erected, hir figurative prayers had been answered. Sie'd joined as quickly as possible. Verandering had told hir that he was a mod, and so sie knew that things would run smoothly. Or at least, that's what sie thought.

The months went by, and there was some drama, but nothing too bad, nothing bad enough to warrant worry from hir, until the Admin left. Ver said that he and KM had been left in charge while Lolita was gone, but that KM was also gone, so he had to keep the House in running condition alone. Sie offered to help, if it was needed, and Ver remembered that. Nightly, sie would converse with him, hear about what was going down, unable do to anything but listen, give ideas for plans, and advice where sie could, and things looked like they were going okay. The House was getting some much needed maintainence and things were getting a lot better. Sie had had a vague conversation with Nihilist once that opened hir eyes to just what Verandering was saving the House from. An article told of Lolita's double--and triple--faced plans, of her deceit and wrongdoings. That's when hir feeling came back. something bad was going to happen, sie just knew it. Having received this information, sie was wary about everything happening on the board, and wished Ver well on his quest to continue the refurbishing process.

That's when Kittenmommy came back. "Jesus christ, Ver, what if she takes Lolita's side? Things are going to get really ugly, aren't they?"

He just looked at Deutschtard stoicly and nodded. "Really ugly."

"Verandering, sir, I hope everything goes well," Sie said, chewing on hir lip and sitting on one of the chairs in the back of the meeting room. It wasn't like Deutschtard could do anything hirself, sie'd come in near the beginning of HoBF, but never really done much of anything, having only spoke a few times, and not even anywhere of real importance either. That night, under cover of darkness, Verandering came to hir.

"I've drafted a letter to KM, but lord knows things could get bad if I'm not careful about how I say things," he gave hir the letter to look over, and sie felt honored to be his beta for such an important letter. Sie knew KM had no knowledge of what was going on, and had asked to get her name back on the lease, and sie also knew that Ver had just gotten things back into working order, that he didn't want to over-delegate things, lest everything run to hell in a handbasket.

"Yessir, I'll do my best." Sie took the letter and did everything she could to get his intentions across, worked on not changing the wording much, but made sure it still sounded like someone kind was saying it, because Ver did have a bit of a predisposition to sounding rude. It was alright though, he was European, and he knew that many of the blunt things he said sounded rude to some of the sensitive Americans he'd had to deal with in the past. He trusted Deutschtard, knowing sie could handle both, and help him find a happy medium.

Hands trembling, fearing what would happen next, sie gave him back the letter. "I think I've done all I can, I just hope this doesn't blow up in our faces, sir." Verandering sighed and nodded.

"So do I, Deutsch, so do I."

Days passed, nothing really happened, Deutschtard went about hir life as normal, always coming home to hang hir hat at the House, thinking that perhaps KM had taken the note well. Then, one morning, without any warning, the entire world went to shit. Sie had been out walking the dog and getting hir car fixed, doing things that any normal person does. When sie came back to the House, the House was barren. There were a few people still milling about, or at least that's what it sounded like, but every time sie followed the noise, there was nothing there.

"Hello? What the hell happened here, where is everyone?" Not even Verandering was around to ask, and sie felt so alone. But as sie walked into the kitchen, there were two notes taped to the fridge. KM had come back and evicted the entire House, speaking of disappointment and letting out disgruntled feelings. "Well shit." Sie murmured. Sie had been right, everything was going to shit, and KM had taken Lolita's side, "She really was that stupid." There was a note taped to hir door, as well, something from InkWeaver about messaging her. Nothing against her, but Deutschtard already figured that the article Nihilist had posted had come true, and that the new place of refuge had become the new house. "I miss all the fun, dammit."

That's when it all got harder. Sie had to find Verandering, had to fidn someone. It was hard to contact Nihilist for hir becasue they weren't close, and there weren't many ways to contact him. So the second sie heard Verandering's voice calling out, sie ran. "Jesus, man, what the hell happened?!" Sie cried. He hung his head and spoke quietly,

"She took it badly. Everyone's gone, but Nihilist has a private island--" Sie cut him off,

"Yeah, I heard about that, is that were everyone is now? Is that where this all leads? We're just... giving up and abandoning the house?" That's when Verandering grabbed hir and shook her,

"Don't you fucking get it? The house is going to EXPLODE!! You're lucky you didn't get caught in the debris, you know!" Eyes wide, sie nodded slowly before speaking,

"I...I'm sorry, I should have listened to you earlier..." Ver smiled and gave hir a friendly punch in the arm,

"Hey, at least you listened at all right?"

"Yeah... Yeah, I listened." As though the shmoopy bro-love had summoned it, a Plot Hole opened. Deutschtard couldn't help but laugh. "Guess we better get the fuck out of Dodge, shouldn't we?" With that, they both jumped through the Plot Hole, and Deutschtard was happy sie always listened to Verandering. He really was resourceful, and sie was glad that Nihilist cared enough to save all his Housemates. Things would get better now, sie could feel it.


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((bonus points to Verandering for letting me use his character because he's awesome like that, and he kinda totally is the only reason I ever joined HoBF etc, so he had to figure in my play really hard

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Somath had walked all the way to the great port El Jay, boats, starships, trains, everything that could get you from point a to point b without the use of your feet or teleportation, Somath had kept a room around here for years, not that he'd had much use for it untill now.
A few letters where scattered all over the entrance mat, an old method of communication but stable and comforting in this day and age.
During a slow and dilberate read of the post something slipped out of a rather professional looking envolope into his lap.
"Hmm, A boat ticket? Haha, these guys know me too well"
And just like that he was off again, down to the harbour, he was liking this moving about thing.

The watch on the iProtocolocator said that it was 12:02. The lengthy shadows cast by the westward-bound sun seemed quite at odds with this. Jay, who had never been a Boy Scout, was oblivious to this bit of foreshadowing: he simply pocketed the gizmo instead.
It wasn't that he was unobservant, really. In general, however, what his mind was preoccupied with differed madly with what his body was currently busy doing. He had a sharp mind that was intelligent on most levels, but it was about as focused as your average puppy. Most butterflies had a longer attention span than he had. However, when he heard his name being shouted, both mind and body responded.
He turned away from the House and toward the source of the shout. It was a girl and her appearance momentarily confused him. Not because she had materialized out of thin air, but because she seemed to completely deny the existence of colour, existing in tones of black and white. He blinked and the glitch in his vision disappeared. She was a pretty thing, with wide eyes, classical features and wavy hair you would absolutely die for. It had probably launched a thousand hairdressers. He recognized her from the House, though her name eluded him for a moment. He remembered her as being nice and as usually toting around some form of hard liquor - two facts which weren't completely unrelated in his mind. He gave her a pointless wink behind his sunglasses and said: "It's Sheba, right?"

Suddenly, anangrychocobo appeared out of nowhere and ruined everything in some unspecified way that made it impossible to continue the thred.

S. Ninja, who had dug out her dusty Vega mask (which hadn't seen use since Orange GAFF) and screenname a few short weeks ago to join the House, had an easier trip than most.

"So, uh, what happened again? The last I saw, Verandering had control of the-" She had a MSN chatbox pressed to her ear and leaned against a pile of tags on a balcony of one of Port El Jay's buildings, above the seething chaos of sf_drama Square- CAPSLOCK FRIDAY was making it hard to hear. "Oh. Damn, but how is that possible, I didn't think that was convertible into digital formats...Never mind, I misheard. Give me a minute, I_Lam, OK?"

"POST SOME QUIETER LOLCATS, ALL RIGHT?" As a longtime lurker, though, the ninja's caps didn't carry quite enough volume to be heard, and Ninja had to go back into her account, slamming the sliding door. "Sorry. All right, it's quieter in here, now you can give me the directions."

She noted down the directions to the new location, signed off, and closed the box, wondering what the going rate was for boat tickets to forumotion these days was.

And then it sank in.

I missed an epic thread!

Ninja sighed, locked up the account, and left for the boats.

"Fuck, where is Zeiss?"

InkWeaver fairly coughed up a lung as she tumbled out of her finicky Plot Hole and inhaled a cloud of dust. She couldn't find Zeiss Manifold anywhere, and time was running out to get people out of the House and get their stuff before it was too late.

The House was still crumbling in places, slowly collapsing in on itself. There were bits of it left - some rooms unexplored. The message from before was looping itself on any remaining loudspeakers, only there was a new bit added. "You have one hour to get your stuff and leave. And remember... IF I CAN'T HAVE YOU, NOBODY CAN!" Only this time, it sounded like Lolita, not Kittenmommy.

"Shit, there are still people in there!"

Frantically, InkWeaver did the only thing she could think of. She started throwing debris out of the way, digging as fast as she could.

She hoped help would arrive on time.

Overhead, Chris91 surveyed the chaos from the safety of a Huey chopper. Lolita had gone psycho, no doubt about it; if things didn't calm down soon, he'd have to go John McClane on her mad-dog butt. His finger tensed on the trigger of the Huey's forward rocket launchers....