Rebels & Mutineers is set in modern day New Orleans, Louisiana. R&M is fueled by player's plots and group input.
Supernatural people have always had their place in society, hidden in plain sight or locked away for their own protection. New Orleans, a haven for the strange and mysterious and a magnet for the supernatural.
Established: Oct. 27th, 2018 Recently Updated Posts && Recently Updated Threads
05.11.19
As the community reels from the untimely death of Lucia Lovelle, life has to move on. Primrose readies for the annual Prom celebration! Keep your eye out for a event board and have fun!
02.27.19
It's not too late to vote for February's OTM winners! The winners for January, keep an eye out on your messages for your winner's graphics for your signature. Already voted? Make sure you check out the Mardi Gras event board! Party up, have a good time, and enjoy!
Post by Jonathan Darby Carver on Jan 23, 2019 17:45:11 GMT
[attr="class","dilyrics2"]Your lips feel warm to the touch You can bring me back to life On the outside you're ablaze and alive But
[attr="class","dilyric2"]you're dead inside
[attr="class","dibody2"]Carver lounged on the hood of his car staring up at the New Orleans night sky. The small teardrop-shaped parking lot at the end of Breakwater Drive was nearly desolate, illuminated by the towering streetlights and the nearby light given off by the yacht club across the way. It had been sheer dumb luck that the popular spot was mostly empty. Only one other car occupied the parking lot and its owner was nowhere to be seen. Carver could live with that sort of crowd especially if this date went well.
Beatrice, Carver opened his abused phone and looked at the profile of the woman he’d matched with. From her profile and their brief conversation, Carver couldn’t imagine what had possessed her to swipe on him. She was well-educated, a proper molder of minds, and on the complete other end of the social economic spectrum. He was a sloven mess who preferred to rub elbows with the underbelly of society and hormonal teenagers.
He was more than happy to find out her intentions, flouting his match with anyone who would listen, namely Declan and Ash. Declan had been much more supportive while Ash had proclaimed that the woman was most certainly a fake and there was no way a woman as highbrow as her would want anything to do with a criminal like Carver. He paid his longtime friend no heed, rebuking his claims that Carver wasn’t classy enough. It had the beginnings of an argument that surely would have devolved into a full-blown fight if Carver was not so preoccupied with getting ready.
Obviously, the woman wasn’t looking for class given Carver’s brutally honest profile. Realizing this Carver decided the best course of action would be to take her on, what he believed to be, a fun date of his own devising. Of course, Carver’s idea of fun was often received with mixed reactions. He grinned to himself as he looked across the small body of water separating him from the yacht club. It was starkly different from the quiet parking lot he sat in, music and laughter ringing out in the night. He wasn’t sure what the festivities were about but he knew that he wanted to be a part of them.
To that end, Carver was far more formally dressed than anyone in his home had ever seen. When the kids and staff saw the usually scruffy recruiter waltzing through the house in his grey suit and hair elegantly coiffed jaws dropped and money exchanged hands. Acquiring the suit had taken a bit of engineering and some trial and error especially in such short notice. Thankfully, New Orleans was lousy with dry cleaners and Carver’s build wasn’t too hard to match. It was the first time he had worn a tailored suit since the passing of his mother two decades prior. He didn’t think he looked half bad all gussied up, like a right proper gentleman.
The illusion was completely shattered by his nonchalant posture and the flask of Jim Beam that rested on his chest. Carver was sober despite the flasks presence. For the date he had in mind he would need to have his wits about them. Besides, meeting a date completely knackered was just downright rude. It made it completely unfair to them and forced them to play catch up. Getting there together was half the fun. Carver was hopeful that Beatrice would be a willing accomplice in his escapades. If not, it would make for a very short and terrible date. It would also force him to hide out in NOLA until morning. There was no way in hell he was gonna walk back through those doors and let Astor get the last laugh. Not over Carver’s dead.
The sound of an approaching car caused Carver to shift in position. Sitting up, flask now nestled safely in his lap. He smiled expectantly, pearly teeth showing through his beard.
[attr="class","ditags2"]Some, mostly rambling about your other characters ✖Beatrice Fawn Rochester✖ notes if you want
Be a wasn't sure exactly what made her swipe on Carver's profile. Maybe there was something about the tattoos, or the impressive beard that was appealing. Maybe it was how he listed himself as a drunk and a world traveler in the same limited character blurb where he described how he was a child advocate and a degenerate. She liked a good dichotomy and she was intrigued by everything about him. Their text messages were filled with word play and common interests. She was excited to get to know him a little more and this first meeting date where he encouraged her to dress up had her intrigued.
She wiggled into a silver dress that hugged her body and showed a little bit more cleavage that she normally would have done, but she always felt justified when she was out of her lab coats and teacher clothes to dress like she was a grown woman instead of a sexless scientist academic type. She added some earrings and a necklace and and shoes to match. He wanted her to dress up for their date, and she was hoping that she was going to meet his expectations.
She sent a text to her sisters stating that she was going to go out for a date with a guy, and included some of the screenshots of Carver's profile. She expected for some of them to come back with bitchy comments. Some of her sisters were raised to more closely align themselves with their parents ideals of silver spoon mentality. One said he looked like a serial killer, and another one called dibs if she couldn't handle all of that. She rolled her eyes at her sisters and tossed her phone into her purse and locked the door behind her.
Crossing to her car, she plugged in the address to the park. She never went out as often as she wanted to, mostly dedicated to working with her students and helping them pursue a life in the STEM programs. He hated how many times her students would come to Primrose with deep passion for math and science, and would leave with a through knowledge of trustfunds, divorce laws, and manipulation techniques. It always broke her heart and no matter how many times she thought that she was going to get through to someone, the culture of Primrose's one percent mentality would always shine through.
Pulling into the park, she was starting to question what she was doing meeting a strange man who she never met at a park at night with no one around. If he was a serial killer like her sister predicted, she was walking right into it. She pulled up next to the only other car in the lot and spotted a handsome bearded face on the hood of the car, lounged out and comfortable. Serial killers weren't all that charming right? Or did they have to be. She was starting to regret not paying more attention to those undergraduate psychology courses she took for an easy grade. Grow up rich enough, you see a fair share of mental health disorders, eating disorders, anxiety disorders. She rarely studied and just knew the answers from life. She glanced at the her thighs as a reminder of her own role in that knowledge.
She turned off her car and stepped out of driver's seat and stood in front of Carver, his pictures didn't do him justice and she was really really hoping that he wasn't a serial killer. That would really suck. She tucked some of her bright red hair behind her ear and looked over his well fitted suit and his nicely done hair and visible tattoos, "Carver, I assume?" She looked around and tried to figure out what they were doing in a parking lot dressed like they were going to a party.
Post by Jonathan Darby Carver on Feb 26, 2019 22:32:41 GMT
[attr="class","dilyrics2"]Your lips feel warm to the touch You can bring me back to life On the outside you're ablaze and alive But
[attr="class","dilyric2"]you're dead inside
[attr="class","dibody2"]Oh Carver was definitely going to rub this in Ash’s face.
The pictures on his tiny cracked screen had not prepared the man for the woman who stepped out into his view. Carver had to muster what little self control that he had not to gawk as the otherworldly red-head left her car. He couldn’t help but peak, just a bit, as his eyes roved over Beatrice’s dress clad form. He considered it his first victory of the night as he mastered his eyes and kept himself from devolving into a drooling idiot.
“You assume correctly,” Carver chimed, tucking his flask into his breast pocket and pushing himself off of the hood of his beloved Barracuda. “That must make ya Beatrice. Pleasure to finally meet you in person.” Carver made a show of straightening his blazer and moving closer to the chemistry teacher.
He was completely oblivious to just how many red flags that he might have raised. Beatrice was placing a lot of faith in a complete stranger. Carver only thought about how much potential the night had. He wasn’t doing a lot to alleviate any of those concerns. He simply stood there in his stolen suit wearing his usual mischievous grin.
He’d told her that they were going to a pop-up bar. It was a little white lie. Not the best way to start of a date but certainly not the worst way Carver had tried to romance someone. A wry smile replaced his genuine grin and he looked toward the club across the water. He figured that some form of explanation was due. “Stashin’ our cars. So, moment o’ truth, there isn’t a pop-up bar, not in the true sense of the word.” He paused for only the slightest of moments to gauge her reaction before continuing on with his offer.”
“If ya direct your attention across the way to the ritzy building you’ll notice that there’s a big party going down. Fun, yeah? Well, unfortunately, I don’t have any invitations. What I do have though is a guy on the inside who I tossed a few bucks to come and pick us up.” For the briefest of moments, Carver’s heavy Irish brogue vanished as he put on his best American accent. It sounded almost natural delivered with his playful timbre. ”My proposition is we take a little trip over there, pass ourselves off as affluent members of New Orlean’s highest social circle, partake of their generous libations, and get inappropriately intoxicated.” He quickly fell back into his usual rough manner of speech though. “Party’s not a party unless you get kicked out after all.”
“So, I think I lost some points for fibbin’ and I wouldn’t fault you at all for gettin’ in your car and driving off. On the other hand, I went to an awful lot of trouble gettin’ all gussied up for you and it would be a shame if all of this,” Carver made a grand sweeping gesture to himself, “Had to go to waste. Plus, I can promise you one of the best nights of your life.” Carver’s “friend” must have been waiting for Carver to finish his speech as he pulled up on the rocky shore in a small boat. Carver descended halfway down the treacherous slant before turning back towards Beatrice and extending a hand to her.
“So, whaddaya say, love? Willing to make some might stupid decisions with me? ”
[attr="class","ditags2"]Do whatever you want~ Take control of the taxi boat, the guy driving or Carver, if you need to ✖ Beatrice Fawn Rochester✖ notes if you want
Pictures didn't do him justice, and she wished she could snap one that did to send to her sisters. She knew to keep an eye out for any stray foxes hanging around, and was almost tempted to check the back of her car for any vixen stowaways.
Last thing she really needed was Joey hissing at Carver throughout their date and making her seemed like she was crazy or dependent on her family or anything. The Rochester sisters were historically close and that was something that just didn't change overnight. When he confirmed it was in fact Carver, she felt a little easier. He was charming over the phone and she had a feeing that it would be a good date. A pop-up bar out here seemed like a risky financial decision for whoever put it on, but she knew science and teaching, not so much how to get hipsters to flock to a bar.
"Pleasure to meet you too, Carver. And please, everyone calls me Bea." Her sisters liked to try to called her Trixie or Trice, but that usually led to some bites and scratches. They were close as siblings, but that didn't mean she liked being called those juvenile nicknames. They would wheedle that she enjoyed it when she was younger, and she would shoot back that she was a grown woman and a knowledge of all chemicals that could dispose of a human body, and the poisons that didn't leave a trace. They usually stopped until the next time after that.
Hopefully she didn't have to make any similar threats, the last thing she really wanted was for Carver to see how crazy she could get about certain things when she was pressed. She was raised to be a perfectly poised Georgia peach of a daughter. Some lessons were harder to shake than others. She had to admit, she liked his smile.
Not a pop up bar, and stashing their cars. Bea was really starting to wonder if her sisters and their obsession with serial killers was the correct alley this whole time. "You know you're coming across like a crazy serial killer right now right?" She asked with amusement in her voice, "The whole come out under a ruse of a bar, and then switching the plan-" she looked him over in the ill fitting suit, the peeking out tattoos, and the well-kept beard.
"Tell me more, what are we doing tonight?"
She listened to his plan about sneaking into a ritzy party, about being snuck into the party, all the while the Irish brogue that she was looking forward to hearing more and more switched to an almost so terrible it's good American accent. "You had me at offering a proposition." She said with a playful smirk on her lips. Sneaking into a party is exactly what she would never do and it was exactly what she knew that she needed to do. She needed to get out of her comfort zone, but anything that would make her sister Joey painfully jealous was also always a plus in her book.
The boat pulled up at the end of his speech and she knew that she was going to have so much fun that it really wouldn't be a night that she never forgot. Feelings of wanting to be adventurous and have stupid fun bubbled to the surface. The feelings of being alive and having stupid fun were roaring back to life and she wasn't sure how long she had been without it since it came back. She took his hand and walked down the slant and was careful of her favorite heels.
"Tell me, how long did you rehearse that?"
The boat ride was quick, Bea holding onto the side of the boat with her life. She was fine in boats, the larger ones at least. This tiny little one where every wave and crest was rocked against the hull was what made her feel queasy. So distracted by the water splashing against the side of the boat, she didn't realize she was still holding his hand.
"You do this with all of your eVOlvd dates?" She asked as they pulled up to their destination and carefully dislodged from the tiny water taxi.
Post by Jonathan Darby Carver on Mar 22, 2019 0:08:41 GMT
[attr="class","dilyrics2"]Your lips feel warm to the touch You can bring me back to life On the outside you're ablaze and alive But
[attr="class","dilyric2"]you're dead inside
[attr="class","dibody2"]“Bout fifteen minutes, thought it up while I was waiting for you to pull up. Didn’t expect the guy to show up when he did though. That was just stupid good timing.” Forethought and planning were not some of Carver’s strengths. He was much more inclined toward impulsivity and quick-thinking. Fifteen minutes was about the most time he devoted towards making most of his decisions and even that was a bit on the long side, a testament to just how much he wanted to impress Beatrice.
Carver looked at the hand clutching his own calloused and tattoo-covered hand. It was an unfamiliar sensation. He could scarcely recall the last time he had held someone’s hand in such an innocuous manner. Since he’d been released from Monroeville he’d never maintained any form of committed relationship. For the last decade and a half, he’d simply fallen from one short term, tumultuous relationship to the next. From one bed and into the next with no strings attached. There’d been no space in any of those relationships for such innocent and pure displays of affection.
The last time he could recall showing such genuine affection was in the nightmarish halls of Monroeville. Walking hand in hand with an angel-faced girl whose name was etched into his knuckles. He’d nearly forgotten the joy in such a simple gesture. He couldn’t say that he was entirely opposed to doing it again. His hand was still wound about her’s as he helped her from the boat and joined her on the shore.
The clamor from the party was more apparent now and several couples were chatting on the nearby patio. They didn’t pay much mind to the mismatched pair as they made berth. Her hand still in his Carver guided Beatrice toward the three-story building that contained their objective. He looked back over his shoulder at her as she questioned his typical modus operandi.
“Trick them into trespassing and light breaking and entering? Nah, usually we just end up going to the Gorgon’s Head or some other hole in the wall. I wanted to do something different for ya though.” Carver’s last date at the Gorgon’s Head had not exactly gone as planned. Not that it was anything close to a date. The notion of him and Charlie going out on a date was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. Since that incredibly awkward night with her Carver had done his best to avoid the bar. His text to Declan earlier in the day had been his only contact with the man in over a month. "Why would have preferred it if we did something normal?
Standing before the threshold of the yacht club Carver remembered himself. Having cleared the treacherous path up to the patio and its stairs there was no need to cling to his date as he was. He plucked his hand from her’s and stroked his beard as he looked inward, past the ornate glass doors. Men and woman garbed in lavish clothing gathered in small congregations. They laughed and drank as men and women, much like the one that picked them up, scuttled about providing refreshments. The dull roar of music could just be made out this close to the club.
“We should probably come up with a cover story. Since I got us this far I think that you should do the honors. Otherwise, I’m gonna make up something incredibly outlandish. I’m thinking billionaire playgirl, oil tycoon and her tattooed arm candy. ”
[attr="class","ditags2"]Please don't hate me D: ✖ Beatrice Fawn Rochester✖ notes if you want
