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STYLE or DIE (Season 1 - Dubbed)

Discussion in 'Role-Playing Games' started by TheSequelReturns, Aug 26, 2018.

  1. TheSequelReturns

    TheSequelReturns Phantom Thief

    STYLE or DIE
    Episode 1 - Our tale begins at dawn! Enter the El Feugo Winnebago!

    ---

    The year is now 20XX.

    With the world’s civilization ended by the unregulated and ever-expanding power of Hair Gel, the world has been reduced to a harsh wasteland. Bands of roaming Stylists riding in customized Tour Buses scour the earth for undiscovered treasure troves of Hair Gel and Foliculum Z to maintain their empowered hair, ever fighting it out for domination.

    The losers of these battles, known across the world as “Shows”, are forced to undergo the worst humiliation a Stylist can know. To be forcibly shaved, reduced to a buzz-cut, and stripped of their power. It is a fate worse than death.

    Across this vast wasteland, in the ruins of former cities, lie the centers of the world’s power: Salons.

    Each Salon is run by a Style Master and their army of Stylists, and each wants nothing more than complete and total control of the Foliculum Z mines. To do that, they must defeat the other Salons in glorious combat and claim their turf for their own.

    The constant fighting between Salon run city-states keeps the wasteland in a perpetual state of chaos, violence, and hair-powered tyranny.

    One group however still stands against the corrupting force of Super Hair Gel. Known only as B.I.B. (Bald Is Beautiful), they reject the notion of magically powerful hairstyles and the suffering they brought to the world. Armed with an arsenal of hair removing weapons, their bald-headed resistance barbers seek only the complete and total destruction of the Foliculum Z mines and an end to the Salon’s reign of terror.

    In the midst of this seemingly endless conflict rides a lone Tour Bus piloted by a group of renegades who may hold the key to putting this conflict to an end once and for all...


    ---


    Sandstone rock formations littered the horizon with parched dirt forming a web of cracks for miles. An ancient roadway laid abandoned, slowly reclaimed by sand and wind. A gas station stood pitifully alone and devoid of all life, not even a mouse found it of worth. Or a cricket.

    Dust stirred up far down the road way. To the average person stranded in the wasteland, they might believe they were hallucinating. An eye-sore orange winnebago covered bumper to bumper in flame decals and gratuitous chrome barreled through the sand and dirt, shifting erratically every so often. Voices carried at impossible volumes through the opened windows.

    “Take a right!”

    “What right?!? There are no roads!”

    “Real men don’t need roads!”

    “Would you both shut up! Bolts-for-brains would you just drive straight! My tools keep flying everywhere. Might get your a** out of the window!”

    The man who currently had most of his body sticking out of the passenger side window was Might Samson, who is unfortunately the protagonist of this story. He was currently mooching off of the driver of this glaringly bright Tour Bus, a thin lanky man named Bullet who was the actual owner of the glorious driving machine, the El Fuego Winnebago.

    Seated behind the manly duo, Darci Jones, mechanic extraordinaire, griped fervently every time her precious ‘Hot Roddi’ squeaked from jarring turns and drops over uneven terrain. Large vehicles are not supposed to turn that sharply at those speeds and still stay on four wheels. Fortunately, Darci knew her craft and the maniacs that drove it.

    Might stuck his head back into the window and shouted back, “How else am I supposed to see where we’re going?”

    “Gee, I don’t know? I think it was the invention of the window perhaps?” Darci snarked back.

    “You don’t understand.” Might answered, “It's a windshield. What kind of man needs to be shielded from the wind! Its unacceptable!”

    “Bah!” Darci sputtered. She reached over Bullet’s shoulder to a row of unlabeled buttons on the dashboard and punched the blue square one. The roof and windshield shifted with a startled and retracted back into hidden recesses. The wind blasted the trio. “Happy!?”

    “Now we’re talking!” Might slid back into the seat, his hair billowing in the wind.

    Bullet craned his neck towards the mechanic, perplexed, “When did you put that feature in?”

    “Last night when you were sleeping,” Darci said with a smirk.

    “But I was driving last night.”

    “With you, it’s the same thing.” Darci offhandly remarked, finally kicking back in her own seat. “Oh, by the way, there’s a small town coming up on the Navigator.”

    “Finally! It’s been three days and I’m almost out of juice.” Might said.

    “Yep, we better restock or the world’s going to end,” Darci deadpanned.

    “That’s not the only thing we’re almost out of.” Bullet tapped his knuckled against the gas gauge. “We’re a few gallons from empty on gas and hair gel.”

    “And juice.” Might said. “And we also need to recruit some more help. We need… I’d say five people total. Enough for a self-respecting band.”

    Darci gave a long suffering sigh, “I’ll start redesigning the interior of the Roddi’s back section.”

    “Would you quit calling it the ‘Roddi?” Bullet grumped. “It’s weird. El Fuego Winnebago is kick ass.”

    “Every machine has its own name, if you bother to listen,” Darci shot back. “Not that you would understand.”

    “‘El Fuego Winnebago’ is literally engraved above the restroom door.” Bullet fired back.

    “Just because that’s a man’s throne room, doesn’t make it official!” Darci said, rolling her eyes. “Besides, that can easily be adjusted with a dremel.”

    Might turned towards the other two, “Guys, I think we’re getting close to the town.”

    “How close?” Bullet said, and turned back around moments before the El Fuego Winnebago drove straight through a tavern.

    The Tour Bus careened through the back wall of the ramshackle establishment like it was made of cardboard. It was, but that was beside the point. Tables and chairs were shredded and patrons screamed as they leapt for safety. Bullet slammed the brakes, and the Tour Bus skidded sideways before smashing through the front wall of the bar where it spun to a stop in the dusty town square on the other side.

    “You have reached your destination.” the gps chirped happily, as though proud of the carnage it had caused.

    Might, completely unphased by this development, leaned back in his chair and took a long sip of a root beer float.

    “Where did you get that?” Bullet asked.

    “I caught it.” Might said, as though it was obvious.

    “Dang it, Bullet.” Darci muttered, she’d sailed head first into the front seat with her legs kicking up in air. “You’re lucky. Distracted driving laws are no longer a thing. Might give me a hand. I’m putting a bullbar on Roddi tomorrow.”

    “Let me finish this drink first.” he offered.

    “Scrap it, you’re useless, Might.” One of Darci’s many braids sprang to life, latching onto the back of the seat and pulled herself upright.

    “What in tarnation!?!?!”

    A group of Stylists crawled out of the rubble that had previously been a drinking establishment in only slightly better condition. There were three of them. One, a man with a three foot low curly purple moustache and a huge cowboy hat, one a lady with platinum hair all up in spikes, and one a huge shirtless man whose chest hair had formed a suit of armor.

    “Did you say something, Might?” Darci tilted her head with a frown.

    “Who do you varmints think you are drivin’ your fancy machine through our fine establishment?” The hat wearing Stylist shouted.

    “I swear I didn’t say anything,” Might said. “I’m still drinking.”

    “Maybe the Navigator Voice system is acting up again,” Darci muttered, as she crawled onto the floor, shoving Might’s legs out of the way, and started digging around in the underside of the dashboard. “Mice have chewed on the wires before.”

    “Hey, we’re talking to you!” shouted the guy who was armored with chest hair.

    Bullet tried to climb out of the driver’s seat and accidentally hit the horn, sending a loud, cheerful jingle through the town and announcing their presence to everyone.

    “Did they just honk at us?” asked the spiky haired lady.

    “Those bastards!” said Chest Hair Man.

    “Would you guys shut up for the last time!!” Darci bellowed for everyone to hear. “I’m trying to work here.”

    As the three newcomers started to bicker with each other yet again, the outlaw Stylists began seething with anger at being ignored. Meanwhile, the other residents of the town started to cautiously gather around, knowing that a Show was about to begin.
     
    Last edited: Aug 27, 2018
  2. Gamzee Makara

    Gamzee Makara Let people enjoy things...

    "This town is void of new and/or relevant data. Proceeding to exit. Destination:Fall Haven."

    A strange figure walked through the town, more machine than woman. Her name...was irrelevant at the moment.

    She walked with mechanical precision, heading off to the next area on her mind...when, upon reaching the outskirts of town, a blur crashed into the nearby building and totaled it.


    A group of 3 people, whom the mysterious creepy lady determined were coming from the vehicle, proceeded to fly out and bicker about irrelevant things. But then, 3 patrons of the cardboard building ran out and began spouting emotional drivel.

    Her mind entered began processing data crunching numbers, determining that the Winners of the upcoming Show were 85% likely to become a source of fresh data, Hair Gel and engaging combat. She also calculated that the winner will likely not be from this irrelevant town. So upon making a decision, she chose to aid the 3 who came in like a wrecking ball.

    Neural log as follows:

    "Anomaly detected:Show detected at corner sustenance vendor. Proceed y/n?

    y

    Let's gooo! Time to show off the neural and technological superiority of Stink Brain!"
     
  3. GoldenHouou

    GoldenHouou Up To No Good

    A lavishly decorated litter stood on the edge of the town square. Though it was purposefully parked in the shade, the many (fake) jewels embedded onto its frame seemed to glisten in what little stripes of sunlight managed to brush over its surface. Underneath, two large, shirtless hunks held onto the carriage, keeping it hoisted high above their heads with tireless, beefy arms. The men looked like statues; unmoving, symmetrical, and utterly lacking brain functions.

    Just the way Dr. Valentine liked them.

    She was sitting inside her lavish litter, back resting on a sea of silky pillows fashioned in the form of human organs. Or perhaps they were human organs repurposed as pillows. Few knew, fever still were willing to find out. The last person to ask her questions of similar nature had only given her ideas - and then been ‘volunteered’ to help test them.

    Bored and thirsty - for alcohol, for once - Dr. Valentine was occupying herself by flipping through a hair catalog. Or, rather, she was sitting back and tapping an impatient finger against her cheek while her hair flipped the pages for her. Augustus, her man-shaped 'fro, was usually armless - but with a few choice concoctions and enough Foliculum Z, he could get functional arms momentarily. And what better way to use a rare and sought-after resource than for menial labour?

    ... Speaking of, she was starting to run out. Of both, the Foliculum and patience. She had sent Theodore to fetch her a refreshment about--- what, two minutes ago by now? Where was that goon, didn’t he know it was rude to keep a lady waiting? Ugh, she’d had enough.

    Bert,” she called out from her comfortable seat. Out of nowhere, a third hunk appeared next to the two that held the litter. Dr. Valentine spared him a passing glance, then flicked her wrist dismissively. “Be a dear and go see what’s taking Theodore so long. My throat is dry, and my head is feeling a little too clear.”

    He left.

    A moment later, the entire world outside exploded into a ruckus.

    Dr. Valentine peeled aside the curtains and stuck her head out, brows furrowed. “What in the name of--”

    The first thing she saw was the ruins of the drinking facility, and Bert running back towards her. He was carrying Theodore - who was carrying a very startled man. Who was holding a pint of beer to his chest. The doctor squinted.

    “And what is that?”

    Bert knelt on one knee and held everything up to the litter’s window. He let out a singular grunt, something akin to: “Grh.”

    “What?!” the good doctor gasped, anger flaring. “So you’re saying someone drove the entire bar establishment to the ground - which wasn’t a surprise considering how flimsily it was build, you'd say - and that all the alcohol is now gone, except this one pint this man is holding?”

    “Ghruh.”

    “You imbecile!”

    Dr. Valentine kicked open the litter’s door, mercilessly stepping onto her hunks as she made her way onto the ground.

    That-- ” she hissed, jabbing an accusing finger in the pint’s direction. “-- is beer. Have you seen a proper lady drink... drink beer? The thought is repulsive. Unthinkable. Ugh, now I’m disgusted. I’m disgusted, Bert, and you know I do disgusting things when I’m disgusted. Is that what you want, Bert? Is that how you want to see me?”

    If it was humanly possibly to answer something with a singular question-mark, Bert would have. That’s the look he had.

    Dr. Valentine threw her catalog in the beer-holding man’s face and pushed past her gorillas to stomp towards the commotion. Fine. She would just get her high from stabbing people in the gut.

    She made her way through the crowd to better see the center of the conflict, leaving lesser people dropping unconscious in her wake, poisoned by her toxic aura. Or her perfume. There wasn’t much of a difference, really.
     
  4. Solsabre

    Solsabre The Reforged Soul

    Darci Jones
    Mechanic extraordinaire

    Darci dug around in the underside of the dashboard, her arms completely disappeared into the wire up to her elbows. Her legs rested across the front seat between Might and Bullet, while her back laid on the floor. Occasionally, she gave the useless pair a kick in the side for being... utterly useless.

    Her ever moving braids skillfully parted the sea of wires to give her a clear view of her hands. While the nitwits on either side of her were pointless to keep around, her braids never failed her.

    “Might toss that root beer float out the window, before you spill it all over the upholstery or me, for that matter.” Darci muttered, as she kicked him again (not considering that such an action could cause him to spill said drink).

    At that moment, her hand discovered a frayed and broken wire. Pulling the wire forward, Darci swore to the Almighty Machine in the sky. Dang mice. They'd chewed the wire completely through. She need to concieve a counter measure in Roddi's systems to deal with them automatically. One of her small braids passed a pair of pliers to her gloved hands. With a quick snip to remove the damage portion, Darci twisted the broken ends back together.

    Unfortunately, the repaired wire was connected to Roddi's alarm system, setting off the horn and lights in an alarming (and quite deafening) display.
     
    Last edited: Sep 24, 2018

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