REVOLUTIONIST, remy foster
posted Nov 6, 2018 1:48:19 GMT -6
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[attr="class","omapponetop2"]revolution calling
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REMY FOSTER
REMY FOSTER
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REMY FOSTER
LOOKS LIKE ALCION FROM MERC STORIA
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FILE NAVIGATION
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ABOUT REMY
ABOUT REMY
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RE, FOS, HYENA
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RE, FOS, HYENA
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24 YEARS OLD
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24 YEARS OLD
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NONBINARY
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NONBINARY
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THEY/THEM/THEIR
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THEY/THEM/THEIR
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OMNISEXUAL
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OMNISEXUAL
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OMNIROMANTIC
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OMNIROMANTIC
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SINGLE
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SINGLE
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APRIL 01
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APRIL 01
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ARIES
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ARIES
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SPY, CASINO DEALER
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SPY, CASINO DEALER
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RECENT STATUS
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when I stopped a rusted chain tangled me up, tying my body onto the ground
when I stopped a rusted chain tangled me up, tying my body onto the ground
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Trickles of laughter in the air; hear it, breathe it in, then consume it. Consume it as though it’s water and as though you’re dying of dehydration in a desert, and then just as easily laugh as though you mean it. What? That was the wrong time? You’re almost sorry. (That’s why they called you Hyena. Snarling and laughing just ‘cause that’s instinct, the two interchangeable because you laugh when you don’t know what to think, when you’re sad, when you’re terrified ‘cause the world just won’t stop shaking. But that might be ‘cause you keep helping the world blur and shake and destroy itself.)[break][break]
You know how to wait but you don’t know how to ask for help. Isn’t that so foolish? So foolish when you wait, expectant, as though they can read your mind, and then you get so disappointed when they don’t know, don’t know and don’t help. But damn, you’re so convinced if you share more than what is due, well, the world will come right out from under you. Or maybe it’s ‘cause you’re convinced you’re not worth the effort to listen to outside of what’s asked, ‘cause quite frankly you hate yourself almost as much as you do this corrupt society.[break][break]
Curiosity gets you through the foggy mornings and painfully sharp days, and it makes you damn good at your job, just like your penchant for casual chatty behavior and just like your perceptive eyes. The nights where you can pretend that you’re cheerful, unbothered, and suave are your blood, but the moonless nights filled with absentminded discussion and loud jokes are your bones. It’s the closest you can get to being purposefully open on both accounts, just different facets of what you keep back behind graceful sweeps of hands and card tricks. Everything in between is erratic, erratic unless someone grabs your wrist and tells you “Stay,” like the dog you are.[break][break]
You play at sweet, even grand and flamboyant, but at your core, you’re a hateful dog. You have no interest in the greedy hands that call you over from time to time. You know where those hands have been, after all, know it and despise so harshly. (You know the hands that you stick with are just as bloody, just as dirty – you’re not gullible, hard to be in either of your lines of work, but damn will you blink up with blank eyes at the faintest notion of being needed and pretend that you can live with the results.)[break][break]
"Does that make me a hypocrite?" You laugh. Laugh, laugh, laugh. "Guess that's just something I'll have to live with, huh?"
Trickles of laughter in the air; hear it, breathe it in, then consume it. Consume it as though it’s water and as though you’re dying of dehydration in a desert, and then just as easily laugh as though you mean it. What? That was the wrong time? You’re almost sorry. (That’s why they called you Hyena. Snarling and laughing just ‘cause that’s instinct, the two interchangeable because you laugh when you don’t know what to think, when you’re sad, when you’re terrified ‘cause the world just won’t stop shaking. But that might be ‘cause you keep helping the world blur and shake and destroy itself.)[break][break]
You know how to wait but you don’t know how to ask for help. Isn’t that so foolish? So foolish when you wait, expectant, as though they can read your mind, and then you get so disappointed when they don’t know, don’t know and don’t help. But damn, you’re so convinced if you share more than what is due, well, the world will come right out from under you. Or maybe it’s ‘cause you’re convinced you’re not worth the effort to listen to outside of what’s asked, ‘cause quite frankly you hate yourself almost as much as you do this corrupt society.[break][break]
Curiosity gets you through the foggy mornings and painfully sharp days, and it makes you damn good at your job, just like your penchant for casual chatty behavior and just like your perceptive eyes. The nights where you can pretend that you’re cheerful, unbothered, and suave are your blood, but the moonless nights filled with absentminded discussion and loud jokes are your bones. It’s the closest you can get to being purposefully open on both accounts, just different facets of what you keep back behind graceful sweeps of hands and card tricks. Everything in between is erratic, erratic unless someone grabs your wrist and tells you “Stay,” like the dog you are.[break][break]
You play at sweet, even grand and flamboyant, but at your core, you’re a hateful dog. You have no interest in the greedy hands that call you over from time to time. You know where those hands have been, after all, know it and despise so harshly. (You know the hands that you stick with are just as bloody, just as dirty – you’re not gullible, hard to be in either of your lines of work, but damn will you blink up with blank eyes at the faintest notion of being needed and pretend that you can live with the results.)[break][break]
"Does that make me a hypocrite?" You laugh. Laugh, laugh, laugh. "Guess that's just something I'll have to live with, huh?"
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MISCELLANEOUS INFO
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- You stand at five foot seven inches and weigh a grand total of 126 pounds, your body lithe and only slightly built from running. Your talents lie more in surprise attacks and evasion rather than outright brawls, so no mistake that you're not the first one they call to settle down a drunk in the casino.
- Your body is scarred by wounds - fire, knives, the works - and marred by tattoos that you've had stung into your face, ink running around eyes in the shape of a sun, and later a ring. You've been told it makes you look like a clown; you don't really mind. You'll show them off and pretend that you're not hiding the rest of the scars carved and burned into your body, grinning oh so easily.
- Cards are your best talent, able to do flashy tricks just as easily as hidden cheats with a side of misdirection. You think it's the only thing you're good at outside of hunting for information, and so you suspect you won't be leaving the casino tables any time soon - not that you exactly mind. Card games are fun, and you even get a few bucks on the side for doing tarot readings.
- You have a tendency to laugh when you don't know what else to do, how to react, how to function. This little habit of yours led to you being called Hyena for many years by those that sought to hurt you while they used you, and so you have no joy for the name. In fact, you'll stiffen and laugh even more. (But what that laugh means? You don't know.)
- Not a fan of music outside of arcade jingles, yet you absolutely cannot stand the chime of Pacman.
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+cards
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+rain
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+zoo's
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-greed
-law enforcement
-music
-cats
-laughing
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[attr="class","omapponetabs3"]SUBJECT BIOGRAPHY
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The saying is good things come in threes. But you three? You aren’t good at all. She steals and he breaks, you lie and take, hoping that somewhere along the way in these dusty streets, where the sun harshly beats down on you and where the music from various casinos shifts into tiny ears, that you’ll be able to stop. Stop and just play, holding their hands like you imagine someone precious would. [break][break]
But, the thing is, it’s hard to change; years pass and she still steals, and he still breaks, and you still laugh while lying and taking. The proclamation of fifteen comes and goes and you still huddle together in shelters to hide away from the system that left you to hang and dry from the start. He says, “What does it matter? I’ve got you two.” She says, “I love you.”[break][break]
You? You laugh and say, “Let me pull out the cards.” [break][break]
I think I love you too, I think I could hold you close and let myself be torn apart just for you two. “Got an ace or a two?” Pretend to misunderstand them and you can’t chase them away, right? Can’t end up like the days in the system where you bled and cried under the eyes of those who were supposed to watch you but who really only did it for welfare subsidies, for bonuses, for dark alleys and wounds. [break][break]
They get it anyway, somehow. Cling to you tight, and you cling just as much. [break][break]
(That too doesn’t change easily. Not without force and pressure, anyway.)[break][break]
”This evening, an abandoned warehouse went up into flames. Officials are calling it a result of a gas leak –“[break][break]
Hands shake, covering a face, the flames touched an arm and you don’t know where to go. You laugh, she cries, and he’s not breathing anymore. “Liars!” You feel her more than you hear her bite into your shoulder, because she wants to hide, too. Makes sense, really. Beautiful faces are still subject to burns, wild and uncontrollable products of greedy flames. “Liars, all of them! I hate them, hate them hate them hate them!”[break][break]
” – Not to worry, we’re having the area quarantined just in case, but we suspect that there should otherwise be no danger.”[break][break]
Open your mouth, try to breathe, maybe try to cry. Instead, you just laugh again. “I hate them too.” Your eyes remember how to release tears, but still you laugh and hold her tight.[break][break]
And then? What happens then? You let her go the next morning. [break][break]
Why? Because she wants revenge. And you? You want to die.[break][break]
Forged documents state you’re older than you actually are, and that’s just enough to get in the casino business. Cards are your saving grace, brittle laughter sounding just the slightest bit more genuine at the failures of the grotesque seeking out greed. “Know how to drink?” You wave it away. “Not yet, not quite legal here, you know?”[break][break]
You hate it here. This place where you roam around alone, and the cards in your pocket can’t distract you from that unless you want to make a fool out of yourself in a park, playing “magic tricks.” You hate it here, but you stay, you stay as you drink up the information people give you so freely and the information you learn to take just as easily as the food you used to steal and the money you used to snatch with your quick hands. You laugh and you hate, and they call you Hyena with strange looks on their faces, the type that makes your skin crawl and later scar. [break][break]
Yeah. You hate it here. But you don’t leave till you’re twenty. And then where do you go? North, first. Thinking maybe you’ll go to Canada, except Seattle and its lights draw you in.[break][break]
”Hey, kid. Your card tricks aren’t so bad. Ever worked a table before?”[break][break]
You laugh at the people in this different casino and aren’t surprised to see that their eyes are the same, same same same, won’t they stop looking? Push them away if you can – except you can’t, can you? You hear too much, maybe. Maybe, because a talk about radical speeches in the park draws your ears and has you taking it easy on them just to keep them at your tables. The park is a revelation – and you laugh so quietly and yet so hard that you think you might cry for the first time since you’ve been sixteen and in love.[break][break]
It’s attractive. It’s also probably a lie. Yet you still look into it, drawn in and blinded to where you don’t realize until you’re face to face with the leader that it’s because they let you. Russian roulette is just another game, you almost say as much – who hasn’t been killed out of debt in gambling dens, in the very casinos you worked at? But the promises keep you there, and not just the ones given to you.For if you promise, then you’re needed to fulfill them, are you not?[break][break]
And, in a twisted way, those promises keep you alive even as you burn from the inside out, burning and choking on laughter that you’re taught to view as a safeguard. [break][break]
Twenty-four and still here, much to your disbelief as you fold over, protecting scars from view and laughing ever so loudly as though it's not just a barbed wire held at your own throat. Are you alone? Yes and no; these people you work for aren't good, but nor are you, and you find yourself thinking, "So long as they need me, I'll be theirs."[break][break]
Will it end horrifically for you? Undoubtedly. But, you think, it's also true you deserve every bit of a bad end. And if you're helpful to someone in the meantime, then what does the broken bits matter?They do. They do, they do, they do, and this too will be something to think over after shifts in the casino, when you look up at the night and know that you're just as much of a coward as you've always been.[break][break]
Remember. Change isn't easy. And you? You're just getting worse.
content warning: allusions to child abuse/neglect, suicidal thoughts
[break][break]three
The saying is good things come in threes. But you three? You aren’t good at all. She steals and he breaks, you lie and take, hoping that somewhere along the way in these dusty streets, where the sun harshly beats down on you and where the music from various casinos shifts into tiny ears, that you’ll be able to stop. Stop and just play, holding their hands like you imagine someone precious would. [break][break]
But, the thing is, it’s hard to change; years pass and she still steals, and he still breaks, and you still laugh while lying and taking. The proclamation of fifteen comes and goes and you still huddle together in shelters to hide away from the system that left you to hang and dry from the start. He says, “What does it matter? I’ve got you two.” She says, “I love you.”[break][break]
You? You laugh and say, “Let me pull out the cards.” [break][break]
They get it anyway, somehow. Cling to you tight, and you cling just as much. [break][break]
(That too doesn’t change easily. Not without force and pressure, anyway.)[break][break]
two
”This evening, an abandoned warehouse went up into flames. Officials are calling it a result of a gas leak –“[break][break]
Hands shake, covering a face, the flames touched an arm and you don’t know where to go. You laugh, she cries, and he’s not breathing anymore. “Liars!” You feel her more than you hear her bite into your shoulder, because she wants to hide, too. Makes sense, really. Beautiful faces are still subject to burns, wild and uncontrollable products of greedy flames. “Liars, all of them! I hate them, hate them hate them hate them!”[break][break]
” – Not to worry, we’re having the area quarantined just in case, but we suspect that there should otherwise be no danger.”[break][break]
Open your mouth, try to breathe, maybe try to cry. Instead, you just laugh again. “I hate them too.” Your eyes remember how to release tears, but still you laugh and hold her tight.[break][break]
Why? Because she wants revenge. And you? You want to die.
one
Forged documents state you’re older than you actually are, and that’s just enough to get in the casino business. Cards are your saving grace, brittle laughter sounding just the slightest bit more genuine at the failures of the grotesque seeking out greed. “Know how to drink?” You wave it away. “Not yet, not quite legal here, you know?”[break][break]
You hate it here. This place where you roam around alone, and the cards in your pocket can’t distract you from that unless you want to make a fool out of yourself in a park, playing “magic tricks.” You hate it here, but you stay, you stay as you drink up the information people give you so freely and the information you learn to take just as easily as the food you used to steal and the money you used to snatch with your quick hands. You laugh and you hate, and they call you Hyena with strange looks on their faces, the type that makes your skin crawl and later scar. [break][break]
Yeah. You hate it here. But you don’t leave till you’re twenty. And then where do you go? North, first. Thinking maybe you’ll go to Canada, except Seattle and its lights draw you in.[break][break]
”Hey, kid. Your card tricks aren’t so bad. Ever worked a table before?”[break][break]
You laugh at the people in this different casino and aren’t surprised to see that their eyes are the same, same same same, won’t they stop looking? Push them away if you can – except you can’t, can you? You hear too much, maybe. Maybe, because a talk about radical speeches in the park draws your ears and has you taking it easy on them just to keep them at your tables. The park is a revelation – and you laugh so quietly and yet so hard that you think you might cry for the first time since you’ve been sixteen and in love.[break][break]
It’s attractive. It’s also probably a lie. Yet you still look into it, drawn in and blinded to where you don’t realize until you’re face to face with the leader that it’s because they let you. Russian roulette is just another game, you almost say as much – who hasn’t been killed out of debt in gambling dens, in the very casinos you worked at? But the promises keep you there, and not just the ones given to you.
And, in a twisted way, those promises keep you alive even as you burn from the inside out, burning and choking on laughter that you’re taught to view as a safeguard. [break][break]
zero
Twenty-four and still here, much to your disbelief as you fold over, protecting scars from view and laughing ever so loudly as though it's not just a barbed wire held at your own throat. Are you alone? Yes and no; these people you work for aren't good, but nor are you, and you find yourself thinking, "So long as they need me, I'll be theirs."[break][break]
Will it end horrifically for you? Undoubtedly. But, you think, it's also true you deserve every bit of a bad end. And if you're helpful to someone in the meantime, then what does the broken bits matter?
Remember. Change isn't easy. And you? You're just getting worse.
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call me
WISP
call me
WISP
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On Discord @ches#8854
19 YEARS OLD | SHE/HER | GMT-8/PST |
On Discord @ches#8854
[attr="class","omapponerenown"]
5%
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