setting
Index was once a small and close-knit community, but the town located on the western side of Washington state has grown in recent years beyond anyone's expectations. It is the ideal place for those who work in Seattle but can't afford the city's high real estate prices, and for others the natural beauty attracts them to the town. And Index truly is a beautiful place - surrounded by thick evergreen trees, tall mountains and glistening rivers and lakes. While weather is typically rainy with overcast skies even this does nothing to take away from the beauty of the town, and it is only highlighted further when the heavy snow graces the town and caps the mountains in winter. To many, Index would seem like a paradise. And yet lurking beneath this visual beauty there is more to this town than anyone might ever imagine...

Current Time in Index, Washington:
rules
PLAYBYS: Sims from the games Sims 2, 3 and 4 are used to visually represent player’s original characters (no characters from within the franchise are allowed). But, you do not need these games to join and roleplay! If you wish, you can post a thread in our out of character / general forum and list as many physical details about your character as you wish. The members of Index will happily try and make a character for you, and you can choose which one you feel best fits your vision.

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When creating a thread you are required to place a tag before the title. Here are a list of types of thread you can create and how to tag each one:

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MATURITY RATING: Public threads should all be PG. If roleplayers above the age of 18 wish to post content that could be could be considered graphic then it should be hidden from view using the [hide] [/hide] code, which will enable only those in the threads and administrators to view the content.


 [Closed] Get some fucking help already.

[Closed] Get some fucking help already.

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[Closed] Get some fucking help already.

Vincent Sawyer Byrne | Wolf; Pack Master/Alpha

Posted on Sun Nov 30, 2014 8:51 pm

Thread Details

Peyton's Home | Overcast | 4:45 P.M.


OOC Message
While this is a closed thread, a reaction post from Peyton is allowed if you desire. If not, that's fine too. <3


What the fuck was I doing here? An even more annoying fucking question was how the fuck I had remembered she asked for Southern Comfort during my first lesson. I had to keep reminding myself that I was here for myself, and not for her. Maybe it would be an act of kindness that would lift her mood just enough, just enough to give her the fucking motivation to let someone fucking help her. She hadn't put off our next lesson, but I had. If she was half focusing on her pain and healing, then she would only be half focusing on the task of teaching me, which equals a fucking half assed job. She would take longer to fucking heal if she was doing everything on her own. Bottom line, she needed someone, I didn't give a fuck if she thought otherwise. And I needed her healed and back to normal as soon as fucking possible.

I walked up to her porch, a disgusted look on my face the entire time. I wanted to fucking punch myself. This was fucking stupid, it was fucking gay, it was fucking stupid! I didn't knock and I didn't waste any time. I just dropped the paper bag off on her doorstep and turned to walk back to my truck. Inside the bag was a bottle of Southern Comfort and an Equilibrium album. On the outside of the bag I had written ''Get some fucking help already.'' in sharpie. I wanted to turn around and go get the shit and leave but I didn't. I got in my truck and drove off, feeling increasingly angry as I drove.  Fuck this was stupid...

#VinSolo

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Re: [Closed] Get some fucking help already.

Peyton Marx | Wolf; Warlord/Battlelord

Posted on Sun Nov 30, 2014 11:13 pm

Today had felt like it was jumping from 'shitty' to 'shittier'. After I'd finally managed to drag my ass out of the bath, which had been fucking freezing at that point, I'd figured I'd do something to distract myself, like painting or watching the shit that I'd recorded and hadn't had a chance to. Like, fuck why not use this glorious waste of time it took to heal to at least waste that time productively. Okay, so watching tv wasn't exactly fucking productive but it was better than doing nothing. I'd managed to bandage my back again, but I'd already been pissed of to the point of throwing shit that it'd taken even longer than before. If I'd just had something to actually do then it might've helped take my mind off all this shit. Instead I was just fucking sitting here feeling like I was trapped or something, which was fucking stupid and I knew it which only made things worse.

But painting hadn't worked out and everything I tried to watch on tv had bored the shit out of me. Any time I'd ever felt like this in that past I'd had training to distract me, but that was obviously off the goddamn table. For hours I'd just sat there, doodling bullshit in a sketchbook beside the fire, feeling hungry occasionally but forgetting about it until my stomach started growling again. I'd even started to doze off when the sound of a truck snapped me out of it. I rolled over on the couch, lifting the curtain aside slightly, and seeing him of all people getting out. What the hell was he doing here. I let the curtain fall back into place, listening to the sound of his footsteps to the point where they were coming up the porch stairs, stopping outside the door. I frowned, wondering if I could pretend not to fucking be here... but then not even knowing why I'd do that. The footsteps start up again, leaving this time, another glance out my window proving it. Why the fuck would he come here and fucking leave again. I got up, walking to door and briefly contemplating what I'd fucking do to him if he'd pulled the paper bag full of dog shit trick on me. When I pulled it open I almost laughed because there actually was a fucking paper bag. What was inside was way more fucking surprising than dog shit would ever be. I pulled out the bottle, then the album, feeling... just fucking weird. The writing on the side of the bag was less confusing, which I was fucking grateful for. I closed the door, carrying the stuff over to the kitchen table and setting it down before pulling out a chair. Wasting no fucking time I opened the bottle. I'd fucking need it too, since obviously I had a lot of thinking to do. 



Awhile later- and a good bit of the Southern Comfort- I got my phone, bringing up my contacts. For a second I just smirked, making a quick change before actually typing the text.

Porch Monkey
Fuck it, fine. I'll fucking do something about it. And stop using this as an excuse to play fucking hooky.

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