when you play a villain, the other muse is just aggravating them and you don’t know how to proceed since you can’t kill them without their consent but anything else would be ooc
((Half of your muses would be dead. Ahahahaha!))
"Alright, that is enough! I am outlawing these ‘hamburgers’ once and for all! They are Un-Plegian and have no place in our society! French fries shall be replaced with falafel, and every humble hamburger restaurant will now be restricted to serving only patriotic, Plegian created shawarma!
Down with Ylissean influence!”
"Bury the hatchet? I’d rather bury them- preferably in mass graves! Gyaaahahahaha!
Have you ever heard of the saying, ‘an eye for an eye?’ The Law of Retaliation: a Plegian saying dating back to the year of my country’s founding. Everything I’ve done, all of the seemingly unspeakable horrors that I have committed against the Ylissean people, are nothing that I haven’t endured myself.
The Ylisseans so generously gave me a genocide, and I intend to pay them back in full. Unfortunately for them, I’m just a little more skilled in the art of ethnic cleansing than they ever anticipated.
Get it through your thick skull. Diplomacy is found only at the tip of a sword.”
"Right. Because if you wait a few months, Plegia will simply grow legs and walk away! Everybody bring out the confetti and streamers- it’s a Saturnalia miracle! Gyaaahahahaha!
You call me the bully, but it’s you who are approaching me to begin with! This is my territory- you could have stayed away if you wished to. You whores always come crawling back to Daddy, though, don’t you?
Gwee hee hee!”
Tagged by forgottenstrategy
1. What’s your name? People always ask me how I pronounce my name. Eem-ho-tep or Im-ho-tep. I always tell them the same thing: how dare you speak to me?
2. When is your birthday? All I know is that my favorite activity is to put on my birthday suit and chase random ladies down the street. I always party like it’s my birthday.
3. Where are you from? Shithole, Egypt. What? Are you going to hate on me because I’m African? Racist.
4. Have a crush? Sure I do. I like to make huge faces in the sand and smash people against the walls of my sand-mouth. …I’m bored, okay? Bored and hungry. Is it cannibalism if I eat people with my sand-mouth? Whatever. I’m a zombie-eating mortals is what I do.
5. What’s your favorite color? Why do mortals always feel that this is such an important question? Everybody always asks me what my damn favorite color is. I’m a few thousand years old. You could ask me a multitude of questions about a long dead race and culture, and all you can think of is “What’s your favorite color?”
6. Write something in caps: fuck the man
7. Got a favorite band/artist? Not those stupid rubber bands in the shape of animals. When I was a kid, we wore gold bracelets. Now those were something special! Those animal rubber bands? You can’t even tell what they’re supposed to be when you’re wearing them! It’s just stupid! I’d like to take those rubber bands and wind them around their throats, and- Gotta relax. Remember your blood pressure, Im. …Oh wait, I don’t have blood. Never mind.
8. Favorite number? 69. Aw yeah. Hey man, you’re only as old as you feel. Don’t let old age prevent you from banging that hot chick down the block. Just look at me- thousands of years old and still screwing people’s mothers. …Wait a second. I got around back in my old mortal days, so… Is it possible that I’m screwing my great, great, great granddaughter? Oh, that’s sick. Kind of kinky, but sick.
9. Favorite drink? Is sand a liquid?
10. Tag 10 people: I’m a mummy; I do what I want.
((Thank you! He’s beautiful! *brought a little tear to my eye*))
"If they are, then remind me to send a certificate and a gift basket to her surgeon. The man deserves a national commendation! Gyaaahahahaha!
Something I’ve noticed amongst the horde of insecure silicone-breasted women: hard, misshapen breasts, with little to no feeling in the nipples, an off-color skin tone in the surrounding breast tissue, scarring, one breast bigger ending up bigger or pointed in a different direction than the other, you surely understand my meaning.
I rarely see a breast augmentation go well. Aversa may be my favorite pair of tits on legs to walk this wretched earth! Gyahahahaha! She has the ultimate pair of breasts: firm, perky, jiggling- a man’s wet dream through and through.”
"My most prized possession? Believe it or not, I would give up every last piece of gold I ever owned, all for a key chain. Come, come- take a look, if you will at dear, sweet Gangrel’s pride and joy.
It’s my mother’s memento, after all, and despite the rust and the thin layer of irremovable grease, this one little bell is truly my most prized possession. Don’t bother trying to rob me, now. This old thing wouldn’t fetch a single gold in the market; its value is entirely sentimental.
When I was a boy, my mother once told me that I could own the world and still be wanting. After all, money can’t buy happiness, and it will never be more important than family. Pfft! I laughed in her face! Honestly, what did she expect from a six year old, living in the slums, watching his ‘betters’ wander around the markets, gorging themselves on sweetmeats?
…Oh, the old woman was right, though. She always was. What I wouldn’t give to wake up in my old filthy shack, with my brother giving me hell and my mother just down the hallway. Strange, isn’t it? For years, I thought them both invincible, somehow holding on to the foolish belief that they would live forever, despite the knowledge that everybody dies sooner or later.
You just never expect it to happen to the ones you love. You’re never prepared when it happens, and sometimes, even decades later, you still can’t force yourself to believe that they’re gone. That’s loss for you.
My home and my family are gone. I know that to be true, and neither gold nor prayer could ever bring them back. But I know it could be worse. At the very least, I’m a damned king, and there are plenty of other Plegians worse off than I am. My mother was right- money can’t buy happiness, and it will never be more important than family.
What it can buy me, however, is comfort. Does this crown of mine make up for losing my mother to the war the Ylisseans started? Of course not. But when I’m drunk in the middle of an orgy, or a dance, or a feast, sometimes, if I’m lucky, I can get myself to stop fucking thinking about it for a moment.”
Commander Valen (Ambiguously Brown) Shepard- Earth’s smelliest, vaguely brown hero. His skills: murder, intimidation, sweating, passing gas, and passing off as any race.
His secret for killing the Reapers? Suffocating them to death with his stank. He hasn’t changed his boxers in weeks. His secret for dealing with offending mercs? Confusing them to death.
"Hey Johnson, what the hell is that guy supposed to be? Yeah, that guy right there, tearing through our defenses.
I know he’s a human- don’t be a fuckin’ idiot. I mean what is he? Is he Mexican, or… or what? You think Italian? I don’t know. Maybe Native American? Or maybe an Indian guy? Or some sort of Inuit? I don’t know… Thai?! He can’t just be light-skinned black person- that’s too obvious! …Or can he? Don’t tell me he’s actually some sort of Arab! Or even… AN ABORIGINE! God, I just… I don’t know, man! I just don’t know! I can’t take this anymore! I CAN’T TAKE THIS ANYMO-“