George RPs

RP: George.
(Note, this is mostly to see if I'm doing it right. :P)

“When I said we’re going to see ruthless animals, treated terribly, tearing each other apart, I did not mean the zoo.”

“Wall Street?”

“No, the clearance isle.”

-

“You must accept your duty!” The Whill pleads.

“No.”

-

Then I wake up.

-

(Narrator.)

George shutters with a strange realization. His duty, spoken to him through a dream. But George is not so sure. He stands on the brink of losing everyone he knowns, both ways.

He’ll be sent away, forever if he joins the Whill, but if he stays with his friends, he and his brothers will surely be smashed. He melancholily looks to the wall. On it is a single painting, that George had almost never paid attention. The painting the came with the room, ironically enough reflecting his emotions.

A stark-white streak blurs down the center, on one side being a mucky brown, the other being a dull grey. A shadow of a man stands on the streak, looking on the horizon, to a hazy unknown.

“Who am I?” George asks himself, his voice stale.

“You are George, a Lieutenant in the Emerald Federation’s First Army.” A digitalized voice chirps.

Looking to the doorway, George stars at a maid droid, all he makes out is the outline, for the only light comes from the lighting crackling outside, and the hallway’s burning light.

“Yeah, yeah, thank you. I wasn’t asking you.” He grumpily replies.

The droid answers somberly. “That is illogical, for there is no one in this room.”

George smiles, at the droid’s program, limiting its mind. “Myself. That’s who.”

“Organic species talk to themselves? I am not programmed to do that.”

“You know, droid,” George tells her. “You’re lucky. Your programmed for one job, cleaning. You KNOW what to do, and don’t have to worry about morals, and life’s problems.”

The emotionless droid gives a reply. “That is true. I find that fulfilling my task if fulfilling my purpose.”

George looks up from the wall, lightning crackling, illuminating the room for a glimmer of a second. “What do you do when something’s blocking you from doing your task?” He asks, his voice simply unsure.

“Logic error Zero-One-One-Two. It is not my task to clear the way so I can clean. It is my job to clean, nothing else.”

“And if you’re ordered to do something else.”

“That would-be logic error One-One-Five. I am programmed for my task, and that is what I follow, nothing else.”

“You know, droid, you’ve helped me a lot.”

“May I clean now?”

George cracks a smile, as he stands. “Sure.”

(RP Over.)

I truly love You, Jesus!

Thud, thud.” I count the beats of my heart, one by one. Once, thrice, five, seven times, my heart’s hammer slams into the think hide of the intangible drum.

As hours slip through my fingers, I slowly lose count of my heart beats.

And sudden, I am gone.

-

“You can lay it down, you can lay it down!”

My eyes open, and I stare at sun, flooding the room through a giant window, above a bronze-colored faucet. Looking to my left, I stare at some ancient device. It has a large screen, that has two sheets of paper showing, with digital words written all across them. A jungle of cords leads to it, then connects to a black box. A keyboard rests on a standing desk, attatch to the wall.

“Hello, George.”

I whip around to see a boy dressed in a helmet, with google-like an ancient sucbadiver-with a bright, lime-green shirt that gleams with the force oif a thousand suns. He then wears jeans, and navy-blue shoes.

“Who-and what are you?” I ask, confused.

“Oh, sorry, I was cosplaying.” He says, while taking off his helmet. ‘’Names Mando. Mando, Underscore, Knight.”

He takes off his shirt, luckily revealing another shirt. This one has a cross plastered on it, with a loin’s face inside it. Then, it has some language I can’t read, oddly enough. I’ve studied practically hundreds.

“What’s that language?” I ask, as he places his shirt on the grey counter-top, beside his helmet.

“English. You wouldn’t know it, for it’s just comes from my ‘area.’”

“What do you mean, ‘area?’” I ask him, noticing his blond hair is in a mess of cowlicks, and strange folding.

“You see, I ‘wrote’ you. And I’ve brought you here, to ask something.”

(Narrator.)

George looks up, like he’s about to scream, but then just says frankly. “Yeah, that’s not that much of a shock.”

The two both laugh, and for a second, a strange silence cloaks them.

George breaks the ice. “So… What do you need?”

“I’m having writers block. I’m sure you know what it is, so I need you to decide what to do next.”

George, is too shocked to reply. The weight of what’s happening finally hits him, like a slap of water. But then he remembers something...

“Wait, why is it that I can’t read your shirt, but I can understand you?”

Mando smiles, and answers. “Um, let’s just sweep that plot hole under the door.”

“So, you want a drink?” Mando asks, awkwardly.

“Sure.”

Mando walks over to the fridge, and Geogre almost laughs at the alien tech. Mando pulls out two cans-unreadable to George, and hand’s one to him.

“What’s this?” George says, but still opensit, and starts chugging it.

“Coco cola. To you, it’d be Krayt Cola.”

All that then can be heard is the sound of slurps, and the music. “I got a heart overflowing, ‘cause I been restored…”

George crumples the can, and tosses it onto the counter. Mando does the same, and the George looks out the window.

“Could we go outside? Fresh air helps me think.”

Mando says nothing, until a gigantic, bantha-sized smirk wraps around it.

-

“I don’t see why I have to wear makeup,” George grumbles as the walk out the door. “I mean, I look like a surfer, that to9ok a shower in flower!”

“Oh, don’t wine,” Mando answers. “You wanted to go outside, and you’d be shot the second you stepped outside.”

“Bad neighborhood?” George asks.

“No,” Mando says with a smile. “I got some neighbors who think that the government is run buy aliens. Oh, and that the Ark of the Covenant was a nuclear weapon given to us by aliens. 9No joke, History channel said that. It was the same guy from the aliens meme, just a bit more shaved.)”

Laughing, the two start brian storming, while walking, basking in the afternoon sun’s light.

-

Have a good day, and GOD Jesus bless!