DOSH

"OI, move the bloody hell out of the way, before you get your 'ead blown off" The name's Mr. Foster, not much else I can tell ya, too confidential. No, I will not take off my mask for you, and I will not tell you my full name, ya fuckin' filthy wanker. In need of some extermination services? I'll get the job done for you, no matter the difficulty. Monsters? Mutants? Hellspawn? Done, done, and done. Well, as long as you have the dosh. Stop being such a pillock, Scully. Your music doesn't impress anyone. (( Independent rp blog for Mr. Foster from Killing Floor, open to multifandom rps, asks, you name it! ))

[mistahfoster]

(( Im sorry for not being on either of my accounts. Things have been kind of rough lately for the past couple days. But I will try to reply as soon as I can. ))

[mistahfoster]

[Sighs.. Lays down. :/ ]

[mistahfoster]

(( Lololol. Calling ME a child when I'm not the one that threw a piss fit about me kindly asking for some space. I didn't ask you to go away, I asked for some space. Loooool. Wow. ))

[mistahfoster]

(( Alright, fine. If that’s the game you want to play. I tried to put my words kindly so we could still be friends, but I guess that didn’t work. Now you’re being childish and trying to make me jealous by sending the things you would normally tag me with to someone else. Or making posts about 'never being nice to strangers again' It’s not working. And I’m sorry you misinterpreted me. But I don’t handle well with children. Especially ones who are supposedly older than me. ))

[mistahfoster]

Misadventures of DJ drunkarse

"Y'know, Fosterrrr, I ain't even ever seen you under that bloody mask.." Scully spoke with a slur, obviously completely smashed at this point, lopsided grin hidden under his balaclava. With a sloppy movement his hand jerked up hooking under the mask just enough for him to pull it up, revealing the other male's face, "Weeeell, aren't you a stunnerr." His own mask was pulled down and he leaned up giving the other male a very sloppy kiss. Tasted of beer too, lucky chap.

"What.. What're you going on about you bloooody cunt.." Foster managed to garble out, staring at him with a lopsided stare. The two had obviously been drinking, perhaps a little too much. And the masked male couldn't help but let out a half surprised half slurred grunt of confusion when the other grabbed him and shoved their lips together. He would have screamed and punched him square in the nose if he wasn't so smashed. Instead he just grabbed him and pulled him closer, chuckling slightly. "I h--ope this is all a dream, or this will be.. one 'ell of a conversation in the morning, eh..?" 

[mistahfoster]

I take a bloody holiday for a little while and you get yourself into a whole mess of shite. Can't leave you alone can I y'old fart.

..Well excuse me, slacker. I can handle myself just fine, pikey. Unlike you.. -snrt-

[screenarcher-deactivated2015051]

[cacawcacaw]

Always one up for a good challenge, the southerner dons a smirk and a finger raises to push up the brim of his cap the slightest bit. “Gimme a holler next time y’ come across a few’a them zombies — ‘n’ I’ll show y’ exactly how s’done.”

The same extended digit moves to scratch his nose next, as Foster mentions his mask. “Naw, not uncomfortable — jus’… why’re y’ wearin’ that thing anyway? S’not like th’ air ‘round here is dang’rous, ‘r nothin’.” He’d be doomed by now if it were. “—Well, unless yer breathin’ in that cloud’a shit a Smoker leaves b’hind after it dies. But even that ain’t real bad.”

[mistahfoster]

"It's a deal then, mate." Mr. Foster chuckled, listening to the mans question that soon followed. It was a bit embarrassing really, admitting why he kept it on. Other than wanting to keep his face a secret, he just REALLY hated germs. He didn't want to get sick, that would be the death of him. ..Okay, that was an exaggeration and he knew it, but bacteria just completely unnerved him.

"Ahah.. It's a bit of a silly reason, really." He hesitated, tugging at his gloves to give him a moment to think about his choice of wording. "I'm one to keep my identity hidden, and I guess where I come from it's pretty important that I do." He looked up from his gloves, and shook his head. "Not just that though, and laugh if you want, but, I'm terribly phobic of germs. Getting sick is something that just.. euugh. It's not something I enjoy thinking about." He shuddered, the sheer thought of it sent a wave of nausea running through him for a few moments. 

He didn't know just what a Smoker was exactly, but by the sound of it, the thing sounded quite dreadful. Something that he didn't want to come in contact with anytime soon. "So yeah, I guess to put it short, germs protection and identity protection."

[dignified-deceit-blog]

Fortunately for Mr. Foster, it wasn’t going to be anything quite as intrusive— though were Jean to give way to his curiosity he would have inquired about the odd mask worn in the light of day, because who does that, really. 

Psychopaths, chimes his mind helpfully, to which his eyebrows knit in visible response; his paranoia can prove to be useful at times but unsolicited on any other day, and it’s not as if he’s hardly used to dealing with killers. He can handle one or two oddballs who claim zombie apocalypses and widespread epidemics any time.

“You could start by helping me with directions," is his reply, once he catches up. A hand passes down the front of his suit to check for wayward creases out of habit. "I’ve been having…trouble. With finding a place to stay.”

Realizing that such a question would only ask for an answer such as “oh, there’s a couple of hotels you could try”, Jean quickly adds— “An apartment that isn’t too shabby I could rent, that is." 

Someone like Mr. Foster would understand what he meant by that, right? Judging from the way he carried himself anyway— you can’t just waltz around in a neat suit and expect to wear it well when experience runs no more than skin-deep, and the masked man had an air to him that suggested a sense of sophistication and familiarity with the place under his belt. Besides the creepy factor, it’s a good start as any.

[mistahfoster]

As Mr. Foster listened to Jean carefully, he felt himself relax a bit, quite relieved that it was only a simple question on where a good place to live would be. Personally, Mr. Foster didn't have much time to settle down in one spot, seeing as he was always on the move to new and different areas to make sure nothing strange was going on. A bit disappointing, really, but he supposed it was nice to travel, see the world. ..Even if it wasn't really in a way he would prefer.

"Hmm, a nice flat, eh?" 

He tapped his finger against the side of his mask in thought. Mr. Foster had been 'living' here for a few months, and while he didn't know from experience how good some of these places were, some acquaintances had been telling him about their time living in their temporary homes. "Well, while I can't tell you from my own opinion, I've been told there's a good one just a few blocks down? I have the time so I could take you there, mate." The masked male pointed down the road, the pedestrians luckily clearing out a bit for a relatively clear view. "I know of a few gated places too, if that's more to your liking? However they're a bit of a walk away."

The male couldn't help but feel a bit bad he couldn't offer some more personal advice, but he really had no idea what the state of a lot of these places were. He DID see the insides of a few rooms back a couple week ago, but that was... an event all it's own.

A flat manager had said that one of their residents was displaying strange and rather violent behavior towards anyone who even so much as glanced at them, and out of precaution, Foster had to go in and investigate. Man ended up having a light strain from possibly coming in contact from tainted water, but he was dealt with quickly. Area was quarantined and completely sanitized.

[mistahfoster]

*throws a bag full of live spiders up at a rotating ceiling fan* SURPRISE!!

..I'm glad I have a mask on. But boy do I hate spiders.

-casually buys flamethrower-

[mistahfoster]

(( Theres always just a feeling of guilt when youre approached by one of those sponsor a child people. But you have no cash to your name at all :I;;; ))

[feverishchill-deactivated201507]

[darlingofthedailyplanet]

When your muse misses another, but you don’t want to bug their mun. When you miss certain threads, but don’t want to bug the other mun.

When you feel like you’re always bugging another mun…

[feverishchill-deactivated201507]

  — “Yeah well you can say that again…"

She shrugged a little bit before sitting up and reaching across the table and took his gloved hands into her own, a soft smile playing on her lips a little carelessly. Even though they had never met before in their lives, she felt a connection with this being. Seeing as to how they went through tragedies in their own lives, the silence was broken by the jukebox, that seemed to have not been working turning on and roaring out the lyrics to the most notable song in the history of anything, “Amazing Grace.”

It was broken and creepy as Devy shuddered a little bit as the eerie sound that it seemed to be almost whispering to them both.

“This place gives me the creeps…"

Devy said before standing and letting go of his hands before walking over to the jukebox and ripping out the cord from the wall socket. The musical machine automatically shut down whirring and clicking to a stop, her jaded orbs looked it over a few more times. Before looking over her shoulder at Mr. Foster.

“We should get out of here soon…who knows what monsters this town has to offer besides ourselves…"

Chuckling before moving over behind the counter and locating a map, blowing the dust off as the flecks just cruised through the air. The dim light from the fogged sun outside was their only source of light, approaching the booth again she sat down right next to him and spread the map out. Immediately locating the diner on the map,

“Okay..so we are here..the police station isn’t too far away..maybe they have some supplies there..what do you think Mr. Foster?"

Questioning him with a dark quirked brow, blinking a few times at him. 

[mistahfoster]

It was an unfamiliar warmth, a warmth that both startled and relaxed him all at once. He glanced down, processing the hands that were holding his. He flushed a bit under his mask, feeling his mind cloud up with sudden babbling. It was nice, feeling something so gentle hold his hand, something that wasn't a gun or a blade. The feeling was short lived though, when the juke box suddenly started up, making him jump a bit in his seat.

"Christ, thing near gave me a heart attack."

He placed a hand on his chest, feeling his sudden pounding heart slow down to a more comfortable rate once Devy had gotten up and promptly unplugged that hell spawn of a machine. "You could say that again.. I don't think I'm going to enjoy this 'Silent Hill' very much." The idea of getting out of here was pleasant, although the last bit about the monsters.. Not so much. Mr. Foster just nodded his head, and watched as Devy walked back over and plopped down next to him, more dust floofing up into the air like little rockets. He waved them away, and turned his attention down to the map she had spread out on the table.

'Police station'

The word rang out in his head a few times, mind processing the options they had and whether or not it was best to head on over there. "Well, it wouldn't hurt to try, maybe find something worth using, like a radio." He leaned in a smidge closer, studying the map thoroughly. Knowing his luck, he DEFINITELY wanted to avoid the hospital. Those places were just bad news all around. The man turned his head, and focused his attention back on Devy who was waiting for his answer. 

"Okay yeah, that sounds good with me. Certainly better than staying here, right?" 

He sat up in his chair, and stared out one of the windows close by, falling into deep thought. Mr. Foster had an entire country to get back to, a country that needed him. He still wondered how he managed to apparently WALK into an entirely different country all together. He'd seen some weird things, but nothing this supernatural before. A gloved hand wiped off some dust on the lenses of his mask, finally returning back to the real world.

"I'm ready whenever you are."

[dignified-deceit-blog]

It was around then that Jean had decided it useless (and borderline creepy, were he to take note of the wary looks sent his way from behind windows a couple of stories up) to stare at the door of his latest disappointment when Mr. Foster exited the very same building, and for a moment the Frenchman allows himself rudeness and continues to stare unabashedly; as if that would help him explain the presence of a sharply-dressed man in a gas mask.

He’s had enough experience of mercenaries in the same garb from his old job, true, but Jean reminds himself uneasily that people who dress the same way here can’t possibly be pyromaniacs themselves, if not a little wrong in the head. Besides, it’s nearing Halloween; there might be some festival somewhere in the city he knows nothing of, though that’s only to be expected. He’s yet to get properly acquainted with the place, after all.

In spite of his own reservations, he takes a step towards the stranger and raises a hand in greeting. Desperation is often mankind’s downfall but Jean’s loathe to spend another night in a shoddy hotel— if he isn’t going to land a place of his own quick, he’ll have to make do with the one he spent night in just recently. And they have terrible showers.

“Monsieur, a moment—" he begins, and hating the way it sounded like the beginning of any sales pitch, corrects himself. "— A question, actually, if you have the time.”

[mistahfoster]

'Monsieur, A moment--'

Eh? Mr. Foster turned his head a bit, seeing an unfamiliar man begin to approach him, hand raised a bit to catch his attention. He's never seen this man before, so he braced himself, expecting the man to be one of the governments newest agents sent to follow him or something equally strange. Jean had a French accent, something that was rare but still a pleasant thing for the man to hear. Most of the time, he only listened to English accents, and god forbid, heavy American accents.

'A question, actually'

Mr. Foster wasn't sure how to take this, exactly. He just turned his body more to face the man, head cocked to one side in curiosity. "Oh, uh, of course. How can I help ya, Mate?" His stance was casual, but an unfamiliar face always left him somewhat tense on the inside, a bit of a bad habit, really, being as introverted as he was. With his friends, he was quite a talkative one, but to strangers he typically kept to himself. Was an absolute hell to work with when attempting to sell something to people. He paused, glancing down at his watch quickly to check the time, before turning his attention at the man whom had walked up. Mr. Foster had plenty of time to kill, so he wasn't completely against answering some questions for this guy, well, as long as they weren't too confidential. 

The man in front of him appeared rather well dressed such as himself, possibly a business man? Who knows, but to Mr. Fosters quiet observations,  he looked a bit exhausted, as if getting a decent nights rest was growing difficult. A feeling that was all too familiar to the masked man.

[official-nephew]

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[official-nephew]

Someone take GMOD away from me.