Snakebait;

charlie song. 30. he. thrill-seeker.

[hollieblight]

I’ll make sure to keep my eyes peeled, but I’d love to help you find him. He seems to mean a lot to you - and possibly the safety of others.

[ohcharliesong]

He does; he really does. He was first in line to be best man at my wedding believe it or not. I don't have a venue or a fiancee yet, but I already got that one thing set in stone. I figured that since he's a raccoon and always looks like he's in a tux, it would be the most classy choice. 

And eh, I wouldn't say he's as dangerous as some of the chihuahuas and yorkies I've seen around these parts, but it's probably best if we find him before he starts snatching handbags...or actual hands.

[itsdeepsaini]

Wednesday, actually. Tch, it’s like you don’t know me at all. Also, there’s no Cherry Garcia in your freezer. I knicked it last time I was over. You don’t need it anyway. Eh, well good luck getting CDs. I guess we could pull up a few of my students and have them sing for us. Being dead is so difficult.

Great idea! Then I can have an excuse to kick your ass.

[ohcharliesong]

Gee, thanks. You should've helped yourself to my twinkie stash while you were at it, might as well go all the way to the emergency room. If you mention my name, maybe they'll even give you an extra bucket for your body fluids!

I used to survive explosions for a living, don't think your knock-off karate kid moves will do much to dampen my morning, bro.

[itsdeepsaini]

I think you need to let go of these fantasies and accept that he’s gone. He doesn’t want you anymore and he’s not coming back. If he loved you, wouldn’t he be here right now? What you need is a date with Ben and Jerry and a loud rendition of ‘what makes you beautiful.’

Feel free to get a tattoo of me. Maybe my face on your hand so that you think of me everytime you’re about to chug gasoline just for the hell of it.

[ohcharliesong]

So your usual Friday night routine then? I lost my pet, not my marriage. I'm sure I'll find him eventually. I probably shouldn't stuff myself with Cherry Garcia if I know I'm gonna end up chasing after his shifty ass. I'm still up for a jam session though, not gonna lie.

Great idea! I'll pop up in the middle of the night and start slapping you, going 'Why are you hitting yourself? Why are you hitting yourself?' 

[justmarcusindisgracelandrpg-blog]

A Whatsamawhosiedoesit-Thingamajigger || Marcus & Charlie

He banged the contraption of jumbled up metal pipes against his kitchen counter, and then frowned. “Blast. I always thought hitting a thing made it work.” Marcus mumbled to himself as he passed between his kitchen and living room. The gnarled mess of metal and utter uselessness appeared on the surface to be of no value. He scratched his forehead, contemplating how best to proceed. He couldn’t leave the graveyard unattended much longer than the occasional break for food, or on one of those rare occasions, when most of the dead were reverted elsewhere. Disgraceland was of course not the only city that housed the dead, that would be preposterous. Most people lived in a moral grey area that forced them into purgatory. Apparently, learning life’s lessons were far more difficult than God had perceived at the beginning of time. 

His fingers clasped the receiver of his telephone without regard for his meandering thoughts. Marcus brought the phone to his ear and swirled that ancient dial all the way to zero. Whoever invented the rotary phone was not a fan of that number. 

"Disgraceland operator, how may I direct your call?" A high pitched voice mumbled through the wire.

"Ah, yes. My whatsamawhosiedoesit-thingamajigger is broken and I need someone to fix it. How does one go about finding a whatsamawhosiedoesit-thingamajigger specialist?" He questioned the woman on the line.

"I have no idea what that is sir." The voice replied without the slightest indication of amusement.

"Everyone has a whatsamawhoseiedoesit-thingamajigger. I feel this comes standard with any apartment around town. How do you not know what it is I am asking?

"Sir, I can assure you that no one knows what a whatsa—-ma—-who…oh, whatever it is you are referring to." She muttered, exasperated.

"A whastamawhoseiedoesit-thingamajigger. This is rather simple. Can you please connect me with someone at a higher pay grade? I’m certain they will be capable of grasping this concept." Marcus twisted the cord of his telephone around his index finger and rolled his eyes. Sometimes it was best to speak with a machine, people could be rather thick in the head.

"Sir, is the item mechanical in nature or is it something organic?" The voice responded, a hint of malice emanating from the words.

"It’s made of metal, if that’s what you’re after." He shrugged his shoulders and then sighed. 

"Then I suggest you take it to one of the mechanics at the garage found on the outskirts of town."

"Which one?" He questioned, knowing full well what the answer would be, but preferred to take this moment to rile her up further. 

"The only one." She remarked, and then phone went silent and switched over to an obnoxious dial tone. One that was far more irritating than any found on earth, but that was an observation many of the other residents had made, Marcus had no other experience to compare the difference.

Sighing, he pulled his sunglasses from his pocket and heaved his contraption through the door of his meager abode. The outskirts were not that far off, especially not in his remodeled jalopy of a vehicle. 

The sun was of course bright and unyielding. There was something about perpetual sunlight that was more annoying than monotonous gray weather, a fact that the creator seemed to have either capitalized on, or stumbled upon by happenstance. Marcus made certain to buckle his whastamawhoseiedoesit-thingamajigger into the passenger seat before pulling out of his driveway, and then continued about the business of driving, narrowly missing a pedestrian in the process. Though it was his job to shepherd these souls, on occasion it was worth his while to remind them that they were lucky to be here, at least in a sense. If he could get their heart beating, his job was worth a damn. Fear had a way of motivating people. 

The air was dry, mirroring the arid desert climate that was the perpetual backdrop of his eternity. He turned the radio on, tuning in and out of the four stations, each song he had heard several thousand times, and then he frowned. Marcus fumbled for one of his Led Zeppelin tapes, and shoved it into the player. Satisfied with the rhythms of his favorite band, he allowed the time to pass without much thought.

In Disgraceland, road trips either passed at a glacial pace or the exact opposite. On this day, as Marcus was singing along to the chorus of Stairway to Heaven, he came upon the lonely garage the operator had referenced as if time had not passed at all. He knew better, but preferred to revel in a moment that didn’t feel lost to monotony. 

He parked his red and rusted out pick up along the side of the building, unbuckled his prized possession, and then heaved it toward an open garage door.

"Hello. He called out." There were signs of life inside, of course, but he knew better than to creep up on the dead. 

[ohcharliesong]

Charlie hadn't brushed his hair in two weeks. He forgot where he put the comb and he didn't feel like buying a new one knowing that there was a perfectly good one laying around somewhere. He couldn't remember the last time he washed the pants he usually used when working either. When he bought them they were a stately grey, but now they were pitch black with oil and were probably going to be impossible to wash even if he wanted to. Basically, he looked like the complete opposite of the client that had approached him that morning, a finely-dressed old woman with her hair in victory curls and her mouth still spilling American dreams.

Old women were probably the best clients simply because they didn't ask questions. Teenagers would always try to justify trashing their things and middle-aged men always had their own ideas on what was wrong with their wrecks, which were coincidentally always incorrect. Really, if they knew how to actually fix their own things they wouldn't need a mechanic in the first place. Old women were immune to that type of smugness. They simply brought their thing, put it on the table and forked over the payment while singing praises in between 'bless your soul's and 'your parents must have been so proud to have you's.

This particular old lady was no different, but she happened to be a little more of a chatterbox than most. It was oddly appropriate that she would came with a broken phonograph. Charlie was used to dashing off to work after a couple of throwaway lines, but she just kept going. "I can't possibly imagine what could be wrong with it!" She would cry over and over as if the repetition would induce some sort of inspiration in Charlie but he just sat there, nodding through her entire rant while wondering if he should order pizza with or without pineapple slices. He didn't like to speculate on what was wrong with something before actually splitting it open; he didn't like to think ahead period. She kept insisting on how it was a heirloom from the Hoover administration, and he smiled quickly enough to mask his yawn. Thinking back wasn't his favorite thing either.

Charlie got up then, grabbed the phonograph and placed it on a wooden desk. He figured that doing so would signal to her that he was about to begin and would tell her that it was time to pay up, but unluckily for him, the only thing she had to offer was gratitude. The pineapple predicament would have to wait another day. "Oh dear Charlie, won't you be a good boy and fix it up for me?" She whined in her posh accent. Then she planted a wet kiss on his cheek, marking him with a stain the color of Cherries In The Snow. She walked off in a rush shortly afterwards, but he dashed off even faster to the nearby sink to wash his face. By the looks of it, she'd been hoarding that color since at least the mid 50s. It had that rancid odor exclusive only to things created before asbestos was outlawed. Though it chipped somewhat, no matter how hard he scrubbed and wiped, it just wouldn't come off.

He decided to give up. It didn't matter if he got cancer because of it really; he'd just re-spawn at the cemetery. He went to work as soon as he accepted his fate.

There Charlie stood, with one arm shoulder deep inside a phonograph's horn and another fiercely clutching a half-drank mug of coffee, looking like he just broke off a fiery affair. It was in this rather compromising position that Marcus would catch him off-guard, and Charlie pulled out his hand quickly to wave hello only to accidentally pull out the cause of the entire spectacle—a small, beat-up copy of the Bible in Latin. What was it with old people and trying to shove religion into everything? He would've found it hilarious if not for the fact that he pulled it out in pieces, and immediately shoved the pages back in order to try to stitch them together later. Sure, fixing the phonograph would get him a thanks, but fixing the phonograph and returning something extra could get him a plate full of cookies.

For now though, he had to attend his new customer, one who seemed rather interesting with his unconventional style of dress and mysterious machine. Charlie set the coffee down by the table, adding yet another circular moisture mark to wood. Two more and he'd have an Olympic symbol. He approached the man quietly, examining the machine. From the angle that he was standing in, he couldn't make out what it was or what it did, but he did know one thing: he needed to get his hands on it. All he could really tell was that it had a few dents in it, and though he suspected it was because the customer had tried the ol' "bang it against the wall until it works" approach, he still wanted to give him the benefit of doubt.

"You know you're not supposed to throw those things down mountains, right?" He asked, smirking from ear to ear as he rejoiced in his own sense of humor.

[jodypritchard-blog]

"Sure am. And thank you for being so considerate, Charlie. I really appreciate your efforts in making things more difficult for me."

"Well, that speeds up the process, I suppose. Put them on the table. You make yourself sound like a superhero: Denim Man, who needs iron when you’ve got well-woven cotton?"

[ohcharliesong]

"Gotta keep you on your toes, y'know."

He then set the cups of tea on the table carefully, wiping the puddles forming around them with his t-shirt. "Not many people know this, but I'm actually quite tidy." He said with a small smile as he cleaned. "So it's okay if you're gonna tell me that I'm gonna be a hygiene magnate. I already saw that coming; it's not gonna surprise me."

[itsdeepsaini]

He just ran away from you. In what world would he be running to your rescue? And you don’t take care of yourself, idiot, and I’m pretty sure half the time it’s just to drive me crazy. You know what? Go for it. I can bribe the tattoo artist to make it a tiger instead. Maybe then you’ll learn a lesson.

Of course we have a double standard. Embrace it. 

[ohcharliesong]

How do you even know he ran away? What if he's just trying to surprise me with groceries? Stranger things have happened, Deep. Maybe he got stuck in traffic and forgot which way is home. But he knows me man, he knows me. If I was starting to faint during an ass tattoo, I know he'd be right there holding my hand. Hell, I'm starting to think I should tattoo a raccoon on myself just to piss you off twice as hard.

How about if I tied you up then? And gave you a matching tattoo while I'm at it. It's the perfect way to let people know we're friends without having to resort to treating each other nicely.

[jodypritchard-blog]

“You ate the other half, right? Because I may love cranberries but I’m definitely not that committed. And, yes, cranberry turnover notwithstanding, that should be plenty.”

"What? God almighty, isn’t it burning? And I meant that I needed it in a cup. You know, tea leaves, hot water, a cup to put it all in?"

[ohcharliesong]

"Wow, you really are psychic! I didn't mean to it eat at first, but I figured that if I came here hungry, you'd notice and tell me that I'd get the munchies in about half an hour. That'd make your job too easy."

"I did bring it in a cup. I just didn't have anything to cover it! Some of it spilled but no worries. Most is still good to go and I'm wearing denim so nothing can hurt me."

[sergeikrum-blog]

Exactly that. Odd seeing as my mother was high class before she got married.

Sometimes it’s more harsh then that. They test to see if it cases any irritations to the skin like rashes, blisters, and such. It’s terrible really but I don’t think I can do much about it now seeing as I don’t think that type of thing happens here. Aw, that sounds like an awful thing to wake up to. Hopefully you’ll figure out something. 

[ohcharliesong]

Was she a socialite? I remember a lot of people in California who had huge bank accounts and wanted any excuse to spend them. They'd support literally any cause. I even remember people throwing money at a joke 'save the unicorns' fund. It's a shame really, because if they'd have put their money into stuff like that, helping homeless animals and protecting them, maybe we'd prevent things like dogfights.

Oh, that's...that's a lot darker than I expected. Damn. If I was still alive, I'd probably volunteer for that. They could test shampoos on me until my skin turned reptilian, that'd be something to see. I'm hoping I will, but I'm guessing you're also probably right. Maybe he's off jumping with his new mate, it is gonna be February soon, after all. 

[jodypritchard-blog]

"First, two cups of tea - none of that bagged malarkey - and an apple turnover. I can’t tell your fortune on an empty stomach." 

[ohcharliesong]

"Couldn't find apple turnovers, but I got a half-eaten cranberry one and a bran muffin. Is that enough?"

"The tea's in the bottom of the bag, by the way. That's why it's dripping all over my clothes."

[itsdeepsaini]

Who else would you put? Your raccoon? Oh, right, it ran away. 

I could always tie you up until you admit that you’re wrong. We can test out my theory. I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty sure I’d win here. 

[ohcharliesong]

At least I know he'd be willing to run to my rescue. Meanwhile if they called you, you'd spend half an hour complaining about how I don't take care of myself. I'll tell you what, my body is a temple and I am the god. If I want to decorate my temple with flaming lions shitting out Bruce Willis quotes, that's my thing.

And here we have a double standard: you can apparently tie me up whenever to teach me a lesson, but if I tie myself willingly to a speeding car to have fun, then I'm a weirdo.

[lucyaubertin-blog]

"Finnish, maybe. I know there’s a Burzum album somewhere in the back if you’re looking for Norwegian. Have you looked through the metal section?"

[ohcharliesong]

"Well, I did earlier, but all I found was like three rows of CDs from after Metallica sold out, and the rest were Taylor Swift albums— No offense to Swift, but I'm trying to make a soundtrack for this screenplay I was thinking about and I don't think 'You Belong With Me' would fit the part where the protagonist blows up a greeting card factory. Do you got any recs? My only real back up plan for that scene was some Prince music."

[disgracelandrp-deactivated20170]

"soul starts spinning again, I can’t stop feeling, no, I won’t stop feeling, and the fun’s not fun anymore.” [ can’t stop feeling by franz ferdinand ]

[disgracelandrp-deactivated20170]

CHARLIE SONG [ 30; FEBRUARY 12, 1978 - DECEMBER 23, 2008 ]

male, preferred pronouns are he/him

resides in the Outskirts

died by vehicular collision

has dagger-shaped scar in the back of the left leg from a snakebite and scattered cuts and bruises from work

mechanic at Outskirts Car Garage

hedonistic, dedicated, extrovert

Life

From a young age, Charlie’s parents knew that there was something odd about their child. While all the other kids were playing catch and exchanging trading cards, Charlie seemed perfectly content to tinker around with whatever was lying around in their pawn shop, and he didn’t seem to fear the more disturbing things in the selection—like chewed-up prosthetics or gold teeth. His enthusiasm landed him steady work by the time he was a freshman in high school, and he was left in charge of restoring items that were in bad condition. Charlie’s first run-in with death was in his senior year. A customer walked into his parents pawn shop and was adamant about selling his cowboy boots for a thousand dollars, claiming that they were “vintage”, “one of a kind” and ”the proudest of his possessions.” Charlie’s parents shared a fair amount of skepticism, and sure enough, the boots appeared to be barely worth a hundred. Still, they bargained to get the boots, knowing that if restored they could be worth a respectable amount. Charlie was left in charge of polishing and cleaning them, a task he did with waning enthusiasm. As the family tidied up for closing time, he was starting to grow gradually annoyed by a muffled sound coming from somewhere in the room. It was low and constant, and as he continued to do what he was doing it only got more grating. Turned out that there was a copperhead curled up in the boots heel. Lucky for him, he was only tasked with cleaning the outside, but that didn’t stop him from jolting when he saw it slither around inside. As soon as his family noticed, everyone started crying and running around the room, only managing to further anger the snake. Charlie managed to catch it—and shove it into a can—but it was too late, the snake had bitten him. He was in the hospital for two days afterwards, and being so close to death exhilarated him to the point of no return. Afterwards, he became convinced that the best way to live was by endangering it, and that meant cheating death. 

Death

There wasn’t a whole lot to do in rural Texas back then, so soon after graduation, he moved to Hollywood. He had dreams of becoming an action star, maybe even buying a real-life version of some of the model cars he would work on as a kid. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get a leading role. He was relegated to being a stunt double. This didn’t offend him as much as it offended many aspiring actors, as he was free to tango with the Grim Reaper every morning. Glass shards, full-on collisions, jumping off buildings. His employers loved him because he was willing to do anything, and even better, he’d get injured and wouldn’t sue. It was easily the best time of his life, and he’d wake everyday anxious to find out what new flaming hoop he’d have to jump through to secure his paycheck. The adrenaline was intoxicating, but as with every high, there eventually came the hangover. There is a certain threshold to how many hits a human can take without dying, and no one was willing to push it. Frustration built inside him as he soon realized that he was addicted to the thrill and that busting through doors and punching walls wasn’t cutting it. He secured a shady deal with an aspiring filmmaker to try the most adventurous stunt ever filmed, but unbeknownst to the filmmaker, Charlie was going to do something more reckless that they’d agreed upon. When the cameras started rolling and the soundtrack started to play, Charlie saw no more need for any scripts. In that car he was the architect of his own destiny, and there was only one direction to go: down. 

Afterlife

The only reason he’s disappointed with how it all went was that he doesn’t remember the precise second he died. He just remembers screaming—everyone was screaming. There were flames, obviously. Pain, probably. Explosions, definitely. He woke up and could only taste sand, which was by far the thing he least expected to taste first. You’d think that going out in such a way would guarantee there was a bit of blood residue. Upon seeing that this was it—this was the end and there is nothing more to think and nothing more to feel— he was joyful, almost satisfied. He reverted to the person he used to be, the young kid who wanted nothing more than to tinker around and invent. He can usually be found around the junkyard scouting for things to work with, and he once in a while has clients that want him to pick apart or stitch together their treasured belongings. He works mostly with cars, scooters and bicycles, but his favorite to work with are motorcycles. He’s planning on building one of his own someday, and riding that monster through town forever.

Charlie is portrayed by Steven Yeun. He is played by Marina in AST.

[itsdeepsaini]

Really? Huh. I can’t stand lions; that’s my thing. I can’t tell you how many cousins I’ve had to talk out of getting ridiculous tattoos of lions on various parts of their body. 

You just tie ‘em to a chair and make ‘em watch it over and over again until they say they like it just so that you’ll let them go. It’s a foolproof solution; even you couldn’t mess that up. And then you can spend the rest of your life saying ‘Thanks for saving my marriage, Deep. You’re the best. I don’t know why I never listen to you. I’ll start now.”

[ohcharliesong]

And here I was considering making you my emergency contact at the tattoo parlor. Bummer.

I don't know what part of that comment was more unreal. The part where you assumed they wouldn't just fall asleep, or the part where you thought I'd ever admit to being wrong when I'm still young and good-looking. 

[lucyaubertin-blog]

"If you look through that bin there, we just got a stock in the other day and there might be a few new CDs left. Most of them looked to be mid-2000’s. I think I saw one N’Sync album if you’re into that sort of thing."

[ohcharliesong]

"Do you have any Finnish black metal, though?"

[jordinmorrow-deactivated2015020]

Yeah…nobody’s freaking out dude. 

I’ve always wanted one of those Canadian raccoon hat things. Maybe I’ll make one out of Harley. He’d make a great ironic fashion accessory. 

[ohcharliesong]

Eh, just making sure since the last time one of my pets ran away, I asked some people about it and an old lady threw her purse at me. Who knew that a baby scorpion could cause so much anger in senior citizens?

Wouldn't recommend that, really. He's old and his pelt is all slobbery because there's no 'how to do x for idiots' on how to wash a rabid raccoon. If you're gonna do it, you're gonna have to bathe him yourself, sorry to say.

[sergeikrum-blog]

No, not really. I didn’t experience animals like I expect most people did. I didn’t get to befriend them or have them as pets, mostly it was us just trying to make sure they didn’t go extinct or end up as test animals for hair care.

Well when you put it into that perspective I would have to say that I never would have thought about it like that. True that people would more likely go for the more common and friendly animals and not the ones they see as being wild. But hey, don’t look on the dark side of things. Harley might just have found himself a mate and they went off to go live in the forest. 

[ohcharliesong]

Ah? Were your parents like hippies or something? 

I never really got the point of trying out hair care products on animals, honestly. How dangerous can a new conditioner prototype be so that it can't be tested out on people? Are they putting uranium in there to guarantee that third day glow? And well, I guess that may be true, but you'd think he'd at least drop some hints about it. I literally woke up one morning to a static screen and an empty lap for no reason.

[itsdeepsaini]

If that’s what you’re concerned about, why stop at a raccoon? You might as well go get yourself a tiger… That was a joke. Don’t go getting any ideas.

Oh you underestimate yourself. That’s enough for an angsty love story.

[ohcharliesong]

Nah, I'm not much into tigers. Jaguars? Yes. Leopards? Yes. Lynxes? Fuck yes. But tigers? I'm more of a timberwolf kind of man.

How do relationships in the afterlife even work, though? When you get married you're supposed to say 'until death does us part' or something like that, but we're all dead. Are you supposed to stay together forever then? What if I find out they don't like Die Hard on our 8219th anniversary? It just seems like such a pain in the ass, and that's coming from someone who was a regular in the ER because of all the weird stuff I got stuck up there.