football fun for everyone
Today's Thanksgiving. First Thanksgiving I haven't spent in Vegas. Ever, y'know? I mean, I even went to college in Vegas. UNLV all the way, man.
Grams used to make a big deal out of it, invite half the damned neighborhood. By three o'clock, all the kids - anyone under 45, y'know what I'm saying? - had tumbled out into the street to play us some football. Even since I've been a CSI, I've found time to go home, spend some time with her. Even after Tina.
Guess that's why it hits me today. This is it. Not going home to Vegas. To Grams. To Thanksgiving football in the streets. To ringing slots on New Years and PJ's club when I'm off-shift and sleeping rough.
Even if I do leave here, I'm probably dead. So this is it.
No point crying over spilled blood, a'ight? Done's done and I got what I got. Guess I've got plenty to be thankful for, 'round here. Getting a second shot and all that, so I start thinking, 'bout halfway through a nice meal served up by a pretty lady I don't know at all. I've been laying low for me. Even with Helen and the club, I've been quiet, nursing some kinda sulk since I got here. Can't figure why Nick or Cath didn't smack me upside the head and tell me to get on with it. Maybe I faked 'em out with football and baseball and hell opening a strip club.
Whatever, y'know? Time's come. I gotta make some new friends. Build some kinda life. So why not? Soon as I'm too full to eat more, I go dig up the pigskin. Head on outside where there are people hanging out and hold it up.
"A'ight, y'all. Who's on for a little mid-afternoon rough-housing?" No TV for kicking back to. Might as well make our own fun.
Open to everyone, gathering style. Tag Warrick, tag each other. Play football, throw water at the boys and girls. Open to absolutely everyone from anywhere, no invitation necessary. Somewhere between the Compound and wherever you are, spilling out toward the AMERICAN football field (for you, Cora). Hear the noise, wander by, whatever works. ST expected, LT absolutely fine. Open for tags through the weekend. Happy Thanksgiving everyone!
ETA PLEASE READ RE DEADPOOL THREAD: We've got three vigilantes: Dick, Monet, Roy. Three weapons-trained CSIs: Nick, Warrick, and Tim. Two SG1 team members: Daniel, Mitchell. And three actual IPD on scene: Tim, Monet, and Cam. And the Doctor. So we're not hurt for people who can handle this. XD IPD, I'm trying to get in touch about how to proceed so that the IPD, the ex-cops, and the vigilantes can all respond appropriately but Becca's email bounced me. Once we've worked it out, there'll be a message in slated to explain where to tag for anyone who want to respond.
ETA2 PLEASE READ RE DEADPOOL THREAD RESOLUTION: Thanks everyone for your cooperation in getting this thread resolved. For a variety reasons, we needed to handwave the actual play, but the events in this tag serve as an incident report for anyone needing to react. Please do not respond to that comment, in case editing/additions are required. Play on threads related to the incident in this post are now closed. Players are encouraged to seek out reaction threads as needed. Thanks again.
Grams used to make a big deal out of it, invite half the damned neighborhood. By three o'clock, all the kids - anyone under 45, y'know what I'm saying? - had tumbled out into the street to play us some football. Even since I've been a CSI, I've found time to go home, spend some time with her. Even after Tina.
Guess that's why it hits me today. This is it. Not going home to Vegas. To Grams. To Thanksgiving football in the streets. To ringing slots on New Years and PJ's club when I'm off-shift and sleeping rough.
Even if I do leave here, I'm probably dead. So this is it.
No point crying over spilled blood, a'ight? Done's done and I got what I got. Guess I've got plenty to be thankful for, 'round here. Getting a second shot and all that, so I start thinking, 'bout halfway through a nice meal served up by a pretty lady I don't know at all. I've been laying low for me. Even with Helen and the club, I've been quiet, nursing some kinda sulk since I got here. Can't figure why Nick or Cath didn't smack me upside the head and tell me to get on with it. Maybe I faked 'em out with football and baseball and hell opening a strip club.
Whatever, y'know? Time's come. I gotta make some new friends. Build some kinda life. So why not? Soon as I'm too full to eat more, I go dig up the pigskin. Head on outside where there are people hanging out and hold it up.
"A'ight, y'all. Who's on for a little mid-afternoon rough-housing?" No TV for kicking back to. Might as well make our own fun.
Open to everyone, gathering style. Tag Warrick, tag each other. Play football, throw water at the boys and girls. Open to absolutely everyone from anywhere, no invitation necessary. Somewhere between the Compound and wherever you are, spilling out toward the AMERICAN football field (for you, Cora). Hear the noise, wander by, whatever works. ST expected, LT absolutely fine. Open for tags through the weekend. Happy Thanksgiving everyone!
ETA PLEASE READ RE DEADPOOL THREAD: We've got three vigilantes: Dick, Monet, Roy. Three weapons-trained CSIs: Nick, Warrick, and Tim. Two SG1 team members: Daniel, Mitchell. And three actual IPD on scene: Tim, Monet, and Cam. And the Doctor. So we're not hurt for people who can handle this. XD IPD, I'm trying to get in touch about how to proceed so that the IPD, the ex-cops, and the vigilantes can all respond appropriately but Becca's email bounced me. Once we've worked it out, there'll be a message in slated to explain where to tag for anyone who want to respond.
ETA2 PLEASE READ RE DEADPOOL THREAD RESOLUTION: Thanks everyone for your cooperation in getting this thread resolved. For a variety reasons, we needed to handwave the actual play, but the events in this tag serve as an incident report for anyone needing to react. Please do not respond to that comment, in case editing/additions are required. Play on threads related to the incident in this post are now closed. Players are encouraged to seek out reaction threads as needed. Thanks again.