spaalonebabuguuscooties | ♠ | OPEN MEME

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open meme

♠ | OPEN MEME | MULTI-PURPOSE JAMJAR

the multi-purpose jamjar meme

it's fun, it's easy, and it's free. top-level with your preferences and then roll or pick from the settings/prompts listed below. fly with assumed cross-canon cr or toss some canon cr into some new and rocky situations. go hog wild.

I - SETTING

i. horror: you've been yoinked from your own world and thrown into a new and terrifying situation. roll with horrible monster transformations, hostile set-pieces, sadistic npcs, and more. all that matters is making it through the night.

ii. survival: through some twist of fate or another, you've been allocated into a resource-poor environment. basic amenities like food, water, and shelter that you might have once taken for granted are suddenly either outright absent or require significant labor to attain. you're not just a stranger in a strange land - you're a stranger in a strange land with only your own wits to help you survive.

iii. slice-of-life: ordinary cityscapes and peaceful suburbias are all very well and good, if you weren't stuck in them without a clear means of escape. the most you can do now is try to adapt to a peaceful life that you might have never had. you've been given a chance at normalcy, but not everyone's cut out to acquiesce to the ordinary day-to-day demands of schools, jobs, picnics, and what have you. relaxing can be tough, but here, you've got all the time in the world for it.

iv. fantasy: not only are you stuck in a pre-industrial revolution hell, but now you've got these fancy new magic powers and special weapons, maybe even at the cost of whatever abilities you might have once had. now go forth and destroy the one ring or kill some giants or something.

v. sci-fi: maybe you're trapped on a spaceship or on some newly colonized planet in the far-flung, distant future. maybe you're being drafted into a corrupt army, or trying to escape the nigh-omniscient artificial intelligence that monitors everything in a dystopian future-opolis. the setting's whatever you want it to be.

vi. au / memory regain: your name's not the one you had and your life's not the one you lived...but it's not like you know that. maybe you're plagued by strange dreams of who you actually are, or someone from your world's been dropped into your new life to try and jog your memory. either way, you've always felt that something was off about this world and this life you've had. you could never tell what until now.

vii. prison: some all-knowing or interdimensional or corrupt law enforcement has finally snagged you, and decided that you are unquestionably guilty. of what? who knows. maybe you're a legitimate criminal, or maybe you're genuinely innocent and imprisoned under false pretenses. no matter what the case is, you're being kept under lock and key and put under heavy surveillance. plot an escape with fellow inmates or sway a security guard to your cause - or maybe a friend of yours has managed to sneak their way in to try and break you out.

viii. merc-work: you've been snatched from your home so you can do some high-quality work for some higher power. you're an assassin, a spy, a thief, or some other shady agent. tormented by the moral quandaries of your work? in it for the money? salty that your captors are responsible for forcing you into this? but then again, maybe playing along is your best chance of getting home...

ix. wildcard: idk man do what you want i'm not a cop

II - SITUATION

i. first impressions: hey, i just met you, and this is crazy, but where the FUCK are we (so handle my stress-induced breakdown maybe)?

ii. second impressions: hey, remember when we first met? nostalgia's really a trip, huh? when you're in a brand new world, you've got to hold onto whatever familiarity you can get.

iii. an Event™: SOMETHING is happening and y'all have to deal with it. how are you coping? have you run into each other by chance, have you buddied up willingly, or are you stuck together in the middle of some hellish happenstance?

iv. living conditions: congratulations, you're now being housed with a complete stranger. or maybe not. maybe you're friends back home or you've met before. regardless of how you generally get along with your new roomie, the stress of adapting to a new situation doesn't always make for a fun teething period.

v. mysteries & conspiracies: what's a jamjar anyway? you're not about to take this lying down. whatever's going on here, whoever's abducting people from their worlds and whisking them away again, you're going to get to the bottom of it. no matter what it takes.

vi. crau hijinks: hey, don't i know you? what, you don't remember? what are you talking about? we were best buds in that [unrelated previous game experience wherein you confessed your love or some shit]! don't you remember me?

vii. grudging teamwork: for whatever reason, you're being forced to work with someone you don't know or can't stand. fight a monster, solve a puzzle, break out of confinement, find your way home, get unstuck or unlost, etc. you just have to work together to do it.

viii. violent ends, violent means: got stuck facing each other in gladiatorial combat? facing off against a violent threat together? or maybe you ran into this absolute dipshit on the streets and decided you didn't like their face or whatever. look, i'll save you some time and just say that this is either going to be a magnet for some prime angst or hurt/comfort.

ix. play the hero: swoop in and save the day from...whatever the heck's going on here. play the hero or the damsel, whether wanted or otherwise.

x. network tomfoolery: idly commenting on proceedings, bored and spamming people's inboxes, figuring out what the heck this shiny thing and all the buttons do, etc. maybe there's an internet here. maybe you can send someone airbrushed ted cruz. i'm not going to say what you can and can't do.

xi. inbox'd: leave a message after the beep! just kidding, they picked up. what'd you wanna chat about in private, champ?

xii. wildcard: once again i ask do i look like a cop

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The Authority has decided that today's combat will feature Ghoul and Jet. But the Authority is sort of dumb, and is not very good at this- all they have to work with is an open, grassy arena. There are no weapons provided, and based on past matches, the battles don't even have to be impressive. Apparently the Authority is very easily amused. Kitten-like slap fights pass just as well as actual brawling.

Ghoul is pretty okay with it. He enjoys irritating Jet already, and to have it actively encouraged? Hell yeah.

"Whatcha gonna do, huh?" He bounces on his toes, jabbing his fingertips at Jet's ribs and sides as he hops in a tight circle around him. Ghoul comes across more like an excited little animal than a gladiator, but the Authority doesn't give a fuck. "Ain't gonna do shit, that's what."

A waste of time. That's what this is. They could be pouring their resources into getting out, into fighting back, into doing virtually anything but going along with this charade of entertaining the Authority, but that's apparently not what's going on here. On some level, Jet's already trying to justify this to himself. It could be useful to...burn off steam? Work out the cabin fever? Feel a little less at odds?

Sure. Something like that.

He's assumed the expression that would not look out of place on a long-suffering adult who's been needled by a wayward child in the aisle of a grocery store for something like an hour, his eye shut as Ghoul...dances around him. Whatever the fuck he's doing.

"You done?"

Ghoul scoffs and ceases his bouncing, swinging a quick whap at Jet's arm instead. "You gonna just stand there, f'real? We're gonna be stuck in this stupidass circle all shittin' day."

Is this a productive use of their time? Absolutely not, but Ghoul has more pent up energy and frustration than his body can handle, and now that he's been presented with an outlet, it's all starting to flood out. If Jet won't play along, maybe the Authority will swap him out for someone who will.

Fat chance. But he still whirls around and flings his arms out, appealing to whatever is watching. "I want a new match! Gimme a do-over, this one's a weenie."

"Not gonna fuck you up for no reason." No offense Ghoul, but you're, uh...let's be courteous and say on the smaller side. You're on the smaller side. Jet's something like six-foot-and-change and the idea of slugging one of his best buddies across the face for the amusement of some higher power is, simply put, not his idea of a good time.

Granted, given the circumstances, there might not be much choice here.

"How's this gonna help?"

Ghoul snorts. It's a rude, ugly sort of noise. "You fuck me up? That's a ballsy assumption y'got there... 'Cause, you're, y'know..." After turning around to face Jet again, he gestures between the both of them. Then hums. Then rocks on his heels, thinking. How can he put this nicely...

"You kinda suck at this sorta thing." Yeah, nailed it.

He smiles, looking softer all of a sudden as he shrugs. "Guess it'll help in that way, huh? Give y'some practice. I don't wanna catch nobody else knockin' you down."

There are worse things to suck at.

It sounds like something in the interest of pretending. Pretending it's harmless. Just some easy wrestling between buddies, with no harm and no foul. Gets under his skin regardless. Feels to much like bowing to someone in a position of power, and...

And Jet's uncertainty is present solely in the shifting of his weight, the minute crease forming between his brows.

"Like...sparring."

"Yeah!" There he goes, he's starting to get his bounce back. "Just like sparring. S'gonna be fine, hey? I toss you around a little bit, we get outta here, then we go back to doin' what we do best." Which is, of course, living the fuck the police life.

He lazily swipes his hands out at Jet's a few times, trying to land a few light smacks on him. To... what? Get him warmed up? To release some of his own chaotic energy? It's a mystery. Regardless, it's a Thing that's happening.

"No face shots though. And no nut shots."

"You toss me." There, that's a little bit of the clap-loving Jet Star, albeit in the form of a subtle roll of disbelief in those three words alone. A challenge, issued with a low, infinitesimal smirk that crawls at the corner of his mouth and threatens to tug into something more overt.

Here Ghoul is, trying to initiate some kind of slap-fight. Jet's sigh is quiet and a little less long-suffering, but only just.

"Fine."

No face shots, no nut shots.

That's the only warning Ghoul gets before Jet breaks into a sharp right hook aiming for Ghoul's midsection.

That's better. He bares his teeth in a wild grin- for a moment anyway, before he's darting to the side with a high sound. "Y'punched me in the tit?!" Sounding accusatory and amused at the same time is probably a talent. Granted, it's his own fault. If he hadn't hunched down and away reflexively, it would have caught him anywhere else.

Still, how dare.

The hand he'd pressed against his own chest curls in to a fist, and he steels himself. Squares his shoulders and ducks his head, right before he lets out a little growl and rams himself towards Jet's gut. What's the fun in being half a foot shorter than someone if you can't take advantage of it by aiming headbutts at their soft parts?

Jet shakes the vibration in his bones from his hand, bringing his fists up in a loose defensive stand. He's not the best at hand-to-hand, in spite of his height, and he knows it. It's too easy for dracs to get the drop on him, break bottles over his head while he's keeping his eye on the action further away. Put him behind a gun, and he knows what he's doing. This?

Well, he's not the best at this. He stumbles back when Ghoul up and springs for him, nailing him in the gut with his skull. He tries to brace his feet into the dust to hold his ground, but it's tough when the air's been knocked from your lungs. Use your height, come on.

If he can get Ghoul in a lock, pin him down, that'd be a quick way to settle this. Big bear hug from your buddy Jet, come on.

He should use his height- Ghoul is. He knows to stay relatively low, keep Jet feeling off-kilter as he aims quick little frog punches at his ribs. A potential bit of spicy knuckle-on-bone contact while he laughs and barks crit at him. "Y'shoulda done a hair grab while I was all up in there, coulda swung a knee up and broke my face real smooth." Not that they're doing face shots. Jet just needs some ideas. Some strategy suggestions for the future.

A bear hug is interesting. That's not quite what Ghoul is expecting, and it causes him to falter for a second after he's swept up in arms longer than his whole fucking life. "Aw... Thanks, man." Ghoul flings his arms around Jet's torso in return, squeezing tightly, fingers digging in to the leather of his jacket.

And then, with all his weight, he all but throws himself towards the ground, hoping to drag Jet along with him and rob him of his balance completely.

Pinning the tiny human torpedo isn't such a far fetched idea, if Jet can keep his wits about him.

Of course this had to be hand-to-hand, didn't it? Ghoul's better at this than he is. Walking away with a few bruises is a small price to pay for keeping the Authority off their backs for the time being but that doesn't mean it doesn't still chafe that he's fighting a losing battle, it feels like.

Ghoul drops his weight to the fucking ground. All right, wasn't expecting that. Jet goes down with a stumble and a grunt. Reflexively, he struggles to keep from dropping on top of him before it occurs to him, belatedly, that - right. Yeah. That might help, actually.

Okay, then.

He lets Ghoul drag him down and then drops, hoping to pin him with the full force of his dead weight.

Well, this usually works. Usually folks freak at the loss of balance and catch themselves, not flop like a roll of carpet.

But that sure is a wholeass Jet landing right on top of him. He grunts loudly, trying and failing to remove the extra weight. Down they go, in to a heap on the ground. "The fuck- you dead?" His legs are free enough to kick uselessly as he squirms. There's one arm stuck under the mound of giant, but he's still got one free. Free to whap at Jet's back. "Get offa me, y'feel like a van."

There's something to said for being unpredictable. Jet almost gets up on reflex, but then stops. There's a tickle of something almost like a smile that threatens to break across the characteristic stoicism that usually mantles his expression, but he keeps his tone politely neutral.

"You give up?"

Ghoul goes still. It's only for a few seconds, but it's an awkward space of nothing that feels like forever.

Give up?

He explodes in to noise and movement again- flailing his legs, voice loud and offended, "You ain't even doin' anything!" This is NOT HOW YOU WIN, JET.

Except it evidently kind of is, this time. It's so lazy and stupid and obviously cheating, he can't stand it. The best thing to do is probably to let him rage himself in to exhaustion... Just make sure he can't grab hold of a sensitive ear and twist, because oh boy, that free hand sure is reaching up to do exactly that.

Look, as far as he's concerned, this is completely according to the rules that they set out at the start. No face shots, no nut shots. This is safely in the realm of acceptable strategies.

Only trying to keep Ghoul in place is a little like trying to pin a thrashing ferret down with just your hands, with all the sharp, pointy bits to go with it. Not only is he kicking up a stink, but one of his hands hooks up around Jet's ear and - yep, okay. He's definitely feeling that.

Which, you know, ow.

He jerks upwards automatically, trying to wrench himself free.

A ferret the size of a toddler, pretty much. And one that doesn't even play fair at that. Who twists someone's ear, for fuck's sake?

Ghoul. Ghoul does.

He crows a triumphant HA! and hangs on, using Jet's poor ear to half-steer him around while the rest of him surges upwards, attacking like the toddler-ferret berserker that he is. Maybe he can flip Jet on to his back. Ghoul's got a whole grand plan- knock Jet over. Perch on his chest. Shit talk him while poking and pinching at his cheeks, because that's the best way to get under someone's skin, you know.

Wasn't this supposed to be legit sparring practice?

Hmmm. Nah.

"Cheater." He barely manages to get this out before deciding, fuck it, he's going to flip over and try to get some distance between himself and Ghoul. He works best at a distance, so maybe he should've opted for that instead. The problem is he doesn't have a lot of leverage in this position. It's awkward. He's not sure he enjoys this.

He's definitely not enjoying this.

His current tactic largely seems to consist of getting the hell away from Ghoul as soon as possible, regardless of whatever awkward contortion that might require.

How disrespectful, Ghoul fights with dignity.

Or just rabies.

He cackles, flipping himself upright and in to a crouch so he can scuttle in pursuit. They must be a painfully idiotic sight, but the Authority enjoys seeing them scramble after each other like crabs. After Ghoul launches himself in a full-body pounce at Jet (and lands flat on his belly in the dust with a grunt), there's a soft series of pops. Confetti that has apparently manifested from nowhere flutters down to the ground.

It's the Authority's signal that there has been adequate entertainment. But it's slow to sink in for Ghoul.

He lies there on his stomach with his arms and legs stretched out, distracted by the colorful paper swirling around, then points to a piece. "That means I won." Oh, does it.

Jet dusts scraps of colorful paper off his shoulders, still rubbing his ear. That was a low blow. Not a groin shot, but a low goddamn blow and Ghoul should feel ashamed.

Except that he's pretty sure Ghoul was simply born with less than the typical amount of shame generally allotted to the average dude. As evidenced by how he finishes with that little pronouncement.

He deadeyes Ghoul at that.

"Sure," he says, the word heavy with an unvoiced you keep telling yourself that.

Still babying his ear? Ghoul makes a sound like sucking his teeth, eyes rolling. "I didn't pull it that hard." His tone is dismissive, but he's watching. Slyly. Peeking up through his lashes while picking at the grass underneath him, purposely making himself look disinterested.

But maybe he had gone too far. Jet isn't a drama queen...

Motherfucker.

He groans and rolls his eyes again (at himself and his stupid Need to check) before pushing to sit up on his knees. "C'mere, lemme lookit." That is a grown ass man doing grabby hands at Jet, yes. Serious grabby hands, not the bratty-dicking-around grabby hands. The only way to know the difference is by the scowl currently on his face.

"It's fine." He give sit one last rub and drops his hand, folding his arms across his chest and squaring his shoulders. "I"m fine."

Yeah, he's a little achy, a little bruised, but it's fine. That's the result of getting into a brawl with somebody who knows how shit you are at hand-to-hand. All for the amusement of something bigger than themselves, too. He glowers briefly up at the sky, as if that might teach the Authority to stop picking on them.

It's a pointless gesture. But it makes him feel better. Slightly.

"Are you?" He did...kinda wail on you a bit there, bud.

That a very suspicious squint right there.

The grabbyhands drop and Ghoul lets out a grumpy puff of air. "Don't flip it on me, we're talkin' about you!" He sees your game, Jet, he's a regular Sherlock Holmes over here. But he shrugs, and after a moment, flashes Jet two thumbs up.

He's all right. Some bruises and tender spots, but this is nothing compared to his regular scraps with either of the brothers. "Y'didn't do all that bad..." Oh, look, he's trying to be reassuring. Isn't that precious.

"Jerk." The rebuttal is immediate and without much bite, but he reaches up to shove Ghoul lightly on the shoulder, both a reassurance and a good-natured gripe. Dumb contest aside, he'd prefer not to beat up his best buds unless it's over something legit. Like who drank the last beer or something. Then brutal scraps are totally permitted.

He can still, from what he can tell, still move all his limbs and nothing hurts too badly, so...he's going to assume it's all good. If his legs give out later, he can reverse this decision later. It's probably fine though, right?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

♠ | OPEN MEME | MULTI-PURPOSE JAMJAR

2-7? 7-7? who knows!!! but BaTtLe!

[sounds of jet sighing]

wowee what a hater

jet "because i said so" star, major buzzkill

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