I thought it would be interesting for everyone to post what times of the day they're usually here, on chat, etc.

I'll start:

My schedule is pretty wonky from time to time depending on my store's needs. Nevertheless I almost never go to sleep before 3 a.m. because I'm usually working late.

I'm in MST which is 2 hours behind the U.S. seaboard, so 7 days a week I'm around from approx. 2 a.m. EST to 5 a.m. although if no one else is around which is usually the case (Nick and Mikey are sometimes here that late) I'll knock off earlier. On days I don't work closing shift at my store I'm here around 10-11 PM EST.

I can also at least a few days a week be found here before 5 p.m. EST. Depends on whether or not I decide to sleep in before work. Those are days which like today I work the evenings and nights.

I usually take Monday or Tuesday off from work and can be found here at any time.

The Dallas Source
Blogger Lex Teasdale

September 21, 2041


Say bye, bye to the scandalous days of shocking sex tapes leaked from Hollywood and Washington. The video that's taken the country by storm comes from a clean cut, home-grown Texas cowboy speaking the good word!

By day, Jensen James is the charismatic, sweet-talking conservative standing up for strict moral fortitude and religious reformation. You've seen him, no doubt, flipping channels on the weekend, center stage before ten-thousand churchgoers hanging on his every word. By night, he's a steamy punchline come true!

Congratulations to us! The camera was rolling, and somebody was caught with their pants down. Or more accurately: nowhere in sight!

Five years to become a religious household name might be fast, but five hours to circle the globe? Now that’s an impressive fan base! The good preacher's audience has grown faster than you can say 'Ride 'em cowboy! He’s been spotted in everything from stand-up to late-night. This is your fifteen minutes, brother! Get yourself a book deal while you can.


Comments are open-


Update - September 21, 2041


The steamy partner in the Good Preacher's video has been identified as gay-for-pay Latin American prosti-dude Tomas Alvarez. Shit just hit the fan!

Meanwhile, Mrs. James asserts her husband “is not gay.” Keep telling yourself that darlin’. No wonder his car was spotted South of the border.

<big>Dallas-based megachurch preacher missing.</big>

September 18, 2041

The Dallas Source
-Associated Press


A report was filed with police today that local megachurch preacher and televangelist, Jensen James, has been missing for nearly a week. According to a spokesman for the James family, confirmed identification of Mr. James' whereabouts were last observed by gated surveillance cameras leaving their home estate, in the north Dallas suburb of Preston Hollow, at 2 AM Saturday morning. The report states that a car matching that as one owned by Mr. James was identified on I-35 southbound at the Mexican border at Laredo.

The James family has offered a reward for relevant information. No other official statement has been issued at this time.

COMMENTS ARE OPEN

Gio moved throughout the market. He had no money, having spent all of it on drinks in the Red Light District. If Claire was going to help him, he needed more money to pay her for her eventual services. Markets were always a good place to steal from.

He remembered to keep his thieving small, not to draw attention to it - taking only a few bills so those people wouldn't notice. Gio was well practiced at pick pocketing. He kept his eye open, making sure no one was watching, and kept to the men with baggy clothes so they wouldn't feel his hand slipping into their pockets. Gio passed stalls and took a few coins off a counter while the vendor wasn't looking.

Giovanni had a good collection of money going. He felt like he had enough for now. He could break into a house later that night to get some more money. Right now, drawing attention to himself was precisely what he didn't want to do.

Early morning light had yet to crest the buildings of the complex to stream through his small window, yet Jensen crossed and threw open the meager curtain anyway. The sky was a soft pink glow, and he didn't need to look at his watch to know what time it was. He arrived home following the night shift at the exact same time every day.

A jacket and personal things he dumped on the couch on the way to the kitchen wall where he plucked a well-cleaned glass from a rickety cabinet and filled it with warm tap water. Only after reminding himself to pick up OJ on the way home from tomorrow's shift.

He stared longingly at the third wall which hid a Murphy's bed, but instead found himself seated at the table and firing up a laptop. Please God let there be a connection today. Internet in the Moscow ghetto was shoddy at best.

The homescreen rose into view. There, splashed across the monitor, was a Dallas news clog. A collection of headlines all filtered by the DFW region. He could barely breathe as his eyes scanned tile after tile. By the time he scrolled to yesterday's grid, his eyes glazed over the words displayed there.

It had been four years to the day Jensen disappeared, but he had to know. He had to know if there was any story. "Search for missing preacher abandoned", That one had hurt, but like ripping off a band aid, he was glad the day they called it off. It meant his family could close that chapter of their lives and move on without him. But like the other stories from the years past, the scars remained, and tasted of bitter remorse. "Megachurch preacher flees after sex scandal", "Local televangelist inducted into Hall of Shame", "Jensen James brilliantly beguiled his flock", "Deadbeat-dad dead? Or skips town?", "...Hypocrite...", "...Liar...".

Hair fallen across his eyes, he rubbed his forehead, numb, and gently closed the laptop. There were no stories. The anniversary came and went, forgotten. He wasn't sure if it was relief or regret flooding his face with heat at the moment, but he finished the water and looked dully at the liquor cabinet, but decided instead to merely take a shower and go to bed.

Staring down at the video of himself, Jensen's heart sank, filled with the heavy boulders of guilt. He could bear to look no longer and whipped the iScreen from his hands, but the burst of anger did nothing to ease his torment. It clanked against a dumpster and shattered to the alley cement, but what broke might as well have been his entire world.

He turned to face the extortionist which brought him here tonight. True to the man's promise, he was unrecognizable; a faceless adversary whose features were covered by a ski-mask. His clothing was nondescript. Jensen had no idea who this man was, nor how he came to have video of such... intimate moments in a couple's life.

Palms sweating, he reluctantly handed over the briefcase. It was funny. He'd expected ten million to feel heavier. Perhaps he'd simply forgotten the feel of cold cash. Not since childhood had he held tangible currency, let alone pack so much into one case. Immediately, the man snatched it away and quickly retreated as though worried the preacher before him might turn violent.

The sum of money was meant to buy his way out of public disgrace, and Jensen, shamed, turned up the collar of his trench coat, placed his hands in the pockets, and pivoted to leave by the way he came without lifting a single hand. There wasn't a violent bone in his body.

He made it five steps before he heard laughter.

A deep frown turned down his mouth, and he half-pivoted to glance behind. Only to witness the one who dragged him out here on threat of force huddle the briefcase under one arm, pull a second iScreen and upload the video anyway. The man made a mockery of a bow, and took off running.

In the darkness, the color drained from Jensen's face. God save me.

In that moment. Everything he'd worked for crumbled to dust. His pride, eroded. His congregation, betrayed. His family, gone. His soul, damned. With ten million dollars, he bought absolutely nothing.

"STOP!" His legs were moving before he even realized what was happening.

The man, paces ahead of him, sped up, but Jensen's athletic stride dug onward, oblivious to puddles and obstacles clogging the alleyway. He'd complied! He paid the bribe! And they ruined him anyway. Why else but simply to torture him. Did they not know he already tortured himself? "STOP" He yelled again, and arms flung outward as though reaching for something too far to grasp, his soul threw itself forward.

The man arched high from the ground as though tripped hard by forces unseen and was sent soaring. Then he crumpled not ten steps from the cross-street beyond. Nobody illuminated by lights of the city sidewalks even glanced their way.

Jensen caught up, panting, and knelt beside the man, heart pounding and mind praying the very thing he'd wished for with all his might hadn't come true.

He rolled the body, and cringed - knowing deep in his bones exactly what he’d done.

Sirens in the distance. Lights filled the rectangle of windows overhead. He wanted to throw up, but there was no time to think about how it happened. Only run.

He shoved a hand across the slick curve of his hair, then snatched the briefcase back into his possession. And like shadows of the demons he knew took root in his soul, Jensen fled from light to disappear in the darkness.

Four years later.

To this day, nobody recognized the forklift driver working the Moscow shipping yards ever stood behind a pulpit. The way the Moscovites said his name, Jensen, sounding a heavy Y consonant at the beginning, only distanced him further from his former life; a life assumed ended four years ago in bloody blackmail. His hair was longer now, though frequently slicked straight from his forehead with cheap pomade. His beard was scruffier. His clothes were far less flashy. The Jensen James never smoked. Or drank. Or filled his time with any of the things this fallen version of himself did. Jensen lived in an immaculate house in Dallas, not a one-room studio in outskirts Moscow. Jensen drove a Mercedes, not risked his life every day on the metro. Jensen had two sons and a beautiful wife, not a scandalous affair, and he certainly did not pay for his company.

Most troubling of all. Preacher James did not channel what was sure to be dark powers.



Physical description

5’10”, lean and pale from working night-shifts. Brown hair that curls to his ears when left untended and a patchy, thin beard. His countenance is frequently dour and drawn. He keeps to himself, rarely raises his voice, but battles the demons nipping at his heels every single day. Eventually, he assumes they will finally catch up and devour him alive. Well, if so, he would deserve it.



Abilities

Channeler. He has a latent Talent for Healing, which, once developed, has the potential to be legendary, assuming he embraces the act. As of now, he fears this power, and his guilt over taking another life (and every other mistake that led him here) eats away at his love for it.

His block consists of a physical movement which must accompany any outflow of Power. Such as hand gestures, moving his arms, or motion in general, such as how the power manifested that first time he channeled: running while throwing his arms as though literally hurling a wall of air forward. The block developed in response to his conscious search to reproduce what he’d done that first time. By giving into the lured temptation he loves and yet despises, he saved his own life from the Sickness.

His experience hovers between new and adept. Four times out of five he can produce the effect he desires, though it is usually minimal and awkward as a child’s first attempts at walking.

His strength as of now is moderate from consistent practice at his own pace. Having never been under forced learning, he has not experienced many of the starts and fits of growth as other male channelers. Slow and steady building, like a marathon runner, rather than a sprinter, his strength curve steadily increases. For now, it is holding at a solid 6-7, but he has the potential to expand to 15, clearly strong enough to be a force in this world. He is unaware of others of his kind.


Edited by Jensen James, Sep 17 2013, 10:20 AM.

Katya was pulling an all nighter. She didn't have to but she was doing wasn't exactly legal either. Despite her day job, Katya still tried to hack places she shouldn't all in the name of security she told her boss. Nathaniel was a good man. He trusted Katya. Though she didn't exactly know why. Then again she didn't know why he'd brought her on when she was only 14 either.

But beat going to jail, or worse working for the government in one of those hacker dungeon's she'd heard rumors about. The places where they lock the cyber criminals up to do their deeds for them and not get paid a cent. Their life sucked. At least Katya got do do what she wanted now. If she actually hacked into one of those no-no places it was all in the name of the job. But in reality it was for the pure challenge.

The WHO had notoriously high security measures, and Katya was trying her damnedest to get into that place. She didn't care about the secrets or anything. But where there was a firewall Katya wanted to try to gain access.

Her computer terminal blinked furiously at her as she typed. He little brother once told her it sounded like a machine gun, but that was on the old peice of junk she had when she was little. It was archaic then, now it was silent and actually not even there. The holographs of most modern wallets were based off of the very thing Katya was using. The holographic keyboard resonded to her finger movements. The computer itself could even respond to voice commands. But that was for the novices. Katya saw the 1's and 0's that the computer spoke. She couldn't translate it persay, but it was what she dreamed of. The computer's talked to her in her sleep. That's what Katya wanted to beleive. But it was just her subconscious processing her thoughts into what she wanted to see.

It was all in those 1's and 0's. There was a pattern, a way in. Katya knew it, but she couldn't find it. No security algorithm she knew or knew how to crack was what the WHO was using. She had to think outside the box. She had to 'think' like a computer.

Age: 19 - deceased

Origin: Moscow

Occupation: Internet Security Consultant aka Hacker

Psychological description: Katya is a typical introvert. She prefers to hang in front of a computer doing what she does best. Katya has a good head about her, but is naive in most things. But where her common sense lacks, her computer knowledge thrives.

Physical description: Katya has straight mid-back length blond hair and a pale green almond shaped eyes. She is about 5'5"

Powers &amp; supernatural powers: Channeler

Current strength level: 0

Potential strength level: 9

Channeler experience level: New

Are you a reborn god? No

Biography:

Katya was born in Moscow her father was a welder and her mother a nurse at the local hospital. Both worked hard to give Katya what she needed to survive, which lead to them not being around much. Katya didn't thrive in school, she was always picked on. Early on Katya found comfort in front of her computer. She spent many hours poking through things, scouring the Internet for resources to teach her.

By the age of 10 Katya was writing computer programs that hacked into her parents works to increase their pay. It was merely a matter of finding the right back door and the right combination of key strokes to get past the security. Katya brute forced her way in then.

Her parents were both let go because they figured they had done it. Katya was sad, but there was little she could do about that. It's not like they even had the knowledge to do anything remotely like that.

At the age of 12 Katya was starting to push past more sophisticated encryption algorithms and learning her way through the encryption schemes of the basic wallet coding. It wasn't hard breaching wallets

At 14 Katya was caught trying to get into a banks firewall. It was then that Katya was taken in by an elite computer security consulting company and taught everything else she knows how to do now. Her job at the age of 19 is to attempt to hack into companies and alert them to their security holes. They call it a white hat hacker. But a hacker is a hacker.

But the job gave Katya the ability to continue her exploring of the computer world networks and learn more and hack more things than she would have otherwise been able to.

With the job Katya had she helped her parents survive now. It made her happy and Katya only want then to be happy.


Edited by Katya, May 27 2014, 12:15 PM.

A thread inspired by good old Seth Marx, who claims his character's theme song is Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy.

Things had gotten interesting since she'd gotten to Moscow, Aria had barely any time to herself. Everything was mostly a blur.

Today was the first day she had a moment to think much less get out to see the city itself. Aria made what precautions she could before heading out into the streets of the city she called home now. She sighed at the loss of the gloves she'd had when it had all started. It would be a good day to find a new pair.

The weather for Russia was warm and long sleeves were out of the question. Aria disliked the idea of that much skin out for touching, clothes always blocked most people's emotions when brushing against her, she could only do what she could to avoid them, wearing anything more than the black short sleeve shirt was out of the question.

It would be a good time to see about finding some way to replace her sword. All she needed was a good blade. A black smith would be better but those were hard to find. But it was the challenge that made the search that much more fun.

Aria left the Atharim headquarters and headed for the Izmailovsky Market. It was the largest open air market, or so she had been told by another local Atharim. She should be able to find most of what she was looking for. Or at least hear about some place, she could only hope.

Aria was getting rather good at following the rail system and learning the schedule. But every once and a while she'd miss her stop. Today wasn't one of those days thankfully. She got off at the appropriate stop and was astounded by the flood of people already milling about the market. It wasn't early, but still, that was a lot of people.

The crowd wound up and down the isle of covered 'shops' and it was a mass of confusion. Aria took a deep breath and started walking into the crowd. It wasn't long before Aria found a leather worker who had gloves on display. Nothing extravagant, Aria could only hope to find something suitable - thin but yet a good grip and durable.

There were several types but none seemed to perfect. Aria pulled on a pair to feel their comfort. It was too bad she had left her guns and the remaining sword at headquarters. The feel was too thick for her liking, but with out a grip to test it was still very difficult to tell.

Aria pulled off the gloves and set them down where she had found them and moved around the table to try on another potential pair of gloves.