Voice Mail

Apr. 29th, 2015 07:33 pm
tyler_gone: (hot in a suit)
Hey, it's Tyler. You just wasted seconds of your life listening to this and waiting for that beep. Have a nice day.

BEEP!

[OOC: In creating this journal, the author has assumed the identity of a fictional person for use in the role-playing game [livejournal.com profile] fandomhigh, for the sole purpose of entertainment, without intending to obtain a benefit or to injure or defraud either the person who created the fictional person, or any reader of this content. The author does not purport to be the creator of the fictional person, or to be affiliated with the creator, or with any person or entity with an interest in the fictional person. The author does not claim to be the person who is being used as the graphical representation of that fictional person, nor intend to obtain a benefit or to injure or defraud that person by use of their image.]
tyler_gone: ([neg] having a shy moment)
So Tyler had spent his day bitching at everyone in the gym, and had been way too honesty with the people who paid his salary.

He'd finally got sent home for calling someone who wanted to fight him his first day in the gym delusional.

"I hate the world and I need a drink," he yelled into the living room. This ... passed for hello.
tyler_gone: ([text] indulge)
Tyler had, it seemed, hit the stage of advanced old age when a really good Saturday night meant three beers and online poker with a table of suckers.

The upside: He was up a couple hundred bucks, so the night wasn't a total waste. And then he clicked over into his email.

Homecoming. Huh.

"Tony?" he called into the other room. "How are you feeling about Fandom?"

[OOC: For that guy, NFB.]
tyler_gone: ([neg] Just my luck)
Right, so Tyler had spent the last two weeks of his life (since he got his life back) sabotaging a Project Mayhem plan to blow up a bridge. He'd pulled it off, but barely, and not in the prettiest of ways.

He really, really was not in the mood to deal with asshole security guards just so he could see his ... whatever-Tony-was-these-days.

Sadly, his mood didn't matter. He had to pitch a fit to end all fits at the front desk until somebody called Pepper. She'd sounded pinched on the phone, like she thought she was done with this particular headache and good riddance, but had given the guards permission to escort Mr. Durden into the inner sanctum.

He thanked them as elegantly as a guy with a busted nose could manage, then called into the depths of the lab. he thought there was motion back there. "Tony?" he said, as if it hadn't been three months. "It's me."

[OOC: For that guy.]
tyler_gone: ([dark] goggles)
Busy, busy, busy.

Tyler -- the real one -- never got enough time in charge, so he was making the most of it while he was out. He'd found a club meeting (he won, thank you, even if the tender red spot on his chest and catch when he breathed in had him worried about the ribs), given a pep talk to a couple slackers with fucked-up teeth. They seemed confused -- the wuss who shared his body had been out the week before threatening to tattle, or some shit like that -- but they'd warmed to him fast enough.

Now he was back in his apartment. The building was condemned, but the WiFi worked, and that was what mattered at the moment.

He idly watched a cockroach crawl across the wall as he tapped into a message board. The napalm didn't work because your proportions were all wrong, he typed. You gotta use cheaper orange juice, too. The good stuff's not acidic enough.

He believed in giving back to his community.

[OOC: Open if anyone wants to talk to not-exactly-Tyler.]
tyler_gone: ([neu] lying down after a fight)
Tyler had a feeling he was going to have that black eye for a long fucking time. It was all right. It helped draw attention from the swollen jaw.

He'd finally tracked down a Fight Club branch that was more than a couple drunk guys who liked to pound on each other. It wasn't a terrorist cell, yet, but he could tell they were on the brink. So he'd gone to a meeting and tried to fight his way into a position of influence.

The problem was, he was way out of practice. He'd beaten the numbnuts who called himself Tyler, but the fight had left him in a sorry state. He winced when he checked himself in the mirror of his motel room. He had a feeling people in Fandom would have something to say about the way he looked. Hell, he had something to say about the way he looked, and it wasn't very nice.

Ice pack against his chin and feeling a bit sorry for himself, he pulled out his phone and texted Tony.

buffalo = rainy. me = beat up but ok. you?

[OOC: NFB. For Tony, please.]
tyler_gone: ([neu] blue blue eyes)
This was it: Everything Tyler was taking to .. wherever chasing Fight Club would lead him ... had been boiled down to fit into two small duffel bags and a laptop case. He'd sleep (as much as he ever slept) in Fandom one more night, maybe two, but after that it was the open road.

He wished some part of him didn't find this horribly romantic.

He ambled into the kitchen of the house, frowning at the coffeepot as he went to make himself one more pot of joe. He was almost tempted to try to steal the thing.

[OOC: For the housemates + That Guy]
tyler_gone: ([neu] sitting down)
Right, so the chatter online about Project Mayhem 2.0 had intensified instead of dying down. Wednesday night, Tyler had gotten into a three-hour IM war with one of the ringleaders that ended with the numskull proclaiming "We are all Tyler Durden," as if that settled things. But what Tyler had gotten out of the guy before he retreated behind a wall of cliché was not reassuring. They'd finally found somebody who could make paraffin bombs work. The list of targets was a couple screens long.

It was time for Tyler to have a little chat with them. The kind of chat that took place in person.

They sounded disorganized enough that he figured he had a few days -- long enough to make sure Tony was someplace relatively safe and stick around to see the last few people who had started at Fandom with him graduate. For now, though, he sent out an email )

In Tyler-speak, that meant "I'll miss you all." He settled in to box things up, leaving the office door open.

[OOC: This is probably one of his last posts, at least for the time being. *clings* If you want to stop by and see him and weren't on the email, feel free to handwave other notification.]
tyler_gone: ([AU] baby in sunglasses)
Hi!

If you want a match Sunday, please sign up here by noon EST Saturday. Right now, we have these people listed:

Ben Skywalker
Anakin Skywalker
Zack Fair
Deadpool
Kennedy
Tahiri Veila
Leto Atreides
Tyler Durden

If you have two signed up and you only want one match, let us know and we'll take care of it. This is the last meeting for the school year, and probably for a bit longer than that.

Thanks, guys.
tyler_gone: ([neu] lying down after a fight)
Tyler was sleeping.

well, kind of.

Okay, so he was watching QVC. But he was lying down, so it counted.

He knew the day after prom traditions on the island, but he wasn't all that concerned about the kids. Estella had been ... surprisingly sweet, once he got used to her. He wouldn't mind if she showed up again. And if nobody did, well, that meant more time to stare at the idiot box and contemplate how much plastic surgery it took to look like Joan Rivers.

He shifted just enough to turn the volume up, relatively at peace.

[OOC: For two, I believe.]
tyler_gone: ([neu] lying down after a fight)
It was closing in on the end of the semester, and a responsible teacher might have been using his office hours to get his last few lesson plans in order.

Tyler was not that responsible teacher. He'd had philosophy students play basketball, after all.

So he was lying on his office couch, warm spring breeze eddying through the windows, halfway napping and occasionally leafing through Popular Mechanics.

The office door was cracked open.
tyler_gone: (* fight club logo)
Hi,

We've hit the part of the year where every weekend is a different random bout of awesome, and that tends to cut into Fight Club participation for some strange reason. As it looks right now, the only normal Fight Club sessions left in the school year are April 4 and April 18. We plan to have open sparring the other weekends. It's likely FC will go to some kind of alternate schedule for the summer, too, so those may be the last meetings for a while.

If you want an RNG'd fight, please sign up below. We'll try to set up everybody who asks for one.

(... also, where did this school year go?)
tyler_gone: ([neu] sitting down)
It had been a boring couple of office hours, so Tyler had decided to bring in some games to give himself something to do besides drinking coffee and trolling on the Internet.

Today, he was playing pool against himself on a miniature pool table. He kept cheating when it was stripes' turn.

[OOC: Open office hours.]
tyler_gone: ([AU] baby in sunglasses)
It wasn't anything new for baby Tyler to wake up in his car seat in a strange place, and this strange place wasn't all that bad. It smelled okay. There were all kinds of interesting things to look at on the floor. A man lay in the bed making funny noises.

He wasn't sure where Mommy was, though. She wasn't in bed next to the man making the funny noises the way she usually was. That unsettled him, but not too badly. Mommy always turned up.

He relaxed, wet his diaper, and sucked on a few fingers as he watched shadows play against the walls.

Eventually, he realized he was hungry. He whimpered a few times, and when Mommy didn't come, he let out a full-blown -

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH."


And a detective goes to work. )

[OOC: Preplayed with the shiny [livejournal.com profile] not_ironmaiden. NFI. Tyler is the baby from The Hangover, Tony is Sherlock Holmes himself.]
tyler_gone: ([spec] at desk)
Tyler was hard at work grading midterms during his office hours today.

... for about an hour. Then he started watching YouTube footage of baby animals and found it so soothing he couldn't click away. It was a good thing he didn't get many visitors; this would be bad for his reputation.

[OOC: Open office!]
tyler_gone: ([neu] sitting down)
Tyler spent his office hours today getting into yet more squabbles on the Internet. It turned out that saying one of the brothers on Spooky Things was hotter than the other one was all you needed to do.

Fangirls made for easy prey.

[OOC: Open office hours, sure.]
tyler_gone: ([spec] SNOW!)
Outside, it was freezing and the snow was still blowing around like it would never be warm again.

Inside, it was warm, there was coffee, and Tyler was trolling survivalist forums on his laptop. Randomly insulting people hadn't lost its thrill.

"Will anyone deliver in this?" he asked Tony, not looking up.
tyler_gone: ([spec] at desk)
Tyler was trying to work on his lecture for Monday, but it wasn't going so well. He kept letting little things distract him: The flash of a new message in Gmail, the hiss of his heater, the dark brown rain hitting his window.

He leaned back to stare at the rain, pretty much spaced out. It was a good thing no one was sneaking up behind him.

[OOC: Open office hours!]
tyler_gone: ([spec] at desk)
Today felt like a day for Tyler to redecorate his office.

Granted, this mostly meant moving Smoochy a few feet over and pinching dead leaves off his neglected philodendron. But the effort was there.

His office door was open.
tyler_gone: ([neu] bright-eyed)
There was fighting to do. Of course two superheroes, a samurai, and a .... guy who randomly liked to blow things up would be out, trying to defend the island.

Tyler was armed with high, heavy boots, a baseball bat, and a handgun tucked into his jeans. He just had one question as the group assembled:

"Nate, you're seriously going to use a sword?"

[OOC: For Steve, Tony + Algren, pls.]

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Tyler Durden

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