George RPs

## **RP: George.**

(Note, this is mostly to see if I'm doing it right. :P)

“When I said we’re going to see
ruthless animals, treated terribly, tearing each other apart, I did not mean
the zoo.”

“Wall Street?”

“No, the clearance isle.”

“You must accept your duty!” The
Whill pleads.

“No.”

Then I wake up.

(Narrator.)

George shutters with a strange
realization. His duty, spoken to him through a dream. But George is not so sure.
He stands on the brink of losing everyone he knowns, both ways.

He’ll be sent away, forever if he
joins the Whill, but if he stays with his friends, he and his brothers will
surely be smashed. He melancholily looks to the wall. On it is a single painting,
that George had almost never paid attention. The painting the came with the
room, ironically enough reflecting his emotions.

A stark-white streak blurs down the
center, on one side being a mucky brown, the other being a dull grey. A shadow
of a man stands on the streak, looking on the horizon, to a hazy unknown.

“Who am I?” George asks himself, his
voice stale.

“You are George, a Lieutenant in the
Emerald Federation’s First Army.” A digitalized voice chirps.

Looking to the doorway, George stars
at a maid droid, all he makes out is the outline, for the only light comes from
the lighting crackling outside, and the hallway’s burning light.

“Yeah, yeah, thank you. I wasn’t
asking you.” He grumpily replies.

The droid answers somberly. “That is
illogical, for there is no one in this room.”

George smiles, at the droid’s
program, limiting its mind. “Myself. That’s who.”

“Organic species talk to themselves?
I am not programmed to do that.”

“You know, droid,” George tells her.
“You’re lucky. Your programmed for one job, cleaning. You KNOW what to do, and
don’t have to worry about morals, and life’s problems.”

The emotionless droid gives a reply.
“That is true. I find that fulfilling my task if fulfilling my purpose.”

George looks up from the wall,
lightning crackling, illuminating the room for a glimmer of a second. “What do
you do when something’s blocking you from doing your task?” He asks, his voice
simply unsure.

“Logic error Zero-One-One-Two. It is
not my task to clear the way so I can clean. It is my job to clean, nothing
else.”

“And if you’re ordered to do
something else.”

“That would-be logic error
One-One-Five. I am programmed for my task, and that is what I follow, nothing
else.”

“You know, droid, you’ve helped me a
lot.”

“May I clean now?”

George cracks a smile, as he stands.
“Sure.”

(RP Over.)

I truly love You, Jesus!

Thud, thud.” I count the beats of my
heart, one by one. Once, thrice, five, seven times, my heart’s hammer slams
into the think hide of the intangible drum.

As hours slip through my fingers, I
slowly lose count of my heart beats.

And sudden, I am gone.

“You can lay it down, you can lay it
down!”

My eyes open, and I stare at sun,
flooding the room through a giant window, above a bronze-colored faucet.
Looking to my left, I stare at some ancient device. It has a large screen, that
has two sheets of paper showing, with digital words written all across them. A
jungle of cords leads to it, then connects to a black box. A keyboard rests on
a standing desk, attatch to the wall.

“Hello, George.”

I whip around to see a boy dressed in
a helmet, with google-like an ancient sucbadiver-with a bright, lime-green
shirt that gleams with the force oif a thousand suns. He then wears jeans, and
navy-blue shoes.

“Who-and what are you?” I ask,
confused.

“Oh, sorry, I was cosplaying.” He
says, while taking off his helmet. ‘’Names Mando. Mando, Underscore, Knight.”

He takes off his shirt, luckily
revealing another shirt. This one has a cross plastered on it, with a loin’s
face inside it. Then, it has some language I can’t read, oddly enough. I’ve studied
practically hundreds.

“What’s that language?” I ask, as he
places his shirt on the grey counter-top, beside his helmet.

“English. You wouldn’t know it, for
it’s just comes from my ‘area.’”

“What do you mean, ‘area?’” I ask
him, noticing his blond hair is in a mess of cowlicks, and strange folding.

“You see, I ‘wrote’ you. And I’ve
brought you here, to ask something.”

(Narrator.)

George looks up, like he’s about to
scream, but then just says frankly. “Yeah, that’s not that much of a shock.”

The two both laugh, and for a second,
a strange silence cloaks them.

George breaks the ice. “So… What do
you need?”

“I’m having writers block. I’m sure
you know what it is, so I need you to decide what to do next.”

George, is too shocked to reply. The
weight of what’s happening finally hits him, like a slap of water. But then he
remembers something...

“Wait, why is it that I can’t read
your shirt, but I can understand you?”

Mando smiles, and answers. “Um, let’s
just sweep that plot hole under the door.”

“So, you want a drink?” Mando asks, awkwardly.

“Sure.”

Mando walks over to the fridge, and
Geogre almost laughs at the alien tech. Mando pulls out two cans-unreadable to
George, and hand’s one to him.

“What’s this?” George says, but still
opensit, and starts chugging it.

“Coco cola. To you, it’d be Krayt
Cola.”

All that then can be heard is the
sound of slurps, and the music. “I got a heart overflowing, ‘cause I been
restored…”

George crumples the can, and tosses
it onto the counter. Mando does the same, and the George looks out the window.

“Could we go outside? Fresh air helps
me think.”

Mando says nothing, until a gigantic,
bantha-sized smirk wraps around it.

“I don’t see why I have to wear
makeup,” George grumbles as the walk out the door. “I mean, I look like a
surfer, that to9ok a shower in flower!”

“Oh, don’t wine,” Mando answers. “You
wanted to go outside, and you’d be shot the second you stepped outside.”

“Bad neighborhood?” George asks.

“No,” Mando says with a smile. “I got
some neighbors who think that the government is run buy aliens. Oh, and that
the Ark of the Covenant was a nuclear weapon given to us by aliens. 9No joke,
History channel said that. It was the same guy from the aliens meme, just a bit
more shaved.)”

Laughing, the two start brian
storming, while walking, basking in the afternoon sun’s light.

Have a good day, and GOD Jesus bless!