will be followed and that I have read and understood the Role Play Rules that are in a sticky at the top of the Games forum.
B) I promise that all content is to be rated G and suitable for all ages.
C) I promise that there will be no swearing, cursing (including censoring by using symbols) or inappropriate adult sexual activity or innuendo. This extends to mating, breeding or innuendo in non-human characters as well.
D) I promise to treat others with respect and kindness as is the BYC way.
E) I promise not to post any material that is a violation of copyright. Basically this means: if you didn't create the content (like an image / picture) and don't have direct permission from the content creator to post it, then don't.
It was a scorcher.
As the sun sank into the west, Providence felt a bead of sweat drip down her spine leaving a salty trail of effort behind. She hummed to herself as she yanked a carrot from the ground and tossed it in the woven basket already filled with tomatoes, squash, and green beans beside her. Sitting back on her heels, she drew the sleeve of her blue plaid shirt across her forehead and smiled.
This was the life.
In the background of her reverie, a hammer pounded mercilessly on something metal in her husband's barn-turned-workshop, the chickens coo'd and scratched happily, and the goat kids bleated and romped around their small pasture as the nanny goat munched on weeds and kept a watchful eye on them.
An early-evening breeze blew through the tomato plants, and she caught a whiff of cooler air on the horizon. It was almost autumn. A delicious shiver went through her at the prospect of cooler weather.
There would be snow soon and so much to do before then.
Cradling the basket of freshly harvested vegetables into her hip, she made her way into their small, country home. It took Providence and her husband two years to build their cabin. They used timber from their own land and a small mini-mill chainsaw that he had inherited from his late father.
The scent of finished bread hit her as she entered the kitchen bringing back memories of her mother. When her mother passed three years ago, Providence became the owner of the land that had been in her family for generations. One hundred and fourteen acres of pasture and woods, set right up against a national forest. It was heaven.
Before Providence and her husband came to the wild, they struggled in the city.
It was loud. It was dirty. It was busy. So many smells and sounds. It was deafening to their senses. People talked about the convenience and ease of life, but Providence just felt... crowded. They didn't fit in. After seven years of city life, they both knew it was time to leave.
They sold their house and most of their creature comforts. After three days of deciding what was necessary and what wasn't, the two loaded up their truck and U-Haul and left the concrete jungle for good.
Now, their nearest neighbor was half a mile away - a much better arrangement than having quibbling newly weds beyond their bedroom wall and toddlers living above them in their small, two bedroom loft. While the house was barely larger than their apartment in the city, they felt like they had SO much more room.
Bliss.
As Providence busied herself cleaning the carrots, she felt more than heard someone enter the kitchen. His arms slid around her waist, and she smiled as his teeth gently marked her neck and shoulder.
"Smells good in here," her husband said, his voice rumbling into her skin.
"Just came out of the oven. We've got some butter. You hungry?"
"Always," he said and made his way to the table. He popped open the lap top and took a seat at their kitchen table.
At six feet, three inches, Providence's husband was a formidable size. With broad shoulders, thick arms made strong by hard labor, and a lean torso, he was capable of building, hunting, harvesting, reaping, and carrying almost anything. And with those same strong arms and calloused hands, he could nurse a baby goat, help a newborn chick hatch, and love and comfort his wife. He was a good man.
As Providence set two slices of bread and some fresh goat butter on the table, she saw his brow furrow. This usually meant bad news.
"Well, it's happening."
Though a mouthful of bread and butter, she asked, "What is, love?"
He was silent as his eyes raced across the information on the screen. She could tell something was wrong. Very wrong. She was silent as she chewed and waited for more information.
It felt like an eternity before he spoke again. "The economy is gone."
Providence choked on her bite of bread as she swallowed. "Gone?" The surprise in her voice was plain. They thought they had at least two or three more years before the crash.
He nodded slowly. "Yes. Gone."
The Federal Reserve had been printing money since the Great Recession of 2008. In Early 2015, after policy makers realized that flooding the market and "throwing money" at the economy wasn't helping, they did what was known as the Bail In. Just as the government bailed out the big banks in 2008, this time they did a nation-wide sweep of everyone's checking and savings accounts. Based on a person's tax bracket, they deducted a percentage of what was kept in the bank. People were outraged... for a while. Soon after, NFL seasons came around, and people forgot completely about the Bail In.
One year later, the value of the dollar had diminished so much that rampant inflation ruined industry, and life became increasingly difficult.
On their homestead, Providence hadn't really noticed all that much. They were fairly self-sufficient save for the few small items they would pick up in town if something fell into disrepair. Other than that, they lived pretty much off-grid.
"People are making a rush for the banks to withdraw their money," he continued as he clicked to another article. "They are posting armed guards at the front doors of Chase and Bank of America. Wells Fargo hasn't been able to respond as quickly, but they are putting a limit on what you can withdraw."
Providence had a long-standing distrust of the government and banking in general. Ever since the NSA conspiracies were proven true (and even before that), she and her husband had been wary of anything involved in technology... and even people. Anyone wrapped up in their cell phones and Facebook were suspect. It's like they relinquished control of their lives. She had read somewhere that people checked their phones 113 times per day. The American Psychological Association even came up with a name for it - "Fear Of Missing Out." She laughed when she saw that. There were so many more important things to do than worry about someone's made-up life.
But she wasn't laughing now.
Russia and China had dumped all of their US Bonds, and the dollar was now worth less than toilet paper thanks to the Federal Reserve and Quantitative Easing. The stock market plummeted. People were crowded outside the doors of banks, screaming and waving their debit cards in the air desperately trying to get their meager amount of savings out of the failing behemoth.
It was too late for them.
"The looting has begun." He snapped the laptop shut. Fortunately, the big cities were very far away. The closest city to them was fifteen miles away and had a population of less than 30,000. It was well-documented that people, in times of crisis, lost their minds. Looting, murder, and much worse were regular human happenings.
"Do you think we should we tell the neighbors?"
He was silent for a moment, his brow furrowed as he thought. Finally, he stood from the table, his gaze still far away. "Yes. We should see what they know. Send the email to The Group. I need a shower."
A smile touched the corner of her lips as she sat down and opened the lap top again. He always liked to be clean when he was about to begin something.
Her fingers flew over the key board as she banged out the message.
"Dollar tanked. Collapse eminent.
This is not a drill.
Be careful out there."
She clicked send and made her way to the barn to saddle up two of their five horses. It was better to take the horses and leave the truck in the driveway. It was still safe enough to leave for a while.
She had just gotten the bit into one of the horses mouth when her husband entered the barn. He grabbed another bridle off the tack wall and walked up to his horse. Roy was a big, sturdy buck skin, as sure-footed as they came. Placing a hand on the side of Roy's neck, he bowed his head and leaned forward against the massive creature's forehead.
"It's time, old buddy. We're going to make it through this."
Providence could tell he was saying it more for himself and her than the horse, but she still felt comfort in hearing the assurance. She led her piebald paint out of the barn and hoisted herself up in the saddle. Her horse, Lady, danced a little under her weight and whinnied.
"Easy, girl," she said and patted the side of Lady's neck.
Roy trotted out of the barn, her husband astride him. They both kicked their horses and started for the edge of the woods - the most direct route to their closest neighbor's farm was a mile's ride through the national forest.
****
((A few notes...
If you've made it this far, I'm happy to have piqued your interest! Welcome to a Relay, my friends! A relay differs from an RP in that you control more of what other characters do and, therefore, move the story along faster. Instead of going paragraph by paragraph, you go chapter by chapter.
From here, you have a few options... You could choose to write your character as the owner(s) of the farm that Providence and her husband are going to... Or you can create a whole new character and start your own story line. At this time, Providence's husband may have a player coming in to write him.
A few notes about this Relay:
1) These people are werewolves. They are capable of turning into wolves that are a little larger, can walk upright, and have opposable thumbs. They are capable of forming a few human words (poorly) and "speak" to each other using howls, growls, and body language.
2) Not everyone is a werewolf (you are welcome to make your character a human or werewolf... Or anything else you wish, but let's keep it "real" ... no "mythical" creatures, please... ex: dragon shifter)
3) No god-modding. No character is all-powerful. Everyone can be injured and must take time to heal. If you write that someone breaks their leg, expect to see them in a cast for a post or so (speed-healing for shifters is kosher).
4) Practice The Golden Rule! Don't make someone else's character do something that you wouldn't want your character to do (unless you have the permission of that character's owner).
5) Let's keep it PG-13 for the kiddos, okay?
I think that's it.
The gist of the story is this - It's mid-August 2016. The economy has melted down. There are riots, murders, looting, and anarchy in large cities. Paper money is worthless - silver, barter and trade are the law of the day. This is a relay about how creatures living on the fringe of human society might fare in a societal meltdown. The location is somewhere in Montana or Idaho, think mountains and forest... Fall is approaching.
Werewolves are able to shift at will, are naturally stronger and faster in their human forms than people, have heightened senses in both forms, and are required to shift at a full moon. They have no allergy to silver. A bullet is a bullet, but they are quite resilient and can't be taken down by one or two shots (except in the head or heart).
I'm excited to see what happens in the next chapter!


Let's go!))
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