Lawlapalooza

Hello everyone.

Welcome to

LAWLAPALOOZA


You were just on your way onto the stage for your next concert. You could hear the crowd roaring, or perhaps the clinking of cups.

Regardless, you didn't make it.

On your way from the rehearsal room to the stage, you blacked out. Your consciousness had slipped away. The next thing that happens is you groggily wake up. Looking around, you seem to be on the floor of a dimly lit hotel room. Coming to, you rise to your feet and stumble into the bathroom. You wash yourself up and try to recall last night's events, but it is all a blur to you.

Sighing, you look for your luggage. Nothing is found. In fact, you don't even have your identification in your pockets. Frustrated, you exit the hotel room. You start walking downstairs when something catches your eye. But... there's something odd about it. As you walk towards it, you cannot believe what the calender says.

Today's date is March 24th, 1969. But how is that possible? Someone must be playing a ♥♥♥♥ing joke on you, because yesterday was March 23rd, ____. As you continue downstairs you look around at everyone else. They seemed to dress a little odd to you. When you look over at one man with a newspaper to his face, you can clearly see the date.

03/24/1969.

You quickly take a seat to take this all in. You... you just time traveled!



So, what is Lawlapalooza, you might be asking yourself? Quite simple. This is a fun little RP I thought of and figured that a lot of people could enjoy. What's the premise? Well, here it goes!

Everyone is going to pick one musician from any year. You could pick Freddy Mercury from 1983. Maybe Robert Johnson from 1936. Maybe Katy Perry from present day. Perhaps even classical composers, or a member of a metal band.

So, you got your musician and the year they came from. So what the hell happens next? Well, hopefully you read that little introduction. What happens, you see, is one day you are suddenly knocked unconscious. Next thing you know, you've woken up in a hotel called Hotel California, with no recollection of checking in. However, you CAN check out. You realize that somehow you have gone back in time or gone forward in time to early 1969.

And you're kinda ok with it. I mean, you ARE an artist and time travel would be cool. Perhaps you could use your skills here and rock the music industry and become the best musician ever! You could write all those hits from the 70's 80's 90's and 2000+ before they were written!

So, that's all you need. An established (we must be able to find them or their band on wikipedia) artist and the era you wish him to be from. Depending on the year would depend on their ability. Angus Young in 1975 would be quite different from Angus Young in 1989.

You're free to pick any kind you want. A singer, guitarist, bassist, piano player, whistles, rapper, etc. As for an actual story it'll be created moreso by us. Woodstock is the only thing I have planned for us all to roleplay. Also, remember that it is simply one artist you're bringing back, not the band. So if you're from 2004 your bandmates won't be around for quite a long time... but if they formed in 1970, you might want to go meet up with them and start your band!

As your character you're free to do just about whatever you want. Just let us know their name, what year they're from, and what their age would be, Want to play at bars? Put a band together? Try to get an album out? Write songs that won't be written for another 10 years? Run around awkwardly as Mozart? Of course, I encourage you to hang out with other PC musicians, otherwise it'll be kinda lame, ya dig? Other than that this game is quite open ended and anything you think you can do within reason, do it!

Quick note. It will be assumed that we all go to an alternate timeline. To keep things simple, the only differences will be your band won't exist. So if someone picks Freddy, for example, the other members of Queen would not be formed. They'd just be playing in their hometowns or something and not making it to the big time. You could go and form them however. After awhile any bands that didn't have an artist picked would be assumed to be formed. So if no one picks anyone from The Who, they will exist in this game.


That said, the game begins with all of us waking up at various hotels in Los Angeles, California. You can choose to wake up in your own, or coordinate to wake up in the same one with other people. Then... have fun, dammit.


Also, my musician will be David Bowie from 1975, making him 28 years old.








CHARACTERS

David Bowie, 1975 (28) [Gamzee]

Spoiler:  

Jack White, 2007 (32) [Holden]

Spoiler:  

Jamie T, 2011 (25) [eridan]

Spoiler:  

Keith Moon, 1971 (25) [nolan]

Spoiler:  

Trent Reznor, 1994 (29) [Severus Snape]

Spoiler:  

I want to be Shakira from whenever she released "whenever, whereever"

I will edit this soon

Aight, aight, y'all I'ma be Kanye West from now, which makes him 34. (Haha, this is going to be ridiculous. Should be fun.)

kanye was taken?

tags have been changed appropriately.

I'll give Kanye to Forte if he wants it! I didn't know if he was going to even pop over here, so ha.

---------- Post added at 01:52 AM ---------- Previous post was at 01:49 AM ----------

But then I totally want to be Jack White.

---------- Post added at 01:53 AM ---------- Previous post was at 01:52 AM ----------

from 2007 when he was 32, yeah?

Keith Moon, circa 1971/72 around when Who's Next came out. I think he'd be 24 or 25

Trent Reznor circa 1994. Yes..hes a Time Lord.

Jamie T from 2011 which would make him 25

David opened his eyes to find himself lying on the ground, face first in a pile of cocaine.

"Oh."

He picked his face up and wiped it off of his face, inevitably getting some in his nose. Which was a good thing. Afterwards he stumbled got to his feet. He took in his surroundings. He appeared to be alone in a dimmed hotel room. Nothing else was in this room that he could readily identify and he had no recollection of being here. Rubbing his head he looked into the mirror, admiring himself for a second. The Thin White Duke being out of it? Well... sounded normal.

David lumbered over to the door and exited. The decor was familiar, yet, strange. He fiddled with his hair and made his way downstairs. The smell of breakfast filled the air and led him to the dining area. He took a seat by the window and looked out. It was Los Angeles alright. Looking on the wall, a poster caught his eye. An advertisement for Woodstock. "Was there another one", he thought? Woodstock was six or seven years ago. A young woman walked over to the table and asked what he'd like for breakfast.

"Just some scrambled eggs, dear, and tea. By the way, what is today's date?"

"Why, it's March Twenty-fourth!"

"Right, right." David put his hand on his chin and took a glance out the window. "And, when is Woodstock festival scheduled?"

"Late this summer, I reckon."

"Right. That would be all." David sat and contemplated having realized he was sent back in time. He also contemplated going to finish that cocaine in his room.

As Jamie's eyes slowly opened, his head started to throb like crazy.

"What the hell happened?"

As he got up from the floor he observed his surroundings. A lamp, a single bed, a small couch and a T.V. His first reaction was to run the hell out of there, thinking he had been kidnapped or something similar, but when he realized he was in a normal hotel he decided nothing like that happened and calmed down.

"How the ♥♥♥♥ did I get here though?"

He decided to call his agent, but his cell didn't seem to work

"Ah, bollocks"

He left the hotel room to get some answers as to how the hell he got there, but as he passed the hotel lobby, a small bar caught his eye.

"I could use a dimple of whisky for this massive headache. Bartender, blue label on on the rocks"

As he waited for his drink and sat down on the warm bar stool a young, odd looking young woman sat down next to him. Platform shoes, bell bottom pants, the works. Jamie couldn't help but make a remark on her outfit with a snicker

"Pretty retro."

The woman couldn't help but look at him with a puzzled face and walked away. Jamie quickly finished his drink and just as quickly asked for another. He had lost all notion of time during his black out and asked the bartender for the time.

"12:45 PM, sir"

That couldn't be possible, Jamie had blacked out at around one, he thought he had blacked out for a whole twenty four hours and asked the bartender for the date

"March, 24, 1969."

Just like that Jamie spat out most of his drink out and realized the bartender was right, he analyzed his surroundings: technology, fashion, slang etc and saw that it couldn't be 2011, it was indeed the late sixties, almost the seventies. Jamie realized he had time traveled and sat down at the bar again astonished. He chugged his drink, asked for another but this time he whispered to the bartender

"Leave the bottle"

At least there was no headache.

Most of the time when Keith would wake up in an unknown place it was accompanied with a severe headache, a pulsating pain that threatened to split his skull in two. To his delight (and surprise), this morning he was feeling a little bit more groggy than usual, but no worse for the wear.

Keith sat up and stretched, slowly taking in his surroundings.. Looks like he missed the bed and passed out on the floor again.

He was in a hotel room, he'd seen enough of them to tell that much. Oddly enough he seemed to be alone, another strange anomaly. Usually after waking up the first thing Keith would notice was the surrounding forms of other passed out people. Keith kept some interesting company over the years.

While waking up sober was a nice change, it certainly wouldn't do for long. There's probably a bar in the lobby somewhere, but that was all the way down who knows how many stairs. Some more immediate action would need to be taken. Just as well, Keith spotted the minibar.

After draining three or four of the cute little bottles of alcohol, Keith was ready to start his day, maybe head down to that bar and get a "proper" breakfast. Just one last thing to do before heading down.

Keith surveyed the poorly lit bathroom. It seemed clean enough, but like most scummy hotel bathrooms looked like it was covered in fine layer of grime. Only the pure white porcelain toilet seemed completely clean, and that was where Keith was focusing his attention.

Toilets. Something about them just called to him. Maybe it was their odd shape, maybe it was the fact that he spent a good amount of his time either sitting on one or with his head buried in the bowl. He didn't really give it much thought, he only answered their call.

"♥♥♥♥." Keith muttered to himself as he patted his pockets, looking for something elusive. He didn't notice any bags in the room, so it was doubtful he had any of his preferred "tools" with him, but sometimes you can find the most surprisingly useful things forgotten in your pockets.

"Aha!" Keith said in victory, pulling a few cherry bombs from one of his jacket pockets. He examined one of the tiny explosives for a minute. He didn't really favour cherry bombs much anymore, but it would have to do in a pinch, and there were enough to cause a big enough bang, he supposed.





Keith has already descending the stairs down to the lobby when he heard the muffled "BANG" and felt the walls shake slightly. Some plaster dust rained down from the ceiling. An extra skip came into Keith's step as he whistled his way down to the lobby.

As he arrived in the lobby he saw a mustached man (probably the manager of the hotel) in a cheap suit looking frazzled walking quickly towards the elevators across the room, accompanied by the hotel repair man in overalls with a tool kit.

"A maid said the whole toilet is basically gone. There's water everywhere and apparently it's already leaking into the rooms below! We need to get this fixed now, understand?"

The elevator doors shut, cutting off any further conversation for Keith to overhear.

Entering the bar, Keith took note of the few other patrons who had arrived to start the day off properly. A gaunt and somewhat androgynous looking man was seated at a table, looking somewhat contemplative over a pile of scrambled eggs and steaming cup of tea. A young man. was at the bar, a bottle of whiskey in front of him. Keith couldn't help but smile, a boy after his own heart.

Keith sat himself at a table of his own just as a server approached.

"Take your order, hun?"

"A shot and a pint, love. Bit of toast if you have."

"Coming right up."

Keith fidgeted at his table while he waited for his order. He was never great at staying still, which is probably why he enjoyed playing the drums so much. Plenty of opportunity for movement and making noise, two of his favourite things. He was tearing at the upholstery under his chair when the server came back with his drinks and a couple slices of toast and jam.

"Cheers."

Keith munched on a piece of toast as he regarded the shot glass and pint in front of him. He loved drinking, but doing so on its own had lost some of its appeal. He once again began to dig through his pockets, hoping for something he wasn't sure was there. Imagine his surprise when his fingers closed around a small familiar shape at the very depths of his pants' pocket.

Keith wasted no time in placing the small tranquilizer pill on the edge of his toast and tearing off a big bite, followed immediately by the shot and a large swallow of beer. Keith smacked his lips in satisfaction.

"Newspaper, sir?" The server was back.

"Oh, sure." Keith said contentedly. This day was starting out great.

"Mostly stuff in there on the big concert coming up." The server shared before heading off to check on her other patrons.

Keith's eyes shot over the headlines of the front page before settling on the date.

"Hm?" His eyes widened for a second as he noticed the date. "24th of March, 1969?" He muttered, "Could have sworn it was '71 yesterday."

Then the tranquilizer hit and Keith stopped worrying about what day or year it was. Life was good.

Jack's eyes opened, and the world came into focus. He wasn't up on stage, or out back with Meg prepping. That much was clear. Nah, this was a bit different. He was in some hotel room, if the bed (which he hadn't crashed on apparently) and and other fixtures were any hint.

You know, he thought, this is kind of like the video for "Dead Leaves on the Dirty Ground", where everything is sort of vacant and trashed. I mean, yeah.

He rose from the ground, finding his body stiff and aching. He stumbled over to the bathroom and started running some water. He filled his hands with it and splashed it over his face. He ran his fingers through his hair and got it out of his face so that he could look at himself in the mirror.

Man, he looked wrecked. What had happened to him? He had no idea what was going on.

He exited his room and started towards the stairs. He was feeling nervous. His guitar was missing, Meg was nowhere to be found, and he honestly couldn't figure out what hotel he was in. It didn't look like the one he'd checked into for the tour, nah, it had to be somewhere else.

He entered a downstairs dining area and sat himself down at the ball. He called over the bartender and ordered something.

He glanced over at a man sitting at a table and blinked. Was that David Bowie?

The bartender brought over his drink. Jack brought it to his lips and gulped down half of it. He turned over to the young guy sitting next to him, a bottle beside him. He raised his glass to him.

Jamie was in deep thought, he didn't know what to do, where to go, he was flabbergasted. Suddenly he realized a movement from the table next to him, it was a raised glass pointing at him. He simply raised it back to be kind, he had no time for foolish toasts. But then he saw the man raising the glass

"Holy ♥♥♥♥, it's Jack White"

But then Jamie being the big White Stripes fan he was, remembered that Jack wasn't even born by 69! Then it hit him like a ton of bricks, he wasn't the only one. He slowly raised his glass, and stared directly into his eyes and said

"I'm a big fan Mr. White, but you too, huh?"

"Flood? Flood?"

An echoing word came from the man lying face first on the floor. He pried his face off the gaudy carpet and the room seemed to spin slightly.

"♥♥♥♥...Where...? Flood, where the ♥♥♥♥ are you!!"

Trent couldn't understand where his guitarist disappeared to. He finally took in his surroundings. A bed, a window with some rather awful floral print on them, a shag carpet, orange wallpaper. Something didn't seem right. Last he recalled, he was in London on tour. Not to mention, he could have sworn there was a girl with him. Hell if he could remember her name at the moment. Finally, he pulled himself together and moved to the bathroom. It looked horribly dated but at the same time, the basin, shower, and toilet all looked unchipped and clean. He peered up into the mirror. His face was a bit pinched. His skin sallow and his rather large nose dripping slightly. His black hair was mussed and pointing up in the back. "How odd...." he mused. "I'm pretty sure I wasn't THAT ♥♥♥♥ed up last night. And where the ♥♥♥♥ is...Ahh nevermind."

Hungry, and getting rather angry at his situation, Trent finally left the room. "Maybe they are all eating or some ♥♥♥♥." A woman passed him and gave him a very unusual look. Probably due to the electrical tape still stuck on his abdomen. But what struck him as strange was the way the woman was dressed. She was wearing what appeared to be bell bottoms and a very light looking shirt. And a headband. Hmm....

"I wonder. Is there some sort of hippie revival going on? Pfft! Pretty hilarious!" He mumbled. At least her butt looked good in those jeans. He was starting to get a bit tetchy however. There was no sign of Flood or any of the other guys. Not to mention the equipment was gone. If someone stole my synths...He thought. Finally he approached the lobby bar area. The sight that he beheld made his jaw drop.

"What the ♥♥♥♥!!!" He said it a bit too loud causing some people (including the men at the bar) to look in his direction. One of them really stood out. A thin man with a strange hairstyle. Trent mused, "Wait....That's...NO! It can't be!" The man merely smiled looking rather bemused.

"You're...David Bowie?" Trent asked rather weakly. The man continued to smile and nodded. There was another man sitting nearby that made Trent do a double take. This man was staring a bit blankly at a newspaper. An ignored pint in front of him. Trent's mind was reeling. How could HE be here? How indeed! He saw two other men that he did not recognize at all. One with very shaggy hair and the other dressed in clothes Trent never imagined before.

"♥♥♥♥...this gets weirder by the minute! Hey you!" He called to the youngest of the lot. "Have you seen a guy with dreads anywhere?"
The young man simply shook his head. He looked just as lost as the others. Trent finally moved near whom he was quite sure now, was Keith Moon. Peering over his shoulder, Trent read the newspaper and realized just what was wrong.

March 24, 1969

Trying not to yell obscenities, Trent sat down slowly. How...How on earth. Is this some sort of cosmic joke? Is he still asleep? Did his band take off in the bus and leave him here? What is the meaning of this?

"Would you like to order, sir?" a voice said. Trent didn't even bother looking up and just croaked out "Coffee..."

"Oh it's not so bad, mate!" said Mr. Bowie. "Really! Look at that!" he pointed at a poster that read: "3 days of Peace and Music." With a picture of a dove sitting on a cartoon of a guitar head.
"Blimey, I'm starting to think we hit the jackpot!" Bowie said again with a wry smile. Trent simply stared.
"No good if I haven't a band. Yeah usually I just....do it all myself in the studio, but playing live, that's something else altogether." He became rather melancholy at the thought. "How did we get here...?" he asked slowly. The others just shook their heads. One of them, the younger man, was starting to stare at Trent with a look of mild admiration. Trent was still staring at David Bowie however. It was hard not to. He quickly noticed that Bowie was deep in thought. Almost as if one could see the gears turning in his head. He then gave a reassuring smile.
"It'll work out!"
"I ♥♥♥♥ing hope so, man...."

ooc: hey dicks and woman, on further thinking I believe we should all have a picture of our artist. If you'd please find a picture in your freetime of your artist from about the time you're roleplaying him from that'd be tiiiight.

k.



"Here, let me try a little... something." When the waitress came back with Trent's things, he got her attention. "Excuse me, miss, have you ever heard of David Bowie?"

She looked thoughtful for a moment and then shook her head with a sad look in her eyes. "No, can't say I have. Does he play music like the Dead? That music is so groovy!"

"Hm, not exactly," Bowie replied. "What about The Who? What do you think of their music?"

"Jeez, mister, haven't heard of no Who either! Are they local bands?"

"Out of state. Just curious, was all." She smiled and walked away.

"Interesting..." Bowie remarked.

"What? You were ♥♥♥♥ing unknown in the sixties, man," Trent remarked.

"Yes. But not The Who. It strikes me rather oddly." He tapped his chin. "At this point I'd be recording Space Oddity, but The Who would've put out a couple albums by now, I think..."

Originally Posted by eridan

Jamie was in deep thought, he didn't know what to do, where to go, he was flabbergasted. Suddenly he realized a movement from the table next to him, it was a raised glass pointing at him. He simply raised it back to be kind, he had no time for foolish toasts. But then he saw the man raising the glass

"Holy ♥♥♥♥, it's Jack White"

But then Jamie being the big White Stripes fan he was, remembered that Jack wasn't even born by 69! Then it hit him like a ton of bricks, he wasn't the only one. He slowly raised his glass, and stared directly into his eyes and said

"I'm a big fan Mr. White, but you too, huh?"

Jack smiled as he drank from his glass. He gave a satisfied sigh as he put his cup down. He held it back up for the bartender to fill again.

Now he brought his attention back to the young man beside him. "Thanks," he laughed, "Always good to see a fan. They're part of the reason I love doing what I do, you know?" He took a sip from his refilled drink. "Now," he said, pointing a finger out at the man, "What do you mean by 'you too'?"

He glanced around. David Bowie was talking to Trent Reznor. Well, would you look at that, he thought. "You make music, too? There some kind of convention going on that I forgot I signed up for?"

Spoiler: Jack White c. 2007  

Spoiler: Image of Reznor circa 1994  

Hope that helps!

".....How...." Trent was no utterly confused. How could anyone not know of The Who? He stared at Keith Moon who was still contemplating the pint. Trent then scratched his head and straightened his hair out a bit.
"What does it mean?" he asked Bowie. "Wait...Didn't Tommy come out in 1969? Surely..." Trent was half-mumbling. Bowie simply nodded and continued to tuck into his breakfast. Moon seemed to want to say something but, it was obvious he, himself was rather confused about the situation.
"If anything, he's supposed to be here," Trent said while pointing at Moon.
"Mmm?" Moon replied still not looking up.
"Damn!" Trent said. How did this happen. He surely didn't see any DeLoreans parked outside. The waitress was now giving the table a somewhat scared look.

Trent then turned to the man with shaggy hair. "Just, who are you? I'm afraid I don't know you."
"Jack White! Nice to meet you! I'm in the band, The White Stripes," he replied.
"White...Stripes...Sorry man, doesn't ring a bell." Trent said while taking a large drought of coffee.

Spoiler:  

The tranquilizer was lovely, but Keith was getting restless. His mind had sluggishly put together that something was off here. Aside from having apparently time traveled, his fellow patrons in the hotel bar all seemed to be as confused as what was going on as he was.

Keith took a glance around at the other men in the room over the rim of his pint glass. That one tall skinny one who was in the bar when he got there looked like someone he might know, but his mind was still fuzzy from the tranquilizer. The other three he didn't recognize at all.

Keith rose somewhat unsteadily to his feet, intending to approach the man he thought he recognized. Before he could make his way over a large man stepped into his path, sending him bouncing back into his seat.

Keith looked up at the towering hotel security guard before shifting his gaze to the hotel manager he saw earlier, more frazzled-looking than ever.

"Mr. Keith Moon?" The mousey-looking man said, a slight edge to his voice, "You're going to have to come with me. We have some business to discuss regarding the damages to your room."

Keith grinned up into the two stern looking faces. "Ah, course. Surprised you didn't get to it sooner. It's the road manager who settles up, though. Name of Nigel, he's probably staying somewhere on the same floor."

The hotel manager leaned in close and hissed into Keith's face, "Look, you little ♥♥♥♥. Other than the people in this room and one other guest, who is most certainly not a Nigel, there is nobody else staying in this hotel. Now I don't know who you think you are, but you just caused huge amounts of damage to my hotel, so you are either going to come with me or I am going to have Bruce here drag you out to the alley and break both your legs. Are we clear?"

The large man next to the manager clenched and unclenched his hands into fists. Keith wagered one of them could probably crush his head like a grape. He swallowed hard.

"Um, well, look, here's the thing mate...I've searched my person fairly thoroughly at this point, and I can say with a fair bit of confidence that I don't have my checkbook on me."

"Well then, Mr. Moon," the manager said sadly, "I'm afraid we have a problem."

Trying very hard not to laugh, Trent stared at the commotion going on nearby. "Hah! Seems yet another toilet fell victim to Keith Moon," he said. But things were beginning to look rather serious. He saw the sublime smile slide off Bowie's face. White was looking a little frightened. The youngest man was staring with his mouth open slightly. Trent then rummaged around in his pockets and quickly found his wallet was missing.
"♥♥♥♥...that's not good," He groaned. The large man standing near Moon glanced over. There was something very menacing about him. Trent looked around at the others and it became increasingly clear that they all couldn't take this man down. Not without horrible consequences, anyway.

Trent then leaned to Bowie, "I think we might have to grab him and get the ♥♥♥♥ out of here." Bowie, pondering the situation, replied.
"Hmmm. It seems so. But the question is, mate, how?"
Trent turned to the other two, "Any bright ideas?"