richardtrager

[richardtrager]

"Merry Christmas buddy!"

— Art credit: Flat_Appointment_639 on Reddit

#* ✄ ❮ muse ❯ —— ❝ oh…home movies ! ❞ #happy holidays!

[richardtrager]

After this week, finals will be over and I'll return from war. Soon.

#✄ ❮ ooc ❯ —— ❝ nose to the grindstone ! ❞ #tbd

[richardtrager]

I just wanted to try something new

#* ✄ ❮ muse ❯ —— ❝ oh…home movies ! ❞

[richardtrager]

It's like he can feel Park freeze, the rustling of paper (that he'd been listening to for the better part of around a minute now, standing in the doorway to RS5) coming to an abrupt and telling STOP. He'd been hoping the guy would eventually just turn around and see him standing in the doorway but either Park is searching for more than one file, or he doesn't know his ABCs...

The executive waits for Park to stand, one hand in his slacks pocket and the other resting on his waist. "Corrupted!" He exclaims, all teeth as he grins at the explanation, eyes half-lidded and dull from the day's workload. "⸺bad luck, buddy." Trager sucks the inside of his cheek, turning to look at the filing cabinet rather than the IT employee. "You'd think that Murkoff would be able to....I don't know," He waves a hand in the air, seemingly searching for the words " —get around these things by now." The statement drops like a gavel, sentencing Waylon to 'not guilty by reason of stupidity'. A moment of stillness before he shrugs, turning his attention back to Park. "—but what do I know?" Smile still easily in place, Rick takes a step back, indicating the door with a tilt of his head, ushering the man out of the record room. He expects Waylon to walk with him, have a little chat. Hell, it's half past two and he's got all the time in the world.

"Y'know, Park. If you wanna snoop around, at least have the clearance." Now under the harsh florescent lights of the hall, Trager taps the key card with his index finger, the thing swinging on the front of his shirt. Is he joking? Maybe! Who knows? Gotta keep the worker ants on their toes, eh?

@richardtrager said : "i got a serious question for you. what the fuck are you doing?"

hand pauses its cycling through the file cabinet ; waylon tenses up, teeth sinking into the inside of his cheek. god, he's fucked up now. no one was supposed to be in here — it was supposed to be quick, in and out. grab the folders, and get out of here before anyone noticed. he should have known it wouldn't be that simple. nothing ever is.

still, it's too late now.

what matters now is coming up with an excuse and committing to it. the last thing waylon needs is to draw more attention to himself than he already has.

so, grabbing the manila folder, waylon turns to face the newcomer — none other than richard trager himself, looking at him as if he knows exactly what the fuck waylon is up to. surely park is just imagining that, though. there's no reason for anyone to suspect him. not really. waylon has done a pretty damn good job of covering his tracks. it's just his paranoid subconscious projecting guilt — right?

expression twists into one of embarrassment, free hand rising to awkwardly rub at the back of his neck. “ some of the digital copies got corrupted — i thought i'd go find the original files and restore them on the servers. it's an easy job, it just takes a while to find all the physicals, y'know? ”

the truth is, waylon is making this up as he goes along. he has no idea whether or not trager will believe the lie, but it's worth a shot.

#finalslay #* ✄ ❮ ic ❯ —— ❝ let me sell you the dream ! ❞ #✄ ❮ verse ❯ —— the murkoff account #this man is giving the worst vibes 100% of the time

[richardtrager]

#* ✄ ❮ muse ❯ —— ❝ oh…home movies ! ❞ #outlast meme

[richardtrager]

Hey buddies! I've been trying to write responses for the past two days and I'm in the midst of finals so I think I'm just too exhausted by the end of the day. If you don't hear from me response-wise for a few days, I'll be back lmfao, I'm just suffering.

#✄ ❮ ooc ❯ —— ❝ nose to the grindstone ! ❞ #save me

[richardtrager]

Opal by Jack Stauber is the best short film ever. change my mind.

#✄ ❮ ooc ❯ —— ❝ nose to the grindstone ! ❞ #tbd

[richardtrager]

pspsps outlast fandom

based on this

#* ✄ ❮ muse ❯ —— ❝ oh…home movies ! ❞ #this is so real

[richardtrager]

The air is thick with what he can only identify as destruction. It’s blood, and it’s guts...it’s sweat, and it’s bile. The particles that hang in the air, the remnants of the crumbling walls of Mount Massive, only add to the ambiance. They blend with the specks floating around the journalist. And for the first time in the past 48 hours...the air seems to choke him. Maybe it’s the internal bleeding? Maybe it’s how close IT is. He doesn’t have to have a fucking eye to know that Martin’s wannabe profit has a passenger. Or maybe the guy is the passenger along for the ride? He can feel it. Like he always has. The proximity almost acts as a kind of stimulant, making his vison swim with adrenaline as he hoists himself up from a kneeling position, one gnarled hand covering his stomach. His ribs rub against each other as he moves, the sensation causing him to let out a kind of pained laugh. It sounds more like a screech, truth be told. He’s been in worse shape than this, hasn’t he? Well, he hasn’t, but that’s besides the point. If he could see himself now, he’d think he looks like a worn out Halloween prop. 

But the pain is so numbed by that familiar buzz...and for once...he’s glad the thing’s here. 

“You’re more than alive, buddy.” He says, lips peeling back behind his tattered mask in what is meant to be a smile. As if noticing just how disingenuous the thing is, Trager reaches up and pulls the thing off entirely, casting it aside to reveal his face in its entirety. The surgeon staggers with the action, lilting to the side. “You hit the immortality lottery. Lucky bastard.” Or unlucky. 

At the question, Richard nods, finally looking somewhere else other than at the mass of moving particles before him. He’s seen what the thing can do. He’s seen it tear men apart...and he doesn’t like the idea of turning into mystery meat.....but Trager is somewhat aware he may not have a choice. 

“Something tells me...uh⸺and don’t take this the wrong way...that you don’t care what I think.” He admits, licking what used to be his lips. His chest rattles as he tries to take a deeper breath, his stomach turning with a numb ache. Silence.

He’s weighing his options. 

“They’re just fingers, buddy. I’ve got em’ laying around in the back somewhere. That's chump change now.” Trager makes a movement that indicates behind him, finally turning back to look the thing in what used to be eyes. “That thing you have⸺“ He grits his teeth, grappling with reality. “The Walrider." He says steadily, sounding as sane as a guy can in his state. "It tells you things...pretty talkative fucker. It’s been giving you some lip service, am I right?” 

@richardtrager​ asked: ‘ oh thank god you’re alive! ’ is it sarcasm? Probably, yeah.

      A haze obscures the memory of their last meeting, as it does everything predating Miles Upshur’s descent into the bowels of Mount Massive. He’s been eaten alive by the asylum, chewed up and sent spiraling directly into the belly of the beast. The freezing tunnels were like a labyrinth of intestines, complete with a Minotaur breathing down his neck ready for the kill.

      He’d been made to read Dante’s Inferno for a literature and writing course in college. Too dogmatic for his tastes, but as with most information he encountered aspects of it caught like a burr in his mind. In Dante’s vision of Hell, so too was the deepest level of punishment a frozen wasteland.

      Such reflection, however, is far from his mind at present.

      The thing that stands before the doctor now is not the same reporter from mere hours earlier. He is the hollowed-out remains of Miles, his flesh and his bones and whatever pieces of his mind that have managed to persist in spite of the unthinkable. It’s those remnants of consciousness that have brought him back to the Male Ward to settle a score, for petty vengeance is nothing if not a frighteningly human trait.

      Truthfully, the Walrider couldn’t care less if Trager lives or dies. But the whims of its Host are impossible to ignore in the strengthening connection between them. It sees little reason to deny him this.

      No immediate verbal answer comes in response. Dark eyes are fixed upon the surgeon, though the features of Miles’ face are all but indiscernible through layers of blood and grime, and the film of nanites that makes his skin seem to shift. The bullet holes scarring his torso bleed the color and consistency of congealed ink, matching the steady stream of nanoswarm refuse leaking form his nose and his ears and his mouth and his eyes. When he does speak it’s a wounded sound, sandpaper-rough as though he’s been screaming for hours.

      “I’m not.” Alive, that is. Hands flex, the movement the creature has made in long minutes. The missing spaces between his fingers are tangible. “Think you deserve to be?”

#walriding #✄ ❮ verse ❯ —— outplay #✄ ❮ ic ❯ —— ❝ let me sell you the dream ! ❞ #✄ Miles Upshur ; I’m not giving up on you #You sent me this a year ago and it's too good not to respond to #so sorry in advance for popping up out of nowhere #I hope you enjoy!

[richardtrager]

There's a lot of personal blogs following me and interacting with posts lately and guess what? I think that's fucking cool. It's nearly 2024, the year of our lord. Let people enjoy your rp blogs.

To all the new followers out there, howdy! Welcome to the shitshow! Feel free to send rick some asks.

#✄ ❮ ooc ❯ —— ❝ nose to the grindstone ! ❞ #nice ta see ya all

[richardtrager]

Omg is that Lana Del Ray?!?

#* ✄ ❮ muse ❯ —— ❝ oh…home movies ! ❞

[richardtrager]

@hiveruled said : “ what? no witty remark? nothing clever to say? ”

When he rolled out of bed this morning, hung over and strung out from the night before, he didn't imagine his Monday afternoon would be spent huddling behind a desk with grease boy from IT, but life has a way of kicking your fucking ass, doesn't it? Who is he kidding? There's no need to be so negative...what's life without a little excitement? Eh? A little containment breach...a little chaos....a little murder, by the sounds of it⸺and by sound he means the wet ripping coming from somewhere WAY too close to their hiding spot.

It doesn't take a genius to figure out the gist of what's happened. Security must have gotten lax, someone forgot to lock the backdoor...some amature move, and now they're dealing with a prison riot level outbreak. Every drooling maniac from level zero to the prison block is tearing the place apart, and the people with it. The clean up is going to be a nightmare and the press cover up hellish.

"Nope, I've got nothin'." The executive whispers quietly, daring to peek his head up just enough to see over the edge of the desk. Nope, there's a big fucking guy over there in filthy pajamas. The coast is definitely not clear. In a flash, he's back down at eye level with Anderson. "Gimme some time...." An ear-piercing scream cuts him off, and Richard chooses to finish his sentence with a pained look. "If we have any." Time, that is. He wipes his hair out of his face, already painted with sweat. The pressure is on.

They can't just sit there shitting their pants forever. They've gotta find a way out of this shithole and Trager knows it. He's been thinking of an escape plan since the alarm sounded. He's just gotta work out the kinks...

#hiveruled #✄ ❮ ic ❯ —— ❝ let me sell you the dream ! ❞ #✄ ❮ verse ❯ —— the murkoff account #this was short bc pacing but I hope you like it! #let's see if they can get out of this mess!

[richardtrager]

new icons let's fucking go

#✄ ❮ ooc ❯ —— ❝ nose to the grindstone ! ❞

[richardtrager]

Planned starter for @vampyrra

Richard Trager isn't one to fly in blind. He's a risk taker, sure, but risk involves come calculation, right? Everyone knows that. In the case of sniffing out who's got some loose change rolling around in their pockets or those select few whose billfolds are open and begging to empty themselves, it takes research. In fact, the Murkoff Corporation in particular likes to do some background checks on potential donors. They're looking for donation history, political affiliations, levels of education...bank numbers...socials. Who knows how deep they go? And who cares, really? The company likes to keep themselves informed and so does he. One of the many things they have in common. Richard doesn't have to dig too deep to understand what kind of benefactor they've got on their hands and he has approaches for each. Once he knows who they are, he has them. Doesn't take much work, truth be told. A little good cop bad cop routine, a little softening up, some big promises....and bingo!

In this case though, there wasn't much to find. He's used to people being PR trained, secretive, and selective with accessible information of course. He doesn't blame them! Who knows what kind of fucking sickos are out there trying to take a free peek in to your private life but he's never encountered a broad quite like this. There was plenty of information to be found on the woman. In fact, her name is plastered across seemingly every internet search remotely related to blood research...but there's a whole lot of nothing. Plenty of talk, no substance. He'd done his due diligence too. Even enlisted the help of some of the no names down in IT. Nothing.

So, tonight, despite his best efforts, he's going in blind as a bat. Kind of exciting, isn't it? A good old fashioned challenge. He likes that. "Think fast." Rick says, tossing his car keys to the valet without a second glance, passing the small line at the entryway to the Rioja and into the building itself. It's a nice place, the Rioja, a hotspot for the corporate elite and anyone who wants to pay $36.00 for a square of over seasoned chicken. It's cozy enough to (hopefully) get someone to open their hearts, minds, and checkbooks but classy enough that the atmosphere keeps you on your toes.

"Table for two....Trager." He says with a winning smile and holding up two digits, laying it on thick for the hostess. She's nothing to look at, but she's got the keys to the castle as they say and Rick wants to make good time getting to the table before Carlotti gets there first. As the hostess leads him in the direction of his table, the executive checks his watch. No problem, he's early by fifteen. His comfortable smirk is cut off as he looks up, spotting a woman, all legs, sitting at the table already.

"Wow! Look at you...," he says brightly, eyes already trained on the woman's severe features as he slides past the hostess and takes his seat. She is something to look at. "Early bird gets the worm, as they say." Immediately, his coat is hung over the back of his chair, revealing his suit beneath. He's chosen something colorful but classic for the occasion; a light blue suit with an even lighter undershirt. The suit pulls over to his right, buttoning with an elegant sash. He's chosen gold accents as well and boy is he glad. She's absolutely loaded by the looks of it and he has no problem matching her energy.

"You certainly know how to keep a man on his toes...I'm Richard Trager." He reaches across the table for her hand, intending to shake. "We've spoken over email! And...I may be wrong, but you might have had a chat with my assistant?"

#vampyrra #✄ ❮ ic ❯ —— ❝ let me sell you the dream ! ❞ #✄ ❮ verse ❯ —— the murkoff account #the vibes are just off m'lady

[richardtrager]

@vialaviolenza said : “ You… don’t like me very much, do you? ” From Enrico Pucci for Trager's patient verse.

The hum follows him everywhere now like a fly buzzing around his ears...like a swarm. And if he isn't careful, that swarm is gonna make a nest right where it counts. Like any reasonable man would do, he ignores it, plays it off, casts it aside...but it's fucking everywhere now. It's in the pipes that line the narrow halls where they shuffle them along like cattle, it's in the tiny buzz that the lights in his cell emit, it's in the fizz of the industrial grade freezers in the kitchen...and it's in the engine. Of course that's where the sound comes from. It's spreading like an infestation and the treatment is its hive. If he could just cauterize its pathways before he bleeds out...he'd be home free. 

He can hear it now, vibrating against his eardrums with a relentless whine....or maybe it's just the droning, grating bass that is Pucci's voice? 

Pulled out of his thoughts by the one and only guy who's name sounds like a vaganal disease, which may be for the best truth be told, Trager turns to the side to give him a glance. "Listen, Pacha. It isn't about LIKE or DON'T LIKE....okay bud? This isn't daycare. None of these drooling little freaks like anyone." Richard indicates the rest of the rec yard with a swooping hand, his skincare-less routine really showing out in all its glory in the sunlight. "They're all too jazzed up to care..." That, or their brains have been stirred around with a fucking spork, but why scare the new guy? No point in it now. He's one of the only people around this dump Richard can have a conversation with without the other party smacking their foreheads into a wall or pissing their fucking pants.

"But lucky for you, Ole' Rick's still cognizant. Of course I like you, pal." Does he sound convincing? Truth be told, he isn't trying very hard. Just about the only pep he gets in his step the past few weeks come from the little fruit cups they serve for breakfast and that sugar rush wore off hours ago. God he wants another. 

#vialaviolenza #* ✄ ❮ ic ❯ —— ❝ let me sell you the dream ! ❞ #✄ ❮ verse ❯ —— outwit #god he's mean i'm so sorry #writing rick is like experiencing some sort of disaster...i never know what's gonna happen

[richardtrager]

𝐈𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭 & 𝐒𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞, 𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐎𝐮𝐭𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬. 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐲 𝐁𝐞𝐧. 𝐂𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝.

#Outlast rp #outlast trials rp #outlast 2 rp #outlast #outlast 2 #outlast trials #self promo #core rp #video game rp #richard trager #horror rp

[richardtrager]

what are.we doing to our beautiful women 💔

#muse