![Sam Roketstarr - [CONTEST] Minecraft Skin](https://static.planetminecraft.com/files/resource_media/preview/1609/samroketstarr9930593_minecraft_skin-9930593.jpg "Sam Roketstarr - [CONTEST] Minecraft Skin")
Published Feb 27th, 2016, 2/27/16 2:31 am
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Its a straight wicked blast from the past, man! Stylin' in his best Member's Only windbreaker and his fave pair of Ray-Ban shades, this guy is right bangin' and he knows it! Just lay down a smooth jam and get amped, bro.
Sam Roketstarr's a bombin' warrior of the sweet jams, transported to the far out future by the power of the muuusic. Stuck in a time filled to the brim a bunch of hosers, there's only one way he can save everyone from themselves. A righteous rhythm so bomb it'll blow back all the posers tryna cut in on those fine tunes. Equipped with his keytar and a rockin' falsetto, this guy's a lyricist so tight that the future, our future, his future, will be like, a fresh one to look forward to!
CHAPTER TWO
Eyes flutter open, slowly scanning the sky. The sun shines brightly overhead, warming the grass below like a soft cushion. A hand moves over eyes, shading them from this sudden flash of light. Such a contrast from the darkness before. Drowsiness seems to fall over like a shroud, perhaps lie here for just a few more minutes, that’s all that’s needed. Suddenly, jolting up. Looking up, it's been at least a few hours, mid-afternoon. Lips are rather dry, sticking together with each smack as they are wet by a leathered tongue and a sore throat. Looking around once more. Some sort of field? The city’s off in the distance, must’ve gotten a little crazy during the after-party concert. Standing up shakily, keytar a few feet away. Grabbing it before heading off toward the city, then. After a few minutes, the urban drone is back again, cars whizzing by, and the chatter of countless faces babbling is cluttering the air with the bird-chimes of the concrete jungle.
Popping out of the treeline, this doesn’t look familiar. The billboards look different, the buildings even, too. The people, carrying around.. walkmans? Something like that, it's gotta be. Hailing a taxi, it's time to get back home finally.
“Where you headin’?”
“1627 E, Brigham Way.”
“Alright then.” They chuckle slightly “Got outta some wild party, eh?”
“You could say that.”
As the driver gets closer, there’s something a little odd. The neighborhood seems off, none of these homes ring a bell. The driver pulls up at what’s supposed to be home.
Staring at the facade of this unfamiliar building, the drone of the Cab driver listing off his fees fills the back back of his ears. A fifty is ungraciously tossed to the Driver with a mutter of ‘Keep the change’. As steps are made toward this alien of an abode, the thud of the keytar meeting with the fresh cut lawn pitters along the back of his mind. A hand slowly reaches toward the handle, grasping it nervously as it is jittered to the side. The clank of a locked door cements the confusions and worries of this man. He turns back, asking in the tone of a question with little meaning, almost as if he was asking about the weather.
“Hey, what day is it?”
“July 7th.”
Almost jokingly, he asks, slightly desperate.
“July 7th, Nineteen-eighty Six, then?..”
The Driver laughs loudly
“I know you mighta been at some kinda 80s party, but you don’t have to keep up the act anymore.”
He shakes his head, “playing along” with the obvious acting.
“Well, if you must know, McFly, its 2016. The hoverboards are down the street.”
He continues to laugh, driving away as he makes various comments to himself, leaving a man standing on the front lawn of the home that used to be his, a confused and horrified look cemented to his face as birds chirp and flutter about.
CHAPTER THREE
It was a calm summer afternoon, the pitter and clacking of sprinklers frosting the lawns of the calm suburbia with shining droplets of water. Everything seemed to be normal, just as it always was. Except for the man standing in front of a house, keytar at his side and outfit as if he had just stepped across three decades. If one was from afar, they might even view the man as some sort of wax display, his stillness was as if he had been frozen in place, unblinking eyes fixated on the waves of heat rising off the asphalt street just ahead of him.
In was seemed to be only hours ago, he was performing a concert for his undying fans, amidst a crowd of his peers and admirers, but now he was somehow here, tens of years away from where he should be, standing in front of the unfamiliar visage of what used to be his abode. What was there even to do now? Was this some sort of joke? How could something like this even happen? How this happened, or why, for that matter, wasn’t something he could even fathom an answer to at the moment. He slowly collects his thoughts, slinging the keytar across his back before strolling off once more, a look of contemplation on his face as he does.
It would be a fairly long walk until he once more arrived at his destination, the seam at which suburbia meets urban, back into the Concrete Jungle once more. By now, the sun was slowly setting, and nightlife had begun to descend on the city with the descent of the darkness that accompanied it. He had always enjoyed this much more than the bustle of the day, when people take a moment to slow down and express themselves as they truly wish to. So much more freedom.
*With the birth of the night, the poor musician, cast out of his own time and thrust into one much beyond himself had settled himself on one idea. If he was to be here, he’d make the most of it as he could. Setting his eyes on what appeared to be a nightclub of sorts, he slowly strolls toward the establishment, preparing himself for whatever change could have come to what used to be the realm he once dominated.
TBC
![Sam Roketstarr - [CONTEST] Minecraft Skin](https://i.gyazo.com/2038b59e22330e004bdbe515f7ee950c.png)
Sam Roketstarr's a bombin' warrior of the sweet jams, transported to the far out future by the power of the muuusic. Stuck in a time filled to the brim a bunch of hosers, there's only one way he can save everyone from themselves. A righteous rhythm so bomb it'll blow back all the posers tryna cut in on those fine tunes. Equipped with his keytar and a rockin' falsetto, this guy's a lyricist so tight that the future, our future, his future, will be like, a fresh one to look forward to!
CHAPTER ONE
Spoiler - click to reveal
The concert was just getting started, the vivid spotlights cast their colored hues to the stage as they danced about, circling and creating patterns as they followed the synthesized chords of the ballad’s melodious, adagio beginning. As the key changes to a brighter tone, the apertures of the spotlights expand, and the growing lights slowly converge on a single point as the song becomes increasingly upbeat, colors blend together, becoming one large white spot encircling the figure of a young man, auburn hair turned up in a semi-pompadour and shades lying low on the bridge of his nose.
As the chord is held out, he slowly raises his head, stomping a foot to the beat of his song. Suddenly, he bursts into the second act of this show, fingers begin to roll across his seemingly custom keytar, several backup dancers spinning onto stage as the spotlight bursts apart, giving each person their own light as our lead begins to sing. A poppy tenor with the buzzy falsetto symbolic of this era, the words paint a tale of a Romeo’s pleads to his Juliet. Their choreography, physical and sensual, carries the tone of the lover peacocking to the object of their desires. As the crowd raves and cheers, the song marches forth, culminating in the start of a powerful finale.
A microphone clatters to the floor, the music and singing stop just as suddenly as it began. For what seems like a flittering moment of half-cocked hope, the crowd seems to be thinking of this as some form of stage trickery, a card up the sleeve of their over-the-top performer. Though these dreams are crushed almost as soon as they begin with the sight of Bouncers rushing on stage, and spotlights quickly cutting out to the slow fade-in of overhead fluorescents and their buzzing drone. The buzzing drone that seems to only cut through the screams and worries of the crowd below, a buzzing that could only be found in the back of the mind of a person slowly stirring back to their surroundings.
As the chord is held out, he slowly raises his head, stomping a foot to the beat of his song. Suddenly, he bursts into the second act of this show, fingers begin to roll across his seemingly custom keytar, several backup dancers spinning onto stage as the spotlight bursts apart, giving each person their own light as our lead begins to sing. A poppy tenor with the buzzy falsetto symbolic of this era, the words paint a tale of a Romeo’s pleads to his Juliet. Their choreography, physical and sensual, carries the tone of the lover peacocking to the object of their desires. As the crowd raves and cheers, the song marches forth, culminating in the start of a powerful finale.
A microphone clatters to the floor, the music and singing stop just as suddenly as it began. For what seems like a flittering moment of half-cocked hope, the crowd seems to be thinking of this as some form of stage trickery, a card up the sleeve of their over-the-top performer. Though these dreams are crushed almost as soon as they begin with the sight of Bouncers rushing on stage, and spotlights quickly cutting out to the slow fade-in of overhead fluorescents and their buzzing drone. The buzzing drone that seems to only cut through the screams and worries of the crowd below, a buzzing that could only be found in the back of the mind of a person slowly stirring back to their surroundings.
CHAPTER TWO
Spoiler - click to reveal
Eyes flutter open, slowly scanning the sky. The sun shines brightly overhead, warming the grass below like a soft cushion. A hand moves over eyes, shading them from this sudden flash of light. Such a contrast from the darkness before. Drowsiness seems to fall over like a shroud, perhaps lie here for just a few more minutes, that’s all that’s needed. Suddenly, jolting up. Looking up, it's been at least a few hours, mid-afternoon. Lips are rather dry, sticking together with each smack as they are wet by a leathered tongue and a sore throat. Looking around once more. Some sort of field? The city’s off in the distance, must’ve gotten a little crazy during the after-party concert. Standing up shakily, keytar a few feet away. Grabbing it before heading off toward the city, then. After a few minutes, the urban drone is back again, cars whizzing by, and the chatter of countless faces babbling is cluttering the air with the bird-chimes of the concrete jungle.
Popping out of the treeline, this doesn’t look familiar. The billboards look different, the buildings even, too. The people, carrying around.. walkmans? Something like that, it's gotta be. Hailing a taxi, it's time to get back home finally.
“Where you headin’?”
“1627 E, Brigham Way.”
“Alright then.” They chuckle slightly “Got outta some wild party, eh?”
“You could say that.”
As the driver gets closer, there’s something a little odd. The neighborhood seems off, none of these homes ring a bell. The driver pulls up at what’s supposed to be home.
Staring at the facade of this unfamiliar building, the drone of the Cab driver listing off his fees fills the back back of his ears. A fifty is ungraciously tossed to the Driver with a mutter of ‘Keep the change’. As steps are made toward this alien of an abode, the thud of the keytar meeting with the fresh cut lawn pitters along the back of his mind. A hand slowly reaches toward the handle, grasping it nervously as it is jittered to the side. The clank of a locked door cements the confusions and worries of this man. He turns back, asking in the tone of a question with little meaning, almost as if he was asking about the weather.
“Hey, what day is it?”
“July 7th.”
Almost jokingly, he asks, slightly desperate.
“July 7th, Nineteen-eighty Six, then?..”
The Driver laughs loudly
“I know you mighta been at some kinda 80s party, but you don’t have to keep up the act anymore.”
He shakes his head, “playing along” with the obvious acting.
“Well, if you must know, McFly, its 2016. The hoverboards are down the street.”
He continues to laugh, driving away as he makes various comments to himself, leaving a man standing on the front lawn of the home that used to be his, a confused and horrified look cemented to his face as birds chirp and flutter about.
CHAPTER THREE
Spoiler - click to reveal
It was a calm summer afternoon, the pitter and clacking of sprinklers frosting the lawns of the calm suburbia with shining droplets of water. Everything seemed to be normal, just as it always was. Except for the man standing in front of a house, keytar at his side and outfit as if he had just stepped across three decades. If one was from afar, they might even view the man as some sort of wax display, his stillness was as if he had been frozen in place, unblinking eyes fixated on the waves of heat rising off the asphalt street just ahead of him.
In was seemed to be only hours ago, he was performing a concert for his undying fans, amidst a crowd of his peers and admirers, but now he was somehow here, tens of years away from where he should be, standing in front of the unfamiliar visage of what used to be his abode. What was there even to do now? Was this some sort of joke? How could something like this even happen? How this happened, or why, for that matter, wasn’t something he could even fathom an answer to at the moment. He slowly collects his thoughts, slinging the keytar across his back before strolling off once more, a look of contemplation on his face as he does.
It would be a fairly long walk until he once more arrived at his destination, the seam at which suburbia meets urban, back into the Concrete Jungle once more. By now, the sun was slowly setting, and nightlife had begun to descend on the city with the descent of the darkness that accompanied it. He had always enjoyed this much more than the bustle of the day, when people take a moment to slow down and express themselves as they truly wish to. So much more freedom.
*With the birth of the night, the poor musician, cast out of his own time and thrust into one much beyond himself had settled himself on one idea. If he was to be here, he’d make the most of it as he could. Setting his eyes on what appeared to be a nightclub of sorts, he slowly strolls toward the establishment, preparing himself for whatever change could have come to what used to be the realm he once dominated.
TBC
Rock it
| Gender | Male |
| Format | Java |
| Model | Steve |
| Tags |
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sam-roketstarr---contest
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*Goes back to eating peanut butter I put in a pint of Phish Food*