Avatar of Hippocamp
  • Last Seen: 7 yrs ago
  • Joined: 8 yrs ago
  • Posts: 124 (0.04 / day)
  • VMs: 1
  • Username history
    1. Hippocamp 8 yrs ago

Status

Recent Statuses

8 yrs ago
Current Who would have thought summer could be a busy season, not me I tell ya.
8 yrs ago
Woot it's a whole new world.

Bio

I'm Hippocamp,
pleased to roleplay with anyone! I enjoy the serious ones. Big groups.




I'm the wavy haired Libra. I enjoy learning new things about art and art production. And (Texan accent) art accessories.

Most Recent Posts

So definitely only six? Would love to join but looks like there have been lots of applications. qq
*bandwagons in*
I was thinking about doubling down on characters too. : p
Not that writing a ton about Uril won't be fun.
Shoop baby shoop
@JunkMail It's hard to tell where each of the characters are right now. Are we all supposed to be in the same vicinity?
"Hey guys I'm social"
Uril Miller


They tried some of the drink Uril had bought for them with a tiny amount of his station credits. “If you rack up enough credits, you can buy a sofa to sit on. The kicker is, the sofas are great as a reminder of what home is like. At least for me, I had some of my best experiences on a sofa. It’s really second only to a bed.” Uril was having another fairly one sided conversation with one of the fresh-off-the-boat meta humans from Earth.

“Yeah.” They said. It was a man who looked like the most dirt-covered thing the whole station had to offer. Uril wondered if it was some drawback of his meta human ability. He was glad that the bee was very cleanly. It didn’t even require any upkeeping. This man looked like he had washed himself a hundred times in vain. His eyes were weary, hands covered with calluses, and even now his space flight standard issue clothing was looking more soiled by the minute. It could just be a trick of the light though… Uril thought. Though he wasn’t much for sitting in speculation on the issue. This guy would probably forget who had bought him the apple cider on his first day, he was just that type of man. One entrenched in… His own thoughts, and also, dirtiness.

Uril stood and walked away from the table, with a slight motion of his hand in farewell. He heard thin wings rustling in his right ear, as the bee decided to take flight as well. ”Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” Uril called after it. He would go on with his routine: it was time to have a seat somewhere he wouldn’t feel so examined. Somewhere like his couch. He had been to two of the arrivals of newbies thus far, and both times it had felt like the examiners were simply letting their dogs sniff new ones. Uril wasn’t a conventional dog, or a conventional meta human, so he would be going his own way for the rest of the day. Judge away, poindexters… Uril thought to himself. It’s never to late to seize the day, even after watching dozens of space-sickened zombies mill their way aboard.
@SepticGentleman Another shitlord is born.
Uril Miller


There wasn’t much that stopped Uril’s good moods. He was watching the fresh faces introduce themselves to the old ones. Old and covered in scales, thought Uril, as he saw Olin’s hide walking on the promenade, bantering with some partner. Uril’s bee rested calmly on his shoulder: though the air was a bit chill in this big chamber, the amount of people bustling to and fro simulated warmth. The bee’s wings only shuddered from time to time: Uril would have to take him to the tropic biodome for a short period today, as a treat. Luckily the bee was never over stimulated by crowds, and it was able to remain poised. It would be terrible to cause a panic for new students, making them imagine the station had a giant bee infestation.

It was warm, in a way. Everyone was being welcomed aboard the station, and although many were queasy, they would be adapting quickly enough. They had artificial gravity to thank for that, though Uril doubted anyone but the most bookish types knew who had invented it. Last year the labs handed out special nausea medicine to the newly orbiting folk: however it had the unexpected result of many green-haired freshman. Since it wasn't conducive to fitting in, the medicine was scrapped, and now the students had to find their “sea legs” on their own.

“You’ve just stepped out of a rocket that was based on another rocket, which was designed by a man who built rockets for the German fascists to try to irradiate the entire British isles with! How do you feel kid?” Uril patted a young girl with vibrant hair on the back handily. ”Someday I’ll fly down on one of those rockets, and I’ll hope they didn’t just strap a carseat onto a warhead for me! Hahaha!” Uril felt like the first mate of the Promise for a few moments, rather proud of his own ability to be merry. He spotted some men in suits with long weapons, tranquilizer rifles, standing in the shade on a mezzanine. One even had a tazer spear with him. Well trained men… Uril thought. Not to be challenged, and they stood up there declaring it with their gaze. They were there to escort a dangerous case meta-human, one who had wanted to see the new arrivals but who was too much of a risk to themselves and others to visit unguarded. It was someone a good deal smaller than their surrounding Promise militant police, and sealed away inside a hazmat suit. For a moment Uril thought he could feel their eye contact, because while he gazed up at them the whole station seemed to be gliding over earth just a little more slowly.

Uril stood tall, and as time caught back up to regular pace, the giant bumble bee crawled onto the crown of his head and seemed to scout for him. ”There’s all this view from up in space, but what’s everyone really looking for?” Uril projected his thought into speech unknowingly.
© 2007-2024
BBCode Cheatsheet