Why not. I am...
[List]
[*] Over eighteen.
[*] Interested in any of the following, depending on iterations of theme and characters involved:
[List]
[*]Princess x Commoner
[*]Blacksmith's Apprentice x Blacksmith's Daughter
[*]Change
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[*] Interested in playing over Kik or PM
[*] Including that Thing you requested. 
[Hider=Said Thing]Despite years in the profession, the man they called Spiritbreaker steadfastly preferred his own functional terminology over such nonsense as temporal fact. His nights were his days, his evenings his mornings, and if he was being honest his mornings (which were really evenings) were some of his most satisfying hours. Though hardly an easy riser, that groggy span of bruised sunlight gave him time to rouse himself for the coming day (which was really night). It was a busy time, which was as he preferred it, rife with the many little rituals necessary to make man out of monster. There were teeth to brush and hair to comb, a cold shave to refresh and breakfast, God willing, which had a score of new tasks all its own. Eggs to crack, toast to blacken, piping hot Earl Grey to punish impatience. It would be a stretch to say that he enjoyed them--he wouldn't say he enjoyed much of anything, really--but they were a soothing prelude to a day (which was really a night) at work likely filled with an impressively varied number of unpleasantries.

So he wasn't exactly thrilled to have his timetable pushed forward by dear Dreamcatcher's sweet sending.

Taking a moment to accept that yes, it was going to be one of those days, Spiritbreaker sat up and got to work ruining a perfectly good morning for the sake of a woman. A grudging hour and an empty stomach later he was stepping off the tram outside of Saint Augustine's.

While many of the order were inconspicuous in their appearance, Spiritbreaker had never had that luxury. Though he towered above the men and woman around them, almost as broad as any two of them and taller by head and shoulders, it was really his presence that made him stand out in a crowd. There was just something about him that screamed danger and always had, a malaise of unease that set even the most steadfast quaking in their boots. He wondered occasionally what it would be like to blend in, to simply fade into anonymity in a crowd.

Boring, quite likely. He could have done with more boring in his life.

The streetcar was glad to be rid of him and his weight, which was substantial, and it groaned in relief as it set off on its way. Dense and muscular, a heavy man to begin with, he was not helped by the beast of an overcoat. With enough metal woven into it to crush a moderately sized child, it was ironic that he was headed to St. Augustine's where that was actually a source of reasonable concern. He'd considered dispensing with it but decided against it--having proven itself equally useful in protecting him from rain, chill and slavering horrors, the old rag had earned its keep. The Queen might be resting her head at home but a knight needed his armor. Looking the old orphanage over briefly, he fortified himself as best he could for the clamor of children and started forward.

It was going to be a long day.[/hider][*] Looking for a writing sample from you as well, if you'd be so kind.
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