CLOSED - 02/08/2019
Hello there~ Call me Dandelo. :D I'm looking for one partner/friend for a long-term roleplay.
What I'm looking for:
- +18 F partners (who are willing to play both male and female characters)
- MxF romance
- A long-term story written in Google Docs, third-person/past-tense
- Friendly OOC chat over Discord
- Extensive plotting
- Interesting, flawed characters
What I can offer you:
- Friendship!
- A minimum of three or four (decent-sized) paragraphs per reply
- At least one reply every other day
- Characters who are sometimes hilarious
- Sample writing upon request
- Pictures of my pets
Settings/Characters of Interest:
At the moment I have an idea for a story that would be set around 1948 in Hollywood, CA. My character is a swarthy, stubborn producer with a checkered past, and yours could be anything! Maybe the up-and-coming starlet he selects for his next movie or even his estranged wife! This story is definitely up for discussion, so come prepared to plot! See the prompt at the end of this ad for an idea of what I have in mind.
Interested?
PM me with--
- blurb about yourself
- any ideas you might have for this story
- maybe a response to my prompt?
...then we'll possibly move to Discord if things work out. It should be noted that I really enjoy plotting out a story in quite a bit of detail and would like for my partner to work with me to develop the main characters a little before we begin. I intend for this to be long-term, of course.
A willingness to do research so we're somewhat historically accurate is always a plus.
Prompt:
The Golden Canary was a fixture on the Sunset Strip, with its high, white stucco facade shaped in the tiered, art deco style that had been so popular in the 1920’s when it was built. A flashing, red and black sign was mounted over the big, glass double doors that led into the lobby, a fluttering bird perched over the word ‘canary,’ which was written in a graceful script. Starting at 5:00PM sharp, the sign blazed into life, alerting passerby that the business was open to guests--but only certain guests. The club was a fairly exclusive one, patronized by only Hollywood’s finest. They would roll up in the circular drive that curled around the front of the establishment, slide out of their fine, new cars, and walk the red carpet that led inside with many a tuxedoed host to greet them.
The lobby, also styled in art deco, was large and circular with a glittering tile floor and a raised, dome-shaped ceiling that culminated in a crystal chandelier. The walls were papered in a dark, dusty purple patterned with golden leaves and geometric lines, and framed by dark wood paneling. A matching dark wood host stand sat to one side of the lobby, near the large double doors that led into the dining room. Two hostesses stood behind the stand dressed in identical black and white dresses, their hair similarly styled with large curls perched on top of their heads and smaller curls tumbling down the sides and onto their shoulders. They smiled brilliantly to each guest who entered and cheerfully led them to their tables--for each regular guest had a preferred table to which they always expected to be led.
The dining room was large and oval-shaped. The floor, dark wood like the paneling around the outer walls, was tiered like that of a theater with rows of circular booths lining each level. Large columns rose up from the booths at intervals and were styled to look like royal palm trees, their graceful fronds obscuring the domed ceiling above in the atmospheric dimness. The booths themselves were plush, padded with dusty purple cushions and lit by small lamp fixtures with dusty purple shades which provided low, warm, yellow light in the otherwise darkened room. Directly across from the entryway, situated at the lowest point of the room spread a rounded stage from which rows of smaller tables radiated like a sun. The space around the stage could be cleared to create a dancefloor, but tonight it provided additional seating for the influx of guests in attendance.
This evening was one of a handful over which the Canary had managed to book the ever-popular Ella Fitzgerald to perform. It was a fairly momentous occasion, for the Canary had never before allowed a colored singer to perform on their stage. Many among their regulars were great fans of Miss Fitzgerald and had submitted reservations with the express purpose of hearing her sing that very evening. The Canary anticipated an even larger turn-out than their usual packed Friday nights and had planned accordingly with the extra tables and seating, as well as additional hostesses and waiters, many of whom could be seen hurrying about from table to table delivering drinks from the bar in the back of the room.
Miss Fitzgerald was not scheduled to perform until 7:00PM that evening, but already the dining room was filled with expectant guests. At one booth, situated near the front at the edge of the dancefloor and a little to the left of the stage, sat one man in particular. Even while seated he seemed a little taller than average, and was dressed in a grey suit of Italian make which accentuated the breadth of his shoulders. The swarthy tint of his skin and his coal-black hair, eyebrows, and close-clipped mustache all hinted at his father’s Southern European heritage. The only remnant of his Irish mother were the piercing, wide-set, grey eyes that flickered with a dangerous intelligence in the dimness. Something about his eyes spoke of knowledge and awareness well beyond his thirty-five years.
He was “Mr. Castillo” to those who knew him a little, “Cain” to those who knew him well, and “Tony” only to anyone who wished to receive an icy glare and a sharp word. He was also the founder and owner of Castillo Films, his production company. It was his fame as a leading actor in the mid to late 1930s that had propelled the success of his company, but he maintained his fame even as a producer--it was clear by his table’s proximity to the stage, and by the fact that his table was populated by several doting young women, all several years younger than he.
Cain was often surrounded by beautiful women, despite the common knowledge that he had been married these eight years past to the famed ballerina, Evelyn Miller. His courtship and subsequent engagement to the elegant Miss Miller had been a passionate, whirlwind affair, and highly publicized when it came to light in the winter of 1939. They had met at the premier of one of his most popular films and he had fallen hard and fast for her serious, emerald eyes. It had been obvious in the way he had paraded her about to various events and clubs after their marriage in 1940 that he was exceedingly proud of his catch, and she always seemed just as charmed and enamored of him. It was only after he returned from the War--discharged in 1943 to recover from the serious injuries he had sustained, and a changed man--that their seemingly perfect marriage appeared to fall to pieces around them. By the summer of 1944 and merely a year after his return, it was known that they were separated and had been ever since. Rumors, however, suggested that Cain was still very much in love with his estranged wife.
As it was, he seemed content to let his glamorous female guests (whose names he had not bothered to remember) chatter amongst themselves, not interested enough to join in their conversation. The girls seemed to know instinctively not to try to engage their host in small talk lest they receive a condescending glance or remark, and were well aware that they served only one purpose in being present at Mr. Castillo’s table--ornamentation.
Cain, himself, was content simply to listen to the jazz band that played on stage in the interlude, lazily smoking a cigarette and sipping from a highball glass filled with whiskey. His expression was relatively relaxed and it would have been difficult for a casual observer to say what went on inside his head.
Hello there~ Call me Dandelo. :D I'm looking for one partner/friend for a long-term roleplay.
What I'm looking for:
- +18 F partners (who are willing to play both male and female characters)
- MxF romance
- A long-term story written in Google Docs, third-person/past-tense
- Friendly OOC chat over Discord
- Extensive plotting
- Interesting, flawed characters
What I can offer you:
- Friendship!
- A minimum of three or four (decent-sized) paragraphs per reply
- At least one reply every other day
- Characters who are sometimes hilarious
- Sample writing upon request
- Pictures of my pets
Settings/Characters of Interest:
At the moment I have an idea for a story that would be set around 1948 in Hollywood, CA. My character is a swarthy, stubborn producer with a checkered past, and yours could be anything! Maybe the up-and-coming starlet he selects for his next movie or even his estranged wife! This story is definitely up for discussion, so come prepared to plot! See the prompt at the end of this ad for an idea of what I have in mind.
Interested?
PM me with--
- blurb about yourself
- any ideas you might have for this story
- maybe a response to my prompt?
...then we'll possibly move to Discord if things work out. It should be noted that I really enjoy plotting out a story in quite a bit of detail and would like for my partner to work with me to develop the main characters a little before we begin. I intend for this to be long-term, of course.
A willingness to do research so we're somewhat historically accurate is always a plus.
Prompt:
The Golden Canary was a fixture on the Sunset Strip, with its high, white stucco facade shaped in the tiered, art deco style that had been so popular in the 1920’s when it was built. A flashing, red and black sign was mounted over the big, glass double doors that led into the lobby, a fluttering bird perched over the word ‘canary,’ which was written in a graceful script. Starting at 5:00PM sharp, the sign blazed into life, alerting passerby that the business was open to guests--but only certain guests. The club was a fairly exclusive one, patronized by only Hollywood’s finest. They would roll up in the circular drive that curled around the front of the establishment, slide out of their fine, new cars, and walk the red carpet that led inside with many a tuxedoed host to greet them.
The lobby, also styled in art deco, was large and circular with a glittering tile floor and a raised, dome-shaped ceiling that culminated in a crystal chandelier. The walls were papered in a dark, dusty purple patterned with golden leaves and geometric lines, and framed by dark wood paneling. A matching dark wood host stand sat to one side of the lobby, near the large double doors that led into the dining room. Two hostesses stood behind the stand dressed in identical black and white dresses, their hair similarly styled with large curls perched on top of their heads and smaller curls tumbling down the sides and onto their shoulders. They smiled brilliantly to each guest who entered and cheerfully led them to their tables--for each regular guest had a preferred table to which they always expected to be led.
The dining room was large and oval-shaped. The floor, dark wood like the paneling around the outer walls, was tiered like that of a theater with rows of circular booths lining each level. Large columns rose up from the booths at intervals and were styled to look like royal palm trees, their graceful fronds obscuring the domed ceiling above in the atmospheric dimness. The booths themselves were plush, padded with dusty purple cushions and lit by small lamp fixtures with dusty purple shades which provided low, warm, yellow light in the otherwise darkened room. Directly across from the entryway, situated at the lowest point of the room spread a rounded stage from which rows of smaller tables radiated like a sun. The space around the stage could be cleared to create a dancefloor, but tonight it provided additional seating for the influx of guests in attendance.
This evening was one of a handful over which the Canary had managed to book the ever-popular Ella Fitzgerald to perform. It was a fairly momentous occasion, for the Canary had never before allowed a colored singer to perform on their stage. Many among their regulars were great fans of Miss Fitzgerald and had submitted reservations with the express purpose of hearing her sing that very evening. The Canary anticipated an even larger turn-out than their usual packed Friday nights and had planned accordingly with the extra tables and seating, as well as additional hostesses and waiters, many of whom could be seen hurrying about from table to table delivering drinks from the bar in the back of the room.
Miss Fitzgerald was not scheduled to perform until 7:00PM that evening, but already the dining room was filled with expectant guests. At one booth, situated near the front at the edge of the dancefloor and a little to the left of the stage, sat one man in particular. Even while seated he seemed a little taller than average, and was dressed in a grey suit of Italian make which accentuated the breadth of his shoulders. The swarthy tint of his skin and his coal-black hair, eyebrows, and close-clipped mustache all hinted at his father’s Southern European heritage. The only remnant of his Irish mother were the piercing, wide-set, grey eyes that flickered with a dangerous intelligence in the dimness. Something about his eyes spoke of knowledge and awareness well beyond his thirty-five years.
He was “Mr. Castillo” to those who knew him a little, “Cain” to those who knew him well, and “Tony” only to anyone who wished to receive an icy glare and a sharp word. He was also the founder and owner of Castillo Films, his production company. It was his fame as a leading actor in the mid to late 1930s that had propelled the success of his company, but he maintained his fame even as a producer--it was clear by his table’s proximity to the stage, and by the fact that his table was populated by several doting young women, all several years younger than he.
Cain was often surrounded by beautiful women, despite the common knowledge that he had been married these eight years past to the famed ballerina, Evelyn Miller. His courtship and subsequent engagement to the elegant Miss Miller had been a passionate, whirlwind affair, and highly publicized when it came to light in the winter of 1939. They had met at the premier of one of his most popular films and he had fallen hard and fast for her serious, emerald eyes. It had been obvious in the way he had paraded her about to various events and clubs after their marriage in 1940 that he was exceedingly proud of his catch, and she always seemed just as charmed and enamored of him. It was only after he returned from the War--discharged in 1943 to recover from the serious injuries he had sustained, and a changed man--that their seemingly perfect marriage appeared to fall to pieces around them. By the summer of 1944 and merely a year after his return, it was known that they were separated and had been ever since. Rumors, however, suggested that Cain was still very much in love with his estranged wife.
As it was, he seemed content to let his glamorous female guests (whose names he had not bothered to remember) chatter amongst themselves, not interested enough to join in their conversation. The girls seemed to know instinctively not to try to engage their host in small talk lest they receive a condescending glance or remark, and were well aware that they served only one purpose in being present at Mr. Castillo’s table--ornamentation.
Cain, himself, was content simply to listen to the jazz band that played on stage in the interlude, lazily smoking a cigarette and sipping from a highball glass filled with whiskey. His expression was relatively relaxed and it would have been difficult for a casual observer to say what went on inside his head.