Interested!
Airalin Member
Cunning, cold, and cuddly
- Last Seen: 8 yrs ago
- Joined: 12 yrs ago
- Posts: 679 (0.15 / day)
- VMs: 1
-
Username history
- Airalin 12 yrs ago
Status
User has no status, yet
Bio
I'm just some crazy reclusive girl. If you really want to know more about me, just ask. ^.~
Most Recent Posts
"Is this for real?"
Abby stared wide eyed as the others - including a cute blond boy she hadn't seen before - crossed through a pit of fire. It was all she could do to wave silently at Cam as she watched the crossing. Though the blond was carrying Cam on his back, the girl was being subjected to the series of barbed wires blocking the path. Abby stepped backward. No way could she do that!
"A-are you sure there isn't another way around?" she called, creeping up to the edge of the pit. She moved to take a step forward, her stockinged toes dangling just about the coals, but the heat was overwhelming; she rapidly pulled back, rubbing her arms nervously. "I don't think I can do this..." Of course, here, all her wounds would heal. Once she reached the other side, she would be in perfect condition, all cuts closed and burns faded away. But it would hurt. A lot.
She looked around, biting her lip hard. There was a door leading off in another direction; if she wanted to, she could just leave. But she would be alone if she did that! Sure, there were other people around... but they were too nice, almost artificial, like NPCs in a video game. They didn't feel real!
Abby took a deep breath and leapt forward. Pain seared through the soles of her feet as she landed; she cursed, her momentum propelling her into the barbs. She brushed them aside frantically, watching as the gashes in her hands healed. The temptation to retreat washed over her, but she set her jaw stubbornly and pushed onward, writhing in agony. Whoever was behind all this was going to pay!
Abby stared wide eyed as the others - including a cute blond boy she hadn't seen before - crossed through a pit of fire. It was all she could do to wave silently at Cam as she watched the crossing. Though the blond was carrying Cam on his back, the girl was being subjected to the series of barbed wires blocking the path. Abby stepped backward. No way could she do that!
"A-are you sure there isn't another way around?" she called, creeping up to the edge of the pit. She moved to take a step forward, her stockinged toes dangling just about the coals, but the heat was overwhelming; she rapidly pulled back, rubbing her arms nervously. "I don't think I can do this..." Of course, here, all her wounds would heal. Once she reached the other side, she would be in perfect condition, all cuts closed and burns faded away. But it would hurt. A lot.
She looked around, biting her lip hard. There was a door leading off in another direction; if she wanted to, she could just leave. But she would be alone if she did that! Sure, there were other people around... but they were too nice, almost artificial, like NPCs in a video game. They didn't feel real!
Abby took a deep breath and leapt forward. Pain seared through the soles of her feet as she landed; she cursed, her momentum propelling her into the barbs. She brushed them aside frantically, watching as the gashes in her hands healed. The temptation to retreat washed over her, but she set her jaw stubbornly and pushed onward, writhing in agony. Whoever was behind all this was going to pay!
@Nevix Are you still interested in this?
Instantly, the light vanished, leaving Abby in the dark.
She froze, doubtful, but a moment later a door appeared to her - a different one than the one she'd entered through. She hesitated, looking around uncertainly, but it was the only door that appeared, so she tentatively pulled it open. It led to a poorly lit hallway with long, metal walls. Abby stepped into it. The floor was cold beneath her stocking covered feet. In fact, the whole atmosphere of the place made her feel like she should have brought a jacket. She hugged herself, trying to trap her body heat.
She jumped as the door slammed shut behind her. There was no sign of anyone else, so either the one who closed it had been lurking in the darkness, or it had closed on its own. Neither of those thoughts were comforting.
Abby walked past a few intersections, which connected to more sparse metal hallways. The end of the corridor she was currently in was shrouded in a blackness that never faded no matter how many steps she took. She had a sinking feeling that it had no ending. Shivering, she veering into the new hallway she passed. To her surprise, she was quickly confronted by a window.
What she saw in it made her back away in horror.
It was herself, but as a small child. She was sitting on her grandmother's lap, on that velvety brown couch in front that mahogany coffee table. She would never forget that place. The place she'd learned she was an orphan.
She tore herself away from the window, forcing herself to keep moving. No way could anyone have a picture of that. This was another illusion - a distraction. Perhaps an attempt to make her deny the truth she'd just struggled to accept.
She strode forward decisively, as if she knew what she were doing, never more than glancing at the scenes she passed. Meeting her foster parents, graduating high school, crying herself to sleep, getting arrested - they were all present. And, one by one, she acknowledged them and moved on. There was no point in trying to hide from the past, but you could seek to live for the future.
Eventually, she turned a corner and was confronted by a white door. It was surely the way out. She ran toward it, zooming past scenes of her grandmother's death, of her first kiss. With no hesitation, she pulled the door open entered the next room - and found herself in a room filled with doors.
Doors... and people.
She froze, doubtful, but a moment later a door appeared to her - a different one than the one she'd entered through. She hesitated, looking around uncertainly, but it was the only door that appeared, so she tentatively pulled it open. It led to a poorly lit hallway with long, metal walls. Abby stepped into it. The floor was cold beneath her stocking covered feet. In fact, the whole atmosphere of the place made her feel like she should have brought a jacket. She hugged herself, trying to trap her body heat.
She jumped as the door slammed shut behind her. There was no sign of anyone else, so either the one who closed it had been lurking in the darkness, or it had closed on its own. Neither of those thoughts were comforting.
Abby walked past a few intersections, which connected to more sparse metal hallways. The end of the corridor she was currently in was shrouded in a blackness that never faded no matter how many steps she took. She had a sinking feeling that it had no ending. Shivering, she veering into the new hallway she passed. To her surprise, she was quickly confronted by a window.
What she saw in it made her back away in horror.
It was herself, but as a small child. She was sitting on her grandmother's lap, on that velvety brown couch in front that mahogany coffee table. She would never forget that place. The place she'd learned she was an orphan.
She tore herself away from the window, forcing herself to keep moving. No way could anyone have a picture of that. This was another illusion - a distraction. Perhaps an attempt to make her deny the truth she'd just struggled to accept.
She strode forward decisively, as if she knew what she were doing, never more than glancing at the scenes she passed. Meeting her foster parents, graduating high school, crying herself to sleep, getting arrested - they were all present. And, one by one, she acknowledged them and moved on. There was no point in trying to hide from the past, but you could seek to live for the future.
Eventually, she turned a corner and was confronted by a white door. It was surely the way out. She ran toward it, zooming past scenes of her grandmother's death, of her first kiss. With no hesitation, she pulled the door open entered the next room - and found herself in a room filled with doors.
Doors... and people.
Uhh... what happens to our characters after they prevail over their fear illusion thingy?
Interested!
Name: Fyaira Alliser
Age: 16
Gender: Female
Appearance:
Fyaira stands at 5'4" and weighs 112 lbs. Whenever possible, she wears a golden bracelet with an emerald engraved into it.
Personality: Before the death of her family, Fyaira was nearly the perfect picture of what a princess should be. In social situations, she is perfectly polite, at least on the surface level. Beneath her prissy exterior, she is clever and manipulative, exceedingly observant. She is loyal to a fault, inheriting many of her father's flawed philosophies. Because of her diligence, she was extremely pampered, and is therefore incapable of performing many basic tasks competently. Her one error in the eyes of her father was her tendency to live with her head in the clouds; she developed a bit of an obsession for fantastical stories, and often spends her time dwelling on far-fetched ideas rather than the intricacies of the real world. Her snobbishness and pride were accepted when she served as a princess, but without the proper protections, they can be infuriating enough to get her into trouble.
Bio: As the youngest of the royal children, Fyaira was heavily sheltered, and rarely given the chance to interact with others around her age save for her three year older brother. Her other brother, seven years her elder, was always far too busy training to be father's successor to spend time with his little sister; as a result, Fyaira knew him more by reputation than through personal interaction. The younger of her brothers, Aster, was a bit of a troublemaker, and would often try to pull her into his mischief, rarely to much avail. Nonetheless, neither of them had any friends save for the other.
Fyaira was always taught, first and foremost, that she was better than noble and commoner alike, that her only equals were among the royalty of other nations. As such, she rarely had to lift a finger for anything save for her training. She studied etiquette and politics, occasionally even dabbling in the art of warfare - from the perspective of a commander, of course. She neglected the latter subject, unable to believe that a girl would ever be asked to lead, for the only way she would gain such power was through the deaths of her brothers and parents.
Rarely was Fyaira exposed to the public eye, and on the rare occasion she did make an appearance, she was met with dark stares and suppressed grumbling. Though none dared say it to her face, the people thought her as corrupt as her father. That served only to reinforce the notion that they were all unworthy of her, ungrateful fools who didn't understand the service her father did them.
She never stopped underestimating them until her family was dead. She was spared only because she was ill on the day of their deaths. None among the Loyalists who rescued her had the skills to whisk her away in safety, and since she neglected her studies of such tactics, she was equally helpless. Thus it was that she found herself on her own in an inn, disguised as the daughter of a merchant.
Skills:
Fyaira, while extremely clever, has little training in the ways of the world. She is skilled at lying and manipulation, and knows, in theory, how to turn one man against another. She can ride a horse, but lacks the survival skills necessary to live off the wilderness; she doesn't even know how to start a fire. Perhaps her greatest skill is her ability to seek out knowledge, to pry it even from the lips of those sworn not to divulge. However, that ability works only in libraries and other places where there are people - and people are precisely what she must avoid to, lest she risk her life and her freedom.
Anything else?:
Habits: Fyaira tends to twirl her finger around a strand of her hair when nervous.
Being something of a dreamer, she sometimes zones out when bored.
She tends to be restless when uncomfortable - which occurs often so far from her luxuries.
Fears: Independence
Fire
Swimming
Being humiliated
Desires: Her old life back
Romance
Revenge
Sweets
Misc: Fyaira's bracelet was given to her by her mother, and is her most treasured possession.
Though Fyaira has recovered from the primary symptoms of her illness, she remains physically weak.
Age: 16
Gender: Female
Appearance:
Fyaira stands at 5'4" and weighs 112 lbs. Whenever possible, she wears a golden bracelet with an emerald engraved into it.
Personality: Before the death of her family, Fyaira was nearly the perfect picture of what a princess should be. In social situations, she is perfectly polite, at least on the surface level. Beneath her prissy exterior, she is clever and manipulative, exceedingly observant. She is loyal to a fault, inheriting many of her father's flawed philosophies. Because of her diligence, she was extremely pampered, and is therefore incapable of performing many basic tasks competently. Her one error in the eyes of her father was her tendency to live with her head in the clouds; she developed a bit of an obsession for fantastical stories, and often spends her time dwelling on far-fetched ideas rather than the intricacies of the real world. Her snobbishness and pride were accepted when she served as a princess, but without the proper protections, they can be infuriating enough to get her into trouble.
Bio: As the youngest of the royal children, Fyaira was heavily sheltered, and rarely given the chance to interact with others around her age save for her three year older brother. Her other brother, seven years her elder, was always far too busy training to be father's successor to spend time with his little sister; as a result, Fyaira knew him more by reputation than through personal interaction. The younger of her brothers, Aster, was a bit of a troublemaker, and would often try to pull her into his mischief, rarely to much avail. Nonetheless, neither of them had any friends save for the other.
Fyaira was always taught, first and foremost, that she was better than noble and commoner alike, that her only equals were among the royalty of other nations. As such, she rarely had to lift a finger for anything save for her training. She studied etiquette and politics, occasionally even dabbling in the art of warfare - from the perspective of a commander, of course. She neglected the latter subject, unable to believe that a girl would ever be asked to lead, for the only way she would gain such power was through the deaths of her brothers and parents.
Rarely was Fyaira exposed to the public eye, and on the rare occasion she did make an appearance, she was met with dark stares and suppressed grumbling. Though none dared say it to her face, the people thought her as corrupt as her father. That served only to reinforce the notion that they were all unworthy of her, ungrateful fools who didn't understand the service her father did them.
She never stopped underestimating them until her family was dead. She was spared only because she was ill on the day of their deaths. None among the Loyalists who rescued her had the skills to whisk her away in safety, and since she neglected her studies of such tactics, she was equally helpless. Thus it was that she found herself on her own in an inn, disguised as the daughter of a merchant.
Skills:
Fyaira, while extremely clever, has little training in the ways of the world. She is skilled at lying and manipulation, and knows, in theory, how to turn one man against another. She can ride a horse, but lacks the survival skills necessary to live off the wilderness; she doesn't even know how to start a fire. Perhaps her greatest skill is her ability to seek out knowledge, to pry it even from the lips of those sworn not to divulge. However, that ability works only in libraries and other places where there are people - and people are precisely what she must avoid to, lest she risk her life and her freedom.
Anything else?:
Habits: Fyaira tends to twirl her finger around a strand of her hair when nervous.
Being something of a dreamer, she sometimes zones out when bored.
She tends to be restless when uncomfortable - which occurs often so far from her luxuries.
Fears: Independence
Fire
Swimming
Being humiliated
Desires: Her old life back
Romance
Revenge
Sweets
Misc: Fyaira's bracelet was given to her by her mother, and is her most treasured possession.
Though Fyaira has recovered from the primary symptoms of her illness, she remains physically weak.
In
Nev's Desperate Attempt to find a 1x1 (Always Searching. Always Desperate)
→
10 yrs ago
Forum: 1x1 Interest Checks
'Kay!
In
Nev's Desperate Attempt to find a 1x1 (Always Searching. Always Desperate)
→
10 yrs ago
Forum: 1x1 Interest Checks
Sitting near the jocks and the cheerleaders was so tedious.
Lyra ate slowly so none of them would question her presence. She had arrived in the cafeteria early and chosen a then-unoccupied table, one of the closest to the end of the line to get food. As expected, a group had seated themselves next to her, each member shooting her a brief, uncertain glance before ignoring her. And they just had to be the sporty types.
"What the hell is basketball, and why do they all care about it?" asked Ezerion. The Shinigami was floating just above the center of the table, but of course, no one but Lyra could see him. He kept spinning in circles, sighing exaggeratedly as if bored.
It was just when Lyra had resigned herself to trying to eavesdrop on the neighboring tables that the subject finally came up.
"My mom was watching the news yesterday when the anchor just died," said one girl, rolling her eyes, "It really freaked her out. She wouldn't drive me anywhere after that."
The group chuckled - all of them except for one boy, a pale-faced giant who wore a doubtful expression.
"What's wrong with you, Vic?" asked one of the other guys, "If you're still sick, you better get the hell away from me. I can't afford to miss tomorrow's game."
"It's not that," said the boy, hastily taking a bite of his corn as if to prove he could stomach it, "It's just... while I was at home yesterday, I saw it, too. It just got me thinking."
"That's unusual," said a girl. The statement was followed by laughter.
Cheeks going pink, the boy quickly continued, "I heard about that teacher, too. It was on the morning news. They were saying he died of a heart attack... just like the anchor. And they were neither of them old. Made me wonder, what if they're connected?"
"You trying to be a quarterback or a detective?" asked the other guy. The question was followed by laughter and teasing. Lyra looked downward, at her meal, concealing her grin.
It wasn't the same as being able to leave the house, but with her Death Note, she could do stuff.
At first, she hadn't wanted to use the power more than she had to. But, suddenly, the school was buzzing with rumors. Even the teachers seemed too distracted to really focus on academics. And it was all because of her. All because of her new power.
She brushed a finger against the scrap of paper in her pocket. No matter what happened, she had an out. So why not have a little fun for a change?
Lyra ate slowly so none of them would question her presence. She had arrived in the cafeteria early and chosen a then-unoccupied table, one of the closest to the end of the line to get food. As expected, a group had seated themselves next to her, each member shooting her a brief, uncertain glance before ignoring her. And they just had to be the sporty types.
"What the hell is basketball, and why do they all care about it?" asked Ezerion. The Shinigami was floating just above the center of the table, but of course, no one but Lyra could see him. He kept spinning in circles, sighing exaggeratedly as if bored.
It was just when Lyra had resigned herself to trying to eavesdrop on the neighboring tables that the subject finally came up.
"My mom was watching the news yesterday when the anchor just died," said one girl, rolling her eyes, "It really freaked her out. She wouldn't drive me anywhere after that."
The group chuckled - all of them except for one boy, a pale-faced giant who wore a doubtful expression.
"What's wrong with you, Vic?" asked one of the other guys, "If you're still sick, you better get the hell away from me. I can't afford to miss tomorrow's game."
"It's not that," said the boy, hastily taking a bite of his corn as if to prove he could stomach it, "It's just... while I was at home yesterday, I saw it, too. It just got me thinking."
"That's unusual," said a girl. The statement was followed by laughter.
Cheeks going pink, the boy quickly continued, "I heard about that teacher, too. It was on the morning news. They were saying he died of a heart attack... just like the anchor. And they were neither of them old. Made me wonder, what if they're connected?"
"You trying to be a quarterback or a detective?" asked the other guy. The question was followed by laughter and teasing. Lyra looked downward, at her meal, concealing her grin.
It wasn't the same as being able to leave the house, but with her Death Note, she could do stuff.
At first, she hadn't wanted to use the power more than she had to. But, suddenly, the school was buzzing with rumors. Even the teachers seemed too distracted to really focus on academics. And it was all because of her. All because of her new power.
She brushed a finger against the scrap of paper in her pocket. No matter what happened, she had an out. So why not have a little fun for a change?
© 2007-2026