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Recent Statuses

18 days ago
Current Say what you will, she served 70 years and worked until her dying breath; may the Queen rest in well-earned peace.
4 likes
25 days ago
Loving the organizational prowess of the Shipden Peak GM.
2 likes
1 mo ago
If more people hated racism as much as they hate accusations of racism the world would be a dope ass place.
5 likes
1 mo ago
Being new is always awkward, apparently.
3 likes

Bio

Jaded & cynical hopeless romantic.

I enjoy: Antagonistic banter, themes of distrust, slow-burn romance, passion, intensity, gay panic, loyalty, some mild violence, thoughtful plot twists, and well-paced plot progression.

I don't appreciate: One-liners, filler-posts-sans-progression, egregious grammar/spelling mistakes (Grammarly is free), one-dimensional characters, gratuitous homophobia, Deus ex machina, slapstick silliness, or garish depictions of mental/physical disability.

An unreasonable pet peeve I cannot help: I truly, madly, deeply dislike smilies like :) or XD in any form of conversation/interaction & it will make me flee as quickly as politely possible even if you're the second coming of RP-Jesus in other respects.

Current Fictional Endeavors:

The Un-Vanished Palace - Fallen London setting, human x human, adventure; with EchoicChamber

Regency Romp - Regency era, arranged marriage, MxM; with Catena

Most Recent Posts

Seven Hosts were chosen as those with strong moral fiber to resist the temptations of the Sins. For the rest of their now immortal lives, the Hosts would have to live in a constant mental war against one of the seven most powerful demons in history.

Greetings,

Just looking for some clarification on the above, as I wrote my app under the assumption that purposefully indulging in one's Sin to any excess would have negative consequences or even possibly allow it to escape; is this not the case, or are there any guidelines we should keep in mind in that regard?

-antiquity

"You're too kind, Captain," Avernius demured as he began to move again, toward the rear of the crowd, where the growing shadows cloaked those in the square in darkness. "And were it another occasion entirely I might be so inclined to agree. But alas, I think it safe to say that were we in need of someone to play the pitifully distressed while we perform some deft sleight of hand," he gesticulated vaguely with his free hand for emphasis, "Neither of us would quite suit the bill."

"A scholar though, you say," he considered, stopping short. "Genius. I'd say we've two options then. Shall we flag down a carriage and make haste for the University to try our luck getting one to take an adventuring sabbatical? Or shall we instead delve into the back streets and make inquiries of the gutter prophets? Their writings are often difficult to disseminate, but one can hardly expect straightforward scholarship of those who freely share the Correspondence; I imagine they might take a bit more coaxing to join us as well but I demur to you, my dear companion in arms."

Catching sight of himself in a smudged shop window, Avernius pauses to adjust the cravat under his throat just so while waiting for Colette to make the final decision on how to proceed.
Here's my application for Greed.


New Plot Idea



"Worse than torture," Avernius confided. "It's been dreadfully boring," he emphasized the word as if it was actually painful in his mouth. While some lower-tier nobles were content to ride their waves of money and notoriety to jockey for social ranking among the rank and file of the aristocracy, others leveraged their good fortune for the noble pursuit of keeping themselves entertained. Avernius was decidedly of the latter persuasion, and as Colette returned his bow with one of her own rather than the expected curtsy, she solidified the assumption in his mind that she might well be entertaining company to keep indeed.

"The pleasure is decidedly mine, Captain." Accepting her gloved hand, Avernius flinched as the teeth nipped at his own bare thumb. "How very curious," he murmured, his fathomless eyes meeting the fierce gaze of her glove as he proceeded with the handshake. His attention shifted back to Colette herself afterward.

"Never do anything by yourself that can make for an interesting shared memory, my dear. A team is just what we'll need if we want to get our hands on this particular palace." Unless she objected, and even then unless she objected quite adamantly, Colette would find herself with the Duke Dandy on her arm and weaving through the crowd. "It isn't long until midnight, we should find at least one other to join us, don't you think?" he asked, seemingly having decided at some point that he and Colette were now a package deal in the upcoming contest. "What do you think; should we aim for brawn or brains? Or perhaps eye-candy? Loveliness is so often an undervalued trait," he mused, as much to himself as to Colette. Scanning the crowd, he looked over those gathered as if their future partner in crime would simply be holding a sign.
"Precisely; I'm so very glad you understand how hard it's been for me," Avernius replied to Colette's ribbing in all seeming sincerity. Someone ever so helpfully offered him a pressed white handkerchief, which he accepted, dabbing the corners of his eyes daintily before returning it to the nameless, faceless member of the crowd.

"Lord Avernius Valentine, of the noble and esteemed House of Valentine, at your service." Avernius swept an abbreviated bow toward Colette before straightening, maintaining just enough distance so as to not have to look up to meet the notably taller woman's eyes. "I say, I don't think I've had the pleasure of making your acquaintance as yet, and a most formidable seeming acquaintance it would be," he says, giving her a swiftly appraising look, from her chocolate curls to her footwear of choice this eve. "If I might now rectify that, Madame...?" He trailed off, clearly hoping she might obligingly fill in the blank.

Around the pair, the crowd continued to ebb and swell, with people grouping up and discussing just what the first so-called heroic deed might be. Already alliances were being made, deals being struck as people decided to throw themselves headlong into vying for the prize. Still others were gripping the iron bars blocking access to the palace grounds, peering inside to try and see what there might be to see. Gossip was swirling, exaggerated and embellished; already there were rumors of ghosts and an undead staff, as well as a prediction that anyone who made it inside would certainly never be seen again. Some members of the Ministry, likely the Estate board but possibly the Cartography Oversight committee, were making some fussy sounds about the audacity of the palace to appear here and what effects it might have on property values, but by and large, they were ignored.


Approximately 40 years ago, London was stolen by bats.

It has since been accepted that anything can go missing at any time and that anyone with a bit of sense knows to keep an eye on their possessions if they wish to keep them in their possession.

Of course, everything that goes missing isn't guaranteed to remain that way; rumor has it that the Empress' many and varied wigs are prone to disappearing for days at a time, returning in a most bedraggled and windswept state. This keeps the Official Coiffeuse of the Shuttered Palace up a night, dreading what tangles she might face come morning.

And yet, while wigs and walking sticks and wayward children may come and go, there are some things that people generally expect to by and large remain stationary. 'Like London?' one might ask in a snickering tone, quite correctly. But also real estate in general; it is a truism of the Royal Ministry of Property and Estate Management that addresses shifting about the Neath is very, very bad for business.

And yet, this is where our intrepid adventurers find themselves at the start of this tale, in a Fallen London whose society has been set abuzz by the perplexing news that a palace has appeared, courtyard and sprawling gardens included, right in the upscale residential area of the city, between the Pickering Estate where Mayor Braxton Pickering resides with his two families, and Loosefang Manor, an upscale retiring home for elderly vampires of wealth and means.

Even more perplexing is the status of ownership of the palace, for it is registered with the Ministry as surely as if it has existed all along but in place of a name or a Trust, the address' owner is listed simply as 'To Be Determined In Due Course'. The meaning of this quickly becomes evident should one visit the palace, its grounds surrounded by a tall, wrought-iron fence, the gate heavily padlocked, and the whole thing sealed up with magic that has made it thus far impervious to scaling, tunneling beneath, squeezing between, or blasting with dynamite. A sign has been posted on the front gate that reads thusly:

Seeking New Ownership.
Seven heroic deeds to claim one deed of the property herein.
Individual and group efforts accepted.
The first deed to be posted at the stroke of midnight.
"...and thusly, I laid him out flat!" with a grandiose flourish, a young gentleman concluded his tale in the middle of the public wine garden, commanding the polite applause of those gathered nearby, some for rapt attention to his tale of bravado, and others because word had gotten around that the spirited dandy in the well-tailored suit was buying rounds for all those accompanying him this evening, whether acquainted or not, and so it was a respectably sizable gathering indeed, thus far.

The hour was sometime after six in the evening, and the public house was flooded with those waged workers fleeing their offices for the comfort of the cups and company to be found in such places. The wine garden was a specially reserved area, for the nobility and those who brushed elbows with such elites. Even with such lofty entry requirements, it was still well-populated already and likely to get even more so as the hour stretched further into the gaping maw of night.

All of this is mentioned to give one an idea of just how spectacularly noisy it was in the vicinity, and so just how loudly the following line had to be shouted in order to bring a hush over the place:

"Hear ye, hear ye!"

Heads swiveled as if on greased ball bearings, the assembled turning their attention toward the Ministry page whose training had included how to project just the sort of voice that could command such attention.

"A miracle has occurred, and the Ministry invites one and all to bear witness!"

With that, the page snapped his heels in a well-executed turn, filing out of the garden and onto the street, and at first a few of the more curious trailed behind him, but soon chatter filled the crowd, wondering what on earth qualified as a miracle in the Neath, and if possibly a way back to the surface had been found, or even if the Shuttered Palace had thrown open the patio doors. As more and more were infected with curiosity, they too poured into the streets to hurry after the Ministry page, and from the look of things on the streets, the Ministry sent criers to every public establishment in the city, for there was a parade of bodies in assorted shapes and sizes and manner of dress, all heading in the same direction, toward the most affluent part of town.

"Well, I say," the besuited dandy exclaimed, rising to his feet, the red wine in his glass sloshing dangerously to the side before settling. "Has talk of my daring heroics made its way to the Ministry already? Is perhaps the scene of my duel to be made into a London Historical Society landmark?" he wondered, his vanity seemingly knowing no limits. "Let's go take a look, shall we?" he asked of those gathered, and on the whole, they looked agreeable enough, especially when the gentleman settled up everyone's bill before they joined the flow of citizenry.

The walk didn't take long, seeing as the public house they'd been in was already on the more upscale end of the High Street, and soon enough the wine-sipping dandy found himself before the palace that certainly hadn't been here when he'd passed earlier this afternoon. "What an unprecedented turn," he said, more to himself than his seemingly forgotten companions now, his eyes skimming over the posted sign. "I find myself short of a palace these days, as it so happens."

A woman nearby explained in hushed tones that the man talking to himself was none other than Lord Avernius Valentine, son of Duke Valentine, and recently turned out from his home by his mother with the stern advice to get a job and stop waiting around for his father to die so he could inherit.
Welcome to the Guild! I'm always glad when more GMT roleplayers join!


There is something quite nice about getting same-day replies! Thank you for the welcome.
Well, this is an Opportunity Card I can't look past.

Fallen London & the subsequent Faibetter Games spinoffs are relevant to my interests; I would love to explore these back alleys with someone suffering the same recurring dreams.

If you'd like to discuss particulars or what have you, I'm more than amenable to doing so here, via PM, whatever suits.
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