Lmao I have no idea what my post was but it's there now.
c3p-0h Member
unending foolery
-
Last Seen:
0-24 hrs ago
- Joined: 12 yrs ago
- Posts: 2596 (0.60 / day)
- VMs: 1
-
Username history
- c3p-0h 12 yrs ago
-
Latest 10 profile visitors:
-
Most recent →
Oso,
The Muse,
Echotech71,
SpicyMeatball,
Qia,
Dezuel,
PrinceAlexus,
TokyoPewPew
Status
User has no status, yet
Bio
i like to rp. that's really all there is to say.
Most Recent Posts
Lexa looked up at him flatly from her spot in bed, tired and unimpressed with his theatrics. Really? Did he have to do this now? She didn't have the energy for this. It was almost a full minute before she finally opened her mouth.
"You're wrong about the world," she murmured in her rasping voice. "It's not what you say it is." The hidden seed of optimism, of hope that had first pushed her to become Trick, couldn't help but leak into her voice. She studied him up and down, as though he was a puzzle she was piecing together. She looked up and amber eyes met crimson. "It's not your fault." The words were spoken plainly. He wasn't forgiven for all her had done. But she could grant him this concession, at least. "You've only ever seen the worst of it." She thought back to 9 and the images he'd forced her to see. The pain that had felt too real, the terror and confusion and anger. She had no idea what she'd be like today if that was all she'd ever known. Even just a glimpse of it had caused her to kill without a thought. Her eyes fell from Jack's and she seemed to be looking at the far wall, more preoccupied with her own thoughts than with the unhinged, knife-wielding criminal.
"But we all have scars. Just because you're dark doesn't mean the whole world is." She could've been saying this to herself rather than to Jack. Thoughts floated through her mind, painful memories and wistful dreams. Quiet thoughts she was unwilling to speak aloud.
With a sigh, she looked back down at herself, eyes refocusing. Getting out of bed was going to end up being a humiliating idea. But Lexa would risk it if it meant leaving the odd reality she'd found herself in where speaking so calmly to Jack, sitting in his bed after he'd taken care of her. This was too surreal. Her left hand sat in her lap, largely useless, as she removed the blanket with her right. Her entire body felt like lead, and she wasn't certain if her legs would even be able to hold her up.
This was going to be such a pain in the ass. Twelve people. What the hell. Why the hell would she think that was a good idea. The most she'd ever tried before was five, and she'd thrown up after. Lexa was surprised she wasn't dead. But at least she'd gotten the people out of the building before it'd gone down.
She forced her knees up, painfully slow, planting the soles of her feet on the mattress. Lexa used her feet and right hand to push herself to the edge of the bed, grimacing in pain at the movement. Placing one foot on the ground, and then the other, she took a breath as she readied herself to stand.
Like ripping off a bandaid, she forced herself up to her feet too quickly shitshitshit and stumbled back onto the bed. The impact of the landing sent pain splitting her shoulder and she grit her teeth together and slammed her eyes shut. Her head was pounding, and it was a fight to keep her balance even just sitting down.
"You're wrong about the world," she murmured in her rasping voice. "It's not what you say it is." The hidden seed of optimism, of hope that had first pushed her to become Trick, couldn't help but leak into her voice. She studied him up and down, as though he was a puzzle she was piecing together. She looked up and amber eyes met crimson. "It's not your fault." The words were spoken plainly. He wasn't forgiven for all her had done. But she could grant him this concession, at least. "You've only ever seen the worst of it." She thought back to 9 and the images he'd forced her to see. The pain that had felt too real, the terror and confusion and anger. She had no idea what she'd be like today if that was all she'd ever known. Even just a glimpse of it had caused her to kill without a thought. Her eyes fell from Jack's and she seemed to be looking at the far wall, more preoccupied with her own thoughts than with the unhinged, knife-wielding criminal.
"But we all have scars. Just because you're dark doesn't mean the whole world is." She could've been saying this to herself rather than to Jack. Thoughts floated through her mind, painful memories and wistful dreams. Quiet thoughts she was unwilling to speak aloud.
With a sigh, she looked back down at herself, eyes refocusing. Getting out of bed was going to end up being a humiliating idea. But Lexa would risk it if it meant leaving the odd reality she'd found herself in where speaking so calmly to Jack, sitting in his bed after he'd taken care of her. This was too surreal. Her left hand sat in her lap, largely useless, as she removed the blanket with her right. Her entire body felt like lead, and she wasn't certain if her legs would even be able to hold her up.
This was going to be such a pain in the ass. Twelve people. What the hell. Why the hell would she think that was a good idea. The most she'd ever tried before was five, and she'd thrown up after. Lexa was surprised she wasn't dead. But at least she'd gotten the people out of the building before it'd gone down.
She forced her knees up, painfully slow, planting the soles of her feet on the mattress. Lexa used her feet and right hand to push herself to the edge of the bed, grimacing in pain at the movement. Placing one foot on the ground, and then the other, she took a breath as she readied herself to stand.
Like ripping off a bandaid, she forced herself up to her feet too quickly shitshitshit and stumbled back onto the bed. The impact of the landing sent pain splitting her shoulder and she grit her teeth together and slammed her eyes shut. Her head was pounding, and it was a fight to keep her balance even just sitting down.
honestly my first thought
i… also need time to decide on a response lol. arty's never been great with plans.
i'm gonna wait for a few more people to post before posting again, i think
@KillBox get laid obviously
Lady Grey Coulbourne
Interacting with the King's Severed Head
Though still a bit hesitant and chastened after Sir Jory's retrieval (the old knight was far too loyal to ever dare speak against her, but he had ways of making a look reprimanding) Grey sat in the Coulbourne area and watched the tournament attentively. They had competitions in the forest, but none quite like this – so large and so varied in their events. She cheered and laughed at the first event, delighting in the sight of noble men trying to catch a pheasant. Nyle, accustomed to the forested terrain had excelled in that event, and Grey felt a swell of pride for her cousin.
Though, his luck didn't last, and he was eliminated in the next round. The forest folk were built for cunning and agility. The hammer toss required a different skill set entirely.
Nyle, cleaned up and embarrassed at his elimination, came to sit in the Coulbourne area in the empty seat next to Grey during the fourth round. Grey leaned over and patted her cousin on the hand, a sympathetic but proud smile on her face. Nyle looked up and after a moment, offered a small smile of his own. Squeezing his hand, Grey turned back to the arena to continue watching the tournament.
The duel was fierce and had Grey upright in her seat as she watched, her eyes fixed on the two men she'd never met before.
And then it was over and the older one, Jeyco Swan, was named the victor. Grey applauded politely, though without the same intensity as the other spectators. He was… a bit old to marry a thirteen year old. She turned her attention to the young princess, who seemed none too pleased with this development. Grey sighed in empathy. Arranged marriages were tricky things.
Grey was watching Madeline as Lord Swan's banner unfurled.
And the bloody head of King Samson fell tumbling into her lap.
Grey was frozen, stunned as she looked down at it. The skin, loose and lax and wrinkled with age, was a waxy pale color. The eyes were partially opened, eyelids almost closed save for a sliver of white and brown exposed at the bottom. The right one was opened just a bit wider than the left. Long, wiry hair tangled in ropey clumps, the ends crusted with blood. The jaw was hanging open. Blood from the mangled stump that had been a neck was already pooling in Grey's lap, staining her dress, warm, sticky wetness leaking onto her legs under the layers of fabric.
Reality finally found Grey and she screamed. Stumbling to her feet, a hand clamped over her mouth as the head rolled from her lap and fell to the floor with a wet thud. Commotion erupted around her as people finally began to understand the situation.
The king was dead.
Nyle and Sir Jory both shot to their feet and rushed to her, trying to steady her and pull her away as she backed up, only to hit her chair. She couldn't look away from the king's severed head.
Rae spun at the very disgruntled voice coming from her side. Her eyes widened as they landed on the piece this new man was carrying. She let out a long, low whistle. That gun was powerful. And Expensive. And illegal. Only the highest levels of Inquisitors were allowed to use it. Rae had been forced to practice with it once or twice, but had never had much opportunity to properly get the hang of one.
And he'd held that gun against a batch of teenagers before even knowing they were convicts.
Pragmatic. Suspicious. Possibly dangerous. More than likely involved in something shady. Rae would put money on this guy being some sort of pirate or smuggler. Maybe a bounty hunter. She raised an eyebrow as she saw him and a few others start trying to work on fixing the ship. Hadn't he been the one to declare it dead? What, was he a miracle worker? Gonna bring the dead back to life? Rae rolled her eyes and looked around as an idea popped into her head. She smirked when she spotted Isabel.
"Hey Iz!" she called as she trotted over. The older girl – and one of the few people she liked in juvie – was always a willing companion for mischief, even if she liked to pretend otherwise. Rae lowered her voice as she reached her. "How much you wanna bet there's some kind of supply stash in that ship?" Weapons, food, drugs… Rae wasn't sure what she expected to find, but there was bound to be something right? "Wanna scavenge what we can and explore a little?" Her smile turned teasing and she nudged Isabel a bit with her elbow. "C'mon, I know you're dying to check this place out."
ok so the post is kinda just a big mess but it did what it needed to do, lol.
Malcolm Mondragon, captain of the pirate ship, Seawing, was not having a good day. He was in the process of facing a bloody mutiny. On his ship. He was livid, to say the least.
The trouble began an hour ago when his quartermaster, Cade – a bloodthirsty, ambitious cur, but an efficient and obedient sailor (current circumstances made Malcolm strongly reconsider that description) – had walked into the captain's quarters unannounced. Apparently it'd been of dire importance, because that was an offense normally punishable by tying him to the mast for 12 hours. The captain didn't mess around with privacy.
But as soon as Cade had opened the door, both he and the captain froze, looking at each other wide eyed. The captain was normally very careful about his look. The crew only ever saw him in several layers of clothes, a knee-length, bulky, crimson cloak over it all. A wide brimmed hat over dark, thick hair. An embroidered black and gold scarf tied around his head, pulled low to cover a missing left eye. Scars reached out from under the scarf, jagged and ugly, marring freckled brown skin. The longest one cut straight over his nose, ending under his other dark eye.
But then, Captain Mondragon stood before Cade, long hair tumbling free of its hat, coat thrown across his bed, and only one layer, a thin undershirt, covering the top half of his body. And under that shirt, were very obvious, very feminine curves.
And so, the secret that Maia Mondragon had been keeping for the last six years so carefully, came unraveled quicker than she could blink.
An hour later she was standing on the edge of a deck, back to the churning sea and hands bound tight behind her. Her wrists were already starting to turn raw from them. A storm had been brewing all day, and now had finally come to fruition. The sky was as dark as Maia's eyes, her hair whipping in the harsh winds. Rain poured down, drenching them all. The crew was standing in a jeering mob before her, Cade in front of them like the leader he'd always wanted to be. He'd exposed her to them, whipped them up into a frenzy about the deception, how they needed to be able to rely on each other, and how the recent string of bad luck they'd had had been her fault – punishment for the crime of having a woman aboard the ship. And how quickly they had turned on her.
Cade stepped before her, his expression serious, but the unmistakable glint of victory in his eyes. He reached forward and grabbed the scarf tied around her face, slowly pulling it off and revealing the scarred patch of flesh in place of her eye. The crew shouted and yelled in approval to see their lying captain in full.
Maia kept her head held high and didn't react. She had always been the smallest member of the crew, short and without bulk to her, but still solidly built. She'd always made up for the size disparity with sheer presence, and she mustered up all of it that she could now, as she stood exposed and shamed. Her eye was locked on Cade's, dark and hateful as the storm.
"Sleep well tonight," She finally said. The sound of her voice, higher than they had ever heard it since she was no longer deepening it to keep up the charade, was soft and threatening. A few of the men had the good sense to blink through the haze of their frenzy and actually look worried. Woman or not, there was a reason why their captain had earned the epithet of the Sea Dragon. That soft, almost gentle voice might as well have been a thunder crack in the storm. "This will be the last night of peace you ever know."
She was going to come back for them, rip them to shreds, and use them for bait on her fishing line, like the worms they were. Even if she died tonight, in the churning sea, her rage at this betrayal would find them again.
"And peace to you, my captain," he answered. Then he raised a hand and shoved her back. Maia went tumbling into the ocean below.
The trouble began an hour ago when his quartermaster, Cade – a bloodthirsty, ambitious cur, but an efficient and obedient sailor (current circumstances made Malcolm strongly reconsider that description) – had walked into the captain's quarters unannounced. Apparently it'd been of dire importance, because that was an offense normally punishable by tying him to the mast for 12 hours. The captain didn't mess around with privacy.
But as soon as Cade had opened the door, both he and the captain froze, looking at each other wide eyed. The captain was normally very careful about his look. The crew only ever saw him in several layers of clothes, a knee-length, bulky, crimson cloak over it all. A wide brimmed hat over dark, thick hair. An embroidered black and gold scarf tied around his head, pulled low to cover a missing left eye. Scars reached out from under the scarf, jagged and ugly, marring freckled brown skin. The longest one cut straight over his nose, ending under his other dark eye.
But then, Captain Mondragon stood before Cade, long hair tumbling free of its hat, coat thrown across his bed, and only one layer, a thin undershirt, covering the top half of his body. And under that shirt, were very obvious, very feminine curves.
And so, the secret that Maia Mondragon had been keeping for the last six years so carefully, came unraveled quicker than she could blink.
An hour later she was standing on the edge of a deck, back to the churning sea and hands bound tight behind her. Her wrists were already starting to turn raw from them. A storm had been brewing all day, and now had finally come to fruition. The sky was as dark as Maia's eyes, her hair whipping in the harsh winds. Rain poured down, drenching them all. The crew was standing in a jeering mob before her, Cade in front of them like the leader he'd always wanted to be. He'd exposed her to them, whipped them up into a frenzy about the deception, how they needed to be able to rely on each other, and how the recent string of bad luck they'd had had been her fault – punishment for the crime of having a woman aboard the ship. And how quickly they had turned on her.
Cade stepped before her, his expression serious, but the unmistakable glint of victory in his eyes. He reached forward and grabbed the scarf tied around her face, slowly pulling it off and revealing the scarred patch of flesh in place of her eye. The crew shouted and yelled in approval to see their lying captain in full.
Maia kept her head held high and didn't react. She had always been the smallest member of the crew, short and without bulk to her, but still solidly built. She'd always made up for the size disparity with sheer presence, and she mustered up all of it that she could now, as she stood exposed and shamed. Her eye was locked on Cade's, dark and hateful as the storm.
"Sleep well tonight," She finally said. The sound of her voice, higher than they had ever heard it since she was no longer deepening it to keep up the charade, was soft and threatening. A few of the men had the good sense to blink through the haze of their frenzy and actually look worried. Woman or not, there was a reason why their captain had earned the epithet of the Sea Dragon. That soft, almost gentle voice might as well have been a thunder crack in the storm. "This will be the last night of peace you ever know."
She was going to come back for them, rip them to shreds, and use them for bait on her fishing line, like the worms they were. Even if she died tonight, in the churning sea, her rage at this betrayal would find them again.
"And peace to you, my captain," he answered. Then he raised a hand and shoved her back. Maia went tumbling into the ocean below.
© 2007-2026