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Hi!

Link to my art page

One big geek here, sup.

Everyone online calls me Cio, although it's not my real name. I'm an art student from Finland and even though English isn't my first language, I'd dare to say I'm rather good at it (as in, that won't be a problem if you want to roleplay with me).
I'm a bundle of creative ideas and passion for some good originality and in-depth character analysis. In my opinion, even a crappy plot can be turned into a fabulous story if the characters are worthwhile.

My roleplaying style is usually from the 3rd POV, but I'm open to trying new things. I'm used to writing somewhat long posts, so I'm in the look for roleplays that expect their players to write more than just a few sentences. That said, I do enjoy more casual pace, since I do have my studies to worry about as well. I aim to be as active as possible, visiting the site at least once a day (but lets face it, I'm here way more often than just once a day)

Some stuffs:
  • INFP-T
  • Art student
  • Finnish
  • She/Her
  • 18+
  • RPs Female characters

Most Recent Posts



September 7th, 20XX, NYC



The week hadn't been kind to Ripley Hayes. Of course there was nothing new in that. Most weeks weren't, but usually Ripley's weeks didn't involve being hospitalized due to an unexpected terrorist gas attack, losing contact with one of the two people who gave a shit about how she was, and coming to realise that this said gas attack had changed her. Changed how? The girl didn't know if she was being honest. She just... knew. Felt it in her bones or something. Something was different, and Ripley wasn't sure she liked it.

"Happy birthday, Rip," she murmured to herself, staying curled in her unmade bed for a few extra seconds before getting up to face the day. 19, what an odd number. Both literally and figuratively. Ripley didn't feel older, that was for sure. She wasn't sure if she was meant to even feel like that -- if anyone did, or if it was just something people expected of you. Age was an arbitrary number, after all.
Ripley's morning went much like any other of her mornings. She got dressed and ate breakfast in her cramped dorm room, listening music as she did so. Aside from a 'happy birthday' text from her grandmother, Ripley hadn't recieved any new messages. Her mom was probably still sleeping, being in California and all. Her father, though... Ripley wasn't sure what the sudden silent treatment was about, but it stressed her out. Sure, she hadn't called her parents to let either of them know she was in the hospital after the attack, but she hadn't wanted to worry them. The last message between Ripley and her dad was her mentioning she'd been released from the hospital and her father getting kind of angry for not being told sooner.
"Whatever," Ripley huffed with determination as she buttoned her plaid shirt and braided her teal hair like usual. "If he thinks he can act like a child, I'm not going to be the adult either."

The rest of the day was kind of a blur. Ripley spent most of her free day studying, emerging from her room only to go grab something else than cold leftover pizza for dinner. She got a lovely call from her mother wishing her happy birthday. She told Ripley it was a lovely weather out in California, and the girl smiled ruefully at that.
"That sounds awesome! If only it wasn't so gray here," Ripley replied as she glanced out the window of her dorm. Ripley's mother must've heard the tone in her voice, since she became solemn over the line.

"Is everything okay with you there? You're not having second thoughts about the program?"

"What- no! New York's the best, I love it here. Seriously, don't even worry," Ripley protested quickly with a laugh, "Me and dad are going on a birthday dinner tonight, actually. It's going to be amazing," Ripley continued, smiling cheerily even though her mother couldn't see it.

"Oh, that's nice. I'll let you get to it then. Love you, Little Fishie~"

"Love you too, mum." Ripley let her smile fall as she heard the noise of her mother ending the call. The teal haired girl sat up straighter, the silence ringing in her ears annoyingly. With a sigh Ripley turned to her tamagotchi, which was hanging out next to her on her bed and all the text books.
"What?" Ripley asked as if it was looking at her pointedly. "I might not be eating out with dad, but mum doesn't have to know that. I've got you, Kip," she declared, putting a piece of paper between her book to mark the page she'd been on. Ripley put down the book from her hands and grabbed her tamagotchi - Kip, she called the current one - and stuffed in in her pocket.

"Time to go on an adventure! We're going to feast tonight, you and me."




Day of the Memorial Service - September 9th, 20XX, NYC
Interaction: Lindy @AmpharosBoy



"I'm telling you, it's not the same! I hate those places, all slippery tiles and boring scenery. If my only option is to swim indoors I might as well not swim at all," Ripley argued as she walked down the street. She was talking to Kip -- well -- really she was talking to herself, but it felt nice to feel like she was having a conversation. Had it not been New York where people largely minded their own business, Ripley might've earned a few strange looks. Of course she had her headphones in so people might assume she was just having a phone conversation. Not that anyone did care. It was New York, after all. Places to go, places to be.
The real source of the argument was Ripley's desire to go swimming again, maybe even diving. But with the weather being what it was and indoor swimming pools not being an option, Ripley's options were very limited. There was always that part of her that wanted to be near water, but oftentimes it got outweighed by the other side of her that set her standards.

Ripley walked down the street, nearing the place she knew the memorial service would be held. No one close to her had passed away in the gas attack, but Ripley did know some students from her year that had died. It felt almost surreal, to think that some of the people she was in the same space with daily were no longer there. Just... gone. No longer breathing, or waking up to see a new day. The thought made Ripley uncomfortable, for more reasons than one. The girl had an unique relationship with death and how she viewed it, but it wasn't without fear. Fear of the finality of it, or the unknown that would follow if such existence after death was possible.

However, there was also a part of Ripley that felt guilty. She didn't like to examine it too closely. She knew the attack hadn't been her fault in any shape, or form. Yet she felt guilty for being one of the lucky ones that got to survive. That gas had killed most of the people exposed to it, but not her. There was this small portion of people who had survived, seemingly random. So why them?
The mystery of it was maddening to Ripley. She loved a good mystery, but now with the very real guilt of surviving when some of those in her year hadn't... it got to the girl more than she liked to admit.

So, she was on her way to the memorial service. Not because she'd known the victims, but out of respect.

"You know what... I'm sorry about this, but today I have no room for wandering thoughts. Thanks for listening, but now..." Ripley pressed two buttons on Kip simultaneously, setting him on pause so she wouldn't have to worry about feeding him. What a crappy pet owner she must've been, really. Fortunately virtual pets didn't depend on you like real ones did. Ripley pocketed Kip and looked up as she neared the crowd of people gathering around the memorial service location.

Most people seemed to be there with their friends and families or loved ones, at least that's how it seemed to Ripley. Her gaze followed a few hollow looking individuals here and there. They'd clearly lost someone in the attack.
Ripley bit her lip and looked around for a place to stand around in. A part of her wanted to go over to those people and apologise for... for what, exactly? For overcoming the symptoms? Or for not being able to save anyone unlike some quick-thinking heroes? Rationally thinking Ripley knew there was nothing to apologise for, but she just felt for these people. It must've been quite hard.

Thump!

Ripley took a hasty step backwards to steady herself as a man tried to squeeze himself through between Ripley and the other person standing in front of her. People had been gathering and they were everywhere, so it was impossible to avoid bumping into anyone. That was the case for Ripley too, as her back hit someone's side in the chain reaction. Spinning around with her hands ready to steady the person out of reflex, Ripley stared at the girl behind her, eyes wide.

"Oh god, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to bump into you like that--" the taller girl blurted automatically, eyes locking with the read haired, blue eyed stranger.

What Ripley had failed to notice was that in her sudden movement Kip had managed to fall out of her pocket: now it was on the ground, where it was immediately walked on by other people shuffling in the gathering crowd.

Hey so I'm alive and just now noticed we have a new thread... I havent been kicked out have I?


Time - Morning
Interactions: Keith @Salenea, (@Karisma Anahita mentioned)



Rory cracked a dry smirk at Keith's happy response. A faint buzzing between the blonde's ears confirmed what had already been quite obvious - he was being sarcastic, of course. Not quite understanding the reasons but not minding one bit, Rory was happy that sarcasm didn't seem to set off her head-piercing "bullshit alarm" like lies did.

Speaking of lies, there was one person full of them. Rory's attention from Keith was broken as she noticed Anahita - the girl she'd lazily dubbed as "the liar" - walked into the cafeteria. Rory really didn't even know this woman aside from the fact that every time she opened her mouth, Rory got a massive headache. She wouldn't be surprised if everything she'd overheard of the woman was a fairytale to begin with.

Rory's eyes shifted back to the blonde boy before her, and for the first time her attention was brought back to her muffin. Rory glanced down at the object Keith had referred to, noticing that her fingers had picked the edges of its muffiny goodness into tiny crumbs that littered the table. Sigh.
Despite Keith's words and how true they probably were, Rory knew she wasn't going to eat the muffin. But damn if it didn't smell delicious...
The bit about delusional disorder truly caught Rory off-guard. She almost appreciated that, however unwanted the information might've been. Something about this blonde man's staightforwardness was refreshing, charming, almost.
Almost enough for Rory to not comment on it.

She was just about to deliver an insensitive remark when Keith turned the question around. And what's on your record? Those words flared deep-seated anger within Rory. What did he think this was, an emotions free-for-all? And who did he think he was? She hadn't invited this kind of interaction, quite the opposite actually. So why was this man thinking it was okay to swoop in and snoop around about her personal life?
Rory's eyes flared as her hand clutched into a tight fist. Keith, however, didn't really leave room for a reply as he already debated on Rory's diagnosis.
That got her quiet for a moment.

"Nothing as grandiose as that, I'm afraid," the tired blonde hissed from between her teeth, lips pressed into a thin line. "Really none of your fucking business. Why don't you go and--" Rory began, only to be cut off by a sudden movement from far behind Keith. Her eyes met again with the staff person monitoring them in the cafeteria, their eyes delivering the message loud and clear. Don't cause a scene. That won't be tolerated here.
So, instead of telling Keith to go fuck himself and jump off a roof in case he really could fly, Rory held her tongue. Something deep inside of her told her she really didn't want to say that, anyway. It was all just a defense she put up in case something got too close, she knew that all too well. Knowing it almost made it worse.

"Look," Rory began anew, her tone less venomous and more just... weary, she supposed. "I'm here for the same reason everyone else - if I wasn't, I'd be dead. My thing's less thinking I-can-breathe-fire and more 'voluntarily destroying my own health and wellbeing for the hell of it'. Speaking of which... you got any cigs?"
Being clean - both alcohol and cigarettes - was surprisingly hard some days. It wasn't as bad as it had been when she'd first quit, but the cravings could get really intense sometimes. Alcohol wasn't something she'd ever enjoyed, really, but something about the burning smoke in her lungs, washed over by a wave of calmness, really made Rory crave it. It comforted her, made her think that maybe there was an alternate universe where she burned with her parents that one fateful night.
"...Nevermind. You don't look the smoking type," Rory shook her head, thinking the better of it. She licked her lips, feeling their chapped edges sharp against her tongue. "In any case, I'm here because they think I'm a danger to myself. Which... fair, if I'm honest, but doesn't really match to your delusions of being a unicorn or something," Rory answered finally. The corner of her mouth quipped up just a bit at the words, although she couldn't quite believe she'd said all of that. She couldn't quite believe she was having what felt like an actual conversation with someone who was annoyingly positive but refreshingly straightforward at the same time.
Ripley Hayes

September 1st, Empire State University



It was quiet in the library. The only sounds occupying the space were the subtle clearings of throats, turning pages, and the graphite pencil that was scritching softly against paper.

The pencil paused. A frustrated sigh. The sound of the pencil tapping at the table. Silence.

And more writing.

Ripley Hayes' head wasn't in the game that day. Usually she was quicker than this, finishing the assignment for the day much earlier. Usually, by now she'd be studying for her own interest. Ripley sighed, closing her eyes to escape the fluorecent lights of the library.

Drop.

Drop.

Drop.


Ripley opened her eyes to face the stark white paper of her essay, only to be met with stains of fresh, red blood. The saturated drops seeped into the white of the paper, completely opaque on top of the gray scribbles her pen had made.
Confused, Ripley blinked and looked up to see where the blood was coming from. The movement caused blood to rush into her mouth, the warm, irony taste hitting the back of her tongue.
Was her nose bleeding?

Ripley brought her hands to cup her nose. They were covered in red before she could comprehend what was going on. Shit.
Ripley began looking for a tissue. Her nose was running now, the occasional drips having turned into a steady flow of blood. It was everywhere. The front and sleeves of her white hoodie — dear god why had she chosen to wear that today — were dotted with bright red blood that dried into a rusty burgundy colour.
Her head hurt. She felt dizzy, light headed. It must've been the blood loss.
Glancing around, Ripley was about to call for aid when she saw it. People were coughing, shaking, falling unconscious. Dread settled into the pit of Ripley's stomach. What was going on?

Red haze. Ripley wasn't sure if it was actually in the air or if it was just because of the blood everywhere, but everything seemed to be covered in red mist. Seeing people coughing, Ripley realised her throat felt itchy too.

Cough.

A splurt of blood hit the table, spraying from between Ripley's fingers. A coughing fit hit her, and blood was everywhere. Her lungs were burning, they were on fire, she was going to die. She was going to die then and there, surrounded by books and other withering people. Shit. F*ck.

Ripley realised she couldn't breathe, that her lungs simply wouldn't draw air. She panicked. The girl rose up from her seat, turning around to run... And was met with the cold floor and a sickening thud as her legs gave out.
She couldn't breathe. She couldn't breathe, she was suffocating, she was dying. She was going to die.

She was going to die, and she didn't even know why.


September 5th, Greenwich hospital, New York City, NY


Ripley had been going in and out of consciousness for days. She didn't know how or when, but she had ended up in the hospital. Someone must've called 911, because the last thing Ripley remembered was falling unconscious on the cold library floor.

It hurt. Breathing hurt, her lungs were on fire. Her limbs felt like they were constantly being assaulted by thousands of tiny needles. Her brain felt like it was frying. She was sweating, shaking, her spit was weird and foamy. All sounds were too loud, too close, too much. Her tinnitus felt like an ominous buzzing in her ears, it felt like a piercing pressure she couldn't get relief from.
Ripley didn't know what was happening to her, but she knew she wasn't the only one. Pained wails and groans carried down the hospital corridor, and all that accompanied it was machines beeping and hospital staff rushing back and forth from room to room.
People were in pain, just like her. So many people. Too many, in fact. Where would they all fit? There wasn't room for everyone.

The doctors told her what they knew, that she'd been right at the center of it all when it happened. "The attack," they called it. Ripley had no idea what they were talking about.
Apparently she'd been there for four days now. Ripley didn't remember much of it aside from the excruciating pain she'd been in. The doctors had been busy going in and out of the rooms, checking on multiple patients at a time. Ripley couldn't really remember anything.

"...Can I see my dad?" Ripley asked on the fifth day. He voice was raspy and weak from disuse. Everything felt off.

"We... Your mother is on the way. She was listed as your emergency contact, and she was the only one we could reach. Your father hasn't been picking up calls, unfortunately," the nurse checking on Ripley's IV explained.
Ripley frowned, blinking a few times. Why hadn't her dad picked up? Surely he would've done so as soon as he'd noticed the attack. He knew Ripley studied at that university, he would've been worried sick.

He would've picked up, he would've been here days ago. Why wasn't he here? There was no way, unless...

"...He's really busy," Ripley assured the nurse. Or was it herself? The nurse looked at Ripley, something akin to worry sparking in her eyes at the statement.
"Yeah, he... you know, he gets really caught up with his work sometimes. He could be on a work trip - yeah, that's it - he just haven't had the time to check his phone."

"What does your dad do for a living, if I may ask?"

"He's a business man. Probably just in a place that has really bad reception," Ripley insisted with a sure smile on her face. Despite Ripley's smile, her heart monitor sped up.
She was getting agitated.

"Well, your mother is on her way. She's taking a flight all the way from California to come and see you. She'll be here in the next few days," the nurse soothed, her voice calming and reassuring. Ripley nodded, but she didn't really seem to hear what the nurse was saying.

"Dad will come too. As soon as he realises he's been getting calls from the hospital, he'll come rushing in - just wait."

And wait she did.


Time - Morning
Interactions: @Salenea



Rory had been turning the unpeeled banana in her hands for some time, staring at it blankly, when a voice interrupted her.
"Mind if I join you?" asked a blonde, fairly attractive young man with bright eyes and a plate full of entirely too much food for Rory to comprehend. Of course his breakfast was more appropriate in size, but to Rory it felt like a feast given her own sparce diet.

Who the fuck is this dimwit? was Rory's first thought. Her brows furrowed in annoyment as the man didn't wait for a reply, merely sat down and made himself comfortable. Rory's tired eyes were sharp.
"Apparently not," she bit back, her chapped lips forming a thin line as she placed the banana down on the table with just a little too much force for it to be controlled.
The man - Keith, he introduced himself - continued and said he'd seen her around before. Rory didn't much like that, being seen. If she had it her way, no one would even know she was there. Alas, it wasn't up to her.
Rory shot a foul look at the man from behind her stringy, damaged hair. She opened her mouth to say something - to sneer, to insult, probably tell him to go fuck himself - but a person in the back of the room caught Rory's attention. The staff member met Rory's eyes steadfastly, shaking his head as if he knew what Rory was thinking. It wasn't too hard to figure out, anyway.

Rory grunted, a sound that almost sounded like a hiss coming from her mouth.
"Rory. Has it crossed your mind that there might be a reason for why that is?" Rory answered to Keith's statement, her bony fingers fidgeting the paper mold her blueberry muffin was nestled in. The paper didn't crinkle much, having absorbed some of the grease from the muffin. Soon Rory's fingers began to pick at the edges of the delicious looking muffin, picking out tiny crumb sized pieces and shedding them on the table. She took a breath. Inhale, exhale.
"So what's your deal, anyway?" Rory asked, blunt as ever. She met Keith's eyes with her own, piercing teal against light blue. "You don't look too sick to me," she specified with a dry smirk, "nor that deranged. Aside from the fact that you thought I'd be good company, apparently."
Rory didn't remember talking to any resident here as much as she had just talked to this man. She probably had, but not in one go. It felt odd, a tad annoying, and a tiny bit satisfying. She had missed talking to someone, was it that?
Not that it would last, it never did. Rory had realised she had quite the skill for driving people away. Maybe she thought she got some sort of high from being rude, but really it was a bittersweet satisfaction that only lasted for that one second. It didn't fill anything, and Rory knew it. She just liked to pretend she didn't care.


Time - Morning
Interactions: N/A



Stop lying.

The disheveled blonde was brought to an unpleasant awakening as the comms crackled to life, announcing the departure of one of the residents in Spring Hill. Bethany, her name had been.
"...She is hoping to finish her college degree and pursue a career in psychology, she wished us to tell everyone who knew her that they can also finish their rehabilitation and find a good life for themselves," the voice declared as the announcement went on, and Rory had to roll over in her bed to cover her ears with her lumpy pillow. There was a sharp stab behind her eyes, growing more insistent the longer the speaker went on. They are lying. Why won't they just shut up?

Aurora hadn't slept so well. It wasn't anything out of the ordinary, though. Her medication helped her some, aiding her into a dreamless sleep which honestly was much more welcomed than the nightmares that would follow normally. Still, it felt like she had barely slept at all. The blonde could feel the strain behind her eyes, the burning dryness and gnawing hunger in the pit of her stomach. The hunger that never left, a constant reminder to Rory that she deserved this. That if no one else punished her for her actions, she'd do it herself.

Filtering the dim morning light with her bony fingers, Rory stared out of the window while still lying on the mattress, paralyzed. What's the point? she found herself thinking.
Oh, fun. It was one of those days, then.

------

"So, Aurora--"

"Rory," the blonde interjected. Dr. Gaston smiled apologetically, nodding.

"Right, Rory. So, I see that... it seems you've harmed yourself again," the soft-faced doctor said, gesturing to the fresh bruises along Rory's arms and chest.
"Have you been taking your medication regularly? Or is this... do you want to talk to Mrs. Seething about it? Your recovery is our first priority, but you can't recover if you're unwilling to do so." Dr. Gaston's voice sounded concerned, almost maternal. Rory stared at her, expression blank, feeling a stab of pain behind her eyes at the doctor's words. She didn't think much of it. Obviously the doctor was lying. Their first priority wasn't her, it was money. She didn't really expect anything else.

"I haven't harmed myself," Rory sighed, annoyed, rubbing her sore arms with chilled fingers. "The bruises just seem to appear out of nowhere. And I feel really sore," she explained. Rory decided to leave out the headaches. They weren't that bad, really. She had a thousand problems, some dumb headaches weren't really at the top of her list.

Dr. Gaston nodded, turning to her computer for a second to type something in. Rory waited. Her whole being felt heavy with exhaustion, low energy slowly buzzing through her body. It was kind of cold.
"You know, Rory, the staff has noticed you haven't been conversing with the other residents or even taken part in any of the activities we provide. We are worried about you," Dr. Gaston said as she turned back to Rory. She wasn't done talking, either.
"We don't want to push you to do anything you aren't comfortable with, but staying in isolation is not helping you recover. I'm afraid it's actually doing the opposite," the doctor continued. Her voice seemed concerned in the way a medical professional's voice should - it seemed almost like she really cared, but Rory found it hard to believe. To them she was just a patient. She was nothing personal to them.

"So you're saying..." Rory drew out, jittery fingers tapping at her forearms impatiently.

"So I'm saying -- while we don't wan't to force you -- we have enrolled you into one of today's activities. You will attend the cooking lesson later today. In addition to that, you will be eating your breakfast in the cafeteria like the rest of the residents. I know lately we've been allowing you to take food to your room because of your... situation, but it is becoming apparent that it isn't helping you. So from now on, you'll eat at the cafeteria like the rest of the patients. As per usual, the staff will make sure you have eaten and keep you under surveillance for thirty minutes afterwards."

Rory scoffed, her brow furrowing at Cecile's words. That was a lot to digest, literally and figuratively. The blonde groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose. It was okay. She didn't deserve the special treatment anyway, not that it made her any happier to hear she'd have to be around others.
"I might have an eating disorder, but I'm not a fucking bulimic," Rory spit, annoyed, "I'm not gonna go throw up after eating, that's desperate... And cooking? Really? How do you know I won't snatch a knife or something?"
The doctor cast a disbelieving look at Rory's crude words, her blue eyes big and serious.

"You know it's just protocol. And, the patients aren't allowed to handle knives. You will be cooking something that doesn't involve sharp objects. Now I really wish I could talk longer, but you need to go eat and I have to continue with the morning check-ups."

-------

On her way to the cafeteria, Rory felt she was being watched. She was allowed to walk around on her own, all the way from the doctor's office, but Rory knew better than to believe no one was monitoring her. They were making sure she was actually going where she was meant to. It didn't annoy the woman any less, though.
She felt a bit light-headed, not that it was anything new. It was probably the low blood pressure. Rory would have to watch out for that. Last time she got up from her seat too quickly and suddenly the world had been spinning, turning into a black sludge right before her open eyes. Fainting wasn't fun. Rory still had a huge bump in the back of her head from that.

During her walk Rory spotted two young women walking in the same direction as her. She'd seen them before, but had never really talked to them. She had never really talked to any residents here, not apart from some off-handed comments that were easily forgotten.
The teal-haired woman Rory surely remembered. She was pretty - really pretty - and her name was apparently Olivia or something. Rory didn't know why she was here, but she didn't really care. They were all here for a reason.
The girl Olivia was talking to was someone Rory didn't remember the name of, but Rory knew her as the person with the prosthetic leg. It came without saying that she was very beautiful as well. It seemed everyone here was young and good looking. That was a bit weird, but Rory decided she shouldn't care.

Arriving to the cafeteria, Rory's mouth watered at the smell of breakfast. Fuck.
There weren't that many people at the cafeteria, much to Rory's relief. Or was it relief, really? Either way, it took the blonde a painfully long time to decide on what to eat. It felt like she'd been staring a hole into the bread collection at the food line. Finally moving, Rory picked up a banana. She also took a delicious looking blueberry muffin after a long consideration. She wouldn't probably eat it, but at least it looked like she had taken something more than a fruit.

Walking off, Rory took a seat at one of the tables in the cafeteria, the large table a stark comparison to how alone she looked sitting there alone.




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