Vampiretwilight
TruckKun
Fenn
N3v3rM0r3
Theyra
Nallore
RPM
Barham…may I have a dog as a pet?
Iracebeth
Member
Anarchy is the only way
Status
Recent Statuses
21 days ago
22 days ago
Excessive drinking can also make ME excessively happy. So…I’m grooving
22 days ago
That was a lie, I just found vodka in the back of my freezer. I was sober for a total of 5 hours, new record, go me
1
like
22 days ago
WELL I’m never drinking again
3
likes
1 mo ago
DAMN I love the rain
1
like
Bio
I am consistently having a life crisis.
Most Recent Posts
This is wonderful
Oh, okay! I’m that case I’ll start working on a character, thank you!
Hello! I know that this is late, and it is super chill if all the spots are filled, but I was wondering if I could possibly join? Again- it’s totally okay if not!
Dahlia has never been one for the dramatics. She kept to herself, kept quiet, tried not to rock the boat, and when she did that, everything seemed to be…calmer.
Or, perhaps calm is the wrong word. The word she may be looking for is ‘trepidation’
Yes…yes that seemed right. To know that something bad has happened…that is will happen again, and yet, there was nothing to be done to solve it. So, all that is left is to be calm.
Dahlia can’t entirely remember when she last arrived in Berlin. Was a year ago? A few months? Maybe only a few weeks. Time seemed to move so odd around here, everything and everyone moving in a monotonous manner, the bloodshed too much for the human spirit to push through.
The young woman had come from France, carrying what little she could, hoping for a better life, and now? Well, it is like she is trapped in another prison, a place that drains the life from a person.
Stepping out into the street, Dahlia sighs softly, the air dead, the area empty. She wondered if there was a day that Berlin had joy, had hope…although if there was, it was long ago, the memories of jubilation extinguished from the inhabitants.
Dahlia exhales softly, taking out a lighter, flicking it a few times before the metal finally lights a spark. Nighttime is nearly fallen, the breeze slow, as if in mourning. Dahlia watches the flame, the orange wisps dancing in the near darkness. She should go inside. Up the states, to her room, where safety is promised.
But even through fear of darkness, she couldn’t just leave the streets like this. What could she do though? Nothing.
Like most people who aren’t fighting, Dahlia listens to the radio, reads the news, hoping for any sign of change, but it seems as though the aspiration for better days is dwindling.
Dahlia closes her eyes, letting the breeze overtake her once more before she stands, closing her lighter, and with the last rays of the sun, she turns on her heel and walks into the building.
It was a small shop, and had definitely seen better days. It held all forms of contraptions and candies, and Dahlias favored item, coffee beans.
Although the wood was slowly fading from the earthy brown, and the gold and green accents on the shudders and walls seemed to stall, Dahlia adored this place.
When she first arrived to Berlin, the owner of ‘Schmuck und Süßigkeiten’ offered her a job. She didn’t know why, perhaps he took pity on her, or simply really needed the help. Dahlia didn’t care for the reason, she was just grateful. Above the shop, the previously mentioned owner, Carl, gave her a place to sleep. A small room in the attic, and Dahlia loves it.
It was hers. Her own space.
So, she worked as a floor girl, occasionally running errands for Carl, whose health had seen better days.
Dahlia walks up the stairs after locking up, making sure not to wake Carl as she changes into her night clothes, her eyes drifting to the town out her window. A candle illuminated the room, it was always on at night, for Dahlia refuses to be in the dark.
She glances to the newspaper on the ground, one from a good long while ago about a plane crash. It was so…melancholy, to think about. But life was melancholy, now more than ever.
Something was happening, something more than war, Dahlia could feel it…and she didn’t know what to think.
Or, perhaps calm is the wrong word. The word she may be looking for is ‘trepidation’
Yes…yes that seemed right. To know that something bad has happened…that is will happen again, and yet, there was nothing to be done to solve it. So, all that is left is to be calm.
Dahlia can’t entirely remember when she last arrived in Berlin. Was a year ago? A few months? Maybe only a few weeks. Time seemed to move so odd around here, everything and everyone moving in a monotonous manner, the bloodshed too much for the human spirit to push through.
The young woman had come from France, carrying what little she could, hoping for a better life, and now? Well, it is like she is trapped in another prison, a place that drains the life from a person.
Stepping out into the street, Dahlia sighs softly, the air dead, the area empty. She wondered if there was a day that Berlin had joy, had hope…although if there was, it was long ago, the memories of jubilation extinguished from the inhabitants.
Dahlia exhales softly, taking out a lighter, flicking it a few times before the metal finally lights a spark. Nighttime is nearly fallen, the breeze slow, as if in mourning. Dahlia watches the flame, the orange wisps dancing in the near darkness. She should go inside. Up the states, to her room, where safety is promised.
But even through fear of darkness, she couldn’t just leave the streets like this. What could she do though? Nothing.
Like most people who aren’t fighting, Dahlia listens to the radio, reads the news, hoping for any sign of change, but it seems as though the aspiration for better days is dwindling.
Dahlia closes her eyes, letting the breeze overtake her once more before she stands, closing her lighter, and with the last rays of the sun, she turns on her heel and walks into the building.
It was a small shop, and had definitely seen better days. It held all forms of contraptions and candies, and Dahlias favored item, coffee beans.
Although the wood was slowly fading from the earthy brown, and the gold and green accents on the shudders and walls seemed to stall, Dahlia adored this place.
When she first arrived to Berlin, the owner of ‘Schmuck und Süßigkeiten’ offered her a job. She didn’t know why, perhaps he took pity on her, or simply really needed the help. Dahlia didn’t care for the reason, she was just grateful. Above the shop, the previously mentioned owner, Carl, gave her a place to sleep. A small room in the attic, and Dahlia loves it.
It was hers. Her own space.
So, she worked as a floor girl, occasionally running errands for Carl, whose health had seen better days.
Dahlia walks up the stairs after locking up, making sure not to wake Carl as she changes into her night clothes, her eyes drifting to the town out her window. A candle illuminated the room, it was always on at night, for Dahlia refuses to be in the dark.
She glances to the newspaper on the ground, one from a good long while ago about a plane crash. It was so…melancholy, to think about. But life was melancholy, now more than ever.
Something was happening, something more than war, Dahlia could feel it…and she didn’t know what to think.
Interacting with: @Dark Light- Kenji
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Genevieve feels her chest tighten, frustration flooding her mind and thoughts as he pulls the matchbox from her reach.
She knew that it was a simple item, a way to get light or fire, and willing to have already done what she has to find them, it seems irrational. But now? She desperately wanted them. In her mind, she needed them.
What are they worth? To her they are worth not going insane. To him, they were probably worth whatever he could get out of her. And while Gen wished she could use charm, or something trivial to get her matches back, she figured that wouldn’t work.
The young woman sighs tiredly, her eyes studying the man before her with the light the shine from above deck, “I would reckon that they are worth two shillings.” She says, keeping her voice as soft as possible, regardless of her frustration. Considering she only bought them for one, hopefully he would just agree and give them back for the price
༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༆
Genevieve feels her chest tighten, frustration flooding her mind and thoughts as he pulls the matchbox from her reach.
She knew that it was a simple item, a way to get light or fire, and willing to have already done what she has to find them, it seems irrational. But now? She desperately wanted them. In her mind, she needed them.
What are they worth? To her they are worth not going insane. To him, they were probably worth whatever he could get out of her. And while Gen wished she could use charm, or something trivial to get her matches back, she figured that wouldn’t work.
The young woman sighs tiredly, her eyes studying the man before her with the light the shine from above deck, “I would reckon that they are worth two shillings.” She says, keeping her voice as soft as possible, regardless of her frustration. Considering she only bought them for one, hopefully he would just agree and give them back for the price
Hey guys! I am just looking for a fantasy-dnd type of roleplay! I would like it to either be based around the Vox Machina show or something similar in a plot we create! This can either be a small group or 1x1 thing!
Interacting with: @Dark Light- Kenji
༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༆
Genevieve lets her hand fall back to her side for a moment, starting to fiddle with a piece of fabric from her clothing. She watches him turn around, her eyes looking him over, studying him carefully. This was the surgeon, wasn’t it? Gen supposed that they would be working together.
Although, she hasn’t seen him in the med bay yet, so…maybe she was wrong?
When her eyes catch sight of her match box, relief flood her, “Yes-“ she breathes, but pauses when he doesn’t give it to her. “Um…thank you…for finding it…” she says, her voice now softer and more hesitant as she steps closer, the dark, water stained wood creaking below them as she reaches for her match box.
༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༆
Genevieve lets her hand fall back to her side for a moment, starting to fiddle with a piece of fabric from her clothing. She watches him turn around, her eyes looking him over, studying him carefully. This was the surgeon, wasn’t it? Gen supposed that they would be working together.
Although, she hasn’t seen him in the med bay yet, so…maybe she was wrong?
When her eyes catch sight of her match box, relief flood her, “Yes-“ she breathes, but pauses when he doesn’t give it to her. “Um…thank you…for finding it…” she says, her voice now softer and more hesitant as she steps closer, the dark, water stained wood creaking below them as she reaches for her match box.
Interacting with: @Dark Light - Kenji
༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༄༆
Genevieve pauses slightly, taking a moment to study the man before her. Kenji…she had heard of him in passing, seen him on occasion.
Gen had honestly thought that she would have already known everyone on this ship well. She couldn’t place why, maybe it was the close quarters, or what she used to read about pirates in books.
Of course, nothing in this world ever fully matched up to what people believe. She supposed pirates shouldn’t be any different.
Kenji didn’t look quite like a traditional pirate. Then again, she supposed that she didn’t either. He spoke so…formally. It nearly threw her off track.
“Um…yes,” she nods after a moment of looking at the area he surrounded himself with. Does that actually work? Does he not have others knocking over his barrier? It wasn’t her place to ask.
“I’m Genevieve, it’s a pleasure to formally introduce myself.” She smiles, holding out her hand as she continues with her question.
“I was looking for a matchbox, it’s wooden? A bit burnt in a few places?” She asks, keeping her voice down a bit out of habit. “I was just curious if you had seen it?”
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Genevieve pauses slightly, taking a moment to study the man before her. Kenji…she had heard of him in passing, seen him on occasion.
Gen had honestly thought that she would have already known everyone on this ship well. She couldn’t place why, maybe it was the close quarters, or what she used to read about pirates in books.
Of course, nothing in this world ever fully matched up to what people believe. She supposed pirates shouldn’t be any different.
Kenji didn’t look quite like a traditional pirate. Then again, she supposed that she didn’t either. He spoke so…formally. It nearly threw her off track.
“Um…yes,” she nods after a moment of looking at the area he surrounded himself with. Does that actually work? Does he not have others knocking over his barrier? It wasn’t her place to ask.
“I’m Genevieve, it’s a pleasure to formally introduce myself.” She smiles, holding out her hand as she continues with her question.
“I was looking for a matchbox, it’s wooden? A bit burnt in a few places?” She asks, keeping her voice down a bit out of habit. “I was just curious if you had seen it?”
@Dark Light
Genevieve paused her searching, just for a moment. She had been searching for a few hours now, and she knew that in the larger scheme of things, it was wasting time, but really…she didn’t give a damn, and she wanted her matches back.
She didn’t know the crew well enough to go around asking or accusing anyone of anything, and she certainly knew that if she brought this up to someone of higher standing, the chances of her being ridiculed for wasting time was…high. Too high for her liking.
The young woman sighs, resting her head on the wall of the bay. She curses softly under her breath, closing her eyes. Maybe she should check below where some of the crew, along with herself, sleeps.
“Okay…” she sighs softly, straightening everything up once more before she walks out to the main deck. She waves at a few members, smiling to some. Gen wasn’t exactly cutthroat most of the time, she enjoyed the more gentle side of things. That’s why she was a healer.
Although gruesome at times, she still was in the calmer area of piracy.
Once she crosses the deck, the sun shining in the eyes, the rays beating down with an occasional break from a cloud, she hums to herself. It was a small tune, one stuck in her head that she couldn’t quite place, but it was no matter. She doesn’t notice anyone down here yet, but upon smelling the all to familiar sent of freshly burnt wood, she freezes. Her matches.
“Hello?” She calls quietly, hoping someone would answer and not make her seem crazy, but not only answer, she was hoping they had her matches.
Genevieve paused her searching, just for a moment. She had been searching for a few hours now, and she knew that in the larger scheme of things, it was wasting time, but really…she didn’t give a damn, and she wanted her matches back.
She didn’t know the crew well enough to go around asking or accusing anyone of anything, and she certainly knew that if she brought this up to someone of higher standing, the chances of her being ridiculed for wasting time was…high. Too high for her liking.
The young woman sighs, resting her head on the wall of the bay. She curses softly under her breath, closing her eyes. Maybe she should check below where some of the crew, along with herself, sleeps.
“Okay…” she sighs softly, straightening everything up once more before she walks out to the main deck. She waves at a few members, smiling to some. Gen wasn’t exactly cutthroat most of the time, she enjoyed the more gentle side of things. That’s why she was a healer.
Although gruesome at times, she still was in the calmer area of piracy.
Once she crosses the deck, the sun shining in the eyes, the rays beating down with an occasional break from a cloud, she hums to herself. It was a small tune, one stuck in her head that she couldn’t quite place, but it was no matter. She doesn’t notice anyone down here yet, but upon smelling the all to familiar sent of freshly burnt wood, she freezes. Her matches.
“Hello?” She calls quietly, hoping someone would answer and not make her seem crazy, but not only answer, she was hoping they had her matches.
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