Well, that wasn't quite the response that Jupiter had been expecting. He'd figured that things would stay on the same page: this fellow being annoying, and him being complacent. But here they were "sharing" a laugh (though he was unsure what the humanoid was laughing about, as he didn't really understand laughing, anyway; and their laughs hadn't overlapped much, either) and the first response intelligible response that he got was an apology.
Another reminder not to judge so quickly, then. Other creatures weren't always as straightforward as he had a tendency to assume that they would be. This one was obviously one of those; apparently troublemaking was not his sole ability.
Regardless, Jupiter's response seemed to have placed him within his new cellmate's good graces. This was good; that had been what he was aiming for. And they were able to immediately move on from the silliness of pets and whatever other smartness he may have been planning to use, right to the topic at hand. Interesting that he mentioned breathing fire. That seemed to be expected of him from most of those whom he'd met, for reasons that he could not fathom. Had they heard of his exploits in some twisted way? Breathing fire may have had the same results as his real "trick", but why that was the assumption instead of the obvious truth was beyond him. And in this case, it was not a falsehood that he wished to propagate.
"No, I do not breath fire. I breath light. The tube provides me with nutrition without providing me an atmosphere in which I can cause considerable damage to the facilities." He glanced at the bindings on the convict with what was possibly a raised eyebrow, and then returned his vision to his face. "I am glad that you can punch things. I suppose that you should have done so when they were restraining you."
He pulled his giant head away again, stretching one of his wings as much into view as he could in the cramped room. "I fly and think and sleep. Sadly I have been unable to do so in a while now. I am glad, though, that at least one of us is a fighter. We will require your life in the event." He put his wing back down, hoping to have made his point, and settled into a slightly-less uncomfortable position, crouched down over his legs with his wings folded behind him, keeping himself upright by propping his head against the wall over his chained buddy's head.
"If I understand correctly, the event will have us fighting all of the other convicts of this station, possibly others, until we are the only ones left, or until we die. It is a game of theirs. Their people in other stations watch it on the small screens and cheer while convicts kill each other." He had no opinion on the sport himself, except that it was perhaps a bit hypocritical that these creatures placed him in jail for killing their kind, and now wished for him to amuse them with more killing. "I am unsure if we can trust them, though I believe that the people who watch come to like those whom they cheer. Perhaps then these people ensure the safety of the victors?"
He paused to consider the last question. Was it not a bit morbid to ask such a question so soon? "If one part of the team dies, the other must fight on, but cannot win. The final match will be between the last two full teams. Everyone but the victor dies."
He tried out the fellow's name mentally, found it distasteful, and then tried the shortened version that he supplied. That was also no good. "I do not like 'Iral'. May I call you Pho? It is easier that way. I am called Jupiter."
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*does the arm wave of attention grabbing* Guys I'm not gonna jump in this if it's already dead. Show some life!
Jupiter paused in his glare long enough to blink slowly, clear lids flitting shut, followed by heavier, sinuous outer lids. Hmmmm, so he'd been joined up with a troublemaker. Fun. He hated trouble. Solitary confinement had been just fine for him: after all, Jupiter had spent almost his whole life alone until he'd happened upon those unfortunate destroyers and they'd tried to bombard him. Other people just meant trouble.
Well, they were going to be stuck together on this one, though. Jupiter couldn't just squash him right there: pleasant as the thought was (and happy as he assumed it would make the guards, having heard their short "exchange"), if this small obnoxious fellow died then he would have lost the event already, and he would also be executed. That wasn't really his plan here. His plan was to survive, beat whatever other teams they had to face, and get back home. And that sadly meant that he and annoying here would be together for a long time.
How, then, could he make their time as pleasant for himself as possible? He reopened his lids just as slowly, taking in the fellow more-carefully. He was of an almost-humanoid race: Jupiter would have mistaken him for a human had he not had the benefit of seeing the collar bound around his neck. Such things weren't used on normal "patients". Obviously alien, then, though what sort Jupiter couldn't guess: after all, he'd had little experience with other races. The typical orange jumper looked highly-saturated on his grayish form, hanging loosely about a form that appeared probably to at least be reasonably healthy, if one didn't take into account the obvious scars and recent bruises that spotted him. Probably a fighter, then. At least he might have some chance of not dying instantly when they got wherever they would go.
It had been a good thirty to sixty seconds since the newcomer had finished his quip, and finally Jupiter decided on a course of action. A deep, deep sound, like a recording of a train with a high-pass filter applied, rumbled out from his carapace. He modulated it into some semblance of laughter, and brought his head down to the humanoid alien's height, adjusting the tube that stretched from the wall to his maw so as not to dislodge it. His head was easily as long as the man, and Jupiter placed it upon the ground so that he could angle one of his eyes to look upward at him. His odd, deep laugh continued as he finally uttered his response.
"That must be it. I think that they probably have psychics who read your mind to figure out what kind of pet to give you if you have especially-good behavior. I wanted nothing, and they appear to have gotten that right, until now. I am uncertain as to what you would consider a trick."
Try as he might, Jupiter couldn't get his deep voice to sound jovial. His lines came out deadpan, flat and uninclined. He finally stopped his "laugh", and turned his head slightly to change his view. Hopefully responding positively to this individual would result in a good relationship, and soon the desire to stomp on him would disappear.
Well, they were going to be stuck together on this one, though. Jupiter couldn't just squash him right there: pleasant as the thought was (and happy as he assumed it would make the guards, having heard their short "exchange"), if this small obnoxious fellow died then he would have lost the event already, and he would also be executed. That wasn't really his plan here. His plan was to survive, beat whatever other teams they had to face, and get back home. And that sadly meant that he and annoying here would be together for a long time.
How, then, could he make their time as pleasant for himself as possible? He reopened his lids just as slowly, taking in the fellow more-carefully. He was of an almost-humanoid race: Jupiter would have mistaken him for a human had he not had the benefit of seeing the collar bound around his neck. Such things weren't used on normal "patients". Obviously alien, then, though what sort Jupiter couldn't guess: after all, he'd had little experience with other races. The typical orange jumper looked highly-saturated on his grayish form, hanging loosely about a form that appeared probably to at least be reasonably healthy, if one didn't take into account the obvious scars and recent bruises that spotted him. Probably a fighter, then. At least he might have some chance of not dying instantly when they got wherever they would go.
It had been a good thirty to sixty seconds since the newcomer had finished his quip, and finally Jupiter decided on a course of action. A deep, deep sound, like a recording of a train with a high-pass filter applied, rumbled out from his carapace. He modulated it into some semblance of laughter, and brought his head down to the humanoid alien's height, adjusting the tube that stretched from the wall to his maw so as not to dislodge it. His head was easily as long as the man, and Jupiter placed it upon the ground so that he could angle one of his eyes to look upward at him. His odd, deep laugh continued as he finally uttered his response.
"That must be it. I think that they probably have psychics who read your mind to figure out what kind of pet to give you if you have especially-good behavior. I wanted nothing, and they appear to have gotten that right, until now. I am uncertain as to what you would consider a trick."
Try as he might, Jupiter couldn't get his deep voice to sound jovial. His lines came out deadpan, flat and uninclined. He finally stopped his "laugh", and turned his head slightly to change his view. Hopefully responding positively to this individual would result in a good relationship, and soon the desire to stomp on him would disappear.
Hmmm, I think that's pushing it. Retirement maybe.
Jupiter never seemed pleased when the guards would come by his cell. They’d peek in their heads just to see the hulking many-limbed creature glaring back at them accusingly, murder slowly boiling through his eyes. Perhaps it was the cramped conditions: he’d been unable to stretch his wings since his admittance, and his room didn’t have enough space for him to do more than shuffle back and forth a couple of steps. Perhaps it was his complete boredom: he couldn’t fit through the door or the hallways, so he hadn’t been out of that room since he arrived, either. Or perhaps, as his mother may have warned him when he was younger, his face had frozen that way; yes, maybe it was possible that he was in fact the most happy of campers even though he looked like he would bite off any head that got within reach.
Regardless, his glower had largely worked out in his favor. The guards didn’t try to taunt him like they did many of the other “guests”, instead tending to just leave him alone. And he’d never had a roommate for long. Not only did he have a way of taking up the whole room and knocking over whoever would join him with one of his wings or perhaps his legs or tail, but he also had shown a complete disregard for the mental comfort of anyone they’d put in there, too. His was the physiology of the race of whom the humans had spread rumors as they settled the galaxies: Jupiter looked, no two ways about it, like a huge space dragon. And he knew that everyone else knew it. And most people really weren’t comfortable with sharing a cell with such a thing, given that it would place that glaring eye right next to the other bed and, seemingly, watch whoever was there all night. As beautiful as they may be, those glassy red eyes weren’t a fun thing to wake up to.
And so he was found as the guards hustled some poor creature into his cell yet again. Jupiter glared at them, they quickly slotted the new meat’s chains into the wall, and they quickly left. Not a word was said. And then the glare settled on the newcomer.
So this was who they had paired him with. He’d heard the talk of the upcoming event: barbaric, certainly, but economical and, if you looked at it from the humans’ political perspective, reasonable. After all, criminals didn’t make nearly as much money through their forced labor as they cost to keep alive. The obvious answer then? Why, kill them, of course. Except that that would require someone to do the killing, and that would cost more money, and… well what if they killed each other? And so it was that the event had been conceived. The commercialization came quickly upon the concept’s heels, and then you had today’s modern system.
It was rather simple, actually. All of the criminals were teleported to a waste planet in pairs, and whichever pair outlasted the other ones would be set free, regardless of their crime. Some rink matches would be orchestrated to keep things interesting and moving along for the audience: the whole thing was filmed by drone and broadcast “Live” to make the state some money and, let’s be honest, provide a glimpse at a bloody sport which simply wasn’t “ethical” to subject any other people group to; but, mostly, the dangers were in the environment and in random encounters. As pleasant as the lush forests growing from the old refuse of more living-suited planets were, they were no match for being reintegrated into society, after all. And the faster that all the other teams died, the faster that one could get to that prize.
And yes, things were done in teams: it made it more interesting to watch (one early attempt had shown the pitfalls of no teams: many stalemates were reached and, eventually, the team rule was made and those who had been fighting became allies). And it made winning that much harder: to claim victory, both members needed to survive. Otherwise there would simply be no winner, and that suited the justice system just fine.
With how important teams were, then, one would think that they wouldn’t be randomly assigned. But such was the state of affairs: assignments weren’t quite random, but they might as well have been. The participants did not pick their partners, and the committee that assigned them didn’t bother to compare their strengths and weaknesses, either. This year, things had simply been done numerically: the newest jailbirds were teamed with the oldest, in order.
So it was that Jupiter was faced with the unpleasant surprise of having a completely fresh inmate join him that day as the teams were first united to plan out how they would do things in two days’ time when they would be teleported and the games would begin. The large creature inspected him quickly, making sure that he had a translator before introducing himself. “Hello. It would seem that you and I are teamed up.” Well, not much of an introduction, but Jupiter did not have a way with words.
Regardless, his glower had largely worked out in his favor. The guards didn’t try to taunt him like they did many of the other “guests”, instead tending to just leave him alone. And he’d never had a roommate for long. Not only did he have a way of taking up the whole room and knocking over whoever would join him with one of his wings or perhaps his legs or tail, but he also had shown a complete disregard for the mental comfort of anyone they’d put in there, too. His was the physiology of the race of whom the humans had spread rumors as they settled the galaxies: Jupiter looked, no two ways about it, like a huge space dragon. And he knew that everyone else knew it. And most people really weren’t comfortable with sharing a cell with such a thing, given that it would place that glaring eye right next to the other bed and, seemingly, watch whoever was there all night. As beautiful as they may be, those glassy red eyes weren’t a fun thing to wake up to.
And so he was found as the guards hustled some poor creature into his cell yet again. Jupiter glared at them, they quickly slotted the new meat’s chains into the wall, and they quickly left. Not a word was said. And then the glare settled on the newcomer.
So this was who they had paired him with. He’d heard the talk of the upcoming event: barbaric, certainly, but economical and, if you looked at it from the humans’ political perspective, reasonable. After all, criminals didn’t make nearly as much money through their forced labor as they cost to keep alive. The obvious answer then? Why, kill them, of course. Except that that would require someone to do the killing, and that would cost more money, and… well what if they killed each other? And so it was that the event had been conceived. The commercialization came quickly upon the concept’s heels, and then you had today’s modern system.
It was rather simple, actually. All of the criminals were teleported to a waste planet in pairs, and whichever pair outlasted the other ones would be set free, regardless of their crime. Some rink matches would be orchestrated to keep things interesting and moving along for the audience: the whole thing was filmed by drone and broadcast “Live” to make the state some money and, let’s be honest, provide a glimpse at a bloody sport which simply wasn’t “ethical” to subject any other people group to; but, mostly, the dangers were in the environment and in random encounters. As pleasant as the lush forests growing from the old refuse of more living-suited planets were, they were no match for being reintegrated into society, after all. And the faster that all the other teams died, the faster that one could get to that prize.
And yes, things were done in teams: it made it more interesting to watch (one early attempt had shown the pitfalls of no teams: many stalemates were reached and, eventually, the team rule was made and those who had been fighting became allies). And it made winning that much harder: to claim victory, both members needed to survive. Otherwise there would simply be no winner, and that suited the justice system just fine.
With how important teams were, then, one would think that they wouldn’t be randomly assigned. But such was the state of affairs: assignments weren’t quite random, but they might as well have been. The participants did not pick their partners, and the committee that assigned them didn’t bother to compare their strengths and weaknesses, either. This year, things had simply been done numerically: the newest jailbirds were teamed with the oldest, in order.
So it was that Jupiter was faced with the unpleasant surprise of having a completely fresh inmate join him that day as the teams were first united to plan out how they would do things in two days’ time when they would be teleported and the games would begin. The large creature inspected him quickly, making sure that he had a translator before introducing himself. “Hello. It would seem that you and I are teamed up.” Well, not much of an introduction, but Jupiter did not have a way with words.
Kiddo and Jennifer
AFAIK Maiden is not around anymore.
Setting:
An island about the size of New Zealand, and with about the same scenery and geographic diversity. It's heavily wooded in most areas, with lakes and swamps a plenty and some jungle to go with. There are plains in the northern part of the island: generally, things are more-densely wooded the further south one travels. This island is surrounded by a impenetrable veil of storms, which cut it off from the rest of the world. Due to this isolation, the species there have evolved differently and technology has evolved at a much slower rate than elsewhere.
The most-evolved creatures here, the "natives", are a species of bipedal furred mammals. The males average around 7'4" and the females around 5'. They align themselves in tribes: these villages generally keep to themselves, though trading amongst tribes is not uncommon. Each tribe takes it symbol from an animal in their geographic location: the Tribe of Frogs lives in a jungle area, and the Tribe of Storks lives by a shallow lake, for instance. These villages generally have a territory about 2 or 3 days-walk in diameter, so a trading voyage is generally a large event taking at least a week to trade with the nearest neighbors, or longer to trade with others. There's little animosity between the tribes, though squabbles over territory or a migrating herd or a wife are not unheard-of and are often bloody.
Casting and Tribe Leadership:
Casting is the method of magic usage unique to this island. A cast is achieved by praying to a Being, supernatural creatures that seem to have interest in the natives.
Not just anyone may use a cast, though. Each Being accepts different prayers, and only from certain people. This then limits the diversity of casts that one native can generally know: in fact, it is so limited that most only know how to pray for one thing.
The method of obtaining a cast is complicated. Each cast requires a specific prayer to a specific Being, so people cannot teach each other casts. Rather, they learn them from the Beings themselves: at birth, the natives share a connection with a Being through which the Being contacts them and instructs them. Over time, without special care, this connection will close to the point where a native can no longer learn hear the Being: this is why each native generally ends up with just one cast. Though these conversations are very real, they are forgotten like dreams, and all that is left is the innate knowledge of one prayer: this prayer is the native's cast.
However, there are some who are elected to not lose this connection. These are the Elders: from a young age, they are selected as the most prodigious of their generation, and kept separate from the trials of life and the learning that closes the minds of the general populace. Instead they spend their time in constant meditation, keeping their minds open for continued conversation with the Beings. These Elders learn many things; not exclusively casts, but also the great wisdom and foresight of these Beings. Therefore, they are revered by the people as great founts of knowledge and protectors. Often when a tribe's leader is faced with a great decision, he will first consult the Elder for guidance.
Technology:
Though the metal ruins of an ancient civilization lie scattered about and beneath the surface of the island, the natives have a primitive level of technology. Theirs is a world of hunting and fighting with bows, swords, and spears. Metal is a common element in their weapons, accessible as it is in the ruins that they half-revere, half exploit.
The natives are, however, an intelligent race. They don't suffer the same problems that the Dark Ages, when such weaponry was used by the humans on Earth, brought upon them. They are generally a clean people, naturally resistant to many diseases but still careful in hygiene. Whether this is due to realization, instinct, or the guidance of the Elders, no one remembers, but generally the natives have a strong understanding of science. Invention is not uncommon, though mass production is: while crossbows are a thing and even some firearms have been made, such things are overkill for hunting and difficult to supply. The lack of a solid supply of dense combustible material has made the creation of trains and such impossible: though, given the relatively-small size of the island and self-sufficiency of the tribes, such isn't really needed, either.
The Enemy:
Ten years ago, a strange furless creature washed up on the shores of the island. The Tribe of the Gull took in this sad small thing, as he (and his curious metal luggage) was the first thing to ever wash upon their shore. They nursed him to health, attempted (but failed) to understand his language, and eventually let him leave, outfitting him with furs and weapons and food. For five years, he retreated to the north and built a metal village for himself, and stuck strictly to his work.
But at the end of that hiatus, he reentered society in a big way: from his metal village came an army of metal creatures, and these ambassadors of his invaded the closest native tribe with ferocity. Unprepared for what they faced, the natives quickly fell to this foe, and for months his blitzkrieg went unchecked: new robots poured from his factory as he scavenged the remains of the villages that he conquered, and his forces became strong by the day.
The natives would not stand for this, though. By this time enough had escaped to other tribes with tales of death and decimation that could not be ignored, and a quick alliance along the front was made. What would continue for the next five years was a war of attrition: casting and primitive-but-rapidly-developing technology versus an unending force of robots. Nothing that the natives could do could hold back the tide, though, and by the end of this five years, nearly half of the island had fallen to the Furless One's metal tide.
An island about the size of New Zealand, and with about the same scenery and geographic diversity. It's heavily wooded in most areas, with lakes and swamps a plenty and some jungle to go with. There are plains in the northern part of the island: generally, things are more-densely wooded the further south one travels. This island is surrounded by a impenetrable veil of storms, which cut it off from the rest of the world. Due to this isolation, the species there have evolved differently and technology has evolved at a much slower rate than elsewhere.
The most-evolved creatures here, the "natives", are a species of bipedal furred mammals. The males average around 7'4" and the females around 5'. They align themselves in tribes: these villages generally keep to themselves, though trading amongst tribes is not uncommon. Each tribe takes it symbol from an animal in their geographic location: the Tribe of Frogs lives in a jungle area, and the Tribe of Storks lives by a shallow lake, for instance. These villages generally have a territory about 2 or 3 days-walk in diameter, so a trading voyage is generally a large event taking at least a week to trade with the nearest neighbors, or longer to trade with others. There's little animosity between the tribes, though squabbles over territory or a migrating herd or a wife are not unheard-of and are often bloody.
Casting and Tribe Leadership:
Casting is the method of magic usage unique to this island. A cast is achieved by praying to a Being, supernatural creatures that seem to have interest in the natives.
Not just anyone may use a cast, though. Each Being accepts different prayers, and only from certain people. This then limits the diversity of casts that one native can generally know: in fact, it is so limited that most only know how to pray for one thing.
The method of obtaining a cast is complicated. Each cast requires a specific prayer to a specific Being, so people cannot teach each other casts. Rather, they learn them from the Beings themselves: at birth, the natives share a connection with a Being through which the Being contacts them and instructs them. Over time, without special care, this connection will close to the point where a native can no longer learn hear the Being: this is why each native generally ends up with just one cast. Though these conversations are very real, they are forgotten like dreams, and all that is left is the innate knowledge of one prayer: this prayer is the native's cast.
However, there are some who are elected to not lose this connection. These are the Elders: from a young age, they are selected as the most prodigious of their generation, and kept separate from the trials of life and the learning that closes the minds of the general populace. Instead they spend their time in constant meditation, keeping their minds open for continued conversation with the Beings. These Elders learn many things; not exclusively casts, but also the great wisdom and foresight of these Beings. Therefore, they are revered by the people as great founts of knowledge and protectors. Often when a tribe's leader is faced with a great decision, he will first consult the Elder for guidance.
Technology:
Though the metal ruins of an ancient civilization lie scattered about and beneath the surface of the island, the natives have a primitive level of technology. Theirs is a world of hunting and fighting with bows, swords, and spears. Metal is a common element in their weapons, accessible as it is in the ruins that they half-revere, half exploit.
The natives are, however, an intelligent race. They don't suffer the same problems that the Dark Ages, when such weaponry was used by the humans on Earth, brought upon them. They are generally a clean people, naturally resistant to many diseases but still careful in hygiene. Whether this is due to realization, instinct, or the guidance of the Elders, no one remembers, but generally the natives have a strong understanding of science. Invention is not uncommon, though mass production is: while crossbows are a thing and even some firearms have been made, such things are overkill for hunting and difficult to supply. The lack of a solid supply of dense combustible material has made the creation of trains and such impossible: though, given the relatively-small size of the island and self-sufficiency of the tribes, such isn't really needed, either.
The Enemy:
Ten years ago, a strange furless creature washed up on the shores of the island. The Tribe of the Gull took in this sad small thing, as he (and his curious metal luggage) was the first thing to ever wash upon their shore. They nursed him to health, attempted (but failed) to understand his language, and eventually let him leave, outfitting him with furs and weapons and food. For five years, he retreated to the north and built a metal village for himself, and stuck strictly to his work.
But at the end of that hiatus, he reentered society in a big way: from his metal village came an army of metal creatures, and these ambassadors of his invaded the closest native tribe with ferocity. Unprepared for what they faced, the natives quickly fell to this foe, and for months his blitzkrieg went unchecked: new robots poured from his factory as he scavenged the remains of the villages that he conquered, and his forces became strong by the day.
The natives would not stand for this, though. By this time enough had escaped to other tribes with tales of death and decimation that could not be ignored, and a quick alliance along the front was made. What would continue for the next five years was a war of attrition: casting and primitive-but-rapidly-developing technology versus an unending force of robots. Nothing that the natives could do could hold back the tide, though, and by the end of this five years, nearly half of the island had fallen to the Furless One's metal tide.
I've never done this casting-call sort of thing before, so bare with me if I make some silly mistakes, or maybe even give me some pointers! I won't get insulted :P
Howdy there, it's me, the Fancy Kiddo. I'm in the sad state where all my Advanced RPs have either died or get only one or two posts a week, and I'm bored out of my mind. I need to do some writing and play some characters! Since my tastes don't seem to align perfectly with anything I'm finding in this forum, figured I'd actually get off my lazy behind and make my own thread.
Credentials:
> 4 years of advanced-level RPs
> 10 years of GMing spoken 1x1 RPs
Looking for:
- Someone who won't infuriate me with bad grammar. Sorry, I see lots of threads here saying "I'm not a grammar Nazi no plz stay TT^TT" but if I can't easily read what you're writing, it's going to be harder for me to enjoy RPing with you. To that extent, as long as everything is understandable I'm okay. Just lay off on impersonating Thomas Jefferson's writing, spell things correct-ish, and use line breaks and punctuation correctly please!
- Someone NOT looking just for romance. I'm okay with romance as a sub plot (emphasis on sub) but I'm not particularly good at writing it and I'm not looking for anything in that category
- Someone who can post relatively-often. I'm okay with short-sweet posts as long as they are fast (as I've done a lot of verbal RPing). But if I have to wait a week and all I get it "'Of course,' he said." I will be displeased.
So yeah!
Anyone interested, shoot me a line. I prefer Skype to PMs (since the PM system here is horrible) so if you provide that in a PM I'll hit you up right quick. I'mma not write a big old list of fandoms and pairing and what-have-you here since I'm fairly open-minded about that stuff and am willing to do research for what you want. If you have some ideas for a plot that's cool, but I've got a lot of experience taking someone's interest list and making something out of it, so you don't need a plot of your own to qualify!
Thanks <3
Howdy there, it's me, the Fancy Kiddo. I'm in the sad state where all my Advanced RPs have either died or get only one or two posts a week, and I'm bored out of my mind. I need to do some writing and play some characters! Since my tastes don't seem to align perfectly with anything I'm finding in this forum, figured I'd actually get off my lazy behind and make my own thread.
Credentials:
> 4 years of advanced-level RPs
> 10 years of GMing spoken 1x1 RPs
Looking for:
- Someone who won't infuriate me with bad grammar. Sorry, I see lots of threads here saying "I'm not a grammar Nazi no plz stay TT^TT" but if I can't easily read what you're writing, it's going to be harder for me to enjoy RPing with you. To that extent, as long as everything is understandable I'm okay. Just lay off on impersonating Thomas Jefferson's writing, spell things correct-ish, and use line breaks and punctuation correctly please!
- Someone NOT looking just for romance. I'm okay with romance as a sub plot (emphasis on sub) but I'm not particularly good at writing it and I'm not looking for anything in that category
- Someone who can post relatively-often. I'm okay with short-sweet posts as long as they are fast (as I've done a lot of verbal RPing). But if I have to wait a week and all I get it "'Of course,' he said." I will be displeased.
So yeah!
Anyone interested, shoot me a line. I prefer Skype to PMs (since the PM system here is horrible) so if you provide that in a PM I'll hit you up right quick. I'mma not write a big old list of fandoms and pairing and what-have-you here since I'm fairly open-minded about that stuff and am willing to do research for what you want. If you have some ideas for a plot that's cool, but I've got a lot of experience taking someone's interest list and making something out of it, so you don't need a plot of your own to qualify!
Thanks <3
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