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Recent Statuses

16 hrs ago
Current Speaking French is the process of systematically gendering every single object in a 20 mile radius in order to ask for your pen back.
12 likes
2 days ago
Apologies folks. I have been hit with an odd combination of ennui and writer's block. Posts shall not be forthcoming, I'm afraid.
6 days ago
I don’t want a large Fanta. I want a litre of fucking Coke. A literal litre of Coca Cola, preferably in a bucket so I can feel even more American.
8 likes
1 mo ago
I hate websites that tell you an email is wrong whilst you're trying to type it out. CALM YOUR TITS, I'VE NOT PUT IN THE FUCKING @ ADDRESS YET, NO SHIT IT'S NOT VALID.
16 likes
2 mos ago
Today marks one full year of me being on the RPGuild. Ad I loved that year! So many fun partners and RPs!
11 likes

Bio




Arena Stats

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1000 points

Most Recent Posts

Mebbeh bebbeh.

We’ll see.




Alright then folks. This is Lady Selune, again. I don't need to give you information about myself, because I have two other checks that tell you all you need to know. Just in case however... Hi! I'm Lady Selune. I'm a /d/egenerate weeabo and want to meet with other /d/egenerates in order to write about some seriously /d/emented stuff. I do have rules however. Those rules are below.

  • YOU MUST BE OVER 18. I AM NOT RISKING IT BY DOING THE SMUT WITH SOMEONE YOUNGER. PLUS, IT FEELS ICKY.
  • IF YOU WANT TO DO SOMETHING THAT BLATANTLY BREAKS RP GUILD RULES... DON'T. JUST DON'T.
  • PLEASE TELL ME IF YOU INTEND ON VANISHING. PLEASE. I WON'T GET MAD.
  • IF YOU HAVE READ THESE RULES, AND WANT TO CONTACT ME, TELL ME WHAT 1+1 IS.
  • I LIKE TALKING TO DEGENERATES. HIT ME UP ON DISCORD AT LADY SELUNE#9615
  • IF YOU DON'T LIKE DEGENERACY, TURN BACK NOW. OR DON'T BITCH AT ME ABOUT IT. THIS IS GOING TO BE A WILD RIDE.


@DrTwit I take great offence at this.

I'm a degenerate, not a shitlord. Get it right Dr.Twat.
*Yawns.*

Whatever. I need partners.
@shylarah

Renee was far more used to catching cats than she was cats catching her. Whilst she had seen the felines padding about, of course they would be hard to miss, and nobody would be shooing them away, she had not expected one to strike up a conversation with her. She listened carefully to his words. Cats were tricky creatures- that was half the reason she was wearing her mask, after all, and it would be prudent to avoid giving too much information away to the other... Attendee. Yes, attendee would be the right phrasing here. She had the odd feeling of wanting to pet him, but refrained from doing so, instead merely cocking her head ever-so-slightly until he was done stretching.

When he asked to accompany her, of course she could do nothing but comply. "I don't see any reason why not." A bobbed head and what could have been the start of a curtsy, stiffening as he leapt up onto her shoulder. He was certainly real, that much was certain, since she could feel his weight on her shoulders. Not to mention the warmth radiating off of his body. This was what those in high society must feel like when they donned their ermine.

"Ro?" She thought a minute. It didn't seem to be a coded phrase or expression- and even if it had been, she wasn't sure that she could understand a cat's code. It did get her thinking however. Ro. Suddenly, an odd little thing popped into her head. Do, ray, me, fa, so,
la, ti, do.
It had been a long time since she had studied music, and yet that had stuck with her. How peculiar. Nonetheless, she could use it. "Well then Ro. You can call me..." She thought for just a second. "Call me Ray."


"Bah. To whoever my team iz, I shall zee you all tomohrow. Fick dis. I'm going home for now." She turned on her heels rather dramatically, her tentacles retracting, before dropping her beer down onto the ground, hard. "And bartender! Your weissbeir is Scheisse!" A single raised middle finger at the barman, and she departed the door post-haste. Working together. Bah. She was going to prove that she could work apart from people... Right now!" Pulling a phone out of her pocket, she scrolled through the list. Assaassin number... 341. Some rando idiot. Perfect!




As it turned out, they might be a rando idiot, but they were a rando idiot with a lot of guns. As another faceless trooper ended up shot dead at her feet, she let out an annoyed growl. "FICKING FIGHT ME YOU COVARD BASTARD!" The luger in her hand barked again. One in the chest, one in the throat, one in the head. The man let out a stifled gargle as he ate the lead, clawing at his throat, the Nazi taking just long enough to kick him out of the way before continuing. Half her tentacles were focused in a shield in front of her, the other half were busy throttling a poor sod to death, his mask falling off to reveal another mask, this time of terror.

Thrusting her pelvis forward, Die Ficklasen blasted out a superheated charge, the Nazi letting out a very innapropriate noise as she did so. Combat with Blitzen was a rather 'hands on' deal, what with all of her hands being occupied. Someone came charging at her with a beam katana, and promptly learn why that was a bad idea, the tip of her pelvis-mounted doomlaser pressed firmly against his chest, before exploding out and decimating his chest.

By the time she had done with her minor orgasm from that, she looked around, eager to kill some more, only to find that... There was nobody left to fight. Or, rather, no goons left to fight. Now there was just a large steel door between her and her target. Sadly unhooking the device from her suit, she gave the fine Hugo Boche tailoring a quick flick with her wrist to clear the gore and viscera from it, her tentacles settling in for another round of combat.

One thing that many people underestimated was the non-combat utility of a beam katana, particularly something as hefty as Die Ficklasen. A low power setting meant that the heavy metal parted like a hot knife through butter, her tentacles finishing the job by blasting the door straight forward, Newton probably weeping in his grave as the eldrich creation absorbed the recoil without a second thought. With a loud crunching noise, it smashed into the back of the room, and she found herself face to face with the person that kept fucking running away from her, who, as it turned out, was an African American.

"ACTUALLY, ZHAT MAKES A LOT OF FUICKING ZENSE!" There were no mufflers on the Blitzen train, her petite form launching forward, tentacles slamming into the ground in order to keep herself somewhat airborne. Beam katanas met, and whilst initially it seemed to be a battle of strength, Blitzen simply levered the laser cannon so it faced towards the enemy assassin and switched from 'beam' to 'fire' mode.

With her foe now missing a head, and Blitzen feeling rather let down after such an anticlimax, the Nazi turned and began to walk out. She just about remembered to scoop up her luger and tuck it back into a pocket, sighing as she found herself in the gloom of the city at night. "Fuck. I vhant to kill more zhings now."
@Hekazu *Whistles inconspicuously*




Age: 24
Race: Human

Primary Attribute: Shadowy
Secondary Attribute: Persuasive
Connections:
Masters of the Bazzar - She steers clear. If she must buy something, that is what she does. Otherwise, she doesn't exactly casually talk to them. Through Lady Monica though, she has extensive contact with them, not that she feels very at ease next to them.
Bohemians - One can't help but enjoy their art, can they not? And besides, many are so willing to let her fawn over them- although they always turn up curiously penniless after her affections wane.
Constables - You're joking, yes?
Criminals - Many, deep, and varied connections. She is a criminal, after all.
Hell - She's run a few jobs for them. Not eager to do so again, unless the pay is worth it, which it usually is.
Revolutionaries - Thanks to Monica, she steers clear of these folk. Not that she doesn't have some dealings with them, but she makes a token effort to stay away.
Rubbery Men - Brr. They give her the creeps and she tries not to think about them.
(High) Society - She consorts with them often. Very often.
Church - She says her prayers, crosses herself and believes in God. That's... Pretty much it.
Docks - Zailors are always down for a little bit of gambling, a lot of drinking, and aren't always quick when it comes to having their pay filched. She appreciates them.
The Great Game - A pawn, albeit one that has aspirations of being a lot more.
Tomb Colonies - With age comes wisdom. With which comes skill. With which comes an ability to make her dead over and over. She stays away.
Urchins - A few coins, and all the little birdies suddenly chirp to you for an hour. And that's all you need.

Background: Like many of the shadowy members of the Neath, not a lot is known about the good Mademoiselle's past. She wears good dress, carries herself like a man, and with a certain confidence to her step, and is known to have accomadation at the very edge of Watchmaker's Hill, where she makes a number of pocketwatches the few times she is not busy. When she is busy, she's either stalking the streets of Spite to get a rostygold ring or a whispered secret. If not that, then she's at Moloch or Veilgarden, gathering information for her... Well, it's not quite clear what exactly her relationship with Lady Monica is, but she does serve her, at least nominally.

That being said, what is known is that she claims to hail from France, and has the name and a certain exotic attitude to match with it.
Her accent doesn't quite seem to fit her claimed home country however, and she's always keeping an eye behind her- but weather this be thanks to spending too long in the 'Neath, and the standard nervous flitting that anyone that has accumulated enemies carries out is anyone's guess.
Bump.
Bump.
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