Marx
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Will I ever come back? Maybe! Probably not! Who knows!
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I'll get a post up when I get home for the night. So in three or four hours. Hope that's cool.
I just want you to prove to me that the character is worth having aboard this rp.
And as for the whole being different thing. He wouldn't be on the ship if he did not have a mutation and was not in the age group.
And as for the whole being different thing. He wouldn't be on the ship if he did not have a mutation and was not in the age group.
"I wish I could say the same to you, Shigganeth." Leon said softly, checking his surroundings. He was alone. There were no doors. Just him and his sterile cubic prison. All alone. In. Complete. Silence. Leons eyes shut tightly, a long slow breath leaving his lungs, his chest slowly deflating. "Am I supposed to do this without any kind of... tools?" Leon called out, his eyes slowly opening. He waited. And waited. And. Waited. Seconds passed by. Then minutes. Then, nearly an hour. Leon was on the floor by now, his ass planted firmly on the cool immaculate paneling. For the first time, his gaze drifted down to his hands. Beads of sweat rolled across his palm, pooling on the back of his hand like liquid stalagmites. His right hand trembled fiercely, the skin of his wrist pulled tightly against his veins like cellophane. His left hand still hung by his side, lifeless, bar the occasional twitch or blunt movement.
Leon's eyes closed tightly as he leaned his head back, the long strands of golden hair falling from his face. The panels below him may have been chilling to the touch, but in this moment he felt nothing beyond a building flame in his head, a rolling in his stomach, a ripping at his heartstrings. A trembling hand made its way to his face, warm leather pressing against his skin, the edge of his glove meeting his lips and being held by his teeth as his hand wormed from its leather cocoon. "Gods give me strength in this moment," his hand moved up, palm gripping his cheek tightly as his thumb hovered above his right eye, "Lend me all the strength you have to give, for I walk through the valley of flames," his eye was wide open now, the looming thumb reflected in his pupil, "and bless me so that I may come out alive." Flesh met flesh, light met darkness, and for a moment there was nothing.
His entire body wretched, muscles turning to stone, a scream lost in his throat, his body prettified as the thumb wormed deeper into his eye, blood and fluid flooding out of the socket, running along his flesh, staining it red, sullying his clothes. When his thumb could burrow no deeper, Leon's petrified form lurched forward, dropping onto the floor like a corpse, writhing in horror, the screams of banshees ripping from his vocal cords, running his throat dry, leaving a sharp burn through his throat as words failed him, his lips pantomiming screams as dry gasps left his gaping mouth. With all the remaining strength he had, Leon bit down onto his cheek as he pulled free his thumb, taking a chunk of jellied eye with it, blood pouring from his mouth as he bite straight through his cheek, his molars visible from both sides through gaping holes that poured soaked his shoulders in blood.
His cheeks began to pull themselves together, the lost flesh rebuilding and repairing itself, a new scar adorning each cheek now. The remains of his eye began to seep out of its socket, still attached to a nerve. Tears dripped from his eye and he reached up to the nerve, gripping it tightly, a sharp pain spiking through his head. His shoulders arched back as his elbow grew still, his hands still shaking intensely, and he pulled. For a moment, his vocal cords found words once more and for a moment he screamed a wish he had truly meant. "Kill me! Please!" His hand clenched tightly into a claw, dragging across his cheek,blood rising from the row of new gashes. His eye had not repaired itself and instead was now mostly at his knees on the floor below him, mocking him for his failure. "The other," the metallic voice said, breaking the silence.
"No..." Leon sobbed, bowing down to the floor, his skin pressed against the floor, his hair soaking in blood and fluid. "Please... no." An audible click made their answer clear. It was the next eye and success or death. Leon could only pray that he would receive one of the two gifts. Either were beyond welcome. Leon formed a hitchhiker's call, balling his hand into a fist, his thumb aiming up and screamed at the top of his lungs. Blood and thick milk like fluid shout out, spraying his lower chest and pants before oozing around his thumb to drip onto the ground. With his nail he gouged at the back of his eye, flesh building under his nail. In his head, there were horrible screams coming from every direction at once, pulsing in and out, ripping pieces of sanity away with every second he went on with this quest of self mutilation. As his thumb ripped free from the eye socket, a veritable cocktail of fluid poured from his eyes, his body collapsing in the mess beneath him. For the longest moment he saw nothing.
There was no blackness. There was just nothing. The absence of colour. The absence of everything. In this moment, he was truly alone. For the first time in his life he truly wished for death. He would've begged for it and for a moment, he believed that Shigganeth would give him the gift he had begged for. For a moment there was a horrendous brightness. Then there was a shock to the system and horrible dizziness that would have made him vomit if there was still anything left to evacuate from his stomach. And last, there was colour. His vision was distorted, off center, it was as if- Leon rolled onto his back, desperately grabbing at his face, feeling the vacant hole where his right eye once was. And in rage he screamed, his hand slamming onto the floor beside him, a piece of metal ripped free which he brought to his eye, morphing it to act as an eye patch for the empty socket, the metal cutting into the skin, digging itself in to hide away the gaping hole.
Minutes passed by as he found his footing, his knees shaky and his movements uncertain, his depth perception destroyed by the loss of his right eye. A doorway in the formerly immaculate wall made itself visible and Leon took each step with more certainty, his stumbling becoming less and less apparent with every step. When he reached the door, he took his steps slowly, moving as he formerly did, each step careful and almost hesitant though. As the door parted, Leon emerged, his hair caked with dried blood, deep scars lining his jaws, and a hunk of metal where an eye once was. Lying just beyond their trail door was Tollnak. His friend. The one he went through the entire ordeal for. A dark hatred built in Leon as he stepped slowly towards his collapsed friend, his hand balled into a tight fist, his fingers digging into his palm, blood beginning to seep through yet more wounds. "Get." Leon growled, taking a final step before he was practically on top of the unconscious boy and then kneeling by him, "Up." Leon grabbed the back of Tollnak's head, a white light very visible in the space between his hand and the back of Tollnak's head. Limbs moved without the command of their owner, setting themselves properly, broken bones mended and repaired, organs sealed and left the way they were before today, and a new set of eyes alerted to all of the sensations light spectrum.
Leon said nothing, standing slowly, releasing a chunk of Tollank's bloodied hair that he ripped out of the boy's scalp during the process. His eye was empty, gray like stone, lifeless. There was no smile, no celebration. Leon left the others in the room, making his way toward the exit in silence. His heavy steps slapped the floor, echoing across the room like the steps of a giant, droplets of blood leaving a trail of blood that petered off shortly before he made it through the door, back into the hall they entered earlier this morning. His pace had improved slightly with every step and soon enough he was running, practically tripping with every step as he reintroduced himself to the process, his body screaming for him to stop, every muscle at the point of unraveling. When he was at his dorm, his body collapsed against the door, the door opening as he presented the key, allowing him to fall in onto the cold floor, shutting behind him with a muted hiss. Leaving him in darkness. Bringing him back to his personal hell.
Leon's eyes closed tightly as he leaned his head back, the long strands of golden hair falling from his face. The panels below him may have been chilling to the touch, but in this moment he felt nothing beyond a building flame in his head, a rolling in his stomach, a ripping at his heartstrings. A trembling hand made its way to his face, warm leather pressing against his skin, the edge of his glove meeting his lips and being held by his teeth as his hand wormed from its leather cocoon. "Gods give me strength in this moment," his hand moved up, palm gripping his cheek tightly as his thumb hovered above his right eye, "Lend me all the strength you have to give, for I walk through the valley of flames," his eye was wide open now, the looming thumb reflected in his pupil, "and bless me so that I may come out alive." Flesh met flesh, light met darkness, and for a moment there was nothing.
His entire body wretched, muscles turning to stone, a scream lost in his throat, his body prettified as the thumb wormed deeper into his eye, blood and fluid flooding out of the socket, running along his flesh, staining it red, sullying his clothes. When his thumb could burrow no deeper, Leon's petrified form lurched forward, dropping onto the floor like a corpse, writhing in horror, the screams of banshees ripping from his vocal cords, running his throat dry, leaving a sharp burn through his throat as words failed him, his lips pantomiming screams as dry gasps left his gaping mouth. With all the remaining strength he had, Leon bit down onto his cheek as he pulled free his thumb, taking a chunk of jellied eye with it, blood pouring from his mouth as he bite straight through his cheek, his molars visible from both sides through gaping holes that poured soaked his shoulders in blood.
His cheeks began to pull themselves together, the lost flesh rebuilding and repairing itself, a new scar adorning each cheek now. The remains of his eye began to seep out of its socket, still attached to a nerve. Tears dripped from his eye and he reached up to the nerve, gripping it tightly, a sharp pain spiking through his head. His shoulders arched back as his elbow grew still, his hands still shaking intensely, and he pulled. For a moment, his vocal cords found words once more and for a moment he screamed a wish he had truly meant. "Kill me! Please!" His hand clenched tightly into a claw, dragging across his cheek,blood rising from the row of new gashes. His eye had not repaired itself and instead was now mostly at his knees on the floor below him, mocking him for his failure. "The other," the metallic voice said, breaking the silence.
"No..." Leon sobbed, bowing down to the floor, his skin pressed against the floor, his hair soaking in blood and fluid. "Please... no." An audible click made their answer clear. It was the next eye and success or death. Leon could only pray that he would receive one of the two gifts. Either were beyond welcome. Leon formed a hitchhiker's call, balling his hand into a fist, his thumb aiming up and screamed at the top of his lungs. Blood and thick milk like fluid shout out, spraying his lower chest and pants before oozing around his thumb to drip onto the ground. With his nail he gouged at the back of his eye, flesh building under his nail. In his head, there were horrible screams coming from every direction at once, pulsing in and out, ripping pieces of sanity away with every second he went on with this quest of self mutilation. As his thumb ripped free from the eye socket, a veritable cocktail of fluid poured from his eyes, his body collapsing in the mess beneath him. For the longest moment he saw nothing.
There was no blackness. There was just nothing. The absence of colour. The absence of everything. In this moment, he was truly alone. For the first time in his life he truly wished for death. He would've begged for it and for a moment, he believed that Shigganeth would give him the gift he had begged for. For a moment there was a horrendous brightness. Then there was a shock to the system and horrible dizziness that would have made him vomit if there was still anything left to evacuate from his stomach. And last, there was colour. His vision was distorted, off center, it was as if- Leon rolled onto his back, desperately grabbing at his face, feeling the vacant hole where his right eye once was. And in rage he screamed, his hand slamming onto the floor beside him, a piece of metal ripped free which he brought to his eye, morphing it to act as an eye patch for the empty socket, the metal cutting into the skin, digging itself in to hide away the gaping hole.
Minutes passed by as he found his footing, his knees shaky and his movements uncertain, his depth perception destroyed by the loss of his right eye. A doorway in the formerly immaculate wall made itself visible and Leon took each step with more certainty, his stumbling becoming less and less apparent with every step. When he reached the door, he took his steps slowly, moving as he formerly did, each step careful and almost hesitant though. As the door parted, Leon emerged, his hair caked with dried blood, deep scars lining his jaws, and a hunk of metal where an eye once was. Lying just beyond their trail door was Tollnak. His friend. The one he went through the entire ordeal for. A dark hatred built in Leon as he stepped slowly towards his collapsed friend, his hand balled into a tight fist, his fingers digging into his palm, blood beginning to seep through yet more wounds. "Get." Leon growled, taking a final step before he was practically on top of the unconscious boy and then kneeling by him, "Up." Leon grabbed the back of Tollnak's head, a white light very visible in the space between his hand and the back of Tollnak's head. Limbs moved without the command of their owner, setting themselves properly, broken bones mended and repaired, organs sealed and left the way they were before today, and a new set of eyes alerted to all of the sensations light spectrum.
Leon said nothing, standing slowly, releasing a chunk of Tollank's bloodied hair that he ripped out of the boy's scalp during the process. His eye was empty, gray like stone, lifeless. There was no smile, no celebration. Leon left the others in the room, making his way toward the exit in silence. His heavy steps slapped the floor, echoing across the room like the steps of a giant, droplets of blood leaving a trail of blood that petered off shortly before he made it through the door, back into the hall they entered earlier this morning. His pace had improved slightly with every step and soon enough he was running, practically tripping with every step as he reintroduced himself to the process, his body screaming for him to stop, every muscle at the point of unraveling. When he was at his dorm, his body collapsed against the door, the door opening as he presented the key, allowing him to fall in onto the cold floor, shutting behind him with a muted hiss. Leaving him in darkness. Bringing him back to his personal hell.
Rarity said
Approved. Feel free to pop in the IC. Make sure you understand the rules. :)
Cool.
Cool cool cool.
I'll get a post up tonight or tomorrow. Got a lot to get done tonight and it's getting late.
Name:
James W. Hughes
Nickname:
H (pronounced hay-tch)
Age:
22
Picture: (Please post a picture of your character, real life please)
Bio:
H is the American born son of a emigrant couple, his mother German, his father English. They did their best raising him, always having dinner together, providing an ever present support system and always encouraging H to be his own man. In his second year in high school, he took on the nickname H, tired of being one of nine kids named James. It was around this time that he to truly becoming his own person. He took up a part time job that he often skipped his last class for at a local restaurant where he worked as a busboy. He became fast friends with the staff who would take him out to a bar after work, the bar owner being the kind of guy to rarely check I.D.s, particularly when it was a person with someone he liked.
H got his first tattoo while completely shitfaced at sixteen realising that if his parents saw the shitty OK Go tattoo on his right bicep they'd kill him, he got his first 'real' tattoo, a sleeve that went from bicep to wrist, only sparing the crook of his elbow. By the time he left high school, the only institution that would take him was a technical school which he attended briefly before dropping out. His parents were livid with the way he was living his life and gave him the option of cutting the bullshit and living a normal life or leaving their house until he was ready to turn himself around.
Three years later, he wound up at new town, low on cash and burnt out from the life he was leading. H eventually found a run down apartment and a decent job as a line cook in a local Italian restaurant. Now a days he's just saving cash to open a restaurant of his own, hoping to one day make a name for himself. At least, one that doesn't conjure the image of a tattooed drunken partier. A few weeks into his new life, he stumbled upon Mingle and checked it out, figuring that it would be a cheaper form of entertainment. Now he drops by frequently to sit at he bar and have a strawberry smoothie after a long day of work. He rarely talks to anyone beyond what's necessary to order his drink, and that's something he's entirely comfortable with. To this day he still gets tattoos, just much less frequently. His most recent one is on his left wrist.
Why did your character want to come to this bar?:
He doesn't get out and socialise as much after dropping out of university. H figured this would be a good way to finally meet people that he wasn't serving.
What color glow stick will they wear:
Green
Writing sample:
Intro post from a space colonisation rp that seems to have died.
James W. Hughes
Nickname:
H (pronounced hay-tch)
Age:
22
Picture: (Please post a picture of your character, real life please)
Bio:
H is the American born son of a emigrant couple, his mother German, his father English. They did their best raising him, always having dinner together, providing an ever present support system and always encouraging H to be his own man. In his second year in high school, he took on the nickname H, tired of being one of nine kids named James. It was around this time that he to truly becoming his own person. He took up a part time job that he often skipped his last class for at a local restaurant where he worked as a busboy. He became fast friends with the staff who would take him out to a bar after work, the bar owner being the kind of guy to rarely check I.D.s, particularly when it was a person with someone he liked.
H got his first tattoo while completely shitfaced at sixteen realising that if his parents saw the shitty OK Go tattoo on his right bicep they'd kill him, he got his first 'real' tattoo, a sleeve that went from bicep to wrist, only sparing the crook of his elbow. By the time he left high school, the only institution that would take him was a technical school which he attended briefly before dropping out. His parents were livid with the way he was living his life and gave him the option of cutting the bullshit and living a normal life or leaving their house until he was ready to turn himself around.
Three years later, he wound up at new town, low on cash and burnt out from the life he was leading. H eventually found a run down apartment and a decent job as a line cook in a local Italian restaurant. Now a days he's just saving cash to open a restaurant of his own, hoping to one day make a name for himself. At least, one that doesn't conjure the image of a tattooed drunken partier. A few weeks into his new life, he stumbled upon Mingle and checked it out, figuring that it would be a cheaper form of entertainment. Now he drops by frequently to sit at he bar and have a strawberry smoothie after a long day of work. He rarely talks to anyone beyond what's necessary to order his drink, and that's something he's entirely comfortable with. To this day he still gets tattoos, just much less frequently. His most recent one is on his left wrist.
Why did your character want to come to this bar?:
He doesn't get out and socialise as much after dropping out of university. H figured this would be a good way to finally meet people that he wasn't serving.
What color glow stick will they wear:
Green
Writing sample:
Intro post from a space colonisation rp that seems to have died.
<_<
...
>_>
...
...
>_>
...
I'm interested. If it's cool, I'll throw together a cs sometime tonight or tomorrow.
Gingerbread Man,
If your heart is set on Abraham PM me and convince me that he has a place in this rp. Also I'd like to see a writing sample if you are in fact set on the character.
If not, two major things I need to see out of your character:
An appropriate age. The average age is around 17.
And a mutation is a must.
If your heart is set on Abraham PM me and convince me that he has a place in this rp. Also I'd like to see a writing sample if you are in fact set on the character.
If not, two major things I need to see out of your character:
An appropriate age. The average age is around 17.
And a mutation is a must.
Make a cs and if I approve you, we'll make some room for ya.
Baconator said
Sorry for the dry post. I know ive been pretty inactive lately and I was hoping I could beef it up more but things are kind of.. complicated, at the moment.
It's cool man! Take it slow and keep it sweet. We're all patient here.
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