McHaggis Member
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TokyoPewPew,
BleedingLover
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8 yrs ago
happy new year!! may 2019 be a good one for everyone ^^
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8 yrs ago
same
8 yrs ago
blizzcon always makes me want a warcraft rp
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8 yrs ago
Lord Wraith earned his type today.
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8 yrs ago
and so the community, united by one man's war against them, returns to warring against itself
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Bio
catch you on the flip side
Most Recent Posts
Interested~
Well, that was entirely unexpected, Ronan mused to himself as his guest stood there; shaking like a leaf, trembling in apparent terror, eyes wide with panic as if she'd just seen a ghost– and, perhaps she had. The words, “How about it, then?” had barely passed from his lips as she chucked the ancient wand away with surprising force, strong enough to embed it in the wall.
It left a hole, one that he would have to fix later or leave. A picture might do the job of covering it... Ronan sighed, swiftly dodging around the junk littering the room as he left it in pursuit of Miss Williams but not before retrieving the relic from its plaster crater.
“Honestly...” he said with a wry smile even though Harley was not within hearing range. Why does everyone run away when something unexpected happens? It is a human thing? At the previous initiation he had performed, one of the boys (for that was what they were, only sixteen and barely out of their childhood) had a supernatural reaction to anything he touched, feeling each and every emotion left behind by humanity. Psychometry, they called it, brought on by the ambient magic of the ritual box and contents.
At his own, Ronan had called upon the Fae, but that was another matter entirely – even his subconscious didn't want to remember gossamer wings and the howling gale.
“Miss Williams? Miss Williams,” he said as he reached her, holding the item in one hand with the other resting nonchalantly in his pockets. Ronan wondered whether he should have given her longer to, for lack of a better wording, pull herself together; however, there was no point in letting such a fear stew. “Are you all right? Was it the wand?” He couldn't quite bring himself to sound concerned. There was no point in putting on an act. As it was, he just regarded her carefully as if expecting her to break at any moment into hysteria.
It left a hole, one that he would have to fix later or leave. A picture might do the job of covering it... Ronan sighed, swiftly dodging around the junk littering the room as he left it in pursuit of Miss Williams but not before retrieving the relic from its plaster crater.
“Honestly...” he said with a wry smile even though Harley was not within hearing range. Why does everyone run away when something unexpected happens? It is a human thing? At the previous initiation he had performed, one of the boys (for that was what they were, only sixteen and barely out of their childhood) had a supernatural reaction to anything he touched, feeling each and every emotion left behind by humanity. Psychometry, they called it, brought on by the ambient magic of the ritual box and contents.
At his own, Ronan had called upon the Fae, but that was another matter entirely – even his subconscious didn't want to remember gossamer wings and the howling gale.
“Miss Williams? Miss Williams,” he said as he reached her, holding the item in one hand with the other resting nonchalantly in his pockets. Ronan wondered whether he should have given her longer to, for lack of a better wording, pull herself together; however, there was no point in letting such a fear stew. “Are you all right? Was it the wand?” He couldn't quite bring himself to sound concerned. There was no point in putting on an act. As it was, he just regarded her carefully as if expecting her to break at any moment into hysteria.
"So, Trisha," Siobhan said with an evil grin spreading across her face just after her potion (and Yvette's) had been held up to the light by Slughorn and graded. Near perfect, though with the slightly off shade it wouldn't taste particularly pleasant. "It's a real shame what happened to your potion -- are you sure you cleaned out the glassware before you bottled it? That can happen sometimes..." She stopped to wait for the professor to mark Kyle's who would be next.
"Exceptional for the circumstances," Slughorn said cheerfully, nodding to Kyle with a slightly nervous smile.
Siobhan's grin grew wider though for an entirely different reason; more ammunition. "Looks like even McCarthy did better than you," she continued, careful to stick to polite surnames now that they were not-friends. Trisha was turning red with anger and embarrassment, and although Siobhan felt ever so slightly bad, it was not enough to stop her from playing the villain.
"Exceptional for the circumstances," Slughorn said cheerfully, nodding to Kyle with a slightly nervous smile.
Siobhan's grin grew wider though for an entirely different reason; more ammunition. "Looks like even McCarthy did better than you," she continued, careful to stick to polite surnames now that they were not-friends. Trisha was turning red with anger and embarrassment, and although Siobhan felt ever so slightly bad, it was not enough to stop her from playing the villain.
Done!
WIP so far
NAME: Logan Vallance
APPROX AGE RANGE: 15-17
ROOM ITEMS:
Deck of Playing Cards – Found inside a hefty wooden box with an intricate design. Initial inspection of the expensive deck of cards revealed three missing, which were later found hidden in various corners of the room.
Handcuffs and Key – A set of fairly flimsy handcuffs are lying under his bed, the key next to them. They are inscribed with a name on them: Loki.
Choker – A gothic necklace in an old-fashioned style, all black and silver.
Family Tree– A tapestry of fairly new creation despite having an antiquated design.
White Facepaint – A tub of fancy, creamy white facepaint, just as it says on the tin.
BEAR:
Pictured here. A small brown teddy bear with roses in its hand and a gift tag attached. It is devoid of any name save Logan's, and the message reads '2 the bae, lol'.
SELF ASSESSMENT:
Logan found it difficult to wake up and once he did, he had to force himself to stand up and about. From this, he has determined that he is lazy or, at best, a procrastinator. He warred with himself on whether or not it was worth the effort investigating his surroundings but curiosity won out.
While searching, he found himself constantly asking questions both in his head and aloud to the empty room, the latter being an uncontrollable urge – he wonders whether he is used to hearing no reply. The sound of his own voice is comforting enough to stave away the senseless, gnawing worry that is beginning to eat away at him.
With constantly twitching legs and idle hands, Logan has determined that being still and confined in a room for so long is boring. His imagination was sparked as well in the long silence and he feels something that he thinks is inspiration, though to do what he is not sure. His thoughts tended to drift towards the bear more than any of the other objects in the room, prompting him to ask himself if he is secretly a romantic.
PERSONAL PROFILE (UNDER DEVELOPMENT):
The first thing that Logan noticed was that as he was moving around and ducking under the bed to find the various items scattered around the room, he was becoming short of breath, even without having done much exercise – he immediately considered asthma or some other breathing condition, even though it could just be an unhealthy lifestyle.
When he found the bear with his name clasped between its arms on a tiny card, he considered whether he was in a romantic relationship. Surely he wouldn't be the one receiving the gift, right? It seemed rather girly, but he did chuckle at it. The words inscribed on the gift tag baffled him, however, as they didn't appear complete. Perhaps they were used ironically?
Logan's first impression of the playing cards was that they must surely have cost a fortune, ornately inscribed with the designs and all. It made him wonder whether he knew any card games – maybe poker – but he couldn't recall. Even so, when he pulled them out of the box and collected the missing ones, he shuffled them effortlessly. The only plausible explanation he could think of was gambling.
As for the choker and the white face paint, Logan felt ridiculously uneasy about them, especially as he tested the cosmetic product on his hand. He was pale enough to begin with but that was far, far worse. The good thing is that it prompted no allergy from him, though he wondered why he was checking that to begin with. Perhaps it was a fashion statement.
The family tree made Logan think that he must be an heir of some kind; however, his own name was not present on the tapestry despite there being blank spaces on it. The 'Vallance' name was on it several times over, which suggested to him that he was somehow related to them.
JOURNAL:
A purple notebook with plain, unlined paper inside. 3B pencil is brand new.
APPEARANCE:
NAME: Logan Vallance
APPROX AGE RANGE: 15-17
ROOM ITEMS:
Deck of Playing Cards – Found inside a hefty wooden box with an intricate design. Initial inspection of the expensive deck of cards revealed three missing, which were later found hidden in various corners of the room.
Handcuffs and Key – A set of fairly flimsy handcuffs are lying under his bed, the key next to them. They are inscribed with a name on them: Loki.
Choker – A gothic necklace in an old-fashioned style, all black and silver.
Family Tree– A tapestry of fairly new creation despite having an antiquated design.
White Facepaint – A tub of fancy, creamy white facepaint, just as it says on the tin.
BEAR:
Pictured here. A small brown teddy bear with roses in its hand and a gift tag attached. It is devoid of any name save Logan's, and the message reads '2 the bae, lol'.
SELF ASSESSMENT:
Logan found it difficult to wake up and once he did, he had to force himself to stand up and about. From this, he has determined that he is lazy or, at best, a procrastinator. He warred with himself on whether or not it was worth the effort investigating his surroundings but curiosity won out.
While searching, he found himself constantly asking questions both in his head and aloud to the empty room, the latter being an uncontrollable urge – he wonders whether he is used to hearing no reply. The sound of his own voice is comforting enough to stave away the senseless, gnawing worry that is beginning to eat away at him.
With constantly twitching legs and idle hands, Logan has determined that being still and confined in a room for so long is boring. His imagination was sparked as well in the long silence and he feels something that he thinks is inspiration, though to do what he is not sure. His thoughts tended to drift towards the bear more than any of the other objects in the room, prompting him to ask himself if he is secretly a romantic.
PERSONAL PROFILE (UNDER DEVELOPMENT):
The first thing that Logan noticed was that as he was moving around and ducking under the bed to find the various items scattered around the room, he was becoming short of breath, even without having done much exercise – he immediately considered asthma or some other breathing condition, even though it could just be an unhealthy lifestyle.
When he found the bear with his name clasped between its arms on a tiny card, he considered whether he was in a romantic relationship. Surely he wouldn't be the one receiving the gift, right? It seemed rather girly, but he did chuckle at it. The words inscribed on the gift tag baffled him, however, as they didn't appear complete. Perhaps they were used ironically?
Logan's first impression of the playing cards was that they must surely have cost a fortune, ornately inscribed with the designs and all. It made him wonder whether he knew any card games – maybe poker – but he couldn't recall. Even so, when he pulled them out of the box and collected the missing ones, he shuffled them effortlessly. The only plausible explanation he could think of was gambling.
As for the choker and the white face paint, Logan felt ridiculously uneasy about them, especially as he tested the cosmetic product on his hand. He was pale enough to begin with but that was far, far worse. The good thing is that it prompted no allergy from him, though he wondered why he was checking that to begin with. Perhaps it was a fashion statement.
The family tree made Logan think that he must be an heir of some kind; however, his own name was not present on the tapestry despite there being blank spaces on it. The 'Vallance' name was on it several times over, which suggested to him that he was somehow related to them.
JOURNAL:
A purple notebook with plain, unlined paper inside. 3B pencil is brand new.
APPEARANCE:
“You better not die, then.”
As Jun followed Magrus to the base, kid in tow, he hissed, “I can assure you – my history's as cool as a cucumber.” A complete lie, of course. Even his amber eyes said otherwise, and it was a miracle the kid hadn't noticed. It wasn't like he hadn't used his own particular heritage before to infiltrate a Fire Nation base. “And you won't find anything else. Anything.” It was more of a threat than he had intended.
His fingertips danced along his blade restlessly as they approached the keep. “We're walking in the front entrance. Hah! Of course we are.” He held his helmet under his arm, the deep red of the uniform making him seem paler than ever. It hurt to look like he was from the Fire Nation, mostly because it felt like a betrayal to his uncle and the Earth Kingdom.
“Just follow my lead, alright?” he said to the brat as they stopped slightly far away from the base. “Beardy, where are the charges – do we have a way in and out or do we need to – improvise..?”
Suyin nodded to Genji as she left, the others in tow. Lee had saluted the female commander and shook his head at the water-bender as if he found his weakness hilarious; Sen had merely nodded and disappeared around the corner as soon as they were given leave. “Father'll be most upset if he ever hears about this,” she said quietly, a wry grin on her lips. “I won't tell him you charged into a room full of enemies if you don't say I got kidnapped.”
The girl picked at her bow, tightening the string and plucking it experimentally. Better. Not one to be beaten in close range again, she reached into a nearby drawer of the command cabin and pulled out a set of needles she had been given for her birthday one time. Not her weapon of choice, no, but she could use them. “Maybe I can practice some acupuncture on you.”
As Jun followed Magrus to the base, kid in tow, he hissed, “I can assure you – my history's as cool as a cucumber.” A complete lie, of course. Even his amber eyes said otherwise, and it was a miracle the kid hadn't noticed. It wasn't like he hadn't used his own particular heritage before to infiltrate a Fire Nation base. “And you won't find anything else. Anything.” It was more of a threat than he had intended.
His fingertips danced along his blade restlessly as they approached the keep. “We're walking in the front entrance. Hah! Of course we are.” He held his helmet under his arm, the deep red of the uniform making him seem paler than ever. It hurt to look like he was from the Fire Nation, mostly because it felt like a betrayal to his uncle and the Earth Kingdom.
“Just follow my lead, alright?” he said to the brat as they stopped slightly far away from the base. “Beardy, where are the charges – do we have a way in and out or do we need to – improvise..?”
Suyin nodded to Genji as she left, the others in tow. Lee had saluted the female commander and shook his head at the water-bender as if he found his weakness hilarious; Sen had merely nodded and disappeared around the corner as soon as they were given leave. “Father'll be most upset if he ever hears about this,” she said quietly, a wry grin on her lips. “I won't tell him you charged into a room full of enemies if you don't say I got kidnapped.”
The girl picked at her bow, tightening the string and plucking it experimentally. Better. Not one to be beaten in close range again, she reached into a nearby drawer of the command cabin and pulled out a set of needles she had been given for her birthday one time. Not her weapon of choice, no, but she could use them. “Maybe I can practice some acupuncture on you.”
Oscar was in a restaurant, a fancy but generic one; the type that made it difficult to remember the name. Red curtains and burgundy carpets and crimson napkins stained the otherwise white décor – that contrast he could recognise. The delicate clinking of cutlery against fine china filled the room, interspersed with the dull thump of a wine glass being placed down with a heavy, ungraceful hand. It was his own.
Lillian chuckled, her smile bright and genuine – had he said a joke? Probably, he reckoned, he did that a lot. Vibrant flashes of a line, 'I'm not a photographer, but I can picture me and you together,' swam into sight and his forehead creased in response. His wife was speaking. “So you know,” she started, catching his attention with just a few quiet words. “You and me are dead, right?”
Did he respond to that? He felt his lips moving and his breath coming short but no sound came out. She replied as if he did with another tinkling laugh. “Yeah, yeah, I know – I'm so morbid... but it's hard to be a war reporter without a teeny bit of all that.” Lillian's words lulled him into a false sense of security, as did the thought of her cherry-red lips. Had it been a joke he didn't understand? “But you don't remember, do you? Is it cloudy? Did it hurt?”
“I'm not dead,” Oscar said, hearing his own words this time. She reached over to him across the fine china, rustling it. It was then that she noticed her fingers were bare of any ring, not even–
Her voice this time was that of an old, dusty memory though Oscar knew it hadn't been in such an establishment that she had – left. “I just can't... I've been having an affair, but so have you.” This time the wedding band plopped into white wine instead of orange juice over breakfast. His jaw locked, his neck burned and–
”Process ending. Awakening subject now.”
His first breath was ragged yet devoid of any relief at all. How could there be any? It had – it had all been a dream... Cold hands shoving him into the tube to be packed away like frozen meat in a supermarket aisle.
Fifty years. Fifty years past his expiration date. He felt like sobbing or kicking something, and he chose the latter. His limbs were cold and unresponsive, fingertips barely twitching as in even his best attempts they failed to grab on to the side of the capsule to pull himself out. Rage flooded through him soon enough to heat him up, directed at the scientists, the world, fate, Lillian...
She was probably some dried up old crone by his reasoning. When they returned home, to Earth, he reckoned he should pay her a visit. Lord his youth over her. That was all that motivated Oscar to stagger outside into the rest of the ship. There were already folk outside, other subjects most if not all of them willing...
“Wait, a hundred and fifty?” Oscar barely managed to choke out, double checking the calendar of one of the pods. Two hundred years in the future. Even Lillian's tombstone would have rotted away in the wind by now. He clenched his fist – he didn't want this. “The hell's going on?”
Lillian chuckled, her smile bright and genuine – had he said a joke? Probably, he reckoned, he did that a lot. Vibrant flashes of a line, 'I'm not a photographer, but I can picture me and you together,' swam into sight and his forehead creased in response. His wife was speaking. “So you know,” she started, catching his attention with just a few quiet words. “You and me are dead, right?”
Did he respond to that? He felt his lips moving and his breath coming short but no sound came out. She replied as if he did with another tinkling laugh. “Yeah, yeah, I know – I'm so morbid... but it's hard to be a war reporter without a teeny bit of all that.” Lillian's words lulled him into a false sense of security, as did the thought of her cherry-red lips. Had it been a joke he didn't understand? “But you don't remember, do you? Is it cloudy? Did it hurt?”
“I'm not dead,” Oscar said, hearing his own words this time. She reached over to him across the fine china, rustling it. It was then that she noticed her fingers were bare of any ring, not even–
Her voice this time was that of an old, dusty memory though Oscar knew it hadn't been in such an establishment that she had – left. “I just can't... I've been having an affair, but so have you.” This time the wedding band plopped into white wine instead of orange juice over breakfast. His jaw locked, his neck burned and–
”Process ending. Awakening subject now.”
His first breath was ragged yet devoid of any relief at all. How could there be any? It had – it had all been a dream... Cold hands shoving him into the tube to be packed away like frozen meat in a supermarket aisle.
Fifty years. Fifty years past his expiration date. He felt like sobbing or kicking something, and he chose the latter. His limbs were cold and unresponsive, fingertips barely twitching as in even his best attempts they failed to grab on to the side of the capsule to pull himself out. Rage flooded through him soon enough to heat him up, directed at the scientists, the world, fate, Lillian...
She was probably some dried up old crone by his reasoning. When they returned home, to Earth, he reckoned he should pay her a visit. Lord his youth over her. That was all that motivated Oscar to stagger outside into the rest of the ship. There were already folk outside, other subjects most if not all of them willing...
“Wait, a hundred and fifty?” Oscar barely managed to choke out, double checking the calendar of one of the pods. Two hundred years in the future. Even Lillian's tombstone would have rotted away in the wind by now. He clenched his fist – he didn't want this. “The hell's going on?”
Alistair took off his suit jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt – true enough, there was a bruise there, a small one that was barely worth his time. “You might consider your words when speaking to my Head Executor,” he said dangerously as the girl was pulled back by Miss Mira. He let out a monotone 'yay' and clapped his hands.
“Seems like a contrived way of healing – utterly pointless too. If I had been run through with a sword again tonight I might have reconsidered, but a bruise?” he chuckled at the situation. “Causing trouble with your own family head over it, too. Tut tut.”
He finished by throwing an arm around Trixy's shoulders. “I have no intentions of dealing with a little masochist tonight, is all. You'll soon be on your merry way, and we'll be bathing in the blood of the innocents, or whatever you might think us capable of. Next time you visit the Tortuga, Miss Kingston, come for a drink, not a fight.”
“Seems like a contrived way of healing – utterly pointless too. If I had been run through with a sword again tonight I might have reconsidered, but a bruise?” he chuckled at the situation. “Causing trouble with your own family head over it, too. Tut tut.”
He finished by throwing an arm around Trixy's shoulders. “I have no intentions of dealing with a little masochist tonight, is all. You'll soon be on your merry way, and we'll be bathing in the blood of the innocents, or whatever you might think us capable of. Next time you visit the Tortuga, Miss Kingston, come for a drink, not a fight.”
Will make a character for this when I get back ^^
>.>
<.<
I probably shouldn't but sure! I think some of mine are dying anyway.
<.<
I probably shouldn't but sure! I think some of mine are dying anyway.
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