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I do find it weird that so many people wander through the interest checks and then take the time to post, but only to say PM me. This seems like an inefficient method to begin communications. It irks me whenever I see it, and I'm not even the one who wrote the interest checks.
And copy/paste. :P
They say spirits play in the deep dark of the sunless forest, where the light is eaten by gods.

They say those spirits sing a lullaby in that deep deep dark, where Hunger sleeps.

Sa Sa, they say. Hama’as Sa. Sleep Sa, sleep, in the dark dark deep.

It tumbled as it fell, flashing faintly, rolling in the air, and was quickly lost to sight. But she could hear it still, each clatter as it struck the branches far below. Scattering pieces of itself with every sharp collision. And she was caught, frozen mid-motion, staring after the heavy bit of bark her passing had dislodged. The forest gone eerily silent around her save for the distant drip of water.

Somehow, there was less comfort in the sound than usual.

Trickling down to shatter against the hollow shell set beneath, it elicited a slow, steady rhythm that echoed cavernously through the shifting murk. It seemed almost like an enormous heart: the first beat striking heavy, the second following quickly as the liquid bounced. A faint breeze was the breath of this great beast. It smelled of musky rot and damp, rising as it did from the deep below. Warm and rank, its passing dimmed the glimmer on all sides, and wrinkled Wai’s nose.

Still staring down, body pressed to the wood supporting her, she could see between the gleaming trunks and branches where Sa slept. And as the breeze swept past, and the faded light returned, she peered through that darkness warily. Waiting, still and watchful, wide eyes reflecting twisting patterns until she blinked and there they were.

Lights winking, one by one, into existence. Untethered from the trees, floating in the shadows so far away they were like specks of dust.

“Hama’as Sa. Hama’as.” She barely breathed the words, shrinking back from the edge with a sigh of relief. A breath, but no wakeful stirring, or the lights wouldn’t still be shining. Good. Very good. Let him sleep forever. It was better for the world, that way. And let no one know she still worried over every stray scrap of bark and twig that went spiraling beyond her reach. As though anything so small would even be noticeable to the huge beast lurking below. Ha! There was all of time to keep him dreaming, and nothing had yet awakened him, a bit of bark was hardly going to change that. But now, her fears assuaged, she had trails to keep.

With that galvanizing thought stirring her back into motion, Wai stood and continued her climb. She was following the thick trunk of an Issil tree, taking full advantage of its rough bark and stooped growth to find easy hand and footholds on an efficient diagonal. Of course, the tree was old, and the bark was coming loose in places. So, faster was by no means safer, but she’d learned to test her support well before trusting it. And still hated every second of tense agony when the bark gave way and she watched it tumble down and down and down. Years, and she still froze every time, heart racing, waiting for ruin to rise up through the branches.

It never did.

Wai usually avoided the problem altogether, taking an alternate, if longer, route. This time though, she had volunteered to check the trails rather than run them, and if she skipped this section for fear, that failure could cost a life. Trees were not static, stagnant statues frozen in time. They grew, changed shape, weakened, died.

Important, then, to pay attention.

She knew this unsurprisingly well, and would have climbed ten times the height she managed if it meant safety, but she was still glad it wasn’t required. It was another relief to haul herself over the arched bole that marked the final stretch and she paused there to listen again. The water dripped, as it should. The air was still. Her breath was loud when she closed her eyes, so she opened them again and looked instead. Close at hand, beneath her fingers, soft moss filled ridges in the bark, lining tiny crevasses where moisture gathered. Pale light limned each edge in long striations, making large shadows on the opposite side of every crack where tiny beetles crawled across the moss. She could feel one climbing over her finger, all scratchy feet and soft, tickling suction as it searched for a meal.

Farther away, a tree flower spread its petals, revealing a bundle of gently waving stamen. They flashed faintly with every shift in direction. The tips, she knew, would be sticky enough to trap even a small bird, if it let the lightshow trick its eyes. She’d watched those dark petals fold in around a poor, foolish quern. Its struggles only speeding the process. She’d seen others dart in before they closed and make off with the meal, carefully avoiding the sticky tendrils. It had taught her a valuable lesson: beyond the villages, it was dangerous to let your guard down. Fear of awaking an ancient beast hid the more immediate threat of having attracted unwanted attention. That was what she listened and looked for now.

A slight rustle turned her head to follow a lizard, leaving a trail of darkened moss in its wake, every pause punctuated by its own glow streaking down its back to disguise where its trail ended. Small head darting forward, it was snapping up the beetles she’d already noticed, wary attentiveness letting her relax. It would not have been nearby if something more dangerous was around. And it scurried swiftly away at the first sign of motion when she swung herself forward to jump to the next wide bole, bare feet landing lightly, picking up the steady momentum she’d lost while climbing.

Much like the lizard, the pressure of her weight on the moss made it react, leaving a trail of dark footprints behind her until it recovered. And, like the lizard, her own skin glowed to cover that darkness, should anything else be watching. It had been a successful camouflage so far. Though it was far from foolproof, and she took advantage of every branch and tangle of vines to obscure her bright silhouette so she didn’t stand out as much against a backdrop of darkness.

Despite her caution, once she’d ascertained that the route was still safe, she moved quickly, pausing only to check vines and rope for wear and tear, or to mark brittle branches with her knife, a deep, thick gouge that was easy to notice even at high speed. Other flowers were opening around her, each sticky tendril the same length as her arm. Their petals made good roofs. Once, she disturbed a family of orn: big-eared, wide-eyed tree hoppers. They leapt out of her way, every one of them making it effortlessly far, and hooting quiet indignation, their dark fur blending into the shadows, and oddly sweet snub-noses hiding a wicked set of chiselled teeth. Thankfully, they didn’t bite unless provoked.

Wai only stopped when she reached the source of the dripping. A large bowl carved into a branch where water often flowed. It went all the way through, and the water emerged from a miniscule hole in the bottom. It dripped onto a tied down and air-filled skin. That was what made the drumming sound. Both a marker for runners, as well as an easy method of finding water. There were many along the running routes, because water did not always follow the same path. It was every runner’s responsibility to see to their up-keep, and, unless urgency dictated otherwise, learn the reason for one falling silent. If it was plugged, that was an easy fix. If the water had stopped flowing, there was little they could do.

But now, after picking out the debris that made it past the covering, she scooped up some of the cool liquid in a little cup and drank gratefully. Easing the lingering dryness of her mouth from her earlier fear. From here, it was an easier run, a gentle descent compared to some and the village wasn’t far away. She’d reach it before she found another water drum. Good incentive to keep on. She might sleep under a roof this time, hanging safely between the branches of the trees, if she made good time.

One more drink, a glance about, and she resettled her pack and continued on.
I am so very happy I can change that title. But it is what we shall go with for now. Also, check out the hidden post in the char tab. :P I'm thinking that if we ever want to, we can use it to collaborate on world details before sticking it into a post, or we can just make our respective peoples' posts... Or we can not do anything, y'know, as we like. :P


an imaginary animal (used to refer to someone or something that is difficult to track down).
Well, it makes me bristle every time I see it, too. Especially if I've been silly and started with the plots, gone eeeeee that one that one that one! and then read through the rules and gone awwwwww but I can totally play a male just fine!

I just never cared to take it further than an internal tooth grinding moment before moving on because moving on is much faster and I have so many other plots and stories that haven't gone anywhere to cry over that I just can't find the energy to take it up with an actual person who might talk back at me as opposed to all my vanished partners.... Somehow, this makes sense, shush, it does.
Since I joined in in the status bar, I figure I'll add my two cents to the thread, too. While breasting boobily along, because ahahaha, I'm still laughing at that. *coughs* Sorry, totally serious here. My two cents are really not worth much.

I've only ever seen this popping up in the 1x1s and have heard about it happening during a D&D campaign start, but usually I don't wind up writing with those people because, following their rules, I can't or I don't like their plots. I've been a bit disappointed on occasion, but I never really thought much on the subject because there's lots more fish in the sea. But reading all the posts and arguments, I have to agree that, generally speaking, it's not the best way to make a good impression or gain the best results. As Sierra said though, it's their choice, and it has some consequences. Like most choices.

Most of the time, I'd say it's silly and not at all openminded, however, I have heard instances of trouble with other writers who couldn't separate themselves from their characters and became horribly possessive and stalkerish of their partner and their partner's character whether their partner wanted them to be or not. I've also heard of spouses and significant others having a hissy fit about their loved one writing romances with people of the opposite or same gender. In these instances, I could understand why someone might try to limit their interactions, and why they might be upset about someone lying to them. Even if they've been having a blast prior to learning the gender of their partner.

Granted, the first would be generalizing from one or two (maybe more, I dunno, though I'd say go whoever's persevering) bad experiences, but those can severely ruin any chance of fun someone might have had and they could be hoping to avoid that in the future. And the second is probably suggestive of a need to get out of that relationship (or communicate a whole lot more), but that's not an easy thing to do.

Those are the two instances I can think of where I would say yes, okay, fair enough. But I'm certainly not going to ask them to justify their choice if those are reasons I think are valid. I'll simply hope they have better luck and eventually grow brave enough, or their situation changes, to give them the chance to branch out. I'm not sure it would solve their problems either, but it's an attempt I can understand making.

I have no way of knowing how these people guarantee that their partners are of the requested gender, and maybe it's enough that they feel they can trust them to have read and followed the rules. And for that reason I do think it's a bit of a darker area to be lying about your gender, even if it's by omission, unless you know why the person wants the specified gender. Though I still don't think lying is the best solution to that problem, I also don't think it's hurting anyone, if it is just that they prefer one gender over another. I've been tempted to do the same myself sometimes. If I saw a plot I really really wanted to play, but couldn't, I'd probably just borrow it and see if I can find someone else whose preferences I do satisfy who wants to give it a go with me.

But, I also don't often write romances, I'm apparently horrible at it. Even if I love the story idea. Maybe if I wrote them more, I'd have a better understanding of this issue.
I'm pretty sure most of what I do to get into my characters' heads has already been written down here, in some form or another, but I think it's cool to see different methods people use. And how they interact with the voices in their heads. I like that it's not an end all, be all, one size fits all type deal. There isn't any one method that fits everyone, and, honestly, now and again I find myself jumping back and forth between them.

Sometimes, I need silence to get into the right headspace. Sometimes I need music, any sort, just to motivate me to get the words out. And sometimes it needs to be a specific song, played on repeat for days... Just because it suits the character and the mood I want them in perfectly.

Ordinarily, I'd say I'm one of those people who takes aspects of themselves to stick into their characters, and this would not be wrong, but it also confuses me no end when I realise I've gone and written many fantasy creatures of a differing gender and species than myself without batting an eye. Gotta wonder what about that character was an aspect of me, but I'm still sure it's there somewhere, because I write best what I know. This doesn't mean I only use personal experience to express myself, because there's a lot of things I haven't experienced in this world, and definitely plenty I never will in a fantasy world. But I build off what I know. And what I know is body language.

So, often times, if I'm stuck finding the words to explain how a character is feeling in a certain moment, I'll find myself not quite acting it out, but making the expression I want, or doing a gesture I know the character would make and trying to combine them. Somehow, it helps me understand the emotions of that moment by echoing the movements and mimicking what their feelings bring them to do. If that makes any sense at all? I guess it's sort of like how smiling is supposed to make you happy. If I know how a character is reacting but am not quite sure why, I can just take into account the motion and their facial tics and try to go from there. So, yes, I'm one of those people who will be making faces at her computer for no particular reason. Fun times...

I find it works wonders for me to record, or at least remember (I'm usually too lazy to make actual lists), certain gestures and expressions characters make in different situations that shape the way others see them and flavour their interactions with the world. From what it means when they rub their neck to what makes them laugh or why, even just how they talk and what words they use. Even just knowing that a girl plays with her sleeve cuffs so often they're frayed on near every outfit she's got, and whether it's from boredom or nerves or something else. Which, in turn, helps me when I'm doing my silly miming game trying to figure out how to describe a mood or explain an action.
In Sanctuary 1 mo ago Forum: 1x1 Roleplay
Hey! No worries, I understand! Take whatever time you need. :)
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