Status

Recent Statuses

3 mos ago
Current Obligatory "I'm so bored" status.
6 likes
3 mos ago
You hear that? That's the sweet sound of me being horrible at writing history sections.
3 likes
3 mos ago
I'm back again for more of my particular brand of mediocrity.
2 likes
5 mos ago
My secret talent is adding more characters than I need to any given roleplay.
8 likes
6 mos ago
Remember me? No? Me neither.
6 likes

Bio


Just call me Prose.

I'm twenty five.
No Face accurately describes my appearance, I think.
I've been roleplaying for a long time.
Feel free to correct me on things.
I edit character sheets a lot.
My male characters will highly outweigh my female characters.
I reuse characters that I like.
I was in advanced writing classes at one point, it didn't make an impression on me.
I do best in high casual settings but I could probably do advanced if I put effort into it.
I hate writing personality and appearance sections, I'm bad at it.
It takes me at least four replies before my responses stop looking like garbage.
I refuse to write a first status until I can think of something good to say.
I wrote a status finally.

At every given moment, I'm worried that I'm annoying everyone in the thread.
I'm not as pretentious as my name might suggest.

Most Recent Posts



@Melo

"Thank you, you’re very kind." His response was amiable enough but it did little to qualm Zeke's growing anxiety. He wasn't bad with people, not really, he had a social bone or two in his body but something about the atmosphere was oppressive. He didn't blame his newfound companion, he was more inclined to blame how crazy things were back at the bonfire. He had once liked parties, he had frequented quite a lot of them with Theodore during his highschool years but that was a long time ago. He was much more at home amidst cafés and pretention.

In a way, he sort of wondered if this young man was similar. Most people didn't choose to spend their party playing the violin in a hidden cove unless they weren't enjoying the festivities. There was something kind of elegant about the choice in instrument, it was better than the acoustic guitar that he expected of aspiring musicians at parties. Can anyone say Wonderwall? "Well, since you’re my only audience right now. Care to make a request?" His smile was charismatic, his voice was confident. It was the kind of kind of quality that made a person likeable, confidence without blatant arrogance.

"I'm a little afraid I'm going to disappoint you," responded Zeke with a laugh. The laugh didn't reek of the nervous energy that his body language had been showing, it was a step in the right direction. He was slowly but surely screwing his head on straight, getting a grip on the situation. This guy wasn't so scary, at least not on his own, it might have been worse if there had been a small crowd. He was sort of glad he'd wound up here first. He decided to relay a bit of what he taken back from music class over the years. Sometimes having a crazy good memory had it's perks. "I'm partial to Amy Beach's Violin Sonata. Traditionalism makes me shudder and her style is very romantic, it's a shame that her work is so often neglected. Beautiful violinist, probably one of the few that I actually listen to."

He paused a moment to let all of this sink in before a smile threatened to overcome him. "I assume you would prefer that over something by The Front Bottoms, which was my other choice." His tone was a touch playful at that, steadily more comfortable. He found it easier to feel like he was in his place when his place wasn't terribly crowded. He set the can down, didn't bother opening it and took a seat. He hoped he was making a good impression but he had stopped caring as much. "I'm Zeke, by the way."

He was interested to hear the other guy's take on Amy Beach, curious if he'd do her justice. He appreciated music even if he considered himself someone who lacked any sort of basic talent in music. He knew talent when he heard it but he couldn't imagine how any of it was done. He was entirely incapable of picturing how any of those notes came to be, he preferred to just close his eyes and listen. Any person could be an enjoyer of music but he respected the actual ability to play it.

His only creative venture was writing and he didn't even do that for other people.


@hero

It was in full force, the night full of laughter and shouting. He could see people chasing each other across the sand, he could hear talking beneath the hum of the music. It was just as extravagantly extra as he had come to expect from Rachel and he let himself take it in. This was his favorite kind of atmosphere, when the air was heavy with excitement and people couldn't keep their voices down. He settled himself to enjoy it for a moment longer as a spectator and not a participant. At least, he thought. Not until I've finished my cigarette.

He lit a cigarette, he inhaled deeply and he exhaled smoke into the warm air of the night. Smoke swirled off into the darkness, lost from where the light no longer touched it and he shut his eyes for a moment. He listened to the music, relaxed into the familiarity that was as good as home for him. A few more drags, a moment more of relaxing and he was in the swing of things. He flicked the cigarette down, ground it out beneath his sneaker, and headed to the tent.

It didn't take much to get in but he gave the bouncer a little shit anyway, mostly for the sake of appearance. He didn't want anyone to go thinking he'd lost his terrible sense of humor. He entered the tent with a confident stride, taking in what it had to offer. He could see that the space was already pretty full but that was fine, Quinn loved company, whether he knew them all or not. The point of parties was mingling and nobody liked a guy who couldn't mingle.

"Now this is where it's all happening," he said enthusiastically as he made his way forward. He greeted the people he knew, fist-bumps and big grins. He hugged a girl or two, people he didn't spend time with outside of parties but he knew by face enough that he couldn't shake them off without acknowledging them. He got dragged into sharing a joint with one of his party friends, topping off the soaring feeling that he was already wandering through.

A joke here and there, some laughter that went on too long. He was in his element and he was loving it. He was starting to crave a drink though and he knew the bar would be good. So, waving off his "friends", he eventually found his way to the bar. There was a small group there already and he offered a grin in place of a greeting.

He made his way to a seat, leaning across the counter. "Mind if I get a whiskey sour?" He took in the bartender a moment, resisting the urge to lay on one of his famously awful pick-up lines. He could only imagine that his pick-up lines would be even worse while he was high as a kite. No, probably best to keep his mouth shut, or, mostly shut. Quinn wasn't good at shutting up entirely, "Good party, crowded as all hell though."




@Melo

Zeke was floundering.
All the mental preparation in the world couldn't have possibly prepared him for the grandiose display of Rachel Ashford's party. He liked Rachel with coffee and the quiet murmur of people in a cafe, he liked her with the clinking of mugs and the clicking of hipsters with their laptops. He liked Rachel when they were one on one and he had no social expectations aside from asking for the orders of contrived cafe-goers. He liked Rachel when he didn't feel so crowded that he was pulling his shoulders in to avoid people hurrying around him.

Zeke was floundering in this environment and he didn't want to spend his whole night trailing Theodore like a lost puppy. So, after Rachel had ushered Theodore into the VIP tent, Zeke had unceremoniously ditched the main event. He had grabbed himself a beer and he had wiggled his way through the crowd to get away from it all. So, sue him, he wasn't really a party person anymore. He would ask Theodore how his night went later and he'd write about that in his journal because it would assuredly be better than anything he planned to do.

He didn't know where he wanted to go, he wasn't ready to turn in for the night and he didn't want to wander around awkwardly until the night ended. It was by chance entirely that he wound up hearing the sound of violin on the night air. It put him off a little because he wasn't prepared for it but he recognized the talent behind it. So, he did what any sane and terribly socially awkward person would do, he followed the noise to the cove where the guy was playing.

Brunette, blue eyes, looked friendly enough from a cursory glance and- oh fuck, he's probably alone for a reason. Anxiety shot through Zeke and he awkwardly raised a hand in greeting to the stranger. "Sorry, I don't mean to interrupt." His voice betrayed the awkwardness, one hand clenching tightly over the can in it. "You're good at that."



Sanitary mask. Rubber gloves. Hand sanitizer.
He was technically ready for anything that this school could throw at him but he was a bit nervous nonetheless. The room was bigger than he'd expected for some reason, though he hadn't had many expectations. He could see many interesting faces, some that already seemed engaged in conversation.

He walked carefully, his gaze scanning over the walls as he took in the strange decor. The skulls were a little bit of an odd touch, the colors were kind of atrocious and the layout was very weird. He wanted to know what the interior designer had been thinking when they'd set the place out, perhaps they'd been on hard drugs. Maybe they were just eccentric. He didn't think he'd ever really know the truth. Perhaps he'd ask a professor about it someday. That might prove interesting.

He walked carefully to an open seat, ignoring the breakfast options. The smell was tantalizing but he didn't really want to stop and eat any of it. He didn't know what everything was made of and accidently setting off an allergic reaction would be a horrible first impression. He tried not to picture it. Sometimes he was sure that his body was a ticking time bomb and that it was constantly ready to explode.

Grimacing, the dark haired boy twisted a chain around one of his fingers. He was so uncomfortable, he was surrounded in strangers and he didn't know what to say or do. He was hoping to better his aquamancy here, to maybe meet some of the other families but he couldn't help feeling so awkward. There was so many of them.

He was glad to be here, despite his discomfort. If was different and it was exciting. He just had to get through his first day jitters, he didn't take to new environments very easily. It often made him feel like a fish out of water when there were so many strangers around him. They were so varied, he wanted to know more about them but he was also terrified by that prospect.


It was the first day of school and he was hungover.
The night before had been spent emptying a bottle of scotch in his bedroom while his mother pounded on the door and tried to reason with him. He knew why she was sending him there, it was like the wards, she wanted a break and she was too polite to just fucking say it. Keandre was no stranger to beimg sent places to ease his mother's guilty conscious and this was no different.

Late summer in America was painted in warm tones, the leaves hadn't changed yet for the onset of fall but the warm air was loud with the sounds of insects in the trees. He could ear the raucous cries of crows as he stepped from his plane, their anxiety was his anxiety. He tried to soothe their worries as he made his way into the building. An airport was an airport, no matter what language they were speaking though he was much less at ease to hear friendly people speaking English in his ears. Perhaps a product of his bad mood and his growing headache, he decided to only speak to them in confused French until they left him alone.

Using the minimal cash that his ex-step father had given him, he booked his cab to the school on his own. He stood and waited for this cab alone, keeping his eyes set forward. A man with an Italian accent made a joke at him in Italian, he responded in French. The look of confusion on the man's face had made all of the waiting worth it. Eventually his cab showed up and he wordlessly slipped inside, only offering a few vague "yes" and "no" answers to the man driving him around.

This is absolute shit, he thought as the cab took him from the airport to the school. His head was pounding, a dull and throbbing sensation that he couldn't quite shake. He knew that he should have perhaps been more tactful woth his decisions the day prior but spite was a very powerful beast. He was still ridiculously angry at his mother for being so alright with sending him off to this hellscape of a school. She was so tired of dealing with him that she'd sent him to an entirely different country.

He wanted to blame Adriano, naturally, who had always had it out for him but he couldn't help blaming her too. It took two to send your teenage son off to America to "improve his magic". Fuck that, he thought. Holly never cared about my magic before. When the cab pulled up outside the gates, he passed the money along to the driver and he hopped out to face the security outside. They let him through after a cursory check and he made his way into the building.

The common room smelled strongly of breakfast and hormonal teenagers, he wasn't one to turn down breakfast but he could do without the teenagers. Human public school all over again, he thought disdainfully. He grabbed himself a plate, spotting Dawn by herself. He knew that mage, at least, and he offered her a wave as he went to find himself somewhere to sit.

It had been a long day. It was going to be a long school year.


Santora Residence - Earlier

They had been all too eager to get rid of him. He remembered the day the letter came in and he remembered thinking that his parents wouldn't possibly send him off to some unknown school in the middle of absolutely nowhere. He'd been wrong. His dad had brightened at the prospect, perhaps envisioning a future where a professional actually managed to teach his son corporeal necromancy. Maybe Nolan couldn't blame him, maybe he could, but now he sat at the dining room table on a very tense first day of school.

His dad was at the other end of the table, picking at a pancake breakfast that was steadily growing cold between them. Viktor Santora was a stately man with a headful of golden hair that was steadily growing streaked with white. He had the same pale blue eyes as Nolan and an often unsmiling mouth. He speared a strawberry and swirled it through runny whipped cream without looking up to meet Nolan's eyes. "I just don't know what you want me to say," said Viktor before he bit into the strawberry at the end of his fork. " I've said everything I possibly can. You know why this is important to us."

"No, dad," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I don't, would you mind runnin' it by me for the hundredth time this week?"

It was worse somehow that his mother hadn't even stood up for him when it came to the Niklaus nonsense. She wasn't often quiet when she disagreed with his father but she'd been very quiet about this. He was equally angry at them both, he couldn't shake the growing resentment as he watched Viktor meticulously saw off bits of pancake and eat them. He knew his outburst would be disregarded but he couldn't help but spit it out anyway.

Viktor chewed thoughtfully before finally glancing up and settling his gaze on the red stone resting at the hollow of Nolan's throat. "Need I bring up that silly amulet that you insist on wearing?"

Nolan could feel his face grow hot at the mention of Niklaus' amulet. It was a noble old thing, the golden fixtures were brassy with age and the chain was quite brittle. The stone itself was a dark and fathomless red, it held no other shades and the facets glittered when the light hit them. He brushed his fingers over it before tightening his hand around it.

He knew what the family thought of his insistency on wearing it, he knew what other necromancers must think but his grandmother had given it to him on her deathbed. She had worn that amulet her whole life and everyone had assumed she'd intended to be buried in it but no, she'd taken Nolan's hands in hers and given it to him. He hadn't taken it off since that day. It seemed wrong somehow to dishonor the memory of someone so dear to him by refusing to wear what she'd gifted him.

"Grandma Arcadia gave it to me," he reminded him, keeping his hand on the stone. "Y'want me to just toss it aside like it means nothin' to me?"

"I want you to grow up, Nolan," responded Viktor. "I want you to get your shit packed and ready to go."

He hadn't complained after that, feeling hushed by the razor edge to the words. He had quickly gathered his things, leaving a note for his mother to send in the rest and without so much as a goodbye from his father, he'd boarded the bus.


Marchand Academy

The ride on the bus was treacherous, each bump made his teeth grit and his nerves were on end. He couldn't bring himself to focus on any of the books he'd brought, frankly staring at the white pages had started to make him nauseous. He had settled for staring out the windows and tracking the colors of the cars that they passed. He almost couldn't hear his own thoughts over the cursing of the driver, he almost couldn't so the entire ride fretting over potential meetings with other necromancers.

Only recently had the Santora family come to power in the council, it had been a landslide victory in a turnout that had taken many necromancers off guard. Nobody had expected the Santoras to win and yet, they had. A history as littered im bones as theirs should have ruined their chances but somehow Viktor had come out on top with flying colors. Before this victory, they had been terribly reclusive, keeping to themselves and avoiding conflict.

This reclusiveness had been all that Nolan knew for seventeen years, it was surreal to imagine something outside of it. When he arrived at the school, he tried to keep his posture as open and friendly as possible. He didn't want to scare anyone off by walking with hunched shoulders or scowling avidly, so he made his way to the common room with a smile on his face and an easy gait.

He made himself a plate heaped up with all sorts of goodies and he got himself a glass of orange juice. He didn't really have the stomach for food after the tense meal he'd had with his father but for the sake of image, he started to choke down some pancakes. He hoped someone had the mercy to sit with him but he was content to wait.


Cheeky bitch, he thought to himself as he picked up the card on his bed. He had really only meant to stop in for a moment, just to change his clothes but he'd paused at the sight of the white envelope resting across his pillow. His name was scrawled across the front and he was much too nosy not to pick it up. He wasn't surprised to find a letter from Rachel, one telling him where to find a ridiculous stash of weed.

He still wasn't surprised when he actually did find the weed, tucked away in a little brass box beneath the bed. He was almost unable to keep himself from laughing at the impression he'd made on her to get himself sent a stash of weed. It was all still so unbelievably extra but at least he'd be high as a kite while indulging in the excess. Rachel had a strange way of just knowing what to do, it was one of the things he found endearing about her.

He wasn't about to spend another moment marveling over her majesty though, he took the glass pipe from his bag and packed it before taking a hit. A few hits later and he finally made his way to the shower, washed the smell of cigarette smoke from his hair and swapped out his outfit for another. Black and gray plaid, sleeves rolled to the elbows, black jeans, black converse. It wasn't a far cry from his last outfit but c'est la vie, he'd never claimed to be a fashion icon. He forced a brush through his hair, splashed some water on his face and set out for the bonfire.

He was in good spirits, humming to himself as he walked. Most things were better under a bit of a weed haze and he was excited. He could already see people starting to gather and the fire was being started, it cast a ruddy illumination over the sand. It all just screamed summer, and he was more than ready to get the party started.



He caught the flash of Theodore's grin when he approached, unable to keep himself from grinning back. "Alas, I somehow managed not to throw myself overboard before we hit the island," he intoned devilishly. "Every time it passed my mind as an escape from all this partying, I had to wonder what you'd do without me." He was joking, of course, he'd been just as excited for this as anyone else. Ezekiel may not have been a frequenter of parties into his older years but he'd been growing weary over the last few months. Rachel had offered him an out from the mundane droll.

He had to give it to her for being able to see how tired he truly was. They spoke nearly every day at the cafe and he'd always been so sure that he'd covered up the bone-deep exhaustion, apparently not. He'd have to thank her sometime in person, but for now he was content to bask in the time spent with his best friend. Theodore was not someone who was heavy and being around him was as easy as breathing.

Theodore's hand thumped Ezekiel's back and he couldn't help but laugh, shrugging. "Yeah, I'm settled enough, and the guys were-" he mused, the guys were assholes sometimes but not assholes he was unfamiliar with. He'd been sure to hide his journal securely between his mattress and his bedframe, paranoia and old habits really did die hard. "-the guys. Don't start expecting extra out of your bandmates now." He said, voice bordering on playful.

He was handed his water from the pretty blonde behind the bar, paper flower and all. He took a sip from the glass, nudging the little carnation away from his mouth with the tip of his finger and trailing his gaze over the growing group. Everyone knew Theodore, he recognized a few people but not all of them. It was steadily becoming a game of putting names to faces in case they addressed him. Despite this small anxiety, it was nice, unfamiliar but nice. It was almost nostalgic, highschool parties with Theodore had wrought some of his best memories.

"She always does seem to go the extra mile," he mused, turning to get a good look at the bonfire being started in the near distance. It really did feel like summer with a proper bonfire going, he almost wished he'd brought his journal so he could more properly wax poetic about it. He'd have to write something tonight, he made a mental note before continuing. "Does she ever get tired of being the best? That's a hell of a title to hold onto."


Professor of Necromancy and Familiars!






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