Recent Statuses

1 mo ago
It's weirdly nostalgic being active on here again.
2 mos ago
Might fuck around and start applying for rps on here again.
3 mos ago
Wow, I haven't been on here in four months.
7 mos ago
Formal apology to all who have roleplayed with me and will roleplay with me in the future.
11 mos ago
Every time I log back in here, I experience a sensation of dread at reading my own old writing.


Hi, I'm still Prose.
I'm in my twenties and I thrive in high casual settings but I'll pretty much apply to anything that catches my eye. I like writing the same five characters over and over so expect to see them being regurgitated in different threads.

Voted most likely to have my character do something so stupid that you're unsure of if it should work or not.

Most Recent Posts

@dreamingflowers Dev has been around a few days, he's likely content to stick around HQ considering his home life is kinda bad.

He drove in relative silence towards the bakery, worry gnawing at his brain like a dog with a chew toy. He didn't like the tone of Decky's message, it could imply a lot of things. It wasn't that Nolan kept many secrets or that he had much to hide but no one was upfront about everything, especially when he'd been asked not to tell Decky everything. He, at least, couldn't be blamed for everything Decky didn't know. He, however, absolutely could be blamed for things Lanie didn't know.

In a way, he felt bad for not being upfront about the fact that he and Decky had stayed tight over the years but he knew it would only upset her and he liked to pretend that there was something to the saying what you don't know, won't hurt you. He knew that the sky would fall inevitably, that was the nature of secrets, they snowballed until they barreled you over entirely. He just hoped they wouldn't barrel him over directly into the base of a tree.

Wishful thinking.

He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, waiting for Decky's response. Seconds passed, minutes passed... and finally he heard the cheerful chime of his phone in the console. He grabbed it immediately, idling at the red light to scan over the text. He knew he shouldn't panic but it was hard not to. The words that jumped out at him first were "I was pissed" and he found himself fixated on that for a moment before forcing himself to read the rest.

Anxiety was like that, it liked to pick and choose what information mattered, but he knew better. He understood why the letters would upset him. They upset him and he hadn't even lost anyone to that maniac. He swallowed down his panic and responded perhaps a breath too quickly, fingers flying over the buttons before the light changed overhead, the result of this was multiple texts in a string sent to Decky.

- Oh. The letters.
- I didn't know that he'd show you those, to be honest. They've had me freaked out, I've been kind of pretending they don't exist.
- Someone's idea of a bad prank, I think, I hope.
- I'm sorry I didn't mention them.
- I don't have a shift today, they want me to come in to arrange some stuff. I should be done in no time, but don't hurry on my account.

He knew he was coming off nervous, but it was hardly anything new. Decky had known him long enough now to know that he tended to way over think things. He was quick to arrive at the bakery but he was left to muddle through his thoughts as he set to work on fixing up the displays inside.

He appeared from the alleyway like a wraith cloaked in shadow, hair mused and face reddened with exertion.

He looked around the dark streets, not too surprised to find he'd missed the carriage he'd been so eager to arrive early to. Serves me right for chasing scoundrels through the street. He thought bitterly, trying to smooth his hair with a reckless hand. I'm lucky anyone is here at all. I'm lucky he didn't put a knife in my ribs and leave it at that.

He spotted the man first, quite taller than himself but not quite as gawky. He was dressed nicely enough but the mask he wore was of cheap material, not much dedication there. If Simon had to describe him, he might say that he reminded him of a hawk. Maybe it was the too-sharp eyes. Maybe it was how he held himself. There was just something inherently bird-like about him. He would have found him intimidating if he had not just chased a drunken madman through an alleyway for a scrap of incomprehensible information.

It was then that he saw the shadow- no- he saw the girl who looked like a shadow. He had readied himself to cry out in alarm but there was nothing to be alarmed about, the darkness was playing tricks on his eyes. He could feel his panic slowly starting to drain away as he stared at he from where he lingered outside the alley. She wasn't terribly imposing, not quite tall or quite short and clad in a pretty blue dress. She wore an intricate mask, probably why she'd looked so frightening in the gloom.

He shook off his discomfort, approaching the pair with long, careful strides. "Uh- hello. Sorry to interrupt." His voice is somewhat breathless still, and the fact that he's fumbling through his pockets for a pack of cigarettes likely is of little help. "Much too dark for my tastes."

Pretty interested!
I'm interested!

It made him queasy, the scent of alcohol lingering on the breath of the stranger hovering over him.

He wasn't taller than him but his broadness made him feel giant-like in comparison to Simon's own narrowness, he had never felt so cornered. His instinct in these situations had never been flight though, not as it should be, he wanted to know more. He wanted to know why this wild-eyed man had pulled him aside, he wanted to know why madness was burning behind his eyes. Whatever was happening at these parties in the Wilde Woods was going to be blown wide open if he had any say in it.

The stranger spoke fervently, like a man at an altar, like he needed to get the words out. It all made Simon sort of hungry to hear more. He was about to inquire but he had no time before the man had grabbed him by his lapels and dragged him closer to him. His hand nearly went for his knife again but he restrained himself to listen to what he had to say.

"You need to burn them. Burn them all. Like rats."

The sentiment left an odd taste in his mouth. He wanted to wash it out with another question but again-- he was too late. The man had released him and he had fallen back in dazed confusion, staring up at the face of the man a breath before he turned and retreated. He heard the sound of his footsteps as he disappeared up ahead and he felt indecision. He could pursue him, maybe even catch up with him but then what?

What if he couldn't make him talk?

These thoughts spun around his head, a whirling, disorienting mess of indecision. He heard the sound of hooves as the carriage took off and realized he'd have to catch the next one anyway. So, without another moment to waste, he took off in pursuit of the man.

As soon as he started running, he realized he wasn't feeling up to it. Simon wasn't exactly what anyone one would call athletic. Between cigarettes and a mainly sedentary lifestyle of writing and reading, he was not much of a sprinter. This became glaringly obvious as he pursued the retreating madman through the alley. He wanted to shout after him, to beg him to slow down but expending even a bit of extra air on that seemed like a bad idea with how he was feeling already.

The man attempted to vault through a cluster of trashcans towards the end of the alley and by luck and luck alone, his foot caught and he fell forward. There was an audible crash as he came down towards the ground, taking a few of the trashcans down with him. Tough luck. Simon internally winced but pushed forward, catching up to the man in a few long strides and carefully moved one of the cans from his direct path.

By this point he was out of breath and mused, discontent and tired which he attributed to how his tone came across strained. "Hey- I know you're scared, I'm scared. I just need to know what I'm walking into. I need to know what happened to you. I'm not trying to corner you, I don't want any trouble, I just want answers. I need to know what's happening."

The man on the ground seems unmoved by his words, eyes wild and a hand clutching his arm close to him. Wounded dogs were the most likely to bite. He took an almost imperceptible step back, but held his eyes, keeping his stance guarded. The man bared his teeth in a smile, the whites of his eyes were too bright in the gloom. Simon felt uncomfortable as he stared at him but thankfully, the man started to speak and he listened, resisting the urge to pull out his notepad and write it down immediately.

No need to test his luck any further, he'd have time to write it down on the way to the party.

I wanted a mystery and I got one. I'm not sure why I feel so sick.

He inclined his head, drew another step back. He felt out of place and like he should take off, he had a carriage to catch, after all. With a new worry tucked behind his ear, he offered only a parting sentiment "Please get your arm looked at, that was quite a fall." And then he made to retreat, feeling somewhat shaken by the encounter.

Days blurred into one another.
One by one by one.

Monotony was familiar.
He woke up every day at exactly the same time, brushed his teeth, brushed his hair, didn't linger on his reflection and got dressed for work. He wasn't at the bakery every day, just most days, he found the days that he wasn't at the bakery were the hardest. If he couldn't keep his hands busy then he started thinking too much and when he started thinking too much, he spiraled. The last thing he needed was to spiral again.

So, it was monotony or bust. He kept his hands busy, he kept his head down and he didn't think about things that might send him spiraling. He liked it when life was slow and there was nothing to talk about. Unfortunately, there was something to talk about. The letters. The letters had caught him off guard at first, had made his hands start trembling, had nearly triggered a spiral. He hadn't wanted to read them, not when he'd seen who had signed off each entry.

He had wanted to burn them.

He did wind up reading them. He did not wind up burning them. They sat on his dresser, a wrinkled pile of diary entries. They were an unwanted stain on an otherwise monotonous existence. He tried to ignore them, he tried to pretend they weren't there and most of all-- he tried not to spiral again. Things weren't all bad in his life, he had Lanie, he had Decky, hell, he had Bradley. People he could talk to, who didn't judge him, who accepted that he was kind of a spaz.

He liked that bit of his life. He liked them.

He leaned onto their presence when things got rough-- of course, there was still so much leftover drama between Lanie and Decky. He didn't exactly want to be their mediator but as the days went on, he felt more and more like he might have to. Especially with Decky back in town, especially because it was almost entirely his fault he was back in town but sue him! Decky was his friend. He hadn't seen him in an age and he missed him.

He had almost forgotten about the letters that would greet him.
An unpleasant surprise but not one that was really his fault.

He had made it to his car by the time his phone pinged and he cringed internally at the preview message. It wasn't a good sign. He dropped his response before he took to the road.

You're going to have to specify, man. What did I do?
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