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Just call me Prose.

I'm twenty three.
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.
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.
Roleplay Compilation List:

GMing:
N/A.

Co-GMing:
Breaking the Sun

Partaking In:
Vivid Recollections
Marchand School Of Sorcery
Sands of Time
Government Sanctioned Superheroes

Most Recent Posts




LOCATIONTHE BRADY RESIDENCE.
INTERACTING WITH — EVANGELINE ZIMA @Altered Tundra


Exhausted.
Though the young insomniac had slept assuredly better under the influence of alcohol, he was still exhausted. It was an exhaustion that set deep into his bones. It was an exhaustion that made his every movement into a drag. He knew that he wasn't allowed to be slow today but he couldn't help it. His morning ritual was awfully dragging, he took everything one step at a time. He had been hoping to finish setting his moth today but he didn't see that happening, he'd already woken up far too late.

As he showered, he was given some time to think about the night before. All things considered, it hadn't been awful. He had been given enough alcohol that he'd been plastered and he had made a friend. He hadn't gotten to spend as much time with Colin as he'd been hoping for but he understood that business got in the way of frivolity at times. He wasn't going to over think it if he could help it.

As he lathered his hair in shampoo, he thought about the girl that he'd met. He'd greeted her through use of her coffee order and the alcohol had made him uncharacteristically confident. If she had been a man, he might have been bold enough to flirt with her. She'd been a peppery little thing with a sunshine-y personality and he had found it very refreshing.

He could be rather mopey at times but surrounding himself in people who weren't tended to make him feel better. As he rinsed the soap from his hair and cut the water, he couldn't help but think that maybe this was the start of something good. He hadn't really had any friends in an awfully long time, it was nice to think that he might have someone to hang out with now. It made him feel strangely happy.

Maybe that's why his mood was so good today despite the exhaustion that he couldn't shake. Maybe that's why he was so happy to see her name blink across the screen of his phone. He quickly dried himself off and dressed before checking the messages that awaited him. He couldn't help but smile because there was something endearing about getting triple texted by someone who just really wanted to talk to him.

He responded with flourish, qualming a smile in the still very steam-filled bathroom.

Zeke
Sorry, I slept in. I hope that's not too uncool, I was a little hammered last night. Lmao, that's obvious. I'd love to join you. It's not like I've got much else to do around here. Could you pick me up?


After he sent the message, he set about brushing his teeth, using his sleeve to wipe the fog from the mirror. He brushed avidly, filling his mouth with water, spitting the froth out. He smiled at his reflection and then went about combing the messy, damp brown hair that kept falling across his forehead. He could almost ignore the deep bags beneath his eyes if he focused on the smile.

After he finished applying deodorant and spraying himself down in cologne, he was ready to face the day. He was ready to be a functioning member of society again. He made his way downstairs to get a pot of coffee brewing. He needed to smother some of this exhaustion in caffeine and he needed to take some painkillers for the headache. He assumed he'd have time.

He found himself checking his phone frequently, eager to see Eva's reply.



LOCATIONQUINN'S ROOM -
BALCONY

INTERACTING WITH — COLE SEARA - @Dirty Pretty Lies


Crashing.
If there was anything in this world that Quinn knew, it was the feeling of a crash. It was the feeling of burning right before the fall, the ups and the downs of truly enjoying something.

Cole had been a high, one that he hadn't bargained for but one that he'd experienced nonetheless. He hadn't expected everything that came with that one night, she had been a conquest. She had been something to win, something he’d wanted because nobody else had her and that was the first error. Maybe he’d been hungover and stupid that next day, his head had been aching and the world had been bleary but he couldn't stop thinking about her.

He couldn't focus, he couldn't stop wondering what would happen if he saw her again. She had been something out of a dream to his drunken mind, her dark hair framing a face that he couldn't stop thinking of and how they'd connected. Like puzzle pieces, like missing a part of himself that he hadn't even been aware of. He couldn't forget her, he didn't even try.

Fixation.
That was the problem with Quinn, he fixated, he became obsessed with things. One night always became three more, one cigarette became an addiction and suddenly he couldn't stop thinking of excuses to see her. Maybe it was wrong of him to think of her like an addiction, maybe it was wrong to compare her to cigarettes and alcohol, a vice that he couldn't get away from.

Maybe it was wrong but Quinn knew crashes and he had crashed hard when she had left. It had been that moment of indecision, that breath where he couldn't bring himself to say “No, don't go” where he had started to feel the crash settling in. It had been that look in her eyes when he didn't ask her to stay, it had been everything.

It had been an entire pack of cigarettes smoked in his car while he recklessly drove in circles around the block, it had been a bottle of whiskey drained while he sat on the floor of his apartment and stared at the wall, these had been the symptoms of a crash and Quinn had never regretted anything more.

After she'd left, he'd started craving her, wanting her back. He'd started sending her drunken messages, things where he'd poured his heart out in hopes that she'd see him for the pathetic mess that he was without her, and nothing had worked. After awhile, the messages had stopped coming in so quick, she had stopped seeming to care so much. After awhile, she had a Darien. The name had left a very bitter taste in his mouth as soon as he had seen it, it had been like eating cigarette ash and it had made him want to vomit.

He had dated a few other people himself, of course, tried to smother the feelings that he had left to her in anyone that would give him the time of day. It hadn't been successful, it had made him feel worse on more than one occasion. She had done it though, she'd thoroughly replaced him.
He didn't know how to feel about that.

Staring at her now with his mouth curved into a smirk, he couldn't decide what he should say to her, he couldn't decide how to say it. He was angry, very deeply angry and he was hurt, very deeply hurt. She was here and she was beautiful and she wasn't here for him.I said-” the boy paused, taking a drag on his cigarette. “I said I'd RSVP, didn't I?

His tone remained neutral, impassive, things went easier when he didn't let feelings show through. Things went easier when he didn't show that he cared, they went easier when he didn't show how miserable that this all was making him. “I was invited, wasn't I? I mean, unless that was a joke, in which case,” a crease in his brow, his smile spreading wider into a grin. “You sure blew a lot of fucking money to get a room for that joke.
I've been sort of lagging behind. I'll try to get something up soon, sorry about the wait. My muse for writing is all over the place.
@Days I haven't been keeping up with anything but I'll get something up tomorrow. I have most of a reply started.

As a note to everyone, this isn't dead, just lots of life in the way of me getting things done. Very sorry for the wait!



LOCATIONQUINN'S ROOM.
INTERACTING WITH — N/A.




Las Vegas, Nevada.
The city was saturated in smoke and lights. His headlights, his cigarette.
The radio was going out on him again, the sound of Arcade Fire was fading into static and the car was filled with terrible silence. He hated silence, silence gave him time to think and if he was thinking then he had time to get angry about this all again. He punched the radio, cracked the glass on the front of it and it sputtered at him. He punched it again, it didn't seem to respond much after that. He heard his own frustrated exhale, smoke rose from between his lips and out of his nostrils. Perfect. Absolutely fucking perfect.

Four hours. He had been driving for four hours. Plane tickets were expensive, it was cheaper to drive. He had been listening to the same Arcade Fire album for four hours. The radio had been his only solace in this trip and now it was down for the count. He was frustrated, he wanted to punch it until it coughed up music again but now he was stuck in silence. The only sounds around him were the sounds of the road, and the sounds of the road just made him feel muted and miserable. Inhale smoke, exhale smoke. Drop the ash into the styrofoam cup beside him.

The coffee in the cup holder beside him was cold and full of cigarette ash. He had taken two sips of that coffee before his stomach had become violently ill and he'd had to wretch up all of it's contents onto the side of the road. The cigarette clutched between his fingers was trembling, a thin tail of smoke was curling up towards the tattered ceiling of his car. He could see a steady trail of ants marching across his dashboard to a half eaten snack-cake from an hour ago.
He was a wreck.

He dropped his cigarette into the cold coffee, let it sizzle out there and he fumbled for another one. He stuffed the next cigarette between his lips, brandished his lighter and lit the tip. He inhaled smoke, he exhaled smoke. There was a bad feeling settling over him again, he had been hoping to drown it out in cigarettes and music. There was no more music and he was running out of cigarettes.

Why was he coming here?
Simple answer, she had invited him. Complicated answer, he had some ridiculous hope that he could change the course of events as they happened. After draining a bottle of vodka the night before, he had come to the brilliant idea that he could win her back. It had seemed like a great plan at the time, now it was starting to seem like a split second decision made by alcohol. It was funny how that happened, it was funny how he thought he was responsible enough to make grown-up decisions when he was still doing shit like that.

Marriage.
It was a word that tasted like blood in his mouth, marriage didn't work. The pieces never fit together like they ought to. You couldn't just tie two people together forever and expect it to work, people had urges, people cheated, people- It was just so unexpected. She had always talked marriage with that same disdain that he did, she hadn't ever seemed like she'd wanted a husband. Maybe that meant something, maybe this invitation was her hint to him that it was only with him that she couldn't picture forever.

Maybe he was only coming here to drive himself insane. He didn't know any of these people, he had never met any of them. He knew their names and he knew little snippets of things that she had told him. He was a stranger amongst strangers, just Daphne's estranged college friend. They didn't know him, he didn't know them. That should have made him more hesitant. It should have put his nerves on end, it should have made this alcohol-fueled decision seem even crazier.
Luckily, Quinn was not a guy that was easily deterred.

Anyway, despite all his anger, despite all his misery, Daphne was home. Home, in the sense that wherever she was, that was home for him. He had watched her walk away once, he wasn't about to watch her walk away again, not without a fight. No, this time wasn't going to be that easy, this time he was going to convince her to stay. That was the plan, at least, he was still working out the kinks.

The rest of the drive was like that, nothing but silence and the turmoil of his own thoughts. A cigarette between his fingers, cold coffee swiring with ash, the rest of the ride was silent but Quinn's mind was very loud.


He could see the hotel as it came into view, as grand and as beautiful as he would expect of her. She had been born into money, she was used to fine things. He wasn't so used to fine things, the sight of it was a little bit intimidating to him. He took a moment to watch the people that were entering and exiting the hotel. He needed a moment to size them up, a moment to see what he was dealing with. The car was safe, he was anonymous in the car.

Once he stepped out of the car, he had to put on his game face. He fumbled a new cigarette out of his emptying case, placed it in his mouth and lit the end. He smoked like that for a good few minutes, just watching people as they passed. He had rode the last hour out in silence, he was content to spend a few more moments in that silence. People entered, people exited. Some watched him suspiciously, locked their cars up noticeably at the sight of him, others didn't even notice him. He liked the ones who didn't notice him.

He waited, he waited, he waited.
Finally, he drew himself up, dropped the cigarette into the cold coffee and opened the car door. He said a mute goodbye to the car that had been keeping him safe and he made his walk into the hotel. He checked in, didn't stick around to talk at the front desk, though he did crack a joke or two about the prices and then he walked to his room. It went like clock work, it went smooth.

He checked his pack of cigarettes, counted three and dismissed the frustrated urge to groan in the middle of the hotel hallway. He unlocked the bedroom door, he stepped inside and he counted his cigarettes again. He counted three. There were still three, that was still frustrating. He paced for a moment, checked his phone, ignored the urge to respond to Daphne. He paced again, he freed a new cigarette from the pack.

He walked out to the balcony, lit up and-
He saw her.
Beautiful, with dark hair and brown eyes. A face that he had remembered down to the curve of her nose. She looked the same, seeing her now was different than a photo or a memory. It twisted something inside of his chest, it made him remember why he'd come here all along. It made it hard to keep his mouth from curving into a smile.

Soundlessly, he raised his hand in greeting.
I'll be working on a post, expect it tomorrow or monday.


Here's Ozzie!
@Days I'll be working on one tonight!
Howdy, friends! I've made our official Familiar Conjuration and Illumination professor! His name is Aldridge Baines.
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