Recent Statuses

13 days ago
Current My secret talent is adding more characters than I need to any given roleplay.
17 days ago
Remember me? No? Me neither.


Just call me Prose.

I'm twenty four.
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

Nolan Santora was anxious by nature and over the last few months, this had only gotten worse.

It had started with the appearance of the rune, that black pronged marking that ran up the inside of his wrist. He had obsessed over it at first, tried to scrub it away with soap and water until his skin had been flushed and raw. It had started with the appearance of The Blessed and their ultimatum, it had started when he realized that there really was no saying no in this situation.

Everything had changed in the span of a few months and he felt more trapped than he ever had. Though they weren't holding anyone captive per say, it was easy to start feeling like a caged bird. This feeling of being caged had made him withdrawal quite a bit, being stuck in a place with so many unfamiliar faces was nerve-racking.
Even now, after having been here for a while, he was still very nervous.

Entering the lounge, he saw Blessed officers and two girls heckling a Blessed officer who looked about exhausted. By the smell of alcohol on him, it wasn't a question of why but rather a question of who allowed him to get plastered on the job. It didn't seem like a good practice to have one of the supposed “world defenders” stumbling around like a common alcoholic. He didn't work here though, so he guessed it was none of his business.

He heard the man growl in response to seemingly both the girls at once, “Don't get cheeky with your superiors.

This about assured him that he wanted none of what that conversation might offer. So, quietly, he found himself a place to stand, trying to put some distance between him and everyone else. He could listen and watch what was going on without the stress of engaging. He didn't feel as if this was his element and he wasn't sure as if he ever would.

”Some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire, I hold with those who favor fire.

One moment.
It took a single moment for everything to go up in flames around him. It was insane how easily a person could forget how quickly things could go wrong in a moment. It didn't take long for trains to crash, it didn’t take years for that singular collision to happen, it all happened quick. One intake of breath and suddenly you were derailed off the tracks and blood was pooling down the bridge of your nose.

It only took a moment for everything to shift around him. It only took a moment for the building to collapse in on him, for the smell of his burning skin to flood his nostrils. It only took a moment for the darkness to settle over him, the realization that he had messed up exponentially. It was one moment and everything was different.

Of course, that moment had been a deciding factor for him joining the organization. That moment had been the straw that broke the camel's back, the thread in the eye of the needle. Perhaps he was a masochist by nature but he had found himself at home here, it wasn't that he particularly loved the work or the responsibility but it was that he felt at home.

He had made a kind of home here and yeah, maybe that home wasn't perfect but it wasn't like he had a good point of reference for home life. Unfortunately, responsibility was a very key part of this home and he needed to move.

He quite literally spilled out of bed in his haste to get up, sheets tangled around his legs. His elbow drove into the floor hard and he kicked out to throw the sheet off himself. “Fuck me-” he hissed as he grabbed the edge of the bed to pull himself to his feet. “Drunk before it's even-

Cursing himself, God, and everyone else, he hurriedly got himself looking mostly presentable. When he finally did make it into the lounge, he was more than a few minutes late. This behavior was a bit typical of him and by the whiff of alcohol about him, his excuse was quite clear.

He offered a kind of idle wave to Dawn and Cordelia, trying to hide a yawn behind his arm.


Los Angeles - Obscure Alleyway
@Count Cuddles & @The Harbinger of Ferocity

It happened in a whisper.
Scarcely a sound to introduce the approach of the massive creature. He registered the eyes before he registered the creature, actually became fixated on them for a moment which wasn't hard to do when he was being scrutinized. Golden eyes, frighteningly intelligent golden eyes. An entirely feline look of disdain that was accompanied by an orange and black striped body. A heavy, elegant body that was corded in muscle and much larger than any house cat that he'd ever had the pleasure of knowing.

He stared, and he stared, and he stared. Eerily, he didn't really react, just kept staring at the creature that had imposed itself into the alleyway. He had seen tigers before, in zoos and in documentaries but he had never been this close to a tiger before. A more primal instinct wanted him to react, to run or to back out very slowly. That more primal instinct was overridden by a sort of hazy hissing in the back of his mind, a sort of growing television static that seemed to only get louder and louder as he stood there and took it all in.

Well, he thought, almost sullenly. I'm going to need more whiskey for this.

Unfortunately, he had already finished his flask and he didn't think he'd have the time to duck by the nearest liquor store. He'd have to bare with this and hope his pleasant buzz was enough not to over-analyze it. He'd seen enough weird things in his life that a talking tiger shouldn't have surprised him but here he was- mildly surprised by a talking tiger. He focused on details of it, the long white whiskers, the burnt orange color of its coat, the hyper-intelligent eyes.

Eh bien, putain.” He said, sounding strangely detached. He was far too relaxed in his stance, completely unprepared for any attack that the creature might throw at him. “You're really a tiger. I don't believe I've ever been this close to a tiger before. Do you have a name?

Los Angeles - Obscure Alleyway
@Count Cuddles & @The Harbinger of Ferocity

Odd, he thought. He seems quite genuine.
First impressions meant a lot to Keandre, they usually decided how he'd treat an individual for their remaining time together. Usually it was very easy to make a bad first impression on him but he actually found himself liking Faultline. There was something unmistakably earnest and good about him. It was easy to imagine why the older man had wound up fighting crime, it was likely that he had a strong sense of morality and that struck Keandre as a hopeful concept. He had met a few very jaded heroes in his time, they wore down on his nerves more often than not.

It was the heroes that seemed truly dedicated to what they were doing that stuck out to him, the ones who genuinely wanted to see change. He had clicked very easily with La Buitre because her naivety and her innocence had made her such a good hero. She believed in everything she was doing, she wanted to be the change she wanted to see in the world. It seemed in its way that Faultline was similar, albeit, probably less sweet.

Keandre was one of those annoyingly jaded heroes himself, but that didn't stop him from appreciating the honest-to-God goodness that he saw in others. This revelation softened some of his defenses, he was still a bit wary but he was much less wary than he had been. “I fear you'll be disappointed to learn that the mask is as good as it gets with me.

He paused, lifted his mask a little again and drained the rest of his flask in one quick gulp. The whiskey burned all the way down his throat and warmed his cheeks. He was a little sorry to have finished off the flask so early in the day but that was the pain of addiction. He was lucky he'd never dabbled in cigarettes, he'd be hacking up a lung right about now. He tossed the silver flask into his messenger bag, a bit carelessly because it clattered loudly against something glass.

I am a bit new,” he admitted. “I am from France, if the accent somehow escaped you though, you do not seem daft, so I doubt it did.” His words were very blunt but it didn't seem as if he was trying to be unkind. It just seemed as if that was how he was used to communicating. “La France me manque. It was quite beautiful there.

A small part of him was still troubled by the idea of being watched. He didn't like things seeing him that he couldn't see himself. He had no way of finding their silent observer and that irked a corner of his mind. “I know you from the radio. Ils avaient beaucoup à dire sur vous."

A pause, then, almost casually. "Are you as concerned with the idea of being watched as I am? It is a very ominous prospect and one I am not keen to.

Los Angeles - Streets
@Shard & @Count Cuddles & @The Harbinger of Ferocity

Strange as it was, Keandre found this idle chit chat to be a comforting break from what had become normal for him. Mornings were often slow, spent in cafés, waiting for something to happen. Sometimes there was crime to fight and fires to start. Sometimes he would idle for hours between Café Belle Vie and the sandwich shop down the road, it depended on his luck. Nights were very different. Nights were often hectic affairs spent in a bar a few blocks away from his home. Sometimes nights ended with faceless men and flickers of laughter. Sometimes his nights ended with terrible hangovers and puke dried into his bed sheets, it depended on his luck.

Often times, Keandre had very bad luck but that was alright. He'd gotten used to his strange new existence, it was a bit more productive than his life in France and he kind of enjoyed knowing he was doing society a favor. However, it had done well in supporting his tendency to stray from socializing and having such a nice and… mostly normal conversation with another hero was new. It was new in a good way, it gave him something else to think of. He knew he'd likely leave this conversation worrying about this kid getting himself hurt but that was something to think about over a glass of whiskey later.

He worried enough for La Buitre too. He hadn't started this whole hero thing until he'd been nineteen years old, it was a bit concerning that these kids were running around Los Angeles without any parental guidance. Of course, Midnight had some guidance in the form of Faultline but he was still a kid and that would serve to weigh on a corner of Keandre’s mind. “Alone,” He said, using his right hand to guide him to a wall that he could comfortably lean against. He braced his boot against the wall, seeming very relaxed, but it was also a convenient position to kick off of if something attacked.

He took another nip from his flask and continued, “Je préfère être seul. I have not really made many friends since I have moved here but that is not always such a bad thing. I handle myself well enough, which is to say that I am not dead yet.” He paused a moment to consider this before tapping his nail against his porcelain mask. “There is still plenty of time for me to die tragically however-

He didn't react very strongly to the revelation that they were being watched but he did stop talking, arching a brow at Midnight. He knew he could probably scare whoever or whatever it was out of hiding with a large enough blast but that wouldn't be very subtle. He watched Midnight, only becoming distracted by the approach of another man. He was the older party, that much was evidential. His suit had just as much flair as his partner, it made Keandre wonder if he was under-dressed. It was like showing up to a costume party in a t-shirt.

Faultline, he thought. And now I've met the whole team.

Éclater.” He responded, gaze flickering to the extended hand before taking it in his own and giving it a firm shake. The Frenchman had a slight slur to his words, an almost imperceptible lilt in his voice that made it quite clear that he was a little bit drunk. “We were just marveling about how we believe that we are being watched.

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