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Recent Statuses

3 yrs ago
Wishing a relaxing weekend for everyone. Take some time to be kind to yourself, to unwind, and to have some rest. <3
6 yrs ago
I ate a brownie once at a party in college. It was intense. I felt like I was floating. Turns out there wasn't any pot in the brownie. It was just an insanely good brownie.
6 yrs ago
There was an explosion at a cheese factory in France. De-Brie everywhere.


that elder scrolls / mass effect roleplayer

“I am nothing in my soul if not obsessive.”

Most Recent Posts

am i too late for class?

howdy! I think I may have to withdraw interest for the time being. I have a few rps on the go and getting a sheet together was a bit difficult right now. Have fun though and maybe next time c:
Alright I think I have my concept, I'll try to put my sheet together asap. scared.
Well well well.....
Part II

The Next Day

Bea’s eyes opened to spoiled and cloying sunlight that shifted through every corner of her apartment. Those sequins that usually sparkled decadently around the place, fired at her now like daggers. Her head hurt. She was still in her dress - freezing. Everything hurt, but especially her face.

As she brought a hand to it, she saw the blurring image of a bruise all the way around her wrist come into focus. It hurt too, once she acknowledged that it was there.

“You on drugs or something?”

The voice startled her initially as she was coming to, she almost jumped, but kept her composure. Bea soon came to recognise it as the voice of her neighbour, Shelby, and all of her apprehension slipped away and she relaxed back into her bed with a groan.

“No.. What do you mean?”

“Last night!” Shelby began, incredulously. “There I am, getting ready for bed and I get a call from Aurora who found you to get me to help her bring you to bed!” The woman sighed and paced the apartment. Cookie watched her, wagging his tail slightly. “And you just kept prattling on about the Sugardoc, the Sugardoc - ”gotta find the Sugardoc”. He some coke dealer? You know if that’s what you’re into I know a few better ones…”

“Ew. Aren’t you pushing 90?…” Bea said acerbically. She dragged herself up from the bed, feeling that pulsing ache in her head again.

“Yeah, but I was your age once, and already divorced 3 times by then. You think I got through all that shit on wishful thinking?” Shelby paused, and softened her scowl. “You sure you’re okay?”

The blonde made her way to the mirror, finding the source of the pain - a gash across her eyebrow that had already started to form bruising around the socket. Damn… she thought, unsure of where it had come from. Nothing came to mind. “Yeah… Just a migraine and too much booze….. I got… Pretty out of it, it just really hurt. Thanks Shel…”

Shelby folded her arms and sighed, walking towards Cookie, who still lay on the floor lazily. Unbothered by the presence of the older woman. “It’s from the staircase - you slipped and hit your head.”

I remember… Bea suddenly thought, reliving the moment her shaky legs fell from under her and brought her crashing onto those damn steps. She’d been running. From what?. “Hmmmm…”

Shelby finally materialised into Bea’s view from the dim morning haze in the room. A figure carved by the harsh brushstrokes of time. Her hair, once a cascade of honeyed waves, had surrendered to the relentless march of gray, a testament to the years etched into the lines of her face. Her eyes, sharp and unyielding, held the wisdom and wit of the thousands of punchlines she’d delivered through a vast career.

“You really had a migraine attack then?” Shelby asked, disbelief laced the words and she raised a brow, folding her thin arms across her chest. She knew the kind of lifestyle Bea led. She’d led the same one too, once.

Bea nodded sincerely, dropping her facade. “I’m telling the truth. I… Saw some strange things, but it was all from, well…. Pain, up here.” She pointed, glancing at her wrist again. The more she looked at it, the more she felt that the bruise had the shape of a handprint. Crash, she recalled. He’d grabbed her - the weight behind his cyberware had been too much. She was brought back to the nightclub. His face came to view. That stare… His eyes, piercing and green. His words, a warning. She’d missed a show. An important one.

He’d never touched her before though… No… More memory. She saw a glimpse of her own hysteria. Visions of Militech….. That woman with the gun chasing her down.

Bea remembered falling, Crash grabbed her to help her and she’d fought back when his face changed to that of a child. Right in front of her eyes. STOP IT.

“You know, maybe I need to sleep it off, Shel” Bea said softly, as a wave of urgency to be alone, to move. To do something. Anything... She had to find the Voice... She feigned some absent-minded poking and prodding at the gash across her eyebrow - the bruise darkening into shades of purple and blue like splodges of watercolour dye.

Shelby sighed again and made her way to the door, stopping to place a friendly hand on Cookie’s head. “Well if you want some dinner tonight, give the wall a knock or something. But I’ll tell you this - no vodka for you,” she scoffed, shaking her head before leaving.

Later that morning…

Suitcase stuffed full with clothes, comforts and… the gun. Cookie was at her side. Bea left her apartment. Locking the door, glancing left and right - hiding her face behind a pair of sunglasses - a brimmed hat. Her hair was fashioned differently. Long and dipped with bright pink at the ends. The two began making their way quickly away. Bea, as if by instinct, looked at her phone. Willing it to ring, to flash - anything.

“Go on then.” She hissed under her breath. “I dare you to tell me something Mysterio. I double dare you. I’ll play along.” She closed her eyes, biting her lip. Hating what she was about to say next… An admission that she’d been wrong, that she needed help.

“I’ll get in your damn van.”
Part I

There was a fractured glow of neon that bathed the Night City streets. A sickly hue as Bea made her way home, stepping in and out of broken spotlights along the concrete streets. Her previously-glamorous dress was now torn and stained, telling the story of the events that she was trying so hard to push back. The not so distant memory was following her, stalking her home and hiding in the echo of her worn-out heels. Each step in the silence that created an echo felt like another gunshot. She’d never heard so many. She hoped to never hear another.

The buildings stood like hollow giants in a labyrinth. Skeletal frames that outlined a dimly lit sky, and the air was thick as always with the acrid scent of desperation, a perfume of lost hopes and shattered illusions. Far from the comforts and luxury of penthouses that she dreamed about and longed, to the towering apartment she called home in Heywood.

As she approached the narrow alley leading to her apartment, a concrete staircase was all that was between her and bed. The steps, chipped and weather-worn, were sharp at their edge, and often slippery in the rain. The familiar battered elevator awaited her. Bea, exhausted, pressed the button, the metal doors creaking open. The city's pulse throbbed beneath her feet as the elevator carried her to her floor.

Her front door groaned open, revealing a stark contrast to the harshness of the Night City outside. Bea stepped into her sanctuary. Bathed in warm hues, vintage lamps cast a soft, golden glow over well-loved furniture, each piece bearing the patina of a cherished memory. Piles of well-read books and vinyl records stood in spare corners, their faded covers and scratched surfaces telling stories of the bygone eras that inspired her. Specks of dust danced in the mellow light, catching glimpses of sequins and crystals that peaked out of a bulging open closet - lines of costume that set a plethora of stars around the walls in the morning light.

Right in the middle of her apartment was Cookie. A massive beast of a dog, jet black fur that was polka-dotted with the reflections from the various sparkling sources. His stare was intense - eyes small, like two pieces of coal in a huge skull. He growled low from the depths of his chest. Unimpressed by Bea’s sudden appearance. He huffed into a rug on the floor.

“I know buddy,” Bea sighed, relenting to his attitude as she kicked off her shoes and got down onto the floor to greet him.

He lifted his heavy head up from the fabric, sighing again, a petulant little rumble came forward until Bea took his chin into her hands and kissed his head. “I’m sorry, I know, I know…”

Finally, the tap, tap, tap of his tail could be heard as he wagged it against the hard floor. He pressed his nose against her and took a sniff - his posture changed, and he pushed himself against her, his cold stare darting to the door as if he was expecting a presence to follow behind her. He felt her fear and anxiety and responded by standing up, moving to the door with another growl - his short fur still managed to form hackles around his wide shoulders. He watched for a while, squared up and ready.

While Cookie stood defensively at the door, Bea made her way to finally wash off the events. She was safe now.


After a nap, Bea rushed to her tablet. She summoned her messages, amongst the mundane notifications, an invite from her manager, Crash, stood out. The text blinked insistently, urging her to attend the upper echelons of the city—a Christmas party for the corpos. A gig.

She instantly pulled out a dress. A harlequin patterned minidress made up of tiny sequins, in a carnival of gold and blush pink. Wearing it felt like wearing a full suit of glimmering armour, the dress clung to her curves like a second skin, and she felt like herself again.

A new pair of killer heels. Sleek, towering, and without a drop of blood on them. She put on her favourite scent to mute the taste of gunpowder that still lingered in her senses. A bold red lip as a proclamation that tonight, she would return to her stage, and return to being a starlet. Not a victim. The allure of Crash, mingled with the promise of attention was the narcotic elixir that promised to erase the ache of her escape. A deliberate act of defiance against the shadow and memory that she felt nipping at her heels, the spectre in the corner, an unnamed face - a gun at her back, a finger on a trigger…

Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it.

As she stepped into the artificial glow of the Night City, Bea embraced the invitation and promise of glamour.
great posts lately guys!

sorry for the shorter one - having a hectic week down under haha
It was all becoming too much for Eilidh.

Dandelion's reappearance, this strange new individual with his terrible secret - spilled across the place more spectacularly than Dandelion had spilled himself out of the walls.

The gunshot. She had seen the colours of it - a flash of white that burned into smoke in her minds eye until it disappeared, presumably into Link's body. Enough of a welcome to make him turn himself away.

Varo had even appeared. So much noise, and the sudden aura of everyone blending into one, so long in the silence, the noise was too much. There was also that echoing ring of the sharp pain from moments ago.

When the situation seemingly couldn't get worse, it did. Just as the bots were an intruder to the tower, so too was Conor's voice in Eilidh's mind. How long had it been? How long without anything and now - a voice in her mind, and a request to keep the secret. She would. She always would. "Of.. course." But this time, it pained her.

"Lu.." she began out loud.

Everyone was still talking, sounds of fighting, alarms, scuttling of the bots around.

"LUCKY CHARM" she yelled out, louder than she thought she was going to - and not exactly subtle.
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