Avatar of Tybalt Capulet
  • Last Seen: 1 yr ago
  • Joined: 7 yrs ago
  • Posts: 800 (0.33 / day)
  • VMs: 1
  • Username history
    1. Tybalt Capulet 7 yrs ago

Status

Recent Statuses

4 yrs ago
Current Anyone out there trying to write about some sad cowboys and cowgirls? I love me some western, and god is it tricky to find.
6 likes
6 yrs ago
I've started book 2 of my trilogy! Thanks to those who beta-read the first one for me!
2 likes
6 yrs ago
First DnD session went awesomely! My players loved it, and a dragonborn was nearly killed by a bugbear.
4 likes
6 yrs ago
Starting up DMing my first campaign this weekend!
6 yrs ago
50,033 words written! I finished NaNoWriMo!
5 likes

Bio

Heyo! I'm Tybalt, and I'm an alcoholic...

Shoot, I think I'm doing this wrong. Y'know what, I'mma just throw up a character sheet for myself, y'all know how to read those.

Name: Tybalt
Species: Human. But, like, kinda Hobbit, too?
Age: 24
Rank: Peasant, probably.
Personality: Hard to nail down since I'm the one writing it, but I'm a type three on the Enneagram if that's worth anything.
Description: Two arms, two legs, a head, no feathers.
Abilities: Casual to advanced writing. I love a good advanced, but it's gotta be engaging as well as deep. Advanced is an investment, so I rarely keep up with more than one at a time.
Likes: Pirates, Knights, Cowboys, and everything in-between. I don't mind a good romance, but I'm just as happy to have a bro-tp as an otp. I also love anything by Brandon Sanderson, so if we've got some other fans out there, hit me up in the pm's.
Dislikes: This is less a dislike than a personal failing, but I tend to over-commit to too many stories, then not respond very quickly. You have been warned, I guess.

Most Recent Posts

Ooo, and start us off? Yikes, but can do! Any preference for the opening scene or the length of posts?
Reuben Caerwynn considered himself a gentleman. Sure, he had a fondness for drink, and sure, he occasionally hired a whore or two, but on the whole, he figured himself about as upstanding as any man could be in this mess of a world. As he looked down at the young woman on the bed, gun included, and heard her cutting words, he realized that his outer appearance likely did little to convince others of that opinion.

The girl was something else indeed. She was a cute little thing, if a bit young. Despite the confidence with which she held the Colt, she couldn't have been more than a teenager, and a youngish one at that. He shook his head disapprovingly.

"Old man... why that's right unkind, so it is! Heh. Little thing like you shouldn' be talkin' that way. Shouldn' be toting a gun that size either. The second you fire the thing, it'll practically take your arm off." He chuckled a bit, alcohol and misplaced confidence making him forget the gun for a moment. "Don' get your knickers in a bunch, kid. I've no quarrel with you. Jus' mistook my door 's all." He slurred the words, putting a bit more emphasis into his drunken speech than was strictly accurate, hoping that playing up the image of a confused drunk would add to the image of his innocence.

It was a bit of a surprise to him that the child didn't recognize him. Sure, this wasn't his area of influence, but he'd been quite the legend in his day. He edged the bottle closer to his mouth, then thought better of it, setting it on the dresser. Perhaps it was for the best. He was trying to put his past behind him. He couldn't do that if he was recognized at every saloon he stopped at. Hmm. Maybe he should see about growing a beard.

Somehow, he snapped his addled mind free from such thoughts. Something about the girl was familiar. He hadn't seen her before, that was certain. He'd have remembered such a thing. No, it wasn't her face... Ah, that was it. Her voice.

"Say, miss... You were the one hollering downstairs a few minutes past, weren't you? Yeah, that'd have to be it. A fellow I know said you were bounty hunting or some damn fool idea like that." He leaned against the dresser, making himself at home a bit, despite the gun. "I suggest you take a cue from my book." He picked up the bourbon once more, extending it in her direction. "Have a drink, find a shrimpy fellow to bounce around on. Or a woman, whatever your tastes. Keep away from vengeance. Doesn't lead anywhere good. And stop carrying a gun out in the open. You're asking to be shot, is what you're doing." He nodded sagely, as though he had shared some great gift of wisdom with the younger traveler.

He made no move for the door, but nor did he go for his gun. To all outward appearances, he simply didn't count the girl as a threat, but still wanted to be treated with something approximating respect.
Okay! It should be better now. I have some clothing reference (thanks for reminding me of that) though not as much as I probably could have. I also softened up Owen a bit.
Gotcha! I can put both those bits in easily. Also, if you like, I can totally do some editing on characteristics, make Owen lean a little more oblivious. They've survived some tough stuff, though, thus the more cynical mannerisms. Though, to be fair, I like the idea of them growing softer around her.





Alrighty! I wasn't sure what "Portrayer" was, but here they are! Let me know if anything needs fixin'!
Awesome! I'm glad he's compelling! It's weird, this is evening here in Oregon. Anyway, no hurry, but I am excited!
The sound of the ruckus downstairs didn't mean much to Reuben. Hell, nothing meant much to him anymore. As he tugged up his trousers, he found himself swaying a bit, almost as though the wooden floorboards were those of a ship.

"Going so soon?" The aging whore looked over her shoulder at him as he dressed, apparently both eager for him to leave, and skeptical about when shed be getting her payment.

"Hmph. Nothing of the sort. I'm just going t' get myself another drink. I'll be back in just a bit, and we'll see if you have any holes tighter than that sad gash you're tryin' t' sell me."

"That costs--"

"I know it costs extra. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, woman. I hired you as a whore, not as a wife. Quit your nagging and fix your face. You've dropped an eyelash." He buckled his gunbelt low on his waist, where it would be easy to draw from, and stumbled out into the hallway. He just had to get to the bar, then remember his room. Second on the right. That was easy enough. He gripped the wooden railing tightly as he strode, heavy-footed, down the stairs, scuffing his boots against the steps to force them on more solidly.

The gathering-room downstairs was quite a sight. Something had clearly gone down, but whatever it was, he didn't much care. He somehow managed to land himself in a seat along the bar, where he raised a finger to catch the barkeep's attention. He placed an order for bourbon, by the bottle, and rolled a heavy coin idly along the scratched wooden bar as he waited.

A heavy hand clapped him on the shoulder, and he went for his gun instinctively.

"Whoa, there. No need for that, Luckshot! I'm not lookin' for any trouble." The speaker was a thick-gutted man, with soft features and often-patched clothing.

"Tarson." Reuben looked at the portly man distastefully. "I told you the last time I saw you, I'm not going to be your hired gun. I'm over all that shit." His drink arrived, a stout bottle, and he forced the cork free with a slight grunt of exertion. He took a long drink, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He felt the slowly greying bristles of stubble, and realized it'd been a couple of days since he'd bothered to shave. Damn, but time passed quickly when you were waiting around to die.

Tarson waved his hands before him, as though trying to physically dispel the notion. "No, no, nothing of that sort. I won't keep you for long. I'm sure you have... other things to occupy yourself with." He looked Reuben up and down, taking in the taller man's unkempt appearance and crookedly-buttoned shirt. Given the reputation of the saloon, there was little doubt what Reuben had been up to.

"The fact is, Mister Luckshot, that there might finally be a job to keep your interest." He smiled, a rather oily, untrustworthy look. "You see, there is a proposition that appeals to all of your interests. A chance at wealth, lovely company, a spot of vengeance, and even--"

He was cut off by the thump of the bottle against the table. "Say your damn piece, man. I've a middle-aged woman who says she's twenty to get back to." He started to rise from his stool, gripping the neck of the quickly-emptying bottle.

"Alright, I'll be brief! I'm sorry, mister Luckshot, sir. There's a girl who was in here, real young-lookin' thing, right pretty if I do say so myself. She were lookin' for someone like you to help her get vengeance or something. Said she could pay handsomely..." He trailed off as the other man stepped back toward the stairs.

"I'm not interested, Tarson. I'm no Luckshot anymore. I'm just Reuben Caerwynn now. And fact is, I'm not interested in any get-rich-quick plan of yours. I'm sure you mean well... no, actually, I doubt that, but either way, I have a cheap whore who wants to be paid. Let me know if you want to share a drink some time, but don't waste my time with rescue or revenge." He turned away from the sputtering man, stumbling more and more as the bourbon, his third bottle that day, started hitting. He elbowed roughly past a couple of upstarts crowding the way, growling under his breath at them. They were the sort to start wearing a gun once they left home, wispy mustaches and like-new boots telling more about them than their likely-to-crack voices could.

Back up the stairs he went, relying more and more on the handrail as his boots nearly slipped. First door on the... no, that wasn't right. Second door. Which side? Left. No, that couldn't be. Right? He thought back to coming down the stairs. No, it had to be on the left. He passed the first door, then at the second on the left, he threw the door open, hands on his belt buckle to begin undoing it as he did.

"I'm back, you worn-out piece of meat--" He stopped, seeing a young woman resting, fully clothed on a bed that was not the one he had been in. "Who the hell are you?"
THIS IS SO GOOD! I've started working on my post, too, but my gosh! You really write so that I can picture everything as it happens. Abigail Kate is already so compelling, and you've given me a lot of space to act within!

Firstly, love the Shallan profile! I'm definitely interested in this!
© 2007-2024
BBCode Cheatsheet