Post by Raina on May 18, 2008 12:41:32 GMT -5
Name: Raina or Bunny =]
Age: 15 (my birthday was a month ago.)
Experience: I've role-played for one year.
How you found us: On neopets a few minutes ago =]
Role play Sample:
(This is an introduction and random post from a fantasy role-play. Gin was so funny because he was so stupid to play. =] )
Of course the beach sounded a heck of a lot nicer when some drunk was explaining it to him, using a bunch of fancy metaphors and similies.
Saprkling clear blue water...
Palms trees...
Warm breezes...
Peaceful moments...
Pah! The only thing the loon got right was the sandiness. Was that even a word? Well...it should've been, because that's all Gin saw when he looked around. His first time to the freaking island was being wasted on the most horrid spots in all of Tealita. What was one to do on the uneventful shores of a mess of water? Stand and look pretty? Only fools did that, and Gin Evalith was no fool. In fact, he was very un-foolish simply because women were very foolish. Which, in the author's mind, made him very foolish indeed.
Rubbing a hand over the stubble on his chin, the man decided firmly to take swim. The trip wasn't going to be a complete waste of his money. No, siree. He'd make a way to enjoy this...ugly predicament. He laughed ruefully to himself and shedded the thin, brown shirt that, a moment ago, had been clinging to the curved muscles of his body. And, seeing no need to take off all his clothes, his feet began the short trek to the water's edge. Five feet. A really short distance, unless you weren't to happy with the sand at that particular moment, then it seemed like miles. And he thought he wasn't foolish.
Then, he feet found water and sand. A nasty combination for the water made the sand feel funny between his toes. With a grimace on his face, Gin continued into the waters. As soon as his feet lost the solid comfort of the ground, he began to relax a little more. No sand = Happiness. He treaded the water slowly, pushing it behind him with loose movements. Maybe drunks knew what they were talking about. Alcohol always loosened the tongue, insuring that there has to be some truth in whatever's uttered.
Didn't matter too much, anyways. Gin had found himself in a situation that sort of pleased him, and that was always a good thing. Right? Well, mostly.
After becoming bored with the slow moving, he dived under the surface, kicking his feet above the surface, creating a nice amount of splashing. If anyone was close by, they'd realize that someone was either drowning painfully or some imbecile went out past their safety zone. He did resurface every once in a while to survey the scene around him. His first opinion of the place was still firmly planted in his mind, but that was alright. At least he had an opinion about something there.
The sun was still overhead from his perspective, meaning that the day was only halfway over. Strange. Didn't anyone else decide to take swims? It seemed like it would be a popular pastime for the natives. Then again, Gin didn't have very accurate deducing skills. In fact, there were a lot of things wrong with Gin, but they don't seem to pertain to the moment at hand. Perhaps they'll be revealed later, when his very annoying attitude is unleashed.
He noticed his distance from shore was increasing and quickly shanged directions, letting his arms slice through the blue waves until the thin shore line magnified in size.
(Now we come to the next part in the role play where some dude tells Gin that he needs to be careful of the current.)
Oh, now someone told him about the danger. The message, of course, was well received. The sarcasm was just a natural part of his response, seeing as the warning gave no hint whatsoever as exactly which direction he should swim in.
North?
South?
East?
Freaking west?
It would do him no good to go blindly into the rip tides he was just warned about. No, that would be a stupid, careless, oddly funny thing to do. Of course, it wasn't funny to him at the moment. The most logical emotion he was feeling was frustration. Finding it much to hard to talk and wade (besides the fact he didn't believe he'd be heard), Gin just stayed in one spot. Where was he to go anyways? As was stated before, the man wasn't too sure which direction to swim in.
Of course, he could just guess. Guessing always helped, except...when...it didn't. Then, guessing was bad. Very bad. Oh what the haell. He'd might as well drown trying to find a way out of the mess than drown because he was -what word had he used before? Oh yes- blindly swim to his d00hm.
>____>;;
"Have any...suggestions...which way to...swim?" There. The question was asked, and all it took was some extra work and a few mouthfuls of water.
Probably the only thing going through his mind at the moment was, My life better not be in the hands of a woman. (Me: Even if it's a man being played by a woman?)
Then, that thought was replaced with a few more meaningless ones. He cursed the water and its parents and its future children and all the fish darting past his legs. He cursed them all. Why? Dunno, probably bored. It was deifintely one way to past the time between his question and the answer that was hopefully coming from his benefactor on the beach.
Of course, the thought of why the person didn't come out to help him passed through his head along with the other thoughts, but it was quickly banished with another mouth full of water.
Water...sand...did everything happen to be against him at the moment?
(The end. =D)
(Here is a more serious introduction and post with a character whose sister was just murdered at Hogwarts. It's a really sad story. His best friend who loved his sister was killed. She spiraled into depression until she figured out who the murderer was and was killed too. D: )
The setting sun illuminated every available item in an orange-red haze. It signaled the enclosing all-too-soon end of another godforsaken day. In would fly the night and a plague of nightmares that some were not eager to greet. However, it wasn't the decisions of man that governed the cosmos, and, therefore, the sun would go on about its business despite the curses of Noburo. Each minute would continue to tick away; each strain time put on his shoulders would increase. They cared nothing for his lack of joy.
A hand moved to rake the red-brown strands of hair from his eyes and behind and ear. Any ear, really as long as they couldn't tickle his nose in the insufferable way they choose to when on his face. Not in the mood for disobedient body parts, Noburo was quite willing to chop his hair to bloody pieces in order to cease his displeasure. Hating was becoming a common practice in the confines of his mind, mostly hating himself. A dead friend and a dead sister were more than he would bare. No brother wanted to think about the bloodless corpse of a sister.
Feeling the color drain from his face, Noburo moved to get up and remove himself from the empty Three Broomsticks Table. The mug before him was empty anyways; it had been sitting there for hours with the foam of the butterbeer hardening into gunk. He gagged. It was impossible to think of anything without their faces surfacing. Silas. Naomi. Silas and Naomi together. Their phantoms haunted his bones, rattling them with insistent fury. How dare he move without mourning them? How he try to forget them? In fact, it was their voices which caused his refusal of a firewhiskey. Otherwise, this afternoon would be the first one to produce a drunk Tsukino.
He grumbled something as his fingers laced around the mug handle. Only loneliness produced demonic pictures of his lost loved ones. In the presence of others, they returned to their angelic forms, but how often was he in the presence of others at night or so close to that time? Noburo received piles of meaningless condolences, but none of the bastards ever offered to spend the night with him. They feared the ghosts as much as he did. Or, they feared a boy on the edge of his wits. However, that assumption was really not fair. Noburo was always on his best behavior in public.
Always.
It was other people who began to act weird. Running away from him like he had the plague was very weird. In fact, it worried him on occasion how few people knew how to cope with death. Death surrounded them all; to try and avoid it is the definition of insanity. Rubbing his fingers over the ridges on the mug, Noburo put it up to rest against his eye. The scene before him became coated with beer and sin. His own brown eye was probably distorted with grief.
He cursed.
A glass wall was always separating him from society... Noburo needed a drink. He headed towards the bar and took a seat next to a girl about his age or younger. She looked to be pleasant enough if not slightly depressed which automatically spoke to Noburo who was fighting his own sinking emotions. Guessing she was also considering the idea of drinking until she died-- which was impossible-- he smiled morbidly. "I'm guessing life's kicked you in the ass too. It doesn't seem to like to take prisoners, does it? Just sends us straight for the gallows."
(and now a random post)
"Yep. That sounds about right. Except they put your head on the guillotine, and the blade's not sharp and it just keeps on hacking away until it kind of does a half-ass lop and your head rolls off all nasty and jagged."
Noburo choked a laugh at the thought. It looked as if his assumption was correct. That was definitely how life was going. "It's a damn shame the suffering is enjoyed by so many people, but perhaps we're a morbid race of man. With death everywhere, I can't see how anyone can't avoid laughing at your distress, especially the bastard who forgot to sharpen the blade," he commented absently to the remark. His fingers traced the lips of his newly filler butterbeer mug, gunk and all. It was absolutely revolting, and Rosmerta offered him a new one, but somehow the one he had seemed just right.
"And then as if that weren't good enough for the almighty divine to laugh at, someone finds your rotting skull and uses it for a mantel decoration...or worse..." here she paused for dramatic effect, "a candy dish."
"So you're a beheaded girl whose face is the next great Halloween favor, and I'm some boy who took seven minutes to properly strangle with a rope who people use as decoration next to the next great Halloween favor. I'm glad someone's profiting from this," he replied bitterly, noticing that her tone was equally so. He found himself a pity buddy, how fun was that? Now they could take turns depicting gruesome deaths and cutting each others wrists, he thought sarcastically. The whole idea was nonsense and particularly pleasing. The emo scene sounded particularly inviting. He hoped they took long-haired Asian guys.
"Sorry."
He waved the apology away. "Do I look freaked by you? Not at all. You can apologize for talking about decapitation without introducing yourself and naming the person or event that happens to be the sick bastard arranging said decapitation." He wondered if her story could beat his. It was like a card game of war. Oh, your father died in a car accident? Oh, geez... sorry man... Hah! I beat you! My sister and best friend were murdered by a sociopath, and my mother doesn't know how to grieve. Try again, loser.
He took a swig of the bubbly sweet liquid and gagged on a laugh. He had never known himself to be so morbid, and the idea of Silas finding him such was hilarious. Really. His eyes watered as the drink burned his throat, scorching the flesh with sugary waves. It was a moment before he could right himself.
(one more random)
"Amanda."
He eyed her extended hand carefully before dismissing it with a shake. "I don't shake hands with girls; some of them take it as a sign of proposal. Apparently, I have about fifty fiancees... Isn't that illegal?"
"Firewhiskey please."
One eyebrow rose at the order. Firewhiskeys were for people with macho attitudes, people who were bored, or people who wanted something to distract them from problems. Assuming he hadn't forgotten what they had just talked about, Noburo accurately guessed which person fit Amanda. It was etched into every worry line on her face and flavored every word out of her mouth; one depressed person could always sniff out another. If they could not? Then, by God, they'd make one.
Watching her add on to the order reminded him that he had not replied promptly with his name. Was Noburo so out of practice in meeting new people? Eh. "I'm Noburo. If you can't say it, I'll answer to anything else you come up with... My sisters- or sister- called me Buo when they were little. Apparently, I was perfectly capable at saying their names, but they had no inclination to learn mine.
"As for the firewhiskey," he smiled bitterly, "I'll pass. You need a designated driver, anyways." Personally, he would have loved to get zonked, but neither Naomi nor Kanami nor his mother would approve. As for his father, well... men were different. He chipped away at the dried foam on the rim of his mug before taking a swig of his butterbeer. It disappointed him, but then no wizard drink could compare to a cup of wholesome tea. Now there was something he could get drunk on if it didn't remind him of the dead ones.
Oh, God, the "dead ones"? Was that some sick mind way of coping? Damn it. What type of unfeeling bastard was he? And since when did his language get so bad? Miyuki would be ashamed of the weakness he was showing.
"Ok, well seeing as the first thing I offer you when we met was alcohol, please take me with a grain of salt. And as you said, life sucks."
"Life in itself is a beautiful thing. Mix in some ego, attitude and death... well, then that's where things get tricky. You just need to find the right ingredients and hope Fate doesn't want to sour your cake," he said, his voice still full of bitterness. "So, Fate's soured yours? Do tell. I do love tragedies... and while you do so, you could inform me where your common room. It's easier to pry information like that from a sober girl, than a drunken mess."
He said: IT'S A BIRD! IT'S A PLANE! NO IT'S WHISPYYYYYY! (not really)
Age: 15 (my birthday was a month ago.)
Experience: I've role-played for one year.
How you found us: On neopets a few minutes ago =]
Role play Sample:
(This is an introduction and random post from a fantasy role-play. Gin was so funny because he was so stupid to play. =] )
Of course the beach sounded a heck of a lot nicer when some drunk was explaining it to him, using a bunch of fancy metaphors and similies.
Saprkling clear blue water...
Palms trees...
Warm breezes...
Peaceful moments...
Pah! The only thing the loon got right was the sandiness. Was that even a word? Well...it should've been, because that's all Gin saw when he looked around. His first time to the freaking island was being wasted on the most horrid spots in all of Tealita. What was one to do on the uneventful shores of a mess of water? Stand and look pretty? Only fools did that, and Gin Evalith was no fool. In fact, he was very un-foolish simply because women were very foolish. Which, in the author's mind, made him very foolish indeed.
Rubbing a hand over the stubble on his chin, the man decided firmly to take swim. The trip wasn't going to be a complete waste of his money. No, siree. He'd make a way to enjoy this...ugly predicament. He laughed ruefully to himself and shedded the thin, brown shirt that, a moment ago, had been clinging to the curved muscles of his body. And, seeing no need to take off all his clothes, his feet began the short trek to the water's edge. Five feet. A really short distance, unless you weren't to happy with the sand at that particular moment, then it seemed like miles. And he thought he wasn't foolish.
Then, he feet found water and sand. A nasty combination for the water made the sand feel funny between his toes. With a grimace on his face, Gin continued into the waters. As soon as his feet lost the solid comfort of the ground, he began to relax a little more. No sand = Happiness. He treaded the water slowly, pushing it behind him with loose movements. Maybe drunks knew what they were talking about. Alcohol always loosened the tongue, insuring that there has to be some truth in whatever's uttered.
Didn't matter too much, anyways. Gin had found himself in a situation that sort of pleased him, and that was always a good thing. Right? Well, mostly.
After becoming bored with the slow moving, he dived under the surface, kicking his feet above the surface, creating a nice amount of splashing. If anyone was close by, they'd realize that someone was either drowning painfully or some imbecile went out past their safety zone. He did resurface every once in a while to survey the scene around him. His first opinion of the place was still firmly planted in his mind, but that was alright. At least he had an opinion about something there.
The sun was still overhead from his perspective, meaning that the day was only halfway over. Strange. Didn't anyone else decide to take swims? It seemed like it would be a popular pastime for the natives. Then again, Gin didn't have very accurate deducing skills. In fact, there were a lot of things wrong with Gin, but they don't seem to pertain to the moment at hand. Perhaps they'll be revealed later, when his very annoying attitude is unleashed.
He noticed his distance from shore was increasing and quickly shanged directions, letting his arms slice through the blue waves until the thin shore line magnified in size.
(Now we come to the next part in the role play where some dude tells Gin that he needs to be careful of the current.)
Oh, now someone told him about the danger. The message, of course, was well received. The sarcasm was just a natural part of his response, seeing as the warning gave no hint whatsoever as exactly which direction he should swim in.
North?
South?
East?
Freaking west?
It would do him no good to go blindly into the rip tides he was just warned about. No, that would be a stupid, careless, oddly funny thing to do. Of course, it wasn't funny to him at the moment. The most logical emotion he was feeling was frustration. Finding it much to hard to talk and wade (besides the fact he didn't believe he'd be heard), Gin just stayed in one spot. Where was he to go anyways? As was stated before, the man wasn't too sure which direction to swim in.
Of course, he could just guess. Guessing always helped, except...when...it didn't. Then, guessing was bad. Very bad. Oh what the haell. He'd might as well drown trying to find a way out of the mess than drown because he was -what word had he used before? Oh yes- blindly swim to his d00hm.
>____>;;
"Have any...suggestions...which way to...swim?" There. The question was asked, and all it took was some extra work and a few mouthfuls of water.
Probably the only thing going through his mind at the moment was, My life better not be in the hands of a woman. (Me: Even if it's a man being played by a woman?)
Then, that thought was replaced with a few more meaningless ones. He cursed the water and its parents and its future children and all the fish darting past his legs. He cursed them all. Why? Dunno, probably bored. It was deifintely one way to past the time between his question and the answer that was hopefully coming from his benefactor on the beach.
Of course, the thought of why the person didn't come out to help him passed through his head along with the other thoughts, but it was quickly banished with another mouth full of water.
Water...sand...did everything happen to be against him at the moment?
(The end. =D)
(Here is a more serious introduction and post with a character whose sister was just murdered at Hogwarts. It's a really sad story. His best friend who loved his sister was killed. She spiraled into depression until she figured out who the murderer was and was killed too. D: )
The setting sun illuminated every available item in an orange-red haze. It signaled the enclosing all-too-soon end of another godforsaken day. In would fly the night and a plague of nightmares that some were not eager to greet. However, it wasn't the decisions of man that governed the cosmos, and, therefore, the sun would go on about its business despite the curses of Noburo. Each minute would continue to tick away; each strain time put on his shoulders would increase. They cared nothing for his lack of joy.
A hand moved to rake the red-brown strands of hair from his eyes and behind and ear. Any ear, really as long as they couldn't tickle his nose in the insufferable way they choose to when on his face. Not in the mood for disobedient body parts, Noburo was quite willing to chop his hair to bloody pieces in order to cease his displeasure. Hating was becoming a common practice in the confines of his mind, mostly hating himself. A dead friend and a dead sister were more than he would bare. No brother wanted to think about the bloodless corpse of a sister.
Feeling the color drain from his face, Noburo moved to get up and remove himself from the empty Three Broomsticks Table. The mug before him was empty anyways; it had been sitting there for hours with the foam of the butterbeer hardening into gunk. He gagged. It was impossible to think of anything without their faces surfacing. Silas. Naomi. Silas and Naomi together. Their phantoms haunted his bones, rattling them with insistent fury. How dare he move without mourning them? How he try to forget them? In fact, it was their voices which caused his refusal of a firewhiskey. Otherwise, this afternoon would be the first one to produce a drunk Tsukino.
He grumbled something as his fingers laced around the mug handle. Only loneliness produced demonic pictures of his lost loved ones. In the presence of others, they returned to their angelic forms, but how often was he in the presence of others at night or so close to that time? Noburo received piles of meaningless condolences, but none of the bastards ever offered to spend the night with him. They feared the ghosts as much as he did. Or, they feared a boy on the edge of his wits. However, that assumption was really not fair. Noburo was always on his best behavior in public.
Always.
It was other people who began to act weird. Running away from him like he had the plague was very weird. In fact, it worried him on occasion how few people knew how to cope with death. Death surrounded them all; to try and avoid it is the definition of insanity. Rubbing his fingers over the ridges on the mug, Noburo put it up to rest against his eye. The scene before him became coated with beer and sin. His own brown eye was probably distorted with grief.
He cursed.
A glass wall was always separating him from society... Noburo needed a drink. He headed towards the bar and took a seat next to a girl about his age or younger. She looked to be pleasant enough if not slightly depressed which automatically spoke to Noburo who was fighting his own sinking emotions. Guessing she was also considering the idea of drinking until she died-- which was impossible-- he smiled morbidly. "I'm guessing life's kicked you in the ass too. It doesn't seem to like to take prisoners, does it? Just sends us straight for the gallows."
(and now a random post)
"Yep. That sounds about right. Except they put your head on the guillotine, and the blade's not sharp and it just keeps on hacking away until it kind of does a half-ass lop and your head rolls off all nasty and jagged."
Noburo choked a laugh at the thought. It looked as if his assumption was correct. That was definitely how life was going. "It's a damn shame the suffering is enjoyed by so many people, but perhaps we're a morbid race of man. With death everywhere, I can't see how anyone can't avoid laughing at your distress, especially the bastard who forgot to sharpen the blade," he commented absently to the remark. His fingers traced the lips of his newly filler butterbeer mug, gunk and all. It was absolutely revolting, and Rosmerta offered him a new one, but somehow the one he had seemed just right.
"And then as if that weren't good enough for the almighty divine to laugh at, someone finds your rotting skull and uses it for a mantel decoration...or worse..." here she paused for dramatic effect, "a candy dish."
"So you're a beheaded girl whose face is the next great Halloween favor, and I'm some boy who took seven minutes to properly strangle with a rope who people use as decoration next to the next great Halloween favor. I'm glad someone's profiting from this," he replied bitterly, noticing that her tone was equally so. He found himself a pity buddy, how fun was that? Now they could take turns depicting gruesome deaths and cutting each others wrists, he thought sarcastically. The whole idea was nonsense and particularly pleasing. The emo scene sounded particularly inviting. He hoped they took long-haired Asian guys.
"Sorry."
He waved the apology away. "Do I look freaked by you? Not at all. You can apologize for talking about decapitation without introducing yourself and naming the person or event that happens to be the sick bastard arranging said decapitation." He wondered if her story could beat his. It was like a card game of war. Oh, your father died in a car accident? Oh, geez... sorry man... Hah! I beat you! My sister and best friend were murdered by a sociopath, and my mother doesn't know how to grieve. Try again, loser.
He took a swig of the bubbly sweet liquid and gagged on a laugh. He had never known himself to be so morbid, and the idea of Silas finding him such was hilarious. Really. His eyes watered as the drink burned his throat, scorching the flesh with sugary waves. It was a moment before he could right himself.
(one more random)
"Amanda."
He eyed her extended hand carefully before dismissing it with a shake. "I don't shake hands with girls; some of them take it as a sign of proposal. Apparently, I have about fifty fiancees... Isn't that illegal?"
"Firewhiskey please."
One eyebrow rose at the order. Firewhiskeys were for people with macho attitudes, people who were bored, or people who wanted something to distract them from problems. Assuming he hadn't forgotten what they had just talked about, Noburo accurately guessed which person fit Amanda. It was etched into every worry line on her face and flavored every word out of her mouth; one depressed person could always sniff out another. If they could not? Then, by God, they'd make one.
Watching her add on to the order reminded him that he had not replied promptly with his name. Was Noburo so out of practice in meeting new people? Eh. "I'm Noburo. If you can't say it, I'll answer to anything else you come up with... My sisters- or sister- called me Buo when they were little. Apparently, I was perfectly capable at saying their names, but they had no inclination to learn mine.
"As for the firewhiskey," he smiled bitterly, "I'll pass. You need a designated driver, anyways." Personally, he would have loved to get zonked, but neither Naomi nor Kanami nor his mother would approve. As for his father, well... men were different. He chipped away at the dried foam on the rim of his mug before taking a swig of his butterbeer. It disappointed him, but then no wizard drink could compare to a cup of wholesome tea. Now there was something he could get drunk on if it didn't remind him of the dead ones.
Oh, God, the "dead ones"? Was that some sick mind way of coping? Damn it. What type of unfeeling bastard was he? And since when did his language get so bad? Miyuki would be ashamed of the weakness he was showing.
"Ok, well seeing as the first thing I offer you when we met was alcohol, please take me with a grain of salt. And as you said, life sucks."
"Life in itself is a beautiful thing. Mix in some ego, attitude and death... well, then that's where things get tricky. You just need to find the right ingredients and hope Fate doesn't want to sour your cake," he said, his voice still full of bitterness. "So, Fate's soured yours? Do tell. I do love tragedies... and while you do so, you could inform me where your common room. It's easier to pry information like that from a sober girl, than a drunken mess."
He said: IT'S A BIRD! IT'S A PLANE! NO IT'S WHISPYYYYYY! (not really)
