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Entry tags:
open rp post
Request a character (Now Playing & On Request are fair game) and Pick a Prompt if you want! You can also just leave me a blank header and I'll start with whatever I feel like is interesting. Feel free to tell me it sucks.
Request a character (Now Playing & On Request are fair game) and Pick a Prompt if you want! You can also just leave me a blank header and I'll start with whatever I feel like is interesting. Feel free to tell me it sucks.
PROMPTS
✿1. Horror: Your characters are taken from their own worlds and thrown into a terrifying situation! Things are creepy, resources are scarce, and ensuring your own survival is paramount.
✿2. Sex Game: For whatever contrived and nonsensical reason, your characters are forced into a world where they gotta bone. Aside from smutstuff, you have the opportunity to play out how very awkward it is to navigate these agreements and encounters before and after. Lasting bonds can form from something you didn't expect! But so can eternal regret.
✿3. Slice of Life: Characters are forced to live together in familial units. They have an opportunity here -- in spite of being stuck -- to relax and slow down and do some fun, ordinary things. Picnics, dates, school, etc.
✿4. Fantasy: Characters are forced into guilds and roles, given weapons and are made to utilize their powers in coordinated units to complete missions.
✿5. Scifi: Characters are thrust on to the frontier of spacial colonization! Characters on a spaceship! Characters being drafted into an Imperial Earth Army to fight/conquer foreign entities! Characters being in a world where they are assessed, identified, tracked and policed by artificial intelligence! And so on!
✿6. Reincarnation/ New Identity: Your character has been reborn at this game, or given a new identity. Work out their karma or help them come to terms with having to live a new life.
✿7. Asylum/Prison/Institutionalized Identity: Characters are locked up and put under heavy surveillance. Slowly they are institutionalized and disintegrated from ordinary social rules of engagement. They could be told that they've been identified as mentally dysfunctional, or they could be in prison! Are they pleading their innocence, or do they know they're guilty as fuck back in their world?
✿8. Assignment-Based/Mercenary/Survival: Characters have to put their skills to good use as drafted mercenaries. Help your captors assassinate, spy, sabotage, infiltrate, steal, and terrorize for points that will lead up to your freedom or the freedom of others.
✿9. Your Choice!: Do whatever!
✿1. First Impressions: You never forget your first impression of someone. Unless it was entirely forgettable.
✿2. Oh Hey Again: I kind of know you!!!! Hi!!! I hate this place but love familiarity hi!!!
✿3. Event: SOMETHING IS HAPPENING and your characters have either run into each other or sought each other out to stick together during it!
✿4. Living Quarters: Surprise, your characters are in the same house! Or room! Or building! Either way you have to share space and facilities with this person. Enjoy!
✿5. Mystery: Who Did It? Why Are We Here? Characters are disappearing, people are dying, whatever is happening it is FISHY!
✿6. Canon Update/Respawn/"But we know each other, I swear!": One character comes (back) to a game and does not remember previous CR. A relationship or friend or even hateship is forgotten. How will this be dealt with?
✿7. Begrudgingly Working Together: You are so fucking annoying but I guess we have to fight Monster of the Day Together/Get Unstuck-UnLost Together/Find Our Way Back/Help Each Other Out.
✿8. Is This a Date: Gee, you guys sure are doing a lot of things that people on dates do and you're having a lot of fun [sweats]...
✿9. Violence: Characters beat the shit out of each other or help each other out of a gory situation with terrible traumatic injuries or something!
✿10. One-Sided(?) Crush: How do you get their attention? Or, alternatively, how do you ignore that this person obviously is crushing on you and it's totally awkward
✿11. Protecting/Saving: Your character's chance to be a hero or a damsel!
✿12. Network Post: Mandatory bs.
✿13. Inbox: Hey, can I talk to you for a second? In private?
✿14. Your Choice!: Do whatever!
soulless pls
warning to any passerbys that there are going to be spoilers
[ It was difficult to take time away, but not impossible. Luckily, the Inquisitor was understanding enough that even in war and the hard times upon them, Solas was at least allowed some travel on his own. He had asked for only a week, and he fully intended to live up to that promise. There were things he had to do with the Inquisition that were at the forefront of his attention, but as the Inquisition made its progress, and and another unusual apostate had come to reside in Skyhold (bringing with her quite an unusual artifact to match), Solas knew that things were moving forward quickly.
Like a stone given only a gentle touch on a slope, it was starting to roll ever faster, and so he felt he should be certain it would end up where it should.
Solas steps off the boat and gives his coin for the passage, but he wastes little time in heading to his destination. He's more vulnerable here than he would like, since this simply wasn't a place where one could openly carry a mage's staff, nor is it the best place to go with his ears uncovered by a cowl. Both of these things feel stifling, but that's just a part of why he was planning to keep his visit brief. Most of his time had been allotted for travel, because setting foot in the poverty-stricken city of Kirkwall was enough to make his expression turn slightly disgusted as he made his way towards the alienage. If nothing else, he was glad that the business of a city like this meant that no one particularly paid him any mind.
It takes a bit of wandering through the mazelike streets of Kirkwall's lower portions until he finds it, making his way down steps (and noticing with distaste the iron gates shut at night to keep the People in a cafe), but the sight of the vhenadahl is still a welcome one compared to the grime everywhere else. It's still sad to him, that this would be the only thing remembered of what these people were, if they had ever even heard a too-often repeated tale of it. In a way, that was why he was here, though he wouldn't admit that to anyone. Finally feeling more comfortable, he pulls the cowl down, but his way is purposeful, and the house is just where it was said to be. It sticks out as a place of importance, since he had heard that the woman that lived there had taken up the role of looking after these people.
...Considering what had led him here, he wonders if that was how she had chosen to repent.
No matter. He stops at her house, ignoring the stares of the other elves, wary of a stranger, and he simply knocks. It's loud enough to be heard, but not the harsh, threatening knock of a city guard. ]
no subject
she finally felt like she had found a place she was needed. an alcove, a tiny speck on thedas that she was both useful and appreciated. as one of the few people both able and willing to stay and allay the elven refugees of kirkwall, she began to think of elves more as one than she ever had. she felt camaraderie with the city elves in a way that she had not expected to, and felt that the unity of all elves — dalish, city, or something else, was integral to their race.
today, she hadn't expected to encounter that 'something else.'
hearing a light rapping at her door, she gasps, looking behind her shoulder to it, then to a cloak she had lying across a wooden chair. she wrapped herself in it, approaching the door, her hand hovering over the knob. this place, despite the chaos, still was not safe for someone like her. she turned her hand to look at the scars on her palm for a moment, pulling her glove down to cover them sufficiently. she opened the door. ]
Hello? My, I wasn't expecting any visitors today. May I help you?
[ her saccharine tone is tinged with some forwardness. it was pretty obvious, given that she was peeking from around the half opened door, that she wanted to get to the point, especially given how.. unsettling the other elf seemed. he carried himself in ways foreign to city elves, but his face did not bare any telltale vallaslin. curious, she thought. ]
no subject
[ The greeting comes first, and with a friendly, polite smile and an equally polite bow of his head. Even if he was here to investigate something he would have almost rather left to someone else, Solas at least knows the value of politeness. ]
I apologize for not sending notice ahead. I had feared it would not reach you in time, since my ability to travel is limited. Please forgive me for imposing.
[ Solas pauses before he introduces himself properly, and he reaches into the folds of his cloak to produce a small token, no greater than a coin, but emblazoned with the symbol of the Inquisition stamped in silver. It was flashy, and in honesty, Solas didn't care much for it. It had been an idea of Josephine's, and he could certainly see the use in Orlais, where such tokens were symbols of power and influence, but here, it still seemed like a somewhat exorbitant display of wealth. He would not use it, did he not need to give his name alone some backing. ]
My name is Solas. I'm looking into a matter that I would appreciate your assistance with.
[ The silver is quickly tucked back inside the cloak, since he dislikes it, but also since it's simply not a good idea to keep such a thing visible for too long in a place like Kirkwall. ]
If I may impose further, may I come in to explain in private? If you have no interest in what I ask, I will leave without question.
some kind of eight-ish nine-ish cdc-ish thing
At first, for Auger, it had been almost exhilirating. Exterminating a hive of savage beasts was perfectly up his alley - no doubt that was why he (and his brother) had been picked for this mission. It was unfortunate to have to serve anyone, but sacrifices had to be made if they wanted to climb the ladder of power again. God knows he's been through worse. As long as Mejojo wished it, he'd do anything. And, in the end, dirtying his hands with blood was more of a reward than a chore. Even in the past, the assignments that ended in violence had always been his most favorite.
But the battle raged on and on, the fires they started spread and blazed bigger, and though there must be other groups out in the woods, too, it feels for all the world that it's just the two of them versus an army of these hyena-like beastmen. Their weapons are crude and they're untrained, but their numbers are great, and his stamina isn't infinite. The heat is oppressive; his muscles are starting to burn. It's only a matter of time until he makes a mistake.
He moves in to fell the last one in the area, but it moves a second faster than he does, and a short stone spear buries itself a few inches below his ribs. Red blood spreads across his white vest; with a grunt halfway between in pain and enraged, he slides a dagger out of hiding and slams it between his enemy's eyes. It's an instant death; Auger's prey collapses, and he follows a few seconds later with a groan, landing on his knees as his hands fly to the wound. ]
Shit...
[ he doesn't have time for an injury like this - they need to get out before they get trapped in the blaze. ]
no subject
no subject
[Clipped, curt, less of a summons and more of an imperative. He wastes no time—not even sparing much more than a skimming glance—before turning and heading back into the recesses of the house away from the front room where the rest were gathered. He could hear a seemingly-light argument between Jiro and Sante that might end up escalating—he would simply have to trust Banjou with mediating that. He had allowed Tsukiyama to visit the house today for a singular purpose, and he would prefer not to complicate matters in a way that might deviate from a pre-established plan.
It had ended up being a blessing in disguise that the trio had elected to share a single room—it gave them more spares to repurpose, and one of them had become something of the de facto space for sparring, all the furniture cleared away and the floor and walls as reinforced as possible to allow for such a thing.
They couldn’t fight with kagune on the roof of the building; the risk was too great. In all honesty, training as he did with Banjou there now was ill-advised, but it was, for the most part, hand-to-hand (the other ghoul’s inability to muster a kagune taken into consideration). All of that was of a different timbre of what he had asked Tsukiyama here for today. Sparring with Banjou was for the other ghoul’s benefit, an endeavor (largely in vain, to tell the truth) to toughen him up.
This was for Kaneki’s.
Even as he reaches the door and pushes it open, even as he passes through the threshold, even before he’s thought to muster his kagune, the sclera of his left eye has darkened to pitch, the red of his pupil burning like a flame. It had been relatively easy to hide it back when he had starved himself, having so little rc content in his body that he had practically been running on fumes.
Now, however. Several months’ worth of his new eating regimen had fundamentally changed a lot about him. At any given moment of the day he felt a burning restlessness, possible to ignore but not at all pleasant. That was something that Yamori had not mentioned, when championing the benefits of “cannibalism”—it was not the way that the ghoul body was meant to function. It took a good deal of mental editing to guard his words from any added barbs, reigning in each motion and neglecting the instinct to go and to hunt and to eat more and more and more.
The fighting helped.
He walks to the center of the room before turning to face Tsukiyama, expression almost perfectly composed despite his active kakugan.] The same as usual?
[It was only barely phrased as a question. “Fight as if they were to kill one another,” was the subtext as well, something which didn’t bother him in the slightest.
It didn’t seem to bother Tsukiyama either.]
no subject
But of course, Kaneki's demand is met with nothing less than a perfectly smooth, genial smile. There's not even parting words given to anyone else, though that's hardly surprising. As soon as Kaneki was around, Tsukiyama had a one-track mind. If Kaneki only wished for him to be the sword for now, then so be it. Surely with every fight, every chance he could prove himself an asset, he would be all the closer to his goal here. Even if no one trusted him at all, it was fine, because so long as Kaneki needed him, it didn't matter. So he stands to dutifully follow, the picture of the perfect, loyal knight in only his own head.
Once they make their way to the make-shift practice room, Tsukiyama's pleasant smile easily shifts to something a bit more vicious once Kaneki turns to look at him. It's a pleased smile, since of course that cold look sends a chill down his spine, but that too is more than acceptable. This is a familiar routine, so Tsukiyama laughs pleasantly as he closes his eyes. ]
Ravissant, Kaneki-kun.
[ He gestures outward with a flourish, and his own kagune curls out. It makes the elegant corkscrew around his arm, and when Tsukiyama opens his own eyes, both carry the familiar pitch black stained with the color of blood. His smile is easy and relaxed, but his posture shifts from that showy flourish to something more serious with ease.
It was dangerous, but at the same time, what a thrill it was...! Kaneki was so gentle that he wouldn't have even killed him a few months ago, but now? Well, with each match, he was less and less certain of that, but that was the fun of it too. It was the unspoken tension of these fights, since if either of them ever truly won, truly went too far, then it would be the end of the other. And when Tsukiyama would love nothing more than to tear right into Kaneki's flesh to sample it once more, well.
The control needed added made it something more wonderful than any fights that he had ever partaken before. ]
Shall we?
no subject
But Kaneki never for a moment allowed himself to lose sight of what Tsukiyama's true intentions are with their alliance. He had his uses, sure, but he was (to use a metaphor he might find some identification with) the keenest knife in a chef's collection—sharp enough to make certain tasks much easier but also more than willing to cut at one's hands the second attention was diverted elsewhere.
It was why, when the other ghoul was around, Kaneki tended to keep a constant vigilance of him. Even leading him down the hallway as he does now, back turned and posture deceptively casual, he had all of his senses honed on anything out of the ordinary. Tsukiyama wasn't stupid enough to brazenly attack him in their house, in their hall at least, but it was something of a different story when they fought like this. Another unspoken insinuation of how they handled the rules—if Tsukiyama managed to get the better of him, it would most likely prove to bring him that much closer to his goal.
As if Kaneki needed any more reason to fight at his best.
He watches Tsukiyama carefully as he enters the room, hearing rather than listening to what he said, scrutinizing rather than watching every movement. He had realized some time ago (perhaps first when he fought Yamori, more so in the weeks after) that one could read a person's movements the same they might a book. Read enough and you could anticipate certain "tropes" and story structures—read the same enough and you knew what was coming exactly when. He was still memorizing Tsukiyama, but there was enough he had already gleaned. He had a sort of "gratuitous motion" to his movements, a flourish meant for aesthetic sense and nothing more. It could distract some, but Kaneki had started to learn how to see through the gesture to the straight lines of the architecture beneath the artifice.
He rolls his shoulders in a single, fluid motion, two claws of his kagune snaking out from underneath the him of his shirt. Months ago it had been difficult enough to muster just one, teetering as he was on the edge of general starvation. Now it had become a matter of "two, for now," knowing that it was barely a draw on him now.
He answers Tsukiyama's question in affirmative by lurching forward without a single second's delay. Tsukiyama might be hungry, sure, but so is Kaneki.
Another thing he'd noticed as he continued to fight—there was a sort of axis of balance that differed between ghouls, largely reliant on whatever type of kagune they had. With his koukaku, it was all about the rotation and movement of the shoulders for Tsukiyama. He kept an eye on that first, though he had an arguable advantage. Kaneki's, as a rinkaku, was the middle, the waist, high mobility and versatility. Even now he approaches fast in a half-crouch, one claw of his kagune half-raised in wait to intercept any counter-attack as the surges forward, no hesitation to pierce the "shell" curved around Tsukiyama's shoulder.
Unspoken, again: we shall.]