Loving Insanity (OOC)

[Faeryx]

Hopefully I can finish Love and have her up tomorrow otherwise it might be a while, I'm going away for a few weeks and I will have access to a computer, but it will be limited at best.

[Faeryx]

Love is done, hope I did as well as I did on Lust:

Name: Love

Description: Being identical twins Love looks very much like Lust. She has long, bright, red hair, but she usually keeps it straight down or in a tight bun. Love is also incredibly beautiful, but rather than a sex symbol Love’s beauty is much more grounded and earthy, her blue eyes are not piercing or judgmental, but gentle and caring, drawing you in not to look down, but to embrace and care for. Love wears plain, humble clothing such as jeans and a shirt or light-colored summer dresses, and never wears any make-up, preferring her natural state, to display the purity of Love. Unlike her sister Love isn’t one for attempting to entice or look good, her accessories are a small heart shaped hair clip and a bracelet with her name on it. Due to her sister’s constant belittlement and the Writer’s general neglect of her since the death of his friend, she has lost her usual bright eyed face and constant beaming smile, to be replaced by a distracted cynical look and deep frown lines. Her once well maintained appearance has slowly deteriorated to chewed fingernails and unkempt hair. Her lovely, even toned voice is as beautiful as she is and not the least bit cynical or cruel sounding, singing is a favourite past time because of this.

Personality: Love plays her game in a much less forward fashion than her sister does. Unlike Lust, Love takes time and puts a lot of effort into her work so it can be very upsetting when Lust undoes years of work in her simple, conniving manner. Love is very humble and does not like to boast or brag, but loves (pun intended) to show others emotions the great work she has done. Love is incredibly kind and almost as helpful as Sympathy when it comes to dealing with personal issues. Love’s greatest trait is variety; she can come in all shapes and sizes. Love for one’s parents, Love for one’s friends, etc. She really only has one downfall, her loose grip. So many other emotions get in her way, like Lust, Anger, or Envy. Many other emotions love (again, pun intended) to undo what she has done, and there isn’t always a lot she can do to fight back because she is also a very fragile emotion and is wounded easily. Sometimes though, very rarely it seems, she is able to overcome, by some miracle, these other emotions and pulls through. This is always the best feeling for her; nothing is more satisfying to Love than being able to say that she saved the day.

Biography: Love is an emotion that begins to show almost as soon as one is born, a child’s natural instinct to be near its mother is not only instinct, but a primitive form of Love as well. This emotion then develops as life goes on forming many more connections. One Loves their father, their mother, their siblings, their extended family. Then a person makes their first friend, this is a different kind of Love, but Love nonetheless. The Writer had always had a special Love for his friend, not the usual kind of friend Love, or the boy meets girl Love, this was a Love so deep so omnipotent that Love literally came to life. Love was written into his earliest stories, when he was just a boy he brought forth one of his first living, breathing emotions. She was always there, though he never knew it, she watched him and his friend. She nurtured their special Love like she had never done before. She ensured that when he came of age, Lust was almost entirely out of the picture. She continued to grow as they did, reaching adulthood around the same time. Then she began to falter a bit when the Writer’s friend began to mature, but he didn’t. She was stretched a bit thin, and like all great things eventually this Love came to an end.

When the Writer’s friend died Love lost any and all hold over him, he stopped calling his parents, ignored his other friends, and worst of all, fell for Lust’s terrible wiles. Love took a backseat, attempting to break in whenever she saw an opening, a gap in the wall Lust had erected around the poor man, but he had lost the most important Love of all. The Writer had stopped loving himself. There was little Love could do for the man at this point, she had been entirely removed and began to take a turn for the worse herself. Recently she has had trouble waking up in the morning; she doesn’t care about her once perfect composure and appearance anymore, she has lost Hope in herself and in the Writer. The situation has gone from bad to worse for the Writer because without Love, what is there really to live for.

[Underscore]

Should i play as the girlfriend or the best friend, i am back at my computer so i plan on making a cs

[Flickaha]

Cool. I was thinking of being a friend/relative of the writer, that cool?

[Vanilla Fire]

Flick, yeah, that is fine.
Underscore, if you be the girlfriend, I can be the best friend But if you wish to be the best friend, then this might be a bit useless to me :/

Name: Alexandra Greene

Age: 19

Description: Alex possesses a petite figure, standing at a dismal 5'4", and weighing 110lbs in total. Her posture is usually straight with a slight slant in her hip, but she has been seen to lower her back when sad or exhausted. Her hair is a shiny auburn, and falls to her shoulders, which is her favourite styling for it. Alex's eyes are bright, bottle green, and evenly parted from her small, pointed nose. She has pale skin, that is covered in small freckles, and she burns easily.

Personality: Alex is quiet around things she does not understand or is afraid of, but, once she warms up to it, she becomes much more open and friendly. Around the writer, Alex was playful and slightly patronising of his childish demeanour, but she possessed a small amount of love for him that only a sister could have. Since her death, Alex has been a lot more quiet, due to her fear and unfamiliarity.

Bio: Alexandra Greene had a traumatic childhood. On the day of her birth, her mother passed away, and she was signed off to her father, who slowly became addicted to alcohol over the years. In her years as a toddler, Alex had to compete with three brothers, all of which their father showered with praise. To her, however, the 'one who killed mum', Alex was a speck on the otherwise pristine family portrait. When she reached the years where she had to attend school, she was more thankful for time away from her abusive father then a normal child would be recieving free candy.

Here, she met the writer, a boy who was able to bridge the gap between the world they shared, and the worlds beyond, worlds of infinite creation. Alex quickly befriended him, and the two shared in what appeared to others as children being silly. To them, however, they were alive and powerful, building worlds, brick by brick, stick by stick, every detail forming in the imagination oof the talented boy. He shared this gift with Alex, and she couldn't be more greatful for it. She finally had a means to escape her family, the life she hated, and join his, in a land of joyous expansion.

Over time, their adventures became something they could rely on, whether it be battling an endless wave of giant ants, or simply climbing a mountain, covered in mapel syrup. Alex became an integral part of each, saving the citizens of their fair cities, defeating the villains, and basking in the glory of a job well done. But Alex, as all peoople did, began to grow, looking like her mother more and more each day. And it was because of this she stopped... She just approached the writer one day, and said she didn't feel like playing. Oh, she tried when he persisted, but no matter what the scenario was, against snarling demons or snapping dragons, Alex just drifted away from what she used to love, unable to take her mind off what had happened to her.

Their adolescence came, and Alex became another person the writer could create. He told her of the worlds she was missing out on, and showed her the various writings he had crafted with his mighty pen, but, no matter how hard she tried to be captivated by what used to comfort her, Alex could only offer a false smile, words of support, and the promise that, one day, she would return.

They reached their graduation, now barely speaking to eachother, and Alex was wracked with an emotion she hardly felt. Guilt. She wanted the writed back in her life, no matter what she had to do. She called him, invited him out so she could read his new work, and he agreed, eager to see his sidekick once again. But, faate took a twisted turn, and Alex was involved in a horrible accident, just outside the place she had agreed to meet him. When she awoke, she was in a dull and dark room, and he was staring into her half-closed eyes, offering her his hand once again. She accepted, feeling something drift away inside her. They shared their gift one more time, a final battle against everything and their most feared enemy. Then Alex had to leave...
The writer, however, could not let his friend go, and used everything in his mind to bring her back, keeping her alive inside the imagination. Alex was shocked by the initial power of such a feat, and was unsure how to react, especially to the representations of emotions the writer had created, and how he saw the various people in the real world.

[Underscore]

Yeah, the girlfriend was what i was wanting, just making sure.

[Underscore]

Name: Athena Himmel

Age: 20

Description: Athena is 5'5" and about 124 lbs. Her eyes are a blueish grey, her hair is blonde and goes down about to her shoulders, but she prefers it to be up. The writer in visions her in what she was wearing that last night; a deep pink v-neck short sleeve shirt, dark colored blue jeans, and white flip flops. Her skin tone is pale-like from her German decent. She has 1 scar, it is on her hand from the bottom knuckle of her middle finger to the bottom side of her thumb, it is on her right hand.

Personality: Athena, the fun loving, almost talking too much, fearless girl. Almost the opposite of the writer. She holds her emotions back, which at times gets the best of her. She loved doing 'extreme' sports like, snowboarding, white water rafting, and base jumping. In the imagination world Athena doesn't talk as much as before.

Bio: When Athena was 15, going into high school, her family moved from Greenwich. She was always shy and didn't have many friends, until after the move. Athena got into snowboarding first in the French Alps, she instantly loved it. She needed something to do in the other seasons so she decided to give white water rafting a try, it was very different and took a while to get used to.

The more she fell in love with these sports, the more social Athena became. She met the writer in school at about 17, the didn't click at first. They were in Language Arts class, and the teacher paired them together for a project. This project forced them to talk outside of school. He came to her house to work on the project and Athena started to feel attraction to him. On accident he left behind a story he was working on, and Athena realized it was about her.

They began to be friends and she learned of his and Alex's friendship from before, and Athena knew she would never replace Alex. The last year of high school is when he finally asked Alex out on a date, she agreed of course. They continued going on dates, and soon began to form a tight relationship. After that, they both got accepted into the same local college, and moved into an apartment together. Their relationship never had any faults.

Athena and the writer were going on a date for their anniversary, it was a pick-nick by the lake. Athena loved his creativity, even on dates. The were heading towards the lake at 6, rush hour. The couple crossed the road, and a maroon car hit them. The driver was an adult male in his late 30's and he called the police. When they arrived they pronounced Athena dead.

((I kept it short to keep from powerplaying, so if i need to add more details i may need to pp a bit.))

[Vanilla Fire]

This is good, because whatever we choose, the other plyer can still play with a few edits.
To be safe though, make another person, just in case you don't want to do this.
For example, I'm making a sheet for Envy.

Also, we have two people for the writer. When Flickacha puts the sample up, you can all see and we may be able to make a choice.
How about this, tthough. Girlfriend or Best Friend?

[Underscore]

I like the idea of playing as the girlfriend, but i can always change it. Also, though its just an idea, the more the writer (who needs a name) alters this imagination world the less control he has over it.

[Flickaha]

Right. This is my 'writer' application . But if he doesn't make it I'll just stick with him, change it up a bit and have him be the writer's brother or what have you.

OOC: Obviously in the RP I'll write in third person. But I thought this would be a good place to start in response to your opening.

S A M P L E

I am a fraud. For as long as I can reasonably remember I’ve been trapped in my own head, so many thoughts, ideas, and notions. But none of them were my own. I learnt when I was young to curb them, the voices, the imaginings that came to life when I closed my eyes. The looks I got from my parents, friends, teachers, it didn’t matter who, they all thought the same thing if I told them the source of my ideas. Crazy. Of course they thought I was crazy, I hear voices, I know enough to know that they are in my head and no means do I define them as reality but I still hear them as clear as day. Still they are there and sometimes when I lie awake listening to the voices I think that the shield of my life, friends, work, it doesn’t matter because what I have tried so long to deny is actually true.

I am crazy.

My mind is not my own.

Or at least that is what it feels like sometimes. I think, had it not been for her, I would have spent a great portion of my life medicated. I have my doubts that would silence the voices but it’s not a chance I want to take. I’ve gotten used to them, they are a part of me now. Anyway, where were we? Yes. My confession. Like most stories this one involves a girl, but it’s not what you think. She was my soul mate in every single incarnation, I loved her like I loved myself. I wasn’t in love with her, it was more than that, she was me and I was her. Transcendent and untouchable the friendship was the strongest bond I have ever experienced no matter the distance between us.

We were young when we met but she shaped who I was, who I would be, completely and utterly. If I could look back at my life and pinpoint the moment in which my entire life was defined, it was the first time I made her smile. A lost little lamb that had the weight of the world on her shoulders. I had never fit in, I was bullied because I was different, I didn’t like sports and by the age of seven I had memorised a substantial portion of classic literature. Other boys raced around the playground pretending to be in fast cars, or cowboys; I wanted to be Sherlock. I was entranced by Tolkien, obsessed with Austin, broken by Bronte, invigorated by Dickens and utterly besotted with Chaucer. The subject mattered little, it was the words. The worlds whether similar to mine or fantastical had exactly the same effect, sweeping me away from reality and mollifying the insistent spill of creativity my brain needed.

The first morning I met her she looked broken, shy and not at all confident in my conversational abilities I’m not sure why I approached her that first time. Fate? The world I created for her that day, the stories, I conjured up the undeniable magic of imagination and childish youth, ye they were not my creations, they were simply the things the voices had been whispering to me for years. When she smiled my world changed and I realised that these imaginings, these games as she called them could be so much more than I had seen before. From that moment on I focused on her and making her smile. Never before had I divulged my ideas, pretending that the things we did were playful games and not just the delusions of a crazy man. It was she that turned me into a writer, a release; I had never foreseen an outlet for these until she blossomed beneath the web of fantasies I spun around us.

Reality was something that happened when she wasn’t around, together we were immortal and unstoppable.

Apart?

This is my confession Alexandra; these words in this book do not belong to me, the ideas belong to the chemical imbalance in my head. The things clawing at my mind trying to break free and spilling onto pages almost independently of my intent.

I finished your book today.

The one I have been writing for two years, the one I was going to dedicate to you, I was writing it desperately so that I could give it to you on your birthday but it hardly seems to matter now. You died today but they don’t see what I do. You’re in these pages and you’re in my head, I can hear you to now and I won’t let you go. If I have to spin my reality to keep us together then I will. So help me God I will see you smile again as I think it will be the only thing that breaks through the shroud of devastation that is so painful I can feel it in every cell in my body. I won’t be without you because if you die, I die. You’re me and I’m you. Untouchable and unstoppable, remember?

I will save you, even if I lose myself in the process.

C A L L M E
Elliot "Lee, Otty or Leaky" Kiley

I A M
Twenty Years Old

K N O W M E
Elliot is a tortured, distracted man. Or at least this is the way he presents himself whenever possible, it’s true that he likes a drink but who doesn’t? Sometimes he had been known to drink alone but only when the thoughts in his head really need drowning out. If you didn’t know him very well you would likely think he was a well-adjusted, ambitious and talented boy with a lot of friends and a very real chance of making it big. Not really a party boy, he doesn’t look very much like the bookworm people closer to him know he is. Exercise and writing are his two vices, if he’s not typing away frantically on a keyboard he’s jotting in a notebook. If he doesn’t have a book to hand he’s scrawling on desks, hands, anything to try and hold onto the ideas that spill from him like a fountain. When he’s at the gym he works out hard enough to block the endless waterfall of creation in his head. His parents do not speak to him, or so he will tell you, in truth it’s him that never returns their calls and it breaks his mother’s heart. But they don’t understand.

They want him to be happy, but how can he ever be happy until his ideas are out there blossoming in both young and old minds alike. Words lighting up pages so that everybody can see the magic he can create with something so simple as words? His utter detestation for anybody that doesn’t understand how much impact and effect words can wield is obvious to all.

He grew up poor, very poor, which did a lot of prepare him for a life as a starving author. As such he was lucky to get a creative writing scholarship to a university in New York. He took the chance, moved to New York but rejected the scholarship. Creativity couldn’t be taught and he wasn’t going to spend years listening to self-proclaimed wordsmiths telling him what he already knew. Or worse trying to curb his magic. Moving wasn’t what he wanted, leaving his best friend was the hardest thing he had ever done but it was also the inspiration for his first novel. A novel that propelled him into the writing world spectacularly. The literary word were waiting with baited breath now to see whether this was a one hit wonder or the literary revolution of their age. It all hinged on his second book but years passed and it didn’t transpire, the world breathed again and Elliot buckled under the frustrations of too many ideas.

Putting his second book on hold, Elliot wrote something much more personal. It was their world, the one he had shared with Alex for all those years, their private world, the delicate weaving of reality and fantasy that he had created just for her. It flew onto paper as if it was made to be and after just four months it was perfected just in time for his best friend’s birthday. A friend his soul had ached for every day. Preparing to fly back home for his birthday he packed the book as a surprise and was filled with hope.

But it was never meant to be.

Since her death Elliot has been reclusive and broken, his dependency on alcohol and other substances are increasing and it seems like he’s trying to hold onto the bliss on unconsciousness. But why ever could that be?