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💀 Horror Asylum Roleplay 💀 Seeking male for 1 x 1. High-Casual +.
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10 yrs ago
Forum: 1x1 Interest Checks
Hey! Sounds interesting - I'm always a fan of horror, provided that it's not just the ol' jump scare nonsense (which is probably impossible to do in written word, so, that works out nicely); I enjoy a nicely constructed atmosphere of absolute, pants ruining terror.
I'm actually very fond of the supernatural set in a modern environment - nWoD is my baby. I can understand it being off-putting, though per your social media point, I'll say that nWoD pretty much functions on the idea that most humans simply cannot handle or accept the supernatural, even when it confronts them very directly, which is why evidence never really brings about a unified understanding of the shadows that lurk over our collective shoulders.
I'm down, though "early 20th century" sounds like a slightly harder era to work with - or maybe I just don't know a lot about the early 1900s.
Though if I tell you I'm an oil man, well, you'll have to believe me.
Though if I tell you I'm an oil man, well, you'll have to believe me.
Is his input necessary? No. Would we still like to see it? Yeah. You don't have to react to exactly what's going on, to be honest; you can be introspective, maybe discuss part of your character's back story. Pete and I had just as much to go off of and rounded out a few paragraphs each, man.
Marik said
And while this notion is good at heart, I don’t really see much worth in my character watching a few people walk into a room and then minimally reacting to it. It’s really great that you were able to put out a meaty four paragraph post, but all I can manage to write right now is a little short of a single paragraph. I don’t know if I’m just not skilled enough to squeeze out something longer, or if I’m just in a rut, but I’d rather not hold up the RP over my inability to write a decent post. I will try to get something up, but please don’t wait for me to do so. If it happens, it happens, and vice versa. I’ve seen countless RP’s die over people taking too long to post, and I won’t instigate the fall of this one. …And now that I’m done with that somewhat depressing paragraph, you all are fantastic and can post if you set your minds to it. My reasoning for not posting is simply situational. Any posts that you all write are well worth it. What I’m saying is this; I’m not claiming that the GM’s last post isn’t worth reacting to, I’m saying that I can’t really react due to writers block. I just wanted to clear that up.
I'm not trying to be a dick, I promise - but I really want to know what you mean when you say "writer's block." The term generally refers to an inability to write due to a lack of inspiration. So you just don't have any inspiration? Because I assure you, you can't wait for inspiration to strike in this kind of situation; sometimes you have to grab the bull by the horns and force out a shitty, ugly little post, and hope that you can improve upon that next time. Each time you give in to the "writer's block" by just not writing anything, it gets harder and harder to come up with the next post, and then the one after that, and so on.
He paced, paced, paced, furiously thinking, thinking, thinking. The Captain's mind - a veritable monument to mental instability - left him reeling, ghost thoughts chasing each other about his noggin, both disinterlaced and wholly intertwined and everything inbetween -
We can't establish a chain of command between the rebels, but they have to be receiving their orders from somewhere Jeanie's friend Tod broke the window, mum, t'wasn't me, I'm your ittle Jon-Jon Bishop, Captain of Her Majesty's Army, nevermore, nevermore, they stole that from you, m'boy What do they expect from you, hm? You haven't worn a uniform in over two years, you're not battle ready - if you ever were - You know the truth, though, don't you?
Where've you been hiding these long years, Jonnie Boy?
"Excellent form, Lance - Corporal - Campbell," he congratulated the Marine, eyeing her awkwardly. "You're quite the polished soldier, aren't you? Why are you - oh, I see." The Captain had about-faced, now, taking in the new inhabitants of the room. "I must say, there certainly seems to be an over-representation of the orient here, no?"
Examining the two men, it was clear that Bishop had neither the patience nor the wherewithal to behave as if he were a professional. "My goodness," he went on, staring quite openly at the mangled other Captain. "Have you recently lost a fight with a terribly angry industrial ceiling fan, m'boy?"
Leaning back and glancing at Carrie, he stage whispered, one hand over his mouth, "Strictly speaking, I don't feel relegated to a chain of command, being that I am a civilian."
We can't establish a chain of command between the rebels, but they have to be receiving their orders from somewhere Jeanie's friend Tod broke the window, mum, t'wasn't me, I'm your ittle Jon-Jon Bishop, Captain of Her Majesty's Army, nevermore, nevermore, they stole that from you, m'boy What do they expect from you, hm? You haven't worn a uniform in over two years, you're not battle ready - if you ever were - You know the truth, though, don't you?
Where've you been hiding these long years, Jonnie Boy?
"Excellent form, Lance - Corporal - Campbell," he congratulated the Marine, eyeing her awkwardly. "You're quite the polished soldier, aren't you? Why are you - oh, I see." The Captain had about-faced, now, taking in the new inhabitants of the room. "I must say, there certainly seems to be an over-representation of the orient here, no?"
Examining the two men, it was clear that Bishop had neither the patience nor the wherewithal to behave as if he were a professional. "My goodness," he went on, staring quite openly at the mangled other Captain. "Have you recently lost a fight with a terribly angry industrial ceiling fan, m'boy?"
Leaning back and glancing at Carrie, he stage whispered, one hand over his mouth, "Strictly speaking, I don't feel relegated to a chain of command, being that I am a civilian."
Darkraven said
Man... Is it because of the way I'm writing? I've always had the feeling that I'm inaccessible to roleplayers because I'm more used to writing conventionally...
I'll say that I've felt there hasn't been a ton to react to so far, making posting a little bit difficult (you'll notice a large portion of most peoples' posts is fluff, because they just don't have a lot to do or talk about right now), but I'm sure that'll iron out as we get into more interesting shit.
GUYS I POSTED AAAAHHH
"Airman Ruven," Bishop said, and then, "Dean," and finally, "Officer Shaozu. What a wonderful little group, thrilled to be in your presence, and - all - of - that." His gaze wandered as he spoke, assessing the little ramshackle loading bay; he paid Jiang's egress from his arm no mind, clearly not taking offense.
"Oh, Officer Shaozu," he murmured, eyes snapping to Jiang's, the flicker of a wry smile warping his haunted face in the dim halogen lights. "My madness was gifted to me by the Army of Great Britain - cultured primarily in a two-by-four cupboard of a home over the course of two years (solitary confinement does alter the brain, my dear boy) - but it was the source of my peers' systematic denial that earned me a place in this organization, I suspect." His eyes never left his Chinese compatriot's, and he spoke lowly, but audibly, with the heightened fervor of a brilliant madman revealing his greatest secret; "You see, some years ago - I couldn't tell you how many, truly, as I've lost my talent with timekeeping of late - I was made privy to an inexorable truth: we - are - very - much - not - alone. Whatever UNXIPU's current state of readiness, rest assured, it is the only shelter in a coming storm, and you, myself, and the rest of these lovely folks will soon witness horrible things." The smile broadened, enveloping his entire face, almost sickening in its grimness - as though he knew your deepest fears, and could bring them to life at the drop of a hat. "Beautiful things, wonderful, that will challenge the very foundation of our reality - but horrible nonetheless."
With startling abruptness, the Captain shattered the grim, unnerving atmosphere just as quickly as he had established it, his face reverting into some sort of normalcy. "Though I do fear that Her Majesty's prison service was quite ready to be rid of me." With a flourish of his fingers, he expounded, "I'm quite good at getting away," before progressing forward with the rest of the teams onto the great lift - and, being so late, found himself clamoring aboard a crate filled to the brim with sheafs of printer paper, waving away a nervous Polish guard's attempts to get him down.
Throughout their speedy tour of the underground laboratory that was UNXIPU's secret facilities, Jonathan's expression was that of childlike idolatry: he framed a box with both thumbs and pointer fingers, viewing the unfinished lair as if through time progressing-lenses - and, watching his face, it seemed entirely plausible that the Captain could somehow glean glimpses into the future and see the bright, shiny home that awaited them over the coming weeks of construction.
Wandering blasély into Echo Squad's barracks, Bishop did not lay claim to a bunk, instead optioning to pace the room; as others pondered whether or not he might wear a rut into the cold concrete floor, the Captain seemed to ponder something intensely.
"Oh, Officer Shaozu," he murmured, eyes snapping to Jiang's, the flicker of a wry smile warping his haunted face in the dim halogen lights. "My madness was gifted to me by the Army of Great Britain - cultured primarily in a two-by-four cupboard of a home over the course of two years (solitary confinement does alter the brain, my dear boy) - but it was the source of my peers' systematic denial that earned me a place in this organization, I suspect." His eyes never left his Chinese compatriot's, and he spoke lowly, but audibly, with the heightened fervor of a brilliant madman revealing his greatest secret; "You see, some years ago - I couldn't tell you how many, truly, as I've lost my talent with timekeeping of late - I was made privy to an inexorable truth: we - are - very - much - not - alone. Whatever UNXIPU's current state of readiness, rest assured, it is the only shelter in a coming storm, and you, myself, and the rest of these lovely folks will soon witness horrible things." The smile broadened, enveloping his entire face, almost sickening in its grimness - as though he knew your deepest fears, and could bring them to life at the drop of a hat. "Beautiful things, wonderful, that will challenge the very foundation of our reality - but horrible nonetheless."
With startling abruptness, the Captain shattered the grim, unnerving atmosphere just as quickly as he had established it, his face reverting into some sort of normalcy. "Though I do fear that Her Majesty's prison service was quite ready to be rid of me." With a flourish of his fingers, he expounded, "I'm quite good at getting away," before progressing forward with the rest of the teams onto the great lift - and, being so late, found himself clamoring aboard a crate filled to the brim with sheafs of printer paper, waving away a nervous Polish guard's attempts to get him down.
Throughout their speedy tour of the underground laboratory that was UNXIPU's secret facilities, Jonathan's expression was that of childlike idolatry: he framed a box with both thumbs and pointer fingers, viewing the unfinished lair as if through time progressing-lenses - and, watching his face, it seemed entirely plausible that the Captain could somehow glean glimpses into the future and see the bright, shiny home that awaited them over the coming weeks of construction.
Wandering blasély into Echo Squad's barracks, Bishop did not lay claim to a bunk, instead optioning to pace the room; as others pondered whether or not he might wear a rut into the cold concrete floor, the Captain seemed to ponder something intensely.
Swept forward into the grand storage closet by the crowd, Jon came to realize that this operation was anything but amateur; the interior of the hangar bespoke professionalism unseen on the dreary landing strip outside, and hinted at an even bigger surprise waiting for the lot of them downstairs.
"Lovely," Bishop responded when the checkpoint guard asked him how he was doing.
"What?" he huffed, terse as ever. Jon spun about to face him once more, having been distracted by himself, casing the room with increasing fervor. Flashing the man a toothy smile, he nodded, "I'm just superb! Yourself?"
"I asked to see your transfer documents," he breathed between gritted teeth.
"Transfer documents! Of course!" the Captain declared, raising his index finger. "I've got those! Haven't I? Have I got those? No, I haven't! Ah, wait, of course, yes." He frowned. "No. Sorry. Not at all." Abruptly, he yanked a lengthwise-folded sheaf of neatly stapled papers out of the great pocket in his pea coat. "Here you are, my good man!"
The papers were rather straightforward; plenty of by her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth II's royal decrees and with the authorization of the Prime Ministers, so on and so forth - all culminating in a general he's your bloody problem now, morons, air.
"Squad Echo. Move along," the angry man declared, stamping Bishop's papers.
"And you as well!" the Captain assured, quickly moving towards the rapidly forming echo squadron.
"Hello, hello, my fellow squad mates! Aren't you all just a sight," he said, rounding on the group with a broad smile. Lacing an arm about Shaozu's shoulder, he said - with absurd amicability - "I know you despise us, love, but do bear in mind that your own nation has had its day in the sun as an empire on more than one occasion - and that one of the greatest civilizations on earth spent quite a few centuries as one itself. Imperialism isn't the problem; people are, my dear boy, and I suggest you let go of your multi-national grudge because it looks like we might just all be on the same side, for the time being!"
Forward was a state of being for the Captain.
"Chuffed to bits to meet you all! I'm Jonathan Bishop, you can call me Captain, though I can't guarantee that there's any legal precedence behind it these days! What about the rest of you lot? Mostly Americans it seems, well done, fair play, no harm there though it wouldn't hurt to see another Englishman about - or, no, perhaps a lovely English lass. Don't suppose any of you brought one with you, 'eh? No? Very well! Names? Anybody got a name?"
"Lovely," Bishop responded when the checkpoint guard asked him how he was doing.
"What?" he huffed, terse as ever. Jon spun about to face him once more, having been distracted by himself, casing the room with increasing fervor. Flashing the man a toothy smile, he nodded, "I'm just superb! Yourself?"
"I asked to see your transfer documents," he breathed between gritted teeth.
"Transfer documents! Of course!" the Captain declared, raising his index finger. "I've got those! Haven't I? Have I got those? No, I haven't! Ah, wait, of course, yes." He frowned. "No. Sorry. Not at all." Abruptly, he yanked a lengthwise-folded sheaf of neatly stapled papers out of the great pocket in his pea coat. "Here you are, my good man!"
The papers were rather straightforward; plenty of by her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth II's royal decrees and with the authorization of the Prime Ministers, so on and so forth - all culminating in a general he's your bloody problem now, morons, air.
"Squad Echo. Move along," the angry man declared, stamping Bishop's papers.
"And you as well!" the Captain assured, quickly moving towards the rapidly forming echo squadron.
"Hello, hello, my fellow squad mates! Aren't you all just a sight," he said, rounding on the group with a broad smile. Lacing an arm about Shaozu's shoulder, he said - with absurd amicability - "I know you despise us, love, but do bear in mind that your own nation has had its day in the sun as an empire on more than one occasion - and that one of the greatest civilizations on earth spent quite a few centuries as one itself. Imperialism isn't the problem; people are, my dear boy, and I suggest you let go of your multi-national grudge because it looks like we might just all be on the same side, for the time being!"
Forward was a state of being for the Captain.
"Chuffed to bits to meet you all! I'm Jonathan Bishop, you can call me Captain, though I can't guarantee that there's any legal precedence behind it these days! What about the rest of you lot? Mostly Americans it seems, well done, fair play, no harm there though it wouldn't hurt to see another Englishman about - or, no, perhaps a lovely English lass. Don't suppose any of you brought one with you, 'eh? No? Very well! Names? Anybody got a name?"
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