Expect a post from me sometime today!
Joos, I hope it's okay if I expand on the ideas of Menarian culture/society you have provided! I love world-building, haha.
EDIT: I'm pushing the ETA of my post to tomorrow. Work got out much later than I thought it would. My apologies. :/
AmazinglyVivid Member
Obfuscating Reality
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- AmazinglyVivid 11 yrs ago
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Bio
Howdy there! I'm 19 and from Texas, though I'm currently going to college in New York. I've been roleplaying for quite a few years, and prefer casual or advanced roleplays. I'm pretty friendly, so if you want to drop me a message, go ahead. I'm not super-active unless I'm on break, but I'll always get to you when I can.
Most Recent Posts
Dallas' mother accepted the cookies with a gracious smile and placed them on the white end table to her right. Her gaze drifted to her son, then back to the shy young woman before her. "No, it's quite alright. Thank you. Please, why don't you have a seat?" She motioned to the empty seat on her left. Sahara hesitated. She'd been sure that she would be turned away. Finally, she nodded, and sat on the edge of the seat. Again, her back was kept rigidly straight, hands clasped carefully in her lap. Out of habit she stared down at them, only examining the rest of the room with quick stolen glances through her lashes.
The two sat in a relative silence -the music was still playing from the TV- that was not altogether as unpleasant as Sahara expected. Ms. Johnson was clearly very deeply lost in her own thoughts. Sahara, for her part, was grateful that the conversation was at an end. She idly thought about Dallas, his mother, and her trip here today. It was starting to seem a success. Of course, the moment this occurred to her, she remembered the circumstances of the visit and felt a deep pang of guilt. This boy who was once her classmate, who was actually kind to her for a short while, was gravely hurt. No positive feelings should come from his condition.
About ten minutes had passed and Sahara had begun a silent prayer for Dallas' health when four distinct knocks came from the door. It opened to reveal a short girl who appeared to be a bit younger than herself; still in high school, by the looks of it. Sahara watched her out of the corner of her eyes, very careful, as she always was, to avoid eye contact. The girl's long hair was lorn loosely, like a child's, with unnatural coloring on which Sahara's eyes lingered perhaps a bit longer than necessary. She was clearly of Asian descent, maybe Korean or Thai. Her outfit revealed much more than Sahara was comfortable with, and despite how much she'd grown used to such styles, she felt a familiar tinge of embarrassment on the girl's behalf.
Dallas' mother stood to greet her, but the girl hadn't taken a few steps in the door when another with blonde hair of a similar waist length -the style was apparently more popular than Sahara was aware of- came in, a tall youth trailing behind. The girl was possessing of bright blue eyes, clothing which Sahara considered distinctly masculine, and a demeanor that seemed altogether opposite her own. The man wore his hair longer, as she remembered her father did, though with a headband that seemed made for a female. His face was dirty and his clothes were that of a patient. Upon his entrance in she actually turned her head slightly for the first time, to take them in a bit better.
The man's appearance worried her, as it seemed he should still be in a hospital bed. It also struck her as somewhat odd that she recognized none of the newcomers to the room. She worked at a rather popular family run diner in town, and one of its two smaller bookstores. She'd seen, at least in passing, most of the citizens of their town. One would think that she would remember at least one of these, even with her tendency to not look people in the eye when speaking with them.
The older woman offered her hand to one and introduced herself. Sahara stayed quiet, eyes already returning to her lap, as was her way.
The two sat in a relative silence -the music was still playing from the TV- that was not altogether as unpleasant as Sahara expected. Ms. Johnson was clearly very deeply lost in her own thoughts. Sahara, for her part, was grateful that the conversation was at an end. She idly thought about Dallas, his mother, and her trip here today. It was starting to seem a success. Of course, the moment this occurred to her, she remembered the circumstances of the visit and felt a deep pang of guilt. This boy who was once her classmate, who was actually kind to her for a short while, was gravely hurt. No positive feelings should come from his condition.
About ten minutes had passed and Sahara had begun a silent prayer for Dallas' health when four distinct knocks came from the door. It opened to reveal a short girl who appeared to be a bit younger than herself; still in high school, by the looks of it. Sahara watched her out of the corner of her eyes, very careful, as she always was, to avoid eye contact. The girl's long hair was lorn loosely, like a child's, with unnatural coloring on which Sahara's eyes lingered perhaps a bit longer than necessary. She was clearly of Asian descent, maybe Korean or Thai. Her outfit revealed much more than Sahara was comfortable with, and despite how much she'd grown used to such styles, she felt a familiar tinge of embarrassment on the girl's behalf.
Dallas' mother stood to greet her, but the girl hadn't taken a few steps in the door when another with blonde hair of a similar waist length -the style was apparently more popular than Sahara was aware of- came in, a tall youth trailing behind. The girl was possessing of bright blue eyes, clothing which Sahara considered distinctly masculine, and a demeanor that seemed altogether opposite her own. The man wore his hair longer, as she remembered her father did, though with a headband that seemed made for a female. His face was dirty and his clothes were that of a patient. Upon his entrance in she actually turned her head slightly for the first time, to take them in a bit better.
The man's appearance worried her, as it seemed he should still be in a hospital bed. It also struck her as somewhat odd that she recognized none of the newcomers to the room. She worked at a rather popular family run diner in town, and one of its two smaller bookstores. She'd seen, at least in passing, most of the citizens of their town. One would think that she would remember at least one of these, even with her tendency to not look people in the eye when speaking with them.
The older woman offered her hand to one and introduced herself. Sahara stayed quiet, eyes already returning to her lap, as was her way.
Great character, Captain Jordan! I still need to go over it with my dear DotCom, but you are most likely accepted!
So, here's my post for the princess! I apologize for the wait; I left on a sort of impromptu road trip last Friday, and only just got back last night.
I'm very much looking forward to the collab, Dot, Dedonus. I echo the thanks to everybody for waiting so patiently!
So, I'm confused about time, again. I tried to follow Lins' post, which established it being dusk if I'm not mistaken, but in Kiddo's it's about midday? Was that post just establishing what she was doing prior to the start of the RP, or..?
I'm currently writing up an application for the princess, but I have a question about the Shuna. It has been established that their Spark will die if they are not trained by the time they're nineteen, but from the description of the princess, she is sixteen and has not been trained yet. When, exactly will she go to the White Island for her training? Is that the norm for those found to have the Spark? And, having not been trained, about what level of control and strength should she have in her abilities?
My first post is up as well! It's mostly the same as my first post from the first go around, though I made some edits where appropriate.
I'm leaving for work. Please get home safe. ILY
Sahara squinted as the light of her phone cut though the shadow cast by the building behind her with its bright, artificial light, displaying the short text just above the lock screen. Her eyes lingered on the last three letters. Her lips pursed as she stared at the small screen with an intensity usually reserved for things a great deal more interesting than text messages from one's mother. She sat like that for a few seconds before blinking with a surprising conviction and switching the phone off. Once again, the only light source augmenting the sun still making its climb up from the horizon was what hazy lights could slip through the curtained windows above. Her eyelids fluttered until she felt her vision adjust to the dimness; while she waited, she slipped the phone into one pocket of her khaki cargo pants.
The sound of the hospital's automatic doors sliding open drew her attention. A man who looked to be in his seventies walked out, pulling his jacket more tightly around him when the nip of the cool air started in on him. Sahara subconsciously tugged at the baggy sleeves of her own grey jacket. She watched him until she realized that he was turning to walk her direction. Quickly, she averted her eyes to the ground, fully expecting him to walk right past her. Instead, he settled down on the other side of the bench. Though there was more than enough room for the two of them, she still felt it necessary to pick up her small black canvas bag from between them and place it delicately in her lap.
The two sat in silence for a time. It was the old man who finally broke the silence. "You here to visit a relative or somethin'?" He asked. Sahara stared at her hands, folded delicately atop her bag.
"No, sir," she replied, uncomfortable with such a sudden unexpected conversation with a stranger. She was going to leave it at that, but decided that getting over her nerves had to start somewhere. Why not here, with this man in front of whom it didn't matter if she embarrassed herself or not, as she'd never seen him before and probably never would again. "I-I'm visiting a... friend."
It wasn't much, but it was something. Still, Sahara didn't know if she could handle more. What if he asked what was wrong with her friend? She knew what had happened, but wasn't sure about the specifics of his injuries. And Dallas wasn't exactly her friend, to begin with. Should she clarify? What if he questioned the appropriateness of a young woman visiting a young man in the hospital without a chaperon? No, that was silly, people didn't think like that here, and he'd probably have family with him, in the first place, oh, why did she put herself in situations like this-
"Oh, that's nice. If I were you I'd get in there soon, before it gets too crowded." he advised, leaning back and closing his eyes. "I hate crowds. And hospitals."
Oh. Feeling altogether embarrassed at having let her worries run wild, again, Sahara slid one hand under her canvas bag and gripped the handholds firmly with the other. She stood, eyes still glued downwards.
"Y-Yes sir. Thank you. Have a good day." Having said more at once to this man than she had to anyone in weeks, she hurried towards the hospital doors. They slid open and released from inside a pleasant gust of warm air. She entered into a larger room that she imagined was not unlike most hospital waiting rooms. To either side of her were patient waiting areas, with long rows of chairs connected by their arms rests. Some distance from the doors was the front desk, where one tired looking nurse spoke in hushed tones with an angry woman, another sifted through papers while the man in front of her impatiently tapped his foot, and a third seemed preoccupied with something on the screen of her computer, just below the counter itself.
There had clearly been several attempts to bring light and color into the area. Bright, abstract paintings hung on each of the walls. Underneath the rows of chairs were multicolored rugs that had probably been quite pretty when they were new but had since faded with age. Potted plants sat scattered at various places around the room. But no decorations could rid the place of the smell of antiseptic, nor could it make the sterility of the white walls and floors any less intimidating. Sahara wanted to turn on her heel and leave right then, but she instead forced herself to walk up to the nurse who was not already busy dealing with somebody else. The rather frazzled looking young woman glanced up expectantly. Sahara swallowed, opened her mouth, and then closed it again.
"Um, yes ma'am? How can I help you?" The nurse said after several awkward seconds of silence.
"Er, yes!" Sahara said, continuing before she could lose her courage, "In what room is Dallas Robertson staying?"
The nurse typed a few words into her computer, answered the question, and gave her directions. "Thank you," Sahara managed before walking off towards the hallway where the nurse said the elevator would be. Were the circumstances different, she might have been proud of herself for successfully navigating two completely normal interactions within the span of just a few minutes. For now, though, she was too busy dealing with her worry.
One elevator ride and several hallways later, she was approaching the room she'd been told Dallas was in. The door was a rather plain brown, like all the others in the hallway. Yet this one instilled in her a certain sense of foreboding. She took one hand from the bottom of her bag and reached towards the door's handle. She hovered there in uncertainty for a few moments before finally working up the courage to open it.
Inside was a room much plainer than she'd been expecting. Harsh music that she was unfamiliar with played on a television set in the corner. There were quite a few chairs lining the walls, but only one was occupied. The seated woman was a beautiful blonde, perhaps in her forties. She was most likely Dallas's mother. For a moment, Sahara felt an unexpected twinge of pity that the only person visiting him besides herself was his mother. Then the pity was replaced with horror as she realized that she was likely infringing on a very personal moment for the other woman. What if what she'd heard about visitors now being allowed was wrong?
She resisted the urge to leave, as she'd clearly already been seen. She could have just made up some excuse about getting rooms mixed up, but that would have made this whole trip for nothing. So, after several moments of deliberation, she made the decision her Amma would be proud of and looked at Dallas's mother. "H-hello," she started, biting her lip nervously before continuing, "D-Dallas and I were classmates in school. I've come too..." Why did she come? Out of worry? That was certainly a factor. To express her well wishes? That was true, too. But it dawned on her that a part of her motivation, too much for her comfort, was selfish in motivation. She wanted to prove something to herself. She found the thought troubling, and realized that the older woman was still waiting for her to finish.
"Give you these," she finished quietly, pulling from her canvas bag a plate of homemade cookies, saran wrapped and tied off with a blue ribbon. She'd actually made them for his whole family and him, had he been awake, but since she was the only one there, it seemed that they were just for her. That made presenting them feel a hundred times more awkward, and as she held them out, she realized that this was likely one of those ideas that seemed a lot better in her head than they'd actually be in reality. "This must be very hard for you, and I wanted to do something to raise your spirits. I... I can go now, if you'd like. I understand if you wish to be alone."
Sahara squinted as the light of her phone cut though the shadow cast by the building behind her with its bright, artificial light, displaying the short text just above the lock screen. Her eyes lingered on the last three letters. Her lips pursed as she stared at the small screen with an intensity usually reserved for things a great deal more interesting than text messages from one's mother. She sat like that for a few seconds before blinking with a surprising conviction and switching the phone off. Once again, the only light source augmenting the sun still making its climb up from the horizon was what hazy lights could slip through the curtained windows above. Her eyelids fluttered until she felt her vision adjust to the dimness; while she waited, she slipped the phone into one pocket of her khaki cargo pants.
The sound of the hospital's automatic doors sliding open drew her attention. A man who looked to be in his seventies walked out, pulling his jacket more tightly around him when the nip of the cool air started in on him. Sahara subconsciously tugged at the baggy sleeves of her own grey jacket. She watched him until she realized that he was turning to walk her direction. Quickly, she averted her eyes to the ground, fully expecting him to walk right past her. Instead, he settled down on the other side of the bench. Though there was more than enough room for the two of them, she still felt it necessary to pick up her small black canvas bag from between them and place it delicately in her lap.
The two sat in silence for a time. It was the old man who finally broke the silence. "You here to visit a relative or somethin'?" He asked. Sahara stared at her hands, folded delicately atop her bag.
"No, sir," she replied, uncomfortable with such a sudden unexpected conversation with a stranger. She was going to leave it at that, but decided that getting over her nerves had to start somewhere. Why not here, with this man in front of whom it didn't matter if she embarrassed herself or not, as she'd never seen him before and probably never would again. "I-I'm visiting a... friend."
It wasn't much, but it was something. Still, Sahara didn't know if she could handle more. What if he asked what was wrong with her friend? She knew what had happened, but wasn't sure about the specifics of his injuries. And Dallas wasn't exactly her friend, to begin with. Should she clarify? What if he questioned the appropriateness of a young woman visiting a young man in the hospital without a chaperon? No, that was silly, people didn't think like that here, and he'd probably have family with him, in the first place, oh, why did she put herself in situations like this-
"Oh, that's nice. If I were you I'd get in there soon, before it gets too crowded." he advised, leaning back and closing his eyes. "I hate crowds. And hospitals."
Oh. Feeling altogether embarrassed at having let her worries run wild, again, Sahara slid one hand under her canvas bag and gripped the handholds firmly with the other. She stood, eyes still glued downwards.
"Y-Yes sir. Thank you. Have a good day." Having said more at once to this man than she had to anyone in weeks, she hurried towards the hospital doors. They slid open and released from inside a pleasant gust of warm air. She entered into a larger room that she imagined was not unlike most hospital waiting rooms. To either side of her were patient waiting areas, with long rows of chairs connected by their arms rests. Some distance from the doors was the front desk, where one tired looking nurse spoke in hushed tones with an angry woman, another sifted through papers while the man in front of her impatiently tapped his foot, and a third seemed preoccupied with something on the screen of her computer, just below the counter itself.
There had clearly been several attempts to bring light and color into the area. Bright, abstract paintings hung on each of the walls. Underneath the rows of chairs were multicolored rugs that had probably been quite pretty when they were new but had since faded with age. Potted plants sat scattered at various places around the room. But no decorations could rid the place of the smell of antiseptic, nor could it make the sterility of the white walls and floors any less intimidating. Sahara wanted to turn on her heel and leave right then, but she instead forced herself to walk up to the nurse who was not already busy dealing with somebody else. The rather frazzled looking young woman glanced up expectantly. Sahara swallowed, opened her mouth, and then closed it again.
"Um, yes ma'am? How can I help you?" The nurse said after several awkward seconds of silence.
"Er, yes!" Sahara said, continuing before she could lose her courage, "In what room is Dallas Robertson staying?"
The nurse typed a few words into her computer, answered the question, and gave her directions. "Thank you," Sahara managed before walking off towards the hallway where the nurse said the elevator would be. Were the circumstances different, she might have been proud of herself for successfully navigating two completely normal interactions within the span of just a few minutes. For now, though, she was too busy dealing with her worry.
One elevator ride and several hallways later, she was approaching the room she'd been told Dallas was in. The door was a rather plain brown, like all the others in the hallway. Yet this one instilled in her a certain sense of foreboding. She took one hand from the bottom of her bag and reached towards the door's handle. She hovered there in uncertainty for a few moments before finally working up the courage to open it.
Inside was a room much plainer than she'd been expecting. Harsh music that she was unfamiliar with played on a television set in the corner. There were quite a few chairs lining the walls, but only one was occupied. The seated woman was a beautiful blonde, perhaps in her forties. She was most likely Dallas's mother. For a moment, Sahara felt an unexpected twinge of pity that the only person visiting him besides herself was his mother. Then the pity was replaced with horror as she realized that she was likely infringing on a very personal moment for the other woman. What if what she'd heard about visitors now being allowed was wrong?
She resisted the urge to leave, as she'd clearly already been seen. She could have just made up some excuse about getting rooms mixed up, but that would have made this whole trip for nothing. So, after several moments of deliberation, she made the decision her Amma would be proud of and looked at Dallas's mother. "H-hello," she started, biting her lip nervously before continuing, "D-Dallas and I were classmates in school. I've come too..." Why did she come? Out of worry? That was certainly a factor. To express her well wishes? That was true, too. But it dawned on her that a part of her motivation, too much for her comfort, was selfish in motivation. She wanted to prove something to herself. She found the thought troubling, and realized that the older woman was still waiting for her to finish.
"Give you these," she finished quietly, pulling from her canvas bag a plate of homemade cookies, saran wrapped and tied off with a blue ribbon. She'd actually made them for his whole family and him, had he been awake, but since she was the only one there, it seemed that they were just for her. That made presenting them feel a hundred times more awkward, and as she held them out, she realized that this was likely one of those ideas that seemed a lot better in her head than they'd actually be in reality. "This must be very hard for you, and I wanted to do something to raise your spirits. I... I can go now, if you'd like. I understand if you wish to be alone."
^ Yes, that definitely works.
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