DELTED293y5gds

--:|Static|:-- [Fauxbot and Sunflower]

Joel's hands shook as he lifted his coffee to his lips, allowing himself to gulp down about half of the piping hot liquid before setting the mug back down on the plate in front of him. He looked down at his hands for a moment, watching them shake ever so slightly, uncontrollably so. He was scared. Why was this happening to him? To anyone? He'd thrown those questions around in his head a lot the past few hours, and he never seemed to find an answer. He sighed as he rested his elbows on the table in front of him, grounding his hands. He turned his head, looking out the window, looking for a change, looking for movement, looking for anything. But his eyes were met with the same thing they've been seeing for the past however many goddamned hours he had been sitting in the diner.

Darkness.

He brought his attention back to the diner, letting his eyes dart about the room, looking at the random collection of people that had been here for their late meals and family outings. There were fifteen of them at first. Then there were thirteen. Then twelve. Now there were only ten. The others had promised to come back, to give them info on what was happening. When they didn't show up, someone went out to find them. And when he didn't come back, two people went out looking for him.

When they heard the screams, they decided to stay inside. Coffee And Pie, Oh My! had become their fortress.

Nobody spoke a word. Everyone was too absorbed in trying to get their phones connected to the internet or the radio to work. Nobody wanted to talk about what was happening. It couldnt be happening, this wasnt possible. How can a clock just stop? How can time just stop? Joel pulled off his baseball hat, setting it down on the table in front of him, next to his empty plate. He knew they couldn't spend all night--day--whatever in here. They needed to find a way out. They needed to do something.

"Everyone?" He said, quietly, but loud enough to pierce the silence. "I dont think we should just, um, sit here. I think we need to do something."

--:|Static|:-- [Fauxbot and Sunflower]

Name: Lee Ye-Jin
Age: 34
Occupation: Sales Executive
Appearance: Lee can be described in two words: professional and prepared. She wears business suits--custom tailored-- not with skirts, because she works in an environment where men have an unreasonable amount of power, and she doesnt have the time to be objectified by the other men in her field. She wears her long, straight black hair back in a ponytail while working, and in a messy bun when she isnt. Her eyes are brown. She stands at 5'5", and she is a petite woman. She has a cold demeanor about her, but she is relatively friendly.

Name: Vincent Graves
Age: 19
Occupation: Student, works part time at Coffee and Pie, Oh My!
Appearance: Vincent has his hair dyed a deep, emerald green color, which he keeps pushed back and out of his face. His eyes are the same color as his hair. Theres a tattoo of a song quote on his upper arm, which he usually keeps covered with long, striped shirts. He has an average build, his body is marked in scars and bruises from fights he tends to get into with other students on a daily basis. Despite what one would think upon initially meeting him, he is very sweet and incredibly friendly. Works at the local diner.

Name: Valencia McNeil
Age: 26
Occupation: Museum Curator
Appearance: Valencia (or Val, if you'd like) has thick, curly hair, brown, with traces of blonde. Her eyes are bright blue. She dresses in sweater dresses 98% of the time, the other two percent in sundresses. She's a bit heavyset. She loves her job, because she loves history. She spends a lot of her time studying them, weather its in person at the museum in the city, or on the internet. She clocks in at about 5'4", but be careful, for she may be small, but she is fierce.

--:|Static|:-- [Fauxbot and Sunflower]

Name: Joel Galloway
Age: 24
Height: 5'7"
Occupation: Writer

Appearance: Brown, medium length hair, shaved on one side. His eyes match the color of his hair almost exactly, they're just a touch darker, complimented by the dark rings underneath them, always giving him a tired or disinterested look. His face is dotted with light freckles. He's a pretty thin person, his hips jagged, his elbows sharp. He wears lots of plaid and neutral colors. Wears a baseball hat often.

Background: Joel grew up in Portland, Oregon with his mothers sister, his Aunt Isabelle. His parents died before he was able to know either of them, his mother being taken in labor, and his father taking his own life months later. Isabelle took custody of him, and he grew up happily, if not quietly alongside her. He internalizes a lot of his feelings, a trait that he is acutely aware of. After graduating, he got hired as a head writer for the newspaper in the city next to Rosswood.

He moved to Rosswood soon after graduating from college, telling Isabelle that he simply needed a change, and a place of his own. He had saved money since he was young for something like this, so he was able to get a relatively nice house in the sleepy town, turning in his articles through email, and taking lots of nature walks through town and the surrounding woods in his spare time. As he did when he was young, he keeps to himself.

--:|Static|:-- [Fauxbot and Sunflower]

It's 8:03 p.m. in Rosswood.

It's been 8:03 p.m in Rosswood for the past twelve hours. The clocks are stopped, the skies are dark, and there seems to be no sign of time progressing over the quaint little town. Any attempts to contact the outside world are met with the same thing: static. An attempted call to a loved one in Colorado is met with white noise. Any television channels, public access or otherwise, are covered in snowy screens. Static. Radios, walkie-talkies, CB's, livestreams. All static.

Nobody knows what's going on, and as the endless night goes on, paranoia and fear begins to set in. Because the residents of Rosswood are beginning to hear noises in the blackness outside.

Because people have been going out into the darkness and not coming back.

Faced with no other options, a small group of ten ragtag survivors--led by brother and sister Samuel and Rowena Teal, along with Joel Galloway, a local newspaper writer-- set off into the darkness to figure out the truth and see if there's a way that they can stop this from happening. What they discover, however, is far more sinister than anything they ever could have imagined...

shadows.

Tim crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes a bit as she spoke. It was bullshit, and he knew it. IT had to be. But he thought that she probably didnt wanna talk about it, at least not right now. God knows he didn't like talking about his mother. He probably talked around Sophia when the idea of his mother came up at first, but he came around eventually, and she would probably come around with whatever it was that was bothering her, eventually, as well. So, he accepted her story, for the time being.

"Oh, you wanna stop for today?" He asked, leaning back, giving her a bit of space. "We can do that."

He closed his book, setting it on the top of the stack again, which wobbled slightly, causing him to throw his hands up around it, telepathically telling the pile to stay put and not fall. Almost as if it could hear him, it stopped wobbling, eliciting a relaxed sigh from Tim.

"So, um, what do you wanna do, then?"

shadows.

Tim, who had been absorbed in his work, scribbling down notes on a note pad, his nose nearly pressed against the page, was snapped out of his trance when he heard the slight vibration of Sophia's phone on the table. Seizing the moment to take a rest, he leaned back in his chair, looking over at Sophia as she tapped at her phone screen with a look of...confusion? Anger? He couldn't quite tell. He furrowed his brow for a moment, watching her stare at her phone for a moment before another notification went off.

He felt his heart stop.

He watched the color drain from her face. Her hands began to shake, her pupils dilating as her breaths got faster. She tapped at the screen a few times before quickly burying her face in another book. He didnt know if she had even seen him looking at her. But it didnt matter, because he had seen her, and she... she was not well at all. He knew what it was. He didnt know the cause, but he knew the symptoms. Short breaths, lightheaded, probably. Oh, he knew them all too well.

These were the exact things he felt when his mother talked to him.

"H-hey, Soph? Are you alright? What happened?" He asked, pushing his book aside, leaning over a bit to her.

shadows.

After about a half an hour of searching, Tim had collected a monumental stack of books of various bindings, sizes, and wear. Peeking around the side of his stack, he slowly inched his way over to one of the round tables in the middle of the floor. Carefully, he placed his stack down, backing away slowly. He looked the spines up and down, noting the titles, trying to decide which of them to go through first. He had a pretty wide range of titles here, everything from Languages of the World to Decoding for Dummies! lined up in front of him. How was he supposed to pick out books for a situation like this? Where was he supposed to begin?

Turning on his heels, he took a quick look around the room. The few people that were up on this floor included one college aged student writing a paper on one of the computers, an older man, roughly in his late fifties sitting in the opposite corner, fingering through a book about dragons, or something mythological, and young woman of Korean descent looking through one of the shelves, probably in her early twenties. They were obviously not here together, so nobody was talking. There was silence, save for the tapping of the college students fingers on their keyboard.

Tim leaned back against the table, letting his gaze shift over to Sophia. She was crouched in front of one of the tall shelves, a stack of books balanced in one hand, another on the shelf, gently pulling one of the books out, her eyes scanning the title before she pushed it back in, an inquisitive gaze on her face. He sighed a bit before looking away, rubbing at his cheeks to get rid of the redness that had started to show on them.

Why is she always pretty?

||Static|| [Paranormal/Horror RP]

It's 8:03 p.m. in Rosswood.

It's been 8:03 p.m in Rosswood for the past twelve hours. The clocks are stopped, the skies are dark, and there seems to be no sign of time progressing over the quaint little town. Any attempts to contact the outside world are met with the same thing: static. An attempted call to a loved one in Colorado is met with white noise. Any television channels, public access or otherwise, are covered in snowy screens. Static. Radios, walkie-talkies, CB's, livestreams. All static.

Nobody knows what's going on, and as the endless night goes on, paranoia and fear begins to set in. Because the residents of Rosswood are beginning to hear noises in the blackness outside.

Because people have been going out into the darkness and not coming back.

****

So, thats the basic premise I have for us! There are still a few things that would need to be fleshed out, but that is something I usually like to do with my RP partner. We are both going to have an impact on what the story will become, so I like to work with my partner when giving it its basic outline.

I would like to have someone who is fairly detailed with their writing. You don't need to be rewriting War and Peace, I understand that we all have lives and sometimes we cant sit down and write out a whole book. A paragraph or two a post would be just fine, and even then, you can write less every once in a while, we all do sometimes. Just as long as you like to write. I hope I am able to gain the interest of someone through this, because I would absolutely love to RP this story. I would love to see where it goes. You can either respond in this post or, if you like, you can PM me. I hope to hear from someone soon!

shadows.

Tim, for once in his life, did not freak out. He needed to not freak out this time, and he was going to be calm. He focused incredibly hard on staying completely calm and collected, bringing his coffee cup up to his mouth, taking an elongated sip, not speaking for the next few moments. HE gulped down his coffee before letting out a sigh, his breath visible in cool, early winter air. His cheeks were red, burning with his internalized nervousness. He smiled a bit again, nodding as he kept his eyes forwards.

"That's okay." He said as they rounded the corner, the library in sight now. "Its a good idea, holding hands, lets do it more ofthe."

He giggled nervously at his statement, not really expecting that to come out of his mouth. Ever.

How bold of you.

The Paul Revere Memorial Library, which was nearly in the center of the city, was a large building of intense grandeur. There were large, brown cement columns at the top of a wide, equally large staircase. There were three sets of double doors to enter through the front, and, of course, there was a stature of the famous Paul Revere riding on his horse, lantern in hand near the front of the building. The library was four stories tall and two stories deep, filled with a countless number of books, magazines, newspapers, classic and important films, old film reels, and much, much more. Though, certain areas, usually the first two floors, were far more populated than others. One would barely ever see a soul searching through the books on the fourth floor or the second basement floor.

"Oh...fuck." Tim said as they approached the front of the building. "I forgot how big this is."

shadows.

Tim looked on, smiling as the workers hung up the lights and decorations. She was right, of course. There was still a whole month for this. But he loved it, he would admit. His mind went back to childhood memories, sifting through the plethora of bad to find one of the good ones. When he was six, he remembered venturing into the snow in the middle of the night, for what, he couldnt remember, though it was probably to get away from his mother. It was snowing slowly, but heavily, and with great volume. He remembered finding his way to the main street, and looking down the empty abandoned, snow covered streets. The orange glow of the towns Christmas lights shining bright through the snow storm. It was beautiful.

It was one of the very few good memories he had.

"Yeah." Tim responded quietly, eyes wandering to the different sets of lights along the buildings and street poles, connecting across gaps, bridging across the streets from one building to the other, forming criss-crossed patterns. "I like the lights."