@SouffleGirl123 Cos U da Baus.
- Last Seen: 9 yrs ago
- Joined: 10 yrs ago
- Posts: 342 (0.10 / day)
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- Fillet 10 yrs ago
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9 yrs ago
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9 yrs ago
I'm like Nemo's dad when I'm trying to write and Dory's song is my motivation.
9 yrs ago
Back. Will try to finish RPs.
10 yrs ago
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In a display of power, she ignites a sharp line of pain across my chest with her weapon, making me grimace and gasp; the material of my clothing sticks to my blistered skin. Before I can swat away or grab it, the provocation is gone. The woman, quick and adept, sounds satisfied that I cannot challenge her in close proximity nor when given a chance. She makes it clear that I am at her mercy.
What she has said reveals her to be alone as much as I am and in nearly as much desperate straits; I store away the tidbit and that I wasn’t an intended target of hers. She is lost as I am and contrary to my initial assumption, she isn’t a native to the lands; am I? There is a whisper of an idea, misty and teasingly out of reach, about our connection together.
She places something beside me and from the long narrow impact it makes on the ground, a spear appears in my mind. She is sure and arrogant that I am unable to use it against her or I wonder if she may have lent the weapon to me for my own protection. I mutter an assent to stay put but fatigue and weakness congeal the words into a muffled noise. The safety of company and the predictable forest sounds lull me into sitting down, lying on my back, and going to sleep, but I don’t want to let my guard down thus exposed, so, with wearisome effort, I busy myself.
As she climbs the tree, I run my hands gingerly along myself trying to determine what clothing I am wearing and so find out a bit of how I got here. It is long sleeved and trousered as one suit and a zip runs through the middle to end near my belly button. I feel the breast pockets and I reach inside each to pull out a small box. I finger the dimensions. It is about the length of my forefinger, the width of a first knuckle, and owns a rough strip on one side. The slits outlined on the ends suggest I can open it. I try to thumb it open from the topside but it doesn’t yield; I push it lengthways and it slides out easily. Inside, the contents feel rough-hewn, like a bundle, and further investigation nets me individual sticks of some kind. I twirl one carefully between my thumb and finger, feeling its brittleness, and the thin stick ends on a frightening tip that causes me to drop it.
I remember a snapshot of myself squatting on a dirty wooden floor, breathing in sunlit golden dust in the still air. Cobwebs and grimy windows and scant old furniture remain in the room; I feel like a mischievous visitor. I am holding the same stick, sturdy and unwieldy in my little fingers, its bulky container in my other hand, a sense of excitement bubbles in me, and I hear somebody with a young familiar voice - a haunting echo - egg me on, “I wanna see - “
I snap open my eyes and the sunlight flash blinds me. I stumble backwards and trip onto the forest ground. The box falls from my hand. She rushes down the tree and lands with a loud thud. Heart pounding and heaving, I scramble further away from the matchbox as if it can kill me of its own accord. I don’t hear what she says. The world sways in my head, making me feel dizzy and nauseated and I swallow thickly. Pointing in its direction, I say the last thing to her before my head hits the ground, “Fire.”
What she has said reveals her to be alone as much as I am and in nearly as much desperate straits; I store away the tidbit and that I wasn’t an intended target of hers. She is lost as I am and contrary to my initial assumption, she isn’t a native to the lands; am I? There is a whisper of an idea, misty and teasingly out of reach, about our connection together.
She places something beside me and from the long narrow impact it makes on the ground, a spear appears in my mind. She is sure and arrogant that I am unable to use it against her or I wonder if she may have lent the weapon to me for my own protection. I mutter an assent to stay put but fatigue and weakness congeal the words into a muffled noise. The safety of company and the predictable forest sounds lull me into sitting down, lying on my back, and going to sleep, but I don’t want to let my guard down thus exposed, so, with wearisome effort, I busy myself.
As she climbs the tree, I run my hands gingerly along myself trying to determine what clothing I am wearing and so find out a bit of how I got here. It is long sleeved and trousered as one suit and a zip runs through the middle to end near my belly button. I feel the breast pockets and I reach inside each to pull out a small box. I finger the dimensions. It is about the length of my forefinger, the width of a first knuckle, and owns a rough strip on one side. The slits outlined on the ends suggest I can open it. I try to thumb it open from the topside but it doesn’t yield; I push it lengthways and it slides out easily. Inside, the contents feel rough-hewn, like a bundle, and further investigation nets me individual sticks of some kind. I twirl one carefully between my thumb and finger, feeling its brittleness, and the thin stick ends on a frightening tip that causes me to drop it.
I remember a snapshot of myself squatting on a dirty wooden floor, breathing in sunlit golden dust in the still air. Cobwebs and grimy windows and scant old furniture remain in the room; I feel like a mischievous visitor. I am holding the same stick, sturdy and unwieldy in my little fingers, its bulky container in my other hand, a sense of excitement bubbles in me, and I hear somebody with a young familiar voice - a haunting echo - egg me on, “I wanna see - “
I snap open my eyes and the sunlight flash blinds me. I stumble backwards and trip onto the forest ground. The box falls from my hand. She rushes down the tree and lands with a loud thud. Heart pounding and heaving, I scramble further away from the matchbox as if it can kill me of its own accord. I don’t hear what she says. The world sways in my head, making me feel dizzy and nauseated and I swallow thickly. Pointing in its direction, I say the last thing to her before my head hits the ground, “Fire.”
Don't wait for inspiration. Writing is damn hard work and it requires paramount focus. Go for it.
This.
What works for me right now is to read through my partner's post, imagine it, feel it, and see what strikes my fancy - see what inspiration gives me, so to speak. I would have specific points I want to include in my reply, I note them down, and then - this is where hard work begins - I sit myself down and churn out a first draft of my post. Ugly and crude like a troll baby it usually is; I write whatever my mind comes up with to get it out of the way. What I find difficult is not judging myself and to let it go, to free flow my writing, so that I will have something to work with later on. Then the day after, I will smooth out the scene I have in a second draft, and I will polish it up again another time.
If, for some reason I cannot write out a scene, it feels boring and sluggish, then I concede that maybe it isn't what I want to have - subconsciously I want to go in another direction. There's nothing wrong with chucking out the first idea in favour of a more exciting prospect.
It is hard work. It needs practice. And like every hobby and skill you want to learn, it gets easier and better with every session, however short it may be.
That said, I can't play in a group RP. It's too fast paced and/or too much filler goes on in them, so my preferred medium is 1x1. You may need to find out if it's the rate that gets you or a personal laziness you want to whip into shape.
Just curious, what is your Soulmate-Wrist idea about?
On the IC issue, whoever wanna take up the mantle and move on to the performance, please do so. There's no post order so go right ahead.
@Suzuiya It would defeat your purpose as a stalker if they were behind you.
A'ight, I'm formally starting the #Mikantha and #Jackita ships. Anybody in on this?
@Amy
Seems that way, 4 to 2 in the vote for Miami Over Moon! :)
Righto, band name it is.
And I forgot to mention that since @Ferris has joined us at an opportune time, their character will smoothly fill in what momentary gap there was before, so assume the character has been in the band since the beginning, and that it's her and Levi that started it up as we briefly discussed. And if you guys want, however it fits, to incorporate her into your backstories. Welcome to the club is what I'm saying, sit down and make chats y'all :D
You're a lovely bunch.
@SuzuiyaOh yeah, I heard of her. I liked her cover of "Crazy".
Speaking of, just speculating and this is non-GM, what kind of sounds do you guys envision the band to have? I thought the slower songs from The Cranberries might work sometimes for the slower tunes here. m.youtube.com/watch?v=G6Kspj3OO0s
Speaking of, just speculating and this is non-GM, what kind of sounds do you guys envision the band to have? I thought the slower songs from The Cranberries might work sometimes for the slower tunes here. m.youtube.com/watch?v=G6Kspj3OO0s
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