FestiveRPer
Age: 22
Frequency Online: Hourly
Favorite Ice Cream: Green tea
Occupation: Student
College Major: Psychology
Any Fandoms You Enjoy: Nothing too major, but I do have a thing for Mass Effect and Doctor Who. Can’t say I follow any tumblrs/blogs/other dedicated to them, though. Does that count?
Writing Sample
Don't mind the complete randomness of it. It was the shortest thing of something recent that was short... enough
There was a pop and a whoosh, and every fiber and pixel constructing the world melted away into the never-ending field of sunflowers, rippling in phantasmagoric waves. The ocean of softened gold and yellow fragments swaying softly in a crisp summer’s breeze met the pale blue sky at the horizon. Where the jagged face of a boulder sat twenty yards away, a short woman stood, staring off into the distance with no other distinguishable feature around.
The roundness of her bald head where little nubs of dark stubble poked through complemented the androgynous look she aimed for. Her height was small but the taut muscles of her narrow back added a form of intimidation to an otherwise petite look.
Gingerly he took a step toward her, feeling every bone in his body quake. A layer of sandpaper coated the back of his throat, and it stung profoundly as he drew every ragged breath into a chest that burned with a million different fires. A heavy pressure bore into his left side and it made him lean into it to try and soften the dull throb. Something was missing inside; he could feel it.
A small stone caught his foot and the ground smacked him hard in the face a second later. It stole the air from his lungs and he gasped desperately for the smallest bit of oxygen. He dug his hands into the cool earth and felt the dirt press beneath his fingernails – or, at least, the fingernails of the few fingers he still had. The pinky finger on his right hand stuck out at an odd angle. He didn’t even remember it happening.
With a loud wheeze and all the strength he could muster, he hoisted himself up onto his knees. The sun was beating down on him; beads of sweat caked his brow and dribbled down his face, soaking the remnants of a scorched t-shirt that still clung to his body.
“I can’t… Grace… I can’t,” he pleaded. He assumed his voice would still remain strong, but what came out sounded like a mixture of a shy boy and an elderly man on his deathbed. He was neither yet, but would be both again soon. It wasn’t pessimism to admit he failed. It was as close to realism as he could get.
“You can sti… still d-do it, Grace.” He truthfully didn’t think there was a fighting chance left in any word to back up that statement but, unlike himself, his partner in every crime they ever committed wouldn’t get a do-over. In the end it didn’t matter what she felt or thought in her final moments staring down the very last sights she would ever see, hearing the very last sounds and smelling her very last scents. In the blink of an eye she would go back to being a pre-Gene Grace, unaware of what was about to become of her. Still, he lied to keep her sane.
She never looked back at him.
Petals torn from their homes blew upward in the sudden violent gush of wind, and a few clattered into the naked, beige-skinned body of Grace. They took her down with themselves, and as limp as a doll, Grace Pang fell into the stalks that engulfed her whole.
A sinking feeling overcame Gene; he felt the color drain from his face and his eyes widen. He collapsed, sitting on his heels, and let his mouth sag open.
“No…” he gasped. He repeated it, his voice cracking and rising to a vulnerable pitch, his face crumpling inward as he shook his head in denial. Tightness constricted his chest; he felt vomit inching up his throat and he couldn’t help but let gravity pull him down into the warm embrace of the soil.
“No… no, no… oh, shit, no…” was all he could mumble as he shook uncontrollably, as his cheeks became drenched in sudden streams of tears. It hurt beyond belief every time he sobbed, but he couldn’t keep the built-up emotion from finally seeping out.
The only other human who stood a chance of surviving didn’t even last a minute.
He forced himself up and onto his hands and knees, and through the thicket of sunflowers he crawled towards where her body fell. He found the scarred, burned, pockmarked body of a woman too brilliant and beautiful to have been his only frontline of the war. Half of her face was missing and the raw redness of muscle glinted in the sunlight. The pearly white teeth she once proudly proclaimed were natural remained bared in that menacing grin. The one hazel eye she still had remained transfixed with an eyebrow raised in surprise. Did she know what was about to happen? Did she see it coming from a mile away, or was it all over in a millisecond?
The Grace Gene knew would’ve had a plan B ready for when her plan A failed like she had planned for. The Grace Gene knew would’ve taken down an entire army before the first bullet made a dent in her. The Grace Gene thought he knew would’ve lived to tell the tale.
He didn’t even know her surname.
With trembling hands Gene cupped her chin and caressed her cheek. He shakily tried to move her, hoping to wake her, but the exposed fragments of skull and brain matter informed him she wouldn’t be standing up to fight again.
“Ple-ease… don’t,” he whispered to her. He didn’t know what to do, how to help her. “P-please, Gra-ace…” Her head lolled out of his hands and fell too loosely on the patch of sunflower petals she took down with her.
It felt like something tore open his organs. He let out a gurgling yelp and slumped back. He wanted to close her only intact eyelid, but he didn’t want to touch her. Was it natural to feel so ready to let her go so soon? The overwhelming feelings of hopelessness and sadness mixed with a stomach churning revolt.
From out of nowhere, a rumble grew exponentially into an air-tearing mechanical growl. Gene looked up into the sky and saw the metallic face of the semi-organic God looking back at him. Two glands slid away into meaty pockets and he saw the faint glow of a blue light.
He stared at it, and just when it began to brighten, he blinked.
The light exploded from everywhere around him. He let out a piercing wail; he felt swollen, his entire body crumbling under the overbearing pain. There were hands latching onto him and he felt so cold and damp.
The hands coiled something around his exposed body, and when he finally dared to open his eyes, he saw the face of his mother holding him for her first time.
For Gene, it was his third.
~*~
Character
Status: Permanent
Opening and Closing Post: [link from the IC to their first and if applicable, final post]
First Name: Nicole “Nick”
Last Name: Rossum
Born: April 18th, 1991 (23-years-old), Toronto, Canada
Appearance: Nicole Rossum
4 Positive Adjectives: Carefree, charismatic, creative, thoughtful
2 Negative Adjectives: Cowardly, definitely not the smartest
Family: Mother, grandmother, three older brothers & one younger brother
Education: One year spent as an English major, two as a Gender Studies major, and one as a Sociology major. Still hasn’t graduated.
3 Hobbies or Talents:
- courtesy of her oldest brother (Ted), she can beatbox – quite well, if she does say so herself;
- enjoys reading, mostly thriller/mystery novels;
- Netflix.
2 Fears:
- death;
- contracting/developing a serious illness.
A Glimpse of...
There was something a little too terrifying about the way the ceiling fan intensely wobbled as it picked up more and more momentum that gave Nick a little indication it wasn’t safe to sit under it. The hairs on her forearms stood on end every time she saw it threatening to unhinge and naturally fly straight for her jugular vein. Despite Nick’s protests to turn it off, her mother never could hear her clearly over the aimless banging of pots and pans behind the island counter of the kitchen. Ma never was cooking or cleaning anything. She simply liked pretending to be busy, slamming cupboard doors, looking for “just something”, loudly declaring they were out of “just something” completely irrelevant like –
“Did you pick me up some rhubarb?” Ma shouted with her back to the rest of the kitchen. She was leaning over the sink, looking out the window and in through the neighbors’. Ever since the homosexual couple moved in – and she always had to point out they were homosexual – she liked criticizing every detail about their lives. Mostly their poor decorating taste. According to Ma, gay men weren’t truly gay until they memorized every name given to IKEA furniture.
“The hell you need rhubarb for?” Nick snorted, amused. It had only been two days since she returned home from college. She hardly had time to unpack the mounds of unwashed clothes that had begun to spawn other colors. Grocery shopping was not high on her list of “settle back into home life”.
“Ay!” her mother snapped with a bang on the countertop. She didn’t turn around to face Nick, but she did wave a warning finger in Nick’s general direction. “Watch your tongue! Keep it in your mouth if you’re gonna talk to me like that. I’m in here all day cooking for you all, and then your brother Ted needs money for a car loan and then you show up on my doorstep looking for a place to stay and d’you think anything thinks to ask me –”
“Trying to watch something in here!” Rick shouted from the living room, his voice rising in volume and anger equally. Rick was Nick’s youngest brother. Half of her life was dedicated to tormenting him and reveling in the way he tried to fight back. There never was an easier target than Rick.
“Watch with your eyes then, not your ears,” Nick retorted. A smirk crossed her face. A pat on the back was deserved for that one, she thought. She could almost hear the vein pulsing in his neck, the way his teeth gritted together the instant he felt the slightest bit of irritation. It was complete satisfaction.
“How the hell can I hear with my eyes, doofus?” Rick yelled back.
“Watch your tongue!” Ma managed to get in before Nick’s excited retaliation sparked back.
“Hey, buddy, you know what subtitles are? Yeah? Good. You put them on, you sit there, you read them. You know how to read there, pal? You think you can read something other than them magazines?”
“What magazines?” Ma sharply asked.
“Damn it, Ma, it’s nothing,” Rick groaned.
“Both of you! Tongues – watch them!” Ma barked.
“Them magazines he keeps under his bed! Ma, you still clean his room, you know what I’m talking about.” Nick had to keep this back-and-forth going. It was the sudden highlight of her entire week.
“She ain’t seen nothing ‘cause there ain’t nothing, stupid,”
“Like hell there isn’t,”
“Tongue!” Ma warned.
There was a lull in the argument. Perfect timing.
Nick had to go for it.
“So you do know the kind of mags I’m talking about?”
“Nick!” Ma and Rick exclaimed disgustedly in unison. Nick thought it was funny. All by herself she had a little chuckle. She shrugged and clicked her tongue. They never were appreciative towards her comedic gold.
The apartment went silent after that. Ma returned to rummaging through a drawer full of Tupperware containers, albeit quieter. The volume of the show Rick was watching coincidentally became louder. Nick occupied the awkward stillness by picking at a paint stain on the dining room table.
It was all quiet until –
“It’s 2014! Who the hell reads nudie mags anymore anyway?!”
“Nick!”
“Did you pick me up some rhubarb?” Ma shouted with her back to the rest of the kitchen. She was leaning over the sink, looking out the window and in through the neighbors’. Ever since the homosexual couple moved in – and she always had to point out they were homosexual – she liked criticizing every detail about their lives. Mostly their poor decorating taste. According to Ma, gay men weren’t truly gay until they memorized every name given to IKEA furniture.
“The hell you need rhubarb for?” Nick snorted, amused. It had only been two days since she returned home from college. She hardly had time to unpack the mounds of unwashed clothes that had begun to spawn other colors. Grocery shopping was not high on her list of “settle back into home life”.
“Ay!” her mother snapped with a bang on the countertop. She didn’t turn around to face Nick, but she did wave a warning finger in Nick’s general direction. “Watch your tongue! Keep it in your mouth if you’re gonna talk to me like that. I’m in here all day cooking for you all, and then your brother Ted needs money for a car loan and then you show up on my doorstep looking for a place to stay and d’you think anything thinks to ask me –”
“Trying to watch something in here!” Rick shouted from the living room, his voice rising in volume and anger equally. Rick was Nick’s youngest brother. Half of her life was dedicated to tormenting him and reveling in the way he tried to fight back. There never was an easier target than Rick.
“Watch with your eyes then, not your ears,” Nick retorted. A smirk crossed her face. A pat on the back was deserved for that one, she thought. She could almost hear the vein pulsing in his neck, the way his teeth gritted together the instant he felt the slightest bit of irritation. It was complete satisfaction.
“How the hell can I hear with my eyes, doofus?” Rick yelled back.
“Watch your tongue!” Ma managed to get in before Nick’s excited retaliation sparked back.
“Hey, buddy, you know what subtitles are? Yeah? Good. You put them on, you sit there, you read them. You know how to read there, pal? You think you can read something other than them magazines?”
“What magazines?” Ma sharply asked.
“Damn it, Ma, it’s nothing,” Rick groaned.
“Both of you! Tongues – watch them!” Ma barked.
“Them magazines he keeps under his bed! Ma, you still clean his room, you know what I’m talking about.” Nick had to keep this back-and-forth going. It was the sudden highlight of her entire week.
“She ain’t seen nothing ‘cause there ain’t nothing, stupid,”
“Like hell there isn’t,”
“Tongue!” Ma warned.
There was a lull in the argument. Perfect timing.
Nick had to go for it.
“So you do know the kind of mags I’m talking about?”
“Nick!” Ma and Rick exclaimed disgustedly in unison. Nick thought it was funny. All by herself she had a little chuckle. She shrugged and clicked her tongue. They never were appreciative towards her comedic gold.
The apartment went silent after that. Ma returned to rummaging through a drawer full of Tupperware containers, albeit quieter. The volume of the show Rick was watching coincidentally became louder. Nick occupied the awkward stillness by picking at a paint stain on the dining room table.
It was all quiet until –
“It’s 2014! Who the hell reads nudie mags anymore anyway?!”
“Nick!”