I forgot about that- shit, sorry. I'll add a bit in, give me a moment.
- Last Seen: 9 yrs ago
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- Pietra 10 yrs ago
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9 yrs ago
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mathematicalmusical.tumblr.c..
9 yrs ago
The word nun looks like an n doing a backflip
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9 yrs ago
So sick of the disrespect people have for the people who protect our country... just because there are a few corrupt names does not mean that the entirety of the force is full of bumbling fools.
10 yrs ago
Who wants to see a youtube miniseries, a modernization of Le Fantome de l'Opera that takes place in an all-girls' conservatory?
10 yrs ago
Sleep is like a cat, it only comes to you if you ignore it.
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"Pardon me, did you say something?"
Elya turned her head slightly, to glance at Dalsarad. She had not noticed his earlier acknowledgment of her, as she was too busy brooding in her own way, too fixated on her own issues. His muttering whisper, however, incidentally caught her attention, no doubt due to her paranoid perspective. At first glance, the man looked only a few years older than she, but he carried himself as an adult might. Subconsciously, Elya took note of this, and straightened her posture a bit in response. One of her hands rested on the reins of her horse, the feel of worn leather comfortable in her hand, resting softly against her palm. The other hand tightly gripped the staff concealing Thorn, but the cool wood felt foreign in her clutch. She maintained a casual smile, though, as she tilted her head to see the man's face, while trying to keep her own as well concealed as possible.
The man seemed solemn to her, but then again, everyone now seemed to have a sober air about them. Saying goodbye, even temporarily, was enough to temper even the happiest spirit. Casting her gaze downward, she wondered why he did not have a horse, why he stood rather than rode, as to her, the concept of poverty limiting one's possessions did not even occur. Quite uneasy now, she let go of her staff and lowered her hood, and tossed her hair behind her. The thick brown curls, which were quickly becoming knotted and tangled, fell to her waist, as she adjusted herself to a more comfortable position.
"Were you addressing me, sir...? Please excuse my discourtesy, it has been a difficult day, I am a bit distracted."
Her smile turned apologetic, as she faced the man. She realized her speech patterns differed from most commoners, and made a mental note to make some effort to simplify her diction. Her mind wandered a bit, wondering who this man was, where he had come from. A commoner, clearly, based on his garb, but his profession was unclear to her. A stone mason, a bard, a drunkard, a farmer, all looked the same in her eyes- without the telltale signs of a sigil or the like, a marker of a distinct family and title, Elya realized she was absolutely clueless. Her smile fell slightly.
Her attention turned to a girl standing opposite her. Elya jumped slightly, having not noticed her approaching. Her grip on her reins tightened, as she realized that this girl was a southerner. Naturally, her gaze abruptly shifted to the girl's hair, which looked like fire in the light of the day. Realizing her mouth was slightly open, almost gaping rudely, she hesitantly offered the girl a small smile, still keeping an eye on the man in her peripheral vision.
"Y-yes, my lady, I prefer mares. I find they are much more reliable, even despite the occasional opposition or mood swing. You're from the wilds, aren't you!"
The last statement slipped out unintentionally, and Elya's hand flew up to cover her mouth, as she realized the rudeness of her tone and words alike. A flush came to her face, as she glanced back over to the man on the other side of her horse, then once more at the girl admiring the mare, unsure as to who she should apologize to first.
Elya turned her head slightly, to glance at Dalsarad. She had not noticed his earlier acknowledgment of her, as she was too busy brooding in her own way, too fixated on her own issues. His muttering whisper, however, incidentally caught her attention, no doubt due to her paranoid perspective. At first glance, the man looked only a few years older than she, but he carried himself as an adult might. Subconsciously, Elya took note of this, and straightened her posture a bit in response. One of her hands rested on the reins of her horse, the feel of worn leather comfortable in her hand, resting softly against her palm. The other hand tightly gripped the staff concealing Thorn, but the cool wood felt foreign in her clutch. She maintained a casual smile, though, as she tilted her head to see the man's face, while trying to keep her own as well concealed as possible.
The man seemed solemn to her, but then again, everyone now seemed to have a sober air about them. Saying goodbye, even temporarily, was enough to temper even the happiest spirit. Casting her gaze downward, she wondered why he did not have a horse, why he stood rather than rode, as to her, the concept of poverty limiting one's possessions did not even occur. Quite uneasy now, she let go of her staff and lowered her hood, and tossed her hair behind her. The thick brown curls, which were quickly becoming knotted and tangled, fell to her waist, as she adjusted herself to a more comfortable position.
"Were you addressing me, sir...? Please excuse my discourtesy, it has been a difficult day, I am a bit distracted."
Her smile turned apologetic, as she faced the man. She realized her speech patterns differed from most commoners, and made a mental note to make some effort to simplify her diction. Her mind wandered a bit, wondering who this man was, where he had come from. A commoner, clearly, based on his garb, but his profession was unclear to her. A stone mason, a bard, a drunkard, a farmer, all looked the same in her eyes- without the telltale signs of a sigil or the like, a marker of a distinct family and title, Elya realized she was absolutely clueless. Her smile fell slightly.
Her attention turned to a girl standing opposite her. Elya jumped slightly, having not noticed her approaching. Her grip on her reins tightened, as she realized that this girl was a southerner. Naturally, her gaze abruptly shifted to the girl's hair, which looked like fire in the light of the day. Realizing her mouth was slightly open, almost gaping rudely, she hesitantly offered the girl a small smile, still keeping an eye on the man in her peripheral vision.
"Y-yes, my lady, I prefer mares. I find they are much more reliable, even despite the occasional opposition or mood swing. You're from the wilds, aren't you!"
The last statement slipped out unintentionally, and Elya's hand flew up to cover her mouth, as she realized the rudeness of her tone and words alike. A flush came to her face, as she glanced back over to the man on the other side of her horse, then once more at the girl admiring the mare, unsure as to who she should apologize to first.
<Snipped quote by Pietra>
Oh. I thought it was one of those sweet-ass hat/hood things like Vernon Roche wore in the Witcher.
That's one kind, yeah.
I'd like to have my character interact with Dalsarad, but I don't know the rules as to how long I must wait before responding...
By the way, guys, a chaperon is just a hood that's not a part of a cloak.
When he directed his sights towards Tess, Phoenix immediately expanded her wings. The bullet pierced her left wing, at the speculum area of the secondary feathers. It was enough to disable her wings, until she next regenerated. She let the force of the bullet send her wings backwards, and she folded them behind her as she took just two steps, and tackled Dean to the ground, though his back was turned to her. She pinned him down from behind, straddling his back to keep him secure. Though her robotic arm looked the same as her human one, as both were covered in identical armor, it was obviously much stronger; therefore, she used her left arm to grab the gun, crushing it in her steel grip. With her other hand, she grabbed that arm, and yanked it back, dislocating it from his shoulder. She made sure not to tear the rotator cuff, but to put extreme pressure on his nerves.
Without his gun, and without the ability to use his dominant arm until receiving medical attention, Dean did not pose a threat to her. Seeing the approaching police vehicles, Phoenix held the dominant arm in a still position with her right hand, the gun crumpled into a useless piece of scrap metal in her left. Dropping the gun to the ground by Dean's head, so that he could see it, she folded her left wing around, so that she could see the injury caused by the bullet. The force from the bullet had fractured her elbow, and broken off the tips of several of her feathers. She retracted her wings into her back, and unsheathed her sword with her left hand. The sunlight refracted off of the steel brightly, signaling to the law enforcement officers her position. She spoke a few words under her breath.
"You should have accepted my deal."
Without his gun, and without the ability to use his dominant arm until receiving medical attention, Dean did not pose a threat to her. Seeing the approaching police vehicles, Phoenix held the dominant arm in a still position with her right hand, the gun crumpled into a useless piece of scrap metal in her left. Dropping the gun to the ground by Dean's head, so that he could see it, she folded her left wing around, so that she could see the injury caused by the bullet. The force from the bullet had fractured her elbow, and broken off the tips of several of her feathers. She retracted her wings into her back, and unsheathed her sword with her left hand. The sunlight refracted off of the steel brightly, signaling to the law enforcement officers her position. She spoke a few words under her breath.
"You should have accepted my deal."
Okay, well, I think I owe all of you an apology for that unpleasantness.
No, you don't owe us anything. You've made a great RP, and they're just bitter about it.
Sounds great. For realism's sake, though, please keep in mind she'll only be able to take on one to three benders at a time.
Phoenix saw the gun, and realized his manipulative tactic. Narrowing her eyes, she realized that this one was smart, more manipulative than most. Any villain who relied on cunning over his physical attributes was to be treated with much caution. She lowered her left hand to her side, and her right from its placement on the hilt of her sword. Folding her wings back, relaxing them slightly, Phoenix took a step towards Dean. Her body language was strong and dominating, but she did not seem to be actively on the offensive. She spoke softly, trying to give him a second chance. However kind and merciful her words and tone, her accent was still harsh.
"I do not want to take him to prison, nor do I want to take you to prison. To my knowledge, you are merely aiding and abetting a criminal, whose acts are out of a twisted perspective of the world rather than out of conscious evil. Neither of you should spend years locked behind bars without a chance to change. I want to offer you that chance. Please, allow me to help you. Put down the gun, and I promise, I will let you go free if you so choose."
She spoke quickly, ignoring his query about her sword. That information was public domain- a simple internet search of her would bring up the news articles of her acceptance of the sword from the mayor of her city. Her eyes, masked behind her helmet's cover, were focused on his gun. Approaching him slowly, she consciously tried to engage him in the conversation, knowing now that he valued his brains over anything else. Her marine corps training had not just focused on brawn, as tactics and strategy were just as important, if not more so. Though it was discouraged to negotiate with terrorists, Rose believed that she should give this mere boy a chance.
"I cannot, however, give you your freedom if you pull that trigger. Even if you believe that his death would be a better choice for him than his redemption, killing someone who has no choice in the matter is murder. Put down the gun."
She was now only a meter away from him, having taken small, gradual steps to approach him.
"I do not want to take him to prison, nor do I want to take you to prison. To my knowledge, you are merely aiding and abetting a criminal, whose acts are out of a twisted perspective of the world rather than out of conscious evil. Neither of you should spend years locked behind bars without a chance to change. I want to offer you that chance. Please, allow me to help you. Put down the gun, and I promise, I will let you go free if you so choose."
She spoke quickly, ignoring his query about her sword. That information was public domain- a simple internet search of her would bring up the news articles of her acceptance of the sword from the mayor of her city. Her eyes, masked behind her helmet's cover, were focused on his gun. Approaching him slowly, she consciously tried to engage him in the conversation, knowing now that he valued his brains over anything else. Her marine corps training had not just focused on brawn, as tactics and strategy were just as important, if not more so. Though it was discouraged to negotiate with terrorists, Rose believed that she should give this mere boy a chance.
"I cannot, however, give you your freedom if you pull that trigger. Even if you believe that his death would be a better choice for him than his redemption, killing someone who has no choice in the matter is murder. Put down the gun."
She was now only a meter away from him, having taken small, gradual steps to approach him.
By the way, Phoenix's helmet looks something like
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