Prophecy Member
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AUS? I don't know where that is, or what it stands for unless you meant USA? I live In the UK
Carantathraiel said
Still can't figure out if Celcius or Fahrenheit...*waves* Hello you! Welcome back.
*has insecurity revealed* OK... You got me... I still don't know which one is which... But most likely whichever one sounds most suitable next to '40' degrees. *sees judge-full eyes watching me*
*waves back* hello, glad to be back
Thank god, Cryptik, I thought I thought I'd never see a snowflake for the rest of my life!
'It's been 84 years'
'It's been 84 years'
Can we please share the snow because 40+ degree heat is beginning to wear me down.
I also hope that I'm not one of those people that you're forcing yourself to Rp with •~•
And greetings Paradigm
And greetings Paradigm
*late reply* I'm fine thanks \(•~•\) <(*.*<) |(*-*)|
And I thought I would share a collection of people in need of hugs because why not
And I thought I would share a collection of people in need of hugs because why not
*creeps into the room and lurks in the shadows*
In
♀Female Looking for ♂Male or ♀Female. Medieval/Fantasy/Casual/+18
→
10 yrs ago
Forum: 1x1 Interest Checks
Expect a PM from me when I get the chance. I'm on holiday right now, but I'm sure I'll have a bit of time later in the week to talk to you about an RP.
P.s. I'm very interested in a Medieval/Skyrim RP. :)
P.p.s. I'm male by the way.
P.s. I'm very interested in a Medieval/Skyrim RP. :)
P.p.s. I'm male by the way.
Jacob
"Good," Jacob said, pondering on what he should say next. Using his forearm he leant against the door and rested his head against the rough wooden surface. He almost felt awkward talking to a woman of roughly his age while being forced to maintain a stern and unsympathetic exterior. She was, after all, a prisoner on-board of The Lusty Pillager, and she had to be treated like one. He couldn't bring himself to talk about her in such a degrading manner as so many of the crew did, but there needed to be a fine line drawn between hostage and captor. However, this woman was refusing to eat, and the captain would not be happy about that. "Look, I don't care if you don't want to eat, you're going to have to. If you don't you you'll most likely be beaten... or worse. People have died from starvation on this ship before, and let me assure you that it's not the most pleasant way to go." His voice was not soft, but neither was it scolding.
Without leaving enough time for the woman to reply Jacob picked up the bowl of gruel and reached for the key. "I'm going to open the door, and when I do you better be at the far end of the room." After a brief struggle to get the key to turn in the lock he opened the door a fraction and stuck his head through the gap. He found the woman exactly where he has asked her to be so, with caution, he entered the room.
"It's just gruel from the kitchen," Jacob said, placing the bowl on a small table at the foot of the bed. He then stood there for a moment, unsure of whether to leave. He filled his cheeks with air and then let the air escape with a sigh, allowing his eyes to wander about the room before landing on the only other person present. She was, in all aspects, quite beautiful. In fact, he would have gone as far to say she was the most strikingly beautiful woman he had ever seen. He was entirely entranced by her for a minute, maybe more, and it was only once Jacob shook himself out of this trance that he had the sense to speak.
"What's your name?" He asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed.
"Good," Jacob said, pondering on what he should say next. Using his forearm he leant against the door and rested his head against the rough wooden surface. He almost felt awkward talking to a woman of roughly his age while being forced to maintain a stern and unsympathetic exterior. She was, after all, a prisoner on-board of The Lusty Pillager, and she had to be treated like one. He couldn't bring himself to talk about her in such a degrading manner as so many of the crew did, but there needed to be a fine line drawn between hostage and captor. However, this woman was refusing to eat, and the captain would not be happy about that. "Look, I don't care if you don't want to eat, you're going to have to. If you don't you you'll most likely be beaten... or worse. People have died from starvation on this ship before, and let me assure you that it's not the most pleasant way to go." His voice was not soft, but neither was it scolding.
Without leaving enough time for the woman to reply Jacob picked up the bowl of gruel and reached for the key. "I'm going to open the door, and when I do you better be at the far end of the room." After a brief struggle to get the key to turn in the lock he opened the door a fraction and stuck his head through the gap. He found the woman exactly where he has asked her to be so, with caution, he entered the room.
"It's just gruel from the kitchen," Jacob said, placing the bowl on a small table at the foot of the bed. He then stood there for a moment, unsure of whether to leave. He filled his cheeks with air and then let the air escape with a sigh, allowing his eyes to wander about the room before landing on the only other person present. She was, in all aspects, quite beautiful. In fact, he would have gone as far to say she was the most strikingly beautiful woman he had ever seen. He was entirely entranced by her for a minute, maybe more, and it was only once Jacob shook himself out of this trance that he had the sense to speak.
"What's your name?" He asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed.
Jackson
Jackson didn't care to admit it, but having Erica rest against his chest relieved some angst and worry that resided in the pit of his stomach. He had never been one to share his feelings openly, but he was sure that Erica was aware of how tense he was. His muscles relaxed somewhat as she nestled into him and he reached his arm around to get a handful of crisps. Her voice soothed him. She spoke of the alarming number of people that were turning up at the hospital, and then of her own theories of what was causing so many to fall ill. Jackson listened, and although he may not have quite understood her 'geek talk', he was happy that someone had an idea of what was going on.
Jackson's was thinking of his mother and father - and if they were safe - when the power cut out. Even then he didn't stop thinking about them, but it wasn't long before the emergency broadcast had claimed his interest.
Jesus, National Guard?
That meant the situation had turned sour. As if it hadn't already. Erica pulled away from Jackson to sit up straighter and he quickly followed suit. After taking a handful of crisps and cramming them in his mouth he put the packet down and tried to focus on the words moving across the screen. Erica mentioned the implementation of quarantine, but Jackson was still comprehending the fact that the National Guard had been deployed. The National Guard was only deployed during the outbreak of war, or in the case of a national emergency. He wasn't sure what was worse, but he was more than certain which one was the cause.
His trail of thought was cut short as something slammed into the apartment door. Without thinking Jackson instinctively took hold of Erica as if to shield her, only to realise that she didn't need to be shielded. He allowed her to stand up and saw her mouth to him for advice. In all honestly he wasn't sure what the best course of action was, but if his time in the army had prepared him for anything, it was for situations like this where he needed to think on his toes.
"Get back." Jackson whispered, standing up and moving around the sofa. A sickening wail seemed to vibrate through the walls of the apartment, and the door shook on its hinges. Someone on the other side was trying to get in, but who? There was a peephole in the door, and without skipping a beat Jackson was already moving towards it. The door shook again as he drew closer, and after another shrill cry there was silence. After casting a glance in Erica's direction he ducked slightly to the height of the peephole and slowly moved his eye towards the brass rim.
Nothing was in focus at first. All that could be seen was the hazy blue from the carpets outside, and the plain white of the walls. Jackson squinted, trying to make sense of the colours. There didn't appear to be anything out there. Maybe whoever it was had gone. Nevertheless he stayed a while longer, just so that he could clearly see the hallway. Eventually the walls and the floor became more defined and Jackson had an adequate view.
Nothing, he thought.
Then, before he had a chance to react a dark shape appeared in his line of sight. To begin with it wasn't obvious whether it was moving or not, but it soon became apparent. It grew in size until Jackson could make it out to be the figure of a man. In less than a second the man had covered the distance between the end of the hallway and the door. Then, without even a flicker of hesitation, he threw himself hard against the door, causing Jackosn to stumble backwards until he regained his footing. The guttural crying resumed, only this time it was far more violent; desperate even. Again the door shook, and splintered wood littered the carpet.
"He's trying to break through the door, goddammit!" He shouted, his voice effortlessly audible above the racket. Nevertheless he felt the need to shout. After a moment it occurred to him that Erica had no clue what was on the other side of the door. "There's a man out there, he's... I think he's trying to get inside the apartment."
Jackson took a few steps back and allowed his eyes to skirt over the contents of the room. Without looking towards Erica he simply said, "Get my gun."
Jackson's gun was a SIG Sauer P226 .40 S&W, the service pistol he received shortly after joining the army. It was one of the few memoirs from his time in Afghanistan that he had decided to hold onto. Not only had it saved his life on more than one occasion, but it had also been the only fire-arm that he was legally allowed to bring into Texas without jumping through a great number of hoops. The gun itself was matte black, and held a total of fifteen rounds. It was the ideal weapon for the purpose of self-defence. "It's under my pillow," Jackson said, suddenly remembering that Erica didn't know where the pistol was. "There's a box of ammunition in the bottom drawer next to the bed, grab that as well."
While Erica disappeared into the bedroom Jackson grabbed the wooden chest of drawers in the corner of the room and slid it in front of the door, hastily removing pictures and ornaments from its surface before he did so. The door shook again, and the chest of drawers almost fell over, despite being made of heavy oak. There was another frustrated wail; another thump on the door. The doorframe cracked under the pressure, but didn't give way.
"Erica," Jackson called, edging the sofa towards the door in an attempt to steady the make-shift barricade. "We need to get to the car, we can't stay here."
Jackson didn't care to admit it, but having Erica rest against his chest relieved some angst and worry that resided in the pit of his stomach. He had never been one to share his feelings openly, but he was sure that Erica was aware of how tense he was. His muscles relaxed somewhat as she nestled into him and he reached his arm around to get a handful of crisps. Her voice soothed him. She spoke of the alarming number of people that were turning up at the hospital, and then of her own theories of what was causing so many to fall ill. Jackson listened, and although he may not have quite understood her 'geek talk', he was happy that someone had an idea of what was going on.
Jackson's was thinking of his mother and father - and if they were safe - when the power cut out. Even then he didn't stop thinking about them, but it wasn't long before the emergency broadcast had claimed his interest.
Jesus, National Guard?
That meant the situation had turned sour. As if it hadn't already. Erica pulled away from Jackson to sit up straighter and he quickly followed suit. After taking a handful of crisps and cramming them in his mouth he put the packet down and tried to focus on the words moving across the screen. Erica mentioned the implementation of quarantine, but Jackson was still comprehending the fact that the National Guard had been deployed. The National Guard was only deployed during the outbreak of war, or in the case of a national emergency. He wasn't sure what was worse, but he was more than certain which one was the cause.
His trail of thought was cut short as something slammed into the apartment door. Without thinking Jackson instinctively took hold of Erica as if to shield her, only to realise that she didn't need to be shielded. He allowed her to stand up and saw her mouth to him for advice. In all honestly he wasn't sure what the best course of action was, but if his time in the army had prepared him for anything, it was for situations like this where he needed to think on his toes.
"Get back." Jackson whispered, standing up and moving around the sofa. A sickening wail seemed to vibrate through the walls of the apartment, and the door shook on its hinges. Someone on the other side was trying to get in, but who? There was a peephole in the door, and without skipping a beat Jackson was already moving towards it. The door shook again as he drew closer, and after another shrill cry there was silence. After casting a glance in Erica's direction he ducked slightly to the height of the peephole and slowly moved his eye towards the brass rim.
Nothing was in focus at first. All that could be seen was the hazy blue from the carpets outside, and the plain white of the walls. Jackson squinted, trying to make sense of the colours. There didn't appear to be anything out there. Maybe whoever it was had gone. Nevertheless he stayed a while longer, just so that he could clearly see the hallway. Eventually the walls and the floor became more defined and Jackson had an adequate view.
Nothing, he thought.
Then, before he had a chance to react a dark shape appeared in his line of sight. To begin with it wasn't obvious whether it was moving or not, but it soon became apparent. It grew in size until Jackson could make it out to be the figure of a man. In less than a second the man had covered the distance between the end of the hallway and the door. Then, without even a flicker of hesitation, he threw himself hard against the door, causing Jackosn to stumble backwards until he regained his footing. The guttural crying resumed, only this time it was far more violent; desperate even. Again the door shook, and splintered wood littered the carpet.
"He's trying to break through the door, goddammit!" He shouted, his voice effortlessly audible above the racket. Nevertheless he felt the need to shout. After a moment it occurred to him that Erica had no clue what was on the other side of the door. "There's a man out there, he's... I think he's trying to get inside the apartment."
Jackson took a few steps back and allowed his eyes to skirt over the contents of the room. Without looking towards Erica he simply said, "Get my gun."
Jackson's gun was a SIG Sauer P226 .40 S&W, the service pistol he received shortly after joining the army. It was one of the few memoirs from his time in Afghanistan that he had decided to hold onto. Not only had it saved his life on more than one occasion, but it had also been the only fire-arm that he was legally allowed to bring into Texas without jumping through a great number of hoops. The gun itself was matte black, and held a total of fifteen rounds. It was the ideal weapon for the purpose of self-defence. "It's under my pillow," Jackson said, suddenly remembering that Erica didn't know where the pistol was. "There's a box of ammunition in the bottom drawer next to the bed, grab that as well."
While Erica disappeared into the bedroom Jackson grabbed the wooden chest of drawers in the corner of the room and slid it in front of the door, hastily removing pictures and ornaments from its surface before he did so. The door shook again, and the chest of drawers almost fell over, despite being made of heavy oak. There was another frustrated wail; another thump on the door. The doorframe cracked under the pressure, but didn't give way.
"Erica," Jackson called, edging the sofa towards the door in an attempt to steady the make-shift barricade. "We need to get to the car, we can't stay here."
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