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| Kanousei's Application | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: May 17 2010, 10:02 AM (164 Views) | |
| Kanousei | May 17 2010, 10:02 AM Post #1 |
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Newbie
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Username: Kanousei Preferred: Kanou is quite acceptable Age: 19 Years role-playing: Seven or so Favorite genre: Anything that sparks a challenge, be it supernatural, sci-fi, historical, etc. Least favorite genre: The kind where no one ever, ever has sex. To be perfectly honest. Additionally: I’m currently trying to recover a number of my old RPs. This may not be the very best example, apologies, but these two snippets happened to be saved on my computer. Sample A: Dark, congealing blood clung unevenly to the latex gloves stretched taut over Nikolai’s massive hands, reached above the wrists to splash his thick forearms with sickly burgundy. The flat-headed screwdriver, its broad tip the size of his thumbnail, slipped once, twice, and found purchase in the gums. With patient strokes he gouged away the slick tissue until the porcelain roots were revealed. As if chiseling granite, he slammed the head of the screwdriver over the molars, dug above the front teeth, beside the bottom bicuspids. Finally, he held two near perfect rows of teeth, slick with gore but still joined in neat curves. The dead man’s face billowed like a torn balloon where Nikolai had cut away the lips and doughy cheeks to better access his procedure. For all that killing a man was simple, became easier with time, so many of the men who did so lacked the stomach to take full responsibility. There were two halves to a murder: what led up to the death, the process of the death itself, whatever form it might take – and the necessary disposal of the body. Too many, not only the Russians but the Italians, the Irish, wanted to just toss a body into the nearest river like so much refuse. Nikolai killed completely, and took the burden of the death upon himself; he was justifiably proud. The towering Russian placed the gleaming bows aside in a mockery of reverence, and began removing the fingers. + + + Sasha prowled to her door when he knocked, long legs flashing like a spider’s. Ilya averted his eyes out of habit and lingering disgust, though it was hardly the first time he had seen his cousin unclothed. More disturbing than her nudity was her bearing – adult or not, she had always resembled a porcelain doll, dominated as she was by round, unblinking brown eyes, a thick tumble of curls, and pert, childlike features. She stood in the doorway, limbs dangling where other women would have covered themselves. The seemingly delicate woman – so thin, the English would say, always thinking that every slender Russian girl must be a dancer – did not tease him as she would have months before, did not jeeringly invite him in to remind him that yes, no matter how he blamed the alcohol, he had gone to bed with her, and would eventually do so again. It was eerie but subtle, the way she had shifted from her girlish lewdness to such an austere demeanor. The room beyond her was hidden – she had not opened the door fully at his knock – and far too silent. “I thought I should see you,” he managed in his broken English. She and Nikolai had been born to this British capital, after all, and would not understand him in the language that was their birthright. “There vas much screaming, even by your… standards.” Something dark and flat flitted through her wide eyes, and she closed the door. Sample B: Mayha paused on the narrow path, a familiar resonance bouncing within his skull. The invasion caused the half-angel to pick up his pace, an irritable snarl curling his upper lip. A massive sledgehammer swung from one long-fingered hand as he moved, a viciously sharp pickax in the other. Only rarely was he able to channel all the roiling anger within him toward a single objective, and so the crossbreed could hardly be blamed for feeling even more furious with the source of his dog-whistle problem than one might expect. Whatever it was, it had legitimately screwed with him for years, and so he claimed the right to vent as much of his frustrated fury on it as possible. Most of the shit in his life could not be confronted - his mother was dead, his father fluttering somewhere, God unavailable despite repeated demands for a meeting. Blackness enveloped him as he stepped into a narrow tunnel. Cautiously, he paused to allow his eyes time to adjust, using the rest to probe for the source of the call. It was close, obviously - at this range it was difficult to be sure, but he felt he was headed in the right direction. It was slow going in the cramped passage; his head collided sharply with the low ceiling more than once, and after a particularly nasty encounter he felt blood trickling down the side of his face from a mauled temple. Finally, he halted. It was beyond surreal - even as he approached the mountain itself, even as he had planned for his search once the initial hike had revealed nothing - he had never really imagined what it might be like to find his answers. In unusual solemnity, Mayha dropped the pickax and brought his hand to rest against the cool stone wall. It appeared to be a dead end, but he knew there was more. The humming was so great he felt it in his bones, rattling his teeth. The question now only remained as to whether it was a natural phenomena or a man-made one. Given the undisturbed stone, he was inclined to assume the former. He could sense it, so close, the beckoning call now only faintly suppressed by the thin wall. The miniature electric lantern was illuminated at his waist, casting a faint glow which provided more than enough visibility to eyes long since adjusted to the blackness. What followed, punctuated only by labored breathing and muffled curses as the rough wooden handles first built up blisters, then tore them, was an agonizing string of hours. His system was simple and effective enough - weaken the stone with well-placed strikes of the pickax, then bash away the loosened stone with the sledgehammer - but it was still stone he was seeking to loosen, and the going was painfully slow. All of his discomfort and irritation was forgotten, however, as a thin sheet the size of a dinner plate fell away and revealed... Mayha raised the lantern in shock to the opening. It illuminated a narrow, coffin-like cavern - but most importantly, a face. A human face, young and exceptionally beautiful. In a mountain. Buried within stone which had gone untouched since its formation thousands upon thousands of years before. A sudden, electric thought struck him, and he leaned closer, his feline eyes flashing from shock to cruelty. "Are you my father?" he snarled with quiet venom. "Is that what this is? Is that why I'm here?" |
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| Dreamy Ideal | May 17 2010, 11:31 AM Post #2 |
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you can be king
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***Approved*** Both of your samples were wonderful doll. Not much for me to say but welcome to HV! Go forth and find some fun~ |
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I wonder why it is I don't argue like this with anyone but you | |
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