Blue Aisle
Phantom #11
Hi, guys. I'm looking a few new people to rp with. I don't have any plots right now, but I'm pretty starved for something new.
I'm a fan of apocalyptic rps, or anything where our characters are in mortal danger. I'm happy to oblige in romance, however, there needs to be a solid plot first. I can't rp simply for the sake of getting two characters together. I also play both genders equally, with no real preference. I usually write at least 2+ paragraphs, I can try to match your length, but hopefully we are similar. I can post a few times a week, though I aim for once a day. I'm always trying my best...
Most of my RP's are done in PM, or offsite. I'll place some writing recent snippets here for your convenience.
Heavy. Humid. A sweet scent clung to the air. This was the byproduct of many oils and creams, a spark of fruit here and there, along with several common elements used in DIY routines. Mona, wearing her white, loose uniform, stood above the almost dozing face of her client. The middle-aged woman was a regular, coming by every Saturday. Mona had told her a massage once a week was not sufficient to help wrinkles, but she refused to come frequently, or to massage on her own. Customers were so troublesome. Mona had another client lined up for a chemical peel after this, and she loathed the fact that the spa owner was cheap enough to only hire the minimum employees. They always had more work than they could manage.
From the tips of the cheek bones, Mona pressed her fingers down to the pointy tip of the chin, and finished her final round. She informed Mrs. Hopkins the massage was over, and stepped away with the bowls of leftover oil when she heard a loud noise. It was the sound of glass shattering. Alarmed and curious, she put down the lubricants and left the massage room to the main parlor. The luxurious wall sized windows that guarded their shop front were in ruins. Customers and employees stuck themselves in different corners of the room, each of them scrambling to push further into the back.
Amidst the broken glass, a tall man was crouched in an oddly animalistic way. His appearance was strange. He looked ivory white, like a mannequin, and not a single hair remained on his head, or even brows. The man so resembled Voldemort, that for a second Mona thought it was a cosplay. But then he opened his mouth, and something utterly inhuman flew from the gaping orifice.
A snake like tongue wriggled out. It was at least a meter long. The tip of it resembled a man-eating plant, lined with sharp teeth. It lashed about in a jerking motion before snatching up a nearby young woman. Her purse flew from her hand, and she cried out, but the sound was lost in the dominating dread of the audience. Everyone watched in silent horror as blood trickled from her abdomen, pooling on the floor. Her cheeks grew pale, and from her spine came a loud crunch that finally shattered the morbid stillness.
That’s when people started running.
One muscular, well-built man smashed a window to the other side with a chair, and he was the first one out. He must have come with his girlfriend, but he did not look back once as he darted into the distance. Others followed him feverishly. Mona dived for the staff backdoor instead, not wanting to be slowed by the crowd, and daunted by the vicious sharpness of the crudely broken glass. The window's bite was nothing, however, compared to the screeching abomination close behind them.
From the tips of the cheek bones, Mona pressed her fingers down to the pointy tip of the chin, and finished her final round. She informed Mrs. Hopkins the massage was over, and stepped away with the bowls of leftover oil when she heard a loud noise. It was the sound of glass shattering. Alarmed and curious, she put down the lubricants and left the massage room to the main parlor. The luxurious wall sized windows that guarded their shop front were in ruins. Customers and employees stuck themselves in different corners of the room, each of them scrambling to push further into the back.
Amidst the broken glass, a tall man was crouched in an oddly animalistic way. His appearance was strange. He looked ivory white, like a mannequin, and not a single hair remained on his head, or even brows. The man so resembled Voldemort, that for a second Mona thought it was a cosplay. But then he opened his mouth, and something utterly inhuman flew from the gaping orifice.
A snake like tongue wriggled out. It was at least a meter long. The tip of it resembled a man-eating plant, lined with sharp teeth. It lashed about in a jerking motion before snatching up a nearby young woman. Her purse flew from her hand, and she cried out, but the sound was lost in the dominating dread of the audience. Everyone watched in silent horror as blood trickled from her abdomen, pooling on the floor. Her cheeks grew pale, and from her spine came a loud crunch that finally shattered the morbid stillness.
That’s when people started running.
One muscular, well-built man smashed a window to the other side with a chair, and he was the first one out. He must have come with his girlfriend, but he did not look back once as he darted into the distance. Others followed him feverishly. Mona dived for the staff backdoor instead, not wanting to be slowed by the crowd, and daunted by the vicious sharpness of the crudely broken glass. The window's bite was nothing, however, compared to the screeching abomination close behind them.
Was it a knock that had woken her? Emily's shoulders tensed and she sat up. The hidden pocket knife under the silk of her pillows beckoned her, but she didn't move. Time was moving slow. The ticking of clock arms rang, and she dared only to breathe in between them. The lights were off. She would not turn them on. If they come in, she would have the advantage, being familiar with the room and used to the darkness. They were outside, staring at her through the narrow opening of the keyhole. Emily wondered whether it was a lone predator, or a pack. She had no way to tell. Hours seemed to past as she waited for her opponents to make their move, but they didn't. Finally, as if her adrenaline had reached its brim, she leaped from her bed with a loud creak. In her hand was the unsheathed blade, catching a glimpse of moonlight as she dashed to the door.
They, having noticed her movement, rounded back and rushed for the stairs. She heard their footsteps. 1...2...3... The sound was muffled and light. They had trained themselves well, but they would not best her. This time again, she would show them she was not easy prey.
With her first victory in hand, she was now the huntsman. The panic of her foes caused them to lose rationally. They ran themselves into the backyard, and the black fence clutched them with its iron grip. The intruders ran up to it, they shook it and tried to climb it, but its defense was perfect. Emily leered at them from the doorway. Her heart raced, but with confidence. She'll teach these little bastards a lesson. "Halt!" Her voice was loud and fierce.
Before her were the three agitators. Their teeth gritting and their backs pressed against the barricade. Her victory was no longer a doubt. Smiling, Emily charged forward with terrifying speed. From left to right, she drove her weapon into each of them.
The battle was over.
Her foes wore the masks of defeat and humiliation as they fell to the grass. Their eyes rolled back and their fingers twitched, and soon they became inanimate.
But Emily's success lasted only a brief moment. They stood again. Emily's shoulders drooped as her brothers gathered around her, giggling and chatting enthusiastically with one another. "One more time!" Elliot pulled at her oversized tee. "We'll win this time!" Mike and Tommy beseeched, "please?"
The boys gazed at her with starry eyes.
Emily dropped the plastic knife. "Nope. I'm tired." Dismissing the triplets with the shortest words possible, she crawled upstairs and into bed. In the comfort of her mattress, she closed her eyes. It was another night of triumph for Emily Crewe.
Her winning streak was now 12-0.
They, having noticed her movement, rounded back and rushed for the stairs. She heard their footsteps. 1...2...3... The sound was muffled and light. They had trained themselves well, but they would not best her. This time again, she would show them she was not easy prey.
With her first victory in hand, she was now the huntsman. The panic of her foes caused them to lose rationally. They ran themselves into the backyard, and the black fence clutched them with its iron grip. The intruders ran up to it, they shook it and tried to climb it, but its defense was perfect. Emily leered at them from the doorway. Her heart raced, but with confidence. She'll teach these little bastards a lesson. "Halt!" Her voice was loud and fierce.
Before her were the three agitators. Their teeth gritting and their backs pressed against the barricade. Her victory was no longer a doubt. Smiling, Emily charged forward with terrifying speed. From left to right, she drove her weapon into each of them.
The battle was over.
Her foes wore the masks of defeat and humiliation as they fell to the grass. Their eyes rolled back and their fingers twitched, and soon they became inanimate.
But Emily's success lasted only a brief moment. They stood again. Emily's shoulders drooped as her brothers gathered around her, giggling and chatting enthusiastically with one another. "One more time!" Elliot pulled at her oversized tee. "We'll win this time!" Mike and Tommy beseeched, "please?"
The boys gazed at her with starry eyes.
Emily dropped the plastic knife. "Nope. I'm tired." Dismissing the triplets with the shortest words possible, she crawled upstairs and into bed. In the comfort of her mattress, she closed her eyes. It was another night of triumph for Emily Crewe.
Her winning streak was now 12-0.
Send me a PM!
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