Realistic or Modern ◞⇣NIGHT.OWL 「apps」

[fluticasone]

font callfont callfont call

night owl

picaresque . set roles . app-based

a roleplay revolving around youth and how they steal back legacies taken from them.

main image by champi

01

drowning in highballs i can't even drink

story

The city of Tokyo moves to its own beat, uncaring if you can follow along. The few who hear its rhythm thrive and rise above the rest, casting deeper shadows in their wake.

In a city that drowns its people in lights, there are those who choose to remain friends of the dark.

Forty years ago, an art circle named 不夜城 (Nightless City) gained critical acclaim through a series of paintings depicting everyday scenes in Tokyo. Each piece could stand alone - but as a set, it told the story of the city's duality: how it was filled with both hope and despair, failures and dreams. Rather than display them in an art gallery, these paintings were put on display in one of the member's public art studio. It remained there for a few years until change slowly permeated through its walls.

One by one, each painting was lost. The first was sold as collateral to a gambling debt. Another passed hands into the next generation and was never seen again. At least two were lost to an internal feud, and the studio finally closed its doors, putting everything away into storage.

The value of these paintings did not go unnoticed. Within a year, the storage house was raided and everything of value was lost, including the remaining paintings of the Nightless City. Even with a feverish search and public outcry, the paintings could not be tracked down.

Eventually, memories of the paintings too, were drowned by the city.

Today, those paintings are barely a blip in the public conscious - a piece of trivia for the inquisitive, an urban legend for the artists. The old studio is now a used bookstore, opening its doors again to the public for the first time in decades. Half-assed coffee is served for cheap, and a few re-upholstered seats gather around the bar. It smells of bad coffee, musty pages, and musk of a cat. For many, it's nostalgia in a building.

It's here, while

prime

was cleaning, that they uncover their grandfather's old journal, hidden behind a hollow bottom of the shelf. Inside were notes, clippings, receipts with information haphazardly jotted down the back. All of it about the paintings people forgot - and his wish for their recognition again.

closer
sakai ryuuji

Some of

CLOSER's

earliest memories are of men coming to the door at midnight and the stress written, plain as day, on their parents' faces. They remember their father cursing their grandfather, yet succumbing to the same fate with the cards. How their mother left, weary with defeat, walking away without looking back.

Nowadays, they run a money laundering business that fronts as a laundromat. In the backrooms, their father fences stolen goods, making barely liveable dividends from the sales - most of it went to paying off the family debt.

CLOSER

resents their family, as they're unable to pursue the higher education they desire. Instead, they went to a kosen with the plan of finding work early.

CLOSER

is a frequent visitor to the used bookstore

PRIME

works at. The two businesses are along the same street.

CLOSER

has met

morte

and

dawn

in passing when they came in to do their laundry.

Character art by

era_pippi

. Played by

riddle .

.

orbit
name here

From a young age,

orbit

was expected to excel. Unfortunately for them, they did. Whether it was academics or sports, they accomplished it all with ease. What their family sought now was something that they could be the best at. It would be laughable if

orbit

could remember that they're in their current predicament because they said they wanted to be like the olympic gymnasts being broacasted on stage. It was just something a child said, fascinated by the colorful costumes and flashy acrobatics. But their parents took them seriously and booked them the best coach they could find.

orbit

is exhausted. After failing to meet expectations for the third time in a row,

orbit

took a break from the competitive scene and assess what they want. Their parents protested, of course, but their coach had their back and reached a compromise to continue training even if they wouldn't be competing.

orbit

is cousins with

folie

. In fact, envy of

folie's

family is the reason why their parents expect so much out of

orbit

.

Character art by

-

. Played by

-

.

prime
Doumoto Kei

PRIME

had always known their grandfather had been an artist, but they'd always assumed they weren't anything special. After all, they wouldn't have closed down their studio if they'd been famous, right? There would've been some mention of their greatness, but they never saw evidence of it - until they found the journal and looked into it themself.

With the help of their closest confidant, they tracked down the rest of the parties they thought should be involved in the recovery of the Nightless City's paintings. Now here's to hoping they agreed with their sentiments.

They're childhood friends with

WITCH

as they used to be neighbors and kept in contact despite the

WITCH's

retreat.

Character art by

s u

. Played by

A Murder Of Corviknight

.

folie
name here

Born to a life of privilege, some might say

folie's

accomplishments would be the direct result of that. They'd be right. They've never been a hard worker - everything came easily to them. Natural charm and their affluent background opened doors that should've remained closed.

If only they knew the price to pay for a life of luxury. Oh,

folie's

hands are clean - but they can't say the same of the things they own. Though their parents made every effort to hide the nature of their work,

folie

still found out. Their heart is heavy with guilt, though they remain too cowardly to step away from wealth's safe cocoon.

Folie

is cousins with

orbit

, though they aren't fully aware of the context behind their parents' bad blood.

Character art by

-

. Played by

-

.

witch
hino sayuri

With a prominent online persona as an entertainer, the college dropout

WITCH

would seem like an average cloutchaser, racking up views with their stupid plays and loud personality. At least, that's what they want you to believe.

In truth, they've been lauded as a wunderkind, their ability with numbers unnerving the people around them. Unfortunately, life was not kind -

WITCH

locked themselves away from the world. Though their skills as a cracker grew, it was hard to say if anything else did. It's only recently that they've taken the steps to climb out their self-created hole.

PRIME

is

witch's

closest and oldest friend. They stayed in contact even when

WITCH

became a hermit.

Character art by

392

. Played by

fluticasone

.

morte
name here

The story of the Nightless City paintings caught

morte's

attention while researching for class. Missing paintings, estranged friends - it made for a romantic story that caught their attention.

That's all it should've been - a story. The kind they would make up of their own past, having been orphaned early and never adopted. They excelled in theater after all, earning themself a partial scholarship at the university. Their only memory of their past is a key that they keep around their neck, though

morte

has often debated if it's time to let go.

morte

became friends with

dawn

because they share a few classes.

They frequent the street where

closer's

and

prime's

workplaces are, popping in occasionally.

Character art by

yadapot

. Played by

Nano

.

dawn
Matsui Hato

There's something to be said about youth gutsy enough to head into the big city by themselves despite not knowing anything beyond their sleepy little rural town. But

dawn

has always been a go-getter, and when they were provided an opportunity to study art in Tokyo, they grabbed the chance with both hands. Never mind the fact they had no relatives there - it was where their grandmother first honed their craft, and they were determined to follow in their footsteps.

It was their grandmother who first taught them to hold a brush, and though they've passed,

dawn

insists on carrying on the tradition. They felt they owed them that much, as their grandmother raised them for much of their early childhood while their parents were working.

dawn

became friends with

morte

as they share a few classes at the university.

dawn

is a regular at

closer's

laundromat.

Character art by

CUW

. Played by

arly

.

The Night Owls

No first-come first-serve. All roles are applied for unless you've been previously invited by the GM.

The GM has the final say regarding any decisions made in the roleplay. Discussion is allowed, but if the GM puts their foot down on an issue, it should be respected.

There are low expectations when it comes to activity. However, if more than two months pass between posts, regardless of reason, the player will be removed.

If there are arguments between players, it should be handled privately and civilly. If the tension bleeds into the group OOC, in the event there is a back and forth, regardless of who started it, both players will be booted.

While there are no "literacy" requirements, a decent grasp of English is a must. Just follow the skirt rule and we should be fine! I don't need needlessly verbose descriptions, but one-liners don't give a lot either.

03

discord

int.check

cs

IC

Hey there! I'm mono, your GM. This roleplay is highly inspired by Persona 5, Kamikaze Kaitou Jeanne, and Magic Kaito... just less magical and more like unrealistically skilled youth. Just ride along with the suspension of disbelief and don't think too deeply about how realistic this all is - I know I won't!

That said, we'll be touching on some fairly sensitive subjects such as addiction and depression. I know these are common triggers, so I'd like to dissuade you from joining if they are yours. I expect any applicants to be able to tackle these issues with critical thinking and empathy.

As mentioned previously, this entire roleplay is app-based. There won't be any first-come-first serve business - I'll review all the apps in one go once all roles are applied for. If only one person happens to be an applicant for a role, they can still be rejected.

Our OOC will be on discord. If you don't have one, you could probably manage, it just won't be ideal. Feel free to hop on even before applying! It's the best place to go if you have any questions.

Good luck and I hope this managed to peak your interest. If not, no hard feelings, see you in the next roleplay!

night owl

discord

int.check

cs

ic

 

[fluticasone]

font callfont call

{role}

last

first

image

by {name of artist}

Keep your application brief. Pitch to me the concept of your character as concisely as you can - the idea of the app is to make me want to know more about your character. The image can be any size, it should automatically cover it. Remove the curly brackets of areas you will be filling out.

Spoiler: Application Code

[nobr]
  [div=display: none;][font=Averia Serif Libre]font call[/font][font=Averia Libre]font call[/font][/div]
  [div=--charIMG: url(https://i.imgur.com/Pt0mSIy.jpg);
  --aFont: 'Averia Serif Libre', serif;
  --mFont: 'Averia Libre', sans-serif;
  --darkColor: rgba(18, 7, 1, 1);
  --lightColor: rgba(255, 255, 255, 1);
  --blendColor: rgba(51, 58, 33, 1);
  --glowColor: rgba(235, 255, 252, 1);
  display: flex;
  flex-flow: row wrap;
  box-sizing: border-box;
  padding: 25px;
  gap: 25px;
  position: relative;
  width: 100%;
  max-width: 850px;
  margin: auto;
  height: auto;
  background: var(--darkColor);]
    [div=flex: 1 275px; background: var(--charIMG) no-repeat center center/cover; display: flex; flex-flow: column nowrap; justify-content: flex-end; min-height: 250px; max-height: 500px;]
      [div=display: block; width: 100%; font-size: 3rem; line-height: .9; text-align: center; letter-spacing: .35em; text-transform: uppercase; font-family: var(--aFont); color: var(--lightColor); text-shadow: 0px 0px 10px var(--glowColor); margin: 25px 0px; padding: 0px 5px; box-sizing: border-box;]{role}[/div]
    [/div]
    [div=flex: 4 275px; color: var(--lightColor); overflow: hidden;]
      [div=display: block; width: 100%; font-size: 4rem; line-height: .9; font-family: var(--aFont); margin: .25em 0px .5em 0px; text-transform: uppercase;][div=display: inline; background: var(--blendColor); ]last[/div]first[/div]
      [div=display: block; font-family: var(--mFont); font-size: 1.25rem; line-height: .9; margin-bottom: 15px;][url=https://i.imgur.com/tsQ1SEd.jpg][div=display: inline-block; background: var(--blendColor); text-transform: uppercase; padding: 1px 5px; color: var(--lightColor);]image[/div][/url] by {name of artist}[/div]
      [div=display: block; width: 100%; text-align: justify; font-family: var(--mFont); color: var(--lightColor);]
        Keep your application brief. Pitch to me the concept of your character as concisely as you can - the idea of the app is to make me want to know more about your character. The image can be any size, it should automatically cover it. Remove the curly brackets of areas you will be filling out.
      [/div]
    [/div]
  [/div]
[/nobr]

 

[fluticasone]

font callfont call

witch

Hino

Sayuri

image

by 392

'Kiki' tends to have polarizing opinions. On one hand, her fans find her streams hilarious and her devil-may-care attitude endearing. On the other, she comes across as obnoxious and entitled. She flies solo, never collaborates, and never mentions anything about her private life. Anyone who tries to find out would be met with wall after wall, an unusually high privacy fence surrounding someone who should've just been yet another internet funny man.

As far as Sayuri is concerned, Kiki is someone else. Kiki's a mask, a shield to hide behind. It's easier to accept that people dislike Kiki - she isn't her. It's far more damaging to be hated as Sayuri.

She'd let what other people thought of her ruin her once. What should've been praise from the adults around her became barbs from her classmates. Alienated, alone, and with no healthy coping mechanisms, Sayuri retreated into herself. Her parents were of little help, as they'd always treated her like an adult. When faced with the reality that she was still emotionally a child, they were lost.

Ironically, it's Kiki who saved her. She could put Sayuri aside and forget how painful it was. When she was Kiki, people spoke to her. When she was Kiki, they supported her.

When she was Kiki, they loved her.

 

[A Murder Of Corviknight]

font callfont call

prime

Doumoto

Kei

image

by S U

Orphaned at a young age, Kei was primarily raised by his grandparents. They were the ones to push him to find a hobby he liked rather than just a hobby he was good at. It was actually his grandpa who, while a little disappointed, pushed him away from art and into music once he realized his grandson didn’t enjoy art the same way he did. And with his personality, Kei never thought to push and dig into his grandpa’s background in art. He only assumed his grandpa was an average hobby artist who liked to practice by drawing sketches of those long gone.

But when Kei looks back at his memories and down at his grandpa’s journal, he wonders if he should have tried a little harder while his grandpa was still around.

While Kei himself might not like people prying into his business, perhaps his grandpa just wanted someone to be nosy. Because looking through the pages of his grandpa’s journal, he realized that some part of his grandpa might have been lonely. His old friends and their artwork were long gone while his grandpa could only live with intangible old memories.

If the paintings are like old friends, his grandpa lost them a long time ago. But watching those same paintings be forgotten must be like losing them all over again. In a way, Kei understood his grandpa’s desire for their recognition again. To bring the set together like old friends reuniting after many years apart.

Maybe it’s sentimentality, clutching onto memories of his late grandpa, but Kei decided to put his headphones down to fulfill an old man’s wish.

 

[riddle .]

font callfont call

closer

sakai

ryuuji

image

by era_pippi

Bitterness is a taste.

Ryuuji is intimately aware of it with each run of his tongue over his teeth to contain his sharpness because sometimes silence is better than the alternative to the violence that threatens to spill out. There can't be frustration, since that would require active participation in the life he's been dealt with. No, Ryuuji would rather fester in the accompanying bleakness he spits along with the bitterness towards his drawn-out days.

Give me a goddamn break, he seethes as earnings are shelled out to shady stains of people and he loses himself staring at the vortex of laundry machines; the smell of detergent still bothering him even after all this time.

He finds respite in his daydreams, albeit fleeting and serving as reminder of what he can't have. All he desires - more so deserves is laid out before him with security and the joy of finally being free from his family's shame. So, he keeps dreaming even as his world remains a monotone blur.

 

[arly]

font callfont call

dawn

Matsui

Hato

image

by CUW

Hato spends the two weeks before his train ride practicing a Tokyo accent. He’s good enough to get applause from his high school friends—at his going away party, he shows off his polite intonation like a badge of honor, replicating every ridiculous city phrase that the group can come up with. It’s no surprise to anyone that he’s so convincing. If someone was going to get out of their quiet little village, it would be Hato.

He uses the accent when he gets to Tokyo, and uses it proudly. In fact, he doesn’t think to drop it until the woman running his share house pulls him aside to let him know how stupid he sounds. She says it like a true Tokyoite, too, her quiet concern at his butchering of the dialect veiled in several layers of politeness.

He slips back into his Kansai accent like an old coat, because it turns out that Hato is going to stand out in the city no matter how hard he tries. It doesn’t bother him as much as it should, maybe. Hato is used to attention, both good and bad. “The nail that sticks out gets hammered down,” he’s been told, but he hasn’t gotten hit over the head with any blunt objects just yet.

Getting into TUA, walking the path that his grandmother carved, escaping from the inevitable obscurity of the countryside—for that, he doesn’t mind getting stares on the train for talking too loud or snickers from classmates when his speech betrays his hometown. For his dream, he can be a bit of a joke.

 

[Kovacs]

font callfont call

folie

kipling

james

image

by ma wei

On Sundays, the chauffeur takes the son of prominent lawyer and business magnate, Clark Kipling, to the 11am service off the corner on St. Mary's, London. Before leaving, Kipling Sr. sternly bids the nanny du jour to ensure his little Jamie, dressed smartly in his Sunday, tailor-made Hugo Boss best, had a clean and sanitized seat at Sunday school, wiped down by her at each rise and sit during the hour.

There was to be absolutely no contamination. Not for when father came back for son to visit mother, who never seemed to go a day without doctors at her beck and call.

An hour later on the dot Clark Kipling returned, this time in the driver's seat of his brand-new Roll's Royce, to the sight of his little Jamie walking barefoot, socks and all, toward him, three hundred-dollar Hugo Boss vest strangely absent from his person.

"Jamie!" exclaimed his father, nose flaring. "Where on earth is your-"

"I gave it away, papa," replied little Jamie, the beginnings of an innocent smile tugging on ruddy cheeks. Pale, innocent green eyes flashed with excitement as a hand waved colored paper with hints of printed verse into Clark's face. "I gave it away so I can have treasure in heaven! Real treasure papa, a man named Mark said so!"

The nose flare slackened somewhat, abated by a thin appreciation for his son's sheer enthusiasm. The boy always loved going to service with his mother. In light of her diagnosis, maintaining that tradition for both their sakes was a sacrifice he, an erring agnostic, was willing to make. "We'll have to stop by the manor," Clark sighed harshly, a punitive finger pointed to the back of the car. "I will not have you visit your mother in that state, boy. Understood?"

Weakening. The shine faded. In moments the colored drawing from Sunday school withdrew. Little fingers gripped the edges, crinkled by disappointment, unfolded and unappreciated.

In a pebble of a voice, he replied.

"Yes, papa."

 

[akeno]

font callfont call

orbit

mino

Yumiko

image

by araibokuseki

The picture perfect genius, Yumiko excelled at everything she did, charm and charisma radiated from her, effortlessly making friends and endearing herself to both her peers and teachers. Success seemed to cling to her like a second skin, and failure was never an option.

Yet hidden beneath her flawless exterior lays a complex web of insecurity and pressure rooted deeply within her. The relentless pursuit for excellence felt like chasing shadows, a pursuit that seemed to have no end. Yumiko longed for a moment of peace, and her desire for a moment of respite grew.

Yumiko's routine was a monotonous blur of dull repetition shaped by the expectations placed upon her by others. Her driving factor in everyday life—being alive—to put on a facade of gratitude, even when her performance fell short and simply just, endure.

Though Yumiko yearned to escape the expectations that hung over her like a shadow, the thought of change fills her with dread. The prospect of losing everything she had poured her heart and soul into filled her with a sense of fear and dread. Her cowardice nature shines through when faced with the crippling unknown that she may face.

When her life goes into array, will her plan to escape from reality really be worth it?

 

[Nano]

font callfont call

morte

suzuki

ayase

image

by sano yuto

Suzuki Ayase was nothing more than a synthetic jewel set in sterling silver—someone whose facets were just as lustrous as the real thing yet too lacking in inherent value to be missed when she was gone. She’d settle down in one family for a year or two, only to pack her bags and board yet another train holding the hand of the next stranger who’d offer to foster the orphan who didn't quite fit inside the box their predecessor had laid down for her. For all the times she’d grown comfortable yet run into an ending where the pale flame of her hopes were once again extinguished, she never blamed them. In an economy where it’s difficult to raise a child, let alone one that wasn’t of your own blood, perhaps it was only a matter of fact they’d be dissatisfied with a cheap imitation missing the qualities they desired.

All keys had a paired lock, just like the key hanging around her neck. She just had to patiently wait for the day she’d find where she belonged.

Ayase naively marched onward, blind to the lonely fate the world had cast her, until she found herself with nothing but a stack of identification papers in hand and the death of a part of her human ego.

No longer would she mind the gazes that carefully scrutinized her every move, her love of theater transforming into a wall between herself and the audience instead of a method of molding herself to their preferences. Each character was a metaphor of herself, a piece idealized and realized as a stepping stone to eventually arrive at the person she desired to become. From behind the veil, she quietly observed the world, gradually writing her ideal script rather than wait for one to drop into her lap. If the key didn’t fit anywhere, she simply had to make the box for it.

Alas, her newfound independence meant scrambling for funds to pay rent and tuition.

Nowadays, her afternoons consist of nursing a cheap (albeit gross) cup of coffee at a local bookstore as she pores over how to promote her cosplays and the best way to tackle her next costume commission while cutting back on costs.

 

[Steve Jobs]

font callfont call

{orbit}

yoshida

miari

trailblazer

by {honkai star rail}

She wasn't sure whether it started with her mother's marriage or her first words, but her earliest memories were wrought with vainglory. She wanted to do the best, be the best that she could be. Whether that meant hitting home runs, getting high marks, or hitting rank one in a children's game, she would not rest until she achieved her goal.

Unfortunately, the best wasn't good enough. Her interest was inversely proportionally to something's difficulty; the moment she felt like she mastered something she dropped it like a child growing bored of a toy.

Gymnastics entranced her because of the glory and ferocity of competition. How invincible they must have felt performing on a world stage! But desire without follow through is merely a wish so her parents threw their lives behind her. Her mother became a full-time aide. Her father took on a second job. The two of them decided against having another child. Everything they did, they did for her--except they wished to bask in her glory too.

It was a commonality for two parents who married too early. It was an understanding to put up with all the screaming matches, the strict diets, and the isolation. She was the spitting image of her mom whose passion was married to her fury. The angry tears meant that she cared and that she could do better.

Alas, the failures compounded--the highs of minor wins no longer absorbed the losses. Each competition began and ended contemplating retirement. It ought to have been easy because she'd quit everything else in her life, but her heart doesn't allow it. Not two months after the fracture, it already yearned for wins beyond the limits of her body. No matter how many pieces chip away, her heart still beats--it tells her to begin again.

It tells her to keep moving in these cruel cycles.