CastoffCaptain
Obsess. Hunt. Manipulate. Repeat.
Hello, all. You can call me Captain or Cap or Castoff. Whatever.
I'd like to preface this particular search thread with a few of my writing samples, just so that you can get a feel for who I am as a writer, what I can do, and if our styles will be compatible. These snippets are from past RPs in which I play both/either gender. (For this RP, I want the female role.) Please peek at them so you'll know that, despite the fact that I want to try building an RP on a faceclaim, I actually can write well. I prefer well-thought-out plots, characters, and world-building.
I just have a terrible jones right now, and I'm hoping you'll be willing to fill it.
What do I want?
To cut to the chase, a detailed RP in which our characters are well-thought-out, well-rounded individuals, with yours based on a faceclaim. If you've read my samples, you know I'm not a shallow writer-- but I really have a jones to play to someone who's willing to take on Toby Stephens as a faceclaim. Our RP could be from any number of genres: historical, sci-fi, modern fantasy or supernatural, time-travel, etc, etc. You can pick from the ones I'll put in the spoiler (or perhaps find your own)--will he be a jerk? A criminal? A shy (or overbearing) professor? A paranormal investigator? A frightening Revolutionary War soldier, a modern-day veteran? Perhaps a Cold War Soviet spy/interrogator or a lighthouse keeper with a mysterious past. There are so many options for character creation! Pick, and we can world-build from there.
Romance/PG-13 sexual tension-heavy is an option, but not necessary. Story, story, story more than kissy-kissy-kissy!
I post anywhere from 3-7 paragraphs per post, usually 2-4 times a week. I won't nag you to post, so please don't do it to me. I will let you know if I'm no longer interested in the RP, so please have the courtesy to do so as well.
I prefer MxF, please.
I have a few vague scenarios we can work with, but I would love to hear your ideas.
Please provide samples.
PM or threads.
Please PM me or quote me here if you're interested.
I'd like to preface this particular search thread with a few of my writing samples, just so that you can get a feel for who I am as a writer, what I can do, and if our styles will be compatible. These snippets are from past RPs in which I play both/either gender. (For this RP, I want the female role.) Please peek at them so you'll know that, despite the fact that I want to try building an RP on a faceclaim, I actually can write well. I prefer well-thought-out plots, characters, and world-building.
I just have a terrible jones right now, and I'm hoping you'll be willing to fill it.
(From an RP involving Saxons and Danes)
Scream don't scream scream don't scream!
The words thundered in tandem with the palfrey's hooves, a pounding rhythm that had grown louder and louder since she'd left the keep at Ulwin. Three day's ride and two miles back, it had overwhelmed her, and she'd jabbed her heels into the horse's side and outdistanced the retinue, leaving the carts, her maid, and the two knights behind. Desperate. Desperate for escape, knowing there was none, she raced toward the shore, toward her destiny, closing the distance at a break-neck pace in order to be able to control at least something. Anything.
She'd torn her wimple free and left it in the road. The wind tugged at her dark auburn curls, pulling strands free from the braid at her back, and whipped tears from her eyes. She wasn't crying; she hadn't done that for years, not since Aelfred had died, only two days old, but the salt air was brutal, and it stung. Lips pursed, closing off the scream that rose in her throat. She spurred the grey faster, her green kirtle and black overskirts flowing behind them, looking like a wild woman of old.
Leofwenne could turn, head down the coast, galloping away from the boats awaiting her. In her mind, she was already doing so, escaping into the wilderness until she reached some bright and sunny town where she'd sell her necklaces and rings, buy a little land, and live like a hermit by a shining stream. It was a dream she'd nursed since her first marriage, a childhood fantasy that had lasted fifteen years, changing only slightly as she did, and it was unbroken by reality's harsh truth: she'd never be free. A woman couldn't live on her own, her jewelry would buy her a room in an inn for only a few months, and Wulfstan would find her. He always caught his prey.
She risked a glance back over her shoulder, seeking out her dead husband's friend. He was there, a mile back, his horse at a leisurely trot-- there was no need to rush. It wasn't as though she could get very far, and he was nothing but confident. Blonde-haired bastard.
Leofwenne slowed her mount as she crested the top of a hill, stunned by the sight of the ocean. Breathing hard, she stopped to stare at its wide expanse, the sea birds wheeling over the cliffs to the south, the sheer blue of the water. It was so much bigger than she'd ever imagined, forcing a smallness upon her so that she felt insignificant before it. And there near the pebbled shore, like a strange winged dragon was the ship. Her heart clenched.
Run. Run. Run. Run!
Biting down hard on her lip, she set her jaw and swallowed. If she didn't move now, Wulfstan would have to drag her kicking and screaming to the barbarian escorts below, and that she couldn't allow. She would face this on her own terms, without his smirk at her side, in control of the situation for at least a few minutes until he arrived. Closing her amber eyes, she nudged her palfrey forward, and headed down the trail toward her fate.
-----------------------------------------
(Modern paranormal setting)
It was a hard thing to get used to, the dead speaking. Not so much that they could-- years of experiencing it had inured Kara to that particular phenomenon-- but the very sound of it. It was never the same, and so often a hideous and disturbing thing. A dead cop might speak with blood in his throat, gurgling up from a gunshot through a lung. Burn victims were blisters and smoke and seared tongues, and once, long ago, a schoolteacher who'd cornered her in the basement of her junior high had screamed in a voice that was chalk against slate, unintelligible but for the rage that underpinned it. This one was gentler, but ragged; like rain on hot pavement, concrete against a cheek.
One slow blink was all the acknowledgement the once-living man got for his troubles, but the impact of his words showed in the sigh-turned-vapor sneaking from Kara's lips. Shoulders she didn't know she'd squared untensed and her hand released the necklace, then slipped into her coat pocket. If one were in tune with the world, one might have sensed the direct air around her ease into a normalcy, as well-- or, to be more exact, the atmosphere just a few feet to the left of her relaxed.
Her eyes tracked his fingers when he reached for his wallet, realizing its unhurried journey was for her benefit to keep from spooking her more. While she appreciated the effort, he hadn't had the benefit of hearing his Rider's warning. It'd cleared any suspicion she'd had of the big bear's involvement in the murder, at least directly, and so she'd dropped her flight or fight stance, even if she wasn't feeling quite at home him just yet.
She didn't need to look at the picture he held out, but she did, anyway, not bothering to take it from him for better inspection. At his statement, the gaze which had somewhat softened at his predicament snapped up with a fire behind them.
"You been following me?" Irritation drew out her city roots, rounding off each syllable she aimed at him. Before he could answer, her brows leapt up and she rolled her eyes with a shake of her head. "Marnie. Marnie told you how to find me, didn't he, down at the diner?" Her thumb jabbed toward the little chrome eatery nestled beneath the train trestle four blocks east. "Look, I don't know what he told you it is I do, but--"
A depression appeared in the thick faux fur over her left shoulder, creating a valley in the collar that the normal observer might have attributed to a shift in the wind, but it abruptly cut her off. Her lips pursed in an obstinate line in response, and she lifted her chin to acknowledge that, yes she was going to shut up. Yes, the glance she gave to the other spirit standing across from her said; I hear you.
And yes.
Her silence invited the stranger with the photo to speak. Because murder changed the rules, and if the ghost was telling the truth, the game was stacked against the man who had yet to acknowledge his loss.
Scream don't scream scream don't scream!
The words thundered in tandem with the palfrey's hooves, a pounding rhythm that had grown louder and louder since she'd left the keep at Ulwin. Three day's ride and two miles back, it had overwhelmed her, and she'd jabbed her heels into the horse's side and outdistanced the retinue, leaving the carts, her maid, and the two knights behind. Desperate. Desperate for escape, knowing there was none, she raced toward the shore, toward her destiny, closing the distance at a break-neck pace in order to be able to control at least something. Anything.
She'd torn her wimple free and left it in the road. The wind tugged at her dark auburn curls, pulling strands free from the braid at her back, and whipped tears from her eyes. She wasn't crying; she hadn't done that for years, not since Aelfred had died, only two days old, but the salt air was brutal, and it stung. Lips pursed, closing off the scream that rose in her throat. She spurred the grey faster, her green kirtle and black overskirts flowing behind them, looking like a wild woman of old.
Leofwenne could turn, head down the coast, galloping away from the boats awaiting her. In her mind, she was already doing so, escaping into the wilderness until she reached some bright and sunny town where she'd sell her necklaces and rings, buy a little land, and live like a hermit by a shining stream. It was a dream she'd nursed since her first marriage, a childhood fantasy that had lasted fifteen years, changing only slightly as she did, and it was unbroken by reality's harsh truth: she'd never be free. A woman couldn't live on her own, her jewelry would buy her a room in an inn for only a few months, and Wulfstan would find her. He always caught his prey.
She risked a glance back over her shoulder, seeking out her dead husband's friend. He was there, a mile back, his horse at a leisurely trot-- there was no need to rush. It wasn't as though she could get very far, and he was nothing but confident. Blonde-haired bastard.
Leofwenne slowed her mount as she crested the top of a hill, stunned by the sight of the ocean. Breathing hard, she stopped to stare at its wide expanse, the sea birds wheeling over the cliffs to the south, the sheer blue of the water. It was so much bigger than she'd ever imagined, forcing a smallness upon her so that she felt insignificant before it. And there near the pebbled shore, like a strange winged dragon was the ship. Her heart clenched.
Run. Run. Run. Run!
Biting down hard on her lip, she set her jaw and swallowed. If she didn't move now, Wulfstan would have to drag her kicking and screaming to the barbarian escorts below, and that she couldn't allow. She would face this on her own terms, without his smirk at her side, in control of the situation for at least a few minutes until he arrived. Closing her amber eyes, she nudged her palfrey forward, and headed down the trail toward her fate.
-----------------------------------------
(Modern paranormal setting)
It was a hard thing to get used to, the dead speaking. Not so much that they could-- years of experiencing it had inured Kara to that particular phenomenon-- but the very sound of it. It was never the same, and so often a hideous and disturbing thing. A dead cop might speak with blood in his throat, gurgling up from a gunshot through a lung. Burn victims were blisters and smoke and seared tongues, and once, long ago, a schoolteacher who'd cornered her in the basement of her junior high had screamed in a voice that was chalk against slate, unintelligible but for the rage that underpinned it. This one was gentler, but ragged; like rain on hot pavement, concrete against a cheek.
One slow blink was all the acknowledgement the once-living man got for his troubles, but the impact of his words showed in the sigh-turned-vapor sneaking from Kara's lips. Shoulders she didn't know she'd squared untensed and her hand released the necklace, then slipped into her coat pocket. If one were in tune with the world, one might have sensed the direct air around her ease into a normalcy, as well-- or, to be more exact, the atmosphere just a few feet to the left of her relaxed.
Her eyes tracked his fingers when he reached for his wallet, realizing its unhurried journey was for her benefit to keep from spooking her more. While she appreciated the effort, he hadn't had the benefit of hearing his Rider's warning. It'd cleared any suspicion she'd had of the big bear's involvement in the murder, at least directly, and so she'd dropped her flight or fight stance, even if she wasn't feeling quite at home him just yet.
She didn't need to look at the picture he held out, but she did, anyway, not bothering to take it from him for better inspection. At his statement, the gaze which had somewhat softened at his predicament snapped up with a fire behind them.
"You been following me?" Irritation drew out her city roots, rounding off each syllable she aimed at him. Before he could answer, her brows leapt up and she rolled her eyes with a shake of her head. "Marnie. Marnie told you how to find me, didn't he, down at the diner?" Her thumb jabbed toward the little chrome eatery nestled beneath the train trestle four blocks east. "Look, I don't know what he told you it is I do, but--"
A depression appeared in the thick faux fur over her left shoulder, creating a valley in the collar that the normal observer might have attributed to a shift in the wind, but it abruptly cut her off. Her lips pursed in an obstinate line in response, and she lifted her chin to acknowledge that, yes she was going to shut up. Yes, the glance she gave to the other spirit standing across from her said; I hear you.
And yes.
Her silence invited the stranger with the photo to speak. Because murder changed the rules, and if the ghost was telling the truth, the game was stacked against the man who had yet to acknowledge his loss.
What do I want?
To cut to the chase, a detailed RP in which our characters are well-thought-out, well-rounded individuals, with yours based on a faceclaim. If you've read my samples, you know I'm not a shallow writer-- but I really have a jones to play to someone who's willing to take on Toby Stephens as a faceclaim. Our RP could be from any number of genres: historical, sci-fi, modern fantasy or supernatural, time-travel, etc, etc. You can pick from the ones I'll put in the spoiler (or perhaps find your own)--will he be a jerk? A criminal? A shy (or overbearing) professor? A paranormal investigator? A frightening Revolutionary War soldier, a modern-day veteran? Perhaps a Cold War Soviet spy/interrogator or a lighthouse keeper with a mysterious past. There are so many options for character creation! Pick, and we can world-build from there.
Romance/PG-13 sexual tension-heavy is an option, but not necessary. Story, story, story more than kissy-kissy-kissy!
I post anywhere from 3-7 paragraphs per post, usually 2-4 times a week. I won't nag you to post, so please don't do it to me. I will let you know if I'm no longer interested in the RP, so please have the courtesy to do so as well.
I prefer MxF, please.
I have a few vague scenarios we can work with, but I would love to hear your ideas.
Please provide samples.
PM or threads.
Please PM me or quote me here if you're interested.
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