Nobelia
Junior Member
「 Hello everyone. For your sanity and mine, I'll keep the introductions short and leave the
fancy stuff for the PMs if we kick off. Below is a compilation of what I seek in an RP partner.
This will be short and sweet. You can call me Lia. Pleased to meet your acquaintance. 」
『I am looking for someone who..』
▸Prefers long-term partnership
▸ Prefers mature, non-cliched plots
▸Understands life gets in the way sometimes
▸ Enjoys writing complex characters
▸Prefers to write semi-lit to literate or detailed
『I love to write...』
▸Anything, as long as it includes psychological aspects
▸Dark themes & character driven plots*
『Specifications I may have include..』
▸ MxF pairings only for romantic settings
▸ MxM pairings are fine for non-romances*
▸ Illustrated face claims are preferred*
▸ Fandom related things aren't my biggest fancy*
『Asterisk explanations for aforementioned..』
*Dark themes to me are any theme that likely
necessitates a trigger warning, but this isn't wholly
the case with various dark themes
*A romance dynamic to me is any relationship where two
people are mutually attracted, trustful, and healthily communicative.
*Other face claim types are fine but either way face claims aren't that
important to me outside of creating a character profile.
*When it comes to fandoms, I'm not too into playing canon
characters. OC characters in a canon world tend to give certain,
hm, freedoms? That aside, I don't do fandoms too often but
there may be times I give exceptions if we strongly like a certain
thing. Just expect most of my fandoms to be anime, manga, visual
novel or video game.
**Who knows, but if I find enough of people like me, we could probably
go off to form our own small little circle of like three members or something.
『Some writing samples for your amusement..』
fancy stuff for the PMs if we kick off. Below is a compilation of what I seek in an RP partner.
This will be short and sweet. You can call me Lia. Pleased to meet your acquaintance. 」
『I am looking for someone who..』
▸Prefers long-term partnership
▸ Prefers mature, non-cliched plots
▸Understands life gets in the way sometimes
▸ Enjoys writing complex characters
▸Prefers to write semi-lit to literate or detailed
『I love to write...』
▸Anything, as long as it includes psychological aspects
▸Dark themes & character driven plots*
『Specifications I may have include..』
▸ MxF pairings only for romantic settings
▸ MxM pairings are fine for non-romances*
▸ Illustrated face claims are preferred*
▸ Fandom related things aren't my biggest fancy*
『Asterisk explanations for aforementioned..』
*Dark themes to me are any theme that likely
necessitates a trigger warning, but this isn't wholly
the case with various dark themes
*A romance dynamic to me is any relationship where two
people are mutually attracted, trustful, and healthily communicative.
*Other face claim types are fine but either way face claims aren't that
important to me outside of creating a character profile.
*When it comes to fandoms, I'm not too into playing canon
characters. OC characters in a canon world tend to give certain,
hm, freedoms? That aside, I don't do fandoms too often but
there may be times I give exceptions if we strongly like a certain
thing. Just expect most of my fandoms to be anime, manga, visual
novel or video game.
**
go off to form our own small little circle of like three members or something.
『Some writing samples for your amusement..』
A gust of wind surged, and a passing group of teen aged girls shrieked along with it--half in amusement, and partially because the cold stung. The frigid breeze insisted on further disarranging his moderately disheveled slick back. Teiga absentmindedly swept his hair into position in one fluid motion. He raised his silver MontBlanc watch, leveling it within immediate view. The dials announced exactly 1:02 PM.
Remi was late.
How spectacular of her, however--he was incredibly lacking in more time to spare.
Teiga meddled through the slit of his trouser pocket, head tilted to the side, as he mentally conjured the item he was probing for. The moment he did so, his cell phone resounded, signalling surrounding attention towards him. A sophisticatedly clad young man, glowering at an offending ID, indifferent to the encompassing bustle, evidently wealthy, and, significantly attractive. Many among the masses interrupted their ventures to stop and stare. Teiga disregarded their presence.
His finger swiped right, answering the call.
"Remi," He stated curtly. "Fix this habit of yours, or you're fired."
Remi was late.
How spectacular of her, however--he was incredibly lacking in more time to spare.
Teiga meddled through the slit of his trouser pocket, head tilted to the side, as he mentally conjured the item he was probing for. The moment he did so, his cell phone resounded, signalling surrounding attention towards him. A sophisticatedly clad young man, glowering at an offending ID, indifferent to the encompassing bustle, evidently wealthy, and, significantly attractive. Many among the masses interrupted their ventures to stop and stare. Teiga disregarded their presence.
His finger swiped right, answering the call.
"Remi," He stated curtly. "Fix this habit of yours, or you're fired."
The view uphill was pure magnificence, yet, such eminent purity only served to elucidate the darkness festering inside. The return to his birthplace was overpowering. The word itself left a sour taste in his mouth. Teiga Reymore was never reduced to fancying victim of self-inflicted mind games.
Yet--
For the entanglement unfolding in his mind, there was no word to be found in the Britannica dictionary or otherwise, which could adequately describe his emotions.
His brows furrowed, each step dredging through the white sleet as an age-old epiphany established itself. Emotions.
He breathed a shaky laugh, thoroughly acknowledging his foolishness first, and then, his mistake. The air claimed the imprint of his breath, dispelling his momentary afflictions with it. The beginning of the transgressions committed against himself emerged, once he chose to consider the lie that told him it was acceptable to feel.
It was a lie, because he was ever aware of the reality: don't feel, repeal. The code native, and constituted within. Resisting it meant endorsing self-destruction.
Teiga stared ahead at his estate, gradually materializing into view. As though a switch had been flipped on, the disoriented daze wiped itself from his face, clean.
His manor was just as he remembered: a residence, which hardly corresponded with the decidedly French bourgeois aesthetic the neighboring wealthy subscribed to. To the trained architectural eye, it appeared to be a fairly large courtyard home, of floor levels varying between one to two. Seated outside of, yet attached to the enclosure, was a wide circular tower presumably stretching to be four stories tall. An iron stair case melded around the circumference of the tower--top to bottom. Polished links of wood veneer fencing encompassed the property: smooth, broad and lanky.
There was one notable difference which contrasted with his memories: prevalent weathering, chipping, and rusting--as a result of the estate having been deserted for over three years. Teiga did not claim expertise when it came to distinguishing between beautiful and ugly. Nevertheless, the imperfections of the manor only served to complement the mythic sense of comfort exuding outwardly.
Nothing, however, was more comforting than arriving to an entourage of choral felines. Teiga shook his head, wondrous at the incessant reverberation of mewls. Of course, he had bought along his tribe of cats, whom fared their own share of traveling in the animal transportation services. They were rather devastated that the gangly fences persisted in isolating them from their master. A pair of steel keys clinked together, Teiga sinking one into the gate's keyhole. Soundlessly, the gate propelled open--encouraged by the gentle nudge of the winds. Or, by the barrage of shaggy cats stuffing themselves between the slight give.
The felines' greetings consisted of encircling between his legs, ecstatically smoothing themselves against him, and shaking their fur to eradicate accumulated snow. A Ragdoll, blush with snug tints of white and brown. A Ragamuffin, ivory and cream. A silver tabby Maine coon, and, a Turkish Angora as white as snow. May, Sian, Lima and Aseel. Mentally, he ensured that all four were present. When satisfied, he finally pushed the gate open, fully allowing the huge cats to bounce their way through, locking it behind them afterwards.
Yet--
For the entanglement unfolding in his mind, there was no word to be found in the Britannica dictionary or otherwise, which could adequately describe his emotions.
His brows furrowed, each step dredging through the white sleet as an age-old epiphany established itself. Emotions.
He breathed a shaky laugh, thoroughly acknowledging his foolishness first, and then, his mistake. The air claimed the imprint of his breath, dispelling his momentary afflictions with it. The beginning of the transgressions committed against himself emerged, once he chose to consider the lie that told him it was acceptable to feel.
It was a lie, because he was ever aware of the reality: don't feel, repeal. The code native, and constituted within. Resisting it meant endorsing self-destruction.
Teiga stared ahead at his estate, gradually materializing into view. As though a switch had been flipped on, the disoriented daze wiped itself from his face, clean.
His manor was just as he remembered: a residence, which hardly corresponded with the decidedly French bourgeois aesthetic the neighboring wealthy subscribed to. To the trained architectural eye, it appeared to be a fairly large courtyard home, of floor levels varying between one to two. Seated outside of, yet attached to the enclosure, was a wide circular tower presumably stretching to be four stories tall. An iron stair case melded around the circumference of the tower--top to bottom. Polished links of wood veneer fencing encompassed the property: smooth, broad and lanky.
There was one notable difference which contrasted with his memories: prevalent weathering, chipping, and rusting--as a result of the estate having been deserted for over three years. Teiga did not claim expertise when it came to distinguishing between beautiful and ugly. Nevertheless, the imperfections of the manor only served to complement the mythic sense of comfort exuding outwardly.
Nothing, however, was more comforting than arriving to an entourage of choral felines. Teiga shook his head, wondrous at the incessant reverberation of mewls. Of course, he had bought along his tribe of cats, whom fared their own share of traveling in the animal transportation services. They were rather devastated that the gangly fences persisted in isolating them from their master. A pair of steel keys clinked together, Teiga sinking one into the gate's keyhole. Soundlessly, the gate propelled open--encouraged by the gentle nudge of the winds. Or, by the barrage of shaggy cats stuffing themselves between the slight give.
The felines' greetings consisted of encircling between his legs, ecstatically smoothing themselves against him, and shaking their fur to eradicate accumulated snow. A Ragdoll, blush with snug tints of white and brown. A Ragamuffin, ivory and cream. A silver tabby Maine coon, and, a Turkish Angora as white as snow. May, Sian, Lima and Aseel. Mentally, he ensured that all four were present. When satisfied, he finally pushed the gate open, fully allowing the huge cats to bounce their way through, locking it behind them afterwards.
His deep auburn hair clung to the humidity perspiring from his face, and the sun did well to utilize the makings of the structure designed to contain heat itself. He was growing quite warm, but it was all within tolerable levels. It had...been a while, and so perhaps lingering among the library stowed ahead would serve to be convenient. The more the idea persisted in his head, the more appealing it sounded. The tea could be postponed for the time being, and the urge to settle among towering shelves and antique books was too great to ignore.
"Shall we, Aseel?" Teiga whispered against her fluffy white head, before setting her softly upon the ground.
The pair barely made it to the open frame leading to the library, when Teiga caught the glimpse of something shiny and familiar, skidding across the boards to their immediate direction. The blade reached the underfoot of his boots, which he trapped underneath, ceasing all and any potentially dangerous movements. Aseel thankfully recognized the object to be threatening, and darted away before she could be nicked. Teiga applied pressure to the handle of the blade with his foot, punting it upwards in a timed propel of his boots, and seized it with one hand as it ascended mid air---all in one fluid motion. Except, he had caught the blade by the knife itself, instead of the handle.
Teiga stared unfeelingly at the red slit on his hand, gradually swelling before erupting into a dripping, bloody mess. Aseel half-mewled half-whined, visibly agitated by the scent of his blood. He paid partial mind to her demeanor, in case she decided to flip on whomever she deemed the aggressor.
In retrospect, he should have known to repress his reflexes and attempt to handle things normally. No matter, he simply needed to return the blade to its owner.
Teiga gazed intently out into the crowds, scanning every face and persona for a possible match, and resulted in nothing. Not far from the archway leading to the library, he observed a scrawny boy nose-deep into a book unnaturally large, or perhaps the boy himself was peculiarly small. Harnessing a blade? Unlikely.
Mentally, he exerted great effort into recalling the direction the blade had came from. His gaze landed on a rough looking male seated at a table at cross points with the library and cafe. His appearance suggested he was not possibly in his thirties, neither did he assimilate to what classifies as a young boy. Mid-20s, then. He wore tattoos for sleeves, and possibly loomed an entire inch higher than Teiga himself. Harnessing a blade? Feasible.
Teiga approached the man at the table, bloody hand in his pocket--the knife drooping from the one gone unscathed.
"Is this your toy?" he demanded, by way of greeting.
"Shall we, Aseel?" Teiga whispered against her fluffy white head, before setting her softly upon the ground.
The pair barely made it to the open frame leading to the library, when Teiga caught the glimpse of something shiny and familiar, skidding across the boards to their immediate direction. The blade reached the underfoot of his boots, which he trapped underneath, ceasing all and any potentially dangerous movements. Aseel thankfully recognized the object to be threatening, and darted away before she could be nicked. Teiga applied pressure to the handle of the blade with his foot, punting it upwards in a timed propel of his boots, and seized it with one hand as it ascended mid air---all in one fluid motion. Except, he had caught the blade by the knife itself, instead of the handle.
Teiga stared unfeelingly at the red slit on his hand, gradually swelling before erupting into a dripping, bloody mess. Aseel half-mewled half-whined, visibly agitated by the scent of his blood. He paid partial mind to her demeanor, in case she decided to flip on whomever she deemed the aggressor.
In retrospect, he should have known to repress his reflexes and attempt to handle things normally. No matter, he simply needed to return the blade to its owner.
Teiga gazed intently out into the crowds, scanning every face and persona for a possible match, and resulted in nothing. Not far from the archway leading to the library, he observed a scrawny boy nose-deep into a book unnaturally large, or perhaps the boy himself was peculiarly small. Harnessing a blade? Unlikely.
Mentally, he exerted great effort into recalling the direction the blade had came from. His gaze landed on a rough looking male seated at a table at cross points with the library and cafe. His appearance suggested he was not possibly in his thirties, neither did he assimilate to what classifies as a young boy. Mid-20s, then. He wore tattoos for sleeves, and possibly loomed an entire inch higher than Teiga himself. Harnessing a blade? Feasible.
Teiga approached the man at the table, bloody hand in his pocket--the knife drooping from the one gone unscathed.
"Is this your toy?" he demanded, by way of greeting.
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