Klamoa
One Time Luck
Howdy y'all!
I'm a bit new to this website but definitely not new when it comes to roleplaying. My writing length ranges to match what I'm given, meaning I have no problem with hopping from just one or two sentences to novella if the mood strikes. Personally, I have no problem with writing as a male, female, genderless, extraterrestrial, I'm down. Straight; asexual; demisexual; homosexual; bisexual? You name it. I'm flexible with what to write and figure it's worth trying everything at least once. I don't really have anything too specific that I'm searching to try out just yet, but I'll always be up to RP any of the things listed below:
+ Zombie Apocalypses or any games based around it i.e. TWD, TLOU, or Far Cry.
+ Anything based around the movie Fight Club.
+ Ancient Tribes or Ancient Greek Gods and Goddesses meddling with humans.
+ The Hunger Games
+ Mystery Skulls (Ghost)
+ Pokemon
+ Adventure Time
+ The Avatar
+ Chronicles of Narnia
+
Any
of the Ghibli Studio Movies (ex. Spirited Away, Howl's Moving Castle, Princess Mononoke, Ponyo, Arrietty)
+ TFIOS
+ Naruto--Okay so pretty much anything, just ask!
(*´ v`*)/ In the spoiler is a preview of just how much I can write as well as a quick snippet of characterization for anyone who's curious about my writing style. This is not how much I'll be writing in our RP responses if you don't want to write this much, it's not necessary and definitely not pined after if it bothers who I'm writing with. It's based over the lover principle that buzzed around Tumblr where people are born with clocks on their wrists telling them when they're supposed to find their soulmate for anyone that may not catch onto what's going on since I was a bit vague about it in the prompt. Hopefully it checks out alright!
I'm a bit new to this website but definitely not new when it comes to roleplaying. My writing length ranges to match what I'm given, meaning I have no problem with hopping from just one or two sentences to novella if the mood strikes. Personally, I have no problem with writing as a male, female, genderless, extraterrestrial, I'm down. Straight; asexual; demisexual; homosexual; bisexual? You name it. I'm flexible with what to write and figure it's worth trying everything at least once. I don't really have anything too specific that I'm searching to try out just yet, but I'll always be up to RP any of the things listed below:
+ Zombie Apocalypses or any games based around it i.e. TWD, TLOU, or Far Cry.
+ Anything based around the movie Fight Club.
+ Ancient Tribes or Ancient Greek Gods and Goddesses meddling with humans.
+ The Hunger Games
+ Mystery Skulls (Ghost)
+ Pokemon
+ Adventure Time
+ The Avatar
+ Chronicles of Narnia
+
Any
of the Ghibli Studio Movies (ex. Spirited Away, Howl's Moving Castle, Princess Mononoke, Ponyo, Arrietty)
+ TFIOS
+ Naruto--Okay so pretty much anything, just ask!
(*´ v`*)/ In the spoiler is a preview of just how much I can write as well as a quick snippet of characterization for anyone who's curious about my writing style. This is not how much I'll be writing in our RP responses if you don't want to write this much, it's not necessary and definitely not pined after if it bothers who I'm writing with. It's based over the lover principle that buzzed around Tumblr where people are born with clocks on their wrists telling them when they're supposed to find their soulmate for anyone that may not catch onto what's going on since I was a bit vague about it in the prompt. Hopefully it checks out alright!
Starbucks happened to be on the director's palette so often as of late that he found himself amazed that he hadn't started to bleed macchiato or at least smell vaguely of the sugary liquid crack the blond could always be found sipping up around the set both on and off of break times. Which brought the swagalicious movie gangster to back to the present situation at hand. With subordinate colleagues busy running around completing a series of rigorous tasks he'd given them ranging from almost useful to concernedly ridiculous, he had no one to bribe into picking up his two-o-clock fix of caffeine and artificially flavored foam.
Meaning?
David Caldecott Strider (Or D, as he preferred being called) had by some otherworldly miracle managed to sneak out from underneath the ever watchful hawk-eyes of his tiny pitbull of a manager to get it himself. That otherworldly miracle most likely being that the lithe thirty-one year old managed to shimmy his bodacious booty out of the back window of his movie trailer with wallet cradled carefully between his jaws and a substantially large hoodie in tow before 'daintily' proceeding to haul ass out of close vicinity without getting caught by that bloodhound of a nose his manager had. Now? Here he was. Standing with a hoodie shading his identity in front of the temporary apple in his eye. The Mona Lisa of the hour. The dealer of the good stuff and the Godfather of all cafes. The bae.
He ducked inside after gathering just enough cautious side-glances and increasingly curious looks to remember that he probably looked strange standing outside like a man who'd been stranded in the desert for months without so much as a glimpse of any liquid of any kind finding an limitless supply of water bottles. Ignoring the telltale buzz of the cell stowed away in the back pocket of the black slacks adorning his lithe figure to signal that his escapade had been found out and stepping up to the counter; the director meaningfully tuned out the vague tick-tocking that drifted upwards from his hidden wrist while allowing his gaze to roam over the menu a few times as if he hadn't already memorized everything on it. He purposefully stood in that place, 'hmming' and 'oh maybe that one'ing or 'I dunno I tried that one before and...'ing until the people behind him to begin to fidget and grumble not-so-quietly in irritation. It was only then did he request a latte and gave a meaningful shake of the head to the teenager standing at the register with eyes that gradually begin to grow wider than Santa's ass cheeks after looking under the hoodie's hood--praying he got the message not to go squawking anything out.
Fumbling through his pockets for both a pen and wallet; D quickly scrawled out a tiny message into the corner of the twenty that was given as payment before giving a dismissive wave when the younger man on the other side of the cash register began to make change. Afterwards he stepped aside and fishing his cellular device out of his back pocket just in time for the next round of buzzing that felt like the umpteenth time. Seeing that it wasn't a call but just a text message unlike the other times, he leant against the further side of the counter out of the way with an expression as unreadable as ever as he began reading over the uppercase letters demanding he return to the set as soon as possible. Message deleted. He tucked the phone away and mulled silently over the newest film to himself for a while until someone moved to tap his shoulder from the other side of the counter. Holy crap yes.
Hell.
Freaking.
Yes.
Had D been a lesser man he would have crumbled under the sheer beauty of the image laid out before him within the cup passed off and into his hands. The person at the register had read his message, bless his hormonal acne-ridden soul. Accepting the drink and admiring the handiwork and detail put into drawing a phallic with the foam over his drink as requested on the twenty dollar bill; the director took a seat in a booth up against the window a far ways off from the windows closer to the front of the Starbucks before taking a sip of the almost scalding drink. Might as well enjoy himself before facing the music. The vague full body shudder that came with the first sip came with an emotion that bordered on sinful with how good it was. But with a lack of a pre-determined goal or anything to work on as he enjoyed the drink, the quiet ticking of the clock he'd been born with latched onto his wrist seemed all the more louder in his ears. Fingertips rapping over the sides of his cup and lips thinning into a hard line, he took another sip--much more generous this time despite the way it practically burned his tongue and throat to do so.
There was no way in hell he was looking.
He didn't want to. He wouldn't.
The man hadn't looked at that stupid clock for almost three months. It wasn't as if he wasn't curious about when he was going to run into some predetermined sap that at some point a long time ago had gotten their soul all tangled up with his. Don't get him wrong, he was. But the worry. The amount of legitimately potent sheer fucking dread that washed over him every time he so much as glanced at the numbers counting down didn't feel as intense when his eyes weren't allowed to drift to the stupid black shapes telling him just when he'd meet someone he was told at a young age was a person who'd been made perfectly for him. He snorted at that despite the instinctual worry that began to itch at him; questioning if the numbers would suddenly just come to a halt and drop to zero if his gaze lingered on it. Maybe he'd watched too many horror movies about that kind of shit. After a fleeting moment the director took another frustratingly short sip of his drink in a manner that bordered on tentative in his book (most likely casual in others) while washing his thoughts out of any idea taking a peek while leaning back against the cushioned seating and exhaling slowly.
Only to go completely rigid as inexplicably intense tingles ran up and down the arm possessing that little clock that'd been almost agonizing to ignore. A new feeling that sent unexpected waves of euphoria and excitement racing through D's veins so fast the tingles rose up to the very surface of his skin in its wake like a wildfire. Just barely managing to sit upright as a barely contained glow surfaced through the thick grey fabric of the hoodie used to sneak out in, the man carefully rolled the borrowed sleeve further up his arm and away from the clock to look down at it seeing as any resolve not to look was burnt into nothingness the moment the unfamiliar sensation had worn off.
00 YR - 000 D - 00 H - 02 M - 03 S
There was this kind of unconscious relief he'd never admit to at the sight of those three little numbers on the right side of the clock. A relief in the knowledge that it was still present, that the clock hadn't dropped to zero a long time ago and that the tingles hadn't meant the worst that made the coiling up in his gut ease just a enough to allow the director to breathe as he peered almost anxiously around the cafe. Although his expression remained blank, clean as a slate and as smooth as a statue's marble ass, on the inside his thoughts were running a mile a minute and the shit was more stressful than the backstage of a runway model studio right before the big moment. This would have been the part where he'd make a casual offhanded reference to feeling more like a twinkie sitting out on a table in front of honey boo boo's family had it not been the for fact that his mouth felt dryer than the Sahara Desert and that he'd chosen to sit alone rather than with someone to ramble off to.
A couple excited whispers could be vaguely heard from other booths but it'd become nothing but background noise as the man stood up from the booth with latte long forgotten. The amount of light being thrown out by the clock was almost blinding as he looked back down at it again.
00 YR - 000 D - 00 H - 01 M - 54 S
The faces his eyes latch onto each have an individual response: a glance away in denial, a shake of the head, or the pointing in the direction of their significant other. With no one making visible reactions the blond is out the door in record time and out onto the sidewalk somewhat anxiously looking for someone that looked as if they were seeking another person too behind his ridiculous aviators. Would they be looking too? Were they in another building waiting for him to show up? Were they anxious? Nervous maybe? Did they feel the same sensation he felt just moments?
With the hand not possessing the clock he reached into the hoodie pulled up over his head to shield his face to thread a couple fingers through his hair while fighting the tremble that threatened to make his hand quake. Another second or two and he was glancing back down with the most calm and collected expression he could withhold when every instinct he'd squashed out for most of his life screamed to forget the poker face and look more intently. The white surroundings around the numbers had begun to look almost opaque in color while the contents in the middle glowed with such an intensity that it distracted bystanders who simply smiled (some jealously and some knowingly) before returning to their previous doings.
00 YR - 000 D - 00 H - 01 M - 20 S
Shit.
00 YR - 000 D - 00 H - 00 M - 59 S
Double shit.
What was he doing just standing here?
The soles of his shoes began to hit the pavement.
00 YR - 000 D - 00 H - 00 M - 42 S
One corner down.
00 YR - 000 D - 00 H - 00 M - 30 S
He'd burnt past three street lights.
00 YR - 000 D - 00 H - 00 M - 17 S
The man finally came to a stop. Standing upright, he tried to take deep breaths, or as deep as he could manage while trying to keep it together--but all that came out were short and somewhat quick little puffs of air that only gave away the wisps of anxiousness that had begun to bubble up in his chest when his gaze dropped to the clock one more time. The opaqueness of the previously white borders had gone black but the glowing of the numbers only grew stronger with ever second that ticked by.
00 YR - 000 D - 00 H - 00 M - 10 S
Were they here?
00 YR - 000 D - 00 H - 00 M - 09 S
Were they okay?
00 YR - 000 D - 00 H - 00 M - 08 S
Were they healthy?
00 YR - 000 D - 00 H - 00 M - 07 S
What would they think of him?
00 YR - 000 D - 00 H - 00 M - 06 S
The sound of a car screeching to a halt and the vague sound of it slamming into something could be heard no more than a couple streets off.
00 YR - 000 D - 00 H - 00 M - 05 S
A stomach sank.
00 YR - 000 D - 00 H - 00 M - 04 S
A heart stuttered to an agonizing halt in a chest.
00 YR - 000 D - 00 H - 00 M - 03 S
Crimson eyes met another set before drifting down to the stranger's wrists desperately; greeted with the sight of a vibrant glow similar to his own beginning to dim as the clock's life diminished.
00 YR - 000 D - 00 H - 00 M - 02 S
A heart began to beat again.
00 YR - 000 D - 00 H - 00 M - 01 S
A stomach filled with the unsteady and unfamiliar feeling of butterflies.
00 YR - 000 D - 00 H - 00 M - 00 S
The director's hand lifted to wave hello for the first time.
Meaning?
David Caldecott Strider (Or D, as he preferred being called) had by some otherworldly miracle managed to sneak out from underneath the ever watchful hawk-eyes of his tiny pitbull of a manager to get it himself. That otherworldly miracle most likely being that the lithe thirty-one year old managed to shimmy his bodacious booty out of the back window of his movie trailer with wallet cradled carefully between his jaws and a substantially large hoodie in tow before 'daintily' proceeding to haul ass out of close vicinity without getting caught by that bloodhound of a nose his manager had. Now? Here he was. Standing with a hoodie shading his identity in front of the temporary apple in his eye. The Mona Lisa of the hour. The dealer of the good stuff and the Godfather of all cafes. The bae.
He ducked inside after gathering just enough cautious side-glances and increasingly curious looks to remember that he probably looked strange standing outside like a man who'd been stranded in the desert for months without so much as a glimpse of any liquid of any kind finding an limitless supply of water bottles. Ignoring the telltale buzz of the cell stowed away in the back pocket of the black slacks adorning his lithe figure to signal that his escapade had been found out and stepping up to the counter; the director meaningfully tuned out the vague tick-tocking that drifted upwards from his hidden wrist while allowing his gaze to roam over the menu a few times as if he hadn't already memorized everything on it. He purposefully stood in that place, 'hmming' and 'oh maybe that one'ing or 'I dunno I tried that one before and...'ing until the people behind him to begin to fidget and grumble not-so-quietly in irritation. It was only then did he request a latte and gave a meaningful shake of the head to the teenager standing at the register with eyes that gradually begin to grow wider than Santa's ass cheeks after looking under the hoodie's hood--praying he got the message not to go squawking anything out.
Fumbling through his pockets for both a pen and wallet; D quickly scrawled out a tiny message into the corner of the twenty that was given as payment before giving a dismissive wave when the younger man on the other side of the cash register began to make change. Afterwards he stepped aside and fishing his cellular device out of his back pocket just in time for the next round of buzzing that felt like the umpteenth time. Seeing that it wasn't a call but just a text message unlike the other times, he leant against the further side of the counter out of the way with an expression as unreadable as ever as he began reading over the uppercase letters demanding he return to the set as soon as possible. Message deleted. He tucked the phone away and mulled silently over the newest film to himself for a while until someone moved to tap his shoulder from the other side of the counter. Holy crap yes.
Hell.
Freaking.
Yes.
Had D been a lesser man he would have crumbled under the sheer beauty of the image laid out before him within the cup passed off and into his hands. The person at the register had read his message, bless his hormonal acne-ridden soul. Accepting the drink and admiring the handiwork and detail put into drawing a phallic with the foam over his drink as requested on the twenty dollar bill; the director took a seat in a booth up against the window a far ways off from the windows closer to the front of the Starbucks before taking a sip of the almost scalding drink. Might as well enjoy himself before facing the music. The vague full body shudder that came with the first sip came with an emotion that bordered on sinful with how good it was. But with a lack of a pre-determined goal or anything to work on as he enjoyed the drink, the quiet ticking of the clock he'd been born with latched onto his wrist seemed all the more louder in his ears. Fingertips rapping over the sides of his cup and lips thinning into a hard line, he took another sip--much more generous this time despite the way it practically burned his tongue and throat to do so.
There was no way in hell he was looking.
He didn't want to. He wouldn't.
The man hadn't looked at that stupid clock for almost three months. It wasn't as if he wasn't curious about when he was going to run into some predetermined sap that at some point a long time ago had gotten their soul all tangled up with his. Don't get him wrong, he was. But the worry. The amount of legitimately potent sheer fucking dread that washed over him every time he so much as glanced at the numbers counting down didn't feel as intense when his eyes weren't allowed to drift to the stupid black shapes telling him just when he'd meet someone he was told at a young age was a person who'd been made perfectly for him. He snorted at that despite the instinctual worry that began to itch at him; questioning if the numbers would suddenly just come to a halt and drop to zero if his gaze lingered on it. Maybe he'd watched too many horror movies about that kind of shit. After a fleeting moment the director took another frustratingly short sip of his drink in a manner that bordered on tentative in his book (most likely casual in others) while washing his thoughts out of any idea taking a peek while leaning back against the cushioned seating and exhaling slowly.
Only to go completely rigid as inexplicably intense tingles ran up and down the arm possessing that little clock that'd been almost agonizing to ignore. A new feeling that sent unexpected waves of euphoria and excitement racing through D's veins so fast the tingles rose up to the very surface of his skin in its wake like a wildfire. Just barely managing to sit upright as a barely contained glow surfaced through the thick grey fabric of the hoodie used to sneak out in, the man carefully rolled the borrowed sleeve further up his arm and away from the clock to look down at it seeing as any resolve not to look was burnt into nothingness the moment the unfamiliar sensation had worn off.
00 YR - 000 D - 00 H - 02 M - 03 S
There was this kind of unconscious relief he'd never admit to at the sight of those three little numbers on the right side of the clock. A relief in the knowledge that it was still present, that the clock hadn't dropped to zero a long time ago and that the tingles hadn't meant the worst that made the coiling up in his gut ease just a enough to allow the director to breathe as he peered almost anxiously around the cafe. Although his expression remained blank, clean as a slate and as smooth as a statue's marble ass, on the inside his thoughts were running a mile a minute and the shit was more stressful than the backstage of a runway model studio right before the big moment. This would have been the part where he'd make a casual offhanded reference to feeling more like a twinkie sitting out on a table in front of honey boo boo's family had it not been the for fact that his mouth felt dryer than the Sahara Desert and that he'd chosen to sit alone rather than with someone to ramble off to.
A couple excited whispers could be vaguely heard from other booths but it'd become nothing but background noise as the man stood up from the booth with latte long forgotten. The amount of light being thrown out by the clock was almost blinding as he looked back down at it again.
00 YR - 000 D - 00 H - 01 M - 54 S
The faces his eyes latch onto each have an individual response: a glance away in denial, a shake of the head, or the pointing in the direction of their significant other. With no one making visible reactions the blond is out the door in record time and out onto the sidewalk somewhat anxiously looking for someone that looked as if they were seeking another person too behind his ridiculous aviators. Would they be looking too? Were they in another building waiting for him to show up? Were they anxious? Nervous maybe? Did they feel the same sensation he felt just moments?
With the hand not possessing the clock he reached into the hoodie pulled up over his head to shield his face to thread a couple fingers through his hair while fighting the tremble that threatened to make his hand quake. Another second or two and he was glancing back down with the most calm and collected expression he could withhold when every instinct he'd squashed out for most of his life screamed to forget the poker face and look more intently. The white surroundings around the numbers had begun to look almost opaque in color while the contents in the middle glowed with such an intensity that it distracted bystanders who simply smiled (some jealously and some knowingly) before returning to their previous doings.
00 YR - 000 D - 00 H - 01 M - 20 S
Shit.
00 YR - 000 D - 00 H - 00 M - 59 S
Double shit.
What was he doing just standing here?
The soles of his shoes began to hit the pavement.
00 YR - 000 D - 00 H - 00 M - 42 S
One corner down.
00 YR - 000 D - 00 H - 00 M - 30 S
He'd burnt past three street lights.
00 YR - 000 D - 00 H - 00 M - 17 S
The man finally came to a stop. Standing upright, he tried to take deep breaths, or as deep as he could manage while trying to keep it together--but all that came out were short and somewhat quick little puffs of air that only gave away the wisps of anxiousness that had begun to bubble up in his chest when his gaze dropped to the clock one more time. The opaqueness of the previously white borders had gone black but the glowing of the numbers only grew stronger with ever second that ticked by.
00 YR - 000 D - 00 H - 00 M - 10 S
Were they here?
00 YR - 000 D - 00 H - 00 M - 09 S
Were they okay?
00 YR - 000 D - 00 H - 00 M - 08 S
Were they healthy?
00 YR - 000 D - 00 H - 00 M - 07 S
What would they think of him?
00 YR - 000 D - 00 H - 00 M - 06 S
The sound of a car screeching to a halt and the vague sound of it slamming into something could be heard no more than a couple streets off.
00 YR - 000 D - 00 H - 00 M - 05 S
A stomach sank.
00 YR - 000 D - 00 H - 00 M - 04 S
A heart stuttered to an agonizing halt in a chest.
00 YR - 000 D - 00 H - 00 M - 03 S
Crimson eyes met another set before drifting down to the stranger's wrists desperately; greeted with the sight of a vibrant glow similar to his own beginning to dim as the clock's life diminished.
00 YR - 000 D - 00 H - 00 M - 02 S
A heart began to beat again.
00 YR - 000 D - 00 H - 00 M - 01 S
A stomach filled with the unsteady and unfamiliar feeling of butterflies.
00 YR - 000 D - 00 H - 00 M - 00 S
The director's hand lifted to wave hello for the first time.
