{Interactions|Roleplay} {still open as of March 2014}
October 4, 2013 - 2:18am — Heartstrings
If you want me to make/if you want to make a separate blog for our interaction, that's fine! Just ask/tell me.
All of these RPs are separate. Please don't reply to any RPs already started here!
Please clearly state who you would like to interact with.
Some of my characters {Mr.Sanguine, Heartstring, Beloved, Fiambre} can be snarky, or rude, or otherwise 'unpleasant' and I ask that you remember this is all IC and just because things are said IC or done IC it has no standing on how I view you or your character ooc.
You don't have to match my post length, sometimes I ramble.
Please, I am begging you, when you reply to my posts, scroll up and use 'add new comment' so nobody loses their edit button.
Sometimes I post music for effect. You don't have to. It's just a thing.
Some of these characters {Mr.Sanguine, Beloved} are rather fluid and incorporeal, that is, they shape shift and change. Do not be surprised if some of them {Mr.Sanguine, Beloved} fuck around IC by changing themselves, they're big dumbs who like to freak others out or just like to change.
Swearing and gore and drugs and all that other stuff is A-okay I really don't care.
If you godmod I will warn you, if you do it again I will cut our RP off.
Most of these guys have...'Human' forms, just ask about it. Just know that some of them {Fiambre, Mr.Sanguine, Beloved, Haniel} are never truly human, they just...kinda, look it.
Of course I have to linger
track B) may start a RP
may start a RP dunno yet
Hum: Buh
Buh<3
Hello, love.
RedReptor:
Way too lazy to write my own version.
Settles here. Ahnn, defs need
Ahnn, defs need to rp with you, it's been too long. You know how I am though BI, /nervously flutters around.
It's gonna happen.
aahh yes
I look forward to it preciouslove ;u;
>.<
redraptor96 wrote:>.< Huh?
Huh?
Tracking! Your characters
Profile picture by ahimsa ♥
Pixel Wis by squeegie~
Poppy: Thank you ;u; Don't be
Thank you ;u;
Don't be a stranger dahlings I don't bite~
WEEEEEE :3
hn
You haven't been getting
Put in whoever makes sense for you from the feeling of the writing, Beloved.
Song is only sort of. Mood is right but words are what. xD
---
She's unusually serpentine today. Her movement flows with rhythmic undulation; her form is stretched, no different from any other day, and yet elongated to the state of a being unconsciously reaching for the sun. She turns her head and her neck goes for miles before her eyes settle.
In a turn of limbs and coy glances, she's up from her bleached-white patch of ground; her hoof comes down after the turn of a year counted by the pendulum of her leg. Elegance beseeches her, but she pays it no mind, already has what she wants of it. She slinks between the trees, in search of something without minding what.
A smile forms on her lips, works up them like a crack in the rock. Millennia pass as it's eroded into a canyon. A weight in the world, like marbles rolling along a blanket—she knows it’s coming.
Horn slicing through the air like the sun across the sky, she turns back, her tail rolling behind with the movement of an hourglass, strands falling piece after piece over themselves. She does not settle but remains still, limbs pillars rivaling the redwoods, head high among the stars, horn piercing Heaven itself. Her ears are pricked. Her smile widens.
Fiambre He is not
Fiambre
He is not large.
Nor, is he small.
Great or insignificant, he does not know, nor does he care to know. For he knows he shall be as he shall be so long as there are sentient beings in the depths and mud addled pools of the universe, of old universes, of universes yet to be born, alive yet in the hearts of both the men of old and children of new.
The sun glances off his pelt, oil-slick like sullied seas, as if fit to choke out the life around his being. His head is, for the time being, bowed in idleness, until her existence stirs something, the air perhaps, the earth. His keen sense of smell. And his eyes, his eyes which are like pools of the finest molten gold, glide open slowly.
His skulled head sweeps upwards towards that glimmering star, source of all life, with the grace of a bird's wings unfolding, markings rippling with the elegance of dying suns in each subtle inhale-exhale he takes. The reek of rot surrounds him, the dank, damp scent of life decomposing within the churning of his gut.
He is not trying to impress her. He has no reason to. Nor is he attempting to ward her off, he does not fear her. He does not fear.
Slowly, like worms churning beneath the surface of the soil, his thick, fleshy tongue rolled between his teeth, cleaning scraps of stillborn fawn and strings of old cattail fluff from between the ridges of his maw. An ear flicked, his eyes returned to a relaxed state of mere half lids, his dark pupils gliding across the golden surface to watch her.
But he does not rise.
He does not speak.
And upon seeing Fiambre, Hum
No but really if he spits on me you have Hell to pay.
Let's say I'm feeling particularly daring today.
---
Her eyes settle on a darkness puddled before her. Her smile sinks back into the æther—her eyes harden as she gazes over his form. The scent hits her, and her lip rises in a silent snarl for the briefest of moments.
She deliberates for a while.
She's heard much, known little.
She feels repulsion, but with it, she is compelled to step forward. Come and see.
There are vines entangled between her hooves before she takes another step. She is tentative—neither does she know fear, as rare a visitor as it has become—it is not fear which drives her caution but, something else.
An aura of gold rises about her, slight but present, wary yet certain, suspended like dust in a crepuscular ray. Her hooves stir the grass, the moss—but she leaves not flowers in her wake now, merely the marks of her passing gouged into the soil, and the slightest hint of sunlight.
Her eyes betray her—curious, dark orbs in the light of her being, gently beseeching and yet bowing to no one. They do not leave him. Her pace continues, slow yet steady, neither threatening nor threatened.
Come and see.
[He gon' drool on u] - A
-
A skinny limb draws forwards, dark, slender, a long burnt out branch that never recovered, the stone-hard hoof at the end gouging trails through the soil, like some great king drawing a moat around his castle. But Fiambre had no castle. Fiambre had no moat.
And in this way, he was made more untouchable than any king. For you could enter the castles of kings, swim their moats, pull their drawbridges down with rope and muscle, what did you do when a king's castle was his heart? When the moat was made up of every corpse come before you? What did you do when the door to the castle was hidden in cobwebbed heartstrings as endless and unbreakable as time? His own little infinity.
He watched her approach, and he could neither smile nor frown for his face was just as hard as his heart. But his eyes, like gold melted down into pools, spoke of his apathy, laced only gently at the edges with amusement and yet, there was no curiosity, no fear for this strange sunlit being.
Into his gaze he took her, and soon decided that she was not for Him. Not for his hungry jaws and hungry heart. For she was too large, too powerful and radiant for his trappings. And he settled once more, the flies in his belly all abuzz like the butterflies in the hearts of young lovers.
His ears turned towards her, silent acknowledgement. And yet, he spoke not a word.
Beloved I swear to God so
---
At a distance, she began to circle him. Her eyes never left him—brown on black, as if she were a hardy seedling, taken root in the ebony silt of stagnant water. The smell was nearly unbearable, even at this length. In fact, nothing about him was welcoming. There were no words, no smile, no friendly gaze. There was only the darkness of his form, the jagged edges of his teeth, the ennui of his stare. He brought himself up only to settle again, his ears turned to face her and stayed—present, attentive, but not at all invested. His body was lax; he hung in space as an old being disinterested in the world—wanted little, cared for nothing. But there was a glint of something golden in the blackness, and it kept her.
She twined about him once, twice, slowly—oh so slowly—looking him over, keeping her distance. Bloated belly, the sound of flies, the stench of rot. A countenance unfit for something alive, only something living. He was not like her in many ways, and yet, he kept her.
She knew she was strange, a stranger circling a predator, a scavenger. But it was always light which encroached upon darkness, and the patient darkness which dwelt where light could not reach. It was her part to play, to reach out, to play upon him. That was how the world turned. That was how beings were born, lived, and died. She had to dance upon the jaws of Death to be worthy of the title Life. Her smile returned, not sweet now but coolly knowing, keenly aware of something which gave her confidence unshakeable.
She squared herself directly before his gaze, unfaltering. Her head held evenly, neither haughty nor meek, she announced herself.
“I am Hum.”
Her eyes did not leave his.
No u ---- He inhaled
----
He inhaled slowly, sides heaving upwards with the slow, steady sort of movement one attributed to mountains being born, to suns setting, moons rising. He was a slow, unstoppable force, as much a fact of life as death, as much a fact of life as she herself was.
"Fiambre"
Steadfast devourer of all things, come their time. His head dipped, just so, eyes leaving hers, for he had no reason to hold her gaze, did not play into the fancies and whims of man nor the instinctive stronghold of beast, he was incapable of social or dominance faux-pas simply by way of following no societal guidelines in the first place.
The tips of his frontmost teeth scraped along the ground, churning earth in the same way he might tear the ground asunder in idle hunts for the beetles and worms he devoured by the jawful when his whims stirred his actions as such.
His head turned upwards again, thick, fleshy tongue scraping the earth from his teeth, throat moving as he swallowed in idle disdain rather than spitting it back to the ground, and even still the muscle left in its wake gossamer strands of saliva criss-crossed over his teeth, dangling, tangling, from his jaws like the lacelike wings of Neuroptera.
"Yes."
And that was it. The only subtle sign that he was not going to spit in her face just for existing. 'Yes'.
She did not close the
She did not close the distance.
Were it not for his odour, for the manner in which he regarded things, for the innumerable reasons which gripped her and yet left no name to call them by, perhaps she would have approached. But there were too many reasons not to.
Her eyes left his, having nothing to seek. Her gaze doted over a tree, the grass, a falling leaf.
'Yes.' That was good. But it was not sufficient. Not for her.
She did not know what she sought, but she had not attained it.
Her eyes snapped back to his, idle as he was. Her head shifted in a habitual flick, horn slicing through the air. She inhaled deeply—regretted it. He did not care if she met his eyes, sat politely before him. She moved upwind but did not yet settle. The soil, the same soil she’d watched him idly consume more out of indifference than anything, shifted between her hooves. She had no problem with the soil.
She had a problem with Fiambre.
But, for all her intellect, she could not put a name to it.
So she watched him. Minutes went by and she watched and did nothing. Her tail flicked behind her—to, and fro, to, and fro—as if a pendulum. Her faced was marked with the pensive stare of someone in thought, but nothing came.
She did not sit, despite it being her constant habit, lazy beast as she was. Yet another piece of a puzzle she did not yet fully comprehend. But she did not stop trying.
Fiambre, Fiambre, Fiambre...
“Yes,” She uttered in response, almost to herself. She inhaled deeply and regretted nothing. Just because there was a problem did not mean she could not get used to it.
His lips, bone-hard, did not
His lips, bone-hard, did not move, did not twitch upwards in a smile for they were incapable of doing so. The feeling of a smile, or a smirk perhaps, did linger over him for a fleeting moment, the same way the last dredges of smoke hung above the skeleton of a forest after a raging inferno. Yes, perhaps that was a good way to describe him, not the heat and passion and fury of an inferno, but the blackened shell left in its wake.
For a long time he was quiet, perhaps eons could pass and he would bear no recognition of it. His eyes, ever so slowly, slid closed. Long lashed eyes that might have been startlingly attractive on another beast or perhaps on a man or woman. They were wasted on him.
His head raised, from earth to point like the needle of a compass towards heaven, letting the sunlight run as if water down his throat, eyes fluttering open once again, all of this done with the slow movement of a being who had an eternity to do as he pleased. And only when he seemed to have made himself sufficiently comfortable again did his head slide down, towards her light, rather than the sky's.
He observed her with distant interest, but he seemed to have nothing to say for the moment.
The prodigal son returns!
I’m not sorry for what I’m going to do to you by posting this, though. No BSing allowed. You had to figure it out one day. Good luck and Godspeed.
To his smoke, she was the fire; to his ashes, she was the molten core which bristled with flame. Just as she alighted, she roared suddenly to life, taking with her all that crossed her path.
But she too could become consumed by idleness—not so much a raging inferno as a tempered flare, burning in leisurely bursts with great periods of inactivity, her presence only implied by a soft, ever-present glow, rising and falling like a heartbeat.
Time passed strangely for beings such as they: months would fly by in the blink of an eye, and yet a moment could stretch on for near eternity.
She lingered in that moment, doted over it; her eyelids lowered in fondness while she gazed at the grass, through it, beyond it. She did not understand all, but she understood enough. Slowly, she began to circle him again—but, when she came close to being behind him, she doubled back on herself, over and over and over again. It did not matter if he cared—it was her duty. The Light, Life, did not hide. There was no reason for it to hide.
He may have been Pestilence and Famine—perhaps even the great being, Death itself. And if so, she was the fiery light which stirred up action from the dormant, the great and unstoppable force poised to the immovable object—War. And, if all went as she hoped, she may yet prove to be Conquest as well.
She was aware of the cliché which would soon fall from her lips, but the question, the too-often asked question, was fresh and new when she thought of him. Her hesitation evaporated the moment sound formed in her throat.
“What are you?”
And she’d known she was not the first to ask him that—it showed in her face, her eyes; it lingered in her voice—others had stood before him, some quaking and cowering, and their tones betrayed their terror. But she knew not of their fear, only the curiosity which came from confidence held in the face of the unknown.
Her head tilted with the pique of her interest; she smiled while the admittance of her unawareness flew like a shadow across her face.
{{shhh you know ilu anyway
Perhaps he would reach out with bony fingers, grasping greedy hands.
No, he did no such thing, for his hooves never left him in this place, no, no, no. In this place, he was a deer, his shell was a deer, hermit-crab soul, seeping ever into bodies which allowed him to fit in and be out of place all at once, disgusting, misshapen trash in a world of such beauty, but oh, how glorious he was, him in all his filth.
The muscles of his face contorted as if to smile without lips or eyes, no, he was not death, never. For he did not kill so much as he destroyed, broke down, took in and made a new energy of. His head swung, side to side, not at all unlike a cobra hypnotized by the movement of a flute, so was he drawn to the pacing of this beautiful white beast before him.
Again he thought her words over, and this time, he laughed, a bubbling, awful laugh, little rivers of vomit imbibed saliva rolling down the fleshy thickness of his tongue, creating rivers along his needle teeth, a maggot slid between his incisors to the dying grass below him and he left it there to die.
But her question is as sincere as any question he's heard directed at him, they're always sincere aren't they?
He hates them, they're disgusting, he loves them, they're delicious. But he swallows all those others whole and lets them decompose in the pit of his stomach, he decomposes in the backs of their minds, the truth of him, and he watches from on high as they are driven mad by the revelation.
And then? When they're frothing at the lips and dead in the mind? He snapped them right up into the cradle of his jaws.
And then there are things like her.
The lovely white things that he doesn't drive mad in his words so much as he drives them crazy with curiosity, he likes to roll them around in his mouth and mind like the finest candy, sweetest sugar, he meets her earthen eyes and behind the mask of his skull, his own molten gold irises seem as if they might bubble up and roll down his cheeks, they burn so bright.
"This one is starving" he croons unto her, and his head is still now but his eyes trace her movements, the way her muscles move. "This one is the greatest starvation"
The great endless hunger, the need in the bellies, hearts and minds of the weak and the worthless, he was powerful because others were weak. Gluttony, Greed, Rot. Such disgusting simple words could never describe him.
Pls Fiambre, you haven’t even
Her eyes held his when they met. Not a moment of hesitation. Not a second of doubt. There was such tender resilience there.
Suddenly feeling much more at-ease, remembering her place, she visibly loosened.
Maybe she’d reminded herself that she didn’t have to care. That was the glory of this form—the world was hers, childish and fitful as it was. It was hers, and she could do anything she wanted. She’d hate herself a little for it, but that didn’t stop her. Not entirely.
Today she was Conquest. It’s all a state of mind.
“I meant in a more… Corporeal sense.” She smiled then. She always smiled. “Or do you know? It’s okay if you don’t. Sometimes I don’t know myself. Most times, I don’t care.”
Calm—serene—as she was, she kept moving. To his idleness, she was movement; to his stagnance, she was flow. She could not linger anywhere long. Like still-water, she rotted without motion, without drive. And she could not stand rot, not within herself. It disgusted her, repulsed her, when she looked within the white shell of her form and found wriggling darkness dwelling there.
But it was so, indeed it did fascinate her. So she lingered to and fro, focused on him and, some of the time, nothing else. But it was in a subtle manner, gentle. She hadn’t been afraid before. Now she was entirely comfortable.
She halved the distance between them—didn’t flinch at the smell, nor did she let her eyes water. It was a show, if anything.
I’m here. Look what I can do.
From his teeth a fly crept,
From his teeth a fly crept, held at first behind the bars of his teeth like a lifetime prisoner but in the end his head cocked back like the prepping of a gun and he spat it forth, out into the world, to find its own waste and decomposition. It would return to him, eventually, to lay its own clutch in the pit of his belly.
Ever pregnant monster.
He rose.
His legs seemed too thin for him, comically long in comparison to the bloat of his build, and for a moment even they seemed to tremble beneath him, like slender branches which held too many leaves.
He moved towards her, not in malice nor even in intimidation, it was simple; he wished for a drink, she stood between him and the pond, he would walk past her.
And he did, neither knowing nor caring if she moved from her place, he neither asked her to join him not gave any sign that he wished for her to leave him be for the facts were simple; he did not care one way or the other.
His body swayed just slightly, the soft movements of an existence with a body which was older than it first appeared, and so he made his way down from his place in the sun to the boggy pond's edge, and then deeper, up to his ankles. His head dipped downwards, and as he drank much of it ran from between his jaws, tainted, back into the pond below.
A little fish swam by, a rarity, most predators in the forest snapped them up as soon as the forest could spit them up.
His head struck downwards, snapping the little beast up, and for a moment, it wriggled, his head cocking upwards, the sun glinting off the wriggling existence's shimmering scales.
For a moment, he looked, as if appreciating the beauty of its death before he swallowed it down.
Another drink, he began sifting in the silt and the mud, searching for bugs and little freshwater clams.
{Bump}
Could Anja RP with Daniel
Absolutely! If you like, I
If you like, I can do an intro. You also can if you like. It's up to you!
I'm not very skilled at
{No problem! I'll use their
He watches the sun.
Not the way it dips in the sky, the way it hides just below the endless treeline like some great disc thrown across the sky by the gods themselves, no, he's watching it on the water, the way it prowls across the surface of the azure pond like a hunting cat.
And for a time, he does just that, standing daintily on his scarlet hooves, a mass of cerulean, ivory, and crimson fur, casting a shadow across the emerald grass.
He makes his way up the hill with sure, steady steps, he knows the doe is up there, he can smell her, and besides that, he can see the splash of blue she herself creates in the green of the earth. An oasis in her own right he supposes, flickering life.
At first he's quiet, making his way in a circle around the young tree at her side to stand atop the hill beside her, eyes locked on the pond again before he too settles, she's smaller than him but not so dramatically as she could be. Which is a pleasant change from what he's seen of the forest so far.
"You know, I've seen you twice and I still don't think I've given you my name" he speaks after a moment of calm. "My given name is Daniel. And it's a pleasure to meet you formally, m'lady" his voice is slow, not in stupidity or age but rather, the careful draw of someone who picks their words carefully, with great meaning.
An ear turns, slowly at first, and then forward in a sharp flick, the splash of the pond gnawing at its own bank, a pale echo of the sea devouring cliffs. "How does the day find you?" polite. Ever full of chivalry. Ever polite.
His eyes, so grey they could almost be white, slide down to glance properly at her. It's only polite after all.
The doe looked up as the
Her feathers rustled as she tilted her head slightly in curiosity, ears turning toward Daniel. "I am quite well, thank you. And yourself?"
"Anja. I see" he thought her
Frustration caused his jaw to tighten, but not for long. The day was too mild, and the company too good, for lamentations over lost opportunities.
A koi swam circles, and he watched it, how the light caught its scales, a long scar down its side, no doubt the product of a barely had escape from one of the forest's many carnivorous denizens, better the fish than the deer he supposed but any loss of life was tragic in its own way.
Realizing he'd gone quite silent for no good reason, he perked his head up again.
"I'm afraid I'm quite new here" he explained quietly, still watching the fish swim its loops. "Might I ask you to tell me your opinion of this forest?"
Anja nodded as she listened
"Ah, I thought so. Well, I would say it's... unique. Most deer here are a little 'different' looking, as I'm sure you've noticed. Many of them are herbivorous, though there is a good population of predators. It can be a little boring occasionally." She thoughtfully observed the fish as well, thinking of anything else to say. "Overall, I think it's a fairly agreeable place to live despite it's drawbacks."
"I could say that about many
"Perhaps the danger can be cut back. With teamwork and belief" evil could be driven from any place if only you tried hard enough, or that's what he thought anyway. Never had there been a time when tine or steele could not leave darkness yelping and screaming as it fled with its tail held between its legs.
He lifted his head high inhaled deeply and then exhaled in a quiet sigh.
"What will be will be. But things can almost always be changed."
Fate was not set in stone.
The doe's ears tilted forward
"Most meaningful tasks are"
"Time and patience then" he murmured, mostly to himself.
"But I'm not all that fascinating. Please, lady Anja, tell me about yourself" his suggestion was cordial, and he looked to her with honest interest rather than the distant expression of one who had only asked to be polite.
"Hmm.." Her ears flicked
He pauses, as if deciding how
"Oh my own history is rather unimportant nowadays I should think" he decides eventually, it's neither here, nor there, in the past, and that's where it will stay.
"Not that it was unpleasant. It was quite fine. But neither does it have any standing now" he laughs, softly, to show that that line of thought is all he has to offer on it.
A muscle twitches, and he shifts to fix it. His head shakes as well, stirring dust motes in the air.
"It's always so mild here" he murmurs, reduced, it seems, to talking about the weather.
Anja nodded understandingly.
"Indeed." She glanced up at the branches above them, and at the shards of sunlight showing through. It was noticeably dimmer than when they had first sat down. "Have you seen much of the forest yet? Perhaps I could show you around sometime."
Fiambre and Hum She let him
Fiambre and Hum
She let him pass. For some time she stood, having turned to watch him. She did not follow, not immediately. She considered it.
An old hart cleared a path for the filth-ridden form which made its way to the water, more than happy to move if it meant avoiding that thing.
Hum watched Fiambre root around in the mud, then turned to face the sky itself.
The air changing, the leaves growing, burning bright green as they unfurled, seasons whirling around while they stood nearly still, almost immortal, almost timeless. Almost. She shifted.
She approached the Pond, but at an angle which only passed his and did not intersect.
“It was interesting to meet you.”
And, in a display more symbolic than words could be put to, she walked away.
This is the first time I got to formally end an RP and it feels good to have an actual end. Thank you, Beloved.