forum dancing thing // private rp with octane

Started April 17, 2019 by @blue_topaz

tune

Hey @octane_wishes_for_death

Here you go, we can probably start planning shit tomorrow

oof sorry this took me so long to find lmao

lol it’s fine
Should I set up a PM so we can plan shit?

yeah sure if u want

Name: Kieran Douglas
Age: 21 in selkie years, roughly 150 in human years (meaning he appears to be 21 but has lived for 150 years)
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Gay
Species/Powers: Selkie. Turns into a seal upon contact with salt water, but only if he’s wearing his selkie coat, which is basically this loose, long, hooded sealskin coat. If the coat is stolen or kept from him, he can’t return to the sea, which leads to his body weakening and deteriorating. Weak hypnotism through singing.
Appearance: Thick and wavy dark brown hair cut shorter at the sides, sort of swoops a little over his forehead and is shot through with subtle black highlights. Eyes that are such a saturated shade of blue (medium-toned) that most people question whether or not he’s wearing coloured contact lenses, irises accentuated with a little bit of turquoise. Long, almost girlish lashes, pronounced dimples, a full mouth, lips that are usually chapped and slightly bloodstained from how often he chews them. Unusually sharp canines that give his mouth a fuller appearance (a bit like Billie Piper’s, but subtler. Like he’s wearing braces), pronounced cheekbones and jawline. Tan skin speckled with dark moles and the occasional freckle, as well as countless tiny scars, and decorated with a manner of sea-themed tattoos across his back and chest in navy blue. Athletic build (but far from buff), long-limbed, slender fingers, definite abs, 5’10”.
General Attire: Simple white t-shirts tucked loosely into dark blue skinny jeans, white sneakers, the occasional leather jacket. A tarnished silver hoop or stud in one ear, sometimes wears a nose ring.
Personality: Salty bitch. Sarcastic, a bit sassy, not one to cave in easily. Stubborn as hell, even when he knows he’s wrong, the kind of person to give people shit but take none. An ambivert, knows when to shut up and when to speak, neither a leader or a follower. Pretends not to believe in hope anymore, when it’s really all he lives on, tough protective shell, lies frequently to hide his fear and longing. Is angered easily, hates the idea of falling in love again.
Brief Backstory: Was the middle child as a selkie, and his mother was often sick and away. She was lured onto land, her coat stolen and kept from her by a man who’d fallen in love with her so she could not escape. When he was around 19 (in human appearance), he fell in love with a human man who betrayed him and took his coat. The man ran away, wanting money for the precious item, and left Kieran stranded on land.
Other: Loves Dido (the singer) and ABBA, is very closeted. Passes as a regular human, doesn’t want anyone to know his lineage.

ooh nice. might take me a little longer to do my guy's template but I'll get it done before the end of the day

sounds good, take your time

Name: Luther Reykjavik
Age: Looks 21, actually 99
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Closeted gay
Species/Powers: Church grim–powers resemble that of a standard ghost, with the ability to turn invisible, short range teleportation through shadows, short range telekinesis, and mind control (works by getting into someone's head and bombarding them with whispers and orders, forcing them to submit. Has to mind control each person one at a time, though it can be broken by managing to get the person to realize the voices aren't real). Can shapeshift into a large black dog cloaked in shadow, as well as utilize shadow to create daggers.
Appearance: Incredibly pale skin, thin scar across the bridge of his nose, short fluffy black hair that's kind of a disaster and poofs out a lot, silver horns that curl from the front of his head back and then outwards in the vague look of a halo, tall and rather lean (almost scrawny), just slightly pointed ears, earlobes pierced and two helix piercings on his right ear (usually decorated by black studs in the lobes and hoops in the cartilage), thinner eyes that look almost sad, rather somber appearance, somewhat pouty lips, black eyes with red rims around the iris, Icelandic tattoos covering his back and mostly the back of his neck, thin claws, black nails, sharp fangs (four canines instead of two)
General Attire: Usually a black dress shirt with a clerical collar and the sleeves rolled up, fitting black jeans, black oxfords, elaborate silver cross necklace with rubies embedded in it, and silver rings. When not at the church he serves, he often wears similar attire, just without the blatant religious imagery and the cross necklace under his shirt
Personality: Soft-spoken, hard to anger, looks almost eternally displeased with everything though he's actually okay with just about anything anyone does. Very easily angered when the church he protects is meddled with, however, and is easily incredibly vicious and violent if he wants to be. Not entirely mentally stable, and if triggered can have massive mental breakdowns from triggers that are hard to predict due to his foggy memory.
Brief Backstory: Formerly an Icelandic citizen, he was found guilty of the murder of six men who he had claimed were demons attacking him. No one believed him, and he was secretly executed before being buried under the Hallgrimskirkja to serve as the church grim as a form of eternal punishment. But after his body was dug up and put on display in a local museum, he's been able to wander around the city freely but has to return to the church at least once a month or he'll start to weaken and die (unless he has the cross necklace on at all times, as it carries the "spirit of the church" with it)
Other: Can play many instruments, an expert dancer, loves to sing but rarely does out of not liking when people watch him sing, loves knee socks for some reason (or just soft clothes in general, though he rarely lets himself relax enough to change into something comfy)

Kieran despised fog almost as much as he craved the sight of it.

The cool brush of air across his skin, the ethereal way it seemed to enshroud everything around it, the tiny droplets of moisture it left behind in his hair. A tantalizing, bare-bones reminder of his home, so faint and teasing that it drove him insane. He wanted—no, needed, the sensation of saltwater, slipping over his bare shoulders as his body twisted and changed. He craved the subtle resonance in his ribcage, a response to the ever-changing song of the ocean. Swimming whenever he got the chance to was one thing. But the accursed fog held such strong, tempting traces of his homeland's soul that it rekindled an impossibly strong desire within him until it faded to make way for the sun.

It was a reminder, but a painful one.

Kieran didn't know how long he stood on the inside of the subway station, staring reproachfully at the thick fog outside. He was late for a dance lesson, but couldn't quite gather the courage to open the door and step into the street. It took a while, about fifteen minutes of harsh mental chastising, but eventually, he arrived at the front door of his usual classroom.

Luther was currently twirling a ring idly around his pointer finger, waiting for his usual student to arrive. His classes were few now, as most were uninterested in things like lessons in ballroom dancing. Though this left him with a good deal of patience, since he wasn't pressed for time. His lessons often took place in a small studio beside his apartment, which made things convenient for him, at least. But as patient as he was, he enjoyed when people were on time, and found it slightly irritating when they were getting past the ten minute mark. Sure, traffic could be an issue, and he tried to be understanding, but that didn't keep him from being slightly annoyed during his wait

Kieran pushed the door open with his shoulder, pulling an unapologetic expression over his features to mask the unease that had taken root in his gut after a short walk from the station to the studio. "Train was late," he muttered in his instructor's direction, pushing a hand through his damp hair as a shiver ran down his bare arms. He, who was so acclimatized to the bitter cold of the sea, almost never wore a coat or a sweater when he went outside, even in this miserable weather. A mistake, evidently.

Luther looked up when Kieran walked in, folding his arms across his chest as he did so. "It's fine," he said briskly, appreciating the explanation but still annoyed about his student being late. Though when he realized Kieran was shivering, his lips pursed slightly. "Dry off. You don't need to dance in wet clothes. Unless you brought spares, I suggest you stand in front of the heater for a few minutes to dry off," he said cooly as he gestured to the space heater against the wall a few feet away

"If you say so…" Kieran answered flatly, but his voice was quieter than normal, lacking its usual bite. No sarcastic comments, either—it was clear that something was amiss. Pushing his hands into his pockets, the young man crossed the room in a few large strides to stand in front of the heater, shoulders slumping against the wall.

Luther watched Kieran for a moment, but after a brief second he realized that something was…off about Kieran at the moment. He strode over to him, leaning against the wall beside him. He gave Kieran a moment to talk on his own, however, not prying into the other just yet for fear of causing him to close himself off further

Kieran's eyes cut sideways, flickering over the relaxed body of the other man. What does he want? he asked himself, despite the fact that he already knew. Get your act together, Douglas. You're pathetic, it's only a bit of fog.

"I don't like fog," he said after a while, exhaling the short sentence as a sigh.

Luther hummed softly in acknowledgement, looking over at him now. "You say you don't like fog, and yet you clearly stayed out in it for some time. Why is that?" he asked curiously, voice gentle in a way that was almost calming, and far from prying

"You're not my therapist, Luther," Kieran replied, stifling the bitter undertone to his voice by faking sarcasm. "Not that I can afford one. And, I'd rather not answer that question. It was just a walk from the station to here. I don't own a car."

"Just because I'm not a therapist doesn't mean I haven't listened to enough confessions to know how to help someone. Do you need to talk?" Luther offered gently, resisting the urge to try and offer a comforting smile