forum Treble Clef IPA // Roleplay With Eris

Started December 16, 2019 by Deleted user

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@Its-Erismas

templates or no?

Ahhhhhh– Yes? Just so I can get a feel for your character and cant whip up one that will fit well with him.

I will find one, then

Name:

Age:

Sexuality:

Hair color/length/style:

Eye color:

Height:

Skin tone:

Build:

Scars/Identifying marks:

Usual clothing:

Backstory:

Personality:

Other:

Name: Baylee Nguyễn (Win)

Age: 25

Sexuality: Straight

Hair color/length/style: His dark black hair has been shaved almost clean, only the smallest of stubble visible. He finds it easier to deal with in the morning

Eye color: A leaf green with hints of blue closer to the pupil

Height: 6'0"

Skin tone: Olive

Build: His body is toned, but not overly muscled. He runs about three miles every other day before work to make sure he stays in some semblance of fit.

Scars/Identifying marks: A scar cuts across the middle of his left eyebrow from a skateboarding accident.

Usual clothing: He typically wears a white tank top under an aviator jacket, with a pair of frayed and faded jeans and simple sneakers.

Backstory: He was raised in a Vietnamese-American household, and since he was 2 could speak both English and Vietnamese. His father, a business man from the country, often times had to work long months away from home, flying from country to country with regularity. Sadly, he died from a plane crash into the Atlantic when Lee was 18, leaving him to care for his alcoholic mother, hence only a high school education. The only job he could get was as a bartender, since he had no higher education. When his mother died of alcohol poisoning, he continued to work at the same place. He had nowhere else to go.

Personality: Baylee is…a hard person to become friends with. His mother's death left him with a hard outer coating of indifference that he uses as a shield to the outside world. A scowl is almost permanently plastered on his face, one that gave off such an annoyed atmosphere it was hard to get through. On the inside, though…he just wants to be loved. The lack of his father, whom he was extremely close with, left him with a void in his heart that not even his mother could replace.

Other: Nah

Name: Mila Bransen

Age: 24

Sexuality: Straight

Hair color/length/style: Hip length midnight waves that are thick and glossy and always worn in a loose careless braid.

Eye color: A shocking steely blue and appear to be almost too old compared to the rest of her.

Height: Stands at a stubborn 5'3"

Skin tone: Pale olive skin tone of a woman of European decent.

Build: Mila is very petite and commonly mistaken for being much younger than she is. Slender, willowy and lithe; she has the grace of a dancer.

Scars/Identifying marks: She has a small collection (3) of beauty marks under her left eye. Hands and forearms are covered in thin white scars from working in kitchens/restaurants.

Usual clothing: Skin tight black jeans, worn–but well loved–black doc martens, a plain (black, grey, navy) tshirt that is usually a few sizes too big but comfy, leather jacket with a grey cloth hood.

Backstory: Mila's life started off rather unfortunate, she was raised on the 'bad side' of town and spent most of her childhood dodging the unseemly advances of her drug addict parents 'friends'. She was taken from them at 10 years old and sent to live with a super uptight aunt. She expressed an interest in the arts–singing mostly– when she entered high school which her aunt surprisingly supported. Despite being a good student, Mila ached for a life outside of the strict confines of boarding school. Unfortunately, her aunt died suddenly right before Mila graduated and as she was already 18–she lived on her own from then on. As soon as she graduated, she packed up a few of her belongings and took off to see the world. She's been back packing and passing through town after town doing odd jobs since then. She loves her freedom but hopes that one day she will be able to find the home that she's been looking for.

Personality: Mila is generally a happy person. Introverted and a bit shy, but she enjoys her life. She's determined and ambitious, open-minded, creative, and kind. Once you get to know her, she's got a great sense of humor and is a loyal friend. Sassy and raunchy too after a few drinks. She likes to have fun but can be plagued by moody depression here and there.

Other: She has a wonderful singing voice.

The night was cold and moonless, the dark sky only broken by the occasional star, like someone had sprinkled only a thimble of salt onto a black table. Well, cold was a relative term. In the middle of a Charleston October, it was only 44 degrees outside, a temperature someone in Colorado would pray for as a high during the day. But in a state with only two snowplows to its name (a factual statement, btw), this was worthy of heavy winter jackets and two pairs of socks.

Baylee's outfit was uncompromising, however. His leather jacket felt stiffer than usual as he walked into the bar, crinkling and squeaking when the material rubbed against itself. His jeans were worn so thin that it barely offered any protection from the cold, but he didn't care. The bar, if nothing else, was well heated, so he'd only have to worry about the cold from the walk to the car to the door of the shitty establishment. Berry, the night-shift bouncer, was smoking a cigarette outside of the door frame, his Clemson trucker hat worn low on his head,

"Quiet night righ' now," he said as Baylee passed, a mixture of smoke and fog snaking from his mouth. "Th' girl in there needs some help wit her sound equipment, though. Said one of her cords stopped workin' or somethin'."

"Thanks," Baylee said, the words twisted with a slight Asian accent.

He stepped into the bar and turned his head towards the stage, looking for the singer they've had for the past few weeks. She was a good performer and had a great voice. Typically Baylee would have his Bluetooth earbuds in when a person was performing that night, but recently he'd been nodding his head to her music as he worked, so the knowledge that the show was potentially compromised made him a bit more concerned than he usually would be.

Mila frowned at the pile of cords surrounding her, dark brows furrowed over her sharp eyes. Her usual braid was showing the signs of her distress, the glossy waves that were usually neat and tamed, were now barely being held by the thick band tied to the end. Unceremoniously, she ran her hand through the strands yet again, tugging almost painfully at the ends.

"Dammit. Dammit." She muttered, picking up the frayed and sorrowful end of an ancient cord. "I think it's time to retire you, my friend. Unfortunately, I don't have any spares of you." Mila had checked through her equally worn duffle three times and had come up with zilch. "I think we better pray for a Hail Mary here." The singer continued to mutter to herself and the mess. She was already on her knees, so sending up a prayer for a miracle would have been relatively easy, except for the fact that Mila and the Almighty were on questionable terms.

Looks like she was going to have to ask the actual staff of the bar for assistance. Sure, Mila was paid for her little shindigs by the big boss, but to say that she was friends with anyone else that worked here–much less the town–was a bit of an overstatement. She was a bizarrely lively breeze that had drifted through the air, strange enough that most of the regulars had closed ranks. Nothing she wasn't used to though.

A sharp draft passed through the bar, the chilled air making Mila jump the slightest bit as she looked up. Seeing the bartender that had worked most nights she was here, she raised a slender hand in hello.

Baylee nodded in return, slipping his hands into his pockets as he approached the stage. He stopped just in front of it, choosing to gaze at what she was doing through the wooden railing instead of getting onto the stage itself. The girl was pretty, he had to admit, but not so much that he was distracted by it. Or…maybe he was. His eyes snapped up at her face every other second, watching her facial expressions shift ever so slightly with interest. Was he being creepy? No, but it had been so long since he found anyone attractive that it just felt weird.

"You should really color-code those things," he said, his nose scrunching up at the sight of the disorderly mess. What little hair he had on his head shone in the stage light as his eyes seemed to piece the puzzle of wires together. She looked like she knew what she was doing, but her equipment was pretty outdated. And that cord in her hand….sheesh. Looked ancient. "Berry was tellin' me you need help. What type of chord d'ya need?"

"Nah. It's a show of musical pride to be able to tell which cord is which just by the pointy ends." Mila said with a lopsided grin at–fuck–Baylee was it? She thought so. Damn she really needed to be more social, didn't she? Ugh. Nevermind that for the moment, she was going to be sorely out of a job if she didn't her act together quickly.

Standing, she leaned over the railing holding her poor, poor dead cord out so Baylee could get a better look. Although, in her rush Mila leaned out a little took quickly, sending her body far enough that her toes were just barely still touching the stage, and her face was just a handful of inches above the bartender's. Luckily she caught herself before toppling over, but she was left blinking in surprise at him. Did he always have such striking eyes?

Clearing her throat, she covered her blunder with another grin. "If you happen to have an NL4 speakon cable, I may saint you right here and now."

Baylee blinked rapidly when she leaned close to him, but didn't budge from his spot. A slight flutter of the eyelid was he only signal that he knew anything had happened. He wasn't one to be startled or surprised by that sort of thing, although the corners of his lips twitched slightly. A sign, if she was attentive enough, that he was more amused than annoyed by the situation. Damn, that smile….

"Y'know, I do this type of audio-tech shit for a local church," he said, taking the cord and studying it. Did it look familiar?….Maybe. But he had so many miscellaneous wires and shit in his flatbed that it was hard to distinguish what he did and didn't have. "No promises, but there might be somethin' in my truck."

"Hey, that's good enough for me." Mila chimed, climbing through the railing with much more grace than she showed earlier. She had a little spec of hope now, considering that the near silent bartender never smiled, it had been a damn miracle that she had gotten a little–a tiny–something of a smile out of him. She would take that and cash it in for sure.

"Show me the way?" Mila asked, taking a moment to blink up at Baylee's tallness with surprise. She had never stood this close to him before, only been distracted by the way he manned his bar during her sets. The guy was a genius behind the counter. Not to mention his manhattans were the best she had since being in the Big Apple.

Baylee turned around and hugged the right side of the table area, where Baylee and Berry had made a straight path to the bar after Baylee had fallen a few times tripping over tables and chairs. It was a big convenience, since it also led straight to the main exit. His hands stayed in his picket as he turned around and leaned his weight into the door, pushing it open with his shoulders and lower neck.

"You weren't joking about the slow night," Baylee said to his co-worker, who was grinding the last embers of the cigarette out under his boot. "I'mma let her search through my truck for the wire she needs. If someone wants somethin' special, jus' tell 'em to wait."

"Can-do, boss," Berry said, giving Mila a nod before slipping inside.

"The red Toyota," Baylee said, pressing the unlock button from the keys in the pocket. "Jus' go ahead and look around. Might be a knife in there, though, so look out for that."

Mila's brows shot up, a soft chuckle escaping her lips. What an odd mix of things to have in a trunk. She didn't particularly care, although accidentally stabbing oneself while looking for a mic cable would be a hell of a way to end the night. "You're a lifesaver." She said warmly, reaching out to grip Baylee's forearm in thanks before moving out into the cold towards the flashing rear lights of the red truck.

She hissed against the cold, her jacket–well her outfit–doing absolutely nothing against the chill air. A string of colorful curses flowed freely from her lips as she popped open the truck and dove in. Mila must have looked pretty ridiculous with her ass and lower half hanging out of the bed of the truck, the damn thing was almost as tall as she was, but like many things in life, the singer didn't give a damn.

"Oh yes!" Mila cheered, thrusting her arm out into the open so Baylee could see it. A long black cable hung from her hand, swinging in her obvious excitement. "Victory is ours!"

"You can keep it, too," he said, allowing a small smile to grace his lips once again. It stayed, as well, when she finally climbed back out of the truck. "I ain't got a musical bone in my body, so I have no use for it."

A few cars began pulling into the parking lot, making the smile fade in an instant. "Shit. Hope your performance goes well, búp bê, but I gotta get going."

(Translation: Doll. Pronunciation? https://forvo.com/word/b%C3%BAp_b%C3%AA/ but obviously much faster)

Within five minutes, he was already mixing the first margarita of the night, his hands moving so fast they were just a blur. The redhead who had ordered it watched in amazement as Baylee made the drink in barely over a minute, sliding it over to her with a lime wedge floating on top of the ice like a little boat.

"That was really co-" she began, but Baylee was already on to the next customer. That was the type of person he was on the job. He never held conversations with the buyer. He only made the drink (or poured out the ale) that they ordered and moved onto the next. It was an impersonal process; the way he liked it. Why the hell would he talk to any of these people? They aren't here for him. They're here to either get shitfaced or hook up with someone. Whatever words they say to him are merely a courtesy, so he treated as such.

Setting up had been a breeze after snagging Baylee's cord. Not to mention the sound quality of her equipment drastically improved now that it wasn't fighting to maintain it's structure. It really was all about the little things, and Mila had decided that she would do a little something for Baylee in thanks. What exactly, she had no idea since she didn't know him all that well, but it was the nice thing to do. Maybe she'd even get that little smile from him again.

To say that Mila rocked her first set would have been an understatement. She seemed to really be in a groove tonight, casually dancing around the stage as her voice filled the bar with tempting melodies. Her introverted nature placing firmly on the back burner in the name of tips. The more she performed the more drunk people dumped their change into the glass pitcher she kept next to her amp on stage. Twas the life she chose, and damn did she love it.

"Alright guys," She murmured into the mic after finishing a rather twangy song. "Break time for me. Get yourselves some drinks and enjoy this bland playlist." She placed her mic back on it's stand, clicking 'play' on the boss's generic playlist as she did so. The speakers cackled, but Mila paid them little attention as she hopped off the stage. A few patrons tried to drunkenly stop her, but the singer pushed through–sometimes a little roughly.

Rolling her blue eyes at the cat call of one particularly wasted gentleman, she plopped down at the bar. Baylee seemed to be busy at the moment, but nodded briefly to her tiny wave, so Mila leaned back on her stool and got comfortable.

"This place has the best Manhattans," a girl practically shouted to her friend as Baylee slid the drink over to her. This was her 3rd drink in the past 20 minutes and the bartender was getting close to telling her to take a break. The girl guzzled on it happily, rocking back and forth to the tune of the music playing on the speakers.

After serving one last Samuel Adams to a frequent traveler to the bar, Baylee slid over to where Mila sat, setting his elbows on the bar's surface and leaning in.

"Y'did great," he said, which made a couple of patrons turn in surpise. This was the first time any of them heard him speak. "That wire did wonders to the PA system. Haven't heard it sound that good ever since you started playin'. Also, tell me if those guys bother you again, I'll get Berry to toss their asses out."

Mila waved her hand carelessly, using it to unbraid and fluff out her long waves as well. "It's no biggie. They're harmless." She looked down at the hair tie in her hands, stretching and releasing it a few times so it regained it's shape. "I'm a tough cookie. I can handle a little drunken roughhousing." Saying it was different than believing it though, and the breezy smile that she added to her statement didn't reach her eyes.

"Thanks again for the cord, though. I owe you one, for sure. I've got a decent amount of tips tonight and that's all because you saved my ass." Mila met Baylee's gaze briefly, before looking away again. She wasn't used to people helping her out, being a nomad and all that, but she was still grateful.

The group of girls a few seats down let out a uproar of laughter and proceeded to dance somewhat bizarrely to the music. An amused smirk appeared on Mila's face. "Looks like you have your hands full tonight."

"No fuckin' joke," he mumbled, wiping the beads of sweat from his hairline. His olive face was tinted lightly by hints of red, a side effect of the frantic pace he worked. "Berry couldn't have been more wrong."

The big man in question had taken up his post just to the side of the main entrance, sitting on a stool that looked ready to break. His hat had been removed and set on the floor underneath the chair, his long red hair flowing freely down to his shoulders. Somehow, it made the man look even more intimidating.

"Anyways, you come here to get a drink, or jus' for a rest?" The words 'to talk to me' were so close to slipping from his lips his face twisted lightly with the effort to keep them back. She isn't here to talk to you, he reminded himself as he straightened up, no one is.