Simply put, I'm bored. I want a new rp, not that I don't have enough. Here's some quick information you might want to know:
~I'm in PST. I usually wake up around 10am and go to bed around midnight or so. Don't expect a reply in those remaining ten hours.
~I love wild and crazy and dramatic roleplays. No romance this time, please.
~No templates, just jump right in :)
~It's wild, and crazy.
~Please don't power play though. I'm sure other people would appreciate that.
~Multiple people may join, and anyone can join
~No OP characters please
~Follow all the rules please :)
Alright I recently randomly came up with this super weird character just now. I want to use it. The setting will be… I don't know. Dinner celebration, how about that.
A cold breeze wafted through the house as the door flung open. A woman, looking to be about 20 years of age, was standing in the doorway. Funny thing, though, she had wings and horns. Wings, white wings that were folded back, but still showing. They were obviously large wings. The horns, though, the horns were small, and on either side of her head. A hawk perched on her shoulder. In a loud, confident, commanding manner, she announced. "Greetings, humans. Sorry to crash your party, but I'm part of it now." She strode towards the dining table and snatched the nearest cup off the table, and drank deeply. She hadn't even bothered to shut the door, though she didn't appear to be bothered much by the now freezing cold air and snow that drifted into the house.
(Oh holy @Trix I am summoning you to this thread)
(Lmao I have arrived lemme just read through everything)
(Quick question: what's your timezone?)
(pacific standard. or for reference it's currently 11.11pm rn but don't worry i'll be up for another hour or so xd)
(Ah. so you are up at 2.30am. nice)
(heh i don't want to keep you up too late though)
(It's alright)
"Scotch is meant to be sipped, alien," a gravelly voice deadpanned. Green grey eyes stared from beneath an interlocked web of blue and magenta hair. The male, a thin, lean person who appeared 25 raised his glass. With a pointed glare, he muttered, "To closed doors and warm homes." A mocking wink, then the host took a shot.
"Oh, apologies," the woman replied sarcastically. "And I'm not an alien," she snapped. "Besides, the current temperature doesn't bother me too much." She glared back at him, but instead of dropping the glare, she stared into his eyes afterwards, almost as if challenging him. But then she flipped back her silky white hair and turned away from him.
(Hey if this isn't dead, can I join?)
(Thank you! My timezone is BST)
A young woman pushed past her, heading straight for the drinks bar. She had brown skin and glinting amber eyes, dark black hair dip-dyed in orange and scraped back from her face in a french plait that ended at the top of her neck, from which jaw length curls were stubbornly escaping. She grabbed a whisky, refilling her glass generously. It wasn't often not-aliens crashed the stuck up parties she found herself enduring, but she'd known weirder things.
Suddenly, another woman, younger perhaps? pushed by her, catching her attention. The woman, Starsky, turned to watch the other female. "And who might this new female be?" she asked her. Her voice was commanding, loud, and confident, but only she knew that she put up a mask. She wasn't commanding, loud, or confident at all, but she certainly could put up a mask.
She turned on her heel at the sound of someone adressing her, wincing, and took a sip of her whisky.
"Name's Israi Alanni. And yourself?" She spoke quickly, eyes flicked up and down Starsky's unusual attire, then back to the crowds, feigning disintrest.
Starsky did a slow blink, then addressed Israi again. "Ah, you may call me… Lora," Starsky settled on. If anyone found out why she was here on Earth, she would be forced to retreat to the Heavens. Oh boy, Ashley would be mad at her if she did so.
Haddow watched Lora with mild disinterest. It was not everyday a not human creature barged into your party and began emptying your sacred stash of Scotch. "It's been a a wonderfully stimulating conversation," he drawled, "but who are you? Please get out of my house."
"I am Lora," Starsky, replied, her unblinking eyes boring into Haddow's, as if staring into his soul. "And this is your house indeed? I shall stay as I please, you don't know what I can do."
"Why?" His eyebrow arched with his tone, the alcohol clearly boosting his courage. "This place,"–a hand gestured flippantly to their surroundings–"a party, my house."
Starsky raised an eyebrow, then spoke with a British accent, "Is that a challenge, boy?" putting emphasis on the last word.
