forum PRP with AloeVera

Started August 06, 2020 by @Ewen_the_Eccentric

tune

Uh, hi. I'm Ewen, and I want to do a RP with someone. I have a few rules, but they're basic.

• No F-bombs or foul language above a PG-13 level. Preferably not any cursing at all, but I'm lenient unless it gets strong.
• No OP characters, Mary-Sues or Gary-Stus.
• Don't worry about how often you can post. Notebook.ai is for fun, but it's not your life, and I'm not about to get salty if you're absent.
• Please keep all content SFW. Gore and violence is allowed, but I just mean don't get extreme. No sexual scenes whatsoever, but other forms of affection are welcome. Dark things like rape, abuse, trafficking, etc. are welcome but like just don't describe the abuse in too much detail please.
• You don't have to be an English professor, just be coherent please and type responses that I can easily follow up.
• Just have fun and asks questions and please don't do crazy stuff.

I have some prompt ideas, depending on what you like. I will probably play a male character regardless of what we do, but your character's gender is up to you. You can have more than one character, too, if you want. Just don't get carried away roleplaying with yourself and leave poor Ewen behind.

Genre options—

Superhero: I have like 385879388 prompt ideas for this one so lemme know if this is the genre you like.
Dystopian: 1. We can do something where like, the government is doing evil stuff like experimenting on children or allowing human trafficking or or idk something, and most people are kind of oblivious to it, but our protagonists find out. 2. We can do something where the government is controlling and oppressive and there are rebel groups tryna stop em. 3. We can do something where the government has kinda went kaput and now everything is in chaotic anarchy and there are gangs everywhere who kinda just do what they want. 4. P o p u l a t i o n C o n t r o l.
Fantasy: So Character A is a nerdy loser who somehow magically gets sucked through a portal to another dimension— a fantasy dimension where creatures like centaurs and merfolk and such live. I don't really imagine this having magic, just the fantasy races. Anyway, Character A is discovered by Character B, who is a beautiful winged race (think angelic except not a spiritual being), and Character B has never seen a human so they think they're smol and cute and need to be protected, and they take them in and yeah. Maybe something bad happens and they end up going on an adventure together?? Just poppin' random ideas out.
Crime: Literally anything with criminal gangs, and you'd best count me in.
Survival: We could combine this with the dystopian anarchy idea to get the ultimate dark RP.

I like romance so if you wanna do that as a subplot for any of these I'm totally down.

Wdyt about this temp?

Name/Nicknames:

Age:

Gender:

Sexuality:

Personality:

Strengths/Skills:

Weaknesses/Fears:

Backstory:

Appearance:

• Body: (height, build, etc)
• Skin: (include colors, scars, tattoo, etc.)
• Face: (include eye color and any prominent facial features)
• Hair: (Hair color, length, style, etc)
• Clothes: (this one speaks for itself)
• Extra: (piercings, jewelry, glasses, etc.)

Additional Information:

If you need to add something or omit something feel free to. I just thought we could use this as a guide.

Looks good to me! I'll go ahead and start filling it out.

Okay, take your time!

Name/Nicknames: Edward/Eddie

Age: Older than 19, but at this point he's not really sure

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Bisexual

Personality: Kind of slow and pretty short-tempered. He's a Logistician with a superiority complex, and can often feel threatened when someone recieves praise that isn't him. He struggles with abusive tendencies and may start fights easily. (High school bully type beat)

Strengths/Skills: Physically, he's built as a war machine. He has super stregnth and is skilled with sharpshooting, handguns, and melee attacks. He's analytical, dedicated, and loyal.

Weaknesses/Fears: He doesn't have much emotional or mental strength. He follows his authority blindly, but is easily impressionable.

Backstory: This could be different based on the plot, but the base backstory I have for him is this;
Eddie's father worked for the corrupt government, but when his father found out that the government was conducting human experimentation procedures, he opposed the practice and quit his job. Unfortunately, the government didn't want him leaking this information, so they sent to have his father killed. Eddie was then sent to live with his uncle and cousin at age 5, and stayed there for a majority of his life. At around 18 years of age, Eddie fell into a trap conducted by the same corrupt government with human experimentation plans, and Eddie himself, through surgery, became a cyborg. He lost his memories of his father, his uncle, and his cousin and was mentally programmed to ignore and bury any emotions except for rage. He now follows his authority as a violent keeper of peace, executing petty criminals and serving injustice.

Appearance:

Body: He's 5'10 but he stands stiff and high so as to appear taller. Before the procedure, he was about 153 lbs., but now he's got a bunch of metal and wires inside of him, adding his weight to be much heavier than he appears.
Skin: Pale skin and the mechanical parts under his skin may have a tendency to reveal when he's running diagnostics or tinkering with the wires inside of him.
Face: Baby blue eyes and freckles
Hair: Dark brown, and super curly on the top, shaved short on the sides.
Clothes: He has a light blue sweater that he doesn't wear, but he keeps it for himself, and always wears the uniform; mid beige button up shirt with light brown pants. Underneath the button up he wears a brown tank top.
Extra: n/a
Additional Information: n/a

Oooh, I like him. Great character!! So what if my character is like a threat to the government and they send Eddie after him and that's how the RP begins?

Ohhhh yes!! I like that ! Would you like to start us off or would you prefer I do?

Do you want me to sign my character up first? And I don't mind who starts!!

Yes of course! And alright, I've already got a start for myself conjuring up in my head, so I can get us started haha. I'll wait for your character form ofc

Okiedokie! Working on it now. I'll make it short and snappy.

Name/Nicknames: Jude Byron

Age: 19

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Ha! As if we expect him to know.

Personality: Sweet, but mischievous and definitely has a mean streak. Lies a lot but isn't very good at it. Hyper most of the time. Likes to make new friends. Smarter than he acts. Actually low-key a genius. Probably an ENFP or ENTP, but could be an ESFP. Hates being controlled.

Strengths/Skills: Really good with technology and knives. Incredibly artistic; sprays a lot of anti-government graffiti on government buildings.

Weaknesses/Fears: Can't swim. Afraid of needles and birds. He doesn't want to die and he will not pretend that he's not afraid of death. Bad with authority figures.

Backstory: Ummm… undetermined. His family is alive but they don't like him, might not even know he's alive. He lives on the down-low and on the streets for the most part, except for when he steals stuff, which is often.

Appearance:

• Body: Only around 5'8 and a bit small, but very wiry and made of lean muscle from years of living on the streets.
• Skin: Pale skin, with a variety of scars on his arms, back, and neck. He is usually bruised someplace or another and has a variety of scratches on his hands/arms.
• Face: Grey-green eyes.
• Hair: Curly, dark blondish-brown. It's kind of a shaggy mess, so he tries to tie it back in a short ponytail.
• Clothes: Generally anything he can scrounge up that's comfortable. He likes hats a lot, so sometimes he wears them. His clothes are usually dirty and/or tattered.
• Extra:

Additional Information:
Maybe the government hates him because he killed an important government official or something on live TV (maybe even on accident?) and now it's causing an uproar? Idk. We need a reason for the government to be after him. Maybe he's intentionally starting trouble.

I would've made it more detailed but I wanna get started, so he'll probably develop and change a lot when I get started. He might not end up anything like this template but we'll see what happens!

Aawwww I love him! Alright I'll get us started then!

Hooray!

"His name is Jude Byron. He's been on our radar for quite a while now, I'm sure you've heard of him. But now he's considered a higher threat; a terrorist."
I stood firm, taking in every bit of information and processing it thoroughly. Dr. Rose was more than just my director, he was my mentor. My respect for him remained abundant.
"Edward: you are the most reliable asset I have. Neutralize the threat before it gets any worse."
I nodded my head and turned to leave without hesitation.
I take several steps down the street, pausing to triple check that my gun is loaded. Scanning the crowds, I run a locating program to find the target. I'd received his file, naming all the petty thefts and minor crimes he'd committed, as well as a photo of him, to assist in locating him. This area is where he's usually found. I crack my knuckles after reinserting the magazine into the gun, and continue walking.

They always sorta hated me. They being the government, that is. I mean, I did technically spray-paint obscenities about their leadership on at least half of the buildings in this forsaken city at one point or another— but, in my defense, they asked for it. If they didn't suck, I would never have wrote it on their front door, and we wouldn't be in this mess to begin with.

But I don't think it's the graffiti that has them after me this time.

No— it's the little stunt I pulled last night. I don't know what I was thinking. I wasn't thinking, really. There was me, holding that new beam gun I bought with the money I'd pickpocketed from some hoity-toity guy at the casino. There was that anti-rebel politician and government official, Shem Tallis, giving his bajillionth live speech on the importance of eradicating rebellious behavior and saving the country from what he called inevitable chaos if any of the rebels— i.e., me— were allowed to continue expressing their discontent. There was that shot of alcohol that I wasn't supposed to have because I don't have a tolerance for that crap, making my head all woozy and my thoughts a bit more blurry. Then there was the perfect vantage point, the slightly-drunken anger rising up in me as I raised the site to line up directly with Shem's left eye, my shaky finger hovering precariously over the trigger, that evil smirk that quirked the corner of his mouth that finally set me over the edge—

Well, you get the idea. I put a bullet through the brain of a man who had more power than I ever dreamed of, and now the government is majorly ticked off. At least, I assume they are. I realized, when Shem's body crumpled to the ground and I saw all the blood, that I probably should've thought this through a little more before I decided to become an unofficial assassin. I probably made the rebels as a whole look even worse in the long run— but, I'm an idiot, and I can't fix that now. What's done is done. The next step is to try not to die.

The evening air is cool and crisp as I stand in one of the darkened back-alleys, a place I'm familiar with, staring at the walls around me. The streets are fairly crowded, but down here in this alley, there's not a soul to be seen— aside from myself, and the scraggly cat behind me licking his own foot. Around me, the walls are all painted an ugly black color— an ugly black color that has been used to cover up my previous work. Last month, I spent hours covering these walls in beautiful designs (and the occasional anti-propaganda message), and I was proud of it. But about a week ago, the authorities had it all black over— a stupid attempt to destroy my message.

One day, the government may take my life, but I will never let them take my spirit. Which is why I've come to retaliate, with a shoulder-bag chock full of fresh cans of neon spray paint.

The cans clatter against one another as I drop the bag to the ground, the resounding thud echoing off of the walls around me. I hum to myself as I stoop the next to the bag and undo the zipper, peering inside at my cargo. Ah, yes. Perfection. Excitement tingles inside of me already as I try to decide which colors will go best with what I have to say— and what exactly it is that I want to say today. It should be important, considering the fact that I'm practically a fugitive and any day could be my last.

Then again, that's a pretty good reason not to waste time thinking about it— so I grab a bright green can, give it a good shake, and get to work.

(Hoho shoot! Loving ur start haha)

I quickly roam through the streets with intent, none of the faces that my eyes scanned matched the face I was given. Frustrated, I huff and force myself to run the search program again; I could tell that something was stunting my motivation. I don't know what it was, but running diagnostics turned up negative, so I don't know what could possibly be causing it. Maybe restarting my focus would help. I remove myself from the crowd to lean against the wall, breathing deeply. I adjust my sleeve cuffs, ensuring that they remained straight and wrinkle-free. As I exhale, I hear some repeated clicking behind me, coming from the alley. I turn my neck to look between the buildings and find him; spraying bright green paint onto the wall.
I've never actually seen him in real life; this was the first time. Strangely enough, I didn't arm myself right away; I watched him for a moment. He didn't appear that violent, did he really do what they say he did? He's just a petty criminal; just a street rat, right?
What the hell are you doing, Edward?
Something deep inside me erupted as I remembered my mission and the absurdity of my lack of action thus far. In a rush, I draw my handgun and enter the darkened alley, pointing the weapon at him.
"You're not stupid, Jude. If you cooperate, you might be able to walk out of this with both hands still working."

(Aw thank ya!)

I hum to myself under my breath, admiring how nice the neon-green looks against the black backdrop. I know the government meant this to ruin my work, but it's actually a pretty nice aesthetic. Maybe I should look into having all of my future canvas-to-be walls painted black before I start spraying them up.

I'm in the middle of asking myself what color would look best with this green when a stern voice grabs my attention. I stiffen, my gaze swiveling to meet the source— and I see some dude with a gun pointed at me. That in itself really isn't all that normal, because a lot of people would love to go Jude-hunting— but considering yesterday's events, I have a bad feeling that this situation isn't going to be as easy to get out of as I'd like for it to be.

Despite everything, I grin. It's more of an unintentional reaction, really— because I always smile like a moron when I'm nervous— but I can make this work in my favor as long as I can retain a relaxed composition. Which wouldn't be too hard, except that I let a somewhat nervous chuckle slip out.

Darn it, me.

I swallow, struggling to regain my composure. One wrong move could get me deader than Shem Tallis. Didn't I expect as much, anyway? I've known that someone in the government probably wants to mount me over their fireplace for what I did, and that getting caught is pretty much inevitable. I guess I was stupid enough to think it wouldn't be this soon.

Deep inhale. Deep exhale. I can get out of this. I've lived on the streets long enough, had guns pulled on me plenty of times. Just because this is a government-agent doesn't make it any different. And, to be honest, wouldn't getting shot here beat getting tortured for treason any day of the week? If he wanted me dead, I'd already be dead. So maybe I have a chance.

There's a rusty ladder a few feet behind me; I remember seeing it when I came into the alley. I'm agile and nimble, so maybe, just maybe, if I could get to it and clamber up onto the roofs, he wouldn't bother following me. It's worth a shot, anyway.

Ha, get it? Worth a shot? Because he's… got a gun.

Ugh.

Okay, maybe I should just let him shoot me now for even thinking that one.

"Well, my good sir," I say finally, smiling easily. "I'd love to, but there's one problem." My fingers relax around the spray paint can in my hand, but my heart continues to pound in my chest. I'm… probably about to die. But that's what makes my next words even truer. "I am pretty stupid."

I lob my stupid paint can as hard as I can in his general direction. It's a pretty terrible throw; I doubt it makes contact. But I don't wait to see if it does before I lunge to the side and pray to whatever deity will hear me that I can make it to that ladder.

I've worked several different jobs to find and neutralize criminals before, but most of the time the criminals had committed armed robbery or were suspicious of selling narcotics. While they were shady and mildly dangerous, they had an agenda; they were trying to get money.
This kid was a completely new case. His agenda was to hurt the government. He's not trying to rise in power, he's trying to take down those already in power.
So why did he grin?
Though I like to believe myself to be pretty focused in the moment, I didn't expect a metal can with a bright green theme flying through the air to abruptly hault my train of thought. It wasn't that great of a throw, but Jude still accomplished what he needed with it as I deflect, dodging the flying paint can, but looking back up to see him halfway down the alley by now, heading toward the rusty ladder leaning on the wall.
Everything inside of me told me to shoot. My past jobs, my orders, simple logic; I'm supposed to shoot. But that single, bastard of a feeling deep down ordered me not to shoot.
Regardless, I wasn't going to return empty handed. I lean forward, running on the front of my feet as I return the gun to it's holster. There couldn't be any way I could get to him before he reached the ladder, not with the headstart, but how fast of a climber is he?

I brace myself for the bone-rattling sound of a single gunshot and the impact of a bullet tearing through my body, but it doesn't come. I don't have time to wonder why. Run first, ask questions later.

My hand connects with the bottom rung of the ladder, and a surge of hope— and urgency— pulses through me. I start scaling the ladder as fast as my limbs will take me, thankful for the years of practice I've had. The rust on the rungs stains ny hands, and the whole ladder wobbles and squeaks beneath my weight. I'm not that heavy, but there's no telling if this thing is actually going to hold up long enough for me to make it to the top. The last thing I need is for this baby to break and send me falling fifteen feet to the cold pavement below.

I curse under my breath and momentarily freeze when the metal above me groans.

Shoes hit bare dusty concrete in a rushed rhythm as I sprint down the narrow path, honing in on the ladder he climbed. I had to calculate my next move when I reached there once I noticed his brief pause in reaction to the ladder; do I climb after him, and test the ladder's durability, hoping that breaking the ladder will send him back down, but risk that he gets to the top before me? Or do I simply sway the ladder out from under him, sending him falling but giving him an opportunity to attack? Judging by the fact that he chose to run, and he has no known aggressive or violent history other than the assassination, he might not know how to fight. Even if he did, I'm willing to bet I'm much more trained than he is, and thus much more capable.
Within milliseconds, I'd calculated my next move. As I reach the ladder, I lean back to slow down, grip the ladder on both sides at eye level, and give it a hefty shake, attempting to pull it out from underneath.

((This is one of my favorite RPs ))

The second I realize he's at the bottom of the ladder, I lunge for a higher rung and scramble for the top— but it's already too late. The whole ladder moves beneath me, and the rung I'm currently standing on isn't strong enough to handle both my weight and the ladder's momentum. Even if it hadn't snapped, I probably would've been a goner— but when it breaks off on one side, causing me to fall to the next rung and slice my shin on the jagged metal rung, I no longer stand a chance. I shriek— both out of panic and pain— and the ladder slips from my hand's grasp.

I grab for it— for anything, really— but the swaying motion of the ladder is enough to send me flailing just beyond it's reach, and I'm already in freefall. I'm close enough to the wall that there's a windowsill right below me, but my fingers aren't strong enough to grip it— and then there's the impact.

Pain. That's the only thing I'm aware of. Everything hurts, and I can't breathe. I'm dead. I'm definitely dead.

No— wait. You can't feel pain if you're dead, so I guess by default I'm still alive.

I gasp for breath that still won't come and manage to open my eyes— maybe they were never closed to begin with, but everything turned all white there for a second. My visions a little blurry, and spots dance across it, but I see the concrete pavement in front of me. A little bit of blood, which I'm assuming it mine.

I try to move, and the pain comes back full force. I manage to suck a bit of oxygen down my lungs, so apparently I can breathe; the wind just got knocked from my lungs from the force of the fall. Okay— so the good news is that I'm still alive and I'm probably gonna make it.

The bad news? I've definitely cracked a few bones, and I'm just remembering that I still haven't escaped the person I was running from to begin with.

( 🥺 i was JUST thinking about how lately i've found some really good people to RP with and it made me rlly happy bc i haven't been able to find someone that has the same or similar enough style as me so I'd always have to adapt for like YEARS but i recently started another RP and have been RPing with 3 other people that are such amazing writers and know how to write lovable characters and give a compelling story and keep the energy going and i'm just rlly glad i found y'all :') )

Though the ladder shaking rendered itself to be the correct idea, I still needed to swerve to the side as quickly as possible to avoid him falling directly on top of me. Luckily, his attempts to break his fall managed to buy me time to get out of the way. I watched as, almost in slow motion, he plummeted to the ground, hitting directly against his back. I could see by the vacancy in his eyes that the impact did more than fracture some bones.
That's better than getting shot, I thought to myself, trying to justify on both sides of the moral compass, hopefully by returning an injured criminal will earn me less of a punishment for not killing him on the spot.
I step in front of his vision, bending my back to cover his entire line of sight as I hold back a smirk. With the pain he sounded like he was in, I didn't think he could get far even if he tried to run again, but something tells me he won't try this time. Unless…
I squint my eyes at him, glaring him down as I grip his shirt collar and hoist him to his feet.
"Are you stupid now?"

((I'm glad you found us all, too!! :D You're definitely one of my favorite RPers and I love both your style and your characters. :3 And you just seem super nice in general so extra bonus points.))

I unintentionally whimper in pain as he yanks me to my feet. Everything hurts. In hindsight, I would've been a lot smarter not to have tried the ladder and just let him take me in. Getting caught was always inevitable, anyway, and at least then I'd have a little bit of dignity left. But nope. Apparently it took possibly getting a concussion, cracking my tailbone (or at least bruising it horribly), and possibly fracturing one or more of my limbs (plus slicing my leg on that stupid ladder) to learn my lesson.

A somewhat pitiful "No," is all I manage, though it sounds a little raspier than it would normally because I still haven't caught my breath. The realization that this guy is probably going to kill me— or take me to people who intend to kill me— starts to sink in, and panic bubbles up deep inside of me. But there's no way I can get away from him now, and even if I could, I'd never get far. Which means it's over for me.

My eyes water involuntarily, but I blink away the tears as quickly as they form. I'm not sure if it's from pain or from fear of what they'll do to me. If anyone asks, it's the former, because that sounds less pathetic.

( aaww also sorry for becoming inactive!!! A lot of changes are happening in my life at once so I'm probably gonna be less active but dw there will be times where I will respond a whole lot due to my ~☆ rotating methods of escapism☆~ )

I pull out a pair of thick iron handcuffs and cuff the wounded kid, sizing him down once again. I still don't understand why Dr. Rose and Captain think he's some deadly terrorist, this seems like the first time he's really taken a hit. We start making our way down the street in the direction of HQ.
"That little stunt back there was your own fault, but I'll see what I can do about having them fix you up." I whisper to him, as if I don't want anyone else to hear; as if someone's listening. The street may have calmed down a bit since earlier, but nevertheless a crowd still remained. I wasn't exactly the biggest fan of crowds, but I had to learn to deal with it when Captain made me patrol the streets almost every night. He said if I came back without a criminal apprehended or neutralized, he'd send me back out there until I found someone to arrest. Some nights I'd grow so desperate for rest that I'd apprehend someone for such a small reason, but Captain doesn't mind; all he wants is for me to arrest someone. I myself don't know why, but I'm in no authority to ask. Regardless, there's no telling how many civilians in this lowly town I've arrested under minor charges; I could feel some hateful glares on my back.

(You're fine!! Welcome back. :3 I did miss you and your roleplaying though!! XD)

I tense up as he secures the cuffs around my scrawny wrists. "Fix me up?" I echo, mirroring his whispers— even though I have no idea why either of us need to bother to be quiet. "Why on earth would they need to fix me up?"

They're going to kill me, aren't they? Then why would fixing my injuries even be considered an option? Unless they want to drag out my last moments as long as they can, make me suffer for an extended period of time before killing me? Heck, maybe they won't even kill me. Maybe they'll just beat me senseless and cut out my tongue and turn me into some kind of slave or something. I've heard of gangs doing it to each other; I wouldn't put it past the government to do it to me.

That panic inside me continues to build, until my mouth is dry and I can feel that my face has paled. I try not to make my discomfort and fear so obvious, but my heart is thumping fast and the fear makes me want to run. The only reason I don't try to wrest out of his grip is because he looks like he could beat my sorry behind to a pulp with one hand tied behind his back— and considering how badly I'm already hurt, that's the last thing I need.

But as stupid as it is, as much as I'll regret the words as soon as they slip from my lips, I can't help but ask him the question that's burning in my mind. "What're you gonna do to me?"

But you, I don't simply mean him; I mean the government and the people he works with. Truthfully, I don't want the answer. I want to wake up from napping in some cardboard box behind a dumpster and realize that this is all some weird dream I had from drinking a few too shots of alcohol or eating old pizza— but, unfortunately, this is all too real.