Role Playing - Tabula Rasa || A PY/MYOC Roleplay - Page 6

degausser · 11-29-2015, 11:52 PM

Amelia
Amelia continued to watch the girl with open curiosity, eyes flitting between the copper wire impaling the lemon in her hand and the nondescript hallway around them. Her observations regarding the hotel's outdated technology was unsettling to say the least. Even the t.v. is analog. Funny, she hadn't noticed before. Amelia vaguely recalled Mariah making some sort of quip about the tv not having any cable (what is this, the 50s or something?), but she had been too consumed with figuring out the what of what went wrong with their incantation and the where of where they ended up to even consider the when. So it seemed it was not a question of 'Where are we?' they should have been asking, but 'When are we?'

Magic. It had to be. She had been so certain that it was something the three of them had done wrong that brought them here. Some incorrectly uttered word. A miscalculation of one of the ingredients used in the spell. Now she was not so sure.

"Yes, you said that out loud," Amelia agreed distractedly. She glanced back over at the girl, appreciating the way her cheeks dimpled with the demure smile that suddenly found her face. Her pale complexion flushed, clashing garishly with the hair that fell to her shoulders, yet Amelia thought it cute all the same. That thought startled her, seemingly having come from nowhere. "It's okay. I imagine even the girls who declare themselves one hundred percent heteronormal probably picture Dita von Teese without clothes on." Clearing her throat, she smiled diplomatically while hooking both thumbs into the back pocket of her jeans. She was getting sidetracked. Amelia had always been a sucker for a pretty face. "Is there anything I can do to help?" Amelia nodded down at the lemon in the girl's hand. "... with the lemons? Not the foot in mouth syndrome, obviously. I'm guilty of the latter myself."

George
A terrible memory that required jotting the names down of those she met in her notebook. George supposed that was a valid explanation for its existence, and hers as well. He had little reason to suspect otherwise, knowing her as little as he did. Deciding there was little reason to suspect her motives for talking to him, he finally allowed himself to ease back into the chair, the leather groaning quietly beneath him as he shifted his weight until he found a comfortable position.

"Perhaps you are merely projecting your own interest onto the people you meet. Just because you find a person interesting, it doesn't inherently make them interesting." Was he deflecting? Probably. But such was the habit of someone who genuinly did not enjoy talking about themselves. One never quite knew what might come up, and someone as introspective as George might unintentionally tap into his many insecurities. And we couldn't have that, now could we? "I take it you have been here a while then?" George asked not in an effort to (intentionally) deflect the topic of conversation back to Annicka, but rather out of genuine curiosity. There was also the small factor of not wishing to discuss the merits of whether someone, particularly a forward young libertine such as herself, might find him or anyone else attractive.

Okay, so maybe he was intentionally deflecting.

Captivating · 12-01-2015, 08:29 AM

OOC: Lou and Mellark are open. Any takers?

Hearst
Hearst gripped the shaggy carpet beneath him, frustration mounting. His nails dug mercilessly into the material. He’d been sitting dormant for hours. The tick of a cat clock kept him company in his denial. Hearst grunted at the obnoxious creature, standing slowly. He might as well eat. No spell of Jorie’s had worked today. Or any day. Magic, like an entitled child, got them into this mess yet refused to rectify its error. The agitated hunter squeezed his hands beneath a nearby faucet. The hotel was not built for a man of his size. Hot water stung his skin, a mixture of pain and pleasure. The sensation tore Hearst’s mind from his entrapment. Instead, thoughts focused on the man he was eager to see…Eli. His uncle possessed the truth about his aunt. He represented family. Hearst hadn’t needed that, needed him, until stories of his uncle and cousin’s spread like wildfire. They were hunters too.

”I will join them,” he swore aloud, callused hands turning the nozzle violently. Hearst’s eyes blazed with newfound determination. His feet moved swiftly to a cherry dresser, then a window. Antique furniture would be his salvation. Hearst lifted the wood effortlessly, prepared to strike, when hesitation set in. His arms couldn’t budge, wouldn’t budge. His brain filled with a familiar fog. He’d been here before, in this exact position. Hearst knew how the story ended. His stubbornness kept him in place until a distant knock broke the trance. The dresser hit the floor with a thud. Exhausted, Hearst drew deep breaths on his way to the door. Jorie greeted him on the other side. The timid witch was instantly apologetic. She was self-deprecating to a fault, an endearing fault. The hunter hadn’t figured out the reason for her appeal. He only knew that there were worse fates than hotel life with a beautiful woman.

”Do I look like a guy expecting good news?” Hearst’s blank expression answered the question. Jorie had hope and faith and all that feel good shit light witches spewed. Hearst attended the school of hard knocks. His realism, primarily confused with cynicism, told him his family was currently unreachable. This damn hotel was reminiscent of Lost. The one television show Hearst watched had come back to haunt him. Jorie’s blood snapped him back to the present. She sacrificed her blood to an ancient spirit during a tracking spell. Or so he inferred. Hearst kept his distance from occult practices unless intervening to kill. ”Give me that,” he instructed. Jorie stood perplexed. “Your finger...”

The petite blonde obeyed his prompting, resting her hand in his. Hearst closed his mouth around the wounded finger and sucked gently. Jorie’s skin was impossibly soft. If he’d been one for nicknames, Hearst would’ve called her peaches. “Better?” The bleeding had stopped for now. “Hunter’s trick,” he explained, turning the brass knob that released them into the hallway. “I’m going to go numb my annoyance with food, if you care to join me. Not that you seem all that upset.” Ever since their arrival, Jorie appeared indifferent. Almost as if their predicament, Hotel California, offered sanctuary rather than imprisonment.

Torren
Torren could see her face, so beautiful and alive. Her laughter was melodious. ”Cassanda,” he whispered to the ghost of his dreams. Every night the same images greeted him in slumber. He was a boy at Storms End once more, chasing a doe-eyed beauty down twisted corridors rather than attending to his duties. Warding for the Baratheons was an honor; yet, he cared more for Cassanda’s happiness than paperwork. It mattered not, for he wasn’t to be Lord Stark. That consuming fire of duty burned his brother Bastian’s brain alone. Torren was young and carefree. He was in love. ”For a royal, you’re quite fit.” As he’d expected, a tiny fist connected with his armor. Cassanda playfully pushed her beau to the wall. ”I’m more active than you know,” she jested. Torren smiled against the kiss that followed. Suddenly, Cassanda’s figure was replaced with light from the sky.

Torren awoke with a start. His eyes struggled to focus, bloodshot from the ale he and Daena Targaryen consumed. The events of last night came hurdling back with a vengeance. Cassanda was no longer his intended. She’d been sold like cattle to the dragon prince. By her own brother, no less. Syemon Baratheon was a vile excuse for a man. “A coward,” Torren mumbled, rising from his mattress. The Northern wolf’s head pounded as though drums beat inside his brain. Had the princess had him returned to his corridors? Had servants found them passed out in a stupor? Or worse, castle guards? Torren needed answers. He needed Silas or Bethany to fill in the blanks. As his priorities aligned themselves, Torren finally took note of his surroundings. He was not in castle chambers. Had he shamed his House so greatly he’d been displaced? That’s when the light from his dream caught his eye. Torren stared at the ceiling perplexed. Had the sun been bottled? Impossible. He was slumbering still…or plagued by unending inebriation. Silas had spoken of this once. Torren, never defeated by the bottle, found the sensation foreign and frightening. But he shan’t cower; rather, he’d locate the Targaryen maester for a remedy.

Torren turned the brass handle to his door and wandered into the unknown. An unfamiliar hallway assaulted his senses, one with strange paintings and even stranger floors. Had someone stripped animals of their fur completely? Torren followed the fuzzy surface to a grand stairwell. The same peculiar orbs from his room lined wall after wall. Pausing, the King of the North frowned. His current lodging did not make sense. A voice, just as confused as he, suddenly sounded. A blonde vision stared on in amusement. “My lady,” Torren began, interrupted by chortling. This stranger wanted to know if a Renaissance Fair was in town. ”I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.” It soon dawned on him that she was insulting his attire. ”Forgive me, but it’s you who looks peculiar. Tell me, do you hail from the Street of Silk?” The presence of her cleavage certainly indicated as much. ” Is that where we are? If you could just show me back to court, I’ll make certain you’re compensated by honest means.”

Shiri S · 12-01-2015, 06:37 PM

OOC: Libs I can give you Charles or Mariah. Which do you want?

Captivating · 12-01-2015, 06:43 PM

OOC: Let's start with Charles.

degausser · 12-02-2015, 07:04 PM

Siobhan Easton
"My Lady?" She laughed astonished. Siobhan on occasion had been called Miss and once or twice Ma'am when her back had been turned, but never a Lady. It would appear chivalry was not near as dead after all, or else the man she had stumbled upon took his role playing all too seriously. I'm afraid I don't know what you mean he supplied indignantly and Siobhan could only nod, her smile placating. "Of course you don't." Perhaps she had mistook him for a simple spectator in a traveling faire. Maybe this was something else entirely. Siobhan had certainly heard of Live Action Role Playing before, but she had never met a LARPer in the flesh. He would undoubtedly insist on maintaining the theatrics throughout the duration of the event. Siobhan saw no harm in playing along so long as it continued to amuse her.

"Pray forgive me, good Ser ... or, erm ..." Her gaze roved diligently over the garb he wore. He was not dressed in the trappings of a Knight. He wore neither breastplate nor grieves nor any other knightly rainment. "... or is it Lord?" She questioned rhetorically. Upon closer examination she could see his clothing was very well made, tailored perfectly to his form and convincing in its attempted replication of the clothing of the era. Someone clearly took this whole LARPing thing seriously. "Pray forgive me, m'Lord." She began solemnly, dipping into a dramatic and awkward curtsy, clumsily grasping the ends of her gorged skirt. "I know not of this Street of Silk you speak of." Was she saying it all right? Siobhan had no way of knowing, but she was starting to see why so many people were so into this whole role playing thing. "I hail from a place called New Orleans, but I don't think we are there either."

She could only look on helplessly when he requested that he accompany him back to court and Siobhan wondered if this was his strange way of inviting her to come along with him. "I'm sorry but I don't know where the fair grounds are or else I would gladly lead you to them." Siobhan hoped he didn't mind that she dropped the vernacular he spoke with. It was surprisingly exhausting to maintain.

Captivating · 12-03-2015, 01:57 PM

Mellark
You've got no one to blame for your unhappiness.
You got yourself into your own mess.

Mellark hummed Wilson Phillips on loop, a half-hearted effort to tune out Amelia’s call to arms. The contradiction of said lyrics to present times was morbidly hilarious. She had not gotten herself into this mess. Witch and witchier, titles alternating between Amelia and Mariah, conjured this fresh hell. Lesson learned. Mel would not play peacemaker again. “Bring me back a tea?” Guilt trips generally worked on the redhead. If only she weren’t too far gone to hear. “She’s kidding herself. We’re not getting out of this place until you two sing kumbaya or skip down the halls together.” Mariah offered up an irritated, albeit amused, expression. Mellark shrugged. It stood to reason that the two witches hex battle brought them here. Karma was playing some sort of joke. Mel was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. That, and Siobhan had a stick up her ass. For all her childhood dreams about siblings, sister dearest did not live up to the hype. A torturous silence enveloped the room until Mellark (inwardly) declared no more. She felt claustrophobic here. Maybe there was a pool on the grounds? Unlike most girls her age, the sullen witch preferred water therapy to retail therapy.

“Right…bye then!” Mel sprung from the floor in a haste. Her sloppy exit left room for Mariah to follow, knowing she wouldn’t. They might’ve been roommates at Pembroke but they weren’t friends. Lone wolf Easton, the girls at school called her, just like Headmistress Siobhan. Sucking on lemons was preferable to such comparisons. Mel thought of lemons and, suddenly, the fruit sounded out. Well, the word did, unless fruit had magically developed the ability to shout. Stranger things had happened. She followed the mystery voices cautiously. “What the – , ” A cluster of lemons was perched atop the stairs. Mel descended to find more lemons systematically lined up. Amelia and an unknown woman stared back at her expectantly. “Sorry to interrupt…uhhh, whatever this is.” She intended to pass the pair by, only, curiosity reigned supreme. No pun against her (still unmet) mother intended. “What are you doing? And who is she?”

Semi-tag Mariah, full-tag Amelia/Charlie

Shiri S · 12-03-2015, 06:37 PM

Mariah

Maria held grudges and right now she was still pissed at Amelia for landing them there. She didn't care if it wasn't really her fault, because to Mariah it would be.

Given what happened before they got there, it was definately her fault. Her and her stupid failed magic landed them there and no one could convince her otherwise. And it wasn't her fault at all. Nope. Not at all. Mariah Sauber never did anything wrong and even if she did, it was never her fault. She loved to blame other people, usually Shebly. Shebly wasn't there, though, so it was all on Amelia.

She'd been a mix of anger and shock since arriving there five days ago. Just where was this place and why couldn't they leave? She didn't understand any of it. She didn't like being suck with two girls that weren't even her friends but on the bright side, it was better than being there on her own. She found herself clinging to Amelia and Mel even though she couldn't stand either of them.

For that reason, she didn't hesitate to follow Mel out of the room. She didn't want to be in this strange place alone. Suddenly, lemons appeared. "And people can't I can't control myself" She muttered, figuring Mel had something to do with it as she followed her. She raised an eyebrow when she saw Amelia talking to some girl. "Making friends, are we?" She asked as she stood beside Mel and crossed her arms over her chest.

Tag Mel, Amelia, Charlie

Captivating · 12-04-2015, 01:29 PM

Torren
Greeted with silence, initially at least, Torren frowned. His new acquaintance seemed perplexed. Perhaps the word lady offended her lot. How peculiar. He shan’t call her a concubine, no matter how high her eyebrow cocked. A man of honor was not at ease with such labeling. A man of honor also combatted heavy drinking and, yet, here the wolf Lord stood dizzy. His head pounded angrily whilst the woman deduced his title. “Lord,” he assisted, forced smile intact. Torren was never one for small talk. He needed to find Silas or Bethany. He needed ice for his temples. He did not need a stranger as confused as he.

“It is I who seeks forgiveness, for making assumptions. The Street of Silk is no place you’d wish to be. Of that, you have my word.” Torren strode forward as the conversation advanced. He thought it imperative to keep his blood flowing. “New Orleans,” he tested on his tongue. “Where is your homeland in relation to Winterfell or Storms Landing? I’m afraid it’s not on any map of mine…” Were northerners so far removed? His question was met with a laugh, the blonde thinking him a King's fool. Or so it seemed. She snickered whilst mentioning fair grounds. “I beg your pardon? Fair grounds? I’m not wishing to visit a festival or tourney, m’lady…what is it you’re called? I am Lord Torren Stark.”

AtomicEmpress · 12-04-2015, 04:24 PM

OOC - does anyone still have character's open?

degausser · 12-04-2015, 05:19 PM

OOC: Pammie, I asked if I could have Gemma for Alexandre on the last page.

AtomicEmpress · 12-04-2015, 05:38 PM

OOC - Okay I'll post asap.

Wayward Melody · 12-04-2015, 06:24 PM

Charlie
Charlie found the she was grinning. Very few people took the time to put someone who made a fool out of themselves at ease, and this girl had done so without prompting. “You seemed like someone who had good taste,” she said. She was about to let her new friend in on the secret of the lemons when two more of similar age and height appeared. The manners and the charm of her new buddy seemed altogether lost on them, from the casual way the first disregarded her very existence and the closed off body language of the second. “First off,” Charlie said, wearing that same broad smile whilst the timbre of her voice went sharp and less friendly “her name is Charlie and she’s sitting right her. Secondly, I don’t feel a need to explain my art to you, Warren.”

The quip was a borrowed one, but a good one, so she stared down the new arrivals with the same sort of confidence she’d watched Sam and Dean employ. It was the sort of control that seemed breezy and easy as if being in control of a situation was a forgone conclusion. In some ways Charlie found it easier to employ such techniques after returning from Oz, her darker self hadn’t cared about anyone so it became easier to channel such steel nowadays. She softened, but only a touch, turning her attention back on the original occupant of the conversation, shrugging slightly to leave an opening for the other girl to fill. “I believe it's your move."

Jorie
Turning up on Hearst’s doorstep would have seemed stranger had she had anywhere else to meet him. Entryways held power; this was exactly why men had carried women thresholds for centuries. Magick of Eastern Europe had seen superstitions in regards to this run rampant. Truth was that olden day brides had been chaste and the chaste had always acted as lightning rods for black magic and demons. Spirits entered into them and used them as a conduit to be invited into the homes these women would share with their mates. They would bewitch the men and call down all manner of sins from fey that would devour or kidnap their children to devils who would fest on their souls of their husbands over weeks in the dead of night. When men hoisted their pure partners into their arms some of their darkness rubbed off on their innocent wives, making them less prone to possession. Why these thoughts occurred to Jorie while standing in front of Hearst’s door was unknown but she let them tarry, finding those old stories somewhat romantic in its quaint occultism.

She was about to apologize anew when Hearst took her hand. She had a moment to appreciate the warmth of his palm in hers, which was always cold, when he took her finger into his mouth. She was awash with feelings immediately. It was too simple, it was comforting, it was disgusting, it was meaningful and throw away both at once and beside the feeling of knuckles grinding into the meat of her shoulder it was the most contact she had ever had with a man. “I…” she began, before ripping her hand away, blushing furiously. It felt as if she was burning.

“I’m not upset about being here,” she said, finding her voice, meek and small as it was. “But I’m not…not upset, either.” It would have been difficult for her to explain were she clear headed but the rataplan of her heartbeat was so distracting she found it difficult to compose her thoughts. “This place, it’s…” she tried to calm her heart, shaking her head, blonde curls falling in waves over her shoulder. “It’s got a hold on us. It won’t let go but it doesn’t want to hurt us. “ Wide eyes search out Hearst’s face then, followed by another shake of her head. “I don’t think it wants to hurt us,” she reiterated. “Isn’t that good enough for now?”

Ooc: Annicka to come.

degausser · 12-04-2015, 08:54 PM

Amelia
The sound of footsteps alerted her to the presence of someone else long before the failed explicative and Amelia turned her head apprehensively, wondering which of her two roommates was about to turn the corner. Mel was the lesser of two evils in the end, but Amelia still felt a perverse sense of possessiveness over her new acquaintance. She was reluctant to share. It looked as though Mel was ready to dismiss the two of them right then and there, much to Amelia's relief, only she stopped at the last moment. Reluctantly, she prepared to offer an explanation for both the lemons and her new friend, until a second set of footsteps sounded around the corner.

Amelia groaned inwardly when Mariah appeared, a low growl at the back of her throat as the hairs on her arm prickled like a startled cat leaning back on its haunches in preparation for a fight. The other redhead beat her to it and she found the compulsion to smile in triumph incredibly difficult to resist. So was the snort that followed after Charlie's Empire Records reference. That one she couldn't hold back.

"Charlie managed to find a way to charge her phone using the lemons as a conduit. If I had to make a wager I would say she is trying to figure a way out of here just like we are." Amelia glanced between her two roommates, silently bidding them to play nice as it appeared they weren't the only ones stuck there. Four minds were better than three, and Charlie seemed brilliant in that quirky mad scientist sort of way. Nothing else the three of them tried had worked. Perhaps it was time for a new strategy. "These are my roommates, Mellark and Mariah. And I'm Amelia," she said after realizing she had never properly introduced herself. Amelia smiled meekly, a sort of preemptive apology for whatever asinine bullshit would eventually come out Mariah's mouth.

"The offer still stands by the way ..." she added cryptically while glancing back at Charlie conspiratorially, temporarily forgetting the other two. Amelia wasn't sure how helpful she could be but anything was better than sitting around and doing nothing.

Captivating · 12-08-2015, 02:25 PM

Mellark
What was so fascinating about a bunch of lemons, Mel wondered as Amelia tensed. Closer inspection found her schoolmate blushing. Her arrival couldn’t’ve triggered embarrassment. No, this was something deeper. It reeked of… Suddenly, Mariah appeared, rerouting Mellark’s train of thought. A snarky comment and expectant smirk greeted the lot. No one could accuse her roommate of shyness. A great many other (questionable) things, yes; the girl wasn’t notorious for nothing.

What are we, the Scooby Gang? Mel crossed her arms in indifference. The mystery of the lemons could remain unsolved. She had a pool to lounge by. “Whatever. I’m –” By George, the stranger spoke! Rudely, but it surpassed muteness. Miss ‘I can take care of myself Charlie’ didn’t need to explain her art to Warren. The reference was lost on Mellark. Judging by Amelia chuckle, it was a clever quip. Well done, redhead number two. “If you want to hold your cards close to your vest, by all means…”

Mel began to move around the group. She paused only for Amelia’s explanation. There was something about Amelia that spoke to her humanity. The somber witch cared little for anyone, but the girl on fire (nickname credit: Hunger Games) intrigued her. She was Mel’s opposite, in every sense of the word. She was also in pain. Mel recognized weary eyes. They were the same eyes she saw in the mirror. So for Amelia, she feigned interest. “Charging phones via lemons, how…practical.” Mariah snorted. Introductions took place before Mel tried civility once more. “Uh, does it even work?”

degausser · 12-09-2015, 02:41 PM

Siobhan
So he was a Lord after all, or rather, was playing the Lord. Well excuse me, she thought to herself. Siobhan supposed everyone needed to feel important at one point or another, even if it was an elaborate made up fantasy. Torren, correction, Lord Torren was quick to play the gallant, begging forgiveness for assumptions apparently made of her character. She could only shrug in response. It was not as if he had truly offended her, given that she really had no idea what he was going on about. "I suppose I'll just have to take your word for it," was the best she could muster up.

This Torren insisted on maintaining the charade, insisting that he knew not of any festival taking place anywhere. Siobhan looked at him helplessly. How was she supposed to help get him to where he needed to be if he didn't know where he was supposed to go? Unless of course this was more of his method acting. A Lord, a true lord anyway, the medieval sort that bathed every other week and used a privy and spoke in the old English if he spoke any English at all, she supposed, would not consider the fair grounds to be the spectacle she imagined. It would be his reality. Someone sure was taking this whole role playing thing very, very seriously. What a weirdo, she thought to herself. A cute weirdo, but a weirdo all the same.

Or maybe there was more to it than that. Siobhan hadn't noticed it initially, too distracted by the queer clothes he wore. But she saw it now in the way his pupils were dilated, the gentle flush that had given color to his pale cheeks and the way he swayed where he stood. He wasn't weird (okay, he was a little weird), he was drunk! "This fair lady has the good grace to be called Siobhan." That she was able to say it with a straight face was a miracle in and of itself. Yet it was sadly short lived, and when she next spoke she couldn't help the wide toothy smile that soon found her lips.

"On a scale from one to shItfaced, how drunk are you?"


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