First Past the Post (Hetero female with starters and plots)

[Confrazzled]

Alright, in the interim between DRP shutting down and finding Blue Moon, I fuddled about on Gaia some, and consequently . . . started a fair few roleplays that ended up being dropped by my partners. Surprise surprise. Often after one or two posts. So now Iâ??m left with all of these lovely long intros, and very firmly thought-out characters Iâ??m just itching to play, and fully developed plots . . . well, you know how it goes. So I thought, why not post the plots up here? And the intros? And if one of them strikes your fancy, you can PM me and we can start up a thread. Iâ??m open to reworking â??em to suit your fancy some, setting, character, and plot-wise. Fully negotiable.

Oh, and I suppose I should give you a rundown of the basics. Iâ??m Confrazzled, I'm 20 and female, and Iâ??m only interested in playing a female to your male character. Yes, I am capable of playing males as main characters, but not for smut scenes, and I find that I lose interest in a roleplay awfully quickly if I do. If you want me to double, you better be damn convincing, and Iâ??m not good at it. Also, My characters are neither doormats not dominatrixes. That leaves a wide range of variety in the middle that Iâ??m more than happy to play. And note that Iâ??m not afraid to make them very flawed.

I can sustain at least two paragraphs per post. Dialogue tends to be where I skimp, post-wise, but Iâ??ll spike up to four or five for posts with action, new things to describe, and dialogue with side characters. What you get also depends on what you put in--I'll mirror. I have sustained roleplays with five paragraphs per post, but two to four is most comfortable.

Please note that I roleplay over PMs, threads, or else e-mail. Also know that I love roleplays with fast turnaroundâ??mad bouts of it where weâ??re just firing replies back and forth. I can pump out a well-thought-out 2-paragraph response in 12-20 minutes, and four in about 40. I know, a little on the slow side, but I'm improving. Iâ??d really love for my partner to have a similar turnaround. Keeps us both passionate about the roleplay, and OOC banter is great fun too. But this isnâ??t a requirementâ??if you want a post-once-a-day type roleplay, or even twice a week, or somewhere in the middle, thatâ??s good too.

What I wonâ??t do:
- involve anything that belongs in a toilet
- double (with the exception of a sci-fi mother/daughter team Iâ??m dying to try out. Otherwise side-characters are fine, but I like one main character)
- play as completely dominant or as a doormat.
- play a male as my main character
- play a character under 17 (no loli)
- play shota with a character under 15
- yaoi/yuri. I have nothing against either, but Iâ??m just not into it.
- incest closer than cousins
- insta-romance, usually
- plotless roleplays
- master/slave unless youâ??ve got a PHENOMENAL twist, or an amazing plot
- Furry. No offence, it just doesnâ??t do it for me
- amputations, bestiality, vore, or tentacles

Iâ??m flexible when it comes to my kinks. I do have a haircutting fetish, but it need not be added into every roleplay. Oh, and if you want to suggest plots of your own, go ahead.

Oh, and Iâ??ll take down my plots as interest is PMed to me. I only want one of each, really.

 

[Confrazzled]

Re: First Past the Post (Lit het female with starters and plots)

Plot I:

dom x dom-ish, if you want definitions.

Set in Renaissance Venice, an infamous poisonmaker has an apprentice--my character. A female. In any case, the poisonmaker sells blades with built in syringes and catches and whatnot, and also builds various traps into everyday items, and vends them to assassins and nobles and that ilk. In any case, the master poisonmaker is killed by one of his own devices, four-ish years before the roleplay begins. My character witnesses it, and swears an oath not to directly or indirectly kill another character again, and becomes apprenticed to a healer. Now what would work best here is if your character were a bouty hunter, professional assassin, or else had some sort of personal vendetta against another Venetian, and intended to kill them. Either already possessing a weapon crafted by the late master that was 'guaranteed for life' or somesuch, or else demanding a specific poison, and comes demanding that my healer character fulfill it. In any case, after some banter they agree on a sort of bet. If he avenges my character's master's death--which won't be easy--within a set time limit, she'll provide him with what he seeks. Though perhaps he'll wish the stakes higher, on her end. And of course, strong sparks of sexual tension flying between them, as he lusts after what he can't have. That's the basic premise, anyways. It's quite open to reworking, at leisure.

Filippa del Viviano forked her hand through the escaping chestnut curls which had slipped from her vaguely-elabourate bun through the course of her eventful day, fresh-dipped quill steadily poised above her sheaf of blanked paper. It had grown now, to a ladyâ??s proper length. On the burnished walnut desk were sprawled several open texts, displaying woodcut prints of various anatomical positions, and depicting the pathologies of a certain disease, her research for a very specific client. Sheâ??d sketched out rough copies of a few of these, more for her memory than any reference, and of the treatments and tools required. She was feeling rather confident about handling this caseâ??and so, too, was the Physician Alonso, apparently so much so that he willingly gave the reins to his apprentice. Though Filippa well knew that he would step in within half a heartbeat if he so much as suspected any inadequacy on her part.

And she did not wish to prove herself inadequate. So she held her quill high, lowering it to make a few occasional, experimental strokes, and then frowned as she noticed sheâ??d filled up the paper with her meticulous scrawlings. Blowing it dry and tucking it atop of a larger stack, she drew another sheaf, scrawling her name atop it as was her habit.

Filippa del Lama.

Her hand moved to continue, but her eye did not. A weight dropped to her stomach, and her heart-shaped face blanched. Filippa of the Blade. How long had it been since she had last heard that name? Perhaps three months, though it had been four years since sheâ??d permitted anyone to use it, in reference to her. She was Filippa del Viviano now, a woman of life, and apprentice to the Physician Alonso, for one more year before he loosed her. Pursing her lips determinedly, she silently revowed that it was all she ever would be, shy of becoming a physician herself. Del Lama was gone; banished. And few now would recognize the properly modest, civilized-looking, skirted-and-gowned Venetian lady for the ragamuffin hose-wearing Poisonmakerâ??s apprentice, with her shorn off halo of curls, standing out from her head like the petals of a sunflower.

Filippa dipped her quilltip to the ink again, then dribbled splatters over the four-letter misnomer, staining it away. But the page still appeared awry; she knew what secret the splotches hid.

Shaking her head a little, she turned back to her texts, to focusing on the study at hand. And she strove to blot everything else from her mind, until a rapping resounded at the study door.

 

[Confrazzled]

Re: First Past the Post (Lit het female with starters and plots)

Plot II:

Rare modern roleplay; dom x dom-ish; though one character is enslaved

I do have one band roleplay idea, one that I've never piloted. Past this first post. Ever. The premise is a really outrageous, high-stakes-and-consequences bet between two sort-of rival characters. After a battle of the bands my character and yours, are both leaders in their own bands, and fiercely competitive and loyal. In any case, they get into an arguement and make a foolish bet. Whoever gets signed first will have the other for a roadie. But not just a roadie--for all the grimiest, frustratingest, most menial tasks on tour. And perhaps bedwarmer, if you want to go that route, or else they'd start to fall for each other more romantically, through the muck. I'd be up for any sort of setting for this, any country. New York, Seattle, Boston, Europe, Japan . . . wherever. And I'd be up for my character either winning or losing the bet. Totally up to you.

Elspeth â??Echoâ? Goodwinâ??s grin could not have been broader as she strode from the stage, the rest of the band in tow. She hated to leave, as she always did, hated to step from that rectangle of floor where the crowd drank in all that she poured out for them from her fingers and her lips, and returned it a thousandfold. Sure, it was one thing to play by herself and with Jonas, Rick, and Riley in whichever basement or garage they could get ahold of, with the least fussâ??which usually turned out to be Jonasâ?? parentsâ?? basementâ??but it was entirely thing another to perform in front of an audienceâ??a live audience! To feel their appreciative energy and that electrostatic charge that came from anticipation. Of knowing that it was their beats, Echoâ??s and the rest of the Shifting Gears, that pulled the strings to gyrate the crowd, at liberty.

And there were talent scouts out there tonight, probably, in the audience . . . for all that this was just a local showcase, they were getting their name out there. The Shifting Gears were going to be the next big thing, bigger than big, bigger than . . . whatever other craptastic bands had dragged themselves out tonight. Certainly bigger than the gaggle of idiots that stood in front of her now.

â??Thank you Seattle!â? reverberated Rick the bassistâ??s voice, in the iconic tribute. But the members of the other band clearly were not impressed.

â??Hey, I think a few villages are missing their idiots,â? Echo cut in smoothly, slicing with and her stone-washed jean-clad legs, and insinuating her somewhat petite 5â??3 frame into the mob whilst toying with the end of one of the corkscrew curls of her high jet-and-blue pigtails. Her sky-blue eyes flashed icy from within her charcoal-rimmed lashes, done up sort of in a vintage catâ??s-eye-flip style, and lit on the apparent leader of the band, focusing her anger on him. â??You had something to say to my friend?â? Echo had a knack for this; she seemed to jut that sharp, elfin little chin in exactly where it didnâ??t belong.

But perhaps it did belong. She was defending her bandmateâ??s honour, after all, and there was some sort of weird reverse chivalry-code to that, wasnâ??t there? Echo herself though seemed a bit out of place, the only girl in this gaggle of guys, clad in an oriental-inspired silky-stretch top, black and printed all over with blue butterflies, its sleeves falling off the shoulder to make bells at her elbows so as not to tangle with her wrists and fingers whilst keyboarding. But for all that her distinctly feminine garb, not much about Echo, for all her big blue eyes and rather slight frame, was soft. She could rough and tumble with the best of the boys.

And would, dammit. Because these ones seemed like they wanted to pick a fight.

 

[Confrazzled]

Re: First Past the Post (Lit het female with starters and plots)

Plot III:

dom x my fiesty sub, unless you want to focus on court politics. Then feel free to sub.

The norse plot is different, a commoner seeking revenge x noble commander type roleplay, though your role would be flexible. My character is from another Norse kingdom, which your character and his band of marauding vikings, under the orders of your own king, come to conquer, loot, and pillage. My character has no wish to be raped so she disguises herself as a male. Unfortunately, her younger sister is uncommonly beautiful and is not so lucky, and is taken as loot. My character could either get taken as a captive male, and is thrust into stewardship/translatorship/some sort of something for your character, who eventually realizes her as female. Or else she could track them to the court, and wreak a more sinister, solitary havoc there (or else be aided by your character). If you wanted to be a scholar or else someone exclusively belonging to that court, you're welcome to it as well. I won't force you into the maurading barbarian role, if you don't want it. In any case, your character realizes her identity, and either aids her or blackmails her.

Gudrun wished she could stopper her ears with wax. Instead she had to settled for wincing her eyes closed against the screaming, and the even more horrible sounds of the voices she knew so well halting. Orkneybruk, shattered. Her beloved, safe little town torn to shreds like a hunted deer caught by vicious hounds, and King Heruld Bjornnissunâ??who even knew. But if Gudrun Svenisdottir and the rest of her family were mere farmers, with only her brother Kalfr lucky enough to be a Berserker of some merit in King Heruldâ??s guardâ??what were they inflicting on the king and his folk? The townfolk certainly suffered for it. Mensfolk slaughteredâ??her own father, for one. And womenâ??

But Gudrun didnâ??t have moments to whittle away, reflecting. She needed to hasten, to act. She was here, in the storeroom for a reason, and that was to fish out Kalfrâ??s old clothes. Her violet-blue eyes, so common in these parts of Danesland, hardened determinedly as she rummaged through the right sack, digging out an old homespun tunic and pair of leather trousers. After unfastening the shoulderâ??s simplistic stick pin and clutching it between her teeth, she quickly tossed off her own striped shift and apron, tossing it well into the storeroom stacks. The fate of the womenfolk would not be for her. Sheâ??d rather be beheaded as a young boy.

So sheâ??d best hurry to it. The young womanâ??s heart raced as she drew the strangely familiar fabrics over her salmon-slick skin. It was her luck, the one bit gone right today, that these clothes were from when Kalfr was aged about fourteen summers, and were not ridiculously baggy on her frame. For Gudrun was somewhat tall for a woman, but not nearly so tall as her burly warrior brother.

But not all of her fit. Breasts. Sheâ??d near-forgotten, and rummaged through the bin for a holier tunic. Finding an imported linen blanket instead, she used her little cooking knife, the one that sheâ??d always kept on her belt, to slice it into strips. Somehow managed after some fumbling, distracted effort to bind her rather modest breasts somewhat flat, and jerked the tunic down, overtop. None would notice if they were scented a little of fennel and lavender, as theyâ??d been packed away. Such subtle fragrances would hardly be noticeable over the carnage. The forest-green cloakâ??another stroke of luckâ??she fastened over her left shoulder with the stickpin, and she fumbled about again, seeking a belt.

Hanging upon the wall, she found one. And a knife dangling from it. Her Uncle Snorriâ??s, in fact. It seemed a little irreverent to take the wrought dagger that had lain in storage so long, but what better purpose could it serve than to protect his own family? Surely Snorriâ??s ghost would understand. Her hazelwood, knee-length braid, of course, bumped against her elbow as she leaned to snatch the wall, and grimly Gudrun realized what she must do. As if to fire-polish her point, a screech arose, from somewhere in the direction of the stone well.

Audrâ??s scream. The golden-plaited, fourteen-year-old beauty, and her little sister. Her hair and her sisterâ??why that was no choice at all.

It took far too many hacks to slice through the thick braid, stubbing it just below the level of her shoulders. She forgot to toss it back into the pile, to hide it, but left the long-cherished length lying forlorn on the dirt floor, like a coiled snake. Barely remembered to rake a hand through the rest of her hair, to shake the waves loose as Gudrun charged into the fire-lit night, square jaw set in determination, and a savage war-snarl simmering in her throat.

 

[Confrazzled]

Re: First Past the Post (Lit het female with starters and plots)

Plot IV: currently in progress. No longer available.

dom x dom, or my dom to your slight sub.

A prehistoric/pre-columbian/post-columbian tribal roleplay, or else my tribal shamanness to your colonial inhabitant. I just don't want it getting too Pocahontas-y, though. Premise is this:Two waning tribes that must amalgamate against a common enemy tribe, or starvation, illness, or are in need of migration (due to flooding?) might be interesting--particularly if one was matriarchal and the other patriarchal. Or one exceedingly shamanistic in its customs, and the other either warlike or extremely and infuriatingly laid back. Having our two main characters struggle as the leaders of those two tribes might be fun. (Mine would be sort-of unofficial, as her mentor is recently deceased.) Or we could pick more nondescript roles, along the lines of warrior and shaman or council member. No real impressions about potential colonial roles, from me. Setting is flexible. The post is set for the west coast, Oregon-ish, but we could go to Lousiana swamps or Appalacian mountains; really Im happy anywhere but I'd prefer to avoid the great plains. With or without prehistoric creatures.

Star Bird approached the camp carefully, cloaked in the lavender of twilight. The stars of her namesake were just beginning to wink to life in the sky above her, as the Skywomen unfurled their beautiful weavings, strung with beads of quartz, to fall in the places where they always did. So proud of their work, they displayed it every night, so all the world might see. In the morning they would roll them up, gathering bit by bit as the Star Birds, flitting invisibly between them unless you knew just where to look, play and watch. And snatch one away, if the Skywomen did not keep a careful eye. Snatch it and store it away, or eat it; some Star Birds craved only a full belly.

Star Bird herself was hungry, but not for stars. Hungry for something other than dried deermeat and dug-up tuber roots. And even these, aside from a small hide pouchful that she carried at her hip, she had left with her dugout cedar canoe half-a-stoneâ??s hike away, on the bank of the river when it grew too shallow. Her bare feet strode onwards, their soles hard as clay balls tread among the lush tangle of roots that matted and seemed to bind the rather solid earth together, holding it fast to the mountainsides. Here was not a place where stones threatened to tumble loose. Nearly on the cusp of the wildforests it was, rather out of the range of her own tribe, the People of the Cedar Veil. But now she was on the cusp of the lands of another, this pale, new-rival tribe. They wore the Moon Ladyâ??s face, but not her heart, a blasphemy beyond reproach. A bloodsworn enemy but . . . Star Bird knew as the highest Star shamanness of her tribe, though both the visions she received in guidance and from the hungry bellies and fears that drove her people, this was the only option left, if they wished to survive.

So Star Bird marched forwards, quietly but not too quietly, for she did not wish to alarm the firm-campâ??s exceptional scouts. Clad in the ceremonial and nearly stark-white cream hide robes, decorated borders along the edges with painstakingly-picked out dot and line patterns, emblazoned in red berry-ink and the darkest berry-charcoal, she would not likely blend into the brush. Her mane of raven hair, flowing nearly to her hips, she braided through with all manners of colourful feathers and two full tens of bone, clay, and carved stone beads. Though she held it bound back in a series of leather thongs, the distinctive style and colours only made her stand out from the lush, mossy trees further. A woman of average height, neither short nor tall, but striding forth with an implacable regality to her posture, even as the cicadas called her welcome. Each step, she knew, brought her closer to the camp, and to her discovery by one of its scout-warriors, with their strangely-cold thunder rods. Every one, nearer to the impending wrath and ill-welcome.

Each step brought her closer to the unity of their peoples. Their unity, or their separate, agonizing deaths.

 

[Confrazzled]

Re: First Past the Post (Lit het female with starters and plots)

Plot V: Roleplay in progress. No longer available.

Last one for now.

Roman; My sub to your . . . whatever you want to play, really.

Roman, preferably set in Caligula's tumultuous 4-year reign. I'm open to any character from a Roman setting, played opposite to my educated-absentminded-noble-scholar's-daughter-from-Caprice, that's great too. I'd be happy to pilot her out against anyone you'd like to throw at her. Buuuuuut there is a slightly more obscure plotline that I crave.

Her father has forgotten to marry her off for some years, but after a reminder from a friend, he decides to send her off to Rome to to snare a husband. After she learns of this, Iâ??d like my character to wish on a star, one of Orionâ??s stars. And for him (you) to come down to her. Initially she believes it a dream, but when she awakens in the morning, Orion is still by her side. Up to you what direction we go from here, what sort of powers he has, any of that jazz. She could either try to hide him, or he could insidiate himself into her life, assuming the role of a servant or a noble.

So for my backstory: I'll admit, I had a bit of a childhood crush on Orion. The first constellation I ever knew to recognise, and name. And the story about Artemis . . . well I always figured that if he was good enough for the virgin huntress he was more than good enough for me, you know? Maybe you don't. There are a bunch of versions to the legends but the one I like best is this: Orion was he was the hunter for whom Artemis fell, and hard, so her twin Apollo set Scorpio chasing after him. Apollo feared for the virgin goddessâ?? chastity. But Orion was too swift, and one of the Gods (Zeus?) took pity on him and placed him in the sky, where he yet runs forever from the scorpion.

Soooo that's why my Orion fixation, really. An odd request for a cannon, I do admit. It is not often that one sees requests ffrom Greek mythology, really.

From the sultry night air of the verandah, chilled but lingering warm even in Capreaeâ??s November, Tanaquil pressed her face against the smooth, carved marble pillar, and gazed out at the shadowed garden. She rarely bothered to visit this section of the her fatherâ??s residence, its triclinium, or feasting chamber, for all that she spent so much time in the adjoining study. But today, she was not hunched straining her eyes over dusty scrolls nor languishing at the myriad of household tasks set for the lady of the house. Today, she had little to do but to eat the roast game, the sweet dates, the lush pomegranate, and smile prettily, offering the occasional conversational tidbit. But with the largely-intoxicated guest of her father, an aged governor of some remote provinceâ??Dacia? Somehow the detail had slipped her noticeâ??Tanaquil could not but feel out of place. Nor could she help darting out, after several hours of feasting, music, and merriment, for a few momentsâ?? snatched breath on the verandah. Gazing at the exquisite view.

The stars certainly blazed bright tonight, for all that it was early November. The rainy weather of the last few days seemed to dry up at last, and do so with a brilliant burst of starlight. Dianaâ??s crescent moon, veiling her face, did not even detract from their overwhelming display. And at near the horizon, three stars stood in a line. Iha knew a legend for those, or half-knew. Greek scholars had record in a volume she had read many years ago, detailing the legend in entirety. Precisely the sort of thing her absent-minded but cultured father would present to her, in order to learn. Orion. Or Orionâ??s belt. A happy laugh erupted from one of the female slaves in the feasthall, while the luteâ??s stringâ??s stilled. The governorâ??s grumbling laugh erupted, as he related in his gruff voice yet another anecdote about his youngest daughter, soon to be married off to a high-ranking magistrate in Caligulaâ??s service. A pang seized Ihaâ??s heart; though her father had forgotten his daughterâ??s hand these past 18 years as such a prime trading chit for political favour, she feared perhaps this unhappy marriage would respark his interest. Not that he concerned much for the likes of that, worrying more for his estate and dusty tomes, forgetting her entirely half of the time . . .

â??Your own daughter, she is pretty enough, uh Cassius?â? cajoled the governor, and she heard reverberations of his hearty slap of her fatherâ??s back over the resuming music. â??Plenty of eligible men for her in the capital, even if she is getting a bit ripe . . .â?

Tanaquil blanched cool as the marble pillar, as the mosaic beneath her sandaled feet. She had known this day would be arrive, eventually, for it was the way of Rome, an unwritten rule and open secret transcribed between the lines of much of the literature she so painstakingly studied. But she did lament it, nonetheless. Yoked to some fop of a magistrate, or a distant soldierâ??s captain, or . . . another noble, spirited away to an unfamiliar country estate. The span of these options frightened her, startled words from her mouth. â??Oh, if only I could find . . . a husband as brave and true as one of yore. As Dianaâ??s Orion. Then . . . I should certainly have nothing to fear.â?

She looked away now; could not stand to peer past the few loose tendrils of her cascading chestnut hair to the stars blazing so brightly. To impossible hopes. Instead she set her dainty, sandaled feet to walk back into the lavish feasthall, and rejoin the laughter.

Later, when Tanaquil donned her linen sleeping shift, and stretched her slender, five-manâ??s foot and four-thumbwidths out on the lightly-padded bronze bed for her nightâ??s rest, curtains at the windows billowing out with the sea-sticky breeze, she had entirely forgotten her rash wish. Her mind swirling with dance steps, with reverberating lyre strings, the taste of well-brewed wine, and the shrill voices of flutes, her large garnet eyes closed, bringing a sense of peace to her heart-shaped face, and she swiftly slept.

 

[Confrazzled]

Re: First Past the Post (Lit het female with starters and plots)

In any case, that about sums up what I've got to offer, for now. I've another which I may dig up later, but I'm just not in the mood quite yet. So we'll see about 'er.

Oh, and feel free to post/comment/bump in the thread if you like. We can talk here too. ^.^

 

[Confrazzled]

Plot VI:

My sub to your dom.

High fantasy medival setting. Maybe vaguely germanic, but I'm not picky. The plot is only half-developed here; really, I've only got my character and her history sorted out. Mostly devised to fuel my little fetish, but we could take it in any direction you please. Rixande acquired a curse or blessing that causes her hair to grow over two feet per day--we can save the logistics for the roleplay. Now twenty-ish, five years prior her parents entrusted her wellbeing to a sleezy sideshow ringmaster, and she travels along with him as the 'Lady of the Sun and Moon', not seeing most of the money that she earns for him. As for your character, you could either play another of the freaks, or a worker with the circus, and the two of them could either attempt to overturn or escape the ringmaster, or your character could blackmail mine, or maybe they would try to swindle/steal money from patrons of the sideshow together, so that they could retire to a swankier lifestyle elsewhere . . . I'm open to wherever this could go.

Or else you could play a wealthy patron who comes to the sideshow, and collects curiosities. In doing so, he takes a fancy to Rixande and purchases her contract from the Ringmaster. Either a noble whose gold burns a hole in his pocket or a mage who is fascinated and wants to study her in some capacity. When I attempted this before, we made it so that her hair grew in gold and platinum alloys, making it thus valuable and marketable . . . but the roleplay didn't get very far.

Curious to see where this could go, anyways.

The ballyhoo manâ??s outrageous claims drifted in through the colourful canvas, despite the din of the lutes, pipes, and mandolins. â??Within these walls are the assembled the strangest examplesâ??nay contortionsâ??of mankind, gathered from the four corners of the earth, from the sea and mountains, from peaceful plains and savage cannibal islesâ??â? he launched, trying to draw the crowd. Every word selected to scintillate, to hook notice and refuse to release it.

Rixande knew Felixâ??s claims well; could in fact recite them herself in order as she fumbled to set her own personal stage to rights. The lion-man, abandoned by his mother in the wilds of the jungle, raised by wildcats to be the king of the wildcats. Truly, a shepherd from the northern mountains, the lad just had an odd affinity for carnivorous creatures. One that had him driven off, as such predators tended to dwindle the sheep herds. But Felix the Ringmaster would never tell the crowd such. Instead, he plowed onwards with his litany of exceptional humans. Dirklund, the strongest man in the world, of mightier strength than a team of four plowhorses. Isabella, the human doll, nearly fifty years old and as tiny and cherub-faced as any five-year-old child. The Human Masterpiece, Zystryx and his skin of Art, covered every inch over (save one) with fantastic and mystical drawings of his remote island tribe. Phing and Phongra the tantalizing twin contortionists, their lithe bodies able to flex into any shape at all, as if their flesh held no bones. Rixande herself was quashed in the middle of these claims, The Maiden of the Sun-and-Moon, whose hair grows golden-flax in the sunâ??s light, and bleaches pale as a pearl in the light of the moon, flowing in a river longer than any mortal womanâ??s. The other cursed ones followed her of courseâ??the oft-transforming werewolf child that was the showâ??s main draw, the Clever Greymalkin, cat with a tongue of silver, and the poor cyan-eyed boy who screamed and screamed and screamed, always of the future, and always of the truth.

Felixâ??s ballyhoo riled up the crowd and he had not yet even worked his whole way through their lineup; Rixande could nearly feel their collective shudder of excitement. She always could, for every performance of these last five years. But this crowd tonight, they seemed exceptionally receptive, especially ready to be frightened and cajoled into surrendering a few more coins for a few more liberties with the sideshow performers.

For Rixande always had and always would refuse to lower herself to the level of freak.

 

[sub_voyage fan]

May I try one with you again?

 

[Confrazzled]

Plot VII:

Dom/subbing fully negotiable. My character can be entirely tailored to order, personality and physique-wise, though she will have some bizarre tattoos--I've got some race ideas. Though please note that I will play neither doormats nor dominatrixes.

Medieval AND Sci-fi--doesn't get better than this. I must admit, this plot is one of my babies. Premise is this: an interstellar organization sends a (male) agent to prevent the extinction of a species whose society is in medieval dark-ages, defending it from some outside threat (either a demonic race's invasion, or a verge of a war with a stone-fleshed, near-indestructible race of people, which when roused would pose a threat) by faking the magic from its own legends. He of course utilises all the technogadgets, guns, lasers, somewhat-concealed weapons and whatnot that your little heart can devise, while trying to appear to be a regular civilian or part of a guard. Annnyways, despite all his works, slowly the agent discovers that the magic from the legends is real. My character could be either a princess or priestess of some sort, or perhaps a Queen whose husband died. Whatever suits the personality you prefer to play against with your character, though I think it might be fun for me to play an advisor to the king, who could be sent to be an ambassador (clever, but perhaps to be married off?) if we decide to go a more political route.

I've got starters here for an advisor and a priestess, but I'd be happy to draft one up for whatever sort of character you like, if you want a more innocent princess or whatever.

 

[Confrazzled]

May I try one with you again?

Ours is still up. I've replied, if you want to continue with it. I don't really like to have more than one roleplay going with the same partner. Things get messy that way.

 

[sub_voyage fan]

Of course. But you got mad at me for making a paragrpah. So that is why I asked if I could still rp with you.

 

[Confrazzled]

Not mad. I didn't mean for it to sound harsh; please take it as constructive criticism. It's hard to adequately convey tone sometimes. Two paragraph minimum is something that I have always clearly outlined in my request threads; that's why I was a bit concerned. So we can continue, if you like.

 

[sub_voyage fan]

Alright. I will do that then.

 

[Confrazzled]

Perfect. Glad to hear it.