Your support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon) ((¯`'•.¸Introduction¸.•'´¯))
[†] About Me [†]
Greeting inquisitive wanderer!
A little bit about me that may help in determining whether we may be compatible partners:
-I've roleplayed for around 10 years or so. While somewhat rusty, I like to consider myself literate.
-I try to post on a regular basis, typically once a day if possible. If I anticipate I'll be away for a long stretch of time, I'll try to let you know. Once in a while however, I may disappear due to technical difficulties or health reasons and may not be able to give you a warning.
[†] Rules [†]
A few things to keep in mind:
-Post frequency: Posting is usually around once a day. May differ depending on time of week, other commitments and how much effort each post of the role play requires.
-Post location: I prefer keeping games and projects in PM. I do have YIM and AIM, although neither play nice. I can possibly be persuaded to forums, but it's my last preference.
-Post length: The more the better, although I sometimes get carried away. Anything below an average paragraph will lower my interest in the project, but I try to compromise. General response length is between 2-4 paragraphs, although I try to mirror what I'm given.
-Post content: A balance of plot and smut is the best preference. It can generally lean in either direction, but I need both to get the best experience.
- Post taboos: I try to avoid dropping projects without letting my partner know. Unless I'm in a particularly sour mood, I try to salvage projects when possible. If possible, I appreciate a notification that you're no longer interested in the role play should you decide to drop out.
[†] Random Questions [†]
-I have an idea / scenario / random plot!
If you have a plot that you're dying to play, let me know. Worst I can say is no. Likewise, if you've looked through my topic and nothing catches your eye, I'm happy to bounce ideas around and see what sticks.
-Do you role play canon material?
Possibly, depending on the source material. Feel free to run it by me and we can talk.
-What kind of characters do you play as?
I play what I know, so specifically male characters. In this topic however I'll specifically play as herms and futas. Unless otherwise specified, my characters in plots below are assumed to be intersex, herm, and/or futa. We are not responsible for the occasional monster, alien, slime or other being that may have sneaked by between shifts.
I'm trying to expand my horizons and will sometimes wander into aliens/furries/anthros and the such, but it takes a little bit of prodding to get me into the mindset.
-Do you have any limits?
In alphabetical order:
Death
Gore (In A Sexual Context)
M-Preg
Scat
Vore
Watersports
Also, not a fan of playing multiple characters/a harem to an individual character. If I'm asked to play as multiple characters, I prefer if the favor is returned.
-Do you have any specific kinks?
Ass Worship
Dirty Talking
Edging
Footplay
Light Bondage
Messy (Drool, Saliva)
Sexual Exhaustion
-How can I reach you?
Best way to catch me is via PM. I do try to check the topic on a somewhat regular basis as well.
[†] Scenarios [†]
((¯`'•.¸Witching Hour¸.•'´¯))
“Come claim what is yours. Only then can I claim what is mine."
((¯`'•.¸Abstain¸.•'´¯))
“To put it bluntly, people are coming as they're going."
((¯`'•.¸Homecoming¸.•'´¯))
“We can't come back. I know you'll understand. The screaming won't stop."
((¯`'•.¸Kingdom Come¸.•'´¯))
“I have lost my love, my country. I will not lose my honor."
((¯`'•.¸Little Red¸.•'´¯))
“As I’ve said, there are no wolves within these woods.”
((¯`'•.¸Maneater¸.•'´¯))
“It’s all about finding the best man for the job. Amusing, no?”
((¯`'•.¸Pact of Temptation¸.•'´¯))
“Write down three, commit to flame
Wait til dusk, then call her name”
((¯`'•.¸Second Life¸.•'´¯))
“You can’t take it all back… But I can.”
((¯`'•.¸Soul Survivor¸.•'´¯))
“Don't worry... I'll survive."
[†]Writing Samples[†]
Alice
Second Life
Ultimatum
[†]Other Threads[†]
-Any other plots?
Looking for manlier plots?
Please feel free to look at my other topic http://bluemoonroleplaying.com/forums/showthread.php?tid=63218 which covers additional scenarios.
Looking for something more bite sized?
Please try out my microbrews, smaller scale role plays that are more smut focused. Comes in blends of 'uncategorized' http://bluemoonroleplaying.com/forums/showthread.php?tid=67166 and 'male' http://bluemoonroleplaying.com/forums/showthread.php?tid=67165.
-Anything else I should know?
That sums it all up, potential role playing partner! Thank you for stopping by and I hope to hear from you in the future. However, even if you didn’t find this to be your cup of tea, I certainly thank you for your time.
[†] About Me [†]
Greeting inquisitive wanderer!
A little bit about me that may help in determining whether we may be compatible partners:
-I've roleplayed for around 10 years or so. While somewhat rusty, I like to consider myself literate.
-I try to post on a regular basis, typically once a day if possible. If I anticipate I'll be away for a long stretch of time, I'll try to let you know. Once in a while however, I may disappear due to technical difficulties or health reasons and may not be able to give you a warning.
[†] Rules [†]
A few things to keep in mind:
-Post frequency: Posting is usually around once a day. May differ depending on time of week, other commitments and how much effort each post of the role play requires.
-Post location: I prefer keeping games and projects in PM. I do have YIM and AIM, although neither play nice. I can possibly be persuaded to forums, but it's my last preference.
-Post length: The more the better, although I sometimes get carried away. Anything below an average paragraph will lower my interest in the project, but I try to compromise. General response length is between 2-4 paragraphs, although I try to mirror what I'm given.
-Post content: A balance of plot and smut is the best preference. It can generally lean in either direction, but I need both to get the best experience.
- Post taboos: I try to avoid dropping projects without letting my partner know. Unless I'm in a particularly sour mood, I try to salvage projects when possible. If possible, I appreciate a notification that you're no longer interested in the role play should you decide to drop out.
[†] Random Questions [†]
-I have an idea / scenario / random plot!
If you have a plot that you're dying to play, let me know. Worst I can say is no. Likewise, if you've looked through my topic and nothing catches your eye, I'm happy to bounce ideas around and see what sticks.
-Do you role play canon material?
Possibly, depending on the source material. Feel free to run it by me and we can talk.
-What kind of characters do you play as?
I play what I know, so specifically male characters. In this topic however I'll specifically play as herms and futas. Unless otherwise specified, my characters in plots below are assumed to be intersex, herm, and/or futa. We are not responsible for the occasional monster, alien, slime or other being that may have sneaked by between shifts.
I'm trying to expand my horizons and will sometimes wander into aliens/furries/anthros and the such, but it takes a little bit of prodding to get me into the mindset.
-Do you have any limits?
In alphabetical order:
Death
Gore (In A Sexual Context)
M-Preg
Scat
Vore
Watersports
Also, not a fan of playing multiple characters/a harem to an individual character. If I'm asked to play as multiple characters, I prefer if the favor is returned.
-Do you have any specific kinks?
Ass Worship
Dirty Talking
Edging
Footplay
Light Bondage
Messy (Drool, Saliva)
Sexual Exhaustion
-How can I reach you?
Best way to catch me is via PM. I do try to check the topic on a somewhat regular basis as well.
[†] Scenarios [†]
((¯`'•.¸Witching Hour¸.•'´¯))
“Come claim what is yours. Only then can I claim what is mine."
There was fallout in the family, a shame concerning how prestigious and reputable your lineage had been.
It was an atypical miracle, from rags to riches, your father from generations ago stumbling upon land that held resources that allowed his name to build up an empire. What began as an otherwise modest operation turned into a bustling industry, swallowing up the region and allowing the bloodline to prosper, swelling outwards but never leaving the roots of that otherwise uninteresting meadow. Somewhere down the line however, there was a splinter in the kin, gossip and secrets bringing a house down from within. Some mentioned that it was due to fortune and estate getting the better of siblings, others claiming that the patriarch had eventually gone mad from his entrepreneurship. Still others held ridiculous claim that the land that started it all was haunted, that it involved a dark dealing and the reason for it all was to protect innocents caught up in a terrible bargain.
Twenty years later, you receive a letter from an estate otherwise forgotten, from a bloodline torn asunder beckoning you to claim what is rightfully yours:
'My dearest child,
There are no words that could make up for the damage we've done. It's been at least a good decade since I've seen your smiling face and old age has gotten the better of me. Your parents have refused to let me speak with you, however you've reached the point where you're capable of making your own decisions. If anything, I would like to see you one more time before I feel it is too late and as well, extent my deepest apologies for how things have transpired. While it can't make up for the time that we've lost, I feel that this land should be yours. It has done great things for our family... It can do great things for you.
Come claim what is yours.
I look forward to hearing from you.
Kindest regards,'
Possible kinks: BDSM / Enslavement / Hexes / Broomsticks?
It was an atypical miracle, from rags to riches, your father from generations ago stumbling upon land that held resources that allowed his name to build up an empire. What began as an otherwise modest operation turned into a bustling industry, swallowing up the region and allowing the bloodline to prosper, swelling outwards but never leaving the roots of that otherwise uninteresting meadow. Somewhere down the line however, there was a splinter in the kin, gossip and secrets bringing a house down from within. Some mentioned that it was due to fortune and estate getting the better of siblings, others claiming that the patriarch had eventually gone mad from his entrepreneurship. Still others held ridiculous claim that the land that started it all was haunted, that it involved a dark dealing and the reason for it all was to protect innocents caught up in a terrible bargain.
Twenty years later, you receive a letter from an estate otherwise forgotten, from a bloodline torn asunder beckoning you to claim what is rightfully yours:
'My dearest child,
There are no words that could make up for the damage we've done. It's been at least a good decade since I've seen your smiling face and old age has gotten the better of me. Your parents have refused to let me speak with you, however you've reached the point where you're capable of making your own decisions. If anything, I would like to see you one more time before I feel it is too late and as well, extent my deepest apologies for how things have transpired. While it can't make up for the time that we've lost, I feel that this land should be yours. It has done great things for our family... It can do great things for you.
Come claim what is yours.
I look forward to hearing from you.
Kindest regards,'
Possible kinks: BDSM / Enslavement / Hexes / Broomsticks?
((¯`'•.¸Abstain¸.•'´¯))
“To put it bluntly, people are coming as they're going."
To put it simply, we're fucked.
Nobody knew how it started. People are arguing over 'how' it started. That energy could have been better allocated in building up encampments and quarantining the dead. But I'm getting ahead of myself and despite the fact that the world is going to hell, I'm sure some politically correct zealot will come knocking on my door. But they are dead. Don't be fooled. The most popular story is that it started at some rave, some experimental drug. Makes the body overclock on stimulus, people were thinking it was for a sexual high. Turns out the body can't handle that much in a single moment and just like that, you're gone.
Well, medically that is. For a little.
You've seen zombie films right? Don't shake your head. I know you have. Well, they come back, but the drug never leaves their system. It's kinda like a disease or something, both biologically and venereal before some wise crack tries to get the joke in. And guess who they look for? Warm bodies. Humans. Normals like us. We don't really call them dead though, since they're still functioning. It'd be fine if they just walked around stiff and moaned (I know, the jokes are too easy), but when they start acting like us just to get past security? To get into our havens? Things get scary. Kids use stupid terms, call em 'gang bangs' or 'the stalking dead' or some crap like that. Sleeper agents. Someone tries to hook up with you? Just be careful out there.
Possible kinks: Light Body Horror / Non - Con and/or Rape / Survival / Carl Get In The Damn House
Nobody knew how it started. People are arguing over 'how' it started. That energy could have been better allocated in building up encampments and quarantining the dead. But I'm getting ahead of myself and despite the fact that the world is going to hell, I'm sure some politically correct zealot will come knocking on my door. But they are dead. Don't be fooled. The most popular story is that it started at some rave, some experimental drug. Makes the body overclock on stimulus, people were thinking it was for a sexual high. Turns out the body can't handle that much in a single moment and just like that, you're gone.
Well, medically that is. For a little.
You've seen zombie films right? Don't shake your head. I know you have. Well, they come back, but the drug never leaves their system. It's kinda like a disease or something, both biologically and venereal before some wise crack tries to get the joke in. And guess who they look for? Warm bodies. Humans. Normals like us. We don't really call them dead though, since they're still functioning. It'd be fine if they just walked around stiff and moaned (I know, the jokes are too easy), but when they start acting like us just to get past security? To get into our havens? Things get scary. Kids use stupid terms, call em 'gang bangs' or 'the stalking dead' or some crap like that. Sleeper agents. Someone tries to hook up with you? Just be careful out there.
Possible kinks: Light Body Horror / Non - Con and/or Rape / Survival / Carl Get In The Damn House
((¯`'•.¸Homecoming¸.•'´¯))
“We can't come back. I know you'll understand. The screaming won't stop."
Desperate times come for desperate measures.
Overpopulation. Exhaustion of resources. Earth was a doomed prospect from the beginning and humanity turned heavensward once more for salvation, looking towards the stars in times of crisis. However, in ages prior when they would have sought guidance and divination, now the governments and technology allowed for the possibility of migration to more hospitable worlds. Salvaging together enough money and equipment to send a squad of four into the reaches of the void, a vessel was sent towards the perimeters of the system to find a location that was ideal for chance of settlement. All four people were placed under hibernation to survive the initial journey and through that maiden voyage, everything was quiet until approximately two years in. Only two facts were known; the message above was transmitted back with no additional context and the system indicated all life aboard perished.
Considering the first attempt a scrapped failure, mankind was willing to consider a second transport but needed to revive public confidence and amass together enough funds to complete a secondary shuttle. A year later in the second campaign and another message was delivered from coordinates that were in the direction of the Apollo, the mainframe indicating that its crew was apparently alive and well. In addition, a message was sent back requesting for assistance and permission to return, as cryptic and mysterious as the first.
'This is the Apollo reporting in. Permission to return home. Mission was an initial failure, however there is a possibility of future success.'
When the message was replied to and the messenger requested to identify themselves, this was the last transmission:
'I would have expected a more warm welcoming. You're all acting like you're talking to a ghost. Permission to come home?'
Possible kinks: Interspecies / Tentacles / Xenophilia / Lack Of Green Cards
Overpopulation. Exhaustion of resources. Earth was a doomed prospect from the beginning and humanity turned heavensward once more for salvation, looking towards the stars in times of crisis. However, in ages prior when they would have sought guidance and divination, now the governments and technology allowed for the possibility of migration to more hospitable worlds. Salvaging together enough money and equipment to send a squad of four into the reaches of the void, a vessel was sent towards the perimeters of the system to find a location that was ideal for chance of settlement. All four people were placed under hibernation to survive the initial journey and through that maiden voyage, everything was quiet until approximately two years in. Only two facts were known; the message above was transmitted back with no additional context and the system indicated all life aboard perished.
Considering the first attempt a scrapped failure, mankind was willing to consider a second transport but needed to revive public confidence and amass together enough funds to complete a secondary shuttle. A year later in the second campaign and another message was delivered from coordinates that were in the direction of the Apollo, the mainframe indicating that its crew was apparently alive and well. In addition, a message was sent back requesting for assistance and permission to return, as cryptic and mysterious as the first.
'This is the Apollo reporting in. Permission to return home. Mission was an initial failure, however there is a possibility of future success.'
When the message was replied to and the messenger requested to identify themselves, this was the last transmission:
'I would have expected a more warm welcoming. You're all acting like you're talking to a ghost. Permission to come home?'
Possible kinks: Interspecies / Tentacles / Xenophilia / Lack Of Green Cards
((¯`'•.¸Kingdom Come¸.•'´¯))
“I have lost my love, my country. I will not lose my honor."
People are defined by their station. In a world of kingdoms, of kings and inheritance, of divine right and imperial might, often the class one is born into is the class one resides in. Whether this is in regard to race, blood line, lineage or name, it defines us all as either chains that drag us down, or promises of everlasting glory. Sex and gender are particularly cruel mistresses of the times, women often either used as bartering pieces in order to raise an eventual heir or, in the case of a barren queen, as a figurehead or indentured slave to the bedroom. In a time where empires are crafted and legacies lost to the ages, all pieces are laid bare on the chessboard with their own plans and aspirations, all the while at risk for the taking and in danger of losing their invaluable king.
The Crownless Queen. The Witch of House Morris. The Queen of Kings. There is a piece that was introduced that goes by many names, a colorless token that pledges no allegiances except to a King that had been recently slain, to a side lost in chaos. Unlike those pieces that stand tall behind lines of Pawns, she was a different creature in that, like her barren sisters, unable to provide a heir, but like her brothers in arms, born with the birthrights to the title of King if luck played its hand. On a theater with defined rules, lead by houses manned with known pieces, what turmoil follows for a Queen that takes up her fallen love's crown? Some may wish to dominate such a force, either militarily or for personal reasons. Others may simply be interested in such a unique piece that has entered the fray. Regardless...
Let Kingdom Come.
Possible kinks: Coercion / Drama / Subjugation / No I Haven't Watched Game Of Thrones But Yes I'm Trying To Sell Out On Its Popularity Lay Off
The Crownless Queen. The Witch of House Morris. The Queen of Kings. There is a piece that was introduced that goes by many names, a colorless token that pledges no allegiances except to a King that had been recently slain, to a side lost in chaos. Unlike those pieces that stand tall behind lines of Pawns, she was a different creature in that, like her barren sisters, unable to provide a heir, but like her brothers in arms, born with the birthrights to the title of King if luck played its hand. On a theater with defined rules, lead by houses manned with known pieces, what turmoil follows for a Queen that takes up her fallen love's crown? Some may wish to dominate such a force, either militarily or for personal reasons. Others may simply be interested in such a unique piece that has entered the fray. Regardless...
Let Kingdom Come.
Possible kinks: Coercion / Drama / Subjugation / No I Haven't Watched Game Of Thrones But Yes I'm Trying To Sell Out On Its Popularity Lay Off
((¯`'•.¸Little Red¸.•'´¯))
“As I’ve said, there are no wolves within these woods.”
What humans try to take, nature will inevitably claim once more, often ensuring that due interest is paid for whatever was stolen. For fifteen years, when the moon becomes full, a strict curfew has been enforced in the boundaries of Graften Marshes, often falling after times of plentiful harvest and ushering in biting winds and bitter seasons. It wasn’t until the first few disappearances that the mayor and officiating body conducted additional searches, first during the witching hour, later only when provided with sunlight when their own numbers dwindled. Even though it has been at least a century since wolves have been in this landscape, many have sworn they hear the sounds of wolves howling at night and will swear to the strict dogma at the first sign of claw marks at their door step.
Travelers are often treated as foreigners to the best kept secret of their little sleepy hollow, oblivious to the first settlers that cleared the land and scoured it of green, painting it in red to make sure they had enough wolf meat to survive the first brutal winter. Nor would they be told of the stories of the disappearance of the first girl that wandered too far into the tree line when dusk kissed the horizon and, when the ‘wolves’ howl in the distance, villagers swear they see a girl in a red hood moving amongst the shadows.
When the full moon stirs, the forest awakens and the pack will hunt, but in the most hushed of whispers in the back of bars, you’ll always hear one half truth:
There are no wolves within these woods.
Possible kinks: Breeding / Bestiality / Non-consensual / Ruining Fairy Tales
Travelers are often treated as foreigners to the best kept secret of their little sleepy hollow, oblivious to the first settlers that cleared the land and scoured it of green, painting it in red to make sure they had enough wolf meat to survive the first brutal winter. Nor would they be told of the stories of the disappearance of the first girl that wandered too far into the tree line when dusk kissed the horizon and, when the ‘wolves’ howl in the distance, villagers swear they see a girl in a red hood moving amongst the shadows.
When the full moon stirs, the forest awakens and the pack will hunt, but in the most hushed of whispers in the back of bars, you’ll always hear one half truth:
There are no wolves within these woods.
Possible kinks: Breeding / Bestiality / Non-consensual / Ruining Fairy Tales
((¯`'•.¸Maneater¸.•'´¯))
“It’s all about finding the best man for the job. Amusing, no?”
For the longest time, white collar was considered a boy’s club, an exclusive clique that was attainable for few and happened to abuse the many. General progress in social studies and more egalitarian societies would challenge and erode the membership criteria of the finest and richest, promising the idea of variety and possibility for the majority while threatening the thought of novelty for the old guard. Of course, in the corporate world, loopholes are the norm and backstabbing a definite quality on one’s resume, reflected even in some of the most liberal of work places. For at least three generations, the upper hierarchy of mediAPP had stagnated, routinely hiring from outside or promoting specific candidates despite having a vast and talented staff.
Then a year ago they happened to hire another wave of temporary staff to increase holiday production, amongst the rank and file a female receptionist for morning shifts. Weeks later and nothing surprising had happened, with most of the outside staff released and a few of the more dedicated assets retained. When a few open promotions came around and candidates submitted their resumes, the same cynical bets were placed as if it were figuratively another day at the office; lo and behold, the research and development department happened to get a new shift manager! A few months later, with gossip burning about like wildfire, and another vacant spot appeared ripe and open for bidding. Yet again, despite previous habits in the company as far as practices went, once again they had a new department director who started in a modest receptionist position. Even more interesting was the fact that the candidate most of the people considered the favorite to win was given his own promotion, assigned to be her own personal secretary.
March 5th is in the future and talks of the CEO stepping down have made their way down the hierarchy…
Possible kinks: Humiliation / Cross Dressing / Dom – Sub / Diversifying Portfolios
Then a year ago they happened to hire another wave of temporary staff to increase holiday production, amongst the rank and file a female receptionist for morning shifts. Weeks later and nothing surprising had happened, with most of the outside staff released and a few of the more dedicated assets retained. When a few open promotions came around and candidates submitted their resumes, the same cynical bets were placed as if it were figuratively another day at the office; lo and behold, the research and development department happened to get a new shift manager! A few months later, with gossip burning about like wildfire, and another vacant spot appeared ripe and open for bidding. Yet again, despite previous habits in the company as far as practices went, once again they had a new department director who started in a modest receptionist position. Even more interesting was the fact that the candidate most of the people considered the favorite to win was given his own promotion, assigned to be her own personal secretary.
March 5th is in the future and talks of the CEO stepping down have made their way down the hierarchy…
Possible kinks: Humiliation / Cross Dressing / Dom – Sub / Diversifying Portfolios
((¯`'•.¸Pact of Temptation¸.•'´¯))
“Write down three, commit to flame
Wait til dusk, then call her name”
There was a time when a life wasn’t worth that much. Can you believe that? Maybe humans were more foolish or more power hungry… Perhaps lifespans were shorter or deviants were more desperate back then. Either way, it was easy to make a fair trade for the worth of a soul or the blood in one’s soul for limitless power, unrequited love, infinite knowledge or whatever other whimsical desire one can dream of. There’s a reason why you hear less of rituals and haunting, of the supernatural or encounters with beings just beyond the veil; many of them barter in only one trade and aren’t able to adapt to the times. It’s a terrible thing really, as it makes things less exciting overall, but many of those devils and demons weren’t the most pleasant to associate with and makes business less palatable for us more… noble of brokers.
Perhaps you’ve heard of me. Yes? No? Does the word succubus ring a bell? Don’t panic, as some of us have had centuries to refine first contact in order to seal the deal and make sure you sign the dotted line on that little contract of ours. The deal? Same as always, although it certainly doesn’t hurt to sweeten it up a little bit, right? You might have heard about how to summon me specifically, but if not, listen up, because this is a limited time offer. You need to find some paper… Parchment… Anything like that. Write down your name and three things that you desire; and don’t worry about being judged, I’m not ‘righteous’ and ‘condescending’ enough like some other supernatural beings to do that. Done? Good. Now find a heat source, anything will do, and make sure you burn it away. The whole thing. Then wait until midnight and the contract has been sealed.
Oh? What you have to offer? I do hope you read the contract…
Possible kinks: What / You / Wrote / But Please See The Fine Print
Perhaps you’ve heard of me. Yes? No? Does the word succubus ring a bell? Don’t panic, as some of us have had centuries to refine first contact in order to seal the deal and make sure you sign the dotted line on that little contract of ours. The deal? Same as always, although it certainly doesn’t hurt to sweeten it up a little bit, right? You might have heard about how to summon me specifically, but if not, listen up, because this is a limited time offer. You need to find some paper… Parchment… Anything like that. Write down your name and three things that you desire; and don’t worry about being judged, I’m not ‘righteous’ and ‘condescending’ enough like some other supernatural beings to do that. Done? Good. Now find a heat source, anything will do, and make sure you burn it away. The whole thing. Then wait until midnight and the contract has been sealed.
Oh? What you have to offer? I do hope you read the contract…
Possible kinks: What / You / Wrote / But Please See The Fine Print
((¯`'•.¸Second Life¸.•'´¯))
“You can’t take it all back… But I can.”
They say life can flash before your eyes.
Then it did.
The details are often grim and hard to remember, but focusing on the pain means you don’t have to think about regret, a decision that boils down to whichever poison would better suit you in those last moments. As the memories go by, what would you focus on the most? What you’ve done and accomplished, the people you’ve met and the memories you’ve forged in the life you’ve lived; or the future that you considered and the dreams and aspirations that may never come to be, tossing aside the notions of yesterday for the prospect of tomorrow? Do you break down and struggle in vain, trying to take back the life you once had, or surrender yourself to the fate that has fallen upon you and consider the wonders that may wait for you in the life afterwards?
Hard stuff to think about. A person is often defined in those moments of reflection. Now that you know who you are and whether it is worth it, two last questions for you: first, if you had another chance, would you take it? Surprised? Most are. Considering the fact that few get a first chance to really live life, how lucky can you be to get a second shot at living life at the fullest? You’ve had some moments of self reflection to think about this and thankfully, there’s only one question left, but it is quite the doozey.
You can get a second chance, but the price is high. What are you willing to give for another chance to live your life?
Possible kinks: Transformation / Drugs – Addiction / Supernatural / Technically Qualifies As Necrophilia?
Then it did.
The details are often grim and hard to remember, but focusing on the pain means you don’t have to think about regret, a decision that boils down to whichever poison would better suit you in those last moments. As the memories go by, what would you focus on the most? What you’ve done and accomplished, the people you’ve met and the memories you’ve forged in the life you’ve lived; or the future that you considered and the dreams and aspirations that may never come to be, tossing aside the notions of yesterday for the prospect of tomorrow? Do you break down and struggle in vain, trying to take back the life you once had, or surrender yourself to the fate that has fallen upon you and consider the wonders that may wait for you in the life afterwards?
Hard stuff to think about. A person is often defined in those moments of reflection. Now that you know who you are and whether it is worth it, two last questions for you: first, if you had another chance, would you take it? Surprised? Most are. Considering the fact that few get a first chance to really live life, how lucky can you be to get a second shot at living life at the fullest? You’ve had some moments of self reflection to think about this and thankfully, there’s only one question left, but it is quite the doozey.
You can get a second chance, but the price is high. What are you willing to give for another chance to live your life?
Possible kinks: Transformation / Drugs – Addiction / Supernatural / Technically Qualifies As Necrophilia?
((¯`'•.¸Soul Survivor¸.•'´¯))
“Don't worry... I'll survive."
What makes you... well... you? Is it personality? Biology? Genes? Wavelengths? Ask one hundred people, you'll get one hundred variations... until recently, when it was discovered through trial, error and tragedy, that the soul was more than a concept often associated with religion and philosophy. I'm sure you've all heard of the 'Ship of Theseus' paradox, where if all the core components are changed, whether the object can be considered the same. Cells die or are replaced. Memories can change or be lost. Chemical imbalances can bring out the best, the worst, or even more frightening, a different side of us. It took a while for the public to catch on, leave it to the disturbingly wealthy to chase after eternal life, but someone figured out the secret to cheating death and surviving past your 'typical' human shelf life.
The controversy first started when rich clients wanted to experience youth again and runaways or street urchins 'mysteriously' started to disappear off the streets. The transition, as horrifying as it may seem, should have been expected; you're only as comfortable as the flesh you wear. Black markets and 'skin rings' as they were called were shut down, leading to more scandalous but less terrifying racketeers profiting in cybernetics and cutting edge technology. The initial prototypes were easy enough to spot when athletes, say retired from crippling injuries returned to the field and beat the competition easily. Or when supermodels made a second return despite being in their late years in a body that transcended all logic. Money talks though and can buy one an edge in life or, as absurd as it seems, even a second life.
Possible kinks: Androids / Scandals / Stardom / Hall Of Shame
The controversy first started when rich clients wanted to experience youth again and runaways or street urchins 'mysteriously' started to disappear off the streets. The transition, as horrifying as it may seem, should have been expected; you're only as comfortable as the flesh you wear. Black markets and 'skin rings' as they were called were shut down, leading to more scandalous but less terrifying racketeers profiting in cybernetics and cutting edge technology. The initial prototypes were easy enough to spot when athletes, say retired from crippling injuries returned to the field and beat the competition easily. Or when supermodels made a second return despite being in their late years in a body that transcended all logic. Money talks though and can buy one an edge in life or, as absurd as it seems, even a second life.
Possible kinks: Androids / Scandals / Stardom / Hall Of Shame
[†]Writing Samples[†]
Alice
‘Tell me, are you always so mad?’
Through a stained looking glass…
‘Only for you,’
---
Sunlight beamed downward lazily, casting elongated shadows about and bringing with a steady gale. The breeze was somewhat drier than usually, the scent of distant streams and sugar tickling her nostrils, leaving with the bitter aftermath of burning cinder and reluctance, cigarettes that weren’t completely stomped out or bottles of spirits left unattended late into the night. Stretching slightly from that summoning, her lithe body curved and stretched before curling upwards, palms grazing against that mushroom top before getting her bearings once more. Curved, wicked nails would dig against the brilliant red and spotted white, topaz orbs flickering downwards in fascination as she scraped away that top layer of luster and innocence, seeing the polish and glamour fade into dust and leaving an ugly aftermath in the wake of her digits. If one were to wander by and glance up in those grassy hollows, despite it being somewhere between dusk and dawn, they wouldn’t have been criticized for thinking the sky was an awkward dusk, the clouds a peculiar shade of sundown that was interrupted with the wide smile of Wonderland’s sole occupant.
Silver was anchored against leather, cuffed tightly against her neck in a loving fashion, about the only similarity since her last recollection. Engraved in childish scribbling was the name she had been given for all those long years, ‘Cheshire’ on one side and ‘Alice’ forged on the other. When that promise had initially been made, she hadn’t taken on such an… unusual form, intended on being little more than a companion that offered misguided information for a troubled young mind, amused in her owner’s frequent visitations from reality when daydreams happened to frolic with reality. Somewhere down the line though, things happened to change, her dearest friend growing up and Wonderland following suit, taking the alterations in stride and answering the call for whatever need came with. What started merely as amusement and association turned into exploration and grievances, deviation and escapism. Not that Cheshire would complain of course, that half moon promising good harvest as she glanced towards the looking glass in the distance, anticipating her owner would come once more to play, pink darting out and slowly grazing against brilliant rows of sharp white.
‘Oh Alice…’
She was a shoulder to cry on.
‘Why bother running…’
Plump thighs to ride on.
‘…when all roads lead back to me.’
A soft giggle followed as her mind happened to wander, insanity and impulsiveness seeming to be the only constant that kept up. Her ears perked up slightly, those feline appendages swept within waves of light purple, rather messy and unkempt and even moreso considering she was just summoned from a dormant sleep. Despite adoring sleeping in whatever meager sunlight Wonderland offered, her complexion veered towards a more pale shade, contrasting the deep yellow of her stare that always seemed to be occupied with some specific fancy or idea. A somewhat heavy jacket adorned her shoulders, the sleeves crossing the front of her chest and anchored against clasps towards her thighs, stained a deep purple with black accenting. Against her waist was more leather, matching the brand that nestled against her neck, lacking any markings and making way for a plaid skirt that alternated in checkered squares of light turquoise and dark grey. The smallest amount of skin was yielded as she crossed her legs, knee high black boots making up the rest of her current appearance as ambassador of Wonderland. The comparison to a straitjacket certainly wasn’t lost to Cheshire, contemplating if it was for her own benefit or for Alice’s.
Reaching into the inside pocket of her jacket, she fished out a trace of gold, palming a small trinket. Her thumb slowly traced the circumference before popping the button on the top, the chain rattling softly in time with her swishing tail as she watched the minutes pass by, tilting her slightly in amusement at both that passing souvenir from the White Rabbit and that her guest of honor happened to keep her waiting. All things considered, it was rather rude since she had prepared their Wonderland…
Alice’s Wonderland…
No… Her Wonderland, specifically for that lovely reunion. Gone were those extraneous voices, the fools and charlatans, that legion of insufferable references that thought they knew better. Wonderland wasn’t a haven for insight or knowledge, for epiphanies or camaraderie, responsibility, civility or morality; and with that were those puppets like Caterpillar and Hatter, March Hare and the lot of them. Coughing for a moment, she blinked back a few tears, placing a closed fist against her mouth and struggling with herself as her throat happened to disagree with those previous endeavors. Leaning towards the side, she reached in, containing her gag reflex as she withdrew a ball of cotton, inhaling afterwards with a slight pant before staring towards the red stained fur. Just as quickly as the notion came, it had passed, tossing those leftovers over her shoulder and likewise returning that watch to the confines of her person.
Cheshire’s ears perked up as she heard those familiar noises, leaning over the edge of that mushroom cap and looking downwards towards that state between waking and dreaming. Even though minutes had only passed, it seemed the night had promised close to that of a full moon, her heart racing as her ‘owner’ came back to that world she had forgotten. And it had been so long… So very long… Alice was always running from something, using Wonderland as a temporary Heaven of sorts between awful days and sleepless nights. Perhaps it was time to show her that it was worth staying around, tempering herself against her more primal nature of playing with her food. Cheshire’s eyes widened slightly as the glass broke into dust, seeing that familiar silhouette come into being. A soft purr followed as she pushed herself off from the edge, falling towards the ground, landing against those blades of grass and the scent of burnt sugar.
“Welcome home.”
Through a stained looking glass…
‘Only for you,’
---
Sunlight beamed downward lazily, casting elongated shadows about and bringing with a steady gale. The breeze was somewhat drier than usually, the scent of distant streams and sugar tickling her nostrils, leaving with the bitter aftermath of burning cinder and reluctance, cigarettes that weren’t completely stomped out or bottles of spirits left unattended late into the night. Stretching slightly from that summoning, her lithe body curved and stretched before curling upwards, palms grazing against that mushroom top before getting her bearings once more. Curved, wicked nails would dig against the brilliant red and spotted white, topaz orbs flickering downwards in fascination as she scraped away that top layer of luster and innocence, seeing the polish and glamour fade into dust and leaving an ugly aftermath in the wake of her digits. If one were to wander by and glance up in those grassy hollows, despite it being somewhere between dusk and dawn, they wouldn’t have been criticized for thinking the sky was an awkward dusk, the clouds a peculiar shade of sundown that was interrupted with the wide smile of Wonderland’s sole occupant.
Silver was anchored against leather, cuffed tightly against her neck in a loving fashion, about the only similarity since her last recollection. Engraved in childish scribbling was the name she had been given for all those long years, ‘Cheshire’ on one side and ‘Alice’ forged on the other. When that promise had initially been made, she hadn’t taken on such an… unusual form, intended on being little more than a companion that offered misguided information for a troubled young mind, amused in her owner’s frequent visitations from reality when daydreams happened to frolic with reality. Somewhere down the line though, things happened to change, her dearest friend growing up and Wonderland following suit, taking the alterations in stride and answering the call for whatever need came with. What started merely as amusement and association turned into exploration and grievances, deviation and escapism. Not that Cheshire would complain of course, that half moon promising good harvest as she glanced towards the looking glass in the distance, anticipating her owner would come once more to play, pink darting out and slowly grazing against brilliant rows of sharp white.
‘Oh Alice…’
She was a shoulder to cry on.
‘Why bother running…’
Plump thighs to ride on.
‘…when all roads lead back to me.’
A soft giggle followed as her mind happened to wander, insanity and impulsiveness seeming to be the only constant that kept up. Her ears perked up slightly, those feline appendages swept within waves of light purple, rather messy and unkempt and even moreso considering she was just summoned from a dormant sleep. Despite adoring sleeping in whatever meager sunlight Wonderland offered, her complexion veered towards a more pale shade, contrasting the deep yellow of her stare that always seemed to be occupied with some specific fancy or idea. A somewhat heavy jacket adorned her shoulders, the sleeves crossing the front of her chest and anchored against clasps towards her thighs, stained a deep purple with black accenting. Against her waist was more leather, matching the brand that nestled against her neck, lacking any markings and making way for a plaid skirt that alternated in checkered squares of light turquoise and dark grey. The smallest amount of skin was yielded as she crossed her legs, knee high black boots making up the rest of her current appearance as ambassador of Wonderland. The comparison to a straitjacket certainly wasn’t lost to Cheshire, contemplating if it was for her own benefit or for Alice’s.
Reaching into the inside pocket of her jacket, she fished out a trace of gold, palming a small trinket. Her thumb slowly traced the circumference before popping the button on the top, the chain rattling softly in time with her swishing tail as she watched the minutes pass by, tilting her slightly in amusement at both that passing souvenir from the White Rabbit and that her guest of honor happened to keep her waiting. All things considered, it was rather rude since she had prepared their Wonderland…
Alice’s Wonderland…
No… Her Wonderland, specifically for that lovely reunion. Gone were those extraneous voices, the fools and charlatans, that legion of insufferable references that thought they knew better. Wonderland wasn’t a haven for insight or knowledge, for epiphanies or camaraderie, responsibility, civility or morality; and with that were those puppets like Caterpillar and Hatter, March Hare and the lot of them. Coughing for a moment, she blinked back a few tears, placing a closed fist against her mouth and struggling with herself as her throat happened to disagree with those previous endeavors. Leaning towards the side, she reached in, containing her gag reflex as she withdrew a ball of cotton, inhaling afterwards with a slight pant before staring towards the red stained fur. Just as quickly as the notion came, it had passed, tossing those leftovers over her shoulder and likewise returning that watch to the confines of her person.
Cheshire’s ears perked up as she heard those familiar noises, leaning over the edge of that mushroom cap and looking downwards towards that state between waking and dreaming. Even though minutes had only passed, it seemed the night had promised close to that of a full moon, her heart racing as her ‘owner’ came back to that world she had forgotten. And it had been so long… So very long… Alice was always running from something, using Wonderland as a temporary Heaven of sorts between awful days and sleepless nights. Perhaps it was time to show her that it was worth staying around, tempering herself against her more primal nature of playing with her food. Cheshire’s eyes widened slightly as the glass broke into dust, seeing that familiar silhouette come into being. A soft purr followed as she pushed herself off from the edge, falling towards the ground, landing against those blades of grass and the scent of burnt sugar.
“Welcome home.”
Second Life
She went by many names. Scalper. Demon. Tyrant. Bitch. Words that her tongue didn't bother to replicate but her mind would fondly recall, guessing that it was a combination of endorphins and shock that drove a person that far into madness. Death was the ominous shadow that was always several steps away, the specter stuck in the back of one's mind but something one rarely had to contend and confront. If anything, it validated her own perception as a just creator, giving even the most useless and worthless of urchins an audience of one, a moment for themselves. People believed that you were most exposed when left alone in the darkness, isolated from judging minds and the opinions of others. Time and trial again suggested otherwise, that after being submerged in such dire circumstances, those ugly, true identities came out in the light.
Dead people hold no more secrets, a problem that she was more than willing to fix.
Moriganna Morris clicked her tongue softly, her expression a mixture of pity and revulsion for the creature that was battered and brought forth before her. There was something to be said about the brutality that her partners seemed to favor, wondering whether it was simple procedure or more of a personal past time that each of her debts happened to arrive in a condition of such disrepair. An outsider observer may have mistook her thoughts as a sort of empathy, but if her goods couldn't be salvaged and fell too far into disrepair... There was always an open market for bodies, but it didn't do nearly as well as the forums that were looking for souls.
Then again, she could afford the occasional missed opportunity, letting her sharks run wild if it meant that once in a while the net caught little more than a bundle of bruises and dried blood. Her eyes trailed up and down a person that had traveled beyond the grave and back from the cradle, affectionately accustom to the aroma of viscera heavily diluted with a blended cocktail of isopropyl and chemical agents. While some may have considered the process revolting, if not a crime of heresy, she considered it a miracle of sorts that couldn't be replicated. And if she was capable of that, her word must be law and her throne couldn't be challenged, founded on faith and decorated with wealth.
So deep was her own madness that her own identity could only be traced off that legacy of fortune and the reputation that preceded it, her namesake stretching farther than the horizon and garnering different perspectives depending on who was peddling her wares... or persecuting her campaign. In the end, the only mantra that mattered was her own, a simple phrase that could silence the screams and quell the inquisitions:
'I sell dreams.'
A question drifted into the air, interrupting her own train of thought, bringing about another delightful smirk. It seemed that death wasn't enough of an educational tool for some, shaking her head slightly at that notion. She wouldn't be in the position she had attained today if she required an additional signature after that initial down payment. Interrupting her own internal monologue, she raised an eyebrow slowly, brandishing an expression that seemed too jovial about withholding just the right information in such situations.
"That's the problem with people like you... Or should I say your family," she said, her tone changing just slightly to reflect the fact that her newest arrival was not here of her own volition or fault. But still, she had required some sort of collateral and it happened to be the wrong place, wrong time... "Dreams are an expensive trade. You have to read the fine print," she continued, rambling onward, tapping her chin softly as if reviewing in her mind the various clauses and agreements that few happened to notice.
"In other words, there's no reason for property to sign an agreement," she bluntly summarized, stating that the paperwork was not a revision to the previous terms, but instead her current balance and what was to be expected in the future. She expected little more out of this conversation, finding that usually her company either fell into despair and proved to be useless for the night or finding another nickname to add to her ever growing list. Dainty fingers would move to adjust her neck tie, clearing her throat softly as she let her captive learn about her fate. It was a matter of picking amongst bad choices, often times ranging from conscription to experimentation, if not sometimes abusing her new found toys for business or pleasure. And if they refused? Of course, such an option was available, but it was a rather awful fate.
"The first time is rather awful," she added, commenting on the revival process that they had eventually perfected, suggesting that she had herself experienced it firsthand. Expounding further on the only option that offered 'freedom', she continued her story without bothering to see how her company was taking the news. "Mmmm... It doesn't get any easier each successive time. They speculate that the body takes longer to resuscitate and revive. And those friends of mine..." she added, taking note of those on her roster that tracked down her bounties, finding that a little more PTSD never hurt anyone. "...they try to be gentle the first time."
Figures... You bring someone back from the brink of death and they can't be bothered for a simple shred of gratitude.
Dead people hold no more secrets, a problem that she was more than willing to fix.
Moriganna Morris clicked her tongue softly, her expression a mixture of pity and revulsion for the creature that was battered and brought forth before her. There was something to be said about the brutality that her partners seemed to favor, wondering whether it was simple procedure or more of a personal past time that each of her debts happened to arrive in a condition of such disrepair. An outsider observer may have mistook her thoughts as a sort of empathy, but if her goods couldn't be salvaged and fell too far into disrepair... There was always an open market for bodies, but it didn't do nearly as well as the forums that were looking for souls.
Then again, she could afford the occasional missed opportunity, letting her sharks run wild if it meant that once in a while the net caught little more than a bundle of bruises and dried blood. Her eyes trailed up and down a person that had traveled beyond the grave and back from the cradle, affectionately accustom to the aroma of viscera heavily diluted with a blended cocktail of isopropyl and chemical agents. While some may have considered the process revolting, if not a crime of heresy, she considered it a miracle of sorts that couldn't be replicated. And if she was capable of that, her word must be law and her throne couldn't be challenged, founded on faith and decorated with wealth.
So deep was her own madness that her own identity could only be traced off that legacy of fortune and the reputation that preceded it, her namesake stretching farther than the horizon and garnering different perspectives depending on who was peddling her wares... or persecuting her campaign. In the end, the only mantra that mattered was her own, a simple phrase that could silence the screams and quell the inquisitions:
'I sell dreams.'
A question drifted into the air, interrupting her own train of thought, bringing about another delightful smirk. It seemed that death wasn't enough of an educational tool for some, shaking her head slightly at that notion. She wouldn't be in the position she had attained today if she required an additional signature after that initial down payment. Interrupting her own internal monologue, she raised an eyebrow slowly, brandishing an expression that seemed too jovial about withholding just the right information in such situations.
"That's the problem with people like you... Or should I say your family," she said, her tone changing just slightly to reflect the fact that her newest arrival was not here of her own volition or fault. But still, she had required some sort of collateral and it happened to be the wrong place, wrong time... "Dreams are an expensive trade. You have to read the fine print," she continued, rambling onward, tapping her chin softly as if reviewing in her mind the various clauses and agreements that few happened to notice.
"In other words, there's no reason for property to sign an agreement," she bluntly summarized, stating that the paperwork was not a revision to the previous terms, but instead her current balance and what was to be expected in the future. She expected little more out of this conversation, finding that usually her company either fell into despair and proved to be useless for the night or finding another nickname to add to her ever growing list. Dainty fingers would move to adjust her neck tie, clearing her throat softly as she let her captive learn about her fate. It was a matter of picking amongst bad choices, often times ranging from conscription to experimentation, if not sometimes abusing her new found toys for business or pleasure. And if they refused? Of course, such an option was available, but it was a rather awful fate.
"The first time is rather awful," she added, commenting on the revival process that they had eventually perfected, suggesting that she had herself experienced it firsthand. Expounding further on the only option that offered 'freedom', she continued her story without bothering to see how her company was taking the news. "Mmmm... It doesn't get any easier each successive time. They speculate that the body takes longer to resuscitate and revive. And those friends of mine..." she added, taking note of those on her roster that tracked down her bounties, finding that a little more PTSD never hurt anyone. "...they try to be gentle the first time."
Figures... You bring someone back from the brink of death and they can't be bothered for a simple shred of gratitude.
Ultimatum
Everyone had a price.
If there was one tidbit of advice, one simple lesson he had inherited from his folks, that was the sage secret he was willing to take to the grave. Sitting in the back of the classroom, Lee Maesters slouched in his chair as usual, preferring a regiment of evening classes in order to adhere to a lifestyle of nighttime benders followed with morning repentance, usually in the form of a chaser and some attempt at breakfast. Fingers would tap against the wooden desktop, scoffing slightly at the somewhat eroded material; then again, he was in the commons area that was funded through the general university and taxes. What else was there to expect from a populace that knew nothing more than struggle?
Numbers.
When it came down to it, everything could be reduced down to little more than numbers and nothing else. The disgusting commonality that his family happened to take advantage of was that often, a dollar sign preceded whatever figure was being negotiated. Dark brown eyes gazed ahead at the rows of students that were going through the daily routine, holding back a chuckle at those that bothered to be engaged in whatever the headmaster was bickering about. Then there were the daydreamers middling about, lost in a haze and thinking about what could be instead of what was. There were the jocks whose precious moments were fleeting, the harlots of which the sight was more familiar compared to their more prudish sisters...
And while he knew they had names and faces, it mattered not in the end. Whether it was circumstance or reputation, desperation or indulgence, often they happened to be on the other end of the bargaining table and he associated their identities not with whom they were, but what they were worth and what they could be bought with. A slight sigh followed as he recalled the small empire he build within that academia, not bothering to keep the noise at an appropriate level, interrupting the instructor's tedium for the day but at no real consequence. They were on the payroll as well and he was protected, his family endorsing and one of the current sponsors; were it not for silly things like tradition and the community outrage that would have followed, they could have named the institution after his pedigree.
And then there was the matter of her.
J... Ja... It was on the tip of his tongue, not so much bothering him because he failed to remember as much as a secondary priority. The grapevine was real, gossip as viral and disruptive as ever. Did you hear what someone said? And like a terrible game of telephone it happened to embellish and exaggerate, often into some terrible rumor that could otherwise ruin one's stay. As a senior, he was on his way out, having little to lose, but a small exchange in the hallway happened to bring about an amusing revelation.
Jamie.
That was it. Probably.
She was a fun little investment, a nice rebound when he happened to need some attention and lacked the effort needed. And although he Lee was a remarkable student, the motivation was simply absent, attached to other indulgences that would have gotten the senior blacklisted were it not for the prestige associated with his last name. There was something fascinating about her that compelled him to keep her around, a combination of fragile innocence he found was slowly being tarnished and an honesty that was otherwise extinct on the campus. Sure, he had friends and associates he could discuss matters with, girls he could get a nice lay with, but they were vultures and traitors willing to throw each other under the bus in order to get another piece of scrap.
And her?
She was a jewel indeed.; unremarkable in practically every definition, but a keeper because of how much she was willing to tolerate. Like all investments however, there was risk and reward to be assessed and if his little whistle blowers happened to be telling the truth... well, he wasn't against dumping what was otherwise a good ride and starting over anew. While everyone was busy considering the future, he was interested in the here and now, scribbling a few things down on some paper as the teacher ended lecture and dismissed them. A small chuckle followed as he put his plan into place, checking his phone for the time, deciding to make a small detour or two before deciding whether she was willing to truly part ways.
Time. Attention. What was another hundred dollars worth considering that a whole year had passed? Placing an order on his phone, he requested a local vendor deliver a ring to his dorm, returning as well and taking his time to adopt a visage that would be more appropriate for what would follow. He figured she'd appreciate seeing him like he was the first time they met, black hair slicked back with just enough gel. A nice button up shirt followed, the fabric a light blue, contrasting with a dark pair of slacks. Gold cuffs adorned his wrists and lastly, he put on a light layer of body spray, emulating that first encounter to a key.
With parcel in hand, he took his time in walking over to her dorm, letting her think about exactly what she had done and giving him some additional time to plan. Methodical. Borderline sociopathic. But those traits allowed him to excel and, for the most part, remain unchallenged by his peers. Then again, being backed by a small fortune didn't hurt, but he doubted things would have gone drastically different were the fates less kind. Reaching her door, time be damned, he gave a knock against the hard surface, the corner of his mouth rising just slightly. If he remembered right, she always looked nice when he came by. Hovering just a few inches above the peephole, standing at 5'9, he often ended up looking down on her... but then again, it wasn't too hard to, all things considered.
Another knock followed, the noise somewhat impatient despite being fashionably late, eyes exuding a jaded bit of anticipation for what was to follow. He could feel the ring sitting just in his shirt pocket, amused at just how much a paltry $100 or a broken promise could stretch.
It certainly wasn't death knocking, but he was intent on collecting either way.
If there was one tidbit of advice, one simple lesson he had inherited from his folks, that was the sage secret he was willing to take to the grave. Sitting in the back of the classroom, Lee Maesters slouched in his chair as usual, preferring a regiment of evening classes in order to adhere to a lifestyle of nighttime benders followed with morning repentance, usually in the form of a chaser and some attempt at breakfast. Fingers would tap against the wooden desktop, scoffing slightly at the somewhat eroded material; then again, he was in the commons area that was funded through the general university and taxes. What else was there to expect from a populace that knew nothing more than struggle?
Numbers.
When it came down to it, everything could be reduced down to little more than numbers and nothing else. The disgusting commonality that his family happened to take advantage of was that often, a dollar sign preceded whatever figure was being negotiated. Dark brown eyes gazed ahead at the rows of students that were going through the daily routine, holding back a chuckle at those that bothered to be engaged in whatever the headmaster was bickering about. Then there were the daydreamers middling about, lost in a haze and thinking about what could be instead of what was. There were the jocks whose precious moments were fleeting, the harlots of which the sight was more familiar compared to their more prudish sisters...
And while he knew they had names and faces, it mattered not in the end. Whether it was circumstance or reputation, desperation or indulgence, often they happened to be on the other end of the bargaining table and he associated their identities not with whom they were, but what they were worth and what they could be bought with. A slight sigh followed as he recalled the small empire he build within that academia, not bothering to keep the noise at an appropriate level, interrupting the instructor's tedium for the day but at no real consequence. They were on the payroll as well and he was protected, his family endorsing and one of the current sponsors; were it not for silly things like tradition and the community outrage that would have followed, they could have named the institution after his pedigree.
And then there was the matter of her.
J... Ja... It was on the tip of his tongue, not so much bothering him because he failed to remember as much as a secondary priority. The grapevine was real, gossip as viral and disruptive as ever. Did you hear what someone said? And like a terrible game of telephone it happened to embellish and exaggerate, often into some terrible rumor that could otherwise ruin one's stay. As a senior, he was on his way out, having little to lose, but a small exchange in the hallway happened to bring about an amusing revelation.
Jamie.
That was it. Probably.
She was a fun little investment, a nice rebound when he happened to need some attention and lacked the effort needed. And although he Lee was a remarkable student, the motivation was simply absent, attached to other indulgences that would have gotten the senior blacklisted were it not for the prestige associated with his last name. There was something fascinating about her that compelled him to keep her around, a combination of fragile innocence he found was slowly being tarnished and an honesty that was otherwise extinct on the campus. Sure, he had friends and associates he could discuss matters with, girls he could get a nice lay with, but they were vultures and traitors willing to throw each other under the bus in order to get another piece of scrap.
And her?
She was a jewel indeed.; unremarkable in practically every definition, but a keeper because of how much she was willing to tolerate. Like all investments however, there was risk and reward to be assessed and if his little whistle blowers happened to be telling the truth... well, he wasn't against dumping what was otherwise a good ride and starting over anew. While everyone was busy considering the future, he was interested in the here and now, scribbling a few things down on some paper as the teacher ended lecture and dismissed them. A small chuckle followed as he put his plan into place, checking his phone for the time, deciding to make a small detour or two before deciding whether she was willing to truly part ways.
Time. Attention. What was another hundred dollars worth considering that a whole year had passed? Placing an order on his phone, he requested a local vendor deliver a ring to his dorm, returning as well and taking his time to adopt a visage that would be more appropriate for what would follow. He figured she'd appreciate seeing him like he was the first time they met, black hair slicked back with just enough gel. A nice button up shirt followed, the fabric a light blue, contrasting with a dark pair of slacks. Gold cuffs adorned his wrists and lastly, he put on a light layer of body spray, emulating that first encounter to a key.
With parcel in hand, he took his time in walking over to her dorm, letting her think about exactly what she had done and giving him some additional time to plan. Methodical. Borderline sociopathic. But those traits allowed him to excel and, for the most part, remain unchallenged by his peers. Then again, being backed by a small fortune didn't hurt, but he doubted things would have gone drastically different were the fates less kind. Reaching her door, time be damned, he gave a knock against the hard surface, the corner of his mouth rising just slightly. If he remembered right, she always looked nice when he came by. Hovering just a few inches above the peephole, standing at 5'9, he often ended up looking down on her... but then again, it wasn't too hard to, all things considered.
Another knock followed, the noise somewhat impatient despite being fashionably late, eyes exuding a jaded bit of anticipation for what was to follow. He could feel the ring sitting just in his shirt pocket, amused at just how much a paltry $100 or a broken promise could stretch.
It certainly wasn't death knocking, but he was intent on collecting either way.
[†]Other Threads[†]
-Any other plots?
Looking for manlier plots?
Please feel free to look at my other topic http://bluemoonroleplaying.com/forums/showthread.php?tid=63218 which covers additional scenarios.
Looking for something more bite sized?
Please try out my microbrews, smaller scale role plays that are more smut focused. Comes in blends of 'uncategorized' http://bluemoonroleplaying.com/forums/showthread.php?tid=67166 and 'male' http://bluemoonroleplaying.com/forums/showthread.php?tid=67165.
-Anything else I should know?
That sums it all up, potential role playing partner! Thank you for stopping by and I hope to hear from you in the future. However, even if you didn’t find this to be your cup of tea, I certainly thank you for your time.
