|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Tue May 31, 2011 6:00 am
 : biggrin IRECTORY::
. cert + directory .
. description . personality . details .
. acquaintances . rp logs .
. album . treasures . poetry . recipes .
. her story . extra notes . Thank you for dropping by! RP is always open -
while I can type long passages when appropriate, my style
tends towards fast, concise tags that keep the RP moving;
I usually reply in 1-2 days or less, & would love to RP with you!
Feel free to contact me through PM about anything, anytime! ♥
Half of a Textual Whole with :: the belligerent crow † Vlad
Original Quest Thread @… Book Child Application {Estra}
[ If you'd rather not PM, you could leave comments at her Quest Thread instead. c: ]
. Updates .
9th August 2011 :: All sections up now! Check out Poetry and Recipes... XD;;
31st May 2011 :: Journal created! Estra is eagerly awaiting the meta festival…
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue May 31, 2011 6:01 am
 :: BASIC DESCRIPTION ::
Name: Estra
Nickname(s): Dove (when Vlad is being casual), Pigeon (when Vlad is being brusque), Birdbrain (when Vlad is being mean - but he's a bird too! ;A; )
Age (Appearance Wise): 19
Age (Actual): A few months past the year.
Physical Appearance: Quite, quite beautiful, with an elegant grace about her drifting motions - but the look on her face is never quite all there. Her eyes are usually half-lidded in dreamy contemplation, her default expression a distant non-smile, but it is only from her constant distraction - she will smile readily for you if you approach. Her other oft-visited expression is a forbearing one of hurt reproach, for whenever Vlad is mean to her, which is often. Perhaps her most prominent feature is her sweeping hair, an immaculate fall well past her feet - though she washes and grooms it most assiduously once back in the clock tower, it can be horrible to see how she entirely forgets about it when distracted in the streets, letting it drag across the cobblestones willy-nilly. Very, very occasionally, when Vlad has grown tired of that horror, he deigns to braid her hair up in a fashion that ends just shy of the floor.
Half of a Textual Whole with :: Vlad
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue May 31, 2011 6:02 am
:: PERSONALITY ::
Not all there...
Estra's defining trait: she seems to have a simple mind, intensely naive and extremely gullible - but to say she is merely stupid might be amiss. Every now and then, she has unexpected flashes of insight - even as Vlad gapes incredulously at her, she is completely unaware she has said anything out of the ordinary - and at rare times she can be purely, unadulteratedly (unlike what she does to the poor tomes she 'memorises') poetic. She might have been an idiot savant, but there doesn't appear to be a single thing she is particularly savante about. Perhaps it may be best described as if the better part of her mind is locked away and she contentedly gets by on what is left over.
Absent-minded
Absent-minded might well be an understatement: she could be out on an errand, she could be having a conversation, she could be having dinner, or brushing her hair - in the middle of any of these actions, she could, and often would, simply forget what she was meant to be doing, and leave off to do something else altogether (or simply stare into space). And if you casually asked her what she had been doing, she probably wouldn't be able to tell you. Easily distracted and certainly forgetful in the quotidian sense - but strangely, when very intently guided, she can remember an astonishing amount, a far way back: details of her actions, the actions of others, what is told to her, and even unblemished the poetry she otherwise muddles up, all would be at your disposal if you knew what to ask specifically for (and if you could put up with all the false starts and detours, patiently restating your query until the gears click - something that Vlad never could), rather like an (incredibly faulty) information retrieval machine. Very rarely can she access these memories on her own, and usually she forgets again as soon as she has said it.
Repetitive
She does not tire of routine, unlike Vlad who seeks constant stimulation: she is perfectly willing to read the same book or watch the same dance a million times over - perhaps because she is so forgetful, each time is a little bit like the first time all over again. Her tendency for repetition appears most in her speech - she is prone to repeating her own words, and when reading or reciting, often stops at bits she finds pretty and repeats them over and over. Her movements reflect this as well - she rarely makes a gesture only once: if she nods, for example, she will bob her head up and down at least three times.
Overly-emotional
As Vlad well knows, Estra's emotions are all too easily manipulable. The slightest glimpse of something delightful can bloom joy in her chest till she is giddy with it, loosing a high, rippling laugh. The slightest hint of sadness can plunge her into tears - though she does try so very hard not to cry, it annoys Vlad so. And since she believes anything anyone tells her, these glimpses and hints are all too frequently perceived. Thanks also to this, she is so easily, easily, vexed, cooing distressedly, struggling to understand others' unkindnesses - she has very little comprehension of why people do ill and dwells dejectedly on these perplexities. To balance out the woe, she thrives on little moments of happiness that are thankfully also easily obtainable for her overly-emotional self.
No Survival Instinct!
Dangerous! Estra has very little initiative, and is quite frankly useless when it comes to taking care of herself. She relies entirely on Vlad for her day-to-day and, well, anything at all really - and Vlad isn't always the most devoted of caretakers. Thankfully, her constitution is quite hardy, and she can survive decently under most conditions. She is also stupidly fearless of - or rather, has no concept of - predators: people with ill intentions, terrifying creatures (if she remembered more of her brief time in the Forest, she would remember the Guardians as the best part of it), these are alien ideas to her, and if Vlad weren't already the center of her universe, she would happily follow anyone who asked home, however unsavoury they obviously looked to a more discerning bystander.
Protective
While she is useless at taking care of herself, she is very dutiful with things in her care. The thought that ill would befall her charge - no thanks to Vlad's cautions of possible gore and mutilation - if she forgets the necessary routines seems enough to fix those duties into her otherwise forgetful mind, whether it be watering a potted plant or feeding a visiting child. Her protective streak extends to emergency situations: though easily frightened by loud noises and sudden movements, if an unfortunate subject is imperiled she will swoop in on pure instinct - in other words, she's a bit of a broody hen. Of all her many foibles, Vlad hates this trait of hers the most - ostensibly because it makes her extra troublesome and he ends up having to sort out or take extra care of the associated trouble, but secretly it's because he hates the irrational thought that the reason why she sticks with him may be that she somehow views him as an overgrown child to be broody over.
Reproachful
Estra never gets angry - she probably doesn't even know the meaning of the word. If she perceives some slight or wound against her - most often from Vlad, of whom she has very real cause to perceive thus - she will merely retreat into a corner, cooing disconsolately and looking over at the perpetrator every few seconds with the most reproachful gaze that means to convey: why would you do this to me? how could you do this to me? If she is left alone she will eventually forget the cause of her distress, but cling on to the feeling confusedly - until she either falls asleep, or is distracted into forgetting that she was unhappy in the first place (which is not difficult). Little harms (e.g. a lie that she comes to recognise as one, pulling her hair enough to hurt), she would forget very quickly, and treat the perpetrator as if nothing had happened. If the perpetrator constantly performs ill deeds towards her though, she would eventually associate him with the act. For people such as these and people who visit bigger ills upon her (e.g. snatch-and-run theft of her shopping, knocking her down very painfully), she will remember their deeds with varying extents of clarity, and be uneasy around them, afraid of a reprisal. But she believes the best of people (where Vlad believes the worst, to continue their dichotomy), and is very guillible, and if the perpetrator explains (however truthfully or otherwise) his past behaviour, she will brighten, forgive, and quickly forget. Unless the perpetrator again perpetrates, where the cycle begins anew. If a significant harm is done to her though (e.g. really beating her up), like her impressions of the forest her head will quickly forget the act, and her heart never will. In the perpetrator's presence, she will experience a rising panic, and will have to excuse herself, though never consciously remember that he had done ill towards her, and what it was he did. It is unlikely that she will ever reconcile with him, unless they go all out and beg for forgiveness or something as extravagant, where she will still fail to remember the deed, but will likely overwrite her association of dread with him with a more favourable sentiment from that act - for she is easily moved.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue May 31, 2011 6:03 am
:: FURTHER DETAILS ::
History:
All she remembers of her time in the forest is that Vlad was always already there. History for her properly began as she timidly followed his footsteps - the crow irritable but unceasingly alert for she knew not what - into the vast spires of the city proper. She knew not what at the time but he was following the sound of gears, the click-click of constant gears in endless turning, so that he could lead the two of them, darting but sure, through the levels of books and stone and finally up into the highest clocktower in Eyncastor. She saw little of the city sights on that first journey, her eyes set only on Vlad, that dark blond mop shining in the flickering gas lamp lights, the dark suit, snapping back and forth as he charted their course. But the clock tower she saw, as Vlad flung out his arm to gesture around the empty space around its innards, not looking at her, but managing to convey even through his annoyance that this would be home, yes, for both of them. Then the clock tower she saw, and she liked it, it was a good place for birds to roost. They looked out the largest window, and as the weak sun set they grew tired, so like birds they roosted, heads tucked under their arms to keep the clock bell quiet through the night.
There they have lived since, growing more and more accustomed to this place they now called home as the City People gradually filled in to their senses and the streets became alive. She now revels in the city she hardly saw the day they first came, whether tasting wares in the stalls of Cheppinhew, or eagerly clapping her hands at a performance in Eyncastor - and always, always when picking a volume to read off the shelves that line the walls.
Thoughts on the Forest: Now that she is no longer so close to it, she is half-fascinated and half-frightened by the Paper Forest that she glimpses daily from the clock tower where she and Vlad reside. Half-frightened because it is - oh, so dark, but half-fascinated because the glow of the empty branches can be, well, so lovely. But she cannot gaze upon it too long, or a steady panic will build within her chest till she has to look away for it to subside. For her head has forgotten just how dark it was, and how cold, that her breath caught and her small feet skittered helpless on patches of frost, that she was so afraid, that if not for Vlad's impatient prodding, and the Forest Guardians' gentle nudging, she might have simply curled up on the icy floor, frozen, withered, and died - but the heart has not forgotten.
Thoughts of Book Children: At first, in her world, there was only her and Vlad. When they finally encountered more, Book Children and City People alike, she had very little idea of how the two differed, except one has colour and the other not. It was only when she found that each Book Children had a story, a specific one story, of their own, just like her, that she reveled in the small hint of kinship, urging each she meets to recite their tale, through which she will nod contentedly - it is unlikely that she will be able to repeat much of what she has heard once it is over unless cleverly questioned (see Personality Traits: Absent-minded), but she will usually retain some muddled few words in summary by which she remembers the relevant Child. Those who look younger than her she is keen to fuss over, those who look older she is happy to admire.
Thoughts on City People: She is naturally predisposed towards these strange people who are coloured, or uncoloured, like Vlad's habitual black-and-white vestments (though Vlad's are more properly black and shades of grey), but it is when they speak that she likes them most - the words that form amaze her, and she delights in reading them off as if they were the printed text in her favourite poetry books. When she is lucky enough to encounter a City Person with a beautiful font who is exceedingly kind, it is one of her greatest joys to reverently present a favourite tome and read off their reading of it. Beware, City People, she would unwittingly hold you hostage like this forever if you're too nice to break off - or if Vlad doesn't come by to see what in the world has happened to her and allow you to make your escape while he delivers a sharp dressing-down about wasting time.
Hobbies:
Reading and reciting poetry - badly, since she only remembers it in snatches, sometimes jumbled up, and will often stop on a phrase she enjoys and dreamily repeat it over and over. Lately she has even taken to trying to write a little of her own, but also badly, especially since she usually gets distracted midway and leaves broken bits behind her. Very very rarely, she actually manages to finish a pretty, pithy line or two. Very rarely.
Singing - sort of. Actually, you probably don't want to hear her sing - she is most motivated to when festivities are going on and everyone is in good cheer, and it's a good thing everyone is in good cheer too, since her voice gets high and reedy when she's all excited. Yikes. It's a pity, since when she's not all fired up, such as when puttering around cleaning up the clock tower, her voice is actually warm and pleasantly modulated, much like her cooing. Perhaps she could get much better at this with some help…?
Cooking and Baking - oh no. This is the one Vlad fears the most - to leave someone who's entirely too prone to wander off in the middle of anything alone with an open stove and oven?! Madness. But this is one of the rare thoughts she just can't get out of her head, so she tries her best to stay focused over the flame. When they'd first arrived in the city, she'd given very little thought to food - food was whatever Vlad procured, and as she ate like, well, a bird, it mattered little what Vlad procured - but as they grew used to life in Eyncastor, the discovery of pretty little sweetmeats and delicacies astonished and delighted her, and she came to want to try making these herself. Heaven knows how Vlad managed to procure their little stove and oven, but how he regrets it - especially since Estra is prone to spending too much thought on how to make her creations pretty, rather than how to make them taste good… There is currently much despair at dinnertime for these two, but with the help of various cookbooks she seems to be slowly getting somewhere in her efforts.
Birthday: 25th February (Obtainment date!)
Favorite Things: Vlad, Poetry collections, City People with beautiful fonts, Little toys and trinkets - particularly the little automatons Vlad tries to pretend are not his handiwork, Pretty food, Pretty things generally - she's not very picky about what, Scenes of revelry such as performances in the street - where people are gathered in high spirits
Hated Things: Vlad being angry or upset, mean people, food that looks good but tastes bad (like a lot of her own cooking…), sudden loud noises!
Story: The Dove and the Crow (see below)
Favorite type of Ending: Believe it or not, eloquently written sad endings. Because they are so sad, so sad, but oh so pretty - the prettiest. ;A;
Favorite Illustration: Man and Woman Contemplating the Moon, ca. 1824 by Caspar David Friedrich. Because there is something so familiar about the scene, like she's somehow been there before...
Dreams: Someday, she will actually be able to do something right, and then she may finally be useful to Vlad. c:
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue May 31, 2011 6:04 am
:: ACQUAINTANCES ::
Inseperable from the other half of her story, the antagonistic crow. While he causes her the greatest distress, he also brings her the greatest joys. She would love for nothing more than to finally see him happy ( is that even possible? ;A; ).
The dancing goldfish! Estra adores her; best friends forever! : D
The pleasant cat? Let Estra pat his tail - so nice!
…to be continued…
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue May 31, 2011 6:05 am
:: ACTIVITIES ::
. Ongoing RPs .
[ none right now ]
. Completed RPs .
:: Saturday Night-s Alright for Fighting [ with Vlad ] - 1 growth point
:: [META-ORP] The Night of Stories [ with various feat. Talulah & Naoya ] - 1 growth token + 4 growth points
Total Points Accumulated :: [ 4/5 for 1 token ]
Total Tokens Accumulated :: [ 0 / 5 ]
Previously Used :: [ 1 token + 1 point for growth to full-version ]
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue May 31, 2011 6:06 am
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue May 31, 2011 6:07 am
:: TREASURES ::...the ugliest gear in the world...Vlad brought this back for me the first time he got a job! c:
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue May 31, 2011 6:08 am
:: POETRY ::
This is Just to Say
I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox
and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast
Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold
~ William Carlos William (1962)
It doesn't rhyme, but it sounds really nice and is pretty!
It makes me feel like eating plums - and now also strawberries.
I was thinking about this poem when I was waiting with Tali to buy strawberry ice. c:
I think it was very suitable, because strawberry ice is also delicious, so sweet and so cold.
I wish I could
have drunk
the strawberry
ice but
maybe
next time
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue May 31, 2011 6:09 am
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue May 31, 2011 6:10 am
:: THE STORY ::
The Dove and the Crow
Waiting for a Plot
by
Anonymous.
Black and White ripple, apart, in an undulating spectrum of grey. White quivers and begins to paint fingers, streaks of bright across the discreet palette. Black rears and swallows her efforts in moody pitch.
Night and Day glimmer, apart, in an unending vista of dusk. Day shimmers and begins to shine, spreading sparkling slivers of dawn. Night drifts and blankets her light in heavy darkness.
Delusion and Despair shudder, apart, in the undying echoes of destiny. Delusion thrills and begins to sing, a reedy, absent song. Despair turns and silences her with an ancient, terrible sigh.
*
A crow and a dove rustle, apart, in the tangled boughs of a grey, barren tree. The dove flutters and begins to coo, throaty, purring tones that pulse warmly in her breast. The crow flaps, irritably - once, twice - then cuts her off mid-note with a harsh call: "I say, is it coming?"
The dove blinks - once, twice - she slowly tilts her head to a side, and says, "what is?"
The crow snaps shut his beak in a moment of annoyance, then opens it to say, "we've been through this before. Just yesterday!"
The dove coos and hums, hums and coos, until she finally decides, "we did not. That I recall."
The crow clicks his claws as he hops on the branch impatiently. "Yes we did. That I recall. I asked today, yesterday and the day before."
"The day before?" says the dove. She tilts her head again, in the other direction, "there wasn't a day that was before."
"There certainly was a day before! And a day before, before!" says the crow, irately cawing at her. "Now stop your foolishness and tell me -" he eyes her contemptuously,"- do you see it coming?"
"Yes." She says.
The road remains empty. Her empty reply incenses him - he swells in anger, puffing out his sleek feathers. "Did you think," he says, "your daft, meaningless 'yes' would relieve you from me?! I would know now if it weren't, wouldn't I?" His gaze is even more accusatory than before, and he rises from his perch. "Once more," he says, voice sharp, "do you see it coming?"
"No." She says.
A guttural sound rises from his throat as he wings up to her, looking large and dangerous, fury burning in his dark eyes. But it fades - where was the point? - and he swoops, just to land back onto his own branch with a disgruntled huff. When he speaks again, his tone is pleasant, a devious sliver sneaking through his words, "It will be wondrous when it comes."
"It will?" says the dove, brightening, ruffling up her feathers and staring at him earnestly.
"Oh, yes," says the crow. "When it comes we can finally leave and see everything - everything else other than you, and me, and this confounded tree. A forest, a flower, anything, but this."
"It would," she says, thoughtfully, "be nice to look upon a field, or a stream, again."
"To splash in a pond," he says, airily, "to shake off the water, and clean ourselves most thoroughly."
"My feathers," she says, nodding solemnly, "are not as white as they could be.
"You can have as many baths as you'd like," he says, dismissive now, turning the talk to other matters, "there are many other wonderful things to do, like feeding upon grains, or berries, or seeds."
"It has," she says, eyes glazed with a distant dream, "been a while since I've tasted a sunflower seed."
"So it has." He cranes his neck - and draws back with a startled hop, saying, "oh! I see it - it is coming, down the road!"
"It is?" she says, eyes wide, "will we get to leave, and see a green grass field?"
"Yes, there," he says, gravely. "It is coming, it surely is."
"It is? It is?" she says, wings aflutter, "will I again have my feathers clean and white, like they used to be?"
"Yes, see! See!" he insists most urgently. "There it is, it's almost here!"
"It is! It is!" she hovers and bobs, bobs and hovers, "and I will get to taste the sweetness of a sunflower seed once more!"
"Oh, no," he suddenly says, in a nefariously cheerful manner, "I'm afraid it isn't - I'm afraid you won't."
"But it is here," says the dove, a little piteous, not understanding, "it is here, you said so."
"You are too easily fooled," says the crow.
"Oh!" she cries, "that is unkind."
She shivers and sighs, shrinking into her dusty feathers, sighs and shivers, as he cackles and calls, shaking the tree most violently.
*
For a while, there is nothing, only the occasional rustle of a feather, or the brief spread of a wing. Then the dove rises, taking a step - once, twice - from side-to-side.
"I have been thinking," she says.
"That doesn't suit you," he says.
"I have been thinking," she says, fluffing out her feathers and blinking aggrievedly, "that you have been very unkind."
"Why, you have certainly been thinking," he says, surprised and pleased, "for that is indeed true."
"You have been very unkind," she says, "and you have vexed me."
"I am not the first to be vexing," he says pointedly, but does not wait for a reply before tapping a gleeful little rhythm on the branch. "But even so, I have vexed you, and - oh," he trills, delighted by her uncharacteristic recognition of his labours, "it is my only joy."
"Yes, yes!" she says, nodding eagerly, "it has been nice."
"Nice?" he stops short in the middle of his jaunty raps, widening his beady eyes, "Nice! But - how could this be so?"
"It would," says the dove, settling back onto the branch with much satisfaction, "have been lonely to wait alone. It is nice to have you here to vex me. I quite like it, being with you."
The crow is quiet for an instant, frozen in place with a lifted foot - then anger erupts, his wings flare, and he cries "no, no, no - that is not how it should happen. You infuriate me. You infuriate me and I am unkind!" His claws scratch, quick and vicious, against the bark, "when you anger me, I will be cruel. Only I find joy in my cruelty. That is the way it must always be. You will not," says the crow, "like it. I will not allow it! You're not supposed to like it! You will not find it nice! You will not find it nice!"
He rages, flapping furiously, darting at her perch, again, again; she flutters and sways, sways and flutters, quite, quite content.
But now, down the road, a dark figure walks. He walks, unceasing, an even, steady, immutable stride. It is as if the road moves around him to ensure his progress. It is as if the road behind him no longer matters. The dove stays silent; the crow subsides.
"It is not coming today, is it," says the crow.
"And not tomorrow," he says, reaching up to pluck them off the branches. "That is enough," says
The End.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue May 31, 2011 6:11 am
:: EXTRA NOTES ::
Just in case Maxx (D) and I totally failed with our story and it reads like we're trolling, the figure is The End. *shot* Our original conception was a loose take off Waiting for Godot, but I fear it rather got away from us! Ostensibly, it is a short, anonymous work that circulated modestly in informal literary circles some years after the premiere of Beckett's play. Through the vehicle of familiar tropes from the old Aesop's fable, it is either a homage to or a critique of Beckett's seminal work - its readers have never been able to agree on which.
Estra and Vlad were obviously named after the central characters from Waiting for Godot, Estragon and Vladimir. Accordingly, much of Estra's behaviour is a mix of the forgetful, child-like, unexpectedly poetic Estragon (her favourite picture is a reference to the origin of the play), and the domesticated ring-neck as per Aesop's yarn, percolated through many a night's half-sleep. I have tried to record my internal impressions of her as faithfully as possible, and ended up with an unruly tangle of words as seen above - do tell me if there is too much of one thing or not enough of another! This is merely my darling Estra as my muddled mind perceives her, and I probably need all the help I can get to make this suitable for less muddled minds. XD One last thing, I left her time in the forest deliberately vague as I'd actually hoped that Avautrus could be the Guard to push them along, being winged like the characters of their origin - but he's supposed to be the most rarely encountered of the guards, so I don't know if he would deign to appear for them. Whether I get a yea or nay, I'd still leave her memories as they are, as it is very much in her nature to try to erase the bad bits she doesn't want to remember, but I thought it might be good to clarify my reasoning! I hope you've enjoyed this meandering wander through Estra's distracted psyche! Thank you so much for your time and kindness!
As for Estra's mundane OOC RL history…I'm a huge fan of traditional media, and the skill and sheer squishy adorability of Egg's watercoloured chibis (also, the incredible artistry of her City People silhouettes - I had actually thought it would be the City People that would embroil me, not having anticipated my darling Estra) lead me to stalk Paper Forest through its progression from IT to B/C despite my ludicrously limited forum involvement. But I stalked only with the intention of leaving a compliment upon its debut - I knew I had not the time to lavish upon these exquisite creatures as they deserved, and tried to shut thoughts of ownership out of my mind, resigned to only voyeuristic enjoyment…but one of the grand opening RP prompts was for The Dove and the Crow. ;A; And it was a partner-required prompt. ಥᗣಥ I have a weakness, a crippling, devastating weakness for bird-themed girls. And I come perennially packaged with a partner-in-crime just perfect for a belligerent crow. Just reading the prompt Egg laid down for them had sent thoughts of Beckett spiralling through my mind - oh, even the names would be perfect! To put it fancifully, it was like destiny calling - yet I would resist…yeah, right. This resolve lasted through most of the month, till the night before the contest deadline, where said resolve collapsed in dramatic fashion (in spite of rather more alarming RL deadlines…) and I tethered my crow to the table with me and collaboratively churned out a small flurry of incomprehensible post/modernistic words. WAT THIS? *sob* Signed, sealed, delivered - there was only now the waiting to see which literary genius I would have to stalk for the rest of my life to catch glimpses of the dove girl. AND THEN. Words cannot describe. I rather suspect that the other entries were masterpieces much more developed and eloquent than ours, and I feel almost unworthy of my lovely dove - almost, because I was so overjoyed to get her, I can't regret, aaaaah! And then…imagine my joy when she grew.
My adoration for this lovely little dove is nothing short of absurd, but how can I help it, owning such an adorable creature that should rightfully have been beyond my reach? To this end, I would like to thank:
Maxx D :: My antagonistic crow, for putting up with a very irate full-on 'no no no you imbecile' writer-temper-tantrum'ing 'dove' during our collaborative session…
lostandtold :: For being such a sweetheart as to read through my entire essay in Estra's quest thread and then giving me such nice comments on it, as well as a thoughtful question that sparked an additional 50% worth of elaboration to Estra's reproachful trait.
istoleyurvamps :: For having to live through my ridiculous labyrinth of words in Estra's quest thread, and approving her for RP status right away. ;A;
Mundane Egg :: For everything. ಥᗣಥFont used for Estra's handwriting :: Cedarville Pnkfun1 Cursive
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue May 31, 2011 6:12 am
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue May 31, 2011 6:13 am
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue May 31, 2011 6:14 am
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
