Mars is Searching {1X1 wanted}

Visitor Count

+1	100.0%	[ 6 ]
Total Votes:			[ 6 ]

[Marsiverse]

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Intro

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It's been suggested that I make a search thread of my own, so here it is.

Let's start with a little about me:
I'm Marsiverse (obviously) or Mars.
I'm 24 years old.
I'm a mother of one.
I highly enjoy writing (why else would I RP?).
I'm on Gaia just about every day (for multiple hours).

Now for some things about the way I operate:
I categorize myself as literate.
I reply to RPs as often as I can.
I really hate being left hanging for days (or weeks) without posts.
For a more extensive list, keep reading below.

If I don't cover something that you're curious about, just ask.
If you want to get in touch with me, just send me a PM.

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Things I DO NOT Do

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RP via PM (unless it's a convincing case)
One liners
Yaoi/Yuri
Forced romance
Depressing genres
War themes
Apocalypse scenarios (not a fan of zombie creepers)
Extreme violence
Ninjas/assassins
Emo/whiny characters
Mary Sues/Stews
Ditch (unless absolutely necessary)

[Marsiverse]

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Things I DO

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RP via threads & e-mail
One on ones
Groups (when persuaded)
Post as often as there's something to reply to
Write 1-3 paragraphs
Make fancy posts when necessary
Double up on characters
Play male and female characters
Have a soft spot for vampires, demons, and drag queens
Employ sarcasm on a regular basis
Fantasy
Modern
Historical
Romance

[Marsiverse]

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Samples

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"Calvin dear, pull yourself away from the looking glass and go tend to the counter," Jane told her grandson. Cal turned to her with an impish grin. "Why of course dear grand mother. I shall see to it at once," he replied and then headed to the front of the store. Cal was a lot of things, but above all, he was a joker. He's once suggested to his grandmother that they make theme days in her shop, and she went for it. And surprisingly enough, it brought it more customers. Today was what they referred to as "The Queen's English" day. Not only did Cal and his grandmother talk with extremely proper, old school English, but a lot of their regular customers did too.

At the front of the store, Cal found Mrs. Offray waiting. "Good evening Madam. What matter of business brings you to our humble shoppe, and how can I be of service?" Cal asked Mrs. Offray. This warranted a small smile from Mrs. Offray. "Well if you must know, dear sir, I am in need of a new bottle of perfume. Your dearest grandmother had said a new batch should be done in a weeks time when I last inquired. I'm here to collect," Mrs. Offray told Cal and then gave a small laugh. Most customers found their own willingness to go along with the shop themes quite amusing.

"But of course," Cal replied as he turned from the counter and reached up to the top shelf of a display shelf where the home made perfume was lined up. His lose fitting hoodie sleeve slid down his arm to reveal the anchor tattoo on his left arm. Turning back to the counter, he handed over the bottle to Mrs. Offray. "Here you are Madam. Twenty-two pounds dead on please," he said as he punched in the sale on the register. Neither he nor his grandmother had bothered to figure out the exact equivalents between American monetary values and the old English ones, so they made their own system. Pounds were dollars and pence was random change.

Mrs. Offray gave Cal the money and then leaned over the counter conspiratorially. "If I were you Cal, I'd wear better fitting clothes. You're a decent young man, and I'd hate to see you come to trouble because of your body art," Mrs. Offray said, breaking character. Then she smiled and left the shop. Calvin walked out from behind the counter and began to close the shop. "Trust me Mrs. Offray, the 'body art' on my arm is the least of my problems. If you knew what my other tattoos were, you'd probably faint," Cal said to the empty air of the shop. Because truth be told, Calvin had a very small, but detailed, pentacle tattoo behind his left ear that identified his as a warlock. But between his shaggy hair and the hats he always wore, it was always concealed. In fact, thanks to his grandmothers dire warnings, he never left the house unless he was sure it was concealed because you never knew who might have it out for you.

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"Not all men are created equal. I appeal to them more if they see me as their ultimate fantasy. There are some costumes I didn't mind so much and there are some that I wish I could gouge from my mind. If all men saw the real me, my job would be a lot harder and Bael wouldn't like that very much. He's taken instant gratification to a new level," Kat explained to Damian in an offhanded way. He was male, she figured he knew that not all of them were the same, and that he was probably just trying to compliment her, but she couldn't help but explain things to him anyway.

Then her eyebrows rose up sharply. Blonde? Yuck. No wonder he's been playing hard to get. Although I didn't figure him to be a bimbo lover. "I thought there was no such thing as a natural blonde in this day and age. It's all chemical. But if you like blondes best...I know a good stylist who can work wonders with my hair," Kat told Damian and flashed him a wicked grin. Disgust aside, if he wants blonde, I can be blonde in a day or two. I'll just have to avoid my reflection at all costs until he gets over it and picks a new hair color. Then Kat mentally kicked herself for being so shallow. She had a feeling Damian wouldn't tolerate that kind of behavior for some reason.

Kat pondered about the language thing for a minute and then answered Damian. "I guess my first language would be Sheoulic, which is what demons speak in hell. But I'm far more fluent and comfortable in English. Aside from that, I just use key phrases from other languages when necessary, and I'm sure I'd never pass for a local in any place bu America," Kat said with a laugh. She never really cared to learn other spoken languages because body language spoke much louder in her line of work, but suddenly she felt almost stupid. "What about you? What is your first language and how many do you speak total?" Kat asked, partly because she was curious and partly because she wanted to deflect Damian's attention from her inadequacy.

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"It's time to put the plan in motion Sinead. We need to bring fresh blood to the circle and your prey is easy. Bring him to us at midnight, or we'll stop you from using the almighty," Daemon instructed with an ominous tone. While Sin was easily the single most powerful cultist in the circle, if the others banned together against her, they had a pretty good chance of taking her down. There was no way she was going to let that happen. "It will be done," Sin intoned and walked away.

She had quite a walk back into town, and from there she had to take a bus to get back to the apartment. People gawked at her as she walked to the bus stop and then boarded the bus. You'd think they'd be used to it since they lived in the city, but apparently not.

Without her boots on, Sin was only five foot five. With boots on, she was five foot ten. Platform boots were her best friend. And then of course her multi-colored hair (red, pink and purple and the moment) added another few inches because she wore it poofed out on the sides like two giant pom poms, while the front part was swept over to cover part of her face, and then the center strands were long enough to reach her shoulders. Sin had pencil thin eyebrows, which she drew in with black liner, above green eyes made to look almost emerald with contacts. She had an ever changing number of piercings in her ears, but her face only had five studs in it. One on her left nostril, one in the center of her upper lip, and three spaced evenly along her bottom lip. She didn't feel the need for more than that.

Sin wore a long sleeved halter type shirt, made of nylon with a fun print on it, with a tank top under neath. It showed off the tattoo on her arm, which looked like fire made out of thorns in a sort of tribal pattern. Under her tank top she wore a brightly colored bra because they looked neat when they were layered together. Today she had on a lime green tutu-esque skirt that came to her knees with black nylons underneath. Her platform boots had blue and green buckles from her ankles all the way up to mid calf, and had spiderwebs and bats painted on the sides of the platform part. Sin completed the look with an over sized costume jewelry ring on each hand and a plethora of necklaces. In short, she was what most people would call freak, be she liked it that way.

The bus deposited Sin a few blocks away from her apartment and she walked home to yet more gawking. She didn't mind the attention and chose to think of herself as a work of art. Freak was almost a dirty word in her vocabulary. By the time Sin made it back the apartment, the sun was going down. She'd been out all day, and wasn't expecting her roommate to be home so she was quite surprised when she walked in and found him sitting in front of the TV drinking a beer. "Uh...hey there," she said somewhat awkwardly. Up until now, the two of them had seen very little of one another and she liked that just fine. Of course, now she had to drag him off to her cult later in the evening so they could force him to join the group, so things were about to change.

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{OLD} Plot Ideas

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Borrowed from LaCheeseOwl

Woman inherits mansion and fortune from distant family member, endeavors to fix up the joint, maybe make it a bed and breakfast. As soon as she gets there she realizes the house has a lot of hidden rooms, passages and secrets, including a male gargoyle. He's the last of his tribe tied to the house and usually merely treated as a guard-dog. He turns to stone in the sun and scares the living s**t out of her before he realizes she's technically his new master. They discover a hidden room full of spells and magic artifacts that's soon raided by a shady company that nearly destroys the house during the raid.

The pairing could be flipped so it's human guy/gargoyle girl. Mansion is open to interpretation, as well was what's done with it. And just because the human is technically the gargoyle's "master" does not mean it's one of those kind of RPs. Yeah...we're not going there. Sorry.

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Children that had imaginary friends when they were younger are now teenagers. The "imaginary" friends they thought they outgrew have now returned, much to their surprise. And they bring strange news.

The "imaginary" friends are actually people from other times (past, present, and future) that have been imprisoned in a sort of world between worlds, known as the Middle Realm. The person/thing that has imprisoned them there has issued a challenge:

Convince your companion who thought you were imaginary to help release you from the prison and you get to live a new life, free of any attachments to the Middle Realm.

OR

Trick your companion into joining you in Middle Realm, where they'll be imprisoned instead and you'll get to live your companion's life.

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Current Number of RPs:
2 in Threads
0 in creation

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Don't be discouraged by the number, I'm good at multitasking.

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Search Database

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I've created this pretty neat tool to help people find others to role play with.
If you've read all the stuff I have posted above and decided you don't want to RP with me,
then by all means, go check out the Search Database.

Or maybe you've stumbled across my search thread because of the database.
If that's the case, then kudos to you!

[Marsiverse]

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Open For Posting!

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