Testin' Here

[Langwell]

Double, doυвle toil and τroυвle;
spaceFire вυrn, and caldron вυввle.


Fillet of a fenny snakex x x
spacespace✖ ✖ ✖spaceIn the cauldron b-b-boil and b-b-bake;
x x xx x x x EYE OF NEWT AND TOE OF FROG,
x x x x x x x x x x x x x xWool of bat, and tongue of dog x x x↘↘x
x x x x x x x spacespacespacespace ↻ Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting,
x x x x x Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing,— x x ★ ★ ★

x x x x For a charm of powerful trouble,
xLike a hell-broth boil and bubble.


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To say that Natalie was relieved that this Bobby was as embarrassed, but intrigued, by their situation was an understatement. This feeling of relief was complete when she saw his pinks tinge pink, a much lighter shade that what her own cheeks had been not three minutes before. Both of them felt the same way-- an outside force was bringing them closer, but social norms demanded that they haltingly go through the steps of acquaintanceship before completely poking and prodding the problem out into the air.

Introductions: check. He was Bobby, she was Natalie. One obstacle down, a thousand to go. He approached the next with an eagerness that surprised Natalie, but it was not with malice that she smiled; he was clearly embarrassed as he attempted to halt the words from escaping his lips a moment after uttering them, widening his eyes, and turning the color of a beet. It took him a moment to gather his strength back, during which time Natalie attempted to stifle her smile. Something about this situation was still attempting to click in the back of her mind and the longer she went without talking, the more likely she was to actually find the answer without having to consulting the mounds of books hidden away in her attic.

His attempt to cover up his eager attitudes, his rush forward, was cute. He was stumbling over words, unable to make a cohesive sentence, but she knew that she would hardly fare better. She could feel the hormones rising, the rush of adrenaline as it coursed throughout. No; talking right now would not have been a good idea. Of course, as soon as she completed that thought was when he was completing his own bumbling thoughts aloud. 'Crap.'

"I don't really do coffee, but... maybe tea? I can do tea. I rarely have anything to do after school, except perhaps sleep; I'm a bit of a night-owl, so I'm free at most of the normal hours of human existence." she shrugged, attempting to maneuver her way around the fact that she was up at what humans considered God(dess)-awful hours of the night working. "And, as for why we haven't met before--" she said, referring back to his earlier question that embarrassed him so thoroughly, "I'm a bit of the new kid. Mooney knows me because, well, let's say I'm not exactly the model student; I always seem to find the" here she made air-quotes with her fingers "'troublemakers' and make myself a reputation by association." She shrugged once again. "You've probably heard of my sister, Noelle Moore; she's Little Miss Perfect most of the time." There was a laugh, but one completely without spite. "That's why we haven't met before." she concluded with a nod. She hoped that she hadn't droned on, but just answered the question. Natalie had the horrible habit of rambling on and on when nervous and it was hope and prayer that she hadn't succeeded in doing so here.

[Langwell]

to ĸnow you is to нaтe youx x x x x x x x x
So loving you must be like suicide ✖x x x x
I don't mind ♦ ♦ ♦ if you don't mind ♦ ♦ ♦ x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x
☠ .x x x I'm not the one that's going to die! x x x x x x

x x x x x x x x x x x x Gregory Spencer ↺ . ↺
x x x x x x x x x x x x ╚════════════════════════════════════╝

To say that he himself was surprised with his actions would have been an understatement. Gregory was always one to avoid any physical contact in any situation; it was only if it was absolutely necessary that he ever permitted it and, in such cases, he broke it off well before social norms dictated. In that department, he was very much a bare minimum guy. Touching was a big no-no. It was reserved for food and, well, food. It could have been a bit of his humanity shining through subconsciously: his skin was cold to the touch, even after feeding, and was a dead giveaway that he wasn't quite human, that he was different. In the Night World, this was nothing to be frowned upon (it was glorified, really), but it was still not Gregory's natural state. Not touching was his subconscious' way of telling him that something was wrong.

Gregory sat there, his mind wondering what the hell he was doing, while Kayla uncoiled and looked up at him, her eyes soft and her countenance showing her frailty. That's when he knew why he was there. She was hurt, injured, completely vulnerable; what she needed was protection, damn the consequences. He only smiled when she admitted that she was glad he was okay after jumping in after her. He felt that had only done what would have been expected of him. If he had not, his life might as well have been over; who knew what the others would have done to him.

Suddenly, Kayla straightened up and schooched forward; in response, Gregory's arm fell off of her shoulders, falling down for a microsecond, before rebalancing on the back of the bench. She made the motions to leave, saying that they were both exhausted, needed rest, et cetera, but stopped when as she heard something. Gregory had heard something like it before, but had just attributed it to general street noise. In the Night World, one never overestimated the population for the penchant for fights and brawls; fires were abnormal because of the vampires' weakness, but not completely out of place. Now that it had been called to his attention, his focused hearing caught the sounds of fights, of punches, of distant growling, and, as in any place of chaos, Asher. Gregory's face instantly fell; he had never seen eye to eye with the male witch and, frankly, disliked him. It was his duty to work semi-amicably with his fellow Circle Midnight members, but that didn't mean that he had to like every one of them. That was Kayla's destination, as Gregory understood by her verbal plan. Healing. A slight grimace appeared on his face. He'd seen Asher's techniques and, frankly, would prefer to go without for the most part.

As Kayla stood, it was his first instinct to help her, but she looked too determined to appear painless for him to insult her dignity with assistance. She wasn't quite drowning in his jacket, but it was definitely a few sizes too big for her. It was a comical sight and, if he was that type, he would have laughed at the sight. He didn't, but simply watched as she shrugged of his jacket and placed it in his lap. What he wasn't expecting was the small peck on his cheek. He was as if stone, barely registering that she was talking let alone saying something coherent, all the while wondering what the ******** just happened. All he could do was nod and watch her steel herself up and walk away.

"That was different." he finally said aloud after she faded away into the night. It took him a minute more before he moved but, when he did, he jumped with jacket clutched in hand and took off after her. He was as quiet as he could be and, when he was just out of earshot, he slowed to her pace. She was walking slowly, ever so slowly, but confidently and controlling every single step.

From a distance, he observed as she found and, soon after, joined the group. Asher, as predicted, was there. As was Finn and Adrianna. They looked a bit worse for wear-- a fight, apparently. Asher had just finished healing when the smell of Finn's blood hit him; how could he have missed it before? His skin started to ache and itch, the sweater's fabric sensitizing it while his senses were telling him to heal, to feed, to damn well drink. He would never-- he could never-- Finn, in this case, would see to that even if his morals didn't. To feed off a fellow Circle member would be akin to signing off a sentence for the most painful death ever imagined: a traitor's death.

The smell of blood was strong, almost too strong, for the vampire. When Asher finally moved to heal him, he said a small whisper of thanks. He was trapped there by his body craving the red iron despite his mind telling him to leave, to escape, to sleep off the pain until the next night. It was fifteen more seconds of fighting, fifteen seconds of inner turmoil, before he became unglued. The smell of blood was still in the air, but it was weakened and grew stale quickly; all in all, much less appetizing. It was then that Gregory realized the extent of his injuries; if the smell of blood from a fellow Circle member, a non-human, could send his mind reeling, what would do in the case of an actual human presence.

He had to suck it up, to step out into the clear area, and see if he could suck up his pride long enough for Asher to make notice of the his burnt hair, his singed eyebrows, and smell the cooked cotton fabric that rubbed his burns. He knew from experience, and from just a moment ago, that the healing process was painful, to relive the pain again to heal it, but it would be better than losing his control in the middle of a crowd of humans. Sure, having one in a dark alley was one thing, but devouring a child (a very sweet, delectable meat) in the middle of the sidewalk in broad night was another. He walked closer, closer, and closer still, approaching them and, without words, entered the clearing. Best to be seen, not heard, especially among this lot.


slєєp αll dαч. pαrtч αll níght. nєvєr grσw σld. nєvєr díє. ít's fun tσ вє α vαmpírє.

[Langwell]

.ιғ ι ғell ιn love wιтн yoυ x x x x x x x x x x x x
Would you promise to be true x x x x x x x x x x x x x x
↸↸ and help me understand? x x x x x
Be-be-because I've been in love before ↻. ↻ x x x x x x x x x x x
and ғoυnd тнaт love waѕ ↷ мore x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x
x than just holding hands! x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x
so much more x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x
so much more x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x
so much more x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x
so much more x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x
so much more x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x

Her pregnant phrase sat there for a moment, all the while her eyes searching for subtle reactions, for clues to help her decipher this man's behavior. If he was serious with his proposal then he had to respond-- and, with all hope, an honest answer. Honesty, in this day and age, was rare; everyone protected themselves. Manners made in commonplace to hide yourself behind a mask of pleasantries and fake laughter. It was pleasant, on the outside, but behind each happy demeanor was the true person gasping for air.

Rebecca had felt that now was one such time, when the consequences were the greatest, that the mask should drop. Her question had been blunt and, perhaps, even rude. There had been no "How do you do?"'s, no "Ever so nice to meet you sir"'s; just her oddly spoken question hung in the air. She was surprised to see her father not offended for this behavior, his face still adorned in astonishment at this turn of events. He had, obviously, been prepared for the worst and was greeted instead with not one, but two pleasant surprises. To have a daughter married at just eighteen was especially lucky and his donation to the family estate would be considerable as it would be his own as well. She would never want for anything and this Duke must know that no dowry or inheritance could be offered greater than a measly 200 a year, at least at this point.

He was within only a second or two of Rebecca trailing off before he responded. With love. Every girl's dream. But she knew that, whatever his true motive, it was not love. Love was never the true power behind a dream; it could never be. He had seen her maybe twice, yet here he was proclaiming his undying love for her.
This was wrong. This was not love. This could be lust, an infatuation; a cupidinous attraction, nothing more. Yet, her father would have never allowed him to offer his hand if he had not first proven himself. Looking over at him, Rebecca saw the desperation in his eyes. Of course: that was why he was here. It was not love, but she was pretty. It was an infatuation and, if she had sworn to be a servant, why could she not be the wife that looked away once her husband had had his way with her? That was it. She would be taken care of -- this Duke's dignity would take care of that -- and she would be the belle of society while her family was content in their station. They would remove themselves to their country estate on the money that they would accept for her hand and disappear soon after the marriage. It was the plan that was laid out in her father's eyes; she could see it as plain as the daylight's sun.

It was her for her family's honor. This was an acceptable trade: her life, which she was prepared to sacrifice already, for her family.

The question now was rather to play along with his charade or to call his bluff. To bring attention to his act, to unmask it, could cause him to renege on his question; however, to play along with his game would be dishonest on her own part. Her feelings were towards duty, towards love of her family, not towards this Duke. She could not put them in danger.
Hesitantly, she spoke: "I accept." Her voice was soft, but audible. The look of nervousness fell from her father's face, replaced by one of complete relief and ease. His family was safe, all by the hands of the one girl.

Quickly, before either of them had a chance to undo the decision, he spoke. "Ah, well then. It has been decided. I shall go to inform the Vicountess; she shall be delighted!" The Vicountess had the reputation of being the queen of gossip; the fact that her story was the one being spread about like a secret wildfire had not escaped those eager to laugh at life's irony. Anything she would say was set in stone for eternity; anything against these rumors was dealt with as an even bigger scandal than the original. Vicount Donath usually treated his wife with disdain, never thinking that her reputation as an honest gossiper would ever do anything good for his name.

Within moments, he had left the room, leaving the pair in silence. In the distance, the sound of his shoes on the tile floors echoed throughout and, soon, there was the sound of a gleeful shriek. Rebecca merely looked down to the floor, eyes avoiding that of her new fiance as her face turned bright red, as her mother's giddy chatterings were heard throughout the house.




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[Langwell]

USERNAME/PREFERRED NAME: The username's simply Langwell; if that's too long for you, you can shorten it anyway you like or derive a completely different nickname for me. As long as I know it's me, I'll respond.

WHICH ROLE ARE YOU APPLYING FOR, AND WHAT'S YOUR CHARACTER'S TRUE NAME?: I'm applying for Rook; his actual name is Vincent. Vincent Miguel Hernandez.

SO, WHO ARE YOU, AND WHY DO YOU WANT THIS CHARACTER? :
About me as a roleplayer: I've been roleplaying for approximately seven years, but I could be wrong. It's about seven, though. I like to think of myself as a pretty decent roleplayer; on average, I write somewhere between two to eight paragraphs. It depends on what I'm responding to and how much detail I can/need to put in.
About me as a person: I'm college student, majoring in Chemistry, and I'm legal. I guess you could call me a vegetarian. I have a cat and a dog. As probably assumed by the fact that I'm an avid roleplayer, I love to write and, especially, read. I generally listen to music when I'm near my computer-- which is almost all the time. I'm pretty much addicted to my computer. Lately, I've been obsessed with Green Day.
Why I think I should play Rook: If this counts for anything, when I read his description, a character instantly popped into my head. He was crying out, "Write me, write me!" ...not believing that, are you? Well, I did instantly have inspiration for Rook. He just seemed different enough from the characters that I normally play that he'd be interesting, but not so different that I'm on an unlevel playing field. Good characters, to me, are ones that build themselves. I can think about them and what I think they need to embody and then, suddenly, a certain characteristic comes to mind and Bam!, they're there. Vincent, as I think about him, keeps creating himself and, what I love about this, is that I can experiment with whatever characters I can.

TELL ME A FEW THINGS ABOUT YOUR CHARACTER THAT I DON'T KNOW :
Vincent was named for his grandfathers: maternal Vincent Russo and paternal Miguel Hernandez. As both families were, Vincent was raised in the Catholic tradition, instilling in him is firm belief in God, Christ, Heaven and its angels, and Hell with its demons. He was training to be an altar boy before everything changed. His father died when he was eight and, as the eldest child, took up the role as the man of the house. He protected his other six siblings (the eldest of seven) as much as he could, but it became too much. His mother tried her best but, before too long, she died as well. They were never rich and, after being orphaned, they were left for the streets to claim.
Vincent displays some symptoms of high-functioning autism, including social awkwardness (lack of complete cognitive empathy) slight verbal incapability, and claustrophobia. Despite this (or perhaps because of it), he is intelligent but refuses to lead. He simply becomes the helper and, due to his upbringing, the protector. His childhood raised him for that and, once attached to a group or gang, he protects them with his life if need be.

WRITE YOUR SAMPLE POST HERE : It was sunset. The smog and dust was in the air, making it truly a lovely sight. The purples, the blues, the hints of greens and pinks all alight in the burning ozone. Who know that something so destructive could be so beautiful? Down in the streets below, where breathing was a little harder due to the hazardous, yet plentiful, pollution, a group of young children played. They spoke in a mix of a language, something that only their family could understand. There was a hint of Italian, a mangling of Spanish, and, as ever, English. They were screaming and playing-- or, for the most part, they were. There was one, a bit older and definitely bigger, sitting on the steps watching them. If a rogue child from another family dared to threaten to ruin their fun, he would stand and stare at them. If that threat didn't seem to affect them, he would approach. Most, at this point, would leave but a few, the older ones, would stay just to see what this "young mutt" would dare to do. They would be twelve, maybe even thirteen, and this little tyke was only about eight or nine.
"Hay una problema buddy?" They would menacingly stare at the pretentious brat, unsure of his words. He would repeat, this time in better English: "Is there una problema; is there a problem?" The last word would be carefully enunciated, somewhat unfamiliar on the tongue of the young boy. "Just with you, kid." they would reply.

"Ah. Sí." would be all he would reply. That would be all the warning. A young kid, easily a head and a half shorter than the shortest of the villains, would throw the first punch. He'd aim for the speaker, the leader. He knew he had the surprise and, with that, he could normally win. The first punch was the shocker; the second was the fury. He drew blood with the first, knocked him to the ground with the second. This would be when he'd have to worry about the others, if they stuck by their leader. It was all about speed here. Roll through the legs of the one about to jump, making the uppercut of the one aiming for him miss its intended mark and hit the chin of the jumper. That would knock out Jumper, if Uppercut knew his stuff. Uppercut would be surprised and, hopefully, stunned. Punch across the jaw to snap it out of him and he's on the ground. The Leader, by now, is on his feet-- and he's pissed. Barrel drive to the abdomen with all the strength his little legs can give him and the Leader's back on his butt. Sit on his stomach and punch his lights out until his face was bloody and bruised.

With the Leader completely out of commission, the fight was over. They retreated and the family was safe.
"Vinny-- you alright hermano? Hermano?" The fight would take it out of him, but Vincent would slowly retreat back to his stoop ignoring any pestering questions from his siblings until he was comfortably sitting. If the fight was a good one, he wouldn't be too injured. He might have a nick or a cut, but he knew how to fight. He had to in this neighborhood.
He might have had this fight a few times a day, but he never gave up. They were worth it.
They were always worth it.

[Langwell]

thexx RxOxOxKx x x x x x x x x x

We got rockstars in the Whitehouse
All our popstars look like porn
All my heroes hit the highway
They don't hang out here no more

[Langwell]

　　　 Langwell
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　　　　　　　　　　〔 ★┊background check◞ 〕
space here. don't delete man! coding (c)hollister.
⊹ 「name₁⋮ Langwell. Call me that or something derived from it; heck, you can even call me something completely different and, as long as I know it’s me, I’ll respond.
⊹ 「reserving₂⋮ Queen Elinor
⊹ 「face claim₃⋮ gocealice from dA
⊹ 「time zone₄⋮ USA -- EST
⊹ 「availability & distractions₅⋮ I’m busy M-Th until about 1:30, then again from 4 to 7ish ; I’m on after three on Fridays (sometimes earlier!) and weekends are up for grabs. It depends on my plans. Generally I’m free, though.
⊹ 「samples₆⋮ Avon Lady’s wares
⊹ 「code word₇⋮ Animation!

[Langwell]

　　　 caitrìonameridacarson.
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　　　　　　　　　　〔 ★┊pixar academy student file◞ 〕
space here. don't delete man! coding (c)hollister.
　　　　QUOTE OR LYRIC HERE.　　　　QUOTE OR LYRIC HERE.　　　　QUOTE OR LYRIC HERE.　　　　QUOTE OR LYRIC HERE.
　　　　QUOTE OR LYRIC HERE.　　　　QUOTE OR LYRIC HERE.　　　　QUOTE OR LYRIC HERE.　　　　QUOTE OR LYRIC HERE.
　　　　QUOTE OR LYRIC HERE.　　　　QUOTE OR LYRIC HERE.　　　　QUOTE OR LYRIC HERE.　　　　QUOTE OR LYRIC HERE.
space here. don't delete man! coding (c)hollister.
⊹ 「ageᵃ⋮ spelt out.
⊹ 「genderᵍ⋮ here for filler reasons. just type in your gender plz. 8|;;
⊹ 「d.o.bᵈ⋮ mm/dd/yy. make it accurate. i'll know if it is or isn't.
⊹ 「colorsᶜ⋮ four colors used, and/or link to palette or you can name the palette instead. be sure to order colors out from 1 - 4.
space here. don't delete man! coding (c)hollister.
　　　　　₀₁⋮ TRAIT.　　₀₂⋮ TRAIT.　　₀₃⋮ TRAIT.　　₀₄⋮ TRAIT.
　　　⊹ 「aboutᵃ⋮

short blurb here about character's biography. short blurb here about character's biography. short blurb here about character's biography. short blurb here about character's biography. short blurb here about character's biography. short blurb here about character's biography. short blurb here about character's biography. short blurb here about character's biography. short blurb here about character's biography. short blurb here about character's biography. short blurb here about character's biography. short blurb here about character's biography. short blurb here about character's biography. short blurb here about character's biography. short blurb here about character's biography. short blurb here about character's biography. short blurb here about character's biography. short blurb here about character's biography. short blurb here about character's biography. short blurb here about character's biography. short blurb here about character's biography. short blurb here about character's biography. short blurb here about character's biography. short blurb here about character's biography. short blurb here about character's biography. short blurb here about character's biography. short blurb here about character's biography. short blurb here about character's biography. short blurb here about character's biography. short blurb here about character's biography.

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　　(c)hollister　　GRIN---Mr_Cheshire

　〔 link to two pictures or a gif of model　　link to desired image of pixar character.　　two pictures only: fade or blur?

[Langwell]

　　　 gwenhwyfarelinorcarson
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　　　　　　　　　　〔 ★┊pixar academy student file◞ 〕
space here. don't delete man! coding (c)hollister.
　　　　 SOMETIMES IT IS IN THE SEA　　　　SOMETIMES IN THE SKY　　　　 SOMETIMES IT’S IN YOU AND ME　　　　 SOMETIMES IT’S A CRY
　　　　 SOMETIMES IT IS IN THE SEA　　　　SOMETIMES IN THE SKY　　　　 SOMETIMES IT’S IN YOU AND ME　　　　 SOMETIMES IT’S A CRY
　　　　 SOMETIMES IT IS IN THE SEA　　　　SOMETIMES IN THE SKY　　　　 SOMETIMES IT’S IN YOU AND ME　　　　 SOMETIMES IT’S A CRY
space here. don't delete man! coding (c)hollister.
⊹ 「ageᵃ⋮ seventeen
⊹ 「genderᵍ⋮ female
⊹ 「d.o.bᵈ⋮ 06/18/95.
⊹ 「colorsᶜ⋮ light slate gray, cornflower blue, light sea green, sea green
space here. don't delete man! coding (c)hollister.
　　　　　₀₁⋮ CARING.　　₀₂⋮ PROTECTIVE.　　₀₃⋮ PERFECTIONIST.　　₀₄⋮ SERIOUS.
　　　⊹ 「aboutᵃ⋮

As both of her parents are native to Scotland, it would be easy to assume that young Gwen is a citizen of the UK, not of the grand US of A. In all actuality, the young brunette has dual citizenship to both countries, her parent’s native United Kingdom and her own United States. Her parents moved to New York City for work and quickly decided to make that their permanent home. This is where both Gwen and her (slightly younger) twin Cait were born; they now live in a little town a ways away, in Poughkeepsie. The area was perfect for raising two little girls and, later, their little brother Hendry.

Gwen was the perfect little girl, obeying everything she should, mostly without question. Her demeanor was often serious, but she knew that, at some points, the only way to win was with a little humor. She was always the good role model, as she knew that her younger, more impressionable sister looked up to her, copying her in all she did. They were close from birth, having shared the same cubic inches for nine months already, despite being quite different in appearances and attitudes.

Deciding to try out for her middle school's chorus after her her sister began spending much of her time on her own was a key point in Gwen's life. After being pleasantly surprised to be admitted with open arms, she quickly rose through the ranks of members. Three years of serving as a member and two as a trainee in her high school, she became a student conductor as well as the soprano section leader. In the school social scene, she is not the most popular. among her friends, however, she is generally regarded as the most outgoing, the most direct; in short, she’s the leader, the instigator, the first one in and the last to leave. She does not take her job begrudgingly, but rather with pride and enjoys every minute of it.


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　　(c)hollister　　Langwell

　〔 Gwen 1 ; Gwen 2　　Pixar :3　　blur pretty please!



- x -
Blurbs:



Gwen's extremely goal oriented, serious, a natural leader, and a student conductor in the chorus.

She's not quite a girly girl, but she definitely believes that girls are the weaker sex. She's very prim, proper, elegant, etc.

Gwen very rarely would admit/allow herself to hate anyone. She believes in the good in everyone, even if they irritate her to pieces, and would never destroy an acquaintanceship.

Oh, and Gwen's a junior. If that makes any difference.

[Langwell]

x x x x x x● ● ⊰ ( sometimes it is in desire or in the love we fear )

↪ ||⇉ then the call keeps calling us
x x x x x x x'til the fear does dιѕ ↷
x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x xdιѕ ↷
x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x xdιѕαρρєαr


text text text x x x x x x text text text x x x x x x text text text x x x x x x text text text x x x x x x text text text x x x x x x text text text x x x x x x text text text x x x x x x text text text x x x x x x text text text x x x x x x text text text x x x x x x text text text x x x x x x text text text x x x x x x text text text x x x x x x text text text x x x x x x text text text x x x x x x text text text x x x x x x text text text x x x x x x text text text x x x x x x text text text x x x x x x text text text x x x x x x text text text x x x x x x text text text x x x x x x text text text x x x x x x text text text x x x x x x text text text x x x x x x text text text x x x x x x text text text x x x x x x text text text x x x x x x text text text x x x x x x text text text x x x x x x text text text x x x x x x text text text x x x x x x text text text x x x x x x text text text x x x x x x text text text x x x x x x text text text x x x x x x text text text x x x x x x text text text x x x x x x text text text x x x x x x text text text x x x x x x "talking here, ya know?" text text text x x x x x x text text text x x x x x x text text text x x x x x x text text text x x x x x x text text text x x x x x x text text text x x x x x x text text text x x x x x x text text text x x x x x x text text text x x x x x x text text text x x x x x x text text text x x x x x x text text text x x x x x x text text text x x x x x x text text text x x x x x x text text text x x x x x x text text text x x x x x x text text text x x x x x x text text text x x x x x x text text text x x x x x x

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when we have no dance to dance the Call is in the song x ⇇||↩

( when we have no voice to sing, the Call is calling strong ) ⊱ ● ●x x x x x

[Langwell]

ORIGINAL CODE
┎━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

USERNAME

name 〗 name we can call you
reservation 〗 gypsy/rube and their role in their society
character face 〗 celeb. or model who's face isn't commonly seen
location 〗 what timezone are you in?
real life 〗 when can we expect to see you around?
code word 〗 hide-and-seek! go find it.

BASIC/EDITED CODE
┎━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

USERNAME

name 〗 name we can call you
reservation 〗 gypsy/rube and their role in their society
character face 〗 celeb. or model who's face isn't commonly seen
location 〗 what timezone are you in?
real life 〗 when can we expect to see you around?
code word 〗 hide-and-seek! go find it.

CHARACTER NAMExxxCHARACTER ROLExxxUSERNAME
trait 1 || trait 2 || trait 3

The Alliance Falls: Who does your character sympathize? Romanis or the Rubes?

Paragraph Bio about your character Paragraph Bio about your character Paragraph Bio about your character Paragraph Bio about your character Paragraph Bio about your character Paragraph Bio about your character Paragraph Bio about your character Paragraph Bio about your character Paragraph Bio about your character Paragraph Bio about your character Paragraph Bio about your character Paragraph Bio about your character Paragraph Bio about your character Paragraph Bio about your character Paragraph Bio about your character Paragraph Bio about your character Paragraph Bio about your character Paragraph Bio about your character Paragraph Bio about your character Paragraph Bio about your character Paragraph Bio about your character Paragraph Bio about your character Paragraph Bio about your character Paragraph Bio about your character Paragraph Bio about your character Paragraph Bio about your character Paragraph Bio about your character Paragraph Bio about your character Paragraph Bio about your character Paragraph Bio about your character Paragraph Bio about your character Paragraph Bio about your character Paragraph Bio about your character Paragraph Bio about your character Paragraph Bio about your character Paragraph Bio about your character Paragraph Bio about your character Paragraph Bio about your character Paragraph Bio about your character Paragraph Bio about your character Paragraph Bio about your character Paragraph Bio about your character Paragraph Bio about your character Paragraph Bio about your character Paragraph Bio about your character Paragraph Bio about your character

theme song

EXAMPLE CODE
┎━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

LANGWELL

name 〗 Langwell works fine-- unless you want to shorten it (Lang) or otherwise call me by a completely different name (Muffin).
reservation 〗 a Gypsy theatrical entertainer
character face 〗 Kerri Taylor
location 〗 USA -- EST
real life 〗 sometime every day generally during the week-- it depends on my workload (college student for the win!) ; weekends are up for grabs-- it could be all weekend save meal times, it could be not at all if I go home
code word 〗 Just need to find the time!

NATALIYAxxxENTERTAINERxxxLANGWELL
stubborn || hotheaded || confident

The Alliance Falls: the Romani Nomads

Growing up as a Romani child is a completely different childhood than one for the Rubes. The Rubes focus on money, success, power, privilege, and education; for me, it was quite different. The only similarity shared by both peoples would be our affinity for wealth-- for completely different reasons, however. Nomads in general are typically on the lower scale of earners and, well, the Romani earn/take it as much as we can. Yes, that does mean that, in some cases we resort to thievery, but not always; you would be surprised how much a Rube will pay to watch a girl dance. I was taught at a very young age about music, the arts, and dance. What Rubes consider a "traditional" or usual education was ignored. If I had wanted to learn how to read, I would have; there was no extensive need for it, especially while working. Dance was my specialty from an early age; the rhythms and the beats present in the music played and the music naturally occurring made me move, creating a craving deep in my bones for dance. I learned to dance among my cousins, my aunts, my uncles, my family, my clan; there was no such thing as being alone, being quiet. If you wanted peace, you found it yourself away from your wagon or caravan. It was good that I rarely craved such solitude, working best among the hustle and the bustle of family, of loud noises and crowds, the limelight that being a dancer brings you.

Let Me Entertain You

[Langwell]

x x x x x
x x x x x x x x x● ● ⊰ ( LET ME ENTERTAIN YOU )
x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x( LET ME MAKE YOU SMILE ) ⊱ ● ●

let me do a few tricks -- some old and then some new tricks -- i'm very versatile . . .
let me do a few tricks -- some old and then some new tricks -- i'm very versatile . . .
let me do a few tricks -- some old and then some new tricks -- i'm very versatile . . .


and ιғ yoυ're real good ι'll мaĸe yoυ ғeel good

x x x x x x x x x x xi want your spirits to climb!





It was not in Nataliya’s nature to avoid people; it was only necessity that caused her to do so and it was only in brief spurts, never in long periods. Her nature, therefore, prevented her from clinging to the shadows, skulking in the darkness and, instead, basking in what light that could be found in the alleys. Of course, had she heard the sound of the guards, who themselves were not good at stealth being bumbling idiots unsure of the winding paths and backwards alleys, she would have hidden herself in the nearest corner or patch of gloom until their noise had journeyed a far enough distance away. It was because of this nature, and her inherent curiosity, that she did not hide herself as she followed this… man. Yes, he was a man; his voice was undeniably masculine, his timber deep, but his voice—his voice kept her entranced and her caution low. No harm could come from a man with such a voice; of that she was certain.

Within a certain trance that called out to her dancer's heart, making her cling towards the haunting notes, the unusual sounds, she followed him. His song had dwindled to a hum, drawing her closer to hear him, but he eventually completed the lyrics:


"The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with weary feet,
Until it joins some larger way,
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say."


There was a truth to the tune’s words, one that Nataliya felt deep down. It was beneath her identity as a performer, as a dancer, as a shopkeeper, as a woman. It was the Romani in her that burned, now fully alight and powerful; her joy and appreciation grew, making her freshly aware of all that was good both within her and within her world. A lazy smile appeared on her face, her worries vanishing as her heritage’s pride blossomed within her. If the song had continued, had she journeyed further down that proverbial Road, she might have lost herself entirely in the moment. To a constant traveler, the Road is the friend, the mother, the child, the everything; the Road was her people’s home. It was her home and here, here was a man who understood—or feigned understanding—of her people.

The spell of the song was shattered when he spoke, however. The firm hold it held on her released within a fraction of the smallest second, bringing her crashing down to reality, back to where she was a fugitive, a woman hunting for her next meal, a Romani who was persecuted simply for being born. This realization was never something new, nor something Nataliya liked to dwell upon. Although still unsettled, she was aware enough to respond to his greeting with a nod of acknowledgement: slight, but still intended. He continued to speak as she forcefully forgot her troubles, preferring to lose them within the rhythms of the world.

She knew that she had been forced into speaking, not that she would have minded at any other point; the fact remained that she was still on edge, still partially euphoric, frightened, and forcefully ignorant . It was confusing enough when she was just speaking within her own mind, let alone when conversing with a stranger.
"The market had lost its... appeal." she replied, her serious implications not completely masked by her lighthearted tone. "I find that guards and myself never quite see eye to eye." With that, she raised both arms to waist height and languidly rolled her palms toward the sky, a look of false innocence plain to see on her face—if one knew how to look. "Did you enjoy my show? Or, did you enjoy it until I was so rudely interrupted?" This was meant to imply both Pasha and the guards, one pausing the show while the other put a definitive end to it, but he could take it as he wished.



We'll have a real good time, yes sir!
We'll have a real good time

[Langwell]

XAVIER VON ULRICH xxxGENTLEMAN THIEFxxxLANGWELL
charismatic || secretive || thrifty

The Alliance Falls: Neither? Both?

Lies are especially hard things to keep; it is better to keep the lies down to a minimum and, especially, to make sure that all lies are the same. Mastering said art takes practice, years of practice, but Xavier has had exactly that: years. It all started with two parents, a name, a happy baby boy with caring parents, a family who died only three years after their happiness peaked. Some odd years later, the heir to their fortune appeared. He was a young man who fit the age, was similar enough to the last heirs of both families, that it was not questioned past the initial "What? He survived? The young boy survived?" He had a story, the references, the burn scars from the fire. Everyone believed him; why shouldn't they?
Xavier lives as the heir to the Von Ulrich fortune, a happy young man with money to spend, women to find, and a joyous, worry-less life to live.

Welcome to Paradise
character colors

[Langwell]

looking back what I have donex x x x x x x x x x x x x
thєrє's lσts mσrє lífє tσ lívєx x x x x x
At times I feel overwhelmedx x x x x x x x x
í quєstíσn whαt í cαn gívє.x x x
x xBut I don't let it get me down x x✖x x✖xx x x x x x x x x x x x x x
↺r cause me t↺↺ much s↺rr↺w ;x x x x x x x x x x
There's no doubt about who I amx x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x
I always have tomorrow . . . x x x x x x x x x x x x x x



▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Memories are tricky things to grasp, to hold in one's palm and protect. They can easily be edited, changed, altered, just by the power of suggestion. A lie can become a fast truth and the same can be said of the opposite: a truth may be altered into a lie. It only depends on how much one decides to trust one's memory. Sometimes, however, a memory, be it true or false, is all one has of the past. There is nothing left of that name, that family, that place; it was blackened, now just cinders floating in a breeze, ashes to be forgotten. A man's memory can be dearer to him that anything in the world.
Even a false one.

The young man paused after a few steps, stopping mid-stride and turning back to face the door of his current home. The door itself spoke not of the wealth of the family name; it was a door, same as the next, made of wood. Perhaps it was a rarer, a richer wood, but wood it remained. A middle class man and his family could have the same door. A pauper, if he were lucky enough to have a door, could have the same door. A door was a door was a door. All were the same: all held the secrets within them. A door could hide a man's violent nature, a woman's infidelity, a child's lies; the door knew not, but it kept its place all the same.
A door could be both friend, foe; an indifferent object that merely pleased itself to serve to all that it could. If it failed, it was dead, broken, burned, cracked, gone.

With a sigh, the heir turned away from his door, his thoughts no longer on his home, his door, but rather on the door of a certain unpleasant man. As he was lost in thought, to say that he was unobservant would be something of an understatement; his keen eyes and ears had slowly dissipated the longer he lived a rich man's life. He was buried in his thoughts, in his complaints, in his criticisms, in his memories, and was too busy in his mind to pay attention to his surroundings. Had he been this way several years ago, he would have been an easy target for any and all sorts of misfortune; now, he was protected by his status, by the threat of what his money could influence if anyone thought of harming him.
It was this learned feeling of security that caught the heir by surprise when the tinker spoke. It was only the respectful tone that prevented the blond from turning around with his fists at the ready, instinctively reacting first and asking questions later. As it was, he turned with a defensive stance about his person. Seeing the slightly older man, however, he relaxed, sensing a bit of familiarity without true knowledge on either side. This was a comfort.

At the mention of the trinket, the young man's face contorted slightly, the memory not clear in his mind. It quickly apparated in his mind, however, and the clarification showed on his face. "Ah, yes, the music box." he said, nodding. "It was perfect. Thank you, again. Just like I remembered." The said object in question fit easily into his palm and was a delicate piece. It was a rich piece, one that he had restored by the man before him. It was given to the tinker with few working parts, dulled and scratched, but came back with new life. The tune was perfected, the paint the exact tone, texture, and shine of the old, the precious gold inlay sparkling and new. The entire box looked brand new, like it had been freshly made and not simply restored to fit a description of its past. When opened, it played a slow little tune, slightly mechanical in sound, but that was never a problem with a music box; no one expected the quality of a ten-piece orchestra from a box smaller than a woman's fist.

"It was quality workmanship. You should be proud." he said simply, reflecting on the small box that was now on a central display on his dressing table, a reminder of everything he had done. "If I ever needed a superb job on another such thing, you would be the man for me. I doubt I have anything worthy of your talent at the moment." he said, his words sincere. His servants, had they heard him, would have been flabbergasted at this burst of loquaciousness; he rarely talked and, in doing so, rarely praised.


▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

[Langwell]

lynn scarlett johnson
March 4th 21
female; heterosexual
bachelors in psychology

honest, patient, money savvy
sarcastic, procrastinator, painfully awkward, control freak

$1,500 budget

down 16 oz in 30 seconds, guitar, organization

peer conflict mediator
serious coffee addiction

❝Let's calm down here and think this over.❞

All I Really Want Alanis Morissette
Langwell

[Langwell]

x x x xI don't want to dissect everything today
I don't mean to pick you apart you seex x x x x x x
But I can't help it! x x ✘ ✘ ✘


Apparently Conrad's words weren't quite as sarcastic as she would have hoped; Nic almost immediately started to join in on the revelry. She immediately started to roll her eyes, looking up to avoid the show that Nic was so desperately trying to start. However, Xyriel was apparently keen on the thought as well, beating their mohawked friend into the shower. A shout echoed out soon after she entered, slightly amplified because of the bathroom walls. Wincing, she just ignored the lot of them, as she was apt to do now and again, and watched as a partially unsure Nic solidified his nerve and joined the pair in the small bathroom. Shaking her head, she switched off the coffeemaker and continued to sip her current cup.

Merely observing as Alex made his way across the room to find some food, she stood there. Her stomach churned at the thought of anything that was more solid than a granule of sugar to be found at the bottom of a coffee with cream and sugar, so food was definitely out. Coffee was her hangover fix-- at least for the moment. There was a sound of talking coming from the bathroom, but the blonde made no attempt to join them. She was in the running for the Queen of Awkward and, while she may have a Psych degree and understood that label was largely due to her adherence to social norms imprinted on her subconscious, was not one to escape her box.

A mix of a grimace and a smile appeared on her face to return Alex's smile; she watched as he left his plate and fumbled his way to the fridge, passing up the chance for coffee. This truly did bring a smile to the coffee lover's face, even if it was only slight. He created some type of ruckus, moving things about in the fridge before loudly declaring a triumph: his glasses were found. Shrugging at his sarcasm, she merely smirked and sipped her coffee. The sudden exclamation made her jump, however, and spill some coffee down the front of her shirt.
"Dammit." she said, her tone edgy. It was then that she realized she was not in her clothes-- at least not her shirt. It was a guy's, that was certain, but whose shirt it was exactly was unclear. The question directed to her mimicked her own just minutes before, but she decided to answer it.
"Not really-- I can tell you that Miss Lynn the Lightweight's blackout zone is past her pass-out zone, so I either drank some heavy s**t really fast or I kept small amounts coming over a long period of time. And, taking into account that I made it here, I'm thinking that I was drinking for a long while." Lynn paused for a moment, thinking of the alternative. "That, or someone carried me along on your escapades... I'm not as light as I look when I'm out stone cold." she added.

"You got any clues?" The question was directed to both Alex and Will, hoping that someone could explain why there were in the Marriott, why the guys had a cuddle fest, why she was in someone else's shirt, and, most importantly, what else had they last night?


x x x x x x x . ★ x x x lynn joнnѕon