☼ MetaburoFanmaker ☼
EccentricExtraordinare!
EccentricExtraordinare!
Gender: Female, but will play male characters once in a while.
Age:...should I really tell you people? I'll say my middle-late teens.
What I want to do: STAR TREK RPS! And some anthro ones, general scifi and fantasy, and I have a growing interest in Steampunk.
What I will not do: Most modern-day things, unless they're magic realism, yaoi/yuri, very violent RPS, vampires, zombies, etc.
My Literacy Level is: Moderate to advanced.
I try to post this many times a day: At least once per day, but not much more than that.
Here is a Clip from a role play I have been in:
The Benevolent Order Dreams RP, a dream sequence to show my writing style
Unlike most of the Order members, Mettanere Burobel loved to sleep.
It was utterly in her nature, as a humanoid part-cat.
She loved to curl up in the sun, on the soft mats in the Kitchens, the light streaming in through the windows, slightly grimy from the grease and smoke wafting up from the woodstove. She loved to smell the bread as it baked, the pot roast cooking slowly in its bubbling gravy and carrots. It was enough to make her sleepy, slightly hungry, but content. She’d just indulged herself in a few pieces of chocolate and a little catmint tea. The sun was setting (it WAS nearly the shortest day of the year), the orange making the room glow. It would be a few hours before dinner would be ready, and there was just enough time.
All in all, it was perfect for napping.
She sat down, cross-legged, in the middle of the mat, and took a sip of her tea. She smiled; catmint was always a comfort to her when she was feeling down.
Between the fire and the workload she’d taken on lately, she was overwhelmed. She felt like she had little time for her studies, let alone her music. She hadn’t touched her harp in days, the one sitting in the corner, opposite the chimney. (She didn’t want it to dry out)
She watched the steam waft up in the rays of dimming sunlight. Catmint tea always reminded of her mother; when her mother was most stressed, she’d mix together the highest-caffeinated coffee she could get her hands on and throw some dried catmint in the grounds.
She missed Mama-san; Meta hadn’t seen her mother for… months, now. They talked every day, usually.
Wondering how she was doing, Meta made a mental note to go into Gambino Town Proper when she could get away from cooking; maybe she could bribe her way into getting the use of a phone from somebody.
She wondered how Mama was holding up, what with Meta’s father hanging around. Goddess, she hated that b*****d. (Her grimace darkened the tea’s reflective qualities)
Well, she shouldn’t be thinking of him now. Time for a nice, restful nap before dinner.
She stretched, put the tea a safe distance away, took off her scarf, and wrapped her tail around her nose.
Soon, all that could be heard in the kitchen was bubbling and faint snores.
~
The walls of the school were a pale blue, tending towards teal, in the Orchestra Room’s amphitheatre. She walked down the steps, skirting the conductor (she’d never liked him, the little twerp) the other students’ piles of music bags.
She trudged out the door. She didn’t like that harp in the slightest; heck, it was practically a danger to her life, what with the loose base bracket.
But, it was her duty; that’s why she went there every damn day. Mom had to pay good money for her to get in here, and she’d get what she could out of it for the rest of the year.
Meta pushed past the doorway, into the crowded, peach-walled tan-linoleumed hallways, the lockers’ clanging hurting her delicate auditory canals. It was as if they were a sea of tan, loud, buzzing, like overgrown sandflies.
She trudged through the hall, out towards the blue chipped doors to get outta the hellhole.
Something caught her eye; a boy, a felinid, like her, apart from the mostly human crowd. His hair and fur was reddish brown, his skin somewhat dark. But there were two things that made him stand out the most; his bright, almost chemical-green eyes, and a large scar on his throat, in a large, swooping ×.
He met her eyes, directly on, and smiled gently. She walked on ahead, through the doors. She felt the boy follow her, down a short flight of steps, out into the surrounding plant life.
No; this wasn’t what she knew the school’s area to be like; not these beautiful, white slabs of steps, the small waterfall coursing near to her, the pine trees redolent in their glowing wetness.
The boy called to her. She turned around.
He ran up behind her, there faster than her eye could see. He spoke to her calmly, happily. She couldn’t hear what he was saying, but what he said pleased her.
Acting coy, she turned around and walked down a few more steps.
Clawed hands clamped her shoulder.
They whirled her around, and suddenly it wasn’t the scarred boy any more.
Her father stared back at her, his yellow eyes level with hers, his fangs bared. A knife was held in his left hand, shaking slightly as he moved it away from her shoulder, in for his target.
It was so close to her ear—she felt the fur falling and---
“DAMMIT, META, WAKE UP! The pot roast’s burning!”
It was utterly in her nature, as a humanoid part-cat.
She loved to curl up in the sun, on the soft mats in the Kitchens, the light streaming in through the windows, slightly grimy from the grease and smoke wafting up from the woodstove. She loved to smell the bread as it baked, the pot roast cooking slowly in its bubbling gravy and carrots. It was enough to make her sleepy, slightly hungry, but content. She’d just indulged herself in a few pieces of chocolate and a little catmint tea. The sun was setting (it WAS nearly the shortest day of the year), the orange making the room glow. It would be a few hours before dinner would be ready, and there was just enough time.
All in all, it was perfect for napping.
She sat down, cross-legged, in the middle of the mat, and took a sip of her tea. She smiled; catmint was always a comfort to her when she was feeling down.
Between the fire and the workload she’d taken on lately, she was overwhelmed. She felt like she had little time for her studies, let alone her music. She hadn’t touched her harp in days, the one sitting in the corner, opposite the chimney. (She didn’t want it to dry out)
She watched the steam waft up in the rays of dimming sunlight. Catmint tea always reminded of her mother; when her mother was most stressed, she’d mix together the highest-caffeinated coffee she could get her hands on and throw some dried catmint in the grounds.
She missed Mama-san; Meta hadn’t seen her mother for… months, now. They talked every day, usually.
Wondering how she was doing, Meta made a mental note to go into Gambino Town Proper when she could get away from cooking; maybe she could bribe her way into getting the use of a phone from somebody.
She wondered how Mama was holding up, what with Meta’s father hanging around. Goddess, she hated that b*****d. (Her grimace darkened the tea’s reflective qualities)
Well, she shouldn’t be thinking of him now. Time for a nice, restful nap before dinner.
She stretched, put the tea a safe distance away, took off her scarf, and wrapped her tail around her nose.
Soon, all that could be heard in the kitchen was bubbling and faint snores.
~
The walls of the school were a pale blue, tending towards teal, in the Orchestra Room’s amphitheatre. She walked down the steps, skirting the conductor (she’d never liked him, the little twerp) the other students’ piles of music bags.
She trudged out the door. She didn’t like that harp in the slightest; heck, it was practically a danger to her life, what with the loose base bracket.
But, it was her duty; that’s why she went there every damn day. Mom had to pay good money for her to get in here, and she’d get what she could out of it for the rest of the year.
Meta pushed past the doorway, into the crowded, peach-walled tan-linoleumed hallways, the lockers’ clanging hurting her delicate auditory canals. It was as if they were a sea of tan, loud, buzzing, like overgrown sandflies.
She trudged through the hall, out towards the blue chipped doors to get outta the hellhole.
Something caught her eye; a boy, a felinid, like her, apart from the mostly human crowd. His hair and fur was reddish brown, his skin somewhat dark. But there were two things that made him stand out the most; his bright, almost chemical-green eyes, and a large scar on his throat, in a large, swooping ×.
He met her eyes, directly on, and smiled gently. She walked on ahead, through the doors. She felt the boy follow her, down a short flight of steps, out into the surrounding plant life.
No; this wasn’t what she knew the school’s area to be like; not these beautiful, white slabs of steps, the small waterfall coursing near to her, the pine trees redolent in their glowing wetness.
The boy called to her. She turned around.
He ran up behind her, there faster than her eye could see. He spoke to her calmly, happily. She couldn’t hear what he was saying, but what he said pleased her.
Acting coy, she turned around and walked down a few more steps.
Clawed hands clamped her shoulder.
They whirled her around, and suddenly it wasn’t the scarred boy any more.
Her father stared back at her, his yellow eyes level with hers, his fangs bared. A knife was held in his left hand, shaking slightly as he moved it away from her shoulder, in for his target.
It was so close to her ear—she felt the fur falling and---
“DAMMIT, META, WAKE UP! The pot roast’s burning!”
