Post by vega on Sept 24, 2012 5:03:13 GMT
♔ K∂T∂RIN∂ GR∂NGE ∂STOR
in the back of your car there's a big black mark where i ripped the seat
in the back of my mind i was swearing blind that it wasn't me
but i never could lie so i never did try and you were not pleased
[/color][/i]in the back of your car there's a big black mark where i ripped the seat
in the back of my mind i was swearing blind that it wasn't me
but i never could lie so i never did try and you were not pleased
[/center][/color][/blockquote][/blockquote]HEY THERE! SO, TELL US ABOUT YOU ... LET'S START OFF WITH THE BASICS. WHAT DO WE NEED TO KNOW?
Species: Faerie
Alignment: Neutral
"Oh, god. This isn't going to be like, one of those 'Have you been dating so and so?' interviews is it? Cause if it is I think I'll go ahead and leave. .. Alright, fine, I'll stay. What do you want to know? .. The basics. Okay. Uh, my name is Katarina Grange Astor. Yeah, of the Astor family. Is that why you're interviewing me? .. Well I guess if it's for your school newspaper, fine. Oh, you're in college? So I can be a little less sugar-coated? Good, I don't like censoring myself.. once I cursed in front of a troop of girl scouts, four and five years old, all of them. I got the worst looks from their .. brownie mothers? Camp moms? I don't know, the old ladies looking after them. I didn't even see them! Not until Sabrina slapped me on the arm.. no, you don't know Sabrina. You probably won't, she's a shit photographer. Love her to death, but she won't go anywhere anytime soon. Neither will I. Or most of us, you know, there's five billion or more people in the world and who are we? .. Sorry. Fuck. Back on topic. Okay, my name is Katarina, oh, I already covered that. I'm twenty.. and I'm a wannabe artist. I can't draw for fuck. You're probably going to have to put little asterisks all over this interview, sorry.. Yeah, I like painting. It's fun. I'm not going to be one of those 'oh art is my pain.. I must paint!' types. I started finger-painting in kindergarten and haven't stopped yet. I've moved onto canvasses, luckily.. but I like watercolor, too. Or pretty much anything. I'm into illustration, really. I know right, you wouldn't expect me to be drawing Cinderella for the latest kid's collection of fairy tales, would you? Well, that's cause I haven't. Yet. I'm holding out hope. I just like to draw. Pastels, too, but I hate that shit that my color theory professor has us painting with. Gouache. Yeah, it even sounds terrible.. Sorry, I went off topic again. I'm twenty, a wanna be artist.. you can call me Kat. A little late in the interview for that, isn't it? I'm heterosexual. Boring, right? I'm not really that into dating, though, I hang out with a guy here and there. Nothing serious, no big to do. Relationships end. I'm not going to get sucked up in one just to say hey, I'm such and such age, I gotta go here and do this and that and we can't be together anymore. Okay, I do get attached easily, I'm kind of like a little girl in that way. What I get, I want to keep. I have friends from middle school that I work hard to keep up with. So.. casual flings, those are fun. Not going for a serious boyfriend anytime soon."
[/color][/blockquote][/blockquote]SO, A LITTLE BIRDY TOLD ME THAT YOU ARE GORGEOUS. DESCRIBE YOURSELF.
Playby: Eliza Cummings
"Christ, now you're just being a suck up. I've got chubby cheeks and a short neck, you liar. I'm decent, I guess. What kind of person goes on about how gorgeous they are? My hair is brown. Ashy brown, too, not like.. warm chocolate. My eyes are blue. Murky fucking blue, they look brown a lot. If you don't look really closely. I'm not skinny skinny, even though I don't have a problem with girls that are. I hate this whole, hypocritical 'real women are curvy' bullshit.. all women are real women. You identify as a woman, you're a woman. I'm sorry, I'm criticizing left and right.. Anyway. I'm curvy. Normal, average probably. I'm short, too. I cut my hair off and people say the pixie look is good for me. I'm cool with it. I like having a shaved neck, it's fuzzy, you know? It's nice to touch. And there's all sorts you can do with short hair, it's fun, it's punky, it's sassy. It's messy and easy to deal with. Get up and shake it out a little, boom, good for the rest of the day. I don't even use brushes anymore. I haven't in.. a year? Don't need them. My fingers suffice. Oh, I have a tattoo.. three, actually. I have lyrics across my lower abdomen and hip, a sparrow on my shoulder.. and fish on my ankle. Weird as fuck, right? I like fish. They're pretty. It's a betta, see..?"
[/color][/blockquote]I'M SURE YOUR PERSONALITY IS SOMETHING ELSE COMPLETELY. TELL US ABOUT YOURSELF, WE WANT TO KNOW YOU BETTER!
"Haha, I'm a bitch. Or I try to be. Well, maybe not try.. that's not the right way to phrase it. I am, or I come off as one, or that's just my excuse to say whatever I want. Without regrets. But I'm not like..a mean girl bitch. I'm just honest. I'm not constantly in a bad mood, I'm not out to eat anyone or anything.. but I am who I am, I do my own thing. My family calls me the rebel. I don't really do what I do to be spiteful or something, I just enjoy my freedom. And I'm not going to let anyone take that from me. Including my family. Sorry, rambling again.. why don't you smack me whenever I do that? You have to have a shit ton of notes. I'm sorry. I'm not. You asked for it, remember? Haha. Anyway! I like.. art, obviously. I like looking into people's windows at night and wondering what their life is like. Cause you know,they leave lights on and you can see in.. no, no, not like, I'm not a creeper! More than often the rooms are empty. Or someone's inside cleaning the chandelier. Or turning off the lamp. I like imagining what they see from their point of view. I like feeling others' feelings. I like.. clothes, god. I love clothes, love wearing them, love picking them out.. I love Vogue. It's artistic. I'll kill you if you say the word artsy. I like.. dogs, for certain. Cats are sweet, but I'm not a cat person. Cats are so independent and fussy and dogs just want to lick your face and fetch a bone. Sleep beside you at night. I want to get a German Shepherd someday. I like seeing horses drawing carriages, wax candles being made, cobblestone sidewalks.. history stuff. I like feeling nostalgic. I don't like getting wet. I will pass on the trip to the pool. I don't dig rain, or snow, I don't like being wet and cold and having to adjust to suit the weather. I don't like feeling like I value someone more than they do me. I don't like getting crumbs in my bed, and I don't like taking a long time at the grocery store. I don't like it when I see bullying. I am super quick to call that shit out. I chew my nails, and I don't make up my bed. I read, sometimes. I paint more often than not. I love sleeping. I'm afraid of drowning, so I don't know how to swim. I really don't. I try to avoid bodies of water at all costs. I will suck if the apocalypse is water-related. I'll be one of the first ones to go. I'm afraid of choking, too, I'm super paranoid when I eat. If you watch me eating, it could be awkward, I'm a slow eater. A thorough eater. I'm cautious when it comes to my health. I don't smoke, and drink only every once in a while.
What? You want a secret? Okay, um.. when I was four, I used to drop my kitten over and over. I would pick it up and then just drop it. I don't know what was wrong with me. I could have been a maniacal child. Twisted, maybe, or just dumb. But I did. That cat hated me. I think it ran away. I would have too, though, if my owner dropped me as much as I did that poor cat. I feel really guilty looking back on it. Like, why didn't someone slap some sense into me? They should have. Is it animal abuse if you're too young to understand anything? Well, there you have it, a secret. Now you want a desire? Shit, are we ever going to be done?..Okay, okay. Good grades for you, blah blah blah. I want.. a beautiful house. Apartment. Home. White walls, a red couch, a massive canvas that I paint on whenever I want. Like in the movies. Like in The Princess Diaries, her mom's house. I sometimes just get magazines and clip out pictures of what I want my future home to look like.. I like browsing at furniture shops with my dream in mind. A place of my own.
Yes, that could be very telling of my relationship with my family.. I love them, I really do. But sometimes it feels as if I'm in the mother- as if I'm in the bloody mafia. There's so many of us. My mother can be a bit controlling, and you know the entire family calls me the rebel. I can hear them, at gatherings, talking about my back, about how different I am, about how much I stand out. About how I can't just behave for the family's sake, shit like that. I'm making them look bad. My brothers are kind, they really don't care what I do. Gentry, he's like my best friend. I fight a lot with mom and I'm not super tight with dad, but I have my brothers. And my million cousins, though I'm not too close with them, maybe I could be."
[/color][/blockquote][/blockquote]I WOULD LOVE TO HEAR ABOUT YOUR HISTORY ... I'M SURE IT WILL BE INTRUIGING!
"Alright, but after this, I'm done. You've taken up my entire evening. I was born in the deep of winter to Randolph and Harriet Astor, in a log cabin.. haha, no, I'm fucking with you about the cabin. I was born in a hospital like errbody else. But that bit about my parents is true. Grumpy old Randolph and fussy Harriet.. no, don't print that, I'm in deep enough shit with them as it is. Seriously, don't print that. Anyway, I'm the middle child, with Gentry being older than me, Boyd younger..I've got cousins too, though I don't know them that well. Let's see, my life has been pretty normal- I grew up with a best friend, went to elementary, then middle, then high school, graduated.. I didn't go straight to college afterwards. I took two years off, much to the chagrin of my parents, and I got a job, moved out, and struggled. I used to only be able to eat one meal a day because I couldn't afford anything else. I worked at Subway once, for about three months, and they would leave me alone at the store so I would make three sandwiches at a time, wouldn't pay for them or anything, take them home. I used to have Subway for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Then they caught me, and fired me. Even though it was rough, I did enjoy the freedom..I got to go anywhere I wanted, at any time. I got caught out in a thunderstorm one December night, at 2 am, because I was stupid and adventurous. Another time, me and my best friend spent all night on the swings at the park, and we went and hid behind the fountain every time a policeman came around. I bought a cactus that night. Still have it, too. But then I decided to go to college, and I got financial aid, so I'm not paying rent or trying to buy groceries now..meal plans are great. Bloody wonderful. Of course I'm not certain why in the hell I'm going to school for art...
You know, I say I'm heterosexual, and for the most part I am. But I befriended the most amazing girl in that two year span. She was my roommate. I felt like I could literally share everything with her. She's the one that stayed at the park with me. She was a smartass, and called me out on my crap, and we used to talk about whether or not we believed in reincarnation and what kind of past lives we might have lived. She had the room beside me and whenever we wanted to talk or do something, we'd knock on the wall. If we got a reply, we were up for it; if not, no go. I don't know, it was a lonely time of my life, it was very solitary.. and she made me feel like I belonged. I don't know if I could have been attracted to her, maybe I was. I loved her, that much I know. We don't talk anymore, and for what reason I'm not sure, maybe because I went to college and she's still bumbling around. But I adored the way she spoke to me. At first I didn't like her, because she seemed so stoic and distant, humorless in truth. But then I got to know her, and she had this dry, sassy humor, she was literally adorable. She still is, whatever she's doing now. Maybe I was bi-curious for a time. Maybe I just fell in love. Who knows."
[/color][/blockquote][/blockquote]AH, AND WHO IS THIS AMAZING MASTERMIND BEHIND THE LIKES OF YOU?
Hi, my name is Vega. :D I'm a twenty year old IT student with a crap ton of free time on my hands. I like writing, obviously, so I spend my time roleplaying. I found this site from an ad placed on another site I roleplay at, Blood & Steel. I've been roleplaying off and on for about.. eight or nine years. Since I graduated I tend to take two-three months breaks at a time, so I only have one recent RP example, though I plan on fixing that. x)
It was a scene no attendant would want to walk in upon.
Luckily, there were no attendants or handmaidens or stewards in this part of town, because there were no highborn lads or lasses willing to get their feet dirty in the back alleys of Halden. Sloan couldn't blame them, either; it was a dangerous place to be.
A woman could find all sorts of trouble for herself in shadowy Halden. Unfortunately, so could pesky little tattletails with pluck enough to try and blackmail certain members of house Tarrent with some heresy they'd managed to come by. Peasant idiots, Sloan thought to herself, always thinking they can get a leg up the ladder when they can't even hold it straight.
She reclined carelessly across a wooden bench in a cramped third-story living quarters, throwing her legs over the edge and her arms to her side. This place wouldn't be so bad if it got a decent dusting once in a while, but it was filthy as well as small and ill lit. There was only one room, with a rickety, wooden bed that could suit six or seven right across the door to the hall outside. A privy reeked in perfect view, right beside the bed. The bench she laid on sat at the foot, just a few feet away from the door. In between the bench and the door, there sprawled a bloody mess of a former shoemaker. Of course, that wasn't usual decor. But then, you never knew the type of people in Halden.
Not even a grave, she thought, but a dagger in the stomach and a place to rot on your own floor. In the stomach, across the ribs, up the spine..
Sloan was covered. Sticky, red blood coated her hands and her arms, splattered all the way past her elbows, smeared across her black wool tunic and splotched her thin cotton trousers that clung to her ankles. There was even some in her corn-colored hair. It had been a luxurious kill, and she had taken her sweet time and really indulged. No one cared about a lowborn shoemaker. There were no guards to fight, no ladies or lords she had to avoid. An easy, slow, torturous, delicious kill. Sloan felt satisfied, the way a tigress would after a kill of her own.
She flipped a glinting blade between her fingers. It was steel where it wasn't red, and its handle was made of slick, shiny obsidian. This one had a sleek contour that spoke of swiftness. And swift, it was; the shoemaker could vouch for that. Well, if he wasn't dead.
Sloan slowly pulled herself up and stretched. She was barefoot, and her footprints stained the rough, wooden floor. She tore her boots off sometime between his gasp of surprise and his last breath, when she couldn't recall, but they laid thrown about carelessly. Sloan picked them up and sauntered towards the door. On the knob hung a satchel with spotless replacement clothes. She couldn't return to the vampires covered in blood, now could she? Her usefulness was probably the only thing keeping her from becoming a snack herself- there was no need to tempt them any further.
Luckily, there were no attendants or handmaidens or stewards in this part of town, because there were no highborn lads or lasses willing to get their feet dirty in the back alleys of Halden. Sloan couldn't blame them, either; it was a dangerous place to be.
A woman could find all sorts of trouble for herself in shadowy Halden. Unfortunately, so could pesky little tattletails with pluck enough to try and blackmail certain members of house Tarrent with some heresy they'd managed to come by. Peasant idiots, Sloan thought to herself, always thinking they can get a leg up the ladder when they can't even hold it straight.
She reclined carelessly across a wooden bench in a cramped third-story living quarters, throwing her legs over the edge and her arms to her side. This place wouldn't be so bad if it got a decent dusting once in a while, but it was filthy as well as small and ill lit. There was only one room, with a rickety, wooden bed that could suit six or seven right across the door to the hall outside. A privy reeked in perfect view, right beside the bed. The bench she laid on sat at the foot, just a few feet away from the door. In between the bench and the door, there sprawled a bloody mess of a former shoemaker. Of course, that wasn't usual decor. But then, you never knew the type of people in Halden.
Not even a grave, she thought, but a dagger in the stomach and a place to rot on your own floor. In the stomach, across the ribs, up the spine..
Sloan was covered. Sticky, red blood coated her hands and her arms, splattered all the way past her elbows, smeared across her black wool tunic and splotched her thin cotton trousers that clung to her ankles. There was even some in her corn-colored hair. It had been a luxurious kill, and she had taken her sweet time and really indulged. No one cared about a lowborn shoemaker. There were no guards to fight, no ladies or lords she had to avoid. An easy, slow, torturous, delicious kill. Sloan felt satisfied, the way a tigress would after a kill of her own.
She flipped a glinting blade between her fingers. It was steel where it wasn't red, and its handle was made of slick, shiny obsidian. This one had a sleek contour that spoke of swiftness. And swift, it was; the shoemaker could vouch for that. Well, if he wasn't dead.
Sloan slowly pulled herself up and stretched. She was barefoot, and her footprints stained the rough, wooden floor. She tore her boots off sometime between his gasp of surprise and his last breath, when she couldn't recall, but they laid thrown about carelessly. Sloan picked them up and sauntered towards the door. On the knob hung a satchel with spotless replacement clothes. She couldn't return to the vampires covered in blood, now could she? Her usefulness was probably the only thing keeping her from becoming a snack herself- there was no need to tempt them any further.
