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| Scathach's application; Old stuff, but still good | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Apr 23 2011, 01:52 PM (124 Views) | |
| Scathach | Apr 23 2011, 01:52 PM Post #1 |
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Triple Digits!
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OOC Information Name: Scathach Gender: female Who were you referred by? What site were you referred from?: The other TUL Age: Still older than dirt Contact: Um, PM me from TUL, if you please? Role Playing Experience: A long, long time. If you include table-top gaming, longer than I even want to think about. IC Information Role Play Sample: (No less than 300, and no more than 1000 words. We're looking for a sample, not a short story, please.) But, but, I have some very nice short stories! *sigh* Okay, here goes: Sample 1 - Burnt Hollow, modern fantasy, with a nod to Manly Wade Wellman Ivy Sixkiller sat in the reception area of the hospice, her capable brown hands folded calmly in her lap. Outside, summer heat rose in shimmers across the parking lot; the constant rumble of Charlotte traffic rolled in through the windows behind her. Inside, the air conditioner blew too chill, moving the leaves of the various potted plants meant to soften the office-park impersonality of the place. Ivy's coffee-colored eyes were half-lidded, her gaze turned inward with thought. It was a puzzle and a sadness, what had happened to Miss Nancy Ward, and Ivy was giving it her full attention while she waited for the staff to admit her for a visit with the old witch. Old, and powerful, thus the puzzle as to how Miss Nancy could suddenly find herself in the hospice, untreatable cancers blooming like foul weeds throughout her body. A sadness, because Miss Nancy had helped so many marginal and magical types through the years, Ivy included. Ivy was a skin-changer by birth, a shaman by necessity (for when the spirits call, you cannot refuse). Miss Nancy's house had been her refuge during that horrible year when Ivy had been sent to learn about her heritage as a were-cougar from her mother's people. They had never approved of Ivy's Cherokee father or their daughter's half-blood brood; the Macraes had not been kind to the grandkids returning East from Albuquerque to learn about the family curse, but they had done their duty, albeit grudgingly. And several years later, it was Miss Nancy who had offered a room to sleep in and a small loan when Ivy needed help getting her jewelry business started. The receptionist sat behind her counter as if it were a castle battlement, regarding this visitor with suspicion. The receptionist was not sure why she was on edge - the slim little 30-something woman seemed harmless enough in her tiered denim skirt and embroidered chambray shirt, with her little black low-heeled boots set primly together before her. It was clear that she was half of something that wasn't white - what with that olive complexion, that aquiline nose and those high cheekbones lightly dusted with freckles, that long shiny black hair with never a wave or curl in it. But the receptionist liked to think of herself as accepting of all ethnicities (despite the complete lack of non-Anglo faces in her social life), and so righteously rejected the woman's background as the reason for her discomfort. Being "normal", it never occurred to the receptionist to think that she was reacting to something uncanny in Ivy. Ivy, for her part, felt the eyes on her but did not care. She was used to getting odd reactions from people. She was instead considering how to thank the earnest young deputy sheriff from up Burnt Hollow way for all his help in tracking down where they'd sent Miss Nancy off to. She'd driven out to the house before coming here, so she could leave a message in Theban script for any other of Miss Nancy's strays who might be drawn, as Ivy herself had been, to seek the old lady out. Sample 2 - Comedic medieval fantasy (intro for a clumsy swordsman) Ah, how glorious it was to be Claude du Bois! He was tall, but not too tall; he was muscular, but not too muscular; he was blond and well-made and as handsome as one could ever wish to see. How merrily his blue eyes twinkled, and yet how frightening their aspect when his ire was raised! His lips, his chin, his cheekbones, his nose, his eyebrows, all were handsome. Even his elbows were handsome, if one could induce him to show them. He was dashing and well-mannered as well. He was a great fan of the ladies, and the ladies returned his high regard. And if he did not tarry long by any individual beauty's side, well that was all for the best, for how could he deprive all of those lovelies of the chance to see his charming smile? So what if the objects around him often betrayed him by behaving in most outlandish and un-object-like manners? He was very lucky indeed, was Claude, for even with the animosity of every inanimate thing in his world, he still possessed all of his limbs and bore no scars from their attempts to destroy his handsomeness. At the moment, Claude sat in his favorite tavern, regaling his friends - and a pretty little bar wench as well - with tales of derring-do. His own derring-do, to be specific. The tankard before him was three-quarters empty, and Claude was feeling stotious and - need we say it? - glorious. The Genres:Fantasy, SF, realism (current and historical), select fandoms including Pern, Star Trek, Star Wars, and Marvel Universe. Also, anything that intrigues me. |
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| Dr. Locke | Apr 23 2011, 02:00 PM Post #2 |
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Trust your Doctor.
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The Storyteller Chronicles Prologue: Weaving Webs A Short Story About Love - Coming Soon Deadly Sins - Coming Soon Until She Wakes - Coming Soon | |
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8:14 PM Jul 10