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Falsum Duomum

Writing Sample

a part of “Falsum Duomum”, a fictional universe by Igari.

Isallia, a parallel world of technological advancement, where steam rules as king. Here is where your alternate self resides, where battle royales are held to entertain royals and kill off flawed and where a darker plot to the apocalyptic world resides.

Characters Settings Story
This conversation is an Out Of Character (OOC) part of the roleplay, “Falsum Duomum”.
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Writing Sample

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Igari on Fri Jan 18, 2013 8:23 pm

As detailed in the synopsis, here is where you may post a written sample of your work to be reviewed for approval~
I fell into that purgatory between waking and dreaming, the transient space existing between conscious and subconscious. It was beautiful... ephemeral. And I could not help but wish to stay forever.

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Re: Writing Sample

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Season of the Star on Sat Jan 19, 2013 1:36 am

Was it the right or the left arm that would move first? Jet wondered as his opponent seized him up- er, down. Jet could already tell that this boy was underestimating his abilities. While it was an obvious mistake- anyone should know not to do that in the Great Jet's presence- Jet didn't allow him to know as of now. Jet would play with him a little before demonstrating what a true fighter could do when put to such a task. This foolish challenger would find himself on the floor, panting before Jet could even be punched once! It was a fool's goal to defeat the Wondrous Jet at any form of combat. Whether in words, looks, fists, or even weapons- Jet knew how to beat anyone set in front of him. This was what his past had done to him, and this is what he found himself aspiring to do. This boy's chance was nonexistent, and he hadn't even realized it. Jet would use that against him, for this was his chance to prove himself.
"What is your name?" Jet demanded, his smile widening to a cocky grin. They were in the school's dance room, which was hardly used during the hours Jet had found himself challenged by this boy. Without even bothering to ask the imbecile's name, Jet had brought him here- a room with no obstacle that could hinder their fist-to-fist sparring match. It had a thin hard floor, devoid of cracks and blemishes that could usually be found when laying down linoleum, in a shade of yellowing gray. The walls were staggering white, reflecting the obnoxiously bright lights above. It was nearly blinding when accompanied by the large mirror that replaced the wall to his left. The wooden door was the only splash of color the room constantly held, stained red and cutting through the mirror at its center. The only other color in the room would be that of the clothes the boys wore, which on Jet happened to be a loose-fitting blue tee and baggy purple sweats. The other boy was wearing a neater red shirt with an orange and black logo on it, his denim jeans being the only suggestion at his being anything other than lazy. As for Jet, his selection allowed more ease of movement.
He wondered vaguely why the boy had chosen to challenge the Marvelous Jet in the first place. Many didn't even look at him for fear of him exploding about his slight figure and them "looking down" on him for it. Yet this boy looked almost smug as he faced Jet, his fists raised, back arched forward as he looked at Jet.
'Don't you just adore that wonderful feeling of sheer terror as you face me? Don't you just crave the very essence of frightening yourself to the core- to feel that sickness rise in your chest like a crystallized fever? You must have some adoration for it if you dared to come before me as you have.' He wanted to tell the boy. He wanted to taunt the boy at his own foolish stupidity, to make him realize what he was doing was the worst mistake of his life.
Last edited by Season of the Star on Sat Jan 19, 2013 2:05 am, edited 1 time in total.

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Re: Writing Sample

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby JEDH3 on Sat Jan 19, 2013 2:01 am

The figure walked down the street, a long pole with a blade on the end hitched over one shoulder. His steps were slow and purposeful. He had a little time to burn before he had to be at the training grounds. It was bothering his escorts, but he did not speed up in the least. His eyes were shining silver in his relaxed state. Normally they were brown with content, however today he felt more of a spiritual openness, which made him… not quite happy, but something akin to it. He caught his reflection in a window and smiled at his reflection. He looked like something from ancient history, rather than a dangerous mutant training to fight in a gladiator-like arena. He recognized the irony of his situation, and laughed internally. In a gladiator battle, he –being the only participant even closely resembling a real gladiator- would be the only one who did not fit in. He started to spin the Naginata through his fingers lazily, keeping the length under his complete control. People passing by gave him a wide berth; fearing the blade that swung around seemingly dangerously. Seeing his guards’ glares, he immediately stopped it against his shoulder with a snap. He sighed; rather disappointed, as his eyes lost a little of their shine. Too bad. he thought to himself. There was so much he wanted to do, but had to restrain his self in order to stay out of trouble. And now, he could not even keep his hands busy during his walk without bothering his guards.

He did not understand the point of them. If he truly wanted to escape, he could be done with the two men before they could even blink in surprise. It was all so pathetic. The only reason he even played along, was because he did not want to risk the consequences of getting captured after escaping. They were even too frightened of him to try and take the Naginata. They asked the first day, but he merely tightened his grip on the pole, and they dropped the question. If they only knew that in his head, he was not escaping, but merely running around on the rooftops, jumping from surface to surface, swinging along the street posts. There was a course at the training grounds he could run through, but he had memorized all of the obstacles. The actual urban environment would be a new challenge, and accelerate his training. However, he barely was able to walk here at all, even with his escorts. The only reason it happened, was because his Master was extremely influential, and pulled as many strings as he could. There was no way he was ever going to get permission to run through the city unbound. After all, he had tried before and was always denied. He considered doing it anyway, just to his training area and back, but he never did. He would never get away with it. But the desire to become faster and more agile was great.

That was all he had ever thought about since he was six. Improving his training. Although as of late, something was bothering him. Why was he training so hard? At this point, he was one of the best Martial Artists in the country, and soon he could be one of the best in the world. But why? He barely had a year left before he was executed. Why try so hard to be there best there was? No matter what happened, he could never achieve anything with his short lived life. Even if he won in the Death Match, he would still be killed no matter what.

He walked through the gate into his master’s designated training area and glanced around looking for his teacher. He spotted the familiar figure standing on the other side of the grounds looking up into a tree. He jogged over to the man, and bowed low, pointing the bladed end of the Naginata behind him. “Good morning, Sir.” His voice was void of emotion, however the title he used for his master revealed his true feelings.

“Oh, good morning, Taran.” The elderly man smiled at him. “It is good to see you again.” He looked back up into the tree focusing on whatever was holding his attention before. That was one thing about Taran’s master. He was considered to be one of the greatest Martial Art instructors, a master of a hundred different styles, a living well of wisdom and information, but he never seemed to quite know what was happening around him.

Taran slowly stood back up, and coughed slightly trying to get the man’s attention. “What? Oh yes. Impatient as always, I see.” He smiled kindly; his ancient eyes laughing. “You could learn something from the squirrel, child.” Taran looked at his master confusedly, then into the tree. Running back and forth on a branch, a squirrel searched for food. “Do you know what it is doing?”

“Looking for food, of course, Sir.”

“Do you know when it will eat the food it finds?”

If Taran was not confused before, he certainly was now. “Whenever it wants to, I suppose.”

The elderly man gave a sigh, “Yes. That would be a correct answer. However it was not the one I am looking for.” He hated it when his student gave a good answer that kept him from making his point. “He will eat the food during winter, when there is no food to be found.” He explained. “You see, child, It is planning for the future. I think that you do not do this enough.” He said the last part slowly, and with what sounded a little like sadness. Before Taran could finish, the man continued, “That was today’s lesson. You may go back to your home.”

Taran wanted to stay and train, however similar instances have happened in the past, and there was no way he could convince his master otherwise. “Yes, sir. I will see you tomorrow.” Taran bowed again, giving his farewell.

“Hmm? Oh, yes of course. Tomorrow as always.” The man replied happily, as if he were a grandfather looking forward to hid grandson’s return visit. Taran turned and walked back to his guards.

“We are finished for today. I am ready to return.”
Last edited by JEDH3 on Sat Jan 19, 2013 3:09 am, edited 1 time in total.
The violent road. The path of Harmony from the sword. It is a last resort this is true.
It is the Path we take when there is Inequity that will not yield.
When all other paths lead to ruin and an unjust end.
When Good is beset by Evil from all sides.
When your cause, your power, your fury... When it protects the weak, the pathetic, the helpless.
When it is Righteous: The Way of the Sword... Is Beautiful.
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Re: Writing Sample

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Igari on Sat Jan 19, 2013 2:10 am

//nods very slowly Mm, those were nice samples to read~ The only thing: Make sure you place spacing between different paragraphs/dialogue lines. It will help the writing flow in terms of keeping one's place in the literature. i.e.

Taran slowly stood back up, and coughed slightly trying to get the man’s attention. “What? Oh yes. Impatient as always, I see.” He smiled kindly; his ancient eyes laughing. “You could learn something from the squirrel, child.” Taran looked at his master confusedly, then into the tree. Running back and forth on a branch, a squirrel searched for food. “Do you know what it is doing?”

“Looking for food, of course, Sir.”

“Do you know when it will eat the food it finds?”

If Taran was not confused before, he certainly was now. “Whenever it wants to, I suppose.”

The elderly man gave a sigh, “Yes. That would be a correct answer. However it was not the one I am looking for.” He hated it when his student gave a good answer that kept him from making his point. “He will eat the food during winter, when there is no food to be found.” He explained. “You see, child, It is planning for the future. I think that you do not do this enough.” He said the last part slowly, and with what sounded a little like sadness. Before Taran could finish, the man continued, “That was today’s lesson. You may go back to your home.”


Besides that, you definitely have the Igaga stamp of approval. /stamps JEDH3's forehead with the golden seal and does the same for Star Since I'm sure you two can make those changes, you may go ahead and actually fill out the actual character submission form to add Taran and Jet to the roleplay~

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Re: Writing Sample

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Season of the Star on Sat Jan 19, 2013 2:16 am

Arigato gozaimasu, miss Igari. =^.^=

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Re: Writing Sample

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby JEDH3 on Sat Jan 19, 2013 2:30 am

sorry, I put the space there in ion Microsoft word, but I forgot that RP gateway stacks the lines. :\ I will remember that in the future.

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Re: Writing Sample

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby MelodyAce on Sat Jan 19, 2013 6:36 pm

(Though I did not submit a character by normal means, I wished to have a sample of my writing posted. Hope that's alright.)

Jerking her head, Rakka swallowed up the tail of a half-charred salamander like spaghetti and gulped it down, letting out a belch soon after. "Ugh..." She muttered to herself, looking a bit green. "That stuff's yummy when they're all s'more-d, but I'll never figure out where they actually went in life before I ate them. One of these days, I'll--"

"You'll get sick and die, and join us, yadda yadda," A particularly snippy leaf spirit finished for her, bored. The answer to that was a smack to it's head with an ofuda, sparkling with enough power to actually give a stinging hit. "Ow! What was that for?"

"Being an idiot. Help me find a place to sleep." Rakka said placidly, well-used to this but unwilling to give up old habits. The spirit leered at her, as predicted. "In a man's arms or a woman's?" Another smack, and the spirit was rolling her eyes. "Oh please, great and powerful priestess, don't take out the beads. Those actually hurt." It whined, holding it's head.

"Duly noted. Bed? Sofa? Floor? Chop chop." Rakka clapped her hands, and the leaf spirit rolled it's eyes….Again. "Sheesh Rakka, we shouldn't of taken you in. Alright, if you win a night at the 'Black Dog' casino, five miles from here you can go and sleep, BY YOURSELF in a pretty nice hotel."

"Great, Shinee. Thanks." "You're welcome. Offer's still open." The leaf spirit shrugged open her yukata, displaying wares. Rakka, again who was used to the sight, was totally unfazed. "I'm still fourteen, you idiot. Sixteen, maybe."

The spirit blinked, not used to this turn of events. "…You're serious."
"No, of course I'm not serious," Rakka grinned, and shooed at the spirit. "Go, and thank you."

"You little…trolling bitch." The spirit grumbled, and dissipated itself back into it's original home.

Rakka laughed quietly to herself. Even as the years went by, Shinee never changed. Still the same loose spirit as she always was, willing to get a lay from anyone, any day, any time. It was nice, to some degree--She had that to rely on, at least.

"Well then, you guys…Off to another night. Run interference for me?" She queried quietly to her beads, which hummed in pleased agreement.

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Re: Writing Sample

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Igari on Sat Jan 19, 2013 7:38 pm

//snickers All of us are going to get hit by those beads at some point X3 I see it happening. All the freaking time.

"Stop stripping! /whap whap"

But as a note, dear--since it's been awhile since I've taken a look at your writing. Just include a bit more description in it--that would even out the balance between dialogue and actions present in your writing.

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Re: Writing Sample

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby MelodyAce on Sun Jan 20, 2013 2:08 am

Ah, I knew I forgot something rather important. It was bothering me! Thank you for telling me what it was, Igaga darlin'--Shall I edit the post, then? I was so wrapped up trying to portray her, I forgot about her surroundings. OTL

And yes, yes she will whap you guys all the time, every day. //Puts on sunshades and sparkles like a stylish shoujo motherf-er, with ALL OF THE SUPER SAIYAN POWERS OF THE SUN.
...Or try to. Warning, ladies and gentlemen! She has whapping powers of doom.

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Re: Writing Sample

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby HansenetteHeart on Sun Jan 20, 2013 2:58 pm

~Thought I would put in a little sample myself. Solely to get Orfhlaith to SHUT. UP. ABOUT. IT. Jeez.~

The overseer's red boots clicked against the marble flooring with a satisfying pop. Reminded Orfhlaith of an eyeball being squished out of it's socket. That was the delightful vision she woke up to this morning and truth betold, it hadn't really but her in a good mood.

Go figure.

And now she had to go tell some stuffy official what she had seen for the up and coming Battle Royale. Today was starting to suck. Orfhlaith thought about telling said official about how his wife was thinking about cheating on him with his half brother but dismissed the idea. Too kind. More fun to see the husband finding out later on. Especially if she got pregnant. Of the three different versions she had seen, however, only one invovled her getting pregnant. It was too far along the time stream to get a proper idea. So there was currently a 1 in 3 chance. So it was rather slim.

Oh well, a girl could dream.

However, in two of the three versions, Mr Stuffy Offical down the corridor got his arse handed to him quite effectively. So there was a bright side to all this. Orfhlaith knocked the door open wide without any preamble and sat in her chair. Where she always sat whenever these deplorable meetings. She looked down at her hands and was pleased to see her left hand sitting normally. Other than a few twitches. Why, a possible scandal surrounding one of her least favourite people and her hand playing nice? This day was getting better already. Orfhlaith licked her lips and waited for the offical. He would be...oh...at least two more minutes. That old fart he was in a meeting with was going to inform him of his daughter's baby. A little boy who apparently had the sun shining from his backside and was the most beautiful thing in existance.. The overseer had envisioned this child.

It looked like a wrinkled old man face sellotaped onto a poor baby's body.

Orfhlaith sighed as another vision played in her eye. Oh, another flawed winning the Battle Royale. What a surprise. It wasn't like she hadn't seen at least three hundred of these before breakfast. She rolled her eyes. Really, was it that difficult to inform her when they were planning to kill off the previous victor? She already knew of course, but really, common curtesy. Or perhaps, they could stop killing off people. That always did cause a sudden upheaval in the time stream. Honestly, one guy dies and suddenly there's at least a thousand new futures popping up everywhere. Because every flawed has the chance to win. And she has to weed out the possiblities from the definitely nots. And this happened regularly and she had to fix it before the officals panicked again. Tiring is not the word. The previous vision melted into a darker one. A young woman ran down the street, her raggedy hair flying behind her. She was sobbing. Pleading to the air as she tried to run. Orfhlaith watched as she tripped and falled to get back up. Her chasers caught her and their claws shot through her chest and ripped out some organs out of her torso that really should have stayed there. This carried on for a second until the young woman stopped breathing and her eyes turned blank and glassy. Then a vision of a young child finding his mother replaced that.

So, that woman had stolen those drugs. Orfhlaith had rather hoped that she hadn't. Now she would be having death visions of that one woman all week. As if she didn't have enough of them all the time. She currently had three death visions, an affair, two flaweds discovering their abilities and another doomsday running through her head. Another nuke? Really, where were the government finding them all? That one looked ancient. No wonder it blew up. But it wouldn't. Orfhlaith knew this. She knew that Stupid Offical Number 482 was as smart as a brick but his friend would send him back home. No one would let someone that drunk go work on a bomb. Especially a man who had a pregnant wife and three small children in the blast zone. So she dismissed the thought and waited. The door popped open and Orfhlaith smiled.

Two minutes.

Exactly.

Perfect.
Have people always been this angry? I’ve got a funny idea that before the internet people were just writing ‘fuck you’ and attaching it to pigeons.

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Re: Writing Sample

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Ezarael on Mon Jan 21, 2013 1:36 pm

Apocalyptic Earth: Location Unknown Dream World


Luther’s left foot, his leg being thrown over his right knee, swung back and forth casually as he lay on the rubble of some long forgotten building. It seemed Nobunaga had grown accustomed to whatever ruined city this had been, since this was the third time he had fallen asleep to find himself here in the past month. Quite unusual.

A soft whistle, more akin to that of a dying bird than anything passably decent, passed easily over his lips; the tune came from an old war ballad he heard his father’s men sing while feasting. It was a slow, methodic, and morose tune that he believed accurately accentuated the scenery around him. The debris from half-collapsed buildings peppered the roads as he would a ham, and the nearly-gone buildings stood as a marker for some civilization that had come and gone.

The Dream World, as he so affectionately referred to their general method of camaraderie, was a strange one, even by his standards. A soft, moon-like light always illuminated the area perfectly, but with nary a source to be found, and with that shadows remained absent as well. He had never noticed an excess of heat nor cold, and the wind never blew. It was almost as if it was something other than a dream. Surely the man must have fallen asleep in the elements sometimes, but the same went for their meetings in his Dream World as well. So many questions that lack an answer.

The young royal quickly swung his arms forward, using the momentum to carry his body up and off the debris which was previously his resting place. “Well now, that’s enough of that if you ask me!”

“Eleven breaths…” Commented the quiet, as usual, Nobunaga, for some reason he was intent upon this futile game of pretend to not have anything to say.

“Are you still going on about all that nonsense? Naga, it wouldn’t hurt you to open up a bit and show some emotion.” Luther raised his hands empathically; palms open and facing towards his head, as a conductor would when gesturing to his orchestra.

Nobunaga was nonplussed with the idea of “showing emotion.” Too many times had he used that weakness to undermine a target to want to try doing it himself. He noticed the gleam in Luther’s eyes as that strange smile quirked upwards on his face, the fool was about to rant again. “Emotion is for the weak.”

“Oh pish-posh! Always with this weakness nonsense you spout off every five minutes. It’s always, “Emotion equals weakness,” or, “Talking equals death,” or even, “Women equal scary!” The ranting fool had rushed quickly towards Nobunaga and grasped his shoulders, shaking him back and forth ferociously.

If the flawed had thought it would do any good to attack his, supposedly, parallel self he would have done so, but unfortunately when they were in this state they seemed immune to pain and suffering, otherwise he would have killed Luther every evening since they had first began talking. “I am not afraid of a woman, but they cannot be trusted, no one can be trusted here.”

An, “Ahah,” spread across Luther’s face as he laughed at this statement. Maybe he could finally start making headway with this naïve fool. “That’s perfect, because they won’t trust you either! See, you have women figured out already, but just aren’t taking advantage of the perks!”

Nobunaga grasped Luther’s wrists roughly, not like the blabbering fool would notice, and quickly removed them from his shoulders. “How you could have survived for as long as you have is a mystery to me.” With that the flawed made a move to stand up and walk a few paces away, anything to try and make space between the two of them.

“Oh come now Naga, don’t you worry. When you come to my world I’ll show you the wonders of emotion, women, and talking of course… maybe more talking before the other two…”

The first glimpses of what would be daylight began illuminating the Dream World around them. This was the sign they were waking up. Strangely enough the landscape began fading into darkness as the light began to brighten, leaving them both to wake up in their respective worlds yet again.
Last edited by Ezarael on Mon Jan 21, 2013 4:26 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Isn't it strange how Decidedly we
will chasE such an iNdefinable concept
That cannot truly descrIbe us no
maTter how hard we trY?
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Re: Writing Sample

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Igari on Mon Jan 21, 2013 4:10 pm

Excellent contrast~ //claps hands in delight As always, Luther makes me laugh quite a bit. I will be accepting your characters into the roleplay~

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Re: Writing Sample

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Ezarael on Mon Jan 21, 2013 4:33 pm

Thank you, and I'm glad I could be of some assistance.

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Re: Writing Sample

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Ellipsis of Gothique on Tue Jan 22, 2013 2:52 am

Image

Ink and Vanilla Tea


Black letters are enveloped by their respective pulsating colors that comb astutely through the unfathomable air around them. Fissures of white engrave the distance between the letters and exterior vibrancy, breaking admission for those persisting colors only desiring to infect and swallow the objects absent of them. In the sea of white, the desultory letters floated without logic and law, abusing dreams with its austerity and reality with its nonsense. A wordless chaos could be terribly haunting if meaning continues to be forsaken by the one who lived by their presence. The pattern of this acidic nightmare may begin in different genres – some bleed from the pores of space and others drown in phantom oceans; yet it has always ended in the same tendency, a mechanical rustle against the silence of nothingness.

The textual dream melted away as Alvion opened his eyes to the ticking accent whispered by his mechanical sheep Babel, whose warm body leaned against his exposed right ear. His cradle of arms supported his weary head on the documents scattered across a spent mahogany table, one consumed by dust and even multiple circular stains from vanilla-flavored tea. Threads of light crawled from the curtains before him, entangling his form with the gossamer of early morning. As Alvion pulled his body away from his desk, he took his mechanical sheep into his left hand and sighed forlornly over the nap of two depriving hours. Wavy hair cascaded into their natural disorder, spreading tapered indigo wings that plaster his ears and forehead.

“An unpleasant morning to you, little troublemaker...” Resting Babel on his palm, an amicable smile peeled away the facial veil of his fatigue. His ametrine eyes, eternally laced by deep eyelids, greeted the brightness with squinting grimace as the curtain slid away by the aid of his free hand.

Alvion sank his attention immediately on the papers serving as the nest for Babel to stand ticking nervously under scrutiny. The pools of white were littered in inked salad of words of their own colors, immortalizing his recent dream into this paper wonderland that he could actually touch and feel the written curse against his skin. The plague of his altered perception was not pleasant for it complicated his direction, turning simplicity into a beast that held no purpose other than its own nature. Every word was a criminal, subjected to their melange of colors that Alvion carefully evaluates whether it could be considered beautiful at all. Unfortunately, only one string of letters claimed his adoration for the colors that embraced its fleeting existence. Emrys. Examining the colors in words could be considered an obsession, salvaged from the desire to repair the broken pieces of a story he never understood the meaning of its conclusion. The disappearance of the original sheep, a mystery Alvion burned into his reasons and dreams to desperately imprison the disappearing shards of his memories.

The mechanical sheep bought Alvion’s interest after a minute of mental absence. “Babel.” He called out for the entity of steel and gears, patting his index finger on its tiny copper head. It has been two years since he discovered that the name bestowed upon this creation could possibly carry the colors of the truth he has been trying to pursue. Answers did not trickle into his bowl of questions, but he did not falter even when the wires of disappointment tightened around his resolve. There was nothing else he could do with his life except follow the footsteps of a transient ghost. Alvion pushed his troubled thoughts into the mental pockets of neglect, deciding he should at least commence the day with a saccharine indulgence.

“I wonder what flavor of tea we should have today...” A chuckle escaped his lips when Babel fell to its right after the careless stroke from his finger that disrupted its balance. The intentional gesture was a discretion he takes to decide on matters involving sustenance. Alvion may be able to take professional endeavors with certainty but he becomes indecisive when it comes to choosing the course for his appetite and thirst. As such, Babel was his master at least with the subtraction of such a sneaky behavior. “Oh, so you knew what I was intending to get... You are such a prophet, Babel... That is why I worship your terrible rustiness.”

Alvion stood from his place, beaming at the swindled mechanical sheep. “Vanilla tea, it is.”

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Ellipsis of Gothique
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Re: Writing Sample

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Igari on Tue Jan 22, 2013 3:26 am

Interesting post~ I definitely approve of your written sample, Gothique, and can now add our Alvion to the roleplay ^ ^ First post is up people so we can all begin our story :3 I'm sure you all noticed I intentionally began in the middle of the Battle Royale. Figured it would take just a tad too long if we started beforehand so why not--let's jump right into the action~!

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Igari
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Re: Writing Sample

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Ellipsis of Gothique on Tue Jan 22, 2013 3:31 am

(*≧▽≦) Thank you, Igari-chan~

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Re: Writing Sample

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby jukuma on Wed Jan 23, 2013 5:18 am

And again I must apologize for my tardiness. I had actually managed to write this yesterday, but my internet got cut minutes before I managed to post it.




Jenna knew very well what time it was: seven forty-six – perhaps only a minute later – since she had ogled her silver watch for what could very possibly be the millionth time that day. Today was proving to be a remarkably slow one, though at this point she was no longer certain whether this was caused by the monotony of her work or if it was simply because her eyes would betray her intentions time and again by stealing a look directed at her watch. She usually supported the theory that everything is relative and what defines one person doesn't necessarily apply to other people, but this was different. Regardless of a person's self-discipline, diligence or patience, time would become slow and practically physical painful if one began to pay too much attention to a clock. Not only that, but her motivation had now been plummeted into nothingness and she was losing the fight against the blank report that still waited for her to start writing.

On a reflex, Jenna's eyes landed on her wrist once again – seven forty-nine. She couldn't help but sigh in frustration and, practically as an order from her body, threw her arms on the desk in front of her and her head on top. Her square and plain glasses fell with the sudden motion and landed on the opposite end of the table, dangerously close to the border, but she was much too frustrated to care for the endangered spectacles or the pain pulsing through her forehead from the impact. She remained still in that position for a while, with her eyes closed, as if time would decide to give the poor woman a break and fast forward if it saw her desperate response. Of course, nothing happened, and after being subject to a heavy sensation of self-imposed shame, Jenna found herself slowly pulling up her head and looking at her office in search for an answer to a non-existent question; anything that would put her mind at ease. The laboratory room, however, was the same it always was: a big nothing. The cube lacked any form of appeal and it was objectively and undeniably dull – no pictures, no artistic decorations, no vivid colors, no life. It was depressing. She was already in her middle 30s and steadily moving towards the 40s and yet her office – her Hall of Fame, so to speak – had nothing to show other than a diploma on physics, chemical engineering and the picture of a dog that had been dead for two years now. She tried to remain positive and tell herself that soon the room would have all the colors in the rainbow, but unfortunately, experience had shown her that growing was right the opposite to the clock dilemma – the more attention you paid to your age, the faster it seemed that time passed by.

“I need coffee”, she mumbled to herself. Had she said 'an excuse to get out of here' instead of 'coffee', she would've been more sincere to herself.

Even in the corridor, dullness invaded her vision and she was surprised that, even when moving towards the cafeteria, time was still determined to remain slow and cruel. Somewhere along the way, she came to the conclusion that drinking coffee might not be a good idea, as it would just worsen her nervousness, but since she was already halfway towards the lunge room, her legs decided to disregard this judgment entirely. Maybe it would also be a good idea to smoke a cigarette while she was it; she was quitting, but since she had already betrayed that claim four times that day, was there any point by now? She took out a pack from her pants' pockets only to be suddenly disappointed and reminded that she had run out earlier, which meant that – once again – she would have to ask others for one. Eyeing the plates on the many office doors while she kept walking, she made an effort to remember which of them she had seen smoking before, but with little success. It was only at times like this that she regretted not spending more time in the lunge with the rest of workers there. Her feet came to a stop in front of a door before her head had fully thought things through – even though she already knew whose office that was, her eyes moved towards the metallic plate next to it: Aedyn Nadeau.

Head of the research group they had in the laboratories, a man surprisingly young for the rank he had been given after only a year working there. Certainly an effective leader that had earned a good reputation in no time at all and he seemed to be well-liked by most of the other scientists. Jenna wasn't part of that last group. It was as if she was the only one who saw it. The fake expression printed on his face and the void in his words.

Perhaps it was only her delusional mind from having nothing better to do with her empty life that was doing the talking there, but to her, he seemed artificial. He was somehow able to take in every little detail in a conversation, yet managed to talk without saying anything. In her case, for example, after over a year of knowing the man, she still couldn't say a thing about him other than the fact that he was big blank. Like an observer who simply put on a mask and registered everything his senses caught. Learning. What exactly, she couldn't tell. She had learned by now that it was best not to pry or argue.

But, given the circumstances, the word that instantly came to Jenna's mind was 'whatever'. He smoked, which meant he had cigarettes, and if she didn’t give ground for conversation, there was no reason for her to feel uncomfortable. She knocked three times on the door and waited for a response that never came. Opening the door, she confirmed that Aedyn was not in his office at that moment. While some would've taken that as a reason to move on, she was feeling rebellious in that particular instant and decided to step in; he wouldn't mind if she took a lone cigarette, right? And if he did... well, ignorance is bliss. She closed the door behind her and inspected the office of her superior – in contrast with her's, it was certainly more colorful and vivid, having a large bookshelf, magazines and pictures of a young woman she hoped was a relative and not a sick fetish. On a table at least twice the size of the one in her office, right in the middle of the room, there was an open magazine depicting tropical scenes, a pair of common glasses and a spent cigarette resting on the side of an ashtray.

If she was lucky enough, he probably had a pack in one of the drawers of the table, and if she wasn't, he probably took them with him. With surprisingly less remorse than she anticipated to feel, she began her quest in the search of tobacco (!). The first drawer of the table had nothing but more magazines like the one on the table, all with pictures of beaches, boats and the likes of that. She briefly wondered if she would find any pornography, but almost instantly arrived to the conclusion that, even if she actually had any genuine curiosity – which she didn't – she didn't want to know the details. The second drawer had a bunch of random items like writing utensils and such. The only that actually stood out was a picture of Aedyn Nadeau with an older couple she could safely assume was his family; the older man seemed somehow familiar, as if she had seen him somewhere before, but again, she didn't care that much to actually explore it. The third drawer, she didn't manage to open it completely. Her vision was able to notice something metallic and small, and the instant her brain was able to identify what it was, her eyes widened and her hand violently pushed the drawer back to its original position. She didn't think about anything and went straight for the door, back to the way she came from.

Her steps were fast and her heartbeat accelerated. Suddenly, she had forgotten everything about her need to smoke. She simply walked and pretended. She pretended what she had seen wasn't a gun.

She looked at her silver wristwatch again – eight sixteen.

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Re: Writing Sample

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Igari on Wed Jan 23, 2013 11:43 am

//yawns faintly Ah, this is what greets me when I wake up in the morning =///= Another interesting take--honestly, why are all my applicants so good? I like that it wasn't in his point of view, rather, the opinion of someone else--which actually tells our characters how other people view him and, by extension, how to act around him. I approve, of course--and obviously future posts will be in Aedyn's POV~

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Igari
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