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Browse All Blog Posts
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Athrun Zala- The Red Knight
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11/07/2011 09: PM
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Guidlines (*Updated 8/4/12)
1. I am a para to novella Rper but I will accept the entire spectrum short of one liners as they don't give me enough to work with in order to reply. I like detail so I stress quality of quantity. I don't care if you can write me a book-ish reply length wise, if it's dull and boring I'm going to fall asleep long before I ever finish reading it. As long as you keep me interested in our rp, then I'll keep responding to you, if not don't be surprised if I fall silent. 2. I don't like pupeteering, godmoding, autoing, or metagaming. It's a quick way to annoy me so just don't do it. If you don't know the meaning of any one of those, then feel free to ask me and I'll try to explain it to you as best I can. 3. If you'd like to contact me outside of this site feel free to do so but make sure you identify yourself so I can recognize you and not flag you as spam. My AIM sn: TatooineSon1 Roleplayer.me: https://www.roleplayer.me/imperial_guardsmen_tierce , https://www.roleplayer.me/view_profile.php?member_id=127711 , https://www.roleplayer.me/tatooineson Aniroleplay.com: https://www.aniroleplay.com/SwordofJustice 4. I'm fairly new to the RP aspect of the Gundam verse as I got my start in the massive Star Wars verse on MySpace over five years ago. So if I make mistakes, politely point them out to me and I'll learn and try to correct them. I won't be offended provided your polite about it. 5. I work 40 hours a week, and have other RL responsibilities to attend to so I won't always be the most active. I also have more than one account so I do have to spread my time and attention between them. If it takes me awhile to get to you, be patient or if a week or more goes by and you still are waiting on a reply from me politely remind me as I may have forgotten.*6. Drama and threats- Don't even think about bringing it my way, either directly at me or at those close to me. I won't tolerate drama queen's or those so arrogant and insecure that they feel they need to threaten any one in any way. If your on this site your obviously old enough to talk about problems... threats, blackmail, and drama isn't talking it's stupidity and I won't put up with it. Don't like it... tough I'm not here to hold your hand, I'm here to tell you what I expect from you when it comes to the basics of showing respect. If you find my bluntness rude... then see your way off my page now before you can cause me a headache.*7. In addition to working full time as stated in rule 5, I also have several health problems that at times make it very difficult for me to always log in and at times make it hard for me to come up with replies to roleplays and story lines in a timely fashion. I hate that sometimes it may take me months to be able to write out just one reply to a rp or sl that I'm involved with, but due to my health issues I can't always help it. If you can't work around that and still enjoy chatting and rping with me, then leave now because that's something I have no control over.*8. This is your warning in case you couldn't tell already, I can be a very blunt, sarcastic, cynical ass at times. That's just how I am, but I can also be one of the most caring, loyal, and understanding friends you could find. Just don't mistake me for being the type to be very forgiving if you cross me or betray me. I'll admit, I hold grudges but I won't attack you for them. I can be vengeful at times, but I don't go out of my way to hurt people only prove points. I'm a very tolerant person, but betrayal and hurting those I see as friends is the quickest way to find yourself on the wrong end of my temper. I come here to relax and take my mind off the nightmare of always being sick and/or in a lot of pain... sometimes this is the only respite I have... don't ruin it for me with stress and drama.
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Lord Vader
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11/01/2011 03: PM
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Rules
~ Disclaimer: I am not nor will I ever claim to be the person you see in
any picture you find on my page. I am a role player nothing more, the
images give my character a face and Darth Vader is the creation of
LucasFilms. Before I launch into my rules I warn
you my character isn't a Cannon Vader. That being said his history and
actions will reflect that. If you don't like it you can see your way off
my friends list. If your willing to be open minded about it then by all
means add me as a friend and RP with me. 1) I tend to be
multi-para and when creative enough novella, but that doesn't mean I
won't speak with you just because you can't keep up with me in length. I
only ask that you make an attempt but don't sacrifice detail in order
to match me. I'd like to be able to stay awake long enough to read your comment and think of a reply.2)
If your one that likes to start drama and cause problems don't bother
adding me or if you have see your way off my list. I won't stand for it
nor will I play nice should you dump it on me. I've been in RP for far
too long to enjoy putting up with stupidity and childish pettiness.3)
I'm an adult so don't be surprised if my language and writing style
reflects that. In RL I tend to curse like a sailor, I try to keep it
down here but there are times where you may see it. If your offended
easily I'm probably not one your going to want to RP with much without
warning me of that before hand, as I'm not afraid to be graphic when the
situation requires it.4) Messages are for ooc and story line brainstorming only. RP is blogs and comments only.5) Don't auto, puppeteer, or god-mode Lord Vader or you'll get a nasty response as I won't tolerate it.6)
Relationships- My character is married to Lady Nikita. Sorry girls I'm
off limits. I highly doubt any of you wish to incur the wrath of a
Sith'ari nor mine. Vader is a very complicated, closed person so don't
be surprised if he's hard to understand or grow close to.That's all I have for now, but I'm not afraid to add more as I think of them.
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Lord Vader
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11/01/2011 03: PM
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Path to Redemption: Vader's chapter
"Make peace with him... for me."Her
request for him to make peace with Skywalker echoed in his head as he
sat alone in meditation. The Darkside of the Force surrounded him,
comforting him, protecting him as he reflected on the second chance he'd
been given at life. Never did he expect to be able to have the freedom
to be with his family again. Though he had an odd way of expressing his
love for them by most people's standards, he loved them none the less.
Nikita was one of the few people in his life that truly knew him on a
personal level... she knew the man behind the monster so to speak. She'd
been at his side with unwavering loyalty since the fall of the Old
Republic.A
coy smirk tugged at his lips as he focused his thoughts on those he
cared for, that he trusted to never betray him. Vader could see the
image of his wife in his mind, a woman that to him was the perfection of
a Darksider. While he surpassed her in brute strength she made up for
it with speed, stealth, and at times an unsurpassed viciousness...
something that caused him to love her all the more. She was just as
cruel as he was, just as guarded, making them a stronger team in his
eyes. Drawing in a deep breath he shifted his focus slightly to their
children. His anger flared, his smirk faded as he reminded himself of
the fact that their mother had given them over to the Jedi. It had been
his hope that they would train their children together in the ways of
the Sith.Just
as his anger flared he could hear the Force whispering to him of Aaron
and Allana's destiny. She was meant to become a Greysider; a path that
in Vader's mind was the most deadly, and he was meant to return to learn from Vader himself. To him Greysiders seemed more
dangerous than the Sith or Jedi, as you dealt with an unknown with a
Grey that didn't exist with any other path. While he knew his daughter
would always have a soft spot for the Sith he knew she'd never return to
what she once was. Though this didn't please him he released his anger.
He knew it was pointless to hold onto it when the Force whispered that
what he desired for his oldest children could never become truth.Calming himself again, his focus shifted once more. His vision was
filled with the image of his wife once again. Even though she was six
months along with their second son she carried on with her normal tasks
in a way that made it hard to believe, save for the slight stomach she
now possessed. This would be his third child, his second chance to
learn to be a parent. He swore to himself that he wouldn't fail any of
his children again. Centering himself within his current
calmness he opened himself further to the Force. As he felt it flow
through him he allowed it to direct his mind as it wished, no longer
controlling his focus he welcomed any vision the Force wanted him to
see.(His vision)- Massive fleet converged in an
unknown location. Their numbers bloated with huge obsidian colored
capital ships, some of them appeared to be larger than any ship Vader
had ever seen. There was no doubt all of them were armed to the teeth
with top of the line weapons and defensive systems. Upon a closer look
one would see small shuttles and frigates transporting supplies from a
station to the various ships, fueling, arming and stocking goods the
crews would need once underway. -To one who'd seen as many
wars as Vader he knew instantly it was a fleet assembled for one
purpose... the destruction of an enemy. The question was who was behind
the massive build up, and who was their intended target? The answers to
those questions eluded him, distressing him further as he could feel the
Dark Side of the Force radiating strongly from the fleet... It radiated
in a way that felt familiar to him, it reminded him of the aura that
surrounded a Sith'ari. Sighing as he opened his eye he ran his
hand through his hair briefly. It worried him to think a Sith'ari could
be lurking among the crew of one or more of the ships he'd seen. And
what if they were planning on attacking the Empire? Who would Nikita
side with? Would he be forced to turn on his love?"No never!
She'd never turn against me. She's been at my side through too much to
abandon me now." He thought to himself as his stair settled on his saber
hilt. She would fight alongside him just as she always had... but who
would he side with? This unknown foe or Skywalker's ever growing Empire?
Though he and Skywalker didn't get along he knew at the end of the day
Skywalker would have his back if he found himself in more trouble than
he could handle. He also knew if he sided with him no one would ever try
to control his life nor Nikita's ever again.
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Spanish Editor
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10/31/2011 10: PM
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Roles Needed
In the order that I need themDaniel Meade (play by Eric Mabius): He is Betty's Lovie interest. Known each other for years but didn't realize how he felt until she was leaving for London , He followed her there, professed His love and have been together ever since (now they live in NY)Alexis Meade: (play by Rebecca Romijn) Daniel's Sister ,Tyler's Half sister, Claire's DaughterClaire Meade: (play by Judith Light) Daniel ,Alexis and Tyler's Mom.Amanda Tannen: (Play by Becki Newton): Betty's Best Friend , is fashion stylist for ModeHilda Suarez Talercio: (Play by Ana Ortiz) Betty's Sister, Bobby's Wife, Justins �mom.Bobby Talercio (play by Adam Rodriguez): Hilda's husband, Justin's Step Dad, Betty's Brother in lawJustin Suarez (Play by Mark Indelicato) Hilda's Son, Bobby's step son, Betty's Nephew)Marc (Play by Micheal Urie) Wilhelmina's assistant, He looks up to her thinks of her as his Mother, he also works at ModeTyler Meade Heartley (Play by Neal Bledsoe): Daniel and Alexis Half Brother, Amanda's Boyfriend.(these roles above are Non Negotiable as they are Canon Characters)Made Ups Needed for the Second Generation charactersDakota Meade (Play by Cody Simpson): he is the Youngest of the future Daniel and Betty's children and is the Most like Season one Daniel. This Play by is Non NegotiableAlso needed are Amanda and Tylers Kids, Hilda and Bobby's Kids, Older Justin and Older DJ Play bys for these are �Negotiable�as a side note I RP this the way the show ended so keep that in mind if you are taking on the rolehere is a Banner for more info. *It should be noted the Role of Daniel has been filled If interested contact Betty Suarez
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Daydream {MCRP}
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10/31/2011 08: PM
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Benjamin Crowe
Name: Benjamin CroweAlias(s): NoneSex: MaleRace/Species: HumanAge: 19Birthday: December 15thSign: SagittariusFamily: Nathaniel Crowe(father, deceased), Lily Crowe(mother, deceased)Birthplace: The CaribbeanOccupation: PirateHeight: 5'10"Weight: 172lbsEye Color: GreenHair: Crimson RedWeapons/Equipment: Cutlass, flintlock pistol, flintlock rifle, blunderbuss, dagger, granado, boarding axeAttributes: expert swordsman, master sailor, explosives expert, unparallelled knowledge of the sea and it's myths and legends.Bio: The son of one of the most famous and respected pirate lords, Nathaniel Crowe, Benjamin was literally born into piracy. From the time he was able to walk, Benjamin was taught everything he needed to know about being a pirate by his father along with the support of his mother, Lily. Things didn't stay peaceful forever. The British Royal Fleet had amassed an armada created for one purpose: to purge the seas of pirates once and for all. They started with the pirate lords. If all the lords were disposed of, the pirate world would lose structure and fall swiftly. Nathaniel's pirate haven was the first one to be invaded. On the day of Benjamin's eighth birthday, they stormed the small island and killed any that resisted and imprisoned any that surrendered. When they finally made it to the Crowe manor, they forced their way into the estate and hunted down the family. Nathaniel fought them off and told Lily to take their son and escape. Lily ran out of the manor with Benjamin and hid him in a fox hole and told him not to make a sound before sealing him inside. By the time Benjamin managed to break free of his prison, it was morning. His home had been burned to the ground and mother and father were dead. Over the next ten years, Benjamin sailed the seas on his ship, The Nightmare, making a reputation for himself as a pirate in honor of the family that was taken from him. He became one of the ten pirate lords by the time he was eighteen and created his own pirate haven called World's End. But while Benjamin was building his empire, the Royal Fleet was assembling a force unlike any that had come before; an army large enough to cover every span of the globe. Benjamin challenged this army to avenge the deaths of his parents and to protect everything all free pirates stood for.Theme Song~ Seven Deadly Sins by Flogging Molly
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Daydream {MCRP}
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10/29/2011 04: PM
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Edward van Cross
Name: Edward van Cross
Alias(s): None
Sex: MaleRace/Species: Vampire
Age: 256(looks around 25)
Birthday: September 21st
Sign: Virgo
Family: James van Cross(father, asleep), Elizabeth van Cross(mother, asleep), Evangeline(godmother)Birthplace: Vienna, AustriaOccupation: Lord
Height: 5'11"
Weight: 177lbs
Eye Color: Red
Hair: Black
Weapons/Equipment: Rapier
Attributes: Immortality, super-human
strength, endurance, speed, and agility, ability to transform into giant
bat, expert swordsman, expert horseback rider
Bio: Descended from a long line
of royalty within vampire society, Edward was only one hundred years old
when he inherited his family's castle. Though born of noble blood, his
family had fallen from grace when his father began opening his large
home to the less fortunate. His father, James van Cross, had begun adopting various
creatures and allowing them to live within his castle. Slaves, orphans,
and homeless creatures all found refuge in van Cross Castle. When both
his parents decided it was time for their centuries long sleep, Edward
took up his father's station as lord. Deciding to continue his father's
charitable work, Edward frequently visited the slaver's market, and used
his family's infinite wealth to buy the freedom of elves, golems,
fairies, hobbits, werewolves and many others. Still, even though Edward
inherited his father's home, fortune, and title, he also inherited the
hatred of the vampire nobility. Edward had refused the marriage
proposals of every lord's daughter and has unintentionally made himself, and his greatly extended family of mystical creatures, a
target.
Theme Song~ La Musica Notturna delle Strade di Madrid' No.6 Op.30 by Luigi Boccherini
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♰:Ascarion Cyrus Hawkmoon:♰
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10/27/2011 05: PM
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Rome 2008: Second death of an angel
The first thing he really visualized of Rome had been the warm orange shimmer of the joints tip he enlightened with his Zippo. He took a deep breath, smelling the stinging scent of petrol and the smooth grassy aroma of menthol tobacco mixed with perfect Ganja. He inhaled again, allowing the smoke to stay within his lungs longer than ever possible. For some moments he closed his eyes, only indulging in the soft tickle of the marihuana's velvety tentacles. Fuck, it was great! And he needed it urgently. Needed to be boozed, dazed, totally stoned. Needed some damn sensual shivers aroused by visionary pictures blurring his uselessly spinning thoughts. Mirages. Hallucinations. Snapshots of a glorious long gone past mingled with the modern aura of this breathtaking city. Rome! Founded 753 before Christ by twins who had been nursed up on wolves milk: Romulus and Remus. It had been a nearly biblical story. Romulus killed his brother und built his city on seven hills. This murder became pregnant and fatal for an entire empire. The brother kills the brother, the murderer of his father who raped his daughter and slaughtered his son... Rom: malicious tongues tell these letters to be the shortcut for Rabies, Odium and Metus, rage, hatred and fear, and by listening carefully to the whisper of the old ghosts gliding through the beautiful gardens of Esquilin, sensitive minds slowly will get to know that Rome's history turned out to an endless declaration of death and nearly none of their leaders had ever died natural. Not even the catholic church had been able to extinguish the evil worm still gnawing on Rome's roots. It had been Remus' innocent blood that had cursed the eternal city for ever. Rome! A star that shone more than brightly with the bloodstained twinkle of rotten decadence. Once the capital of the world, the pearl and the heart of the Roman Empire. SPQR. Sentus Popolusque Romanus: in the name of the senate and the people of Rome. Ascarion inhaled again.Gosh! This lousy little dealer hadn't promised him too much: with the intense of a silken hammer the "door" opened and Ascarion allowed his senses to enter a kind of daydream. His lids flutter as he watched the rays of the sun glisten on the fine marbles of some imposing temple-ruins. Standing on top of the Capitol Hill he looked down the ancient stones caressed by a tint of apricot and lilac. The shadows grew longer as the broken columns seemed to stretch like single fingers to the darkening sky. The moon was out already and like captured within a kind of transcendental experience the Irish could see himself watching this lovely natural drama. Sol invictus turned his golden carriage to leave the endless airwaves to gentle Goddess Luna. And Luna entered the stage: a solemn lady crowned by the crescent, generously wrapped in ink-blue silk adorned with thousands of twinkling mirrors; the stars broke through the mist. It could be a marvellous night... It could be. Maybe...Ascarion stood motionless except the small gesture he needed to move his right holding the joint back to his lips. Yes, he saw himself now: a slender young man all dressed in tight white velvet except his high black boots and a broad belt of the same colour, his uncombed long hair framing his beautifully vacuous face, flowing down his back and shoulders like woozily clouds of swirling arterial blood. His silver earrings shimmered like his indigo eyes. His bare arms were covered with pictures carved in his flesh. He looked dignified: like a strange saint, an uneasy warrior, a pretty special kind of angel. The expected angel! (Ha! Don't expect too much! I'm about to log out.) He was tired, horribly tired. A sarcastic smile curled his lips. Rome, he sighed, Rome, sweet Rome! His eyes were here, fixed to a couple of carved and painted stones formally the glorious temple of Jove bathed now in glimmering violet and the haze of too much exhaust emissions. A soft cool breeze awakened and the colours started to wash out. He shivered and put on his long black coat made from brocade. Now he looked perfectly medieval. Perfectly gothic. His mind was open to the impressions of fugaciousness: the fading light, the broken stones, the melting shadows. The breath from the past. Vanitas. Tempus fugit. We are all made from dust and to dust shall we return. Carpe diem! It could be your last one. He sighed again. Vanitas, momentariness. Vanitas vanitatum et omnia vanitas. He liked the evening as well as he liked the morning. The death of a day and his re-birth. He never feared the sun though he lived within the shadows for nearly one thousand years. Fuck! The drugs didn't work... They never do. He felt his body captivating his mind again. Earthbound, yes. His body was here. His soul still wept. His heart remained in Malta. He was so confused.All he wanted was to talk to Louis again. But Louis was gone, had been together with his sire, his maker, his former lover who appeared on the scene like the desired rock-star he used to be: Lestat de Lioncourt. Blush in admiration! Bow to him in devotion! Praise him like God! Fuck! What a lad! He liked him from the first moment on. Ascarion always loved decadence and exorbitance. He always used to act and behave this way; not this noisy and swanky maybe, but nevertheless exalted and eccentric as well. Life is short... (What a farce!) Life is short enough and it should be lived to the full! Fuck vanitas! Therefore they sent him to Rome, a city where decadence filled the air like a precious fragrance. You have to meet Flavius, Pandora ordered. She had been nervous but restrained, her beautiful face vacuous like his own now. No feelings shown. The fingers of her right hand entangled to Johnny's fingers so they both trembled a little. Ascarion noticed this all too well. He had been looking at his soul's brother, but John Wilmot arrogantly looked away. What kind of loyalty is this? Pierce ones heart not to hurt another? He had been snarling a "Yes!" and left the room. He hadn't touched Johnny's mind. Things had changed since this night in the tavern. The coldness of Russian winter had followed him to Malta. Things got worse. Passion went sour, pleasure turned to bitterness. Maybe he had been too vulnerable, like he always had been. Too sensitive, too emotional. Maybe he had started to miss-interpret each and everything. Maybe it hadn't been arrogance that turned the face of the cherub to perfectly carved marble; maybe it had been just a kind of contemplation, a kind of inner preparation. Maybe it had been the perfect time for Ascarion to leave. Aye... High time to catch fresh air. High time to get entertained by new impressions. One lover gone, three still in line. Fuck! He felt like Don Quichotte now: he hopelessly fought the windmills of his mind.Find Flavius. Help Autumn and Amy. Meet Santino and Thelia. Face the evil. Fight the evil. He flipped the joint into darkness: a disappearing orange point he followed with his eyes. Fight the evil... What is evil? What is good, what is bad? What is loyalty, what is love? What is the difference? What did these ethics all count when they slowly but surely break and devour ones heart?For a last time he looked at himself. Yes, he appeared like a warrior. Like the clan-lord's son he once had been. And he exactly felt like one. Knight of the woeful countenance. His Rosinante awaiting him outside the fenced area of the Capitol ruins: a rented Honda Shadow to get him everywhere he wanted to. Flavius, he called mentally. Flavius, where are you? Come and get me! I don't know where to find you and I will surely not look around. My intuitions got dazed by sweet Mary Jane and I'm in the mood to get lost tonight. So again: come and get me! Maybe the others could hear him now, too. Evil, he smirked. What is evil? I'm here for new impressions. I'm here in the capital of former lust and decadence. I'm damn sure I will look for typical Roman enchantment tonight. I'm damn sure to misbehave. If you look for an (real) angel, catch him within the silent halls of the Vatican museum. Attract him down from Michelangelo's fresco at the Cappella Sistina. I am not here. Maybe I will never be here again... I do not care for good and evil. I spit on loyalty. I spit on love. I'm lying to myself. I belie myself... I never had wings, but now they are broken. My soul weeps. My heart has remained in Malta. Only my body is here. But I'm still me. So, fuck you all: come and get me! Fontana di Trevi! There were too many tourists around to grasp the entire enchantment of this breathtaking monument, but with the slow spinning of the multi-coloured spotlights and the wavy reflections of the water on buildings, statues and human skin the magic of this famous place didn't fail its effect at all. Even the noise, the rush of the falling water was heavy: a perfect oceanic illusion, breaking in confusing echoes on the surrounding fa�ades like a force of nature. He had heard this swoosh long before he had seen the fountain.Ascarion narrowed his eyes and smiled, leaning over the basins edge to dive his right hand into the water. It was cool, and for some moments countless voices touched his mind: all full of excitement, desire and hope: "O please, please..." They mingled, but all in all they did sound quite similar.He looked up the solemn face of Oceanus, the powerful God and emperor of all seas, stretching his mighty right to a group of tritons and sea-horses, forever solidified in this gesture of silent pride and demand. Look, he seemed to say, this is my realm, my element, my absolute magic, my power over life and death. The sea is beautiful, but she could be a wet grave, too. So: Praise me! Look down... And Ascarion looked down. Bathed in changing colours he could see a lot of coins reflecting and shimmering from the ground of the pool. Each coin a wish, spoken in hundreds of different tongues. His smile brightened as he watched some people celebrate this old tradition right before his eyes: whenever you come to Rome, visit Trevi and make a wish. But don't be too stingy, even Fortuna got her price... Ascarion slowly shook his head. They turned their backs to the fountain, they closed their eyes, they threw a coin. Gosh! Humans! They are so hopelessly romantic! Still smirking he watched a loving couple kissing, their faces now tinted in orange and yellow, their limbs entangled like their tongues, their thoughts wet and full of longing: a perfect demonstration that some wishes mostly always come true. Ascarion sighed and politely looked back to the basin.The spotlight-colours changed again and suddenly the water and the entire pool went red as blood. The Irish shivered. From one split second to the other his sentimentality turned to pure horror. Dies Irae... The night in the tavern! He could smell the disgusting miasma of burnt flesh again, the fragrance of death and nearly senseless destruction. His lover Louis, who wept in his arms and Johnny, his soul-mate, who too deeply looked into his eyes. "Brother...", he whispered, not caring that some of the tourists would be able to hear him. "Brother..." My heart remained in Malta! My soul screams in despair. I'm broken to the core.He swallowed hard. He turned his back to the fountain. The noise of the water was suddenly unbearable. The colours changed again. Now the world surrounding him went lilac. He didn't care. Make a wish, he thought with a sarcastic grin, throw a coin into the pool and make a wish! For every wish... could come true... Sure! It could...He turned his head again. You want me to make a wish, he silently asked motionless Oceanus, unimpressively watching him with polished empty eyes. Wishes I surely got enough, Ascarion thought, his face and his entire countenance now beautifully bathed in wavy china-blue, a lot of wishes... But, so sorry, no change!WELL, 2 HOURS LATER I HAPPENED TO BE DEAD... AGAINTHE ASSASSINATIONWritten by Celeste ValoiseSole and legal copy of Celeste Valoise (Paod)https://www.myspace.com/pandorasangelsofdarknessThe profound whisper of solitude finds me tonight, ensnaring me in a web of dark silk, my thoughts veer towards the gentle entwining of the past, it entangles me like the echo of long-spent passion filled nights with Santiago. Though it is not what I would call peaceful, there is an ease in it that I appreciate, a familiarity, it brings about the quiet malice, the absolute contempt that I always welcome and embrace in the cool rushes of the night. I sighed, flagrantly brushing off any feelings of guilt and regret, for it was very rarely the I had any. I walked along the cobblestone road quietly. The water from the Fountain di Trevi lapped and lulled against the stone, not far from me. As I moved closer and closer, the crescendo of gushing waters seemed to reach my immortal ears, even without registering its presence. My thoughts however were not on the water, they were on the ones who lingered by, two immortals like me and a young mortal boy stood at the architectural wonder. All around, were nearby tourists in awe of the triumphant example of Baroque art. As it was twilight, it was incredibly easy for me to blend in with the conclaves of mortals. I did wonder if one of these three would even sense my presence or were they far too engrossed in conversation to know that another immortal was nearby? To be safe, I veiled my presence, careful not to relinquish too many of my own thoughts.Like a cat in pursuit of its prey, I let the three figures have their space, their feelings of being free to go where they willed. Little did they know or realize, I was there lurking in the crux of mortals, discretely hidden in the shadows, waiting, watching. Tonight, they were my game, my hunger, the thirst for blood was not on the agenda. No instead, I silently stalked, listened and watched...I heard the incessant clamour of their chattering, oh how it drove me to the brinks of sanity; petty disagreements, convoluted theories about life, love and immortality from the red haired one...how very drole they were, so amusing to say the least.. "Mon Dieu" I whispered, when will it all end?I had fully intended to be clubbing this night, picking my game from the faces that shift and swirl to the music, but instead my loyalty to the coven had taken me down another path, it led me right into their midst's. Suddenly, I watched as the tall streamlined crimson -haired immortal audaciously doused himself with the effervescent waters of the fountain, the youth next to him dipped his hands in and out as well. For a moment, I thought I had been spotted. I saw the flash of the tall one's unwavering indigo eyes dart towards me, his mind almost seemed to catch up with his glance: I read his thoughts;" Another immortal, no it can't be" Amused and quiet delighted that he shrugged my presence off, I stood reading his thoughts, glimpses of emerald absinthe dreams entwined with highly sexually charged interludes all flooded his mind, then flowed into mine.He abruptly moved away from the fountain and the mortal youth, his mind seemed to fluctuate from hedonistic revelry to a preplanned mission- a task he was sent to complete. I saw the vision of an ancient Goddess in his mind, Pandora, she had sent him, sent him to journey deep into the catacombs, to penetrate the coven. This could not be, I could not let it happen.Immediately, I closed my eyes, shut out all sounds and the dulcet roar of the voices of the undead, I concentrated solely on this one known as Ascarion; I watched him intently as I stood motionless so close by, a play of words and images wound back and forth, plaguing his mind, as I decided that I would lure him away from his mission. His eyes grew vacant and I could sense that my mind trick was working, but the youth-- he seemed uneasy, was it possible that this mortal sensed me? How? Nevertheless, I continued to play my mind game with the crimson haired one...Careful not to be seen or heard, I followed, watched, and listened, with each image I revealed and each word I whispered, Ascarion became more entranced, his lust for hedonistic debauchery, his unquenchable thirst for absinthe took over completely. With each image I sent, his interest rose more and more, heightening all his senses. I watched the slow meticulous gestures he made, the way his face reflected just so in the moonlight, a jewel to behold he was, beautiful and sensual, but this did not impede me and my plans. My mind entwined with his, the stage was now set, soon the curtain would rise and Act One would commence! I grinned a devilish grin, subtly revealing just a glimpse of pearly white fangs as I strode silently behind them. The boy, yes he was indeed alarmed, I sensed his thoughts as they flowed to the handsome Grecian, whose blood scent was particularly familiar. I sensed the Eternal Scholar, no I was mistaken it was not the Roman fop, it was Pandora, his blood reeked of her. To my astonishment, not a one of them could see me follow so closely behind. Crafty, I always had been guising myself among shadows and hidden alleyways, sometimes even blending in with several mortals if I so choose. How I just watched, as they all strode towards a local tavern, completely unaware of my presence. I watched as the raven haired youth and his Grecian companion disappeared into the smoky halos of the tavern. The strong aroma of rich wines entwined with mortal sweat and nicotine, it made the red haired one stop dead in his tracks, but immediately I forced his mind to consume images of buxom Italian courtesans, of sinuous male youths, their writhing, glistening naked forms pleasing him in every way imaginable, flesh for fantasy, each one devouring his mind, his heart, his body, even his very soul in a wave of sin and scorching hot desire. Determined as I was for him to move onward, I whispered his name, allowing it to echo in his mind over and over, making it seem as it was more than one voice summoning him: "Ascarion, venu, nous veuillez �tre ici, � votre bac de teinture et appel, � vous, pour vous satisfaire mon amour"As luck was on my side, he moved gracefully forward, his long strides quickening as I followed swiftly behind till he stopped egregiously at a local house of ill repute; it looked as any other building did on the street, the only difference was the numerous amount of vagabond women that strummed about, some rather pretty while others were just very plain and ordinary looking--Whores, the lot of them, waiting for a client to stream by and offer them a bundle of cash for their services. I watched Ascarion's indigo eyes widen as he entered the brothel, all his attentions drew to the horde of scantily clad boys, well fed, nubile, smooth and rounded of limb they all were, it was incredibly easy for me to whisk past him unnoticed; in a gust of wind, I scampered up the spiral staircase completely unseen and unheard- an immortal trick I have grown quite accustom to using. I stopped at the foyer at the top of the staircase, leaning against a wall, I took a moment to take in all my surroundings. The brothel reeked, incense made the air heavy, still the more rancid odors lingered under the veil of sandalwood, mortal sweat entwined with stale alcohol and cigar smoke, "Ahh Mon Dieu! What are you doing here Celeste?" I whispered to myself. I moved over to the cherry banister of the staircase and peered over the edge. I observed Ascarion, more than delighted in his new surroundings.I watched as the boys seemed to lavish affection upon him, groping him, whispering sweet nothings in his ears, they were so eager to appease him. Two specific youths rushed towards him, beckoning for him to choose. He subsequently chose the taller, muscular youth with the pale skin, jet black eyes and chocolate hair. I looked about some more and watched as lascivious, buxom women strode about as well. The parlor was indeed quite dreary and incredibly filthy. The once white walls had been tarnished with soot from cigar and cigarette smoke, tattered red velvet drapes adorned the windows, the lights were kept soothingly low. I looked below and watched as a parade of half naked women, some wearing nothing but thigh highs and bustiers, while others adorned resplendent costumes of satin and lace. Some even wore just panties and nothing more.There seemed to be an onslaught of Nigerian women as well as some their paler Eastern European counterparts. I looked around wondering what made these women and young men turn to such a distasteful way of life. I stood motionless for a moment wandering in and out of each one's mind, stories of poverty, absolute suffering and strife. A young blonde male moved towards me, he was rail thin, his grayish-green eyes stained red from lack of sleep and intoxication, I watched as his eyes began to shift in my direction, they shifted and then hovered over my form, he melodically hummed to the music resonating from the parlor, he tightly clenched a bottle of red wine in his right hand and took a swig from it every now and again. He moved closer to me, staring and then smiled, "Care for a sip, love, come let us have some fun" I refused and meandered away, still ever so intent on watching Ascarion and the mortal youth. From the Mistress that spoke vociferously below, I ascertained which chamber Ascarion and his new pet world be retiring to, quick like a fox, I trotted to the room and hid myself in a nearby wardrobe.I sat quietly, curled up and waited for my moment; I heard them enter and I could peer through the slit of the wardrobe to see exactly what they were doing. I watched as the mortal boy removed all his clothing, he was indeed a magnificent specimen of a young man, his sinuous, glistening features even began to entice me. I watched as he moved towards a coffee table, he knelt down and began to snort a long line of a powdery substance - cocaine, heroine, I do not know which nor did I care, Ascarion subsequently joined him and did the same. Line after line they did followed by quenching their thirst for absinthe. I watched as Ascarion became ever more comfortable with the boy, teasingly, he removed his attire and then they began to fondle one another, I heard the sounds of kissing, moaning and suckling, and finally I heard Ascarion collapse on the immense four poster bed, the flamboyant young man giggled in delight and mounted Ascarion, consequently cuffing him to the bed; the boy teased Ascarion with a feather and then said " Oh but my angel, I do have some more mischievous toys we can play with, be right back" and he moved towards the bathroom. I giggled, slightly amused as this seemed to be just way too easy.Completely inebriated on absinthe and stoned on whatever drug they chose, the immortal did not notice how I crept silently from the wardrobe, the youth came out with his cat o nine tails and I quickly ensnared him, he screamed in horror as I revealed my white pearly fangs; Ascarion shot up from the bed and his icy indigo eyes glared at me. I laughed, "Mon Dieu mon cher,, watch as I take his very life, this is what happens to little pets, they are bled dry!" I bent the youth's head back and watched as Ascarion struggled with his cuffs; my fangs quickly pierced his flesh and I swallowed his very life in one precious gulp, I tossed the body aside and moved swiftly towards Ascarion. I pulled a machete from the folds of my gown and I mounted Ascarion, pushing him down with vigorous force and slamming his head against the headboard of the bed in a loud thump. He seemed to check in and out as he looked at me, I smiled malevolently and sprung into action, I took the blade and quickly sliced his right cheek, I watched as the blood gushed forth. I leaned forward and sliced his throat, the blood seethed forth staining the ivory bed linens, I then took the blade and plunged into his abdomen, twisting it clockwise and then counter clockwise, I was pleasantly aroused by my actions, to kill another like this, I never thought it would bring me such joy, to have power over this immortal was intoxicating in itself. I pulled the bloody blade out and then sliced his abdomen over and over, till I revealed his entrails. He writhed in agony, screaming and moaning for me to release him from his pain. I forced his mouth open and sliced off his tongue and tossed to the floor as it were nothing but a wriggling worm. I laughed and watched as scarlet tears streamed down his face, he gasped for air, I could see his last remaining thoughts, visions of Louis, of the dark haired Lord Rochester, of Malta. "Ahh mon ange, cry, spill your last remaining tears for the emerald eyed one who left you for his maker and for the one that was never yours to begin with, Lord Rochester, mon ami has and will always belong with his Goddess, tu ne comprends pas? He was never yours!A devilish grin came over me and I pushed his hair back from his blood soaked face," Ohhhh ma petite chou, it now ends, I will end your suffering, look at me for I am the last you will see, "Est-ce que mon nom, je suis connu car Celeste Valois, la beaut� malveillante, et oui mon ange je suis une femme, pour penser une femme qu'une seule femme a vu � votre cession, il sais vous blesse pour savoir ceci ? J'esp�re certainement ainsi!" (Know my name, I am known as Celeste Valois, the malicious beauty, and yes my angel I am a woman, to think a woman- a mere woman saw to your demise, does it hurt you to know this? I certainly hope so!) Suddenly I thrust my hand into his abdomen and pulled out his wriggling organs, blood poured forth in a slow undulation and covered the coverlet on the bed; "Scarlet dreams Ascarion" I whispered. I ripped the organs out and shoved them into his bloody, gaping mouth, with one last gesture I raised the machete and slammed it straight down splitting his chest cavity in half. Covered in his blood, I rose from the bed, I went to the bathroom and meticulously washed myself off, I adorned some extra, clean clothing that was in the wardrobe and peacefully sat down in the armchair and lit a cigarette. I took a quick inhale and blew the smoke out in a grey streak across the room, I laughed and tossed it on the bed, I picked up the youths bottle of absinthe and doused the bed with it, I walked toward the door and finally flung an open match over the cadaver and blood stained sheets. Flames began to devour the room and the red haired immortal, the false prophet known as Ascarion was no more.... Au Revoir ma petite mouton noire! (Goodbye my little black sheep!) I exclaimed as I walked calmly out the door, closing it gently behind me.REBIRTH OF AN ANGELWith the door closing the scenery froze. The stinging scent of heated wormwood hung in the air, mixed with blood, thick and delicate like a silken veil. Tiny drops of crimson, washing a rosy cloud over the entire setting to dilute the maniacal horror to a kind of gothic nightmare. Absinthe was made to indulge in green damnation, not to be used as a kind of combustible. Sure Ascarions hair got scorched, but all in all nothing really happened. The alcohol burnt out. The scenery froze. Time stood still. It looked like a lurid photograph from a splatter movie, like an oil painting done by an extremely talented but absolutely sick artist. Bosch, Dali, Helnwein... it looked grotesque. A shadow slipped into the room, black, noiseless and disembodied like only a shadow can be. It came closer, it grew bigger with every move. It stopped at the bed, and though time stood still a deep heartbreaking sigh was heard. "Angel...", a voice whispered, "Angel... what the hell had happened?" Death has many faces, so they say. Most of the time Death has none. There's only the eternal grin of lipless jaws and the endless stare of lidless eyeholes. There's the skull, the bony vestige of former life. Nothing less, nothing more. Death has many faces. The slow, the fast, the merciful, the suffering, the sudden. Many faces. To tell the truth, Death has none. Death is Death, the archetype of all things to end. The grim reaper, the dark man bearing the scythe and the hourglass, the skinless skeleton wrapped in a cloak. Seldom, but sometimes, Death is only a shadow standing in front of a blood-soak bed looking down on the lacerated corpse of a slaughtered angel. Seldom, but sometimes, Death is a shadow changing to a woman weeping bitter tears over a scene even she cannot understand. Death has no heart at all. But sometimes Death's heart breaks."Angel..." the voice whispered again, now soft and sweet like only a human voice can be. She stepped closer and her eyes widened in certain terror. "Angel... remember our deal. You have to wake up, you have to decide..."Death is not fair. Death is not unfair. Death is a necessary evil. Death never selects, death never regrets, death never weeps. Sometimes (and it really seldom happens)... when Death strips his well-known countenance and transforms to Sleep's older sister, she is able to do all these things. Then she is fair, then she selects, then she regrets. Then she weeps.It seldom happens. But even Death shows respect. Respect to one who always respected life. To one who always filled his loneliness with love and the imagination of a better way. The one who never allowed hatred to blacken his soul. The one who so deeply indulged in sin that some bad tongues would say he deserved this kind of execution. The one who once had a deep love-affair with his own sister, the one who stood on the cliffs looking down to end his young life in the salty bed of the ocean, the one who once had been killed by a maniac. The one who looked deep into Deaths eyes and said "I don't wanna die!" The one who still wasn't able to hate. The one who lived in the shadows for nearly one thousand years. Mated wolves. Killed demons. Drank the blood of an angel while he fucked him."Angel... yes... listen to me..." And Ascarion opened his eyes. Eyes bluer than the ocean. Bluer than desire. Bluer than even madness. Indigo. Cyan. Melting poison. Eyes that had seen heaven as well as hell. Ascarion was not dead. Not dead at all. But he was damn close to the final doorstep. There had been no tunnel of marvelous light, no breathtaking harmony to fill his heart, no last beautiful, hope-foaming picture to guide him wherever dying people may go. He had luck. There was nothing. Not even pain. Because time stood still his wounds didn't heal. Wounds? He himself was one. A wound. Ripped open and sliced to jigsaw. To look at him was horrible, was breathtaking gruesome, but nevertheless... he was still beautiful. Though none of his organs remained on their ancestral places, though his face looked like a mask of bloody destruction, his soul had been untouched, unstained, unwounded. Unbroken. His soul was pure. His inner beauty was still undefeated."Angel..." Death, the woman, Sleep's older sister, stepped even closer, slowly touching Ascarion's forehead. His eyes moved, his eyes pierced her heart, and her eyes, wet with tears, looked at his hands, still chained to the bed. Suddenly she started to smile. "I know you for so long and I fought with you for so often, and now... at the moment were I could take you without any protest from your side I feel mercy. I feel love. How can a man this lustful and debauched cause me tears of shame, cause me tears of regret, cause me sighs of desire? How can a man this sinful be so holy? What's your enchantment, angel, what's your magic?"She looked at him and she expected no answer. His eyes stared at her, but he couldn't see her. He was not there. He was somewhere were agony wasn't able to get him, were pain was just a word and nothing of importance. Somewhere where his dreams came true and he found peace at last in the arms of the one he desired, the one he did not even know yet. The one love. The perfect love. His quest wasn't over.Death closed her eyes. Suddenly there was music from a distant tavern, laughter of people and the monotone rush of cars. It didn't sound right, it sounded too fast. The sun rose. The sun set. Time slipped. Time twisted. Time stood still again. The bloody veil sank."Tell me, angel..." Death whispered, "Will you finally join me?""Never... Why doncha simply fuck yerself?"To be serious Death has no emotions. But you can be asured Death laughed out loud.
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Sasha
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10/27/2011 02: PM
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Scarlett
Scarlett stepped the accelerator harder, making the '65 Mustang growl as
it sped down the street. A tear of anger and frustration, not sadness,
rolled down her bruised cheek, stinging the tender flesh. Her tongue
licked against her split lip, tasting the blood that began to clot. She
angrily brushed the tear away, upset at her 'weak' emotion.
Her mother had died when she was young, leaving her father to raise a
daughter the best he could on his own. She learned skills not usually
taught to girls, like how to fix cars. When she was 18, her father left
her to join her mother, leaving her all alone with only his old car and
a little money. She worked in a small garage to pay rent for a tiny
apartment and meager other expenses.
It was there that she met the man of her dreams, quickly moving in with
him and giving him all of her pay, except what she needed for her car.
He provided for her needs, not in luxury, but she was happy. He taught
her how to cook what he liked and how to care for their small apartment
the way he was accustomed to. She did it all eagerly, imagining them
happy forever.
After a while, he began to stay out after work, coming home smelling of
alcohol and women. He would just go to bed without touching the supper
she had made him or any explanation of where he had been. The nights
got later and he came home drunk, yelling at her and occasionally
manhandling her some before passing out. She stopped cooking for him
and began staying at her job working late to avoid him.
One night she decided to go for a drive after work, figuring he would be
late anyway. When she came home, she was surprised that he was already
there, but when she opened the door, she got a surprise. He was laying
on the couch, one woman riding his cock and another sitting on his
face. Both women stared at her as she stood frozen in the doorway,
before she finally yelled, "Bastard!"
He pushed the women off of him with amazing speed, leaping at her and
grabbing her arm to pull her face to his. "I think you better show some
respect," he spit at her, his putrid breath choking her. "Fuck you,"
Scarlett spit back, her eyes blazing with fury. His fist quickly
slammed into her face, splitting her lip before he pulled back to hit
her again, but she turned away so his fist slammed into her cheek.
For a moment she was shocked, looking up at him while her hand pressed
to her cheek. His smirking face sickened her, her knee swiftly rising
to connect with his crotch. He buckled over in pain at her feet, "fuck
you," she hissed, spitting blood onto him. Before he could recover, she
turned to run out the door with only the things she had come with, her
cell phone, car keys and purse.
Running to her car, she started it and burned rubber out of the drive,
speeding down the street to escape it all. She had no idea where she
was going, just away from him. She was lucky to not meet any cops,
driving faster and faster until she noticed she was slowing down.
Looking to the gauges, she noticed the gas was on 'E', "shit," she
yelled, hitting the steering wheel with her hand.
The car stopped in front of a bar which could have been considered
lucky. Grabbing her purse, she cleaned up her face the best that she
could with a tissue and the rear view mirror. She then locked the doors
and headed inside, unsure what she would do. Luckily the establishment
was dark, so she lowered her gaze to cover her face with her hair
somewhat and sat in a dark corner to think a moment.
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Sofia Krauser
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Daydream {MCRP}
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10/20/2011 12: PM
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Det.. Lucas McCain
Name: Lucas McCain
Alias(s): None
Sex: MaleRace/Species: Human
Age: 29
Birthday: April 5th
Sign: Ares
Family: Father(deceased), mother(committed to mental hospital), brother(incarcerated), sister(lawyer), foster familyBirthplace: New York City, New YorkOccupation: Detective
Height: 5'10"
Weight:174lbs
Eye Color: Light brown
Hair: Black
Weapons/Equipment: Beretta 92, notebook, handcuffs
Attributes: Expert detective, genius intellect, marksman, interrogation expert, hand to hand combatant
Bio: Lucas McCain came from a
very poor background. His father was a drinker and abused his mother and
older brother and sister. His elder siblings did there best to keep
their little brother out their father's reach, but every so often, Lucas
took a beating he didn't deserve. His older sister, Alexandra, couldn't
bear to live under the same roof as her father. She left for law school the
day she turned eighteen and never came back. His brother, Micheal, no longer
able to stand for the abuse, killed his father and was sent to prison.
The loss of most of her family was too much for his mother and she
suffered a mental breakdown and had to be committed to a mental facility,
leaving Lucas alone. He was soon placed into a foster family and had undergone psychiatric evaluation. Lucas had detached himself
from the world and had become angry and aggressive after living such a
horrible life. His foster father, a veteran cop, suggested he find an outlet
for his aggression and enrolled him in the police academy. Lucas passed
with flying colors and reached the rank of detective in three short
years. His colleagues may find him cold and unpleasant to be around, but
Lucas has the highest case closure rate as well as the highest criminal
body count.Theme Song~ So Cold by Breaking Benjamin
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𝕔𝕣𝕒𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕣𝕠𝕤𝕖𝕤|
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10/19/2011 11: PM
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Rules
Dear Fellow RPers, If you have a brain, these rules will be easy to follow, you might even have a few of these yourself. I don't think I should be having to do this, but it seems to be necessary...because well...if I didn't have them up, I can't really complain when someone does something wrong now can I?On that note, let us begin.1. I am a Novella writer. That means I like some sort of substance in my comments. I do prefer quality over quantity however, so don't bore me with paragraph upon paragraph of nonsense. 2. My headline says 18+, which means my comments will contain mature themes. I think this is self explanatory. 3. Please refrain from copying things from my page, my storyline and anything concerning how my vampires conduct themselves. Especially information concerning their blood attractions and their legends/ fairy tales. These are things I have developed and changed over time myself, mixing Vampire folklore and my own imagination, so I would appreciate it if that was respected. 4. I'm not in the mood to hear your f***ing complaining. That being said, I also would love it greatly if I was left out of your drama. I keep drama off my plate as much as possible. I don't need anyone forcing it upon me. 5. I am multi-storyline. Every universe is different with me, don't stick your nose where it doesn't belong. 6. You don't have to be afraid to speak to me. I like to think that I am extremely creative and will work with you to create something good. However, if you add me, have something in mind, especially if you send a random starter without discussion in messages first. I am not a psychic, so make something happen and I will add to it and continue in the proper manner, but don't expect me to have a magic plan for you when I wasn't even the one who initiated something.7. For the most part, I believe that if you've added me you should send the starter. Sometimes I may break this rule if I'm feeling creative and truly long to write with someone and I may write the starter. I have a tendency to write a lot (which ranges at about 8-20 paragraphs, but I have done much more.) If you can not handle that, don't bother. I'm definitely not here to one-line, or talk in text speech. 8. Do try to speak English. I am not perfect and I will make mistakes, but I at least attempt to be coherent. Use spell check, it is readily available on just about every writing program. Re-read before sending comments to me and edit them. It is greatly appreciated. -Now I understand that for some people, English may be their second language, and for cases like this I will not complain so long as I know that what they've sent is the absolute best they could do. In short, don't half ass what you send to me and all will be fine.9. Don't God-mode my character. In other words, don't say I've done something I didn't express to have done. I can move my character just fine on my own, thanks. I will try to provide you to the best of my ability with enough details to get things moving. If there's something you absolutely need to do, message me and ask. I'm sure I'll be reasonable. Also if it's something small, it shouldn't bother me too much. Just don't over do it, and respect my boundaries, because I will respect yours. 10. I post a lot of bulletins, but they're not necessarily for everyone. I understand that bulletins are much more public than messages or comments, so as long as I don't address anyone specifically they are free game. However if I express that a bulletin is for someone else, please keep from throwing in your two cents. If it is written that I am speaking in the privacy of my own room with another character, there's no way you could ever see the conversation even if it is in bulletins. So move on, and don't respond unless you're called upon, no matter how the journal may make you feel. 11. Did I mention I hate people who complain? That includes people who rush me for replies. I answer people as quickly as possible, but I do have a life outside of RP. I also like to take my time, because I refuse to send people crap. If I am taking longer than usual, I will message you and tell you why. Don't rush me, don't post statuses saying sh*t like, "Comments people!" "I'm bored!" "Pay attention to me!" "No one's talking!" It is annoying, and I will f***ing delete you. I can not stand attention whores. 12. I am on this site because I long to role play, so don't ask me If I want to. I will delete you. This is a role playing site, what the bloody hell do you think I want to do? Catch my interest, send me a storyline idea and I will add to it. Send me an interesting starter and I will reply. That is what I'm here for. I don't think there is much else I have to address, if there are any questions feel free to message me. I'm a lot more polite than I seem. You don't have to sign the rules if you've read them (most people fake it anyway.) Just respect them and all will be well. -Gabriel Eric Ozarks
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Rules
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Daydream {MCRP}
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10/18/2011 02: PM
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Malice
Name: MaliceAlias(s): The Demon Lord of RockSex: MaleRace/Species: Greater DemonAge: UnknownBirthday: UnknownSign: UnknownFamily: NoneBirthplace: HellOccupation: TormentorHeight: 6'Weight: 179lbs.Eye Color: WhiteHair: GreyWeapons/Equipment: Siren GuitarAttributes: Siren guitar that allows him to control the elements, summon demons, and control his victimsBio: A powerful demon spawned from the pits of Hell, Malice once ruled over the Maleboge. Some time during his reign, he traveled to mortal world to collect a soul for his lord and master, Lucifer. While there, he discovered heavy metal and rock music and instantly became enamored with sound it made. The angry notes, the hard lyrics, the destructive nature of it reminded him so much of himself. He had to make it his. Thus he found a siren, slayed her, and ripped out her spine to fashion into a guitar. Imbuing the hellish instrument with all his power, he left his post at the Malebolge, went to rule over Anger and used his new love of music to torture the damned that were sentenced to his Circle. Theme Song~ Nothing Left by As I Lay Dying
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Dr. Benjamin Thrace
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10/17/2011 12: PM
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Personal Log Stardate 63644.7
I recently returned from a meeting with the Command personnel in charge
of Starfleet Medical at Starbase 23 with less than glorious news.
Apparently my staff and I are still under close review with the Medical
Council, with potentially disastrous results for all involved. The
Medical board seems intent on making us pay some penance for our most
recent actions, and though I have tried to explain to them countless
times the extraordinary conditions that existed not only on that planet
but also on Starbase 231, my words seem to continually fall on deaf
ears."Ben's words sounded hollow even to himself as he recorded
this newest personal log, the duty performed by every commanding officer
of every ship, base, and facility throughout Starfleet. It was a way of
recording history through the eyes of those that lived it, a way to see
how past events were shaped by those that made those decisions, and a
way to provide deeper analysis of each situation by later historians.
Ben Thrace understood this, and there had once been a time when he was
as eager to record his thoughts and goals and accomplishments for
posterity as any invigorated commander. But now, as he realized that
this could be one of the few remaining entries he did on Starbase 231,
as he did as a Commander, he knew that this task no longer held that
joy. Placing the recording on pause, he moved away from his
desk. Something about being there in such an official capacity seemed
wrong, that his words were lacking in meaning only because he no longer
felt them. Much of what he had said came from the position of a man too
tired to do any more, and that was not the message he wanted to send to
the future. Deciding he needed a break from all of it, he left his
office and headed for the station's gym.There were few things
about combat training that Benjamin loved. In fact, he found the whole
notion archaic and insipid in the worst way. He was a scientist, not a
pugilist. But at the same time, he knew it was an area that all officers
needed in order to at least attempt to handle themselves in potentially
deadly situations. A necessary evil Edwin had called it during
their last sparring match, and then he had thoroughly trounced Ben four
times, sending him to the mat on his back with much humiliation. Once
in the gym, Ben decided that he would at least attempt to practice the
techniques Edwin had shown him, hoping to best his partner in their next
match. Though in the back of his mind he knew the hope was in vain, it
gave him something else to focus on for the time being.Changing
his clothes quickly, he donned the traditional recreational wear, a slim
gray set of fatigues with a dark green ribbon crossing his chest and
down his sides. He then stepped up to the large heavy bag hanging in the
corner of gym. Strapping on the gloves, he started the warm up punches
on the designated targets as he moved about. The entire process was
simple: His mind regulated it down to a coordinated equation, a
mathematical formula for hitting the targets, inducing the desired
motion, and applying the proper force to illuminate each target. Simple
calculations of distance and time and force flowed through his mind
then, elementary physics and alegbra flowed in and about him with each
movement as he thought of the most efficient ways of achieving the
desired results. His medical mind soon turned to correlating the strikes
to various body parts and positions, noting the damage he was doing his
"enemy" and how much time would be required for one to recover from the
injuries he inflicted. He became completely engrossed in the whole
process, slowly letting his mind go, relishing the opportunity to focus
on something so simple. He was so engrossed in fact that he
didn't hear the doors to the gym open, and didn't see his father
approach. But suddenly the visage of Thace Senior filled his view, and
stopping suddenly upon seeing his father's smiling face, Ben took off
his gloves and stared at James."Glad to see you are not moping in your office," James stated quickly while Ben attempted to catch his breath."I
am not....moping," Ben replied just as quickly, though his words were
slightly taxed by his breathing. He stood back and watched as his father
meandered around the bag, striking out at it a few times himself. He
didn't seem particularly interested in anything but was instead merely
plotting around."How did the meeting go?" He asked as he
finally rounded to face Ben. For a moment, Ben considered giving his
father the brush off, not wanting to dive into the whole issue once
again and rehashing the disastrous meeting. But things had changed
greatly between the two men over the past month of them living together,
and while they were not as close as the traditional Father and Son
pair, they had made great progress. Knowing this, Ben was not about to
back track."I am just not sure how much more I can take Father,"
Ben said in a rush. He nearly collapsed from the sudden revelation, his
fatigue having more to do with his emotional state than anything
physical. "I spent three hours locked in that bloody meeting,
attempting to explain to Richter more than anyone the extraordinary
circumstances surrounding everything that I have done, that has occurred
on this base and beyond it, and yet nothing. The man used to be my
favorite professor, but today....today I met a man I had never known. He
was oppressive and intolerant, and cruel, and throughout the entire
ordeal he seemed to derive pleasure from sapping any victory I achieved
from me. At first I thought that he was doing me a favor being hard on
me, but the longer it went on and the more I thought about it the more I
was certain it was anything but."Ben swung at the bag again,
but his effort was half-hearted and the bag barely moved. "I am just so
tired. This is not what I wanted, not what I envisioned for myself. I
never wanted a command, never sought it. I just wanted to do my work, do
my research, and instead they pushed this upon me. Now that I have
settled in, that I have an exceptional staff of brilliant officers, they
want to remove me from it! I tried and tried to explain, to fight for
myself and my people, but my explanations were just not up to par
apparently." Ben finished his statement, his eyes down cast. He didn't
want to see his father then, see the judgment that he knew was in his
eyes. He heard his father moving about the gym, and finally looking up
he was treated to a strange sight: His father had changed his shirt and
was wearing one of the workout fatigue tops, and was also sporting some
boxing gloves."I thought you could do with a live target," he
said with a grin as he secured his mouth guard. Ben gaped at his father,
not sure to really believe what he was seeing."You shouldn't be
doing this, not in your condition," He said softly. He and his father
rarely talked about the fact that the Elder Thrace had Irumodic
Syndrome, but this was one time that Ben would have to break the
moratorium."I'll go easy on you," James said with a wink, and
moved closer to his son. The two men squared off, and Ben decided then
that it would be he that took it easy. It would do no good to inflict a
brain injury on his father. Ben paused briefly to consider the fact that
just a few years ago he would have given anything to punch his father.
In that instant of hesitation, his father acted. The first blow was as
strong as it was surprising. He struck Ben first in the chest, then his
second swing clipped his jaw. Ben barely reacted, pulling his head back
just in time to only receive a glancing blow. Dodging left, he brought
up his own fist and aimed a quick but light jab for his father's face.
The punch had a solid connection, but there was little emphasis behind
it. Frowning, James rounded on his son and caught him in his abdomen.
The punch was even stronger than the first, and it very nearly knocked
the air from him. Ben danced back, and two quick punches ( a jab
followed by a right cross) generated distance from his Dad. He eyed
James suspiciously, wondering why his father was acting so strangely,
challenging him in this manner, but he never had the time to truly
finish the thought before his father set upon him again.The two
men continued to box, their circling movements almost in sync the entire
time despite each man's fatigue. Ben continued to pull his punches,
not wanting to hurt his father, but James didn't have the same concern.
He seemed intent on inflicting as much damage as he could. Finally
exhausted, Ben dropped his guard just long enough for his Father to land
one last punch and send his son to the ground. There Ben stayed."Get
up!" Came the gruff command from James. He stood over his son, glaring
at him with an intensity that Ben had never seen before. He stared at
him for a moment, and then finally complied."What? You won
alright? I'm tired, and I am done with this." Ben tossed his gloves to
the wall and watched as they smacked against it and fell to the ground.
He heard his father growl and he turned to face him. "Why did I win?" James demanded."What?""WHY DID I WIN?" James bellowed. His voice rang through the gym, and Ben's eyes widened."What
the hell is wrong with you? Why? I don't know, you just did, I pulled
my punches--" Ben started, but that was all he got to say before he was
interrupted by his father."Precisely! You pulled your punches!
That's why you lose. Always. You think that if you just reason with
people, if you just stay calm and explain everything rationally, you
will be just fine and everything will turn out OK. But Son, I am here to
tell you, and I have been teach you this all your life, that sometimes
no amount of explaining will do the trick. Sometimes, you just have to
haul back and punch them square in the mouth." James was grinning now,
sweat gleaming on his forehead as he worked himself up once again. Now
it was he that was panting.James finally removed the gloves he
was wearing and tossed them to the floor. Then sitting down next to Ben,
he leaned against his son's shoulder. "You hold back so much, you reign
so much in, and it is a wonder you don't explode. I have always worried
about you in that regard, that your ability to handle certain pressures
would be too much. The way you reacted to me about Rebecca all those
years ago was a clear indicator to me, and I have watched you over the
years and I know you are no better at processing. And now with all that
is happening to you--the base, me, Kathryn-- I wonder how you will
manage any of it. But I do know one thing: You won't get anywhere
holding back. Let go Son, let it out. Fight for what you want. Otherwise
you will lose everything."Ben looked over at his father. They
had never really talked like this, and even growing up it had never been
the easiest thing for them to do. Again he was struck by how much they
had changed, and how their relationship had grown in such a short time.
He was suddenly stuck with a new and very profound sadness at the
thought of losing him."I am not saying you will win every time
Son, in fact I know you won't. But at least if you fight, you will have
done all you can, and that is all anyone can ask. Besides, Thrace men
never give up." James stood up then and grabbed his other shirt. Ben
continued to stare, and finally he stood as well."Don't worry
Father, I'll be sure to bring pride to our line in true family fashion,"
Ben said lightly. James moved to the door as he prepared to exit."You
have always done our family proud Son," He said as the doors parted.
"And me," He added softly, and once again Ben was left in surprise as
his father quickly disappeared down the corridor and the doors closed
behind him.
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Dr. Benjamin Thrace
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10/17/2011 12: PM
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Personal Log Stardate 63565.1
Today I came home to find my father unpacking a large
container that had recently been sent from Earth. Containing his
personal affects, Father was taking great care to unpack and place the
various objects around our quarters, and when I happened upon him he
seemed taken aback by my sudden presence."Don't mind me, just
make yourself at home," I told him with a smile as I moved to my
bedroom. Our living arrangement had become quite comfortable these past
few weeks, and though he and I didn't see eye to eye on a host of
issues, there wasn't the same strained tension that I had felt during
the initial days of the move. And I could tell that he was actually
warming to the idea as well.Since Uncle Alexander's visit three
weeks ago, Father seemed much more relaxed around me, and though I was
hesitant I didn't see much point in remaining standoffish toward him.
Last week I had taken him to Lairis Prime for the graduation of several
new students from the Starfleet Medical Training Facility there, and
afterward we ended up spending the majority of the day enjoying the
local culture and fanfare associated with the graduation. Apparently the
Lairissians value medical knowledge and expertise more than anything
else, and to be accepted into something as prestigious as Starfleet
Medical Community was a high honor indeed. And as an officiator of
ceremony, I enjoyed a bit of elevated status there as well. Treated as
honored guests everywhere we went, my father and I really got to enjoy
the culture of Lairis Prime, the people there temperate and friendly,
much like their climate.
Now back aboard the station, my father seemed intent on maintaining that attitude.It
had been an incredibly long day, a long week really, and I had been
looking forward to an easy night, some time to read and just take my
mind off of my current research ventures into a cure for Kathryn. It
seemed that Starfleet was piling work onto the station, especially me,
and in light of the recent activities of myself and the senior staff
involving that Ringleader madman, I really felt we had no choice but to
grin and bear it. Changing out of my uniform and into more casual
attire, I returned to the living room and fixed myself a drink."What's
in the box?" I asked my father. He hesitated for a moment, staring down
at something still inside the sleek metal container, before finally
reaching inside and gently pulling out a large model ship. It was a
perfect wooden replica of an old sailing vessel, something that would
have been found on Earth during 16th to the middle 18th centuries. It
had three main masts, their sails opened and posed as though proudly
catching wind. It was the sleek design of a frigate complete with crow's
nest and rigging and even a partially visible below deck area where the
cannons were ominously protruding from its respective bows. I stared at
it for a moment, slowly putting my drink down and moving closer to it
to examine it further. There were no markings to denote a name, and yet
somehow I felt I knew it."The Astral Queen," I whispered
more to myself than my father. His eyebrow arched at the name, and with a
smile and a nod he confirmed that I was right. He held it out to me and
gingerly I accepted the ship. The moment I touched it, momentary
visions flashed in my mind of me at a much younger age, how happy I had
been to receive this as a gift on my tenth birthday. I remembered hours
of simply staring at it and imagining vast adventures upon it, me as the
Captain and ordering my men about as I marched from bow to stern. I
could even remember one bright winter morning on which I, tired of land
locked life, had boldly declared to my mother that I was forever
departing home and striking out for the sea. Despite hearing all about
Starfleet and space from my father, my love of the ocean had been deeply
instilled and nurtured thanks to my mother who saw fit to take me to
the shore whenever we had a spare moment. She loved the Cliff side, and I
longed to dive into the water."I am surprised you kept this. I
had forgotten it when I..." I found myself suddenly unable to speak as
the memory of that particular day when I had left home came back to me. I
had only been fourteen years old, the death of my mother still fresh in
my mind, and I had angrily stormed out of our home in New Berlin
determined to never return. Now I here I sat with him going over old
personal artifacts."I kept everything after you left. I knew
that one day, I'd have the opportunity to give these back to you. Your
mother would have wanted you to have them, despite what our relationship
is or may have been." I couldn't look at him then, the way he was
suddenly going on about my mother and her wishes for the both of us. I
felt a brief pang of guilt quickly shrouded by anger as I considered his
words. My mother had always been a mediator between me and my father,
our relationship having never been too solid and her always having to
broker peace between us. I could still remember the many times that she
told me how much he and I were alike, and that it was likely the reason
we fought so much. "Stubborn Thrace Pride," she used to say. I noticed
then that my father was watching me, as if he could read my mind and
knew the thoughts that I was having.I placed the ship on the
coffee table next to my glass and stood. Feeling slightly manipulated I
crossed the room and stared out the large window that dominated the
wall. I listened to the sounds of my father still shuffling about the
various items from the box. I heard him close the box finally and then
move away from the couch."Yes, you left so suddenly, there
wasn't really time for you to take any of your stuff were there? You
just....declared you'd had enough and took off." James said quietly as
he moved next to me."Not like you gave me much choice did you? I
mean, it was a simple thing really..." I replied with a slight ring of
anger in my voice."What is so simple about someone dying Son?
It's not like it was an old friend of colleague or something like that.
It was my wife." Father stated plaintively."My mother," I
countered quickly. My old anger was returning, slipping about me like an
old sweater. I crossed my arms as I continued to glare out the window."Besides,
it wasn't the death that I was bothered by, not really. It was the not
knowing. I tried to talk to you, wanted to, and yet you simply wouldn't
answer any of my questions. I knew you were involved--" I started but I
suddenly caught the surprised look on my father's face in his reflection
in the glass, and I stopped and turned to face him."You thought I
was involved in her death? How? In what way? What could I have possibly
done?" James's questions stammered out at me, and I was taken aback by
how flustered he seemed. It was so unlike my father to be uncertain
about anything, especially something regarding my mother, particularly
about her death."Oh come on Dad, I know you were there. I mean, I
woke up at home to find you gone, returning a short time later and
telling me that she was dead. You wouldn't answer any of my questions,
and people just hushed it all up or told me to ask you rather than tell
me themselves. I just knew that somehow you had manipulated the
situation. I was sure that somehow, you and that bloody institution she
worked for had done it, covered it all up and made up something about an
accident." My words poured from me, and again I was stricken by how
similar it all sounded in my mind, how they were nearly the exact same
thoughts I had had when I had woken up in my bed twenty-seven years ago.But
this time my anger was not met with quiet acceptance from my father,
but his own anger. "What do you think; that we concocted some grand
conspiracy just to keep you from knowing what happened? Did you ever
think that maybe, her death had affected a lot of people in such a way
that they were uncomfortable talking about it? I know that is how it was
for a lot of her friends, and I was no exception. Do you have any idea
what it is like, to come home and find your wife and son missing, and
receiving a frantic summons from one of her coworkers demanding I report
there at once? You have no idea...." Dad turned and walked away from me
then, shaking his head and continuing to mutter under his breath that I
had no idea. I turned and watched his father pour his own drink and
then down it in one."Hang on," I said as I turned back to the
room. I had just latched onto one thing Father had just said, something I
knew as false. "What'd you mean 'Wife and son missing? I wasn't
missing; I was in bed at home. I must've....fallen asleep after school
or something, but I was home." The look on my father's face as he stared
back at me told me that we clearly disagreed on this point."What
do you remember, about that day precisely?" James asked questioningly.
He was peering at me carefully, as though seeing me differently for the
first time. But I wasn't paying him any attention. Though Dad had just
asked, I attempted to relive those days in my head, attempting to call
up the images of that day I had tried so hard to keep it at bay, to cope
with it and move on from it. I remembered coming home; looking for
mother and discovering she wasn't there...no, that wasn't right. She was
never there when I got home. She was always at the institute, and I had
gone to meet her...Wait. That wasn't right either. I hadn't
gone there had I? I had several memories of the institute where my
mother taught, the people that used to smile at me and the teachers that
were overjoyed to see the "Young Thrace Lad" as I was often called as I
gamboled down the corridors in search of my mother. How many times had I
often found her either in her lab or in the school garden, tending to
some new plant or new compound she had created for her botany class
experiments?But that had not been the case that day...had it?
Surely not. I knew I had been home. I had woken up to find my father
home, despondent, and finally coaxing the news from him that my mother
would never be coming home....And it was this thought that I
latched onto now. I looked back at Father, anger alight in my eyes and
playing across my face as I stared at him. "I remember being home,
alone, and suddenly finding you there with that terrible news! I
remember asking you, begging you to tell me what happened, and yet you
said nothing! I went to the institute, found that giant gaping hole in
the back end of it, and no one there to tell me anything but how sorry
they were. No one gave me a straight answer, but instead referred me
back to you. After I few days of trying I gave up, convinced you would
never tell me anything and that I would have to find out from another
source. But then the more I looked the more I kept hearing about this
'accident,' some student experiment gone wrong, and that was it. But if
it was so simple, why couldn't you tell me? Why did you just sit there,
or just wave me off and say, "Maybe later," or "some other time?" I
wasn't looking for anything other than the truth about what happened to
my mother, and you of all people kept snowing me. Why?" I was more
pleading with Dad now, anger seeping away as another feeling welled up
inside me. Watching my father now as he sank into his chair at my words,
realizing that he had never moved passed her death, which neither of us
had, made me feel...Shame. I had carried this around for so long,
deciding long ago that I would rather be mad at my father than continue
to feel hurt and helpless at the loss of my mother. The anger had driven
out everything else, and had eventually driven me from home."I
never realized how much you didn't know, how much you had forgotten. I
always imagined, hoped, that as you aged and came to grips with her
death, you would remember." Dad said from his seat. He poured another
drink but this time he held it without taking a sip."What's to remember?" I yelled suddenly. "I don't have any information to remember!""You
know a lot more than you think Son. Sit down. I suppose it is time we
both shed our delusions about our memories then, about our hopes. It
seems that I will have to force you to remember." At these words Dad
took a drink from his glass finally, and then set the unfinished
contents down on the coffee table. I finally crossed the room and took a
seat in the cushy armchair next to the sofa, and waited for Father to
speak.He did not look at me. Instead he stared down at the
few things he had placed on the table earlier, a small pocketknife, the
old picture of my mother that had once been in his office. His eyes
flickered over each of these, and finally settling on the old ship, he
began his story:"I had been at work all day at Starfleet's
Intelligence office in downtown New Berlin. It was ridiculously hot that
day, hotter than any on record. I had been rushing, wanting to finish
my rounds early so that I could meet you before you headed home from
school. Your mother didn't like it when one of us wasn't there to meet
you after school you see, and while neither of us worked too far away,
almost always we were caught up doing something for work. You didn't
seem to mind though, and I suspected that you liked getting home before
us and carousing about with Meredith. You two were thick as thieves
then." James smiled wide at me, but very little of the mirth reached his
eyes. I just waited for him to continue."Sometimes you came to
my office to wait, sometimes you went to hers, but more often than not
you went straight home. So, when I went to the school to pick you up, I
assumed that you were home. So that was where I went. I thought that I
would swing by and pick you up, and then we would snag your mother.
Maybe, we would have us a night on the town, I don't know. But either
way I knew that she would be rather upset if I turned up at her office
without you. I got home only to find it empty. The front door was still
locked, the computer told me no one had entered since we all had left
that morning, and that you had certainly not called ahead. I was just
about to call your mother to see if you were with her, when the computer
notified me of an urgent communiqu� from the institute for me. Thinking
it was your mother, I readied myself for a tenuous albeit loving
lecture about our rebellious son and his penchant for being
unpredictable." Again Dad smiled at me, but I sat on the edge of his
seat, eager for more."Imagine my surprise when Professor
Tabrez's face was peering at me from the monitor. I remember thinking
how horrible he looked, his normally speckled brown appearance now
replaced by this pinkish blotched one. Even for a Caldaran, he looked
ill. I didn't even get the chance to ask a question. He told me that
there had been an accident, and that I was urgently needed. He said that
there had been an explosion and half the building had collapsed, and
you and Cynthia were among the missing. He didn't even need to finish
the statement, for I was already out the door and on my way." Now Dad
reached for his glass and finished it, and not taking a chance on
looking at me, he plowed on with the story."When I arrived, both
you and your mother had already been found, but she was in rough shape.
Apparently she had been aiding in the rescue of the other students, and
when she had been alerted to the fact that you had not been found, she
had rushed in to find you. And find you she did. She had just handed
you, unconscious but otherwise unharmed, over to another professor there
when a support beam had caved in and dropped another portion of the
ceiling on her. It took some time, but they were later able to free her.
Unfortunately she had sustained incredibly severe injuries, and died
before she could be taken to the hospital." Dad stopped talking finally,
indicating that he was finished. He leaned back on the sofa and closed
his eyes."Hang on," I said. I felt stricken with this new
information, my mind pouring over each newly revealed detail as I
concentrated on the story. "Why didn't they use transporters? She could
have been in a hospital in seconds. They could have gotten her out with
no problem.""I told you it was hot Ben. You should know...Oh
wait, you might not remember that either. Heat on New Berlin is
extremely rare, it being a lunar colony and all, and bloody difficult
for the atmospheric condensers to process. More often than not it
happens because of a solar flare or ion storm passing through the
atmosphere. In that case it was an ion storm, and when that happens it's
near impossible for the atmospheric condensers to function, and the
ionizing radiation wreaks havoc with the transporters. Starfleet had
declared that all transporters be shut down in all lunar colonies during
such storms, and ours had been completely shut down for hours before
the storm. There simply wasn't time to activate one, and even if there
had they probably wouldn't have used it due to the possibility of
molecular damage." Dad once again finished and I was left to wonder. It
was true, I did know that. While Federation technology had advanced
considerably in the past thirty years, once still tried not to use the
transporter during an ion storm if it could be avoided.."So, my
mother died saving my life. And I somehow escaped without a scratch." I
suddenly felt quite tired and I sank back into my chair."I don't
know about that 'without a scratch bit,' but essentially yes. The
emergency medics cleared you, and I was allowed to take you home. You
slept for three days. In fact, I was worried that the doctors had missed
something and I called another doctor to take a look at you. But again
they cleared you, and said that you would more likely than not wake up
on your own. And sure enough you did, but you were confused and angry,
and nothing I did calmed you." Dad continued to sit with his eyes
closed, but I felt suddenly clear, awake.Not once during his
entire story did my father falter. He spoke clearly and openly, never
once holding something back. And Father never lied to me. He may avoid
or dodge a direct question, but once he spoke it had always been the
truth. It was something that many relatives said I inherited from him.
Now it was my turn to look at my father as though seeing him for the
first time. My thoughts slowly turned inward as I realized that all this
time I had been angry with him nearly to the point of hating him, but I
was the one who had been impatient, had demanded answers from him and
had behaved in such a belligerent and irascible manner.I thought
about all our past dealings since her death, the way I had been cold to
him and shut him out of my life. I thought about how Meredith had
pleaded with me to talk to him, and even how Rebecca had done the same.
Through my mind's eye I saw my bitterness and resentment taking root in
him, turning him callous as he dealt with me during the few interactions
we had over the years. So much time wasted, all because I had been
unable to remember, and unwilling to forgive him.It was entirely
my fault. Every bit of it. I had run away, and he had labored under the
opinion that I would soon see reason. He had held out hope that one day
I would remember, but I buried the memories, the pain of her death,
under a dark mound of anger, shame, and later guilt at the rapid
deterioration of my relationship with my one surviving parent. I had
conjured up many reasons for no longer talking to him, spouting to
anyone who would listen that our differences were too vast for either of
us to cross, and yet here sat a man who had held onto a hope that one
day, I really would wake up.My father stood suddenly and began
to leave the room. Obviously the conversation had worn him down, taking
more out of him than either of us initially realized. Staring after him,
again it struck me how much time had wasted between us, both so
stubborn to really talk about this. He had counted on my memory
returning, I had counted on him finally telling me. It seemed that in a
way, we both got what we wanted. I wanted to call out to him, to stop
him and say something, but for the moment, all I could do was watch as
he walked away. The silent hiss of the door to his bedroom opening and
closing truly signaled the end of our conversation, and for the first
time in a long time I really wanted to talk to my father all over again.
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Dr. Benjamin Thrace
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10/17/2011 12: PM
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Personal Log Stardate 63525.9
This past weekend my father's brother and my favorite Uncle, Alexander,
came for a visit. Alexander Thrace is the epitome of a Renaissance Man,
traveling about and experiencing the various cultures of the Federation
without the real aid of Starfleet. As a young man he never really saw
the appeal that it had for so many, particularly men like my father, and
he always brushed it off whenever people asked him why he never joined.
To me, he always said he would join as soon as they changed their
uniforms. For some reason, he liked the garish and shocking fashions of
the Bolians and Andorrians, and wore their clothing more than any other.
An anthropologist by trade, it was no wonder that he and I got along so
well, for he was a bit more scientifically inclined than my otherwise
militaristic father. When I received the communique that he was coming I
was delighted. My father on the other hand seemed a bit reluctant.The
day of his arrival was rather uneventful. He spent the majority of the
trip in true Thrace fashion, hitting on the young female pilot that he
had traveled with on the Samarian freighter G'thyk. The young
woman had been less than interested, but that had not stopped my aging
uncle. Despite the reassurance of a healthy libido in old age, I was
pleased to see him in good spirits. He greeted me with a great big bear
hug, clapping me on the back several times while he laughed and made a
few jokes about my long hair. His hair had thinned somewhat, but he was
now sporting a bit of facial growth that was a tad gray. The younger
brother, it was strange to see him looking so much older than my own
father. But he had been "out in the wilderness" as he laughingly called
the rest of the Alpha Quadrant, and I was sure that some stresses had
been placed on him that may have accounted for his haggard look.I
took him to my quarters to meet Father, and to watch the interaction of
the brothers. At first I wasn't sure how my father was going to recieve
him. Since his diagnosis he had refused to see anyone from our family,
even my cousin Meredith when she had offered to come to the station with
her husband and children. I had tried to explain all this to Alexander
but he had waved me off: He said he was family and he wasn't about to
turn tail because his big brother had the flu. Again I tried to explain
the overall complexity of the situation, but he would hear none of it.
So now here we stood in my living room, three prongs of a precarious
tripod that threatened to tip at any moment. Thankfully I was called
away to a situation in the CIC, and I had to leave the dueling brothers
for my duties.I returned several hours later to a messy but
empty set of quarters. Apparently they had ate their way through several
conversations, and the various plates and cups were everywhere. I
arduously began the task of clean up, but was interrupted when I was
summoned by security to The Bucket. My father and uncle were there, and
were causing quite a scene. Not wanting to hear the full extent of it
over the comms, I hastened to The Bucket to discover what was the
matter. When I arrived, I found my father seated at the piano playing
some ancient British and Irish drinking songs, while my uncle wailed
away at their respective lyrics. Other than being incredibly loud and
incredibly drunk, they were none the worse for wear and the people
seemed to be enjoying them. Thanking whatever deities that looked out
for my family, I quickly escorted the men back to my quarters where they
fell asleep in a heap in the living room. Exhausted myself, I showered
and went to bed. For some reason, I could not sleep. I
tossed and turned much of the night, and finally at 0230 hours I found
myself awake and listening to the slightly muffled conversation going on
in the other room. My father and uncle had awakened some time earlier
and were now discussing something that seemed to be of great importance
to them. At first I thought of joining them, but when I heard my name I
stopped. I was suddenly very interested in what was being said."Don't you think it is time you told him?" Alexander asked. His voice was a little raspy, most likely from his earlier singing."No.
We have done this well all this time, and there is no reason to upset
the past. Let's just leave it alone." My father, also sounding quite
ragged."You have done well? Your relationship has been
strained with him for what, the past thirty years? You call that well?
And didn't you two go almost ten years without speaking to one another? I
think you do both of you a disservice by not being honest with him. He
is your son, and he can handle it." Alexander again. He placed something
down on the table, and then I heard him stand."James, I
know all about Irumodic Syndrome. We have seen it happen before. You
need to tell him before you are too far gone, before these precious
moments you have left are all used up. I know you, and I know that is
not something you want weighing you down. Tell him now while you can.""Have
you seen how he is now?" My father began. "He is great, whole. It has
taken a lot for him to get to be that way, and I certainly did nothing
to help. In fact, I was the reason for a lot of that damage. But he is
his own man now, a strong, intelligent, and capable officer. And our
relationship is getting better. We may never have that father/son
relationship that I want, that I had always hoped for or that we had
with our father, but we have something now. And I am not going to risk
losing that." My father's voice wavered for a moment, and I found myself
feeling some shame for listening. It was odd to listen to this
outpouring from him. And I was even more surprised by the fact that it
was about me. But what in blue blazes were they talking about? As much
as I didn't want to listen, I couldn't walk away."James that
is proof enough that he loves you and that he can handle it. Like you
said, he is a strong, intelligent officer. He is a good man, or else he
wouldn't be where he is today. And despite all that has happened between
you two, he still brought you here to live with him. To spend time with
you. You want that father/son relationship? Fine, start by telling your
son the truth. The whole truth. He can handle it, and you will feel
better for it." My uncle's words were followed by a long silence as my
father took them in."Since when did you become so wise on parenting? Last I checked you had no children." My father finally asked with a chuckle."Auch,
the life of a consummate bachelor, yes that is me. But hey, I learn a
lot in my travels. Besides, I don't travel to Andorr just for the
fashion." Alexander replied."Could have fooled me," my father retorted. "You look like a giant purple bruise.""I
am glad your candid nature only extends to your son," Alexander snapped
back. I heard them both laugh, and then the room settled again."Seriously,
the Andorrians believe in complete honestly, and the clearing of the
conscience that full disclosure brings. Well, with everything other than
their military secrets. But I wasn't interested in those. Anthropology
has no use for weapons." Alexander grew quiet again, and I knew he was
waiting on my father to respond. Presently he did."Perhaps
you're right. Perhaps I can finally tell Ben all of it, and get it out
there. Clear the air, and maybe finally get rid of this bad blood
between us. I suppose it was a long time coming." James stated. I heard
him rise, and I wondered where he was going."Yeah, only took
thirty years," Alexander added quietly, but I heard something break
shortly thereafter. I could only guess, but I thought my father must
have thrown something at him. Realizing the conversation was over, I
returned to my bed. Alexander would be leaving in the morning, and I
hoped that I would at least receive a hint as to what their conversation
was about.The morning came loud, and early. I had
overslept, and so I was being treated to a rendition of "God Save the
Queen" by my Uncle as a result of my late emergence from my room. The
Samarian freighter was back, and he would be departing the station in
twenty minutes. I was a bit saddened by this, for I had planned to make
subtle inquiries over breakfast. Instead, my father and I escorted my
uncle to the hangar bay to wait on the ship. Upon its arrival we said
our good byes in much the same way we had said hello. He gripped me
tightly in another hug, and told me to keep my nose clean. It was
something he had always said to me at the end of his visits when I was
little, and I couldn't help but laugh just like I had done all those
years ago. I then watched him hug his brother, and I had the distinct
impression that during their prolonged embrace Alexander was once again
giving him some truth affirming advice. I could do nothing more than
wait, and hope that my father took the advice. We watched the freighter
depart, and once they were gone from our sight my father and I left the
hangar bay.
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