Posted by Arawn on February 15, 2009, 6:04 pm
203.129.47.166
Name: Arawn.
Age: Five.
Breed: Warmblood.
Gender: Male.
Personal Strength: Intuitive, clever.
Personal Weakness: Impulsive and casually violent. Lacks empathy.
Minor Objective: To take a captive.
Super Objective: To earn Mercenary.
Kingdom Preference: Andarin.
Intended Class: Espionage.
Sample Post:
505 can’t quite escape the feeling that her head is full of water.
She can feel it in there, heavy as an ocean, pooling in her ears and in her eyes. She’s almost too afraid to breathe, in case she breathes it in and drowns, lost to the rivers of dark water lingering in the hollows of her skull. 505 has never seen the sea, but she imagines that it would look something like the backs of her eyelids, all hissing darkness and a cold that speaks to your very bones, summoning up the frightened child that sleeps in your subconscious. 505 needs no summoning; her fear leaps at the surface, clinging tight to her neck. Now that the buzzing and the white noise have gone from her ears, leaving only this heavy, suffocating silence, she finds she can think again. She can hear nothing at all, and it worries her just a little. 505’s hearing is poor at best, here and gone again, little snatches of clarity amidst a river of murmurs and half-heard sounds, but to hear nothing at all, not even the beating of her own heart, is a new and terrifying state of existence. There is a terrible pressure building behind her eyes, spilling across her cheeks to pool in her jaw. She can’t quite bring herself to open her eyes. She’s not sure she could even if she wanted to.
She’s lying there for a long time. It’s hard to say just how long - back Before, beneath the too-white-too-bright-lights when the days looked like nights and the nights looked like days and they both looked like the end of the world, 505 would mark the passage of time by counting the beats of her heart. She can’t hear her heartbeats right now, though, and though she tries for a while to count her breaths instead she keeps muddling it all up and having to start over again. The tiny failure hurts more than it should.
Slowly, awareness seeps back into her shell-shocked mind. The first thing she’s aware of is that she is very cold, despite the warm blaze of the late afternoon sun. The second thing that she’s aware of is that she’s not alone.
Her first instinct is to freeze. No one can freeze like 505 can. She can hold herself so still that her muscles lock, cold and aching and sore but stiller than stone; she can hold her breathe until it burns in her lungs and her eyes begin to swim. The stillness of the rabbit beneath the hawk’s shadow is nothing compared to the stillness of 505. But this time… this time 505 finds she can barely summon the energy to care. Her head is full of pressure and bubbles and her bones are full of wet sand - weariness weighs down upon her and at last she abandons all pretences and allows her head, which she had raised just a little, to fall back into the dirt. She only hopes the Thing does not hurt her too much.
The small being speaks, and 505 could almost cry. Not a Thing. A not-Thing. Relief is sweet as it courses through her body, bringing with it some small shot of energy, some wisp of adrenaline, and 505 pulls her head up to look at the not-Thing. She’s not sure about this - not-Things can be as dangerous as Things themselves in their own ways, and it’s always a bad idea to draw attention to yourself. But this is such a small not-Thing.
505 hasn’t spoken in a long time. Words, you see, are as dangerous as they are beautiful. 505 has learnt this again and again, to her sorrow. She is surprised to find herself struggling now to find the right words, the ones that will explain to the small not-Thing how it is not good and not morning and how if 505 were the sun she would burn up everything in the universe just because she could.
“… it’s the black, you see. I couldn’t keep it away.”
505 is out of practice with words. They twist and turn beneath her tongue, and never seem quite to say what she wants them to. Her voice is low and broken, an ugly thing just like the rest of her.
ABOUT YOU:
Name or Alias: Genev
Contacts: fear_liath_more@hotmail.com
Message Thread:
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