Howdy!
We're looking for players who can match our pace and style. We don't have anything against the other guys, but we're looking for serious RP buddies and we know what we want.
So here it is.
- 18+ players only. We're old.
- Decent spelling, grammar and description.
- A good grasp of when it is and isn't appropriate to stumble into a scene full of arrows, throw a pineapple between two characters having a moment, or step into a group of vanilla humans with your purple gryphon and wait to be noticed.
- We're not saying don't wreck the scene, we're just saying ask first.
- Availability sometime after 8 pm Central USA Time, as that's when we're most active, but this isn't a deal breaker!
- Maximum chill. We're not looking for possessive, OOC jealous, stalkery types. Been there, left unimpressed.
We prefer paragraph style roleplays, with a heavy emphasis on quality over quantity- but more than a handful of sentences, please.
Subtlty is valued but not required. Characters that react realistically are pretty cool too.
Some adult humor and situations are okay, but not constantly, always consensual, and fade-to-black when and where appropriate. Likewise, dramatic situations are okay, with the same caveats.
We can make accomdations for any genre you throw at us if you're willing to meet us halfway.
If you can relate to all of the things you just read, then you're probably who we're looking for.
Oh, and last thing, don't be an asshole.
So how do I join?
Just ask!
What's the setting?
An antique shop in the city. For fun's sake, we'll pretend it's Gotham City. You don't need to know anything about superheroes or Batman to join us.
It's thunder storming outside. If you're having trouble imagining how your character could fit into this scene, just let us know! We'll try to work something out with you. We WANT people to join.
We're looking for players who can match our pace and style. We don't have anything against the other guys, but we're looking for serious RP buddies and we know what we want.
So here it is.
- 18+ players only. We're old.
- Decent spelling, grammar and description.
- A good grasp of when it is and isn't appropriate to stumble into a scene full of arrows, throw a pineapple between two characters having a moment, or step into a group of vanilla humans with your purple gryphon and wait to be noticed.
- We're not saying don't wreck the scene, we're just saying ask first.
- Availability sometime after 8 pm Central USA Time, as that's when we're most active, but this isn't a deal breaker!
- Maximum chill. We're not looking for possessive, OOC jealous, stalkery types. Been there, left unimpressed.
We prefer paragraph style roleplays, with a heavy emphasis on quality over quantity- but more than a handful of sentences, please.
Subtlty is valued but not required. Characters that react realistically are pretty cool too.
Some adult humor and situations are okay, but not constantly, always consensual, and fade-to-black when and where appropriate. Likewise, dramatic situations are okay, with the same caveats.
We can make accomdations for any genre you throw at us if you're willing to meet us halfway.
If you can relate to all of the things you just read, then you're probably who we're looking for.
Oh, and last thing, don't be an asshole.
So how do I join?
Just ask!
What's the setting?
An antique shop in the city. For fun's sake, we'll pretend it's Gotham City. You don't need to know anything about superheroes or Batman to join us.
It's thunder storming outside. If you're having trouble imagining how your character could fit into this scene, just let us know! We'll try to work something out with you. We WANT people to join.
Alf had been anticipating crushing boredom. He didn't quite grasp what antique shopping was, but he knew what it wasn't, and that it required him to put on his flip flops. Water was coming down in sheets outside and every step he made was a wet squeak that made his ears shrivel.
That was before he got inside.
The store's name was Coffee and Clutter, and it deserved its title.
Every wall was a mess. There was not a solitary inch of paneling that wasn't covered with somebody else's old crap. And it was good crap! Antique glasses, smoking pipes, old hats, smelly books, VHS tapes and Mcdonalds toys abound. He had had one cup of coffee, his second in his entire life, and that had been a mistake. He touched everything. He hadn't broken anything, to his credit. He was a gentle man, but a line was going to have to be drawn eventually because he was trying to turn a laundry mangle into a toy. Carefully. His ribcage wasn't fully healed and sometimes breathing still felt like being in a snake coil that tightened every time he exhaled. It wasn't nearly enough to dampen his mood.
"Hey, Cori? What'd we come here for?" He snuck his finger ends into the roller wedge while he spoke. It was a weird and familiar sensation.
I had one of these.
He didn't remember it well, but he remembered. The barn had been full of hand crank junk like that. He just hadn't thought about it in a long time.
That was before he got inside.
The store's name was Coffee and Clutter, and it deserved its title.
Every wall was a mess. There was not a solitary inch of paneling that wasn't covered with somebody else's old crap. And it was good crap! Antique glasses, smoking pipes, old hats, smelly books, VHS tapes and Mcdonalds toys abound. He had had one cup of coffee, his second in his entire life, and that had been a mistake. He touched everything. He hadn't broken anything, to his credit. He was a gentle man, but a line was going to have to be drawn eventually because he was trying to turn a laundry mangle into a toy. Carefully. His ribcage wasn't fully healed and sometimes breathing still felt like being in a snake coil that tightened every time he exhaled. It wasn't nearly enough to dampen his mood.
"Hey, Cori? What'd we come here for?" He snuck his finger ends into the roller wedge while he spoke. It was a weird and familiar sensation.
I had one of these.
He didn't remember it well, but he remembered. The barn had been full of hand crank junk like that. He just hadn't thought about it in a long time.
The most wonderful thing about antique shops was the noise.
It wasn't like a normal store, with the chatter and din of bodies shuffling around in an endless parade. No non-stop stream of catchy pop tunes playing over the radio. It was the soft, musical tick-and-chime of old clocks, of porcelain and china against one another, and of old fashioned gears and cogs as they turned. It was a subtle melody that took her to another world, another place in time, and it was only rivaled by the scent of the place.
Coffee and old books. The rich scent of real antique wood, and leather, dust, and polished brass.
She'd woken up early that morning in her favorite reading chair, with an empty pint of ice cream on the end table a finished book in her lap, and an embarrassing rocky-road residue still on her lips. She was feeling much more herself and back to rights. With her natural energy and enthusiasm restored, she'd decided to put it to better use than harassing Alf- especially now that he seemed to be back on his feet and doing marginally better.
He was probably sick to death of being poked and prodded. Well meaning pokes and prods, but just the same.
She'd decided to go antique shopping instead. She had a goal in mind- a very specific kind of item that would be hard to find anywhere else. And, feeling generous as she was, she decided to give the swarthy, broad-backed brunette a temporary jail pass too.
The world outside the glass door was a wall of rain and gray. Silver on pewter, a wet sheen of fresh water on a stormy gray backdrop. The thunderstorm had brought an undercurrent of unseasonable cold with it- a nip in the air that made her long for a sweater and had her clutching a cup of hot cocoa to her chest. She wound her hair around her neck and lingered near some strange devices in the back, occasionally sending her sable-eyed companion an amused look.
He'd had coffee, and he was into everything.
"Please don't stick your fingers into that, Alf. I'd hate to have to explain to Mirim that I let you lose your digits to a laundry machine." The freckled woman spoke up with a soft laugh that carried nicely across the sparsely populated shop.
It wasn't like a normal store, with the chatter and din of bodies shuffling around in an endless parade. No non-stop stream of catchy pop tunes playing over the radio. It was the soft, musical tick-and-chime of old clocks, of porcelain and china against one another, and of old fashioned gears and cogs as they turned. It was a subtle melody that took her to another world, another place in time, and it was only rivaled by the scent of the place.
Coffee and old books. The rich scent of real antique wood, and leather, dust, and polished brass.
She'd woken up early that morning in her favorite reading chair, with an empty pint of ice cream on the end table a finished book in her lap, and an embarrassing rocky-road residue still on her lips. She was feeling much more herself and back to rights. With her natural energy and enthusiasm restored, she'd decided to put it to better use than harassing Alf- especially now that he seemed to be back on his feet and doing marginally better.
He was probably sick to death of being poked and prodded. Well meaning pokes and prods, but just the same.
She'd decided to go antique shopping instead. She had a goal in mind- a very specific kind of item that would be hard to find anywhere else. And, feeling generous as she was, she decided to give the swarthy, broad-backed brunette a temporary jail pass too.
The world outside the glass door was a wall of rain and gray. Silver on pewter, a wet sheen of fresh water on a stormy gray backdrop. The thunderstorm had brought an undercurrent of unseasonable cold with it- a nip in the air that made her long for a sweater and had her clutching a cup of hot cocoa to her chest. She wound her hair around her neck and lingered near some strange devices in the back, occasionally sending her sable-eyed companion an amused look.
He'd had coffee, and he was into everything.
"Please don't stick your fingers into that, Alf. I'd hate to have to explain to Mirim that I let you lose your digits to a laundry machine." The freckled woman spoke up with a soft laugh that carried nicely across the sparsely populated shop.
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