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Dec 15, 2013 4:51:24 GMT -5
Post by elegant on Dec 15, 2013 4:51:24 GMT -5
S A L E MLorem Ipsum is simply dummy text of the printing and typesetting industry. Lorem Ipsum has been the industry's standard dummy text ever since the 1500s, when an unknown printer took a galley of type and scrambled it to make a type specimen book. It has survived not only five centuries, but also the leap into electronic typesetting, remaining essentially unchanged. It was popularised in the 1960s with the release of Letraset sheets containing Lorem Ipsum passages, and more recently with desktop publishing software like Aldus PageMaker including versions of Lorem Ipsum
Lorem Ipsum is simply dummy text of the printing and typesetting industry. Lorem Ipsum has been the industry's standard dummy text ever since the 1500s, when an unknown printer took a galley of type and scrambled it to make a type specimen book. It has survived not only five centuries, but also the leap into electronic typesetting, remaining essentially unchanged. It was popularised in the 1960s with the release of Letraset sheets containing Lorem Ipsum passages, and more recently with desktop publishing software like Aldus PageMaker including versions of Lorem Ipsum
Lorem Ipsum is simply dummy text of the printing and typesetting industry. Lorem Ipsum has been the industry's standard dummy text ever since the 1500s, when an unknown printer took a galley of type and scrambled it to make a type specimen book. It has survived not only five centuries, but also the leap into electronic typesetting, remaining essentially unchanged. It was popularised in the 1960s with the release of Letraset sheets containing Lorem Ipsum passages, and more recently with desktop publishing software like Aldus PageMaker including versions of Lorem Ipsum
Lorem Ipsum is simply dummy text of the printing and typesetting industry. Lorem Ipsum has been the industry's standard dummy text ever since the 1500s, when an unknown printer took a galley of type and scrambled it to make a type specimen book. It has survived not only five centuries, but also the leap into electronic typesetting, remaining essentially unchanged. It was popularised in the 1960s with the release of Letraset sheets containing Lorem Ipsum passages, and more recently with desktop publishing software like Aldus PageMaker including versions of Lorem Ipsum |
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Dec 15, 2013 6:07:34 GMT -5
Post by elegant on Dec 15, 2013 6:07:34 GMT -5
[presto]  N A M E
She's got eyes like pennies. All rusted and used to shit. Copper and spotted with dirt, someone has drilled a hole through the center of each one, making them obsolete. They have been handed off down generations, from century to century. Aye, she's got the eyes of her mother and the fingers of her father, dried and well preserved in the chest that rests at the foot of her bed. Her name is Salem, and she has a last name, but no one remembers it, or no one has heard it. Her name is Salem and no one remembers her last name because they can't remember where she came from. They can't remember where she came from, because one day, she was just here. Her and that cat. Or was it that cat and her? We don't know. We can't remember, no one can.
All we know for certain is that Salem girl is weird, and not in the usual way. It's not like she says funny things and waves her hands in the air sometimes, it's more like she doesn't. She's so still, so quiet, it's disarming. You don't know that she's right behind you until you turn on your heel and are staring into eyes as cold and cool as your ex-lover. That's not the only thing either because her voice is as soft as a sigh but three times as powerful as a shout. One doesn't have to strain to hear her words, they wrap around your ears like a poisonous snake, terribly misunderstood but heard all the same.
Her hair is pin straight and falls down to frame her face and reach even lower like a cliff face, washed smooth by the sea. It's cleaner than that too, pure white, either she's gone grey early from stress, or she's spent all her life under the sun. Underneath are traces of black, and some say that's where her evil stems from, what keeps her powerful. Powerful how, you ask? In her witch craft of course! Everyone knows that she's a witch, that she practices spells late at night and if you get on her bad side you'll be cursed forevermore. What else could lend to the sightings of her out in the Grimm gardens, basket in arm and plants hanging over the side like mutinous passengers.
Her room is like a dungeon, heavy wall draperies and barely any light. There's always something bubbling in the cauldron she keeps over the fire place, they say that it always smells of flowers, but that's just a cover up, we're sure. There's something evil brewing there. Her face is oval, with a sharp chin, and everyone knows that sharp chins are only for witches. Her nose too, it's long and pointed, sure to have a couple warts. Her skin is so white because she wears concealer to hide her green skin, and the millions of scars that cover it.
The scars? Well that would be from her tormented past, you know, the thing that made her evil. They say she was born on the outskirts of the District, mewling and crying like any babe. What set her apart were the herbs that her mother used to heal her booboos, and the sage stick that her father waved through the air to banish bad spirits.
[/presto] |
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Dec 17, 2013 2:43:57 GMT -5
Post by elegant on Dec 17, 2013 2:43:57 GMT -5
[presto]  N A M E
She's got eyes like pennies. All rusted and used to shit. Copper and spotted with dirt, someone has drilled a hole through the center of each one, making them obsolete. They have been handed off down generations, from century to century. Aye, she's got the eyes of her mother and the fingers of her father, dried and well preserved in the chest that rests at the foot of her bed. Her name is Salem, and she has a last name, but no one remembers it, or no one has heard it. Her name is Salem and no one remembers her last name because they can't remember where she came from. They can't remember where she came from, because one day, she was just here. Her and that cat. Or was it that cat and her? We don't know. We can't remember, no one can.
All we know for certain is that Salem girl is weird, and not in the usual way. It's not like she says funny things and waves her hands in the air sometimes, it's more like she doesn't. She's so still, so quiet, it's disarming. You don't know that she's right behind you until you turn on your heel and are staring into eyes as cold and cool as your ex-lover. That's not the only thing either because her voice is as soft as a sigh but three times as powerful as a shout. One doesn't have to strain to hear her words, they wrap around your ears like a poisonous snake, terribly misunderstood but heard all the same.
Her hair is pin straight and falls down to frame her face and reach even lower like a cliff face, washed smooth by the sea. It's cleaner than that too, pure white, either she's gone grey early from stress, or she's spent all her life under the sun. Underneath are traces of black, and some say that's where her evil stems from, what keeps her powerful. Powerful how, you ask? In her witch craft of course! Everyone knows that she's a witch, that she practices spells late at night and if you get on her bad side you'll be cursed forevermore. What else could lend to the sightings of her out in the Grimm gardens, basket in arm and plants hanging over the side like mutinous passengers.
Her room is like a dungeon, heavy wall draperies and barely any light. There's always something bubbling in the cauldron she keeps over the fire place, they say that it always smells of flowers, but that's just a cover up, we're sure. There's something evil brewing there. Her face is oval, with a sharp chin, and everyone knows that sharp chins are only for witches. Her nose too, it's long and pointed, sure to have a couple warts. Her skin is so white because she wears concealer to hide her green skin, and the millions of scars that cover it.
The scars? Well that would be from her tormented past, you know, the thing that made her evil. They say she was born on the outskirts of the District, mewling and crying like any babe. What set her apart were the herbs that her mother used to heal her booboos, and the sage stick that her father waved through the air to banish bad spirits.
[/presto] |
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Dec 27, 2013 9:24:47 GMT -5
Post by elegant on Dec 27, 2013 9:24:47 GMT -5
[presto]  N a m e : Sin Otari
A g e : Seventeen
L o c a t i o n : Capitol
F a c e c l a i m : Oh Se Hun
J o b : Greiver
S o n g : Can You Feel The THunder - susanne sundfør
N o t e s : Mute by choice | Angry | Filled with something like pain | We'll call it sorrow | Get thee hence emotions | I am mean | Trust me | I can be cruel |
B i o g r a p h y : here!
P l o t : n/a
C u r r e n t T h r e a d s : Sold
P a s t T h r e a d s : ~
[/presto] |
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Dec 27, 2013 20:26:55 GMT -5
Post by elegant on Dec 27, 2013 20:26:55 GMT -5
[presto]  N a m e : Gallifrey Arya Lightwood
A g e : Seventeen
L o c a t i o n : District One
F a c e c l a i m : Karen Gillan
J o b : Everything! (Career)
S o n g : Ave Maria - Regina Spektor
N o t e s : LIFE LIFE LIFE IS HAPPENING AND I AM HAPPENING WITH IT | sounding my great yawp and all that | I love climbing | Free running | Adopted Lightwood | So many colours though | Iridescent | stars | flowers | career-er-ing | Running | Nursing | Painting | SULTRY QURLS WITH BIG LIPS |
B i o g r a p h y : here!
P l o t : n/a
C u r r e n t T h r e a d s : ~
P a s t T h r e a d s : ~
[/presto] |
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Jan 1, 2014 3:48:13 GMT -5
Post by elegant on Jan 1, 2014 3:48:13 GMT -5
[presto]  N a m e : Cinder Ash
A g e : Eighteen
L o c a t i o n : Capitol
F a c e c l a i m : Zoe Deschanel
J o b : Avox
S o n g : Somewhere Only We Know - Keane
N o t e s : Sleeps in the ashes | One day my prince will come | Where did my shoe go? | A dream is a wish your heart makes | Hardworker | Sweet disposition | I'll avoid you | Meeker than a mouse | Creative | Piano | Ima rebellin to the ball | Fuzzy animals | Shy as a mouse | Strong as a bear |
B i o g r a p h y : here!
P l o t : Disney Plot
C u r r e n t T h r e a d s : ~
P a s t T h r e a d s : Are You Prince Charming?
[/presto] |
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Jan 1, 2014 4:03:39 GMT -5
Post by elegant on Jan 1, 2014 4:03:39 GMT -5
[presto]  [N a m e : 26
A g e : Eighteen
L o c a t i o n : District One
F a c e c l a i m : Yoon Shi Yoon
J o b : Peacekeeper in training/Career probably
S o n g : --
N o t e s : Weirdooo
B i o g r a p h y : here!
P l o t : n/a
C u r r e n t T h r e a d s : ~
P a s t T h r e a d s : ~
[/presto] |
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Jan 1, 2014 4:12:00 GMT -5
Post by elegant on Jan 1, 2014 4:12:00 GMT -5
[presto]  N a m e : Athens Asai Amazonite Shore
A g e : Seventeen
L o c a t i o n : District One
F a c e c l a i m : Rila Fukushima
J o b : Hieress/Mafia Boss/Career
S o n g : White Foxes
B i o g r a p h y : here!
P l o t : The Shores
C u r r e n t T h r e a d s : ~
P a s t T h r e a d s : ~
[/presto] |
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Jan 1, 2014 5:43:18 GMT -5
Post by elegant on Jan 1, 2014 5:43:18 GMT -5
[presto]  N a m e : Teagan Pekoe
A g e : Seventeen
L o c a t i o n : District Eight
F a c e c l a i m : Kim Jongin
J o b : Archivist
S o n g : See Bio and Links
B i o g r a p h y : here!
P l o t : Library Plot
C u r r e n t T h r e a d s : ~
P a s t T h r e a d s : ~
[/presto] |
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Jan 1, 2014 5:48:42 GMT -5
Post by elegant on Jan 1, 2014 5:48:42 GMT -5
[presto]  N a m e : Captain James Tiberius Kirk
A g e : Twenty-nine
L o c a t i o n : Wandering Peacekeeper
F a c e c l a i m : Lee Min Ki
J o b : Peacekeeper Probably
S o n g : Star Trek Main Theme
B i o g r a p h y : here!
P l o t : Star Trek Plot
C u r r e n t T h r e a d s : ~
P a s t T h r e a d s : ~
[/presto] |
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Jan 1, 2014 6:17:54 GMT -5
Post by elegant on Jan 1, 2014 6:17:54 GMT -5
[presto]  N a m e : Bastille Styx-Libertine
A g e : Seventeen
L o c a t i o n : District Four
F a c e c l a i m : Kim Jaejoong
J o b : The Ferry Man to the Underworld
N o t e s : Let's make a deal | I require payment | Nothing is free | Need a boat to the other side | If you need a body taken care of | I belong to the night |
S o n g : n/a
B i o g r a p h y : here!
P l o t : Pawn Shop Profiteers
C u r r e n t T h r e a d s : ~
P a s t T h r e a d s : ~
[/presto] |
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Jan 1, 2014 8:12:33 GMT -5
Post by elegant on Jan 1, 2014 8:12:33 GMT -5
P O T A TO E A R N E S TYou were born inside the tiniest of what you could barely a house on the outskirts of District Eleven. There was an older sister before you by two years, she was born lovely and sweet, let alone intelligent. At two years old she almost had a full vocabulary, and knew quite a few of her sums. Still, a two year old is a two year old, my sweet, you can't blame her for the name you received, not that it would even occur to you. Apparently, when you were born you came out screaming and crying, face puckered and screwed. Your tiny fists held tight to anything that went near them, and the whisps of hair on your pudgy little head were a soft gold colour. Your sister, noticing all of this, carefully weighed her decision. See, your father and mother said she could name you. It wasn't her fault that she was two years old and thought you looked very much like a potato. Your mother and father asked if there was anything else she might want to call you, and begrudgingly, she also gave the name, 'Moist'. It was a word she had only just learned and she quite liked it. Your parents went with Potato, father slightly bitter that he had promised his daughter such a thing.
It became no matter, you were an easy baby. Sometimes, you really did just sit there like a potato. When your parents tended the fields, your mother would carry you on her back, and the sun would warm your cheeks. It made you giggle, you giggled a lot as a baby and small child. Come to think of it, you even laugh a lot now. What you didn't know, and I suppose you'll never know, is that you, dear sir, were and are the poorest of the poor. However, you can't miss what you've never had, your childhood was a happy one. As soon as you were able, you began to help your parents in the potato fields. You liked to joke about getting lost among the potatoes. Your parents would make a chittering laugh about that, they'd force a smile that didn't reach their cheeks. The truth is, they were also scared you might. You were never an attractive child, the district approved of your name when you were young. You had sun browned skin, a weird nose, thick eyebrows that didn't suit your small face, and weirdly long fingers, like potato roots.
Still, if anything, you were the most contented and cheerful child anyone had ever seen. The most common expression on your visage was a gentle smile, as if trying to coax the potatoes your family planted out of the very ground it's self. That smile helped your features a bit, it seemed to be a second sun. No matter how weird your nose was, or the fact that one ear looked a bit bigger than the other, you had that smile. You used that smile for good too, not even knowing it could be used for evil. With that smile, you broke your back with work almost everyday, doing more than your fair share of the work in the potato fields. Your mother told a twelve year old you that you could take a break, you didn't have to work so hard. You laughed at that, a gorgeous laugh that forced your head back and your mouth to open wide. To you, working the fields didn't count as labour, to you, it was fun. There was something that you loved about placing a seed in the ground, only to watch it come peeking out of the ground as a flower weeks later. It was the only form of magic you had in your life, you never believed in things like fairy godmothers or leprechauns. Your belief was in what you could cup in those tapered fingers.
Your ideals grew to encompass the fact that if you worked hard, and was careful, only good could come of it. You were a caregiver, making up for those 'ravishing' looks with kindness. You never wished on stars because it was easier just to work hard and accomplish things yourself, much more satisfying too. A day well spent for you was a day out in the fields, whispering and singing softly to the vegetables you were named after. Though you were born with the looks of a potato, Ripred blessed you with a voice so sweet it could tempt the root vegetables out of the ground. You're a simple boy, with simple ideals instilled in you by a father who eventually came to accept your name, and a mother who loved you all the same. Your older sister, has been a princess in your eyes since you were little, and your only goal in life has been to live under the sun everyday and take care of your sister like your parents told you to.
As you aged, you began to grow into your height and your mother sewed you your first new pair of overalls instead of just extending the bottoms of your old ones. You were thirteen years old when you got your first brand new pair, not even worn by your father yet. You loved those overalls to near death, they were the best thing you ever got from your parents. Your mother sewed colourful patches of pockets onto the hips, you kept bulbs, seeds, and other treasures you found in there. Once you left a small, shriveled potato in one of those pockets and it grew a bunch of roots. It made you laugh with delight, it's will to live was so strong. Your's was too. Growing up, food was sparse. Sure, you lived on a farm, sure, the entire district is farming. Yet, with the amount the Capitol taking each year growing, it was harder than it sounds. Most of your gorgeous potatoes were taken, being the best of the district from your special care. Your family was left with a pittance and barely any to sell yourselves. So most of what you ate was potatoes.
That was wonderful for you though, you all counted your lucky stars that you didn't grow carrots instead. With a potato, you can do quite a bit. You can mash, bake, boil, steam and fry in such a variety of ways. Your mother became excellent at masking the taste of potatoes behind a tomato fruit, or the rare fish. Although there was some sorrow for you, to eat the items you had spent so much time on, you loved the taste of a potato, and could eat baked ones like apples. It didn't matter what the potato looked like, the insides were all the same, and they were always delicious to you. One day the farmer on the property across from your's gave you zucchini seeds. Awestruck, you began your own garden. There was something about the shape of your face that made your neighbors pity you, and one day you received seeds for a tomato plant, or strawberries.
It was found that you had the greenest thumb the district had ever seen. You spent all day tending those fields and your little garden, loving gardening, getting covered in dirt. Your mother said she'd never seen you so happy than when you were at your dirtiest. Sometimes she would make you strip so she could dump a bucket of water on you. Your house may have been shabby and small, but she was not letting you tramp dirt all through her house, thank-you very much. For a family with barely anything to your name, you were earnestly proud of what you did have, which was mostly each other and a couple pots. Yet, one can't miss what they've never had, so you were always happy growing up. Your sister spent all day reading books as she primly stood in a sundress, watering the fields with one hand, flipping the page with her tongue. You have idolized your sister for years now. She wants to be a Peacekeeper and is taking her test soon. She is going to take care of you, she says to you. She still feels a bit bad about naming you potato, although it was the logical route.
So life went on, you were happy and one of the things you sang to your potatoes became a pretty popular drinking song in the tavern. Every now and then you lined up with the other boys in your district, and then you went home again, never understanding what it all was for, and never really caring. Your mandatory television never got a proper signal and when it did you were never inside anywhere. So you were a rarity in this day and age with a childhood completely unmarred by the games. Things that weren't important just didn't matter to you, the single minded thing that you have been and will be. Once your sister tried to teach you letters but all you know is the letter, 'P'. Boredom overtook you after that, you liked having a reason for her to read to you anyway. The sound of your sister's voice always calmed you down, and her bedtime stories sent you right off to sleep at night.
When you were fifteen, something extraordinary happened. In the space of a few months, you went through the beginnings of puberty. Your voice began to crackle, and you suddenly shot up, standing at the height of exactly one hundred and eighty-seven centimeters. Your fingers and hands, which had always looked far too long and big for your body, suddenly fit you beautifully. You ears which had always seemed a bit confused, settled right down, and after all those years of hard labour, your body was nothing to scoff at. Most drastic was your face, where you'd always been a bit more than awkward looking, you suddenly seemed to grow into yourself. It was as if Ripred had been a bit lost with you at first, but then figured out your dynamics on his second try, Where you had always looked like a potato, your sudden good looks shocked the entire dirt road you lived on. Muscles formed themselves on those long arms, and freckles began to disappear with the browning of your skin, giving your face a smoother appearance.
Best of all, was that 'princely' look your eyes gained. Somehow, your sister's beauty had rubbed off on you, and girls were swooning when you passed by. You were oblivious to all this, bare feet just as dirty as before, trousers rolled up to the ankles by wish of your mother. (For easy wading, too.) Your eyes, dark as coal, held a sort of joyful kind of light to them no matter who you were talking to. People found themselves drawn in to your appearance, falling in love first with your looks, second with the personality you have been tending so carefully for so long. You became the real life story of the ugly duckling, turning into a lovely swan. Still, where any boy your age would be attending the nightly parties and dances held in the farming sheds around the districts, you were most often seen with that long, golden hair tied up with a piece of string, overalls tied at the waist, with some type of garden tool in your hand. Nothing changed with puberty for you, giving life to a plant was still one of your favourite things to do. After all, you've always been the simplest of boys, with the simplest of pleasures.
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