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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Jan 21, 2017 11:41:03 GMT -5
Hey @borderline !
So is there anything else we need to sort out or are we okay to start?]
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Post by Deleted on Jan 21, 2017 12:04:08 GMT -5
uhh maybe the language that the mafia speaks primarily
heres my character;;
Cecil Khouri 29yrs & male Of Egyptian descent (and quite proud of it), Cecil stands at 5'4'' and is short, as such, but this doesn't bother him too much. He has brown skin and a slender face, with overall fairly sharp features. His almond-shaped eyes are a rather light green in colour, contrasting to the rest of him, and his black hair is cut into an undercut and often pushed back from his head with various coloured bobby pins. His nails are noticeably bitten down and he has faint scars over his lower lip, and he wears a silver ring on his left hand. Alongside English, he speaks Egyptian Arabic (as his first language), but does not speak languages other than those two.
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Jan 21, 2017 12:08:10 GMT -5
[Well I was thinking maybe Spanish? I should have checked with you first probably but I made my character around that assumption.
Ooh, Cecil seems cool. I like him already XD]
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Post by Deleted on Jan 21, 2017 12:10:13 GMT -5
yep yep that seems good to me
lmao thank u
i'll get to work on the starter
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Jan 21, 2017 12:11:18 GMT -5
[Alright, thank you! x]
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Post by Deleted on Jan 21, 2017 13:06:00 GMT -5
Cecil Khouri Wednesday, October 19th 2016 05:30
Jet-lagged was not the word for it.
If there was one thing that Cecil could safely say, it was that he hated being unable to sleep on planes. It made the trip back to his house that much more painful, and he was already half-dozing in the taxi as it drove along, bumping over speed-bumps every so often or making a too-sharp turn, thus preventing him from truly falling asleep. In his pocket, his phone chimed a notification for his emails, and so he sighed and pulled it out with some effort, resting his head against the window of the car as he looked down at the message, squinting at the bright light.
Cecil, Heard you're coming back to town today. No static, no more reports from the maf. Papers were delivered at your house, sealed with that purple. Hope you're doing well. - Dmitri
Okay, so it wasn't actually anything important. That was frustrating. He instead focused on texting multiple people back and forth, various questions about how things had been, and general chatter about what had happened while he was gone. Unsurprisingly, not much. Russia had been a pain, but at least it wasn't this dinky little town with a barely-functioning police station that couldn't even hire decent translators for him. He scowled at the thought of having to hunt down a translator to check the papers he'd been delivered, hated the knowledge that he had a lot of work waiting for him once he'd rested. Cecil reached up to drag a hand through his hair (currently falling gently over his face as he didn't wear the bobby pins while traveling), and gritted his teeth.
To say that the past six or seven weeks had been hectic would be an understatement. He'd chased a lead there, the lead had vanished, and then he'd been sold out by someone and had ended up stuck in Russia. That, he supposed, was just his luck. It had been cold and he'd been wet and he was exhausted, and in the end, all he'd managed to get was a metal token with no DNA on it and no connections to anything, and a cold. As if on cue, he sniffled softly and watched the world go by. The morning was still dark and held no traffic, save for the brief flash of headlights. Despite the darkness, he could recognise his neighbourhood as they began to reach it and he exhaled slowly through his nose, glad to finally be home. Home was warm and probably didn't have any food, but that was okay because he could order takeout when he woke up later. It was probably dusty, too, but he could clean later. What he needed more than anything was rest - it would be lonely, but as an introvert, Cecil didn't particularly mind.
are you home yet?
Cecil stared blankly at the text before sending an affirmative.
nice. good. i'll be back tomorrow or the day after.
He was exhausted and he wanted to fight the world, but the man allowed himself a small smile as the taxi pulled to a stop, and he stepped out, counting out the money before giving it to the driver. He tipped his head silently, before moving to the back to grab his suitcase (small, easy to forget sometimes), and rummaged in his pockets for the keys as he walked to the quiet house that was his home, small and comfortable and his, more than anything else. One of the most permanent possessions in his life, save for something else, and he could never be happier for it. The key slid into the lock with difficulty due to lack of use, but it turned as silently as ever and so he entered just as quietly, setting down his suitcase and closing the door quietly, locking it once again. He kicked off his shoes and hung up his coat and his scarf, running both hands through his hair as he looked around.
It looked as it often did; a small two-seater couch, a little armchair by a fire that was real but had no logs, at the moment, a mantle with no pictures, just a little scented candle and nothing else. The soft rug underneath his feet was nice and he curled his toes slightly, tilting his head to the side and listening, absently. It was often a quiet house, and his gaze flicked to the bookshelf. Most of the books were his personal favourites, with a few others littered here and there. There was another room in the house, once a bedroom, now dedicated to books.
A glance to the clock told him that it was currently six in the morning, and he sighed slowly and pinched the bridge of his nose, glancing around again. It was, of course, at that point, that he noticed that there was a cushion that wasn't in its original place. He stared at it for a moment before wandering a little closer, squinting at it carefully. A hair. A hair that was not his, and not anyone that he knew. Slowly, he checked his hip holster, still on him because he hadn't chosen to taken it off yet. He removed the gun and held it idly in his hands, keeping the safety on just in case. It was easy enough to remove a safety, not so easy to give someone their life back. His footsteps were quiet as he backed up and settled in a rather dark corner of the room, choosing to wait and see what happened. From here, he had a good vantage point; he could see the kitchen, the stairs, and the little study, all without being seen himself.
He wouldn't lie, it was entirely possible that this was just pure paranoia, but Cecil didn't think it was that simple. Besides, he didn't thrive from this job without having paranoia; there were plenty of people who wanted detectives dead, and so it wasn't entirely unlikely that there was an intruder. In all honesty, it was highly likely. It was at this moment that he was glad he hadn't turned any lights on nor had he made a real sound. Honestly, his entrance was easily missed, and it always had been. Even in the station, where things were loud in opening, he'd startled other detectives and a few officers. He gritted his teeth and listened intently, eyes narrowing as he took in everything. Yes, the dust was misplaced; though it was possible he had done that (save for on the book shelf, which he hadn't touched).
It was with a bitter amusement that Cecil realised that his fight reflexes had pushed away any hint of tiredness, and that he was wide awake and alert, now. That...that was irritating; he had a hard enough time getting to sleep as it was without adrenaline coursing through his system. It was likely, of course, that he would crash soon after he figured this was a false alarm or something similar, but he had a feeling that it wasn't. Someone had been in his house - someone that he didn't know. That someone could possibly still be here, considering he hadn't left any indications of when he was going to return to his house. Cecil did not have a calender - his eidetic memory helped him know when he had to do certain things, and so it wasn't like he needed anything like that. Frankly, there were no notes around the house; no indication of what sort of person he was, or who he was, save for a little picture in his bedroom - but that was because it was dear to him.
Thinking about the picture now, however, annoyed him. Someone had possibly seen that. Someone who had no right to his private life, who had no right to just...be here. He gritted his teeth some more and shifted his weight from one leg to the other, paying very close attention to everything.
[ yikes ok this starter isnt as good as i wanted it to be but i kept getting called away ]
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Jan 21, 2017 14:06:37 GMT -5
[Are you kidding? It's amazing, don't even worry! I think this is a little shorter than yours, sorry about that]
Carmen Garcia had left her home, everything she knew, on the 17th of October, and she hadn't been on the run for very long. It had taken her twenty-five years to finally leave the area in which she had grown up, to leave everything that had ever been familiar to her. Maybe it was because of fear, or maybe it was because of the part of her that liked routine, the part of her that wasn't impulsive. She told herself it was most likely the latter, because her father had told her once that a Garcia could never be a coward.
'God,' she thought to herself sarcastically 'he must be really proud of me right now'
She was walking down a street lined with houses, moving through pools of golden light thrown down by the streetlights as she searched for a house that looked unoccupied. It was cold, she realised as she huddled into a thick black coat, pulling the ends of the sleeves to cover her fingers. She really needed to find somewhere she could get shelter from this wintery chill, otherwise she would be in really serious trouble overnight. She couldn't risk not having anywhere warm to go - she didn't exactly want to freeze to death. Not only that, but if she stayed out in the streets she risked people recognising her. And there were too many people who didn't like her father for her to think that she would be remotely safe outside overnight. No, she needed somewhere to go, and she needed it fast.
These houses were rather nice, Carmen observed as she moved down the street, eyeing the buildings up and down. They were certainly nicer than the rundown neighbourhood in which she had grown up, where the gardens were always overgrown and the paint on the doors were peeling and the roofs were missing tiles. The houses were often filled with damp or mould or the family couldn't afford to pay for heating. Nobody wanted to admit they were from the area where Carmen had grown up. Maybe partly because her father was always at large, always causing pain and hurt and always being manipulative and cruel.
Of course, being the daughter of a mafia boss meant that Carmen's house had been the nicest in the area - it was always well maintained and well kept and it had relatively nice furniture. It wasn't anything overly impressive in general, but in her community it was a status symbol. Despite all of this, however, Carmen knew how the people around her lived. Sometimes she was certain her father conveniently forgot about the people around him. Well he would, wouldn't he? He cared about money and about himself and after that nothing else mattered. Not the people he hurt, and most certainly not Carmen. Oh no, Carmen had never mattered. Until her father wanted to use her as some sort of bargaining chip or bragging right or something like that. Then she mattered.
Maybe that was one of the reasons she'd left. He'd never exactly been a good father. But of course Carmen had other reasons. She wasn't stupid enough to run away just because of daddy issues. Oh no. There was much more than that.
Her father, Leandro Garcia, had killed someone right in front of Carmen. Of course, Carmen wasn't an idiot, she knew he was a murderer, of course she did, which was part of what had made her so scared to try to leave. But she'd never actually seen him do it before. And not only that, but it was Carmen's brother, Oscar. He was a year older than Carmen, and he'd been a close friend to her growing up. But he'd also been a close ally to her father. Not close enough, however, that Leandro wasn't prepared to shoot Oscar if he made so much as a single mistake. And of course, Oscar had made a mistake. He'd left some DNA at a crime scene. Carmen's father hadn't been impressed, and that was the end of Oscar.
It had terrified Carmen, who had always suspected that her father wasn't afraid of killing his children but who was still shocked to her core. She had mourned heavily for her brother, but an ever-practical part of her mind had told Carmen that she simply had to leave before she ended up in danger too. So she'd grabbed some warm clothes and a little bit of money and she'd left. But it turned out the money didn't last as long as Carmen expected it to. She'd already run out and she was hungry and cold and scared and running out of options fast.
Her thoughts had been interrupted as the twenty-five-year-old caught sight of a house which had no cars outside it, no lights in the windows. Bingo. An unoccupied house. But was the occupant on holiday or were they just out? She would need to check.
There was a full letterbox. Good sign. And the grass looked like it needed cutting too. Another good sign. Meant nobody had been around here for a while, unless the occupant was just lazy or something, which they very well could be. But desperate times called for desperate measures and dammit, Carmen was hungry and she was cold. This would have to do - she wouldn't have much time to be searching for another house before it got too cold and too dangerous to be outside.
So she had circled the house, climbing over fences to get around the full perimeter of the house, trying to look for the best way in. She was determined that this would be the house. She would get in. She had to get inside.
Luckily enough, she'd found a lock to a window that, with a little bit of jiggling and with the help of a bobby pin, opened. Excellent. She had certainly gotten lucky with this house.
She'd only been in the house for a few hours before the owner returned - not that Carmen knew that at the time. She'd been searching the house for logs for the fire - she needed to get warm, so desperately. She felt chilled right through to her bones - she was so cold she still had her coat on as she looked for some way to light the fire. Food was not as big a priority for her right now as warmth - though the kitchen would most certainly be her next stop, if her growling stomach was anything to go by. She hadn't eaten since her money had ran out almost two days before.
But knowing that she had no luck with finding any way to light the fire, she decided that she should feed herself and think over her options. Food would at least provide her with a little bit of energy. That was something else she was almost entirely lacking at the moment.
So she began to head through to the kitchen, hoping she'd find something good there. If the person was on holiday their kitchen probably wouldn't be well-stocked, but she could only hope that they'd left something she could work with. Yes, they'd know that she'd been here when they came back - incidentally, she didn't have any idea when this person was due to come back, since there wasn't even a calendar here - but it wasn't the end of the world. Besides, she was so hungry that she couldn't really bring herself to care about that right now.
Incidentally, she found that she had been able to find out absolutely nothing about the person who lived in this house. They had very few personal items, and the only thing that gave her a vague clue was a single picture in one of the bedrooms. Not that even that told her a lot about whoever owned this house. She found it strange, that someone had a house but hadn't made it home, hadn't made it truly theirs. To Carmen, that had to be the best thing about owning your own home. You could make it completely your own, nobody else's. But, each to their own, she supposed.
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Post by Deleted on Jan 21, 2017 14:34:07 GMT -5
Cecil
Logic told him to call the police, but then again, he worked with the police and he had some sort of vague semblance of pride to keep up. Besides, the police were not discreet. He could call Felix and see if he had any ideas, but that meant raising his voice or causing light in the dark room; though the sun was beginning to rise, now, and so it wasn't so bad. All he had to do was wait - he was fairly confident that he could hear movement around him.
He knew, of course, that many people wanted to kill him. Hell, the mafia family that he was hunting probably wanted to kill him; and considering he couldn't find a Spanish translator that would work with him, it became increasingly frustrating to try to find out their motives and goals and missions. Everything was frustrating about his case, and he just wanted to be able to relax without thinking 'hey, wow, someone might actually attack my house'. It was awful enough knowing that someone had deemed themselves worthy of entering his house and learning about his private life. That irritated him to high hell. Personal life has been invaded, his brain told him, this is not supposed to happen.
Truth be told, Cecil loved being a mystery to people. It was one of those things where he managed to deduce people and the like, but they couldn't figure out him. He had always been a mystery and damn it, he looked away from his house for just over a month and this happened. His alarm system was sh*t. He'd admit that. Maybe it was time to have something better installed, considering the danger he was often in. He gritted his teeth and listened some more. Yeah, he could definitely hear it. It was only when the person (a woman, he assumed) went past - completely missing his hiding spot, he realised with bitter amusement - that his suspicions were confirmed, and he slowly breathed through his nose. Alright. Okay. She was in his kitchen - but he didn't really have anything there. Maybe some dried fruit, but nothing of use.
Cecil's footsteps were delicate and silent as he passed over the cold floor (no longer on the rug, damn it) and stopped in the entrance for the kitchen, raising his gun and leaning against the door-frame casually.
"Hands where I can see them, drop to your knees. No funny business."
He handled this sort of thing well, he knew. Holding a gun to someone? Not a big deal. He knew the safety was on, but this person did not. For all she knew, he'd taken off the safety; and it was this gamble that he knew very few people would dare chance. If he was some sort of maniac (and frankly, he knew that he looked like one right now with messy hair and bags underneath his eyes), then there was a large chance that he was going to shoot. That said, if the woman had been into his room, then she had probably already seen the picture which likely meant she knew that he was the owner. Damn it. This was annoying. He curled his lip a little and stared blankly, adjusting his hold on his glock without much of a worry about what was happening. Cecil's finger was not on the trigger, because he wasn't stupid. It was stupid to hold the trigger before intending to fire, that sometimes resulted in misfires and that was something he didn't ever want to deal with. Even so, he kept his finger near the trigger, to show that he was serious.
[ REALLY SHORT POST BC I GOTTA GO FOR A LIL BIT ]
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Jan 21, 2017 15:02:40 GMT -5
[No problem x]
'Nothing here,' Carmen thought as she opened yet another virtually empty cupboard, 'Or here. Goddammit, is this person even human? Everyone leaves at least something. Everyone forgets at least something'
She was starving - all she wanted was some food. What did a person have to do to get some food around here? It seemed that this person had been very thorough in checking their cupboards were empty before they left. That was irritating, given her current situation. So she'd broken into a house that had a fire but no logs, a kitchen but no food. 'Well done, Carmen, you idiot,' she thought with a sigh 'Only you could mess this up, idiota'
Carmen had heard the footsteps a second too late, and when the person spoke a shiver moved down her spine. She'd been caught. Damn it. She'd been such an idiot. How long had they been home? I mean, it had been dark, hadn't it? Maybe that was why she missed them.
She turned to see the speaker and could see that he held a gun. Swearing under her breath - not in English, but in Spanish (she usually reverted back to Spanish when she was afraid or very emotional) - she dropped to her knees, empty hands in the air.
I mean, yes, this was the owner, not a criminal. But this man held a gun with a kind of experience that Carmen didn't want to test. It reminded her too much of the way her father held a gun. As if it was nothing, as if it was so familiar that it was a part of him. That scared Carmen a little.
She hadn't had time to even find any food before she'd been caught - I mean, it wasn't the end of the world, since at first glance the kitchen had looked fairly empty anyway, but still.
She wondered why she hadn't heard them calling the police, though they may do that right now while they had her at gunpoint. Maybe they just wanted to make sure that she couldn't get away before they got her caught. At least if she went to prison she would be safe from her father for a little while. That was an upside, she supposed. If it was even worth bothering trying to think of upsides of pprison, considering the fact that the downsides severely outweighed any upsides.
As she looked at the man pointing his weapon, she realised why he held a gun so well, why he looked so calm. He was a policeman, she could tell - he held himself like one. Carmen had been in too many unsavoury encounters with policemen to not be able to recognise one right off the bat. Brilliant. Not only had she broken into a house without food and without a way of lighting the fire, she'd broken into a policeman's house. Excellent. God, she was such a moron.
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Post by Deleted on Jan 21, 2017 16:22:39 GMT -5
Cecil
He wasn't an irrational person by nature. In fact, Cecil was a very rational person, who reacted sensibly to things, and so he supposed that pulling a gun on a potentially dangerous intruder was reasonable. His left eyebrow twitched faintly as she spoke Spanish, and he exhaled through his nose carefully.
There were a handful of ways that he could handle this. Call the other police now, exercise his right to arrest her, etc. Honestly, he'd rather not get other police involved. After all - he was known for being the sort of person who's personal life was, as he'd reminded himself for the thousandth time, private. Various things ran through his mind, various scenarios pieced from old cases of break-ins. His fourth case on the job had been about a break-in, though the culprit hadn't been caught. He cast his mind back quickly, gaze remaining unblinking on the woman as he considered it.
"Which window did you use?" he asked dryly. The front door lock had been stiff and unused. The patio doors had too complicated of a lock for most to pick without severely damaging it, and from the glance he'd given, it looked untouched. That left a window and that irked him even more, because that meant he had to change the window locks. That was more frustrating than anything else, but his expression didn't particularly change. Rather, it stayed the same as ever and flicked absently between each cabinet. Opened. Opened. He could see where they rested unevenly, where he always had to put effort into getting them into their proper positions. He snorted softly at the carelessness (or perhaps his own pickiness) and returned his gaze to the woman. "There's no food here."
Because Cecil never forgot, which meant that things actually got done. Yes, he knew that he'd just left dried fruit (though not much of it) in packets in a couple of high shelves, but other than that, everything was empty. The fridge was turned off, as was the freezer, both extraordinarily clean and ready to be turned back on and refilled. He shifted his weight and watched the woman with a narrowed gaze.
Really, though, it stuck him as somewhat odd that she'd chosen this particular neighbourhood, considering it was just so...ordinary. That was what he liked; the neighbours didn't pry, and it was very quiet when he was actually home. The worst thing was the dog three or four doors down, and even then, that was only on a bad weekend. There were no young people around here (in all honesty, Cecil was quite sure that he was the youngest) and it was overall...not a place where thieves would come to. It wasn't rich enough; poor enough that the houses were smaller, but proud enough that they kept things clean. Oh, hell, I have to do the lawn. The thought was one that pushed past the rest of everything, not forgotten because he never forgot, but he didn't really enjoy mowing the lawn. It was a mundane activity.
[wowow my muse is suffering rn bc i have a migraine im sorry]
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Jan 21, 2017 16:43:26 GMT -5
When the man asked which window she had used, Carmen pointed wordlessly to the kitchen window. Why did he care, anyway? If it were her, she'd be changing all the locks anyway after a break-in like this. And she'd change the alarm system, too. He had one, she'd noticed, but it had completely failed in the basic job of an alarm system. Which, uh, wasn't good. He would probably need to get on that, and quite quickly
Then he commented that there was no food, to which Carmen rolled her dark brown eyes. She knew it probably wasn't a good idea to be sarcastic with someone who quite literally had a gun to your head, but Carmen really couldn't help herself in this situation and so she replied "Yes, thank you. That fact has already been made rather painfully obvious to me"
She had an accent, clearly Spanish, though it wasn't incredibly thick. The last relic of her past would be her language and her accent, both of which she simultaneously wanted to keep and get rid of purely for their connection to her father. Because, like it or not, they were part of Carmen's identity. It just so happened that they were part of her father's too. She couldn't help that. Maybe she didn't need to get rid of the things that were important to her just because they had links with her father
She studied him for a moment, wondered why he wasn't doing anything? What was going on? Shouldn't he be yelling at her right now, or calling his policeman friends? Well, he probably didn't need backup to deal with Carmen, since he already had a gun on her. She wouldn't be a threat if she was unarmed and with a gun in her face. Hand-to-hand combat she could do, but she didn't dare risk it with someone who had a gun. That was suicide if she ever saw it
"Are you going to arrest me?" she asked after a brief pause "Because honestly, I could care less. I was looking for food and shelter, so it makes no difference to me either way"
Well, that was a lie. If he arrested her (if he hadn't recognised her already) he'd be taking fingerprints and she'd come up, right there on the system, tarred with the same brush as a mafia leader just because she was his daughter. And wouldn't that be great? She'd get questions about Oscar, and about the rest of her father's crimes. They'd assume she was involved, she'd get accused of things she hadn't done. No, Carmen hadn't committed a single crime until she came here. Admittedly she'd learned a few skills, but she'd never actually done anything with them until this break-in. She'd known from the off that helping her father out with crimes was a bad idea, but Oscar had been more trusting of their father than Carmen, so he'd decided to help. And he had paid for it very dearly indeed. Now Carmen knew what a mistake trusting people was. A mistake she would never make again
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Jan 21, 2017 16:47:04 GMT -5
[Aww, I'm sorry about your migraine! Hope you feel better soon!]
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Post by Deleted on Jan 21, 2017 16:48:16 GMT -5
mmm i'll probably reply later
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Jan 21, 2017 16:49:53 GMT -5
[No problem, I get it. I hope your migraine gets better. I might not be able to reply later because I'll be going to bed soon and that might mean I switch to a tablet and as much as I'm enjoying this rp typing out this much on a tablet would take a million years XD]
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Post by Deleted on Jan 21, 2017 16:57:26 GMT -5
lmao that's fine man
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Jan 21, 2017 17:02:17 GMT -5
[Thanks x I'll try to be on for when you reply though.
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Jan 26, 2017 12:53:02 GMT -5
[Hey @borderline. I'm sorry if I'm being a nuisance, I'm just posting to say that if you've lost muse or don't want to rp or anything, that's totally fine, I honestly don't mind. You can just let me know, it's fine. I'm only saying it because it's been almost a week. Maybe I'm just being impatient, I don't know, since I don't know what it's like to rp with you. But like I said, if you don't want to rp that's totally fine ]
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Post by Deleted on Jan 27, 2017 1:46:40 GMT -5
so ive just had to talk to someone else abt this and u know what im just gonna summarise
- dont work well with being pushed (youve constantly liked my posts, tagged me, etc, when im aware i have to reply im just not feeling it rn) - severely mentally ill , rping is a stress relief, im not goin to stress over replies - it takes time for me to type up smething thats quality and actually readable sometimes - sometimes it can take a couple of weeks - ive been chatting elsewhere more than anything and keeping small group rps maintained but otherwise im p much dead - i am going through some extreme stuff irl - assignments in college, ive literally been fired from my job, im looking for another, etc - huge issues in my social circle that im trying to fix and also maintain - and so on
essentially i WILL reply but it'll be eventually sorry if this sounds snappy but dude just hit me up if you cant deal with slower replies because if you want to drop this because im slow then go for it because i understand and im tired of being pushed
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Jan 27, 2017 2:06:07 GMT -5
(Okay all of that is honestly completely fine. I'm sorry if I was being a nuisance I guess I just wanted to make sure that it wasn't that my replies weren't long enough or anything. It's just not fun when people just sort of dissappear and I wanted to make sure that wasn't happening, that was all. I'm really sorry about everything that's going on with you, I honestly had no idea. I won't pester you any more, I just wanted to be sure that you hadn't lost muse or didn't want to rp. I don't mind waiting I just also wanted to know if this was what I should expect, just so I can know you're normal rp style. I don't want to drop it at all, I don't mind waiting, just as long as I know that you are replying.
Anyway, yeah, I'm sorry about everything and I'm sorry for stressing you out more by being a nuisance.)
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