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Post by Deleted on Nov 27, 2016 16:15:26 GMT -5
Call 1-800-ROLEPLAY to order YOUR RP for the low price of $19.99! But wait, there's MORE! If you reply in the next ten minutes i'll DOUBLE your offer, for ABSOLUTELY FREE! Thats right, folks! Thats TWO roleplays for the price of ONE! But hurry and call, because this deal is only available for the next TEN MINUTES!
Typing and plotting fees not applied, tax is 6%. 1-2 characters included.
Hello, friends! Welcome to my thread! I started roleplaying on the original website several years ago - back yonder when I didn't know what SuperWhoLock, Tumblr, or Merlin was. I believe i was in seventh grade, so - six years, perhaps? Anyways, on with the show, cheerio!
Here's my plot. *ahem*
It took three weeks for Naberik Inc. to realize their best songwriter wasn't going to speak. It took six months for them to assume that Muse A was technically, legally mute. It took another six months for the staff to learn basic sign language, and an extra two years to realize that Muse A was, by far, the most talented guitar player yet. However, the true icon of Naberik Inc. was Muse B, internationally-famous singer. However, Muse B was just that - a signer. No self-written songs, no instruments, only a pretty voice with a face to match. One day, Muse A finds themselves alone in the recording studio. They pick up their favorite guitar and start playing their favorite song, one they wrote themselves. And then, they sing. Long story short, their voice is a trigger for PTSD, due to hearing themselves scream from pain as their family beat them. After the sing, they quickly put everything up, and turn to leave, only to nearly smack face-to-face with Muse B, who had heard the entire song. Afraid Muse A will take over their fame, Muse B demands their manager to make Musa A tour with them. Muse B never cared where their music came from, or who wrote it, so learning that shy, not-legally-mute Muse A was the brain behind the fame was NOT a pleasant surprise! Muse B tries to keep Musa A chained in the 'unknown' category of the world, but soon developed feelings for Musa A, who is simply too shy to be social at all. Muse A (Female): Killian Muse B (Male): Sydney Fly
Feel free to add any cute blips in as we roleplay!!
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Post by Deleted on Nov 27, 2016 17:30:23 GMT -5
(bump!)
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Post by Sherk on Nov 27, 2016 17:31:58 GMT -5
OOC: *pokes*
Hello there. :3 You mind if I pop in?
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Post by Deleted on Nov 27, 2016 17:35:22 GMT -5
(*Pokes twice back* Hello friend! And please, by all means, come on in! Have you taken notice to my humble thread? Are you interested in claiming Muse B?)
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Post by Sherk on Nov 27, 2016 17:52:15 GMT -5
OOC: *pokes thrice*
Ha. Yes I am! I have a couple characters that might work for this.
Georgie King(female) (+)Opportunistic, Perseverent, Confident, (/)Materialistic, Fair, Ambitious, and (-)Manipulative, Ruthless, Clingy. Her character is rather closely tied with singing, and she'd definitely work for the jealous sort of personality that Muse B seems to need. I don't know about her being in a romance though, they'd have to have lots of chemistry and she'd have to have some serious character development.
Sydney Fly(male) (+)Righteous, Level-Headed, Clever, (/)Serious, Aloof, Ambitious, (-)Aggressive, Untrusting, Self-Destructive. I'm a little more attached to Sydney, and I like him as a character. Singing wasn't an original part of his character though, but it can be worked in easily. He's similar to Georgie, but he's not as sadistic as her.
Vaughn Irn(male) (+)Empathetic, Kind, (/)Curious, Emotional, Romantic, (-)Awkward, Naive, Quick to Judge, Fickle I'm a little iffy on using Vaughn for this plot, seeing as he's a bit too awkward and timid to be a real face for any company. But music's important to him, and he's one of my favorite characters tbh.
Or I could always make a new character for this plot. That's a possibility too.
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Post by Deleted on Nov 27, 2016 17:57:20 GMT -5
(UGH you mean i have to choose?! I like them all... dang it xD Well, I'm liking Sydney Fly... Can I order online for real life?
Yes, yes, i very much like Sydney.
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Post by Sherk on Nov 27, 2016 18:11:52 GMT -5
Alright. I was starting to lean towards him anyway, pfft.
And of course you gotta choose. There's no way I could!
Okay...where would you like to start, and who would you like to start?
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Post by Deleted on Nov 27, 2016 18:21:27 GMT -5
(*Cracks neck and fingers* Give me five minutes, i got this.)
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Post by Deleted on Nov 27, 2016 18:41:31 GMT -5
Killian found herself alone again. Of course, being so quiet, it was only expected - no one wants to hold a conversation with someone who cant actually hold a conversation. But tonight, it was different. The quickly fading light outside reflected off the snow, the fallen and falling, making shadows seems less still and, somehow, a little less spooky.
Killian was certainly a sight to behold that night. Of course, with her pale-caramel skin and shockingly blue hair, what else would you expect? However, that night was special - it was the companies annual Christmas Fest, and everyone was there - even Fly himself. Killian made sure to stay FAR away from that guy though - she had no desire to meet the man she wrote music for. HJowever, back to the point - because of the Christmas Fest, Killian had tried to actually fix up herself. Instead of her usual dark blue skinny jeans and a t-shirt with some rock band logo, she wore a nice, pale-cream, button-up long sleeve, tucked loosely into a pair of her usual skinny jeans with a pretty mother-of-pearl belt buckle. She had applied her usual thick black eyeliner with dramatic wing, no eyeshadow needed, above her pale mint eyes.
With a silent sigh, Killian continued her way through the building, her bag over her shoulder and guitar case in hand. She was the youngest to work at such a large, powerful music industry - so no one really bothered to enforce the rules of "Area Restriction" on her. Which is how she ended up here.
Killian stopped, looking around the room she had entered. The recording room - with luxurious seating and high-tech equipment. She felt a strange temptation - she knew it was a bad idea, knew it should lead to a panic attack, but for some reason, it was just too strong of a pull.
Five minutes later, Killian had her CD-60 Fender tuned in her lap, the guitar strap secure over her shoulder, the strings tuned to perfection. She strummed a few simple chords, before really getting into her newest song. She hesitated before openening her mouth, her lips painted a velvety lilac, but eventually, the temptation got the best of her. She hummed softly, before her voice followed.
"My lovely angel Loosing yourself Your wings have fallen down The wishing well! You've found your wish- To have them back, But now you've lost them and there's no Getting them back, No turning back.
My lovely angel, Less than fine; Youve never told me what its like to fly! Thats okay, you're promised To be mine, My lovely angels fallen from the sky Loosing yourself in the wishing well.
My Lovely Angel Afraid of the dark, What happened when you Fell apart? You cried for god, but no help came. We're all loosing ourselves one and the same, Down the wishing well, Down the wishing well, Yeah, loosing ourselves down the Wishing well."
Killian played for a few moments, repeating the tune while flashbacks ghosted through her mind, her voice triggering a mild sense of fear. She pushed on, however, to the last two verses.
"My lovely angel, Buried in sin- Lighting cigarettes and drinking bottles of gin- You may want to pray before God forgets, But not its over and you've fell And you've lost your wings to The wishing well.
Oh my lovely angel, Forgotten and pushed aside In the hearts of men! You've been lost, There's no hope to be found, Your dignity and honor has been Burned to the ground, And your wings have drowned In the winshin well..."
Killian continued to strum, humming a few notes as her sirenic voice echoed in the recording booth. She kept this song close to her heart - never gave it over for Sydney like every other song she;s slaved over for hours. This piece, this piece right here, was precious to her. As she strummed the last few chords, she sang softly the last line:
"And now you've died in the wishing well."
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Post by Sherk on Nov 27, 2016 19:46:42 GMT -5
OOC: Oh dear. I'll try matching your length, I dunno if I'll be able to.
BIC: Sydney wasn't really one for the holiday spirit. Sleigh bells, santa, gently falling snow, twinkling lights...it wasn't his sort of thing. Still, he found himself casting longing glances out the window as people hurried up to speak to him and pat him on the back and meet the face of Naberik. Every time someone's hand went down on him, or someone put their arm around him, he tensed a little. Contact didn't sit well with him, not when they were shoving him between themselves like a bit of meat. But that was his life. He hadn't planned on being famous, or a singer. No, he had wanted to help people. When he was a little boy, he'd wanted to be a doctor. And not just any doctor, one of those that traveled overseas to poor countries and helped them there. Even an EMT would've been wonderful to do. Actual, tangible proof that he was helping people, touching their lives, not just being another voice in the billions.
But being the pastor's kid, well, he was practically forced into the church choir, and while singing was fun, and he was very good at it, he hadn't imagined himself doing it for a living. But as time went on, and he realized he just wasn't smart enough to actually help people like he wanted. And singing, well, it seemed like the only thing he was actually good at. And he had the appearance for it: Sydney was tall, a little over six foot, with slightly wavy brown hair that hugged his sharp face to flare out a little at his chin, and intense brown eyes. Tonight though, he hadn't dressed up. He wore a dark purple sweater to keep him warm when he inevitably left early, and black jeans. He hadn't even bothered to take off his orange scarf. He'd loosened it a bit, which was as good as they were going to get.
An introvert at heart, Sydney ducked away from the holiday party the first chance he got(when a few of the younger singers began performing an a cappella version of "Jingle Bell Rock"), opting instead to wander towards the recording studios. It was quieter over here, at least for tonight, and he could soon breathe properly. His feet habitually carried him towards the biggest and best recording studio: the one he used. But he stopped before he entered: through the window, he could see a girl with her back to him, strumming her guitar. Curiosity seized him at that moment, and he cast around the soundboard for the headphones he always saw the technician wear, and put them on. Maybe the tech had been careless in his haste to get to the party, or maybe there were residual mics in the room that were always on. Whatever the case, he could hear her, loud and clear. And what he could hear was beautiful.
"My lovely angel Loosing yourself Your wings have fallen down The wishing well! You've found your wish- To have them back, But now you've lost them and there's no Getting them back, No turning back."
The rhythm, the style of the song, it was familiar. It felt similar to the voice of the songs he would sing. It must be a common style.
"My lovely angel, Less than fine; Youve never told me what its like to fly! Thats okay, you're promised To be mine, My lovely angels fallen from the sky Loosing yourself in the wishing well.
My Lovely Angel Afraid of the dark, What happened when you Fell apart? You cried for god, but no help came. We're all loosing ourselves one and the same, Down the wishing well, Down the wishing well, Yeah, loosing ourselves down the Wishing well"
Sydney froze. That...he often felt like an imposter, lost in a body, in an experience he didn't own. Someone who didn't belong where he was, someone who shouldn't be as successful as he was. He was lost. An unfulfilled dream, a need for a bigger purpose.
"My lovely angel, Buried in sin- Lighting cigarettes and drinking bottles of gin- You may want to pray before God forgets, But not its over and you've fell And you've lost your wings to The wishing well.
Oh my lovely angel, Forgotten and pushed aside In the hearts of men! You've been lost, There's no hope to be found, Your dignity and honor has been Burned to the ground, And your wings have drowned In the winshin well..."
Sydney half wanted to rip the headphones from his ears. He'd never be able to take control of his life. Ever. He'd never do anything meaningful. He hung on until she sang the last line.
"And now you've died in the wishing well."
With slightly shaky hands, Sydney took off the headphones and set them gently on the table, staring through the window at her for a few heavy moments.
He composed himself.
Sydney turned and exited the sound area, heading to the door and waiting for her to exit.
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Post by Deleted on Nov 27, 2016 20:02:19 GMT -5
(Oh no worries! My starters are always longer than necessary - a guilty habit of mine)
Killian shivered as the last word left her lips, shutting her eyes tight against the flashbacks of her huddled against a wall, screaming for help. She shook her head and took a deep breath. She sat there for a moment longer, running her fingers over the guitar neck, before composing herself. She quickly, but carefully, packed away her guitar. No pics - she only used her fingers to strum and pluck, leaving her with calluses on her finger pads.
She picked up her guitar case and lifted the bag over her shoulder again, her mint eyes towards the floor as she made her way towards the door. Her weathered vans made soft hush, hush, hush, hush sounds against the floor, the dead silence seeming to amplify every noice. She sighed silently once again, finally pushing over the door with a shoulder, leaving the recording booth.
She reached the door that left the recording room - she reached out, and turned the handle down wards. The shadows lengthened as the door opened, and the sounds of ringing keys tinkled lightly as she closed it behind her, locking up - as was part of her job. It was only after her first attempt that she sighed and set down her guitar, carefully picking our a particularly key and locking the door. She turned around, still facing downwards, tucking the keys into her back.
When she looked up and say Sydney Fly himself, standing there, she nearly screamed - however, three years of complete silence - broken only by the song she sang not five minutes ago - forced her to remain silent, a hand clamping over her mouth in shock and the other flying towards her hip - where a knife was clipped onto her pocket She had leaped back at the same time, her mist green eyes wide with panic - too much panic for an average gal. After a silent moment, she let out the breath she was holding, her head that was over her mouth now over her racing heart. She cleared her throat awkwardly, dipped her head just as awkwardly (Hey-there-sorry-there-bye-now) and then picked up her guitar case, her hand abandoning the knife at her side as she began to hustle away.
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Post by Sherk on Nov 27, 2016 20:59:10 GMT -5
OOC: Ah, okay, good. I usually have responses a lot shorter than that, and I don't write well under pressure. As it is, I'm slow.
BIC: Sydney, to his credit, didn't flinch as she stared him down, meeting her green gaze with his brown one evenly. She looked absolutely terrified, more than he deserved, to be honest. As she dipped her head and began scurrying away, he followed her movements with passive eyes. He must've scared her. A kinder person would've felt some remorse, but Sydney didn't care too much. He was more concerned with the ramifications of such a talented musician working for the same company as him. He may have not wanted his life to turn out in such a way, but he certainly didn't want it to change. Change was unwelcome, and scary. Call him a coward, but ask anyone, they'd agree with him.
She struck him as familiar, like the song. He'd seen her around before, he was certain of it. Maybe they'd been introduced at some point? But, agh, he'd met a lot of people at Naberik over the couple years he'd worked there. How did they expect him to remember everyone's names?
Instead, he followed her, keeping up easily, with long legs and a brisk pace. "You sing nicely." He commented at her back, "what's your name?"
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Post by Deleted on Nov 27, 2016 21:14:28 GMT -5
Instead of verbally answering him, she dug through her pocket and handed him a crisp piece of parchment - a business card.
Killian Belle-Rose Songwriter Naberik Inc. *Email* *Phone*
She glanced at him uneasily, her mint green eyes wary of the star every one idiolized. She had a deliberate silence about her - a silenc enot many had. A willful silence, to put a name to it - a silence so practiced, it came naturally. She hurried her pace, fishing her car keys from her bag as she went, her peacock blue hair falling to shield her face from his eyes. She was surely jumpy, a very nervous person - someone who disliked people in general. She caught sight of the exit doors, and pushed one open, holding it that way for Sydney to pass through before letting it close. The thin snow on the ground seemed no trouble for Killian as she made a beeline for her 1967 Chevy Impala. She paid little to no attention to Sydney as he followed her - in fact, she seemed very intent on ignoring him. Setting ehr guitar case on the ground, she unlocked the drivers door to her classic car, popping it open to reveal well-kept leather seats and all-original pieces, a really well-kept artifact.
(No worries! Take your time, there's no rush. :) )
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Post by Sherk on Nov 28, 2016 15:44:43 GMT -5
Sydney glanced over the card briefly(what sort of name was Killian? It sounded like a guy's name. But then, Sydney sounded like a girl's name). Just a songwriter? Why not a musician? Not that he was complaining. He found himself unconsciously following Killian until she exited the building, the cold air outside making him stop at the door and just watch as she went to her car. He hummed tunelessly for a moment, then called, "good night Killian," and headed back in.
Sydney headed back to the party for his coat, taking a cookie for himself and hugging the wall until he spotted his boss, and still seized by a sort of curiosity, he ducked towards him. "Michael," he nodded a curt greeting to the branch manager, "who does Killian..." he consulted the card in his head, "Belle-Rose write for?"
Michael grinned at him, "you, of course!" He said, "you didn't know? She can write something pretty, wouldn't you say?" He flicked his santa hat pom-pom out of his face, "not bad for someone who hasn't made a peep since we've known her. Your agents had to learn sign language because of her. It was worth it though!"
Really? But...why would she not...Sydney couldn't fathom why someone wouldn't speak when they so obviously could... "Thank you, Michael. I'm going home." He began heading towards the coat room, and stopped himself, turning back to Michael. "Send her on the tour with me." He ordered, then remembered to add(a somewhat forced): "please."
Michael gave him a thumbs-up.
OOC: We should do a time skip. When to? Got a preference?
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Post by Deleted on Nov 28, 2016 16:20:47 GMT -5
(How about the morning she came into work and she needed to go on tour with him?)
Killian came into work a week later, a puzzled expression on her pretty face. Snow had built up on the ground, a few inches deep, and her warm fur-lined boots had a few flakes stuck to the soft fabric. She had re-dyed her hair, a pastel purple now and pulled up into a messy bun, but her eyes were as minty green as ever. As always, thick and dramatic wings of black eyeliner lined her upper eyelid, giving her a sleek, catty look. She was folded up in a stylish coat with a fur-lined hood, and a pair of gray skinny jeans.
An angent was carrying two suitcases behind her - a medium sized one, and a smaller one. Being typically left to fend for herself, Killian was confused why a man was carrying her bags. She was grateful though, as she had her guitar case in her hand and her usual work bag - a nice leather messenger bag - over her shoulder. She caught the eyes of one of her co-workers, and raised her hands. (For future reference, underlined words will be her signing.) What is happening? Why was i asked to bring this? her co-worker just sent her a jealous look and scowled turning away. Clearly, the young songwriter wasnt told about her mission. Taken back, Killian migrated her way to the managers office, signing the agent to leave the bags at the door. She signed a thanks, and unbuttoned her coat, hanging it on a coat hanger. She wore a green and blue flannel shirt, tucked into the waistband of her jeans with a worn leather belt woven through her belt loops. A simple gold chain with a gold rose pendant hung around her neck.
Michael still wasn't there, but a note was. She read it over, and did as it said - just perched herself on a plush loveseat and waited, a notebook open on her lap as usual and a pen in her hand, another behind her ear. With her looping, graceful script, Killian began writing casually, not thinking much about the words. She jumped in shock but remained silent as the door opened.
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