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Post by torr on Dec 30, 2016 15:29:30 GMT -5
a thread for scar & i to finally roleplay <3
how do title
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Post by torr on Dec 30, 2016 15:48:10 GMT -5
sorry lets be real tho we're actually so old
cUTE right?? lmao
i kinda wanted it to be scarf tho
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Post by torr on Dec 30, 2016 17:44:32 GMT -5
SPEAKING OF THE POSER SCARF time to start brainstorming woooOOooOoOOo
i haven't looked up prompts yet whoops
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Post by torr on Jan 5, 2017 14:47:04 GMT -5
hay
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Post by torr on Jan 5, 2017 18:19:08 GMT -5
take your time <33
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scar
talk about bb with me
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Post by scar on Jan 5, 2017 21:19:11 GMT -5
The sound of feet against the ground grew louder as a slim lass, about 5'5" in height and athletic in build, reluctantly moved toward the soccer fields a few minutes drive from her university. Clearly the students from the other schools were more on top of their lives than she if they were able to arrive over an hour early for practice. Did they not have classes or work or lives outside of their sport? Those gathered may have been the captains and best players on their universities' teams, but shouldn't they have other things to do? This thought perplexed the young lass as her dark gaze found the first of many figures already on the field. OR maybe they just have their sh-t together? If that's the case, man, am I jealous...
The scent of coffee clung to her clothing, giving away her part-time occupation, and dried milk and espresso stained her arms and face. The life of a barista was a messy one. Or maybe she was just a messy barista with an equally messy life... Whichever the case, she arrived at the field with ten minutes to spare though she still needed to change out of her coffee-painted clothing. Her jeans, burnt orange tee, converse, and black "CaffeineBean" cap weren't exactly proper athletic clothes, but she had very little time to change. Would it be that big of a deal if she were a little late to practice or would it be better to be on time but in the wrong attire? She figured both were pretty poor choices, but it would be one or the other.
Finally reaching the fields where the all-star team was holding its first practice, Miss Arabelle May Davis threw her red duffle down on the sidelines and began rummaging through it in search of her practice clothes. Perhaps she'd let the coach know she had arrived and needed to change? But where was he? And who was he? She had heard her new coach was one from one of the other schools, but no one had thought to inform the team of which one that would be. She was hoping for Arendale's male's team coach because, she wasn't going to lie, he was fun to look at.
When no coach could be found, she began to head for the nearest clump of bushes and trees, hoping to have enough privacy to do the quickest change she had ever managed.
While the young female searched for some privacy, another member of the team kicked a ball around. He had been on the field for an hour already, having gone to the field directly from his last class. The tall male had been one of the first to appear on the practice field, arriving only after a male and female from the university about an hour out of the city. When he threw his bag on the ground, he offered each a small nod before taking off to do a few laps, hoping to get a solid warm up in before the rest of the team arrived. It would potentially give him a leg up over the competition-turned-teammates if he were completely ready to go while the others took their time to warm up.
As more of the team began to arrive, the blond grabbed a ball and studied the others carefully. Which would be his biggest competition for playing time? The lad from Hartford appeared to be a solid player, lean and graceful looking. He narrowed his eyes, studying the other male's movements as if looking for any weaknesses. It wasn't too much of a surprise when he found very few in any of the other players as each was the top player on their universities' teams, each a captain, and each having played for many years.
The twenty-one year old, Mr. Trevor George Rhine, approached one of the newcomers and offered them a confident, lopsided grin, his signature. After brief introductions were made, they began to pass back and forth and do other soccer things of which I am not well versed because I know very little about the sport. okay there it's kinda poo-y for a starter but idk what else to write or where even to start ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
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Post by torr on Jan 5, 2017 22:23:54 GMT -5
POO-Y do u know the definition of poo-y ur post is beaut SHUSH
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Post by torr on Jan 5, 2017 22:34:56 GMT -5
**not poo-y
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Post by torr on Jan 5, 2017 22:53:53 GMT -5
****NOT POO-Y
do u want to start a war scareh
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Post by torr on Jan 6, 2017 22:44:20 GMT -5
AND U THOUGHT UR POST WAS POO-Y
enter this piece: a steaming pos sorry im feeling rather uninspired tonight
It was a beautiful afternoon for a soccer practice. The weather was warm, the grass was impeccably green, and the sun was shining. A large number of university students crowded the fields owned by the local university, preparing for the first all-star soccer team’s practice. Some stretched, a few ran laps, others began some simple dribbling and shooting drills--but they were all there for the same reason--they were the best of the best.
Among the first to arrive was William Ryan Nottem, known to his friends and most others as simply ‘Ryan.’ He had begun his warm up with several laps around the field, followed by some stretches in which he led a circle of other players--teammates. By the time he had finished his warm up stretches, the boy had barely broken a sweat, but his sandy blond hair wild and windswept from the exercises. He allowed himself a moment to grab a swig of water from the sidelines before jogging back out onto the field, raising an arm up to one of his warm up buddies to pass the ball his way. A kick later, the ball caught too much air and ended up sailing just out of reach over the tips of the boy’s fingers into the nearby clump of trees and bushes. “I’ll get it!” he called out to his friends with no hesitation, upping his speed to chase after the rouge ball.
Meanwhile, a girl practiced kneeing a soccer ball up into the air, away from the hustle and bustle of the others. She watching skeptically over the rest of the team, unamused with the lack of effort they seemed to be putting in--it was the first practice and should be a time to show off your skills. Stella Daisy Hamilton turned her back to the field and kicked the ball up onto the top of her cleat to begin a round of ball-juggling with her right foot.
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