Mikael Sisko
It's too cold outside
For angels to fly
I have been thinking of how to go about finding that one partner through which I can explore and improve my craft. I have delusions of grandeur that proclaim me a writer, and in all honesty, sometimes I do quite adequate at it. What I'm looking for is someone who will help me to push my limits, who will provide consistent, advanced level roleplaying. I –don't- like casual roleplays. I want to be honest about that. I will become bored with them, and I will stop them after several weeks of pulling posts like teeth, and I don't want to waste any more time doing it. I have been called an elitist in the past, and I suppose that is true. I prefer to play with those who are at the top of the game, those with skill.
I have been roleplaying for a very long time (15+) years. I'm looking for someone who can offer a new experience in roleplaying and not simply maintain to the same, traditional or common bag of tricks. This can mean more than just a single roleplay investment, many characters across many genres, or a single episode of marked originality and uniqueness.. I will write mature scenes. I propose creativity and uniqueness. It means exploring worlds we will both create. It means friendship both in character, and outside.
• I will role-play most anything except canon characters, or canon storylines. Roleplaying in an artistic form of expression, and I find it hard to be artistic when confined within the guides of the canon.
• Out of character conversation is a must. I write to share. I don't write to put up on a brick wall. If we don't communicate, I will end up dropping the play. Keep in mind, I am well aware communication is a two way street, and will make efforts.
• I do generate ideas, and am not afraid to throw in a plot twist. Like it? Let me know. Positive feed back helps me gauge your interests. Hate it, again, let me know. I can redo it. If you keep silent, I'll know nothing.
• I do not have a length limit, however, I do ask that it be well written. I could give a flipping flop about grammar (within reason), however, I do ask for some level of maturity in writing skill. As I said, I view roleplay as a method of improving my skills.
• Out of character conversation is a must. I write to share. I don't write to put up on a brick wall. If we don't communicate, I will end up dropping the play. Keep in mind, I am well aware communication is a two way street, and will make efforts.
• I do generate ideas, and am not afraid to throw in a plot twist. Like it? Let me know. Positive feed back helps me gauge your interests. Hate it, again, let me know. I can redo it. If you keep silent, I'll know nothing.
• I do not have a length limit, however, I do ask that it be well written. I could give a flipping flop about grammar (within reason), however, I do ask for some level of maturity in writing skill. As I said, I view roleplay as a method of improving my skills.
Fantasy or modern, it doesn't matter to me. From the realistic trials and tribulations of the modern day society, to the exploration of the unfathomable depths and farthest reaches of imagination, I am keenly interested. A few ticks on what I don't want, as the list is far shorter. I don't want smut for the sake of smut. I have no problem with inclusion of adult themes in a play if they add to the story, but I'm not here to write porn. If you want that, might I suggest searching amazon for free kindle books, there's a flooding of them on the market these days. I don't want unskilled work. I long for substance and presence in the writing. I want to know your character, feel them, and I want you to know mine. I don't want bitterness or hatefulness from my partner. Nothing turns me off of a play more than a partner who exhibits rude or hateful behavior in PM's. I plan to spend some time and effort in tandem with you, I'd like to enjoy the process.
PM me, and lets discuss, but only if you are serious. As I said, one of my major complaints about roleplaying on forums in the past is the rate at which stories are simply dropped, uncompleted. I want to see something through, a completely fleshed out and well written story. It doesn't have to be a saga. It doesn't have to take months or years (but it can). Write with me. Challenge me. Let me challenge you. I promise, we will both be the better for it in the end.
I will update this with more ideas as I come up with them. Please PM me with any interest.
"A bold faced lie it would have been too," Jonas spoke, sparing a sideways glance towards his companion as they pass through the darkness, only the dim lights on the dash, harsh azure against the velvet black, and the warm glow of headlights the only light as they passed from the city proper to a darkened street. Like anywhere in the city, there was more than one way to go about things, and it seemed everyone had their own way of doing it, no two ways alike. Jonas liked the isolation one could expect from residential roads and neighborhoods at night. No lights, little traffic… in a world where solitude seemed a precious commodity, one learned to take it where one could find it, and appreciate it when it was around. The radio played a soft tune, an old guitar melody, harsh and aloft with the sounds of the late 70's, early 80's. His words easily spoke above the music, which was kind enough to stay in the background, a subtle accompaniment of their night. "All men care about sex. What makes them deny is it fear of being perceived as we actually are, sex-crazed. You see, we know that women know this about us, but we are more comfortable with the delusion that you haven't figured it out yet." He spoke, as he pulled his phone from his pocket, tossing it into the center console of the car, as he slowed, took a right hand turn, down another residential road.
"And yes, we know it's delusional. We know that it's not the best approach to the situation," he spoke, continuing to lay out his version of what men think, as though you can explain the beast in psychological terms. Jonas continued to shoot her quick glances, to judge her continued humor with the situation, as though choosing carefully how far to go, or perhaps looking for some indication that he should stop, find a new topic of conversation. He saw no such sign, and though this does not precluded the existence of it, it simply means he hadn't noticed if such a sign had presented itself. He was hardly the most attentive to detail, it was actually to be listed amongst one of his weaknesses, not his strengths.
"I know, you're probably thinking why do we persist then. It's actually quite simple. Because in those moment, when the decision has to be made, our brains are actually functioning on an acute and temporary blood loss," He cracked a smile, telegraphing his joke, while he turned his car again, this time to the left. They moved slowly, 25 mile an hour speed limits making the drive feel somewhat relaxing, luxurious. He adjusted the temperature in the car, cutting the heat up to accommodate the woman's damp exterior.
"But you are absolutely correct. Intentions should be well known. But, and please do not take offense, if you were to see twelve caged tigers, each in their own cages, each eating a zebra leg. When you came to the thirteenth, would you seriously expect him to be enjoying a nice salad? Should not the same be said about men?" He spoke, as they pulled up to a stop sign. This time he turned to her, looking at her eyes, as though to pose the question properly. "If you know, as women do, what is on our minds, does it need to be properly stated? Can't we simply skip by the awkward conversation in which I confess to you my intent to take you home at the end of the night, strip you down to your skin, and fuck you until the world dissolves into a dozen shades of purple and green, and you cannot move for the sheer exhaustion of it all."
Jonas turned himself back around, faced the road, and again the car started forward.
"And yes, we know it's delusional. We know that it's not the best approach to the situation," he spoke, continuing to lay out his version of what men think, as though you can explain the beast in psychological terms. Jonas continued to shoot her quick glances, to judge her continued humor with the situation, as though choosing carefully how far to go, or perhaps looking for some indication that he should stop, find a new topic of conversation. He saw no such sign, and though this does not precluded the existence of it, it simply means he hadn't noticed if such a sign had presented itself. He was hardly the most attentive to detail, it was actually to be listed amongst one of his weaknesses, not his strengths.
"I know, you're probably thinking why do we persist then. It's actually quite simple. Because in those moment, when the decision has to be made, our brains are actually functioning on an acute and temporary blood loss," He cracked a smile, telegraphing his joke, while he turned his car again, this time to the left. They moved slowly, 25 mile an hour speed limits making the drive feel somewhat relaxing, luxurious. He adjusted the temperature in the car, cutting the heat up to accommodate the woman's damp exterior.
"But you are absolutely correct. Intentions should be well known. But, and please do not take offense, if you were to see twelve caged tigers, each in their own cages, each eating a zebra leg. When you came to the thirteenth, would you seriously expect him to be enjoying a nice salad? Should not the same be said about men?" He spoke, as they pulled up to a stop sign. This time he turned to her, looking at her eyes, as though to pose the question properly. "If you know, as women do, what is on our minds, does it need to be properly stated? Can't we simply skip by the awkward conversation in which I confess to you my intent to take you home at the end of the night, strip you down to your skin, and fuck you until the world dissolves into a dozen shades of purple and green, and you cannot move for the sheer exhaustion of it all."
Jonas turned himself back around, faced the road, and again the car started forward.
He had been watching her the whole night.
JP sat at a floor side table facing the bar, a blonde in a tube dress sitting across from him, talking. It was one of those situations where the date had just started, and already Julian could tell that they were from two totally different places, and he didn't see enough in her to bridge the gap. She was superficial, at least, so he gathered as she went into the story of her twenty third boyfriend (Ok, an exaggeration, but sadly not far from the truth). She was looking at herself in her compact, fixing her makeup, as she had been doing for the last hour or so, and so Julian wasn't even bothering to attempt to hide the fact that his attentions have wondered. Why would it really bother him anyways, this was a first date, and there wouldn't be another.
So he watched her, and though his eyes did slide from her to others every once in a while, they never lingered long beyond her. The crowd between was thick, the noise of the club deafening, and Julian was not surprised that she wasn't able to sense his eyes, not with all the distractions to occupy the mind. What he would not have given in the moment for a reason to get up and go to the bar, but his drink was still full, and his date's… well, the ice had melted in it a long time ago. He had tried to figure out her story. By the way she held herself, standing in a cluster of friends who seemed to disappear from her one at a time, she was hesitant to be here, not a party goer? He wondered what he would say, if he could manage, somehow, to part the space between them. First, however, that would mean parting himself away from Avery… Amy… Alice?
'and then there was Jeremy…' the droning continued, as Julian's attention turned back to his date for a moment, to be sure the conversation hadn't shifted away from the woman and her, apparently, widely varied past. He picked up his drink, his eyes slipping down to it as he touched the glass to his lips, drawing in a mouthful of the bitter liquid, while again, searching the area of the bar that had busied his attention for these last few hours. A bit of panic touched him when he found her spot occupied by another, panic which quickly receded as he found her again amongst the mass on the dancefloor. He found himself wincing at her stiffness, smiling to himself in an almost fond way as he watched her dance, as awkward and reluctant in motion as she had been sitting at the bar. It was obvious to him that she didn't want to be here. That made two of them.
What bothered him most was why he was so concerned about this woman. He never met her, never even spoke to her. She as a nameless face in a crowd of people, and yet, there was something in her situation that appealed to him. In her situation man, or in her dress? Perhaps it was some of that. Perhaps more than he'd care to let himself admit. She was rather beautiful, but she reminded him of a painting he'd seen the other day in the art building: this portrait of a rose, all vibrant and red, laid against the harsh gray scale background of a cemetery. The world was all dull and gray, and yet this rose was starkly different, a vibrant red, as though the only color of in the world was contained within it's petals. In this place of plastic bodies and tube dresses, she alone was different, vibrant and red.
He let slip the glass in his hands, hearing his date's shriek as the whiskey and sour mix spilled across the small table, and dribbled cold and wet into her lap. She leapt up quickly, rubbing at her dress as he moved to scoop up the glass and the ice. "I'm sorry about that," he exclaimed immediately, handing her his bar napkin, knowing that it would do little with against the amount of drink that ended up in her lap. As he had expected, she was furious, and after a moment she had announced her trip to the bathroom to rub the stains out, as she stalked off talking to herself.
"Save me, and I will owe you one," he spoke as he stepped up to Amanda on her way out of the club a few moments later. His date properly disposed of, he wanted an escape before she managed to get free of the bathroom. If he had his way, she'd come back to find the table empty, and him either deeply in another's arms, or simply gone. He smiled down at Amanda, not knowing her name, not really understanding why it was he was smiling, but as he looked down into her eyes, he felt like smiling. "She's fake and superficial, and gray," He spoke at first in jest, but the longer he looked in her eyes, the lower, more intense the words felt. "Save me?"
JP sat at a floor side table facing the bar, a blonde in a tube dress sitting across from him, talking. It was one of those situations where the date had just started, and already Julian could tell that they were from two totally different places, and he didn't see enough in her to bridge the gap. She was superficial, at least, so he gathered as she went into the story of her twenty third boyfriend (Ok, an exaggeration, but sadly not far from the truth). She was looking at herself in her compact, fixing her makeup, as she had been doing for the last hour or so, and so Julian wasn't even bothering to attempt to hide the fact that his attentions have wondered. Why would it really bother him anyways, this was a first date, and there wouldn't be another.
So he watched her, and though his eyes did slide from her to others every once in a while, they never lingered long beyond her. The crowd between was thick, the noise of the club deafening, and Julian was not surprised that she wasn't able to sense his eyes, not with all the distractions to occupy the mind. What he would not have given in the moment for a reason to get up and go to the bar, but his drink was still full, and his date's… well, the ice had melted in it a long time ago. He had tried to figure out her story. By the way she held herself, standing in a cluster of friends who seemed to disappear from her one at a time, she was hesitant to be here, not a party goer? He wondered what he would say, if he could manage, somehow, to part the space between them. First, however, that would mean parting himself away from Avery… Amy… Alice?
'and then there was Jeremy…' the droning continued, as Julian's attention turned back to his date for a moment, to be sure the conversation hadn't shifted away from the woman and her, apparently, widely varied past. He picked up his drink, his eyes slipping down to it as he touched the glass to his lips, drawing in a mouthful of the bitter liquid, while again, searching the area of the bar that had busied his attention for these last few hours. A bit of panic touched him when he found her spot occupied by another, panic which quickly receded as he found her again amongst the mass on the dancefloor. He found himself wincing at her stiffness, smiling to himself in an almost fond way as he watched her dance, as awkward and reluctant in motion as she had been sitting at the bar. It was obvious to him that she didn't want to be here. That made two of them.
What bothered him most was why he was so concerned about this woman. He never met her, never even spoke to her. She as a nameless face in a crowd of people, and yet, there was something in her situation that appealed to him. In her situation man, or in her dress? Perhaps it was some of that. Perhaps more than he'd care to let himself admit. She was rather beautiful, but she reminded him of a painting he'd seen the other day in the art building: this portrait of a rose, all vibrant and red, laid against the harsh gray scale background of a cemetery. The world was all dull and gray, and yet this rose was starkly different, a vibrant red, as though the only color of in the world was contained within it's petals. In this place of plastic bodies and tube dresses, she alone was different, vibrant and red.
He let slip the glass in his hands, hearing his date's shriek as the whiskey and sour mix spilled across the small table, and dribbled cold and wet into her lap. She leapt up quickly, rubbing at her dress as he moved to scoop up the glass and the ice. "I'm sorry about that," he exclaimed immediately, handing her his bar napkin, knowing that it would do little with against the amount of drink that ended up in her lap. As he had expected, she was furious, and after a moment she had announced her trip to the bathroom to rub the stains out, as she stalked off talking to herself.
"Save me, and I will owe you one," he spoke as he stepped up to Amanda on her way out of the club a few moments later. His date properly disposed of, he wanted an escape before she managed to get free of the bathroom. If he had his way, she'd come back to find the table empty, and him either deeply in another's arms, or simply gone. He smiled down at Amanda, not knowing her name, not really understanding why it was he was smiling, but as he looked down into her eyes, he felt like smiling. "She's fake and superficial, and gray," He spoke at first in jest, but the longer he looked in her eyes, the lower, more intense the words felt. "Save me?"
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