Portraying Character Type Challenge #2

Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by Wizard Secretary Doxa, May 24, 2012.

  1. The objective of this challenge is to take the personality of a character I give you and to use it well in 1of the settings I will provide below. Sometimes, when roleplaying you might get "out of character" meaning that instead of acting the way your character should, you might act differently. It can be because you feel the need to change and adapt to the current setting or just because you just 'forgot' to be in character.

    (Let's start with an easy one)


    An old person about to die.

    SETTINGS: 1 out of 3

    -Hospital bed

    Requirement(s) or/and guides:

    - 2 or more paragraphs
    - Try to be descriptive
    - Let your mind wandered to places. Be creative!
    - Remember to have fun! This is for you to expand your horizons!

  2. I'm not sure how well I can write an old person (and you didn't specify how old btw) but I'll give it a shot?

    This wasn't how it was supposed to be...

    An uncomfortable warm breeze pawed at her weathered skin and ran invisible fingers through her snowy white hair, threatening to mess up the look of maturity that she'd worked so hard on earlier that morning.

    Sitting on a bench in the park had never been her "thing" though she'd heard that most people her age loved the repetitive task. Memory lapse was one of the side effects of old age that luckily she'd managed to escape from, at least for now. Because of that, even at seventy-two, this old gal was more lively and busy than anyone else she knew. Well, on the days when her hip didn't act up.

    The sun today was hot, but that didn't stop her from wearing a nice skirt and jacket suit with hat to match. Her sandals gave her toes room to wiggle around while the grass tickled them with each gust of the breeze. In the trees nearby, the birds were singing happily, and a chipmunk scrambled from across the street into the safety of the park, cheeks bulging with only God knows what! The sight alone made the old woman chuckle softly to herself, though she supposed it had a little help from her already existent good mood with a dash of the nervous jitters.

    Patient on the surface, anxious boiling just beneath it, she waited there on the bench, watching as a woman and her little boy played tag in the field. Just viewing their energy was enough to make her bones ache and she couldn't help but feel a smidgen of jealousy directed at the youthful mother. Their laughter went well with the mirth of the birds and a lone heat bug, but the happy sound and sight took from the old woman instead of giving.

    She remembered, for the millionth time in her long life, the day she'd had no choice but to give up her baby. The unrivaled pain of the strong mother-and-child bond being forcefully severed made a lump form in her throat and with a shaky hand she brushed a tear from the corner of her eye. Now her heart was thumping in her chest as she thought about how two decades ago she'd finally tracked down her little boy, only to run away from the idea of meeting.

    In her defense she'd been absolutely terrified of his opinion of her. Would he hate her? That was something she simply could not deal with after countless years of regret and wishing everything had turned out different. She was tired, so very tired now of wasting her energy on negative feelings. Today, she would remain positive.

    If only incredibly nervous.

    A car slowed by the park entrance. Was that him? She sat up straighter, her back ridgid as if composed of metal. Nervous. Anxious. Fear was encroaching in her mind and forcing her heart to race faster... But it wasn't him. She tired to relax, but her body would have none of it.

    A pain in her chest.

    A pain in her arm.

    Vision blurring, breathing shallow. Panic! She still had this one mistake to fix before her time was up! So much regret and panic and anger that she was drowning in it!

    Black now.

    With her eyes rolling back in her head, the little old woman slumped on the bench before tumbling onto the ground. The young mother and her little boy came rushing toward her, shouting for help but the kindness of the stranger was unheard by the victim because she had already breathed her last breath.

    And while the paramedics closed the back doors on the ambulance and the police officer removed the "do not cross" tape from the scene, another car pulled up to the park. The doors opened and two young boys took off running for the playground while an older gentleman with salt and pepper hair locked the vehicle. He turned toward the park then, a bouquet of flowers in one hand, a nervous and optimistic smile upon his face. It was evident that he was here to meet someone.

    But this wasn't how it was supposed to be.
  3. If you'd listen to this whilst reading please?..


    Gold, the colour of her hair in her youth, the colour of the band around her finger, but more importantly the symbol of the years they had spent together.

    "Just sit tight Mr. Roberts, I'll be with you in just a moment. I've just got to attend Mr. Carter." Her smile was stunning, the way that the lipstick was shaped on her lips symmetrical on either side, coral red so bright that even the Caribbeans' reefs were nothing in comparison. Her eyes were of the deepest blue, almost tinted black in align with her pupil. Eyelashes would occasionally fall and rest upon her high cheek bones which adorned a tone of pink blush on her perfect freckled skin. She could be a model..

    "Like in one of those beauty magazines." Harold turned to the man in the bed next to him. Harold had suffered a severe shot to his shoulder, milometers away from the heart. If Harold was not quick enough, he would never have endured the love which this woman was soon about to cherish along with him. Joyce walked over to the bed beside Harold and smiled to his comment in reply with her southern accent she said, "My job is taking care of you boys, I would never lower myself to that .. 'eye-candy' you guys read on the lavatory now." She let out a gentle laugh, and Harold just listened to her voice ringing through his ears.

    It was the next day, and she came to change the bandages around his torso, leaning him forward and brushing his skin with her own hands. His dirty, scarred olive toned skin. "Excuse me, Ma'am." He said and attempted to turn his head around to speak to her, in which he was forced to turn it back by a gentle touch from her hand. She smiled and said to him,
    "Keep still.. What is it?" He fumbled with his thumbs and looked down into the pit of his nerves which was coming through his sweat glands in his palms.
    "I was just wondering, y'see... If maybe when this has all finished, and I go on leave. If I could treat you to dinner?" He clenched his eyes tight awaiting the decline which he expected to recieve.
    "I'd be honored, Mr. Roberts." In which her hand stroked down the clean applied bandage, she let out a laugh and walked away from the hospital bed. Harold looked at his man 'Carter' to his right and mimed 'yes' with his fist pulling into his side. Catching himself in the ribs causing a sharp pain to surge up through him, he held his wound and let out a grunt. She turned around from walking away and looked to him with wide eyes, worried for his condition. "Are you okay?" She said, and he just nodded and smiled. She returned the smile, and there it was... The one thing that he would fight for.

    "Joyce Elizabeth Warren, do you take Harold Terence Roberts to be your lawfully wedded husband?" The man looked to Joyce and she smiled with her head tilted.
    "I do."
    He then turned to Harold, "Harold Terence Roberts, do you take Joyce Elizabeth Warren to be your lawfully wedded wife?"
    "I do."

    Time passed, and their skin has sunk into their eye sockets, for age had cursed them. Both now in their late 70's, eating dinner at that same place, on that same day. Harold smiled to her and offered to pour her another glass of wine. She raised her hand softly and shook it, and he looked dis-heartened. "Darling, what is it?" He said, beginning to lean over with the help of the table for support of his brittle bone body. He went to touch her face and stroke her cheek, like he always did. She got up and walked away from him, leaving the restaurant in tears. Harold didn't understand, he couldn't quite come to terms with how she was acting. He blinked for a moment and looked down to the plate in which he left the money, and a tip for the waiter who served them. Grabbing his coat, and cane he limped outside in the pouring rain to find her. Every so often calling out her name, "Joyce! Joyce!"

    He picked up the pace in his walk, and attempted to search around further for her, his breathe giving way and he collapsed onto his knee's, still calling her name. "Joyce! Joyce! Joyce please, where are you?! Joyce!" His hand rested on his heart and he took in a breathe. Falling on his face down a quiet, lonely street in a puddle formed by the rain. She ran over to him, her hands clasping his face and lifting it up to look at him. His eyes fell shut and he went out in her arms.

    Opening his eyes to the white painted walls, the blue covers which were wrapped around his frail body. The tight wires sticking out of his arms and neck. But the thing that most drew his attention was the huge machine wrapped around his front, supporting his heart. He called out her name in panic again, "Joyce!" She came rushing round the corner, tears in her eyes to the sight of him awake, and her hands clasped around his grey head. She cried into him, and he cried with her too, holding her arms. Leaning back she kissed his face and stroked her thumbs over his wrinkled, aged cheeks. "I love you" She said softly and pressed her head onto his forehead. That's all he needed to hear, all he wanted to hear from her. She was frightened, frightened because the reminder of her age in that restaurant caused her to realise that this is what would happen to one of them soon enough.

    She leant back and smiled, and there it was... The one thing that he would fight for. His hand fell on her face and he began to reply, "I love y-.." He gasped for a breathe and held his arms tightly around her, before embracing what was about to come. Another tear fell from his face, and Harold passed away.

    It was that girl, that dolly girl that kept him going.
  4. -brushes a tear from her cheek- Oh God you too. This...those stories...made me cry. So emotional. Great job at portraying the characters, I felt like I was in it and felt what they felt.