My name is Kaycey. A little about myself: I'm 20, a college student with a part time job. I have an open schedule during the week between school and work. I'm very smart asstastic. Here is a writing sample for those of you snobby folk asking for them. (I'm one of those snobby folk btw). There was a knock. A single knock that made a solid wood door shake on it's hinges. That door was held captive to fourteen deadbolts, all various types and strengths. This was the door that spouted out a cherrywood handle from a mahogany complexion, this establishment gave it the appearance of age, though the strength remained in tact for all of these locks, one gained for each year the treasure was hidden away. This was where Katrina doubted. Anyone or anything behind this door held no meaning to her, or so she feignd. It was hers, oh, indeed it was. For Ms. Indigo claims that there is no need for the precious, tender prize that lay behind this door in a dusty box, in the center of the dining room table. And though this claim is stated, she feels the need to guard it. Who, with sanity in their bones, would guard something they found to be useless? Katrina saw her heart as a menial thing, a complacent object used too much and loved too little. And still, a piece of her psyche made sure to keep all vulnerability under deadbolt lock and key. That is, until this morning in the home of Jonas the Stranger. Her vulnerability and sensitivity was at a high here. No pun intended, as Katrina couldn't keep the tears away if she didn't force herself to forget of her discovery just moments ago. It was unavoidable to the eye of the man near her, beside the coffee pot. Her legs portrayed it in their soreness from dancing, her eyes were ill refreshed, her chest strained to breathe. Katrina's slender fingers let go of the cheap countertop, allowing her lengthy body to slink to the ground, bringing her knees up to her chest and nestling her chin in the crevice between her kneecaps. Trina's chin was the common point in her heart shaped face, bringing her baby nose and big girl face all into one, magnificent package. She didn't see her beauty; inside or out, though it wasn't the common insecurity among women, it was the fact that she didn't see herself as a woman at all. In her stunning body, that attracted so much attention, wanted or unwanted, there was a woman, whether she saw it or not, a confident woman that defied most odds. Katrina accepted that she'd become a cliché, but only in the physical sense. Mentally, emotionally, intellectually...she was doing her best to be better than what is expected of her. If only she could find her purse... she had homework to do. Jonas was very quietly hovering over his coffee, almost as if he suspected it was poisoned but was so desperately in need of caffeine that he was contemplating how much anyone would actually miss him. She was quick to get ahold of herself, and never did a sob attack her breast. It was silent, and her hands wiped away the tears, blinking to dry her eyelashes... "Can I take you home..." It was a low blow, though she didn't take it this way. It was as Jonas said this, that she realized what she wanted. Her father always taught her to make decisions by flipping a coin. He'd give her his last nickel, and ask, "Would you like cookies or brownies for dinner?" This was an indefinite contrast, as Katrina had a strong love for the latter. As for the former, if it were her choice, she'd live off of them. She'd giggle an airy, youthful laugh, through the front of her mouth, where front teeth were supposed to be. "Daddy, I can't decide," she'd say, looking down at the coin between her warm little palms that were incased in his rough, worked hands. Derek would nod, smiling down at her as she sat in his lap. "Well, heads is brownies and tails is cookies," he'd reply, taking another swig of his Corona before returning his hand to rest underneath his daughter's. Katrina would then hop down from his arms, toss the coin into the air, waiting in those few seconds that gravity showed mercy, to see where it would fall. In those moments that seemed to get the best of us, where we make good, bad, or otherwise decisions, she realized what it is she wanted, what side she hoped for it to be. Already she was considering how she would change the outcome, should the coin not fall her way, so her father wouldn't see. "or buy you breakfast..." The woman's eyes lit up as she raised her gaze to meet his dark, heavy pupils. Even without a smile, it was impossible not to notice her sudden lift in mood. Because now, she knew what she wanted. What Katrina wanted now was to fix Jonas no matter what, to make it right again, with him, with her, with her father. To drown the guilt with fulfillment. "I like IHOP..." she murmured, licking her lips to moisten them. How soft they felt... "They have good chocolate chip pancakes..." Blue-gray crystalloids locked onto the rest of his face from the floor. How handsome he was to her, though she hadn't paid attention until, amongst the hours of the previous night and this morning. Older than her, though she guessed by no more than six or seven years. Jonas was tired, worn down, and there was sympathy for him, courtesy of Katrina. And there it began, the seeds from Jonas falling from the underbelly of heaven, germinating and spreading like a well-attended garden onto the doormat of Katrina's imprisoned heart. What I enjoy: I love romance, dark romance, the kind that stresses you out but makes your pants tight at the same time. I like to create characters that I want to be, or that I want to kill. A lot of feeling is good. As for genres, I don't care for fantasy with dragons and elves but other than that I'm open to almost everything. What I'm looking for: If you aren't okay with every mature theme ever created, we won't mesh well. Abuse, foul language, sex, gore, etc. All of this I really enjoy including so I would appreciate a partner who shares my love of the darkness. Plotting, re-plotting and plotting again are really enjoyable to me and I really enjoy highly complex plots and I'm good at creating them. I need a partner who has a pulse and wants to work with me. Someone who also gets excited. If you don't care for one of my ideas, that's fine, express that because it's our roleplay and I want to make it the best we can. I don’t expect a post every day, but keep in contact with me. We can talk via text, google hangouts, or strictly the roleplaying site if that's all you are comfortable with. I would really enjoy a previous writing sample in your first message to me. If there isn't one I probably won't respond. I don’t care what it is as long as you believe it's an accurate idea of who you are as an author. NOTICE: I do not expect the post length of my sample to be the norm in our play. I want about 3-5 paragraphs depending on the situation our characters are in. If we are both on at the same time in a rather transitional and maybe boring part, we can even speed post if you would like. I'm very adaptable. Lastly, I have a newborn idea involving an alternate reality with gypsies in the eighteenth century. It would contain romance, adventure, lots of political grit, etc. We can make it whatever we want, all I have so far is the setting and I have a character in mind for me to play.