Post by machine on Oct 6, 2008 20:01:33 GMT -5
& I’m dressed to KILL ``
`` spit shine your black luck, baby.
please, let me INTRODUCE myself ``
name: ACKLEY "SPIDER" STEINER.
age: twenty-four.
occupation: on-site photographer and reporter for an annual scientific journal in England.
status: Oh, he's probably going to die alone.
orientation: heterosexual.
you’ll be my SEXY thing``
appearance:TALL x GANGLY x UNKEMPT x STRANGE x SICKLY
His clothing is patterned and cut in a very tight, dark, dime-store manner that can only be described as torn off of the mannequin for a dreary New Wave revival. Colors were simply abandoned, and he dresses in a high-contrast grayscale, vastly made up of black so that his pale complexion glows quietly within his garments. Ackley's wardrobe is of a skin-tight cut and a fine, formal wear to respect his general appreciation for European sophistication. His fetish for silver jewelry cannot be overstated; a panoply of gaudy silver and crystal rings weigh down his willowy fingers, and silver thrift-store treasures hang from his neck or breast pocket. Ackley's middle is secured by a weighty, polished belt-buckle at almost all times, providing a focal point for the usual black ensembles and giving a bit of curio panache to his clothes. Last but not least, he would be completely lost without a pair of small-heeled, point-toed, buckled pair of dress shoes that were a gift from his late father. The beloved things grace his big ol' feetsies wherever he goes and are as much a part of his image as his very face.
With his wardrobe choices and British blood, it's obvious that the Hawaiian heat tortures him, but he's far too goddamn stubborn to let that change his routine.
[/ul]
celeb claim: Faris Rotter. [/size]
won’t you step inside my BRAIN``
personality: OPINIONATED x RUDE x ABRASIVE x INCENDIARY x APATHETIC
fears: the ocean. being electrocuted. bees.
aspirations: find a job closer to home. jesus.
likes: black coffee. birds. organ music. girls with scarves. the sound geiger counters make. ice cubes. old horror movies. the word 'syntax'. clocks. strange socks.
dislikes: colorful drinks. fire. acoustic guitar music. little dogs. movie sequels. chewing gum. people who tan on purpose. animal rights activists. video games. being barefoot.
best memory:
worst memory:
if you wanna go that FAR``
history:
family: mother: mirielle steiner (npc). father: gregory steiner (npc. deceased.) no siblings.
pets: none.
touch my BACKSTAGE pass``
what rule # is missing?: 7
rp sample:From Venom's Gate 2, a vampire/werewolf/human rpg. I've never played just human before.
He snorted almost silently, reminiscent of his partner beast, taking in a whiff of her aura. Halifax could not name the scent but it was cool and perfectly befitting --perfectly-- and the pleasantness of it made him lift his small glass to his face, block his nose with the fiery, stinging scent of the drink.
That is how, in the act of sitting, Genevieve ruined for Halifax Godless an evening whose only blemish was a little too much smoke.
The thought of the smoke had him fumbling for a cigarette only moments later and as he glared down at the palm he had cupped around the flame --his mood was now truly foul-- he wordlessly offered the carton to his comrade, scooting it down the bar with his elbow. "Mmn?" It was about as articulate as he needed to be with Isaac, as used to each other's grumbling as they were. Isaac might notice, however, that Halifax had had two drinks and wasn't all smiles. In fact, he'd definitely notice. He probably liked Halifax best when he was a little tipsy.
Halifax exhaled a plume of blue-gray, exasperated with the cold stranger on his other side. He gave her another glance. She was definitely European, probably ancient, dolled up as she was. She waved that fan of hers with mindless precision and the careless grace of it flared up another fuse of envy that had Halifax grinding his teeth around his cigarette. "Look," he muttered to Isaac, conscious but not mindful to the fact that the omni-aware vampire could probably hear, "Wonder if she'd can-can for a twenty." The can-can was from France. She looked French. His drunken mind decided it so.
That is how, in the act of waving her hand, Genevieve ruined for Halifax Godless a country that had done him no harm.
She was on a roll, and didn't even know it. [/ul]
your name: Mech (or Machine).[/size]
`` spit shine your black luck, baby.
please, let me INTRODUCE myself ``
name: ACKLEY "SPIDER" STEINER.
age: twenty-four.
occupation: on-site photographer and reporter for an annual scientific journal in England.
status: Oh, he's probably going to die alone.
orientation: heterosexual.
you’ll be my SEXY thing``
appearance:TALL x GANGLY x UNKEMPT x STRANGE x SICKLY
His clothing is patterned and cut in a very tight, dark, dime-store manner that can only be described as torn off of the mannequin for a dreary New Wave revival. Colors were simply abandoned, and he dresses in a high-contrast grayscale, vastly made up of black so that his pale complexion glows quietly within his garments. Ackley's wardrobe is of a skin-tight cut and a fine, formal wear to respect his general appreciation for European sophistication. His fetish for silver jewelry cannot be overstated; a panoply of gaudy silver and crystal rings weigh down his willowy fingers, and silver thrift-store treasures hang from his neck or breast pocket. Ackley's middle is secured by a weighty, polished belt-buckle at almost all times, providing a focal point for the usual black ensembles and giving a bit of curio panache to his clothes. Last but not least, he would be completely lost without a pair of small-heeled, point-toed, buckled pair of dress shoes that were a gift from his late father. The beloved things grace his big ol' feetsies wherever he goes and are as much a part of his image as his very face.
With his wardrobe choices and British blood, it's obvious that the Hawaiian heat tortures him, but he's far too goddamn stubborn to let that change his routine.
[/ul]
celeb claim: Faris Rotter. [/size]
won’t you step inside my BRAIN``
personality: OPINIONATED x RUDE x ABRASIVE x INCENDIARY x APATHETIC
fears: the ocean. being electrocuted. bees.
aspirations: find a job closer to home. jesus.
likes: black coffee. birds. organ music. girls with scarves. the sound geiger counters make. ice cubes. old horror movies. the word 'syntax'. clocks. strange socks.
dislikes: colorful drinks. fire. acoustic guitar music. little dogs. movie sequels. chewing gum. people who tan on purpose. animal rights activists. video games. being barefoot.
best memory:
worst memory:
if you wanna go that FAR``
history:
family: mother: mirielle steiner (npc). father: gregory steiner (npc. deceased.) no siblings.
pets: none.
touch my BACKSTAGE pass``
what rule # is missing?: 7
rp sample:From Venom's Gate 2, a vampire/werewolf/human rpg. I've never played just human before.
He snorted almost silently, reminiscent of his partner beast, taking in a whiff of her aura. Halifax could not name the scent but it was cool and perfectly befitting --perfectly-- and the pleasantness of it made him lift his small glass to his face, block his nose with the fiery, stinging scent of the drink.
That is how, in the act of sitting, Genevieve ruined for Halifax Godless an evening whose only blemish was a little too much smoke.
The thought of the smoke had him fumbling for a cigarette only moments later and as he glared down at the palm he had cupped around the flame --his mood was now truly foul-- he wordlessly offered the carton to his comrade, scooting it down the bar with his elbow. "Mmn?" It was about as articulate as he needed to be with Isaac, as used to each other's grumbling as they were. Isaac might notice, however, that Halifax had had two drinks and wasn't all smiles. In fact, he'd definitely notice. He probably liked Halifax best when he was a little tipsy.
Halifax exhaled a plume of blue-gray, exasperated with the cold stranger on his other side. He gave her another glance. She was definitely European, probably ancient, dolled up as she was. She waved that fan of hers with mindless precision and the careless grace of it flared up another fuse of envy that had Halifax grinding his teeth around his cigarette. "Look," he muttered to Isaac, conscious but not mindful to the fact that the omni-aware vampire could probably hear, "Wonder if she'd can-can for a twenty." The can-can was from France. She looked French. His drunken mind decided it so.
That is how, in the act of waving her hand, Genevieve ruined for Halifax Godless a country that had done him no harm.
She was on a roll, and didn't even know it. [/ul]
your name: Mech (or Machine).[/size]
