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Character profile: Terrance"Sure, I'll take a look at your computer... uh... can you bring it here? I can't leave the house at this time of day or I'll get sunburned." --Terrance
Type of character: Sonicverse (lizardman22)
Name: Terrance "Terry" Regia (REJ-yuh)
Age: Around 25
Race/species: Albino ball python (Mobian)
Family and associates:
Youngest of five siblings. Single; doesn't appear interested in love.
Terrance is not specially built for a Mobian snake. His eyes are the usual reptilian black, and his tail is about as long as he is tall. His scaly hide is primarily white, but almost completely covered in large "inkblots" of orange.
He's often seen with a digital tablet, silver in color, connected to a pair of headphones that rest around his neck. He also has a navy blue knapsack he typically keeps his more portable electronics in. Other than that, he typically doesn't wear anything.
Character Profile Template"A quote from the character that highlights their defining trait(s). It can be a sample from their 'modus operandi', or a description of the philosophies or beliefs they live by, or something else entirely if applicable." --Character
Type of character: The 'verse the character is designed for. If the character is designed for a particular person's interpretation of a more well-known 'verse, specify that here as well.
Name: The character's name and possibly nicknames. If a pronunciation guide would be useful, stick it here as well.
Age: Can be as vague or as specific as you want.
Gender: I like to abbreviate this to M or F. If your character is genderless but still identifies as one or the other, specify that here, too.
Occupation: What this character does for a living. Optional.
Allegiance: Obviously, the options here depend on the setting. Optional.
Marie's Busy Day -Trade-"Nurse Black, have you taken down this patient's numbers?"
"Indeed I have, Dr. White. Weight 75 kilograms, blood type A positive, height 1.5 centimeters..."
"Wait a sec! Height 1.5 centimeters? I'm a heck of a lot taller than tha--"
"Never question the expertise of your doctor."
Leon Down burst out laughing at around the same time that Marie Vex stepped into the room, followed by Wolfen. The young green wolf appeared to be enjoying his sick days.
"Well, his fever is definitely gone," Marie remarked as he checked Leon over. "How are his other symptoms?"
"He's still coughing and sneezing," Wolfen replied, "but I think he's faking it. I've noticed he never does it when we're not in the room."
"No, Grandma, I'm still sick," Leon interjected, right before an obviously fake sneeze.
Marie shook her head. "He's going to school tomorrow. Maybe I'd better take back that kids' DVD to discourage him."
With that, she stopped the DVD playe
Marie's To Do List -Trade-Send Hisspan out to collect more herbs. My crocosmia aurea supply is running low.See if Leon is recovering from his cold.Mix some more painkillers.The VDF is performing weapons training today. Be present to treat any injuries.Ask Daphne to prepare a meal for Cynthia. That workaholic python will probably work through lunch again today!Check on Marybeth in case she stressed her sprained ankle.Get a head start on tomorrow's work so I'll have time to attend Tashako's recital tomorrow.
Humans and Dragons -Trade-It began as just another day in the United Kingdom. The sky was partly cloudy, but no rain seemed to be coming. The time of day was roughly 1 P.M.
Stephen, or ~Lolocator as he was known to his online friends, was afflicted with a severe case of writer's block. He wanted to write something, but had absolutely zero ideas, so he was left staring hopelessly at his computer screen.
"Maybe I could... no, no, that wouldn't really work. Ugh, Sonic makes this look so easy."
"Sonic", or *sonicinterface, was one of Stephen's aforementioned online friends. He lived towards the eastern coast of the United States, which meant it was about 8 A.M. for him (actually 9 A.M. due to Daylight Savings time). The two of them shared a lot, including Asperger's Syndrome.
CLICK. Stephen glanced up at the sound of the television downstairs turning on. Strange, as nobody else was supposed to be in the house at the time.
His curiosity and boredom taking over, Stephen
The Bronze Seagull - Ch. 15"That's what she said? ...Actually, I don't drink. I could really use a glass of soda, though."
Steve was on the verge of passing out, and Dolly had already gotten to work getting him down from the winch. Madam Slip's attention was on Interface, whose head was still spinning from his near-death experience. None of them noticed the chameleon sneaking up on the tigress.
"Darling... look... it's over. After all you've been through, you deserve a trip to the bar for--"
It was then that the chameleon made the grab. Hisser let out a hiss shortly before the chameleon muted it with his hand.
Madam Slip's eyes widened. She felt her shoulders, suddenly aware of the issue.
"Hisser! He's gone!"
Dolly whipped around, having already thrown the lever to lower Steve. Interface straightened up immediately. Steve was now unconscious.
Reaching into her pocket, Madam Slip took out a remote and looked at it, pressing a few buttons.
The Bronze Seagull - Ch. 13"Uuuugh... what happened? Where am I? Where's my pencil? ...It's so cold and windy... am I outside the airship?"
Steve stumbled over his own words at Madam Slip's demand for an explanation. Should he explain? What could he say, if anything at all? He was already late for the exchange; should he risk violating the intruder's terms further?
"...Darling? Are you all right? You look positively tense. Should I get you a glass of wine?"
Taking a deep breath, Steve looked up.
"I-I can't explain everything right now. I promise I'll fill you in as soon as I can."
With that, Steve rushed out the door, leaving a very confused tigress in his wake.
Once she'd recovered from her shock, Madam Slip picked Hisser up again.
"Hisser, do you know what that wolf was so agitated about?"
The clockwork snake's lights lit up in patterns once again.
"Would you please fill me in? I know it's about you somehow; he ment
Deep Sea ScreechThe ocean waters parted as Screech the bat, Liberator of the Confined, dove through them. Deeper and deeper she swam, gently flapping her wings to propel herself. She didn't stop to gawk at the marine wildlife around her; she was always looking either ahead of herself or at her portable GPS screen.
Every now and then, she would stop to adjust the small bracelet around her left ankle. It looked like an ordinary ankle bracelet made out of pearls and gold thread, but it was actually a magical talisman. As long as Screech wore it, she could breathe underwater, she was immune to the dangerous pressures of the deep sea, and she and all her equipment were completely waterproof. She had obtained it from one of her previous rescuees as a favor.
As Screech reached deeper and deeper waters, the ocean around her grew darker and darker. Soon she couldn't see where she was swimming, and had to resort to her echolocation to navigate. The "images" from her son
Fall of ManI remember thinking: if this were a story, it would be alright. Even tragedies have meaning when someone else holds the pen. But this is not a story. Unless it is.
There was me cradling you in the wreckage of a building; and in the distance, the sounds of running and screaming and alarms of ambulances, everyone calling for help, and there, another building collapsing.
A snowflake fell on your forehead and for a moment it seemed more important than the blood, more important than bombs falling from the sky, the war that had begun. Blocks away perhaps a television was somehow still on, perhaps it screamed propaganda. All I knew was you had no reason to be punished.
People can’t run with broken legs, and you also had a broken arm, and when I heard another woman scream for her beloved to come back to life, I knew you would die.
I should have remembered what you whispered to me, but the planes above were too loud. If I had heard your last word
Flying Dreams“I don’t know why I love you.
I just…can’t stop thinking of you.”
said old Mr. squirrel slowly caressing
the nut in his bed beside him.
He pulled the glasses from face and set them down
on the nightstand beside him
letting out a sigh. A picture of himself
and another sitting beside him.
He rolled back over and kissed the nut
falling into a deep sleep.
Mr. Squirrel dreamed of flying,
just as his cousins could.
Flying from tree to tree.
Like an overextended wonderful leap.
Safe from danger. Safe from the predators below.
A dog snapping and growling. He paid it no notice.
He was free and happy sailing through the trees.
Through the clouds. He could reach out
with his paws and touch them.
SO soft and fluffy
just like her…
He awoke from his dream startled.
It took him a second to catch his breath,
and he played with his graying beard hairs.
He had been much younger in the dream. So much younger.
“It’s a dream my sweet. Nothing more then a drea
Ageing Superhero (FFM 24)Nathan always imagined he’d go out in a gunfight, cape fluttering; a hero’s death in the pursuit of peace. Turns out, he was only right about the “gun” part.
* * *
Mr Cuddles weaves around Nathan’s ankles. He’s purring loudly, and shedding fur all over Nathan’s slightly-too-tight bodysuit, but Nathan’s attention is fixed on the tinny voice coming from his mobile.
“Look, your international days are over. You’re getting older, and I know you’ve gained a few pounds. No, don’t try to lie to me. You wear spandex, Nathan. It’s pretty unforgiving, and you no longer have a six-pack. The world events, the foreign villains, you can leave them to the newbies.”
Paying no attention to the plaintive-sounding agent, Mr Cuddles hunts, unnoticed as he follows Nathan towards the safe on the landing.
Nathan’s carrying his guns one-handed; he’s only half-listening to his age
It's Burning Down Anyway"You shouldn't play with matches," she said. "You'll hurt yourself."
I lit a cigarette - with a lighter - and remembered Annie Venter telling me that in the eighth grade as I lit matches behind the school. I had stared at her and lit the whole matchbook on fire, and then I had dropped it in the grass. She made me stomp it out.
I stood on the porch of my apartment, listening to the rain and staring out at the fog and the clouds and thinking that somewhere out there, Annie Venter was probably sleeping, not thinking about the time she told some stupid kid not to play with matches. I flicked the lighter on and off a few times to see if it would feel the same way the matches had all those years ago, but it didn't.
The smoke curled above me in the cold air, a visible metaphor for addiction as it hung off me. Everything in my life smelled like that anymore: like ashes.
I dropped the cigarette on the deck and I stared at the small red ember, letting it burn and smoke, letting it become
NebraskaHe called her Nebraska. The first time he did was in a Wal-Mart parking lot with August humidity pressing the air from their lungs. It also happened to be the first time she saw him. “Whoa there, Nebraska!” he’d said as the blue shopping cart got away from her and rolled right into him.
She apologized profusely. At least it was empty, and hadn’t got a chance to gather much speed. Besides, what the heck was he doing standing in the cart return?
“Why the heck are you standing in a cart return?” she asked him. He was tall. Lanky. He had a military haircut, and she should have known then. He was young; she likely had the long side of a decade on him. But when he smiled, everything just felt better.
He vaulted out of the pipe enclosure and held something up between his thumb and index finger. A nickle. He grinned again, and his green eyes crinkled, “I dropped it.”
“Well that explains it.”
“And now,” he said, “I ha
[TGB] Leave The Light OnIt seemed only natural that she found him.
Her paws had been weary, her mind restless - home no longer felt like home and he .... he had always had a calming presence upon her soul. His smirking blue-green eyes soothed a fire in her soul and made everything shift when she hadn't been aware it was askew in the first place.
He held her steady, whether he knew it or not and right now Arya felt like a leaf in a thunderstorm.
"Fancy seeing you again - if I didn't know any better I'd say you missed my dashing looks."
Perhaps it was in the way Arya fumbled for an appropriate response, or perhaps it was how her grass eyes misted over with unshed tears - full to the brim with emotion Arya usually kept hidden from her companion.
"Arya?" His brow furrowed slightly and he took a hesitant step forward. His firefly was strong ... for her to be so shaken ...
She wasn't sure when the tears had started, hadn't noticed their slow descent down her cheeks until Idek's nose was touchin
My Knee Hurts and I Hate David BowieThey're at it again.
I've grabbed the broom and smacked the handle against the ceiling, but the neighbours upstairs take no notice. I think about calling the police, but I hate doing that without at least talking to them. Everybody deserves that chance, I think. Still, the prospect of standing outside their door and talking to them isn't one that sits comfortably. When I think I'm going to explode if I have to listen to another second, I give in.
I power up the stairs like nobody's business, and pound on their door. I'd knock like a normal person, but if they can't hear the broom hitting their floor, they won't hear a knock, either. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the door opens and sound washes over me in a wave that's all but solid.
The figure in the doorway looks like a reject from an 80's concert. He's got a blinkin' mullet, and he sparkles... but he's got nothin' on the fella behind him. Bloody queer's wearing a dress, and more makeup than an entire row of beaut
Strawberry Plush FFM28A woman sobbed on the subway, clutching a strawberry plush toy, a folded photograph, and a business card. I pulled out my phone and pretended to text. In actuality, I was analyzing her. Boyfriend? Likely. Girlfriend? Also likely. I spotted the picture. It was a woman. Girlfriend.
Now for the strawberry plush toy. I ran over the possible meanings. Most likely a gift from that said ex. A toy won at the carnival for her? Maybe. Or maybe it’s not an ex? I was just going to say it was an ex. No one bawled that hard over a person who wasn’t a recent ex. So, the plush toy. Bam: “I’m Berry Sorry.” She was holding an apology bear. Were those tears of joy? No, no, no. Her berry sorry strawberry was old and used. It had holes in the arms. Old breakup, wounds reopened.
The business card read “Real Estate”. She was moving. She probably was packing and happened upon a box from when she dated that girl. She found the strawberry plush and the photograph, and w
The Cat Curls UpAnd a very good afternoon to you. You catch me looking at a catalogue of old chairs – nothing I would sell in my store, but from an aesthetics viewpoint it reminds me of some of the – things we used to think were fashionable.
Take this one for example – the infamous box seat, so popular in the early seventies for the style conscious and space conscious young person about town. Actually, the only thing they really turned out to be good for was walking into or falling off.
There was a flat I visited in the Knightsbridge area in the mid seventies, when Habitat, god rest their soul, were just starting out and making this sort of thing popular. I had thought it was empty, but after raiding the bedrooms I discovered the error of my ways – walking into the main room, I disturbed this eighteen year old girl, wearing a short sleeved white crotched top, pale blue mini skirt, white knee length socks and flat shoes, sitting on one of these box contraptions
Electronics Company Buys, Evicts OrphanagePower Button Electronics, the multimillion-dollar company behind the PowerPhone and the PowerPlayer game console, has announced yesterday that it has purchased the property known as the Maple Leaf Orphanage and will be evicting its entire population of 34 orphans to the streets.
In an interview on the same day as the announcement, spokesperson Bertram Button has stated that PBE is planning to convert the location into a new retail store. He has declined concern for the orphans' well-being, stating that "orphans are too poor to afford electronics and too young and unskilled to perform any sort of work, and therefore are of neither value nor interest to the company".
The orphanage's former owner, Donna Star, has said she opposed the sale at every juncture, but PBE used (in her words) "some legal gobbledygook" to go around her and purchase the property anyhow.
This is not PBE's first interaction with the orphanage. Last year, Donna requested that the company donate a small col
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