Post by spectra on Feb 28, 2009 11:15:20 GMT -5
Eternal/super/immortal/or semi applying for: Morbid
Character: Miles Quent Morgim
Reasons for applying: I want to be a part of this amazingly original site. I can give Morbid the life (or unlived life) he deserves!
Why should we give this part to you?: Because I'm good at playing weird characters and I would thicken plotlines and contribute with my skills.
How many years have you rped?: About four years.
Are you active? And how often are you on?(be honest!): Yes. I will be on at least once a day every day.
Will you be active in the future: Of course!
What can you personally bring to the life of the character?: I think Morbid would be such a quiet drama king. I could see him getting tangled in plots with his father, Death, and be an overall fun (yet monotoniously attractive) character to have around.
Audition Post:
Beside her door, sitting precariously upon a three legged table was a platter. It appeared that they barman had arrived earlier, perhaps curious that she missed the usual sitting of food with his common customers. A frown replaced his neutral expression, thinking that that filth dared eye his wench when he was so close to getting what she inwardly knew she had to give. All that was needed was a little patience and Miles had an eternity to please. How long did she have to struggle against his deep, and eternal longings? No matter now. He hissed to himself rather bluntly as he picked up the laidened tray in his winter kissed hands. On the plate was a half loaf of bread with a side of white goat cheese and spiced herb spread, the scent of it similar to the southern areas. He didn’t give second glance to the small pitcher of long flat beer behind the tray, but against his will, with also a small note to remind himself that mortal food was always nauseating, picked up the glassware and carried it with his thumb, middle, and index finger while keeping his pointer and pinky free of the touch. He might have appeared full handed, obviously distracted by keeping the wench’s nutrition from splattering on the floor. He didn’t need to reach out his hand to turn the knob, for it already started to wriggle. In shorter time than a batt of his eyes behind the black shadowed glass of his spectacles and a tightened grin to form on his mouth, a veil of silver cast over the metal sheet, the door opened.
He spotted her instantaneously, like he knew where she had been the entire time. Which he has, though he kept his amusement refreshed by acting like nothing was wrong at all, humoring her with curious looks behind his protective shades. As far as she understood, her little adventure never happened. It was only a shear amount of luck that drove away her fears that night, not some meddlesome being. Like most mortals, her mind probably already tucked it away in some forgotten corner of her unconsciousness. ”Well…” He began softly, arching a slender brow in wry awareness. ”It appears that you are recovering well.” He paused for a second as he placed the tray on top of the small personalized table in arm’s reach beside her refreshed form. Brushing away the traces of sleep from her room with a wave of his hand, the door slowly seemed to become the prey of gravity, the bit of unnoticeable wind forcing the aging wood to close with a sharp click. Turning his rather undivided attention towards her disgruntled form before her, he allowed himself a seat at the foot of her bed, which wasn’t a very big bed for his tastes either. With words that could seduce even the most strong willed of mortal women, he asked nonchalantly. ”Did you have any decent dreams?” He smirked at this, tight with the faintest touch of cruelty woven carefully in wire thin strands upon his falsely innocent question. Soon she would be shown. His greatest weakness would be revealed to her in good time, perhaps even sooner than he thought.
Other (optional):
Character: Miles Quent Morgim
Reasons for applying: I want to be a part of this amazingly original site. I can give Morbid the life (or unlived life) he deserves!
Why should we give this part to you?: Because I'm good at playing weird characters and I would thicken plotlines and contribute with my skills.
How many years have you rped?: About four years.
Are you active? And how often are you on?(be honest!): Yes. I will be on at least once a day every day.
Will you be active in the future: Of course!
What can you personally bring to the life of the character?: I think Morbid would be such a quiet drama king. I could see him getting tangled in plots with his father, Death, and be an overall fun (yet monotoniously attractive) character to have around.
Audition Post:
Beside her door, sitting precariously upon a three legged table was a platter. It appeared that they barman had arrived earlier, perhaps curious that she missed the usual sitting of food with his common customers. A frown replaced his neutral expression, thinking that that filth dared eye his wench when he was so close to getting what she inwardly knew she had to give. All that was needed was a little patience and Miles had an eternity to please. How long did she have to struggle against his deep, and eternal longings? No matter now. He hissed to himself rather bluntly as he picked up the laidened tray in his winter kissed hands. On the plate was a half loaf of bread with a side of white goat cheese and spiced herb spread, the scent of it similar to the southern areas. He didn’t give second glance to the small pitcher of long flat beer behind the tray, but against his will, with also a small note to remind himself that mortal food was always nauseating, picked up the glassware and carried it with his thumb, middle, and index finger while keeping his pointer and pinky free of the touch. He might have appeared full handed, obviously distracted by keeping the wench’s nutrition from splattering on the floor. He didn’t need to reach out his hand to turn the knob, for it already started to wriggle. In shorter time than a batt of his eyes behind the black shadowed glass of his spectacles and a tightened grin to form on his mouth, a veil of silver cast over the metal sheet, the door opened.
He spotted her instantaneously, like he knew where she had been the entire time. Which he has, though he kept his amusement refreshed by acting like nothing was wrong at all, humoring her with curious looks behind his protective shades. As far as she understood, her little adventure never happened. It was only a shear amount of luck that drove away her fears that night, not some meddlesome being. Like most mortals, her mind probably already tucked it away in some forgotten corner of her unconsciousness. ”Well…” He began softly, arching a slender brow in wry awareness. ”It appears that you are recovering well.” He paused for a second as he placed the tray on top of the small personalized table in arm’s reach beside her refreshed form. Brushing away the traces of sleep from her room with a wave of his hand, the door slowly seemed to become the prey of gravity, the bit of unnoticeable wind forcing the aging wood to close with a sharp click. Turning his rather undivided attention towards her disgruntled form before her, he allowed himself a seat at the foot of her bed, which wasn’t a very big bed for his tastes either. With words that could seduce even the most strong willed of mortal women, he asked nonchalantly. ”Did you have any decent dreams?” He smirked at this, tight with the faintest touch of cruelty woven carefully in wire thin strands upon his falsely innocent question. Soon she would be shown. His greatest weakness would be revealed to her in good time, perhaps even sooner than he thought.
Other (optional):
