DESPERATELY NEEDS MALES [[ she whispered her last ]] Survival Horror [[ "save yourself" ]] OPEN/ACCEPTING

[quetzalcoatl]

open || closed
profiles . ooc
4/7 roles taken

Welcome to my survival horror roleplay. I am Squid, and this is not-so-subtly based on Silent Hill.

Roles

The Big Bad: taken by quetzalcoatl
Female 1: taken by quetzalcoatl
Female 2: taken by bookcraz
Female 3: taken by KaitlinAnne~
Male 1: open
Male 2: open
Male 3: open

Rules Abridged

quetzalcoatl is god
quetzalcoatl reserves the right to reject your profile
quetzalcoatl reserves the right to kick you out of the roleplay
No Sues
No Godmoding/Power playing/Auto-hitting
Character death can and will occur.
No one-liners, no novels
OOC stays in the OOC thread
Profiles stay in the profile thread

[quetzalcoatl]

This roleplay is Semi-literate and up, with an emphasis on literacy. That means we want none of this:


Sierra walks into the police staton while it rains outside. "Hi" she said to the officer sitting at the desk.*

And definitely none of this:


Sierra: "Hi" i say and wave to john "how are you"

This isn't fanfiction.net. This isn't your fourth grade creative writing project. You are a writer with an understanding of grammar and punctuation and you will use it.

However, purple prose is also subject to an equal amount of spite. I don't want an essay of a response, 2-6 paragraphs will do. This also means no one-liners. I understand writer's block, but you are a writer! Try for a minimum of 2 paragraphs.

This, for the record, is purple prose:


The nightfall, deeply saturated with every fibre of its being in the shadows of dark gloom and ocular turblence, encompassed wholly and thoroughly the dusty, unattended, dirty, untouched apartment building of one youthful, handsome yet very homely aspiring author of many tomes Report Siht, as he descended with a blindingly powerful glowing aura of casualty and sensual smoothness onto the slowly revolving Mid-Century Modern armchair that was currently situated betwixt and between his beige-coloured, antiquated digital binary computation machine and analysis device. The writer being spoken of gently placed beside his body the worn thesaurus (a thesaurus, of course, being a large tome containing lists of synonyms and antonyms), slowly yellowing and fading with the slow, constant passage of time, he had been delving into, he lowered his slender, pale fingers onto the black keyboard, his creaseless, silky hands striking the small intractable keys in quick succession while scrutinizing his search for a four-syllable phrase that is, to him worthy enough in all its purple glory to be written into his new masterpiece of literature to a veteran musician in search for the perfect melody to play to the masses, as they are entranced by the narcotic tune. But as he continued, at a tempo that only the smallest of snails could possibly envy, to turn through page after page after page of his wide, thick-as-a-doorstopper tome of words that he usually refers to as a thesaurus, he, over the course of hundreds of pages, begins to conceptualize that what was previously his treasure chest of multisyllabic vocabulary is now wholly exhausted, having used in some way each and every one of the words in some form or another. An "avarice" here, a "defenestrate" there, occasionally an "egregious" hiding somewhere within his vast, vast body of purple literature. He swiftly and instantly put down his once sacred book, and slowly, with a profoundly resigned look on his pale face, sighed in the general direction of his desktop-based computer machine, which, as you know, he is presently attempting to write his most ultraviolet magnum-opus.

Yeah. Just don't do it, okay? Quantity =/= quality, and thesaurus abuse is a crime punishable by flogging.

I, quetzalcoatl, reserve the right to kick you out of the roleplay at any time. I also reserve the right to report you, to reject your profile, and all that nasty stuff you don't like.

Finally, no godmoding, no sues, no auto-hitting.

Actually, I should say no auto-dodging, because a lot of people seem to think their characters are ninjas who can dodge bullets and knives and fistfight with a polar bear and win. Your character is a normal person. Your character is human. Your character will be hurt and will probably end up dead. I won't give you a mulligan if your character is killed of, and I won't pity you. As this is a realistic roleplay, your character can and will be scratched, dented, broken, killed. If you venture too far out of the realm of believability, (there is no plot armor here) I will speak up.

This includes knowledge only available above the fourth wall, (that couldn't be written off as 'a good guess') constantly dodging punches and winning fights, unrealistic characters, etc.


*This is the very bottom of the barrel, the bare minimum of what we'll accept. If you can pull together something better than that, then you're welcome here.

[quetzalcoatl]

The first thing that strikes you is pain. Sharp pain, like a rail spike has been driven through your skull, down your spine, that stretches from the tips of your fingers to the bottoms of your feet.

Your eyes crack open, slowly thanks to the thick layer of sleep that surrounds them.

The second thing that strikes you is the darkness.

You wonder for a moment if you’re blindfolded. Touching your hands to your eyes (and poking them, smooth.) you can call that myth safely busted. Your eyes dance with patterns and swirls as your mind tries to form something in the darkness. Nothing comes. The darkness is too complete.

Shuffling beside you. You nearly scream, heart feeling as if it was ripped from your body. Your kidnapper? A monster? Another human?

They run through the same routine, too terrified to acknowledge you; maybe they’re pretended they didn’t notice.

The room fills with noise: the ruffling of clothes, the groans of a painful wake-up call, and…sobbing?

A moment passes. You realize the sobbing is your own.

Static from the darkness. It surrounds you, echoes off hollow walls and reverberates through your body. The room even sounds endless. Dread spreads in your stomach like ink in water. A voice speaks, as hollow and metallic as the room. An obvious synth.

“Welcome all.” it begins, pitch shaky enough and automated enough to put any Bieber hit to shame. Perhaps it’s laughing. “The facility you sit in now contains over 47,000 feet of space, and extends 200 feet up.” It laughs now, “There are six of you and well over 100, shall I say, ‘beings’ for you to deal with. You have one week to kill them all and escape. Hurry hurry, now.”

The message turns to static, but doesn’t disappear. Is the intercom still on? Was the static there before? Is it listening?

The flickering of florescent lights. You catch a glimpse of the scared faces around you; normal, completely normal, just like you. All are startled by the lights which seer your retinas. The florescence struggle to start up, and it’s clear they have not been used in ages. The room around you literally wraps around you, in one massive cylinder with a ceiling so high you must cock your head all the way up to see it. The light of the florescence barely reaches you from up there, coating the room in a dull light. Just enough.

Just enough to see more than you’d like to see.

The walls (that you assume were at one time white) have been victim to years of rust and decay, and only the occasional sprinkling of eggshell flecks reminds you of their original colour. The scent of rust us heavy, and the walls are sickly shades of brown and red. Even the floor, which you assume were cool gray tiles, have become chipped, dull, coated in a heavy layer of dust and dirt.

You glance at the people that surround you. One thing is clear to all of you: you must escape.

But how?

[quetzalcoatl]

This is the profile skeleton:



Code:

[size=11][b]ROLE HERE[/b][/size]
[list][size=9][b]Name:[/b] first middle last
[b]Preferred name:[/b] what they're usually called
[b]Age:[/b] your character's age
[b]Personality:[/b] a quick run-down on your character's personality (1 - 3 paragraphs)
[b]Bio:[/b] a quick run-down on your character's history (1 - 3 paragraphs)
[b]Appearance:[/b] a quick run-down on your character's appearance (1 - 3 paragraphs or a picture)[/size][/list]



And this is what it looks like filled:


MALE #1

Name: John Derek Doe
Preferred name: Derek
Age: 21
Personality: Derek came from a troubled home. He grew up loving a good fight and has a temper problem. not afraid to hit girls.
Bio: Derek dropped out of school at 16 to work with his father on the construction site. Their relationship is strained but they don't talk much. Starting to regret not finishing school, but doesn't have the money to go back.
Appearance:


Please post your finished profiles on the profile thread, where quetzalcoatl will approve them.

[bookcrazI]

So do I have to have a pic? Cause I seriously don't know how to put one on, I am computer challenged...

[quetzalcoatl]

(( No, I said a description or picture.

The code for an image, by the way, is [ img ] URL HERE [ /img ] with all the spaces removed.

Also, would you mind using OOC? ))

[bookcrazI]

(OOC?.....I'm so sorry, I am such a clueless person.. But I have pretty good grammer and spelling , most of the time. *pouts* I can't help if im blond..)

[quetzalcoatl]

(( It means Out of Character. If you look, we have an out of character thread, located here. We'll be using that to chat and plot once we get going.

When you're finished your profile, post it here, please.

Speaking Out of Character means simply putting brackets around whatever isn't a part of your response. ))

[bookcrazI]

(oh makes sense! thaks, give me a sec. and I'll have mine up. Feel free to tell me that is sucks cow nipples. )

[quetzalcoatl]

(( Oh hush, hush. You're new to roleplaying, so I understand. I love helping newbies out. ^^ Just make sure it goes on the profile thread, okay? ))

[bookcrazI]

(gotcha! I try to hide my noobness..(sorry I had to invent a word there) )

[quetzalcoatl]

(( Again, it's fine. I'll post my intro in a moment, okay? ))

[bookcrazI]

(sure )

[quetzalcoatl]

The static is really getting to Charlotte by this point.

How long has it been? Ten, fifteen minutes? Maybe longer? Phosphorous green eyes, almost chartreuse, scanned the surrounding area for something, anything that even remotely resembled a speaker.

They found nothing.

Charlotte, who had been sitting down, stood with a slight pop in her leg. She stands to tend to her numb muscles, feeling her knee pop when she stretches. (The woman was pushing 29 at this point.) The position she found herself in upon waking was her body resting atop her left arm, which was now stinging with thousands of pins and needles as she struggled to regain feeling in it. Craning her head up to get a view of the ceiling offered...no ceiling, oddly enough. Nothing but darkness except for the five (or maybe there were ten? Florescent lights came in sets of two, didn't they...?) bands of pure florescence that burned her eyes to behold.

The static goes sss...

She sighed, and began to pace.

There were six of them. Three males, three females. Coincidence? Where had they all been? How had they ended up here? Were they criminals? (Charlotte certainly was, but her employer kept her well under the radar.)

No, certainly not. At least, they didn't look it...

Left, right, left, right.

She scans the wall. The single wall, she notes with discontent, they're trapped in what is essentially a rusty can. No obvious exists. But that would be too easy, wouldn't it? Charlotte lets out a small laugh, jumping as the noise is sent back to her much louder than her own voice. She would have to remember to whisper.

Ssssss...

Left, right, left, right...

Her fist slams against the rusted wall. She yelps as a piece of oxidized metal enters her curled fist. Examines it, and plucks out a minuscule, fang-shaped piece of deep brown, now flaunting a single drop of perfect ruby blood. She sucks on her hand, wondering if this will come back to bite her later. (She's sure it will.)

The walls is given another softer whack, this time to appease the woman's damaged ego.

She is satisfied, but alone.

Her eyes fall upon the bodies around the room. She waits for them to awaken.

Ssssss...

Left, right, left, right...

[bookcrazI]

Molly: I look around the dull room, my eyes burning from the sudden onslaught of light. The static humming in my ears hynotically, why was I here? I was a nobody, normal, the wierd girl who love to write. After anothe few moments of static filled insanity and the woman hitting her hand against the wall I couldn't take it. I whimpered and felt tears run down my face and hit the floor. I was lying on my side, head resting on my outstretched arm.
"Hello?"I whisper.

The woman who was pacing now was sucking on her fist, was it to keep from screaming?

"Hello?" I repeat a little louder this time, no answer. I start humming a tune to keep my nerves in check.
'I'm yours' by Jason Mraz, my calming song. Not anymore I guess.

[quetzalcoatl]

Screaming out of frustration, maybe. Charlotte's brows were furrowed deeply and her mouth showed the faintest signs of wrinkles when she frowned, which she was doing now.

Severely.

Over the static, she can swear she hears the faint mumbling of another's voice. '...lo?' it says, but the noise is too tiny to echo. Charlotte dismisses it, continuing her way around the room, until she can hear one of the six humming.

She pays no attention at first. I'm Yours, she thinks, knowing the song from the radio. More boring lovey-dovey frat boy nonesense, she thinks; Charlotte is more of a metal person.

"Hello?"

This time she hears it clearly. The sound of another voice cracks a small smile on her face; the small voice of one of the other women. She lends the humming continue before she speaks.

"We're the only ones awake, aren't we?" Stoic, monotone. Her voice is cold as a mid-winter day.

[bookcrazI]

Molly: I looked to the woman, her voice biting savagely against my skin. "I think so." I say quietly as fear filled my mind. I continued to hum trying to fight it down and lock it up.

A stupid little notion that the woman wasn't afraid filled my mind. I slowly stood up stretching out my sore muscles and examining my bruises. Not that bad, I think optimistically, I could have it worse.

I saw the bodies of four others in the dim light, sleeping. Would they ever wake up?

[quetzalcoatl]

She seems the nice type, Charlotte notes. Might be a disadvantage in battle...what had he...she...it said about 'beings'?

Charlotte shivers. 'Beings.' She does not like the sound of that, especially in her current circumstance.

She glances around at the other four sleeping. Three men and a woman. Deep wrinkles are now twisting her features; those from thinking, from impatience, from frustration, from that goddamn static.

Sssss...

"...They'll wake up on their own," she says, wrapping her arms around her chest. A cold feeling trickles down her spine. She is glad for the leather jacket that she is wearing, because her fingers are already numbing in the cold.

The other woman stands and stretches, then checks her bruises. Oh, those. She takes a mental check; slight headache, numb fingers, all-around soreness. She seems better off than this woman, but not by much.

Scared? Nah. It's difficult to scare this woman. Apprehensiveness and foreboding are what are plaguing her right now, but no fear.

Something tells her there will be much to fear later. No sense wasting the emotion now.

"Charlotte," she says, breaking the silence that once again fell over the room. Anything to get rid of that static... "That's my name. And you are?"

She runs her hand over the walls and makes another round, drumming long nails along the surface. Looking for...something...

[bookcrazI]

Molly: I looked at the woman, Charlotte and studied her. Good health, and pretty adverage.

"I'm Molly." I answered and looked for the source of the static. Finding the intercom I walked stiffly over to it and searched around for a plug or something I could do to shut off the insane static. In my crazy thoughts I didn't think about its hieght and how I would reach it.

I tap my foot in thought, how could I get up there? A character in my book would be able to scale the wall easily, I wouldn't be able to do that in a million years. How was the only question, how?

[quetzalcoatl]

(( It states in the plot that the static is coming from an intercom, not a TV. Would you mind changing it? It's not going to hurt your post /too/ much, I promise. Sorry. nn;; ))

[bookcrazI]

(no prob.. gimme a sec )

[quetzalcoatl]

"You won't be able to reach it," Charlotte tells her plainly, "because you're shorter than I am. If I can't, you can't." of course, the woman hadn't tried to shut it off... "A for effort, though." The sarcasm in her tone is completely subjective.

She continues to drum her fingers along the wall. All of it sounds filled. She remembers when she was trying to put a painting up on her walls, drumming her fingers along to search for the part of the wall that sounded like it was supported by something, back before stud finders were commonplace. Now she was doing the opposite.

But it wasn't the drumming that ultimately found the exit.

Charlotte is, at this time, positioned opposite of Molly on the other side of the room. She leans against the wall, feeling rust dig into her back through the leather of her jacket. Molly is looking up, staring at the intercom more than ten feet in the air. Not even the men can reach it, she thought, her eyes falling on the others once again.

It was at that moment that Charlotte's balled hand punctured the rusted metal into the darkness beyond. Her brows furrow once again.

"Odd..." she whispers, kneeling down to get a better look. Light steams out of the room into the darkness, what she thinks is a wide hallway. Her hands move by themselves, chipping away at the rusty and gradually opening the hole until she can fit her arm and shoulder through, the light from the room now splashing up against the opposite wall, where an actual door sat.

"Molly, over here." she calls the other over, distracted. She can't hide the awe of discovery in her voice. "I think this is the way out."

Or the beginning of the end.

She looks back again at the others. They'd have to follow when they awaken.

[bookcrazI]

Molly:
I walked over to her and bit my lip, step one to surviving a horror movie: never explore the house. Besides, the others would be killed easily if something were to come in and attack us.

"Uh, is it really a good idea to make an opening before the other are awake. Horror movie tip one oh one : always wait to have all your assets assesed before you explore. If you have to explore at all." I say a bit worried.

(what shall we do about the people?)

[quetzalcoatl]

What had she just said? Charlotte frowned immediately.

"Listen, brat, don't lecture me on 'horror movie 101.' I've lived through more horror movies than you've had birthdays." Her biting tone was not one to be disobeyed. "Are you suggesting we just sit here and twiddle our thumbs, then? We have no food, no water, no weapons, no chance of escape. This single hole is the only way out of this room that we know of," she continues to pull off large chucks of thin metal to prove her point, "So start digging."

Incoherent muttering comes from Charlotte. She's a hitwoman, for someone's sake. She can handle herself, and anyone who decided to cling on.

Besides, she was the seventh best sprinter in the state coming out of high school.

"We have one week to get out of here, Molly. Do you know how long a human can survive without water? Three. And god know what he - she - it will do after that week is up."

(( We'll be getting another member in a few moments, so don't worry. ))

[bookcrazI]

Molly: I frowned back at her. "Don't call me a brat, cause I'm anything but. I'm may be wierd, stupid, a dork, but not a brat." I say with equal venom, I don't like to be called names.
"I do happen to know how long a human can last without nessesities, I studied to be a doctor! But now I'm in this freaking hell hole with someone who isn't thinking it out!" I say getting angry.

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