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| What chu say?! DragonicFlames's Registering? | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Feb 18 2009, 10:19 PM (128 Views) | |
| DragonicFlames | Feb 18 2009, 10:19 PM Post #1 |
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Name: DF, DF0rz, Flames, whatever... doesn't matter. Roleplaying Experience: Started when I was nine, so ten years. Woot woot. Preferred Roleplay Style: Pretty much anything that hits my eyeball glintingly. :D Me no like the profile forms. Just saying. Roleplaying Sample: His sleep was interrupted by the sound of running feet and some sort of squealing noise that resembled the word “Tony!” He rolled onto his back with irritation, just as the running feet stopped at the side of his bed, which was followed by his midsection being landed on by a heavy weight. “Holy shi-” the words almost flew out of his mouth as he tried to suck in air. The weight started bouncing on all fours over him, and then eventually stood up to bounce on the bed chanting “Tony's gotta go to work. Tony's gotta get. Tony's gotta... Tony's gotta!” Jesus Christ on a cracker... He thought as he pulled the cover off his body and looked blearily at bouncing figure. “When are you going to remember my name is An-tho-ny?” He stressed each syllable in his name clearly. He sat up and turned to put his feet on the floor, “Now get out of here. I gotta get ready for work.” He rubbed his eyes with the back on his right hand and the bouncing figure continued to bounce for a good minute or two. “I said, get outta here. I've got to get ready.” The bouncing figure finally managed to stop bouncing and slipped off the bed with a pouting face. “And close the damn door when you go out.” He said flinging his left arm in the direction of the door. The girl managed to move toward the door and stopped to look back as she grabbed onto the door handle. “Thanks, 'Nessa.” She smiled and skipped out of the room, closing the door behind her. “Jesus Christ.” He said when he saw that the clock blankly stated 2:00 in the afternoon. “I'm not supposed to deal with this shit this early in the morning.” He rubbed the back of his neck and stretched. “Well, what the fuck. Gotta get up anyway.” He picked himself up off the bed and walked toward the mirrored door of the closet. Anthony Jason Smith was twenty-nine, almost thirty and still taking care of his twin kid sisters Vanessa and Anabelle while his mother rotted in jail for stealing. He hadn't seen his sisters for years, he had left when he was eighteen when they were one year old. His mother had been screwing around with several guys at the time and Anthony had been glad to get out of the house. It wasn't that the life that he lived was bad, it was that he was tired of seeing his mother live like she wasn't embarrassing him every night that she went out looking for prince charming. He didn't need a new dad, and he sure as hell was tired of the mother that she was becoming. Frequently, he had to get a job to pay for the rent or the food, but it had only been him and her for the longest time so it was ok. When she became pregnant with Vanessa and Anabelle, she had promised that everything would be better. It didn't get better. She couldn't figure out who she had slept with during the time before she knew she was pregnant. The court refused to drag out a settlement case if she couldn't find who was the father or fathers. He didn't stick around after that, all the court crap was putting their money down the drain and he wasn't going to work his ass off at a shit job because she wanted a free check every month. Hell she was already getting that with him in work too. Vanessa and Anabelle weren't identical, by any means of the word. Vanessa had dark brown curly hair with big brown eyes and a slightly olive cast to her skin, while Anabelle had red hair and green eyes and the palest skin Anthony had ever seen. The only think that made them look anything like their mother was their faces, both had the same bone structure and the same facial features. He knew that they would become beautiful women. He did have a little bit of a sweet spot for pretty girls. But he was definitely a little biased with his sisters, they were the only beautiful angels on the face of the planet. He was all his father, Marc Smith, as his mother used to remind him all the time when he had a temper. He wasn't even sure what his father looked like, Anthony considered himself a mutt of racial background. Dark eyes, black and hallow looking from a distance, with shoulder length straight black hair. As he grew, he outgrew his mother by sixteen at six feet. But he managed to only grow two or so more inches after that. His nose was crooked, from being broken at least three times in multiple fights when he was in high school. What did it matter that he'd put on a couple pounds in the last couple of years. He didn't really show it underneath his clothing anyway. He managed to tug a pair of jeans, some sort of solid blue t-shirt and a button down black work shirt. He maneuvered the clothing over to the chest of drawers that was right next to the closet and gathered the necessary undergarments that were required to finish the ensemble. “Whatever.” He said to himself, annoyed that he had been awoken so early. He managed to get into the bathroom, he dumped his clothes on the floor. Carefully looking around the bathroom, just in case, he closed the door and locked it. Then he quickly moved over to the window, it was still locked from the last time he took a shower. He closed the curtains and walked over to the tub. He gently spun the shower's knob and ducked out of the way as the water came crashing down. It didn't take long for him to get undressed and soon he was in the tub getting soaked by the continuous stream of water. He sucked in a breath... and started singing... Anthony was nine when his powers developed, hitting puberty did that to a person. His voice cracked and suddenly whenever he started talking to people with some sort of emotion in his voice, they also started to turn that way. His voice could change peoples entire emotional state; it was an awkward power for a long time. He originally had thought that music would be his expression of his power, able to influence the masses. But he soon found that the recording software could not retain the same emotional influence as being in person could. It was almost as if he had no effect and was just a normal person. That was no use to him. He decided to look elsewhere for his abilities. It didn't take long the mafia was the first group he could find, after singing the bodyguards of the head of the family to mere frightened children. He became well know around the circles of the underground as the Harpy. While he didn't mind being compared with Harpies of legend, he rather disliked that most people thought that 'the Harpy' was a woman. He'd been arrested too many times to count in connection with various groups, but the police never found anything on him. All he did was sing after all. His identity was pretty much private only to the vary few groups that he had worked for and of course the police who weren't allowed to release his identity as he was not convicted of doing anything. He didn't care what the results of his singing were, just as long as they allowed him to get paid. He'd sung many people into revealing secrets, many of which probably got them killed. He was a manipulator of the emotions. Unfortunately, his hearing was leaving him and he could not use his ability when he could not hear. Too often he had used his voice to reach such a high note that it inflicted pain to him as well as everyone else. He didn't have the control that others might have over their powers, more often than not the emotions from his songs would leave the entire room in the state of his song. Everyone had to leave the room that didn't want to be affected. About six years ago, his sisters were dropped unexpectedly in his lap while his mother was sent to prison for stealing money from her work. He'd been angry and hurt at her unthinking. Once again she was messing with his life, he couldn't stand it until he saw his sisters faces red and puffy. It was hard for someone who'd built up a tolerance to withstand people's crying to admit that he would never let any harm come to these two kids. He immediately set out to make their lives better putting them in private schools and using the money he had stored up to build some sort of college fund for them. He had wanted to have the chance at a college education, after all he had been in the top twenty-five percent of his class. These two had an opportunity and he was willing to work twice as hard in the dirty business of gang wars to get them through. He turned off the water and pulled a towel down from the rack to dry off with. He wanted to live life freely without having to worry about where the next paycheck was coming from. He also wanted to work in a respectable job, but with his hearing leaving him the opportunity was becoming limited. He'd talked with several doctors about it, eventually he'd have to start wearing hearing aids and then... his world would become silence. Tugging the last piece of clothing on and buttoning the black shirt, he looked at himself in the mirror. What he feared most in the world was having Anabelle or Vanessa hurt, even more so, he feared that they would find out about his lifestyle as help to gangsters. It would shame him beyond any reason of the doubt. He stuffed his keys, his cellphone, and his wallet in his jeans pocket and shoved his feet into some shoes. It didn't take long for him to find where the twins were, parked in front of the TV. After he'd fed both of the twins, he put the kids with a preferred babysitter. This babysitter was also their teacher, he was good with tutoring them on various subjects. Anthony had often watched from a distance how the babysitter dealt with them. He'd done a rigid background search along with some private investigations; he wasn't leaving his kid sisters with just anyone. They both followed him to the door like lost puppies. He hugged both of them, repeatedly, and then closed the door shutting the small piece of treasure in his world off from the shit hole that was the rest of the world. He got a call as soon as he reached his motorcycle in the garage that was underneath the large apartment complex. He flipped open the phone and answered with a “What the hell do you want?” He unlocked the case on the back of the bike where he stored his helmet and his riding gloves. “What the hell man. I don't do that shit and you know it.” He held the phone in between his shoulder and his cheek as he slipped on the gloves. He spoke as he picked up his helmet out of the box and closed the lid. “Look you got a problem with some other superhuman go call in your connections to the Rat or the Viper or some other shit animal name that you've got stock piled.” He leaned the bike just enough to swing his leg over the side of it, and straddled the machine. “Look, I'm not that... Whatever, man. I know enough... Yeah... So fucking what?” He held his helmet against his knee looking around the parking garage. “Just... fine.” He said finally. “I'm pissed and I'm not going to do shit.” He paused and listened the other person. “Brooklyn Bridge? What the hell are you doing there?” Three hours later he was standing on top of a car at the edge of the bridge looking at a burning shit hole. “How the hell did I end up here?” He said, as the wind blew some of the smoke toward him. |
| I write too much, but not often. :'D | |
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| Silvermourn | Feb 19 2009, 01:14 PM Post #2 |
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The Redneck, the Cynic, the Nerd, and the Hopeless Romantic
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(Approved) Welcome to the site, and glad to have you with us. Feel free to post an intro and in the roleplays. |
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"I mourn that which may have been but will never be." "Stupidity is a wound that bleeds forever; Intelligence is a blade that stays forever sharp" "An armed man will kill and unarmed man with monotonous regularity" "Nothing adds a little class to a sniper course like a babe in a Ghillie suit." "You have the rest of your life to solve your problems. How long you live depends on how well you do it." "Make your attacker advance through a wall of bullets. I may get killed with my own gun, but he's gonna have to beat me to death with it, 'cause it's going to be empty." | |
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