SAMPLES First Person: Previously played at gargleblasted, typical text post here.
Third Person: Badou, a rag-tag stray with a rust red cloth bandage wrapped around half his head, is reeling from the light.
Well, to be fair, he is reeling from a lot of things – like the sudden abduction by fuck-knows-who into what looks like a completely different world. The absence of city clamour and loud voices sets his teeth on edge, and the panic seeping from the silence soaks into his ruddy sneakers (coating old layers of fearthrillanxiety). The boy takes off the open street as quickly as his long legs can take him, seeking any dark elsewhere (anywhere but here, where it's quiet enough to hear the sprinklers on the lawns, like some kinda horror movie.)
But the light, the damn light – it's brighter than anything he can ever remember experiencing, in a run-down faded flat, with electricity bills that just don’t pay themselves. His vision, half-obscured from the start, is flickering unreliably, like a lightbulb swinging in a closet; he takes a corner into the shadows sharply, finally looking upupup from the safer vantage of (relative) dark. The one bright green reflexively snaps back down, off the unbelievable, bright speck above, achingaching (like his right eye isn't anymore, but he can't focus long enough to process it, that healed wound). He blinks, stumbles with the pain of it, covering his remaining eye with a bandaged hand. He sways, once, twice, feeling sick.
And like a gangly foal (like a gangly fool), he trips face-first into a rose bush.
"Shit! Fuckin' -- goddamnit -- !"
Is it your perfectly manicured lawn he's destroying?
OTHER Housing Request?: 1470 Did you read the rules and FAQ?: Yep! Would you like your application to be unscreened?: Sure.
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Re: badou nails | dogs | unreserved
First Person: Previously played at gargleblasted, typical text post here.
Third Person: Badou, a rag-tag stray with a rust red cloth bandage wrapped around half his head, is reeling from the light.
Well, to be fair, he is reeling from a lot of things – like the sudden abduction by fuck-knows-who into what looks like a completely different world. The absence of city clamour and loud voices sets his teeth on edge, and the panic seeping from the silence soaks into his ruddy sneakers (coating old layers of fearthrillanxiety). The boy takes off the open street as quickly as his long legs can take him, seeking any dark elsewhere (anywhere but here, where it's quiet enough to hear the sprinklers on the lawns, like some kinda horror movie.)
But the light, the damn light – it's brighter than anything he can ever remember experiencing, in a run-down faded flat, with electricity bills that just don’t pay themselves. His vision, half-obscured from the start, is flickering unreliably, like a lightbulb swinging in a closet; he takes a corner into the shadows sharply, finally looking upupup from the safer vantage of (relative) dark. The one bright green reflexively snaps back down, off the unbelievable, bright speck above, achingaching (like his right eye isn't anymore, but he can't focus long enough to process it, that healed wound). He blinks, stumbles with the pain of it, covering his remaining eye with a bandaged hand. He sways, once, twice, feeling sick.
And like a gangly foal (like a gangly fool), he trips face-first into a rose bush.
"Shit! Fuckin' -- goddamnit -- !"
Is it your perfectly manicured lawn he's destroying?
OTHER
Housing Request?: 1470
Did you read the rules and FAQ?: Yep!
Would you like your application to be unscreened?: Sure.