SAMPLES First Person: [The blonde woman appears on screen, with a strict expression on her face, her hair pulled into a tight braid behind her head. She stands a little more upright as she realizes the camera is recording.]
Two questions. [She clears her throat, eyeing the device as if she doesn't trust it to actually be working - she had never seen anything like it back where she was from, after all.]
One: Where can I get weapons here? I'm not referring to just firearms, though I'm also interested in knowing where I can get those.
And two: What can you tell me about the Library here? What sort of information is given? I dislike wasting my time, so if someone could sum it up for me I'd-- [The lowest and most discreet sigh coupled with a minute eyeroll.] -- appreciate it.
[She's about to disconnect, when she adds, in a tone just as serious.] I'm Lieutenant Helga Sinclair. Sinclair will suffice.
Third Person: She disliked everything.
It was hard to pick what was worse in this place, when everything seemed to be on a similar level of absurdity. First and foremost, the perfect lines of perfect houses stuck out like a sore thumb. It was a kind of place she'd never ask for, and quite frankly she would never want to either. To find herself as not only a homeowner, but also supposedly "married" to a complete stranger, she had to seek strength in herself to just not burn the whole house down to the ground.
Sitting on the stairs that led up to the front door of her house, she entertained the thought again, as she paused on cleaning her handgun and looked over her shoulder. Everything was so perfectly white it made her frown deepen, her eyes narrowing momentarily at how the bushes were trimmed and taken care of, flowers blooming in perfect shapes even though she hadn't laid a hand on them, or even looked twice at them, and the grass bright and moist, cut so evenly, even though she was yet to know how that happened.
The place was awful, and everything was ugly to her. The fact she knew herself to be trapped there didn't help either - she felt like a caged creature, even if she recognized that she was passing the point of rage and anger and reaching a stage of-- well, not acceptance, but resignation. There wasn't much she could do, she could recognize that much. She had tried, time and again, jumped over the fence, tried to dig a hole underneath it, tried to find the house of the man responsible... she couldn't explain or even begin to understand the forces at play here, but she knew from the information she had gathered, and kept in a neat stack of files upstairs, locked inside a drawer, that the only way she was getting out of here was when this landlord chose to send her away.
But most of all, it was the quiet. There was only so much she could do before she ran out of things, of ideas or plans to follow after. Here there wasn't anything that even remotely reminded her of the U.S. Army either, and while many a soldier would look at it as a blessing in disguise, find it a sort of vacation from what she knew many of the weaker ones saw as torture and pain, she could admit to herself what she wouldn't to anyone else: without a job for her to do, without orders to follow herself, and to make others follow, she felt a little lost.
OTHER Housing Request?: None. Did you read the rules and FAQ?: Yes! Reread them, even. Would you like your application to be unscreened?: Go ahead!
ACCEPTED Congrats, your application has been accepted! Your character is now living at 1495 in Holly Heights, with a spouse slot. In order to get the ball rolling, here's what you need to do:
Comment back with the journal you'll be using for your character so that they can be accepted into the communities.
Create an IC Mailbox post on your characters journal that is not friends only. You are also free to treat this as an information holding post with your character's family and address listed if you wish.
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Helga Sinclair | Atlantis: The Lost Empire | RESERVED
First Person:
[The blonde woman appears on screen, with a strict expression on her face, her hair pulled into a tight braid behind her head. She stands a little more upright as she realizes the camera is recording.]
Two questions. [She clears her throat, eyeing the device as if she doesn't trust it to actually be working - she had never seen anything like it back where she was from, after all.]
One: Where can I get weapons here? I'm not referring to just firearms, though I'm also interested in knowing where I can get those.
And two: What can you tell me about the Library here? What sort of information is given? I dislike wasting my time, so if someone could sum it up for me I'd-- [The lowest and most discreet sigh coupled with a minute eyeroll.] -- appreciate it.
[She's about to disconnect, when she adds, in a tone just as serious.] I'm Lieutenant Helga Sinclair. Sinclair will suffice.
Third Person:
She disliked everything.
It was hard to pick what was worse in this place, when everything seemed to be on a similar level of absurdity. First and foremost, the perfect lines of perfect houses stuck out like a sore thumb. It was a kind of place she'd never ask for, and quite frankly she would never want to either. To find herself as not only a homeowner, but also supposedly "married" to a complete stranger, she had to seek strength in herself to just not burn the whole house down to the ground.
Sitting on the stairs that led up to the front door of her house, she entertained the thought again, as she paused on cleaning her handgun and looked over her shoulder. Everything was so perfectly white it made her frown deepen, her eyes narrowing momentarily at how the bushes were trimmed and taken care of, flowers blooming in perfect shapes even though she hadn't laid a hand on them, or even looked twice at them, and the grass bright and moist, cut so evenly, even though she was yet to know how that happened.
The place was awful, and everything was ugly to her. The fact she knew herself to be trapped there didn't help either - she felt like a caged creature, even if she recognized that she was passing the point of rage and anger and reaching a stage of-- well, not acceptance, but resignation. There wasn't much she could do, she could recognize that much. She had tried, time and again, jumped over the fence, tried to dig a hole underneath it, tried to find the house of the man responsible... she couldn't explain or even begin to understand the forces at play here, but she knew from the information she had gathered, and kept in a neat stack of files upstairs, locked inside a drawer, that the only way she was getting out of here was when this landlord chose to send her away.
But most of all, it was the quiet. There was only so much she could do before she ran out of things, of ideas or plans to follow after. Here there wasn't anything that even remotely reminded her of the U.S. Army either, and while many a soldier would look at it as a blessing in disguise, find it a sort of vacation from what she knew many of the weaker ones saw as torture and pain, she could admit to herself what she wouldn't to anyone else: without a job for her to do, without orders to follow herself, and to make others follow, she felt a little lost.
OTHER
Housing Request?: None.
Did you read the rules and FAQ?: Yes! Reread them, even.
Would you like your application to be unscreened?: Go ahead!
Accepted
Congrats, your application has been accepted! Your character is now living at 1495 in Holly Heights, with a spouse slot. In order to get the ball rolling, here's what you need to do:
I hope you enjoy your stay here!