Çïrqµê Ðê lå Lµñê {Semi-Lit Professional Circus Roleplay}

[Kites]

{{Accepted both :D wow, fantastic form Wing!}}

[Bluish]

Danny Djokovic

Starlight bounced off the lights in the dimly lit room and reflected off Danny's sunglasses. Black and shiny, they covered Danny's beautiful blue eyes and rested on the bridge of her slightly misshapen nose. Danny's eyes scanned the room and a groan stuck in her throat and a crease in her brow.

She was sitting on a dusty hotel bed. The bed itself was okay - the doona was soft and fluffy, but the pillow was flat and the mattress hard. The walls surrounding her were painted a eye-blinding neon pink and the floor carpeted with rough pale white flooring. There was a faded brown dresser on the left side of the room with a dust-caked mirror sitting above it and 6 drawers, only one of them filled with Danny's clothes. Beside that, the room was bare and completely uninviting. Danny was renting it for an unbelievable price, but she needed it. Cirque De La Lune was in town, and Danny was part of it.

Danny sighed and wandered over to the dresser, her feet dragging on the frayed carpeting and her eyes searching the grey mirror for her reflection. She ripped open a creaky, and tough, drawer and pulled out an old towel, rubbing it against the window. To Danny's dismay, it didn't help in the slightest. She continued to the bathroom and soaked the heavy towel, dripping down the hallway as she carried it back to her room drearily.

An audible moan emitted from Danny's throat as she scrubbed the window painfully, a bead of sweat resting on her brow. "Ack," Danny groaned as she moved back from the mirror and observed her hardly visible progress. Finally, she gave up and decided to use the smokey window to do her make up - she didn't have much time left. The towel was un-lovingly thrown into the bathroom, landing on the tiled floor with a sad and somber 'flop'.

A black, silver striped bag made a clunking sound as Danny placed it onto the dresser quite roughly. The un-cooperating zipper was yanked open and the bag's contents, mostly make up, spilled all over the dresser top. Danny sifted through the various types of make up for her brush, as she always started with her hair. Her butcher-like hand pulled the brush out of the face powders and she started ripping through her hair viciously, making a deadly expression at the mirror.

2 hours later, Danny had already applied most of her underlying make up and completed her hair. It was slung up into a concrete-tight bun, the purpose to stay up, not to look glamorous. Danny's ocean blue eyes drifted down to the only make up left on the dresser top. Mascara. She frowned and picked it up, eager to get it over with. Before long, the towel was back in her room and covered with black make up. It took a long time, but eventually, Danny had gotten the mascara on without it getting in, around, or anywhere near her eyeball. She quickly changed into a shimmering black leotard with barely visible stockings. Danny slung a sports bag, containing makeup and clothes, around her shoulder and headed down the hallway of the dreary hotel.

[sighs - this took a while x3 But it was fun]

[Nostalgia]

Angel

"In Hollywood a girl's virtue is much less important than her hairdo. You're judged by how you look, not by what you are. Hollywood's a place where they'll pay you a thousand dollars for kiss, and fifty cents for your soul. I know, because I turned down the first offer often enough and held out for the fifty."
Marilyn Monroe

The girl smirked as she lit the torches again to practice one last time. She was already in her costume, a crimson and orange top in an Arabian style cut down to reveal her belly button. Carmine and gold beads were hanging down from it and a matching skirt with a longer back was held in place with two rows of them. On each of her legs was a bracelet made of dark red cloth with small sequins sewn into it to make it glitter. Her mist-grey eyes were covered with amber coloured contact lenses, so they would fit her costume. She was barefoot, but her toes and fingers were painted tangelo and small red crystals were stuck to them. Her make up was simple; gold glitter covered her face and red eyeshadow was put on her eyelids. Her lips were covered with scarlet lipstick. Her hair, let down and sprayed with venetian red glitter would sparkle in the circus lights as she danced.

Angel started twirling the two sticks in a swift, practiced motion, faster and faster until they became a blur. Her feet lightly touched the ground when she began the dance, the fire flying around her and narrowly missing her bouncing hair. When she slowed down a little, the flames moved to make a flower shape, then changed direction again as they circled her, throwing burning sparks around her. She finished by throwing them up in the air, still spinning, and catching them again as she curtsied in an old fashioned way. She extinguished them and finally looked at the clock.

She was in a huge room with a high cealing, the floor dark wood and the walls cream white. On the sides, there were a few shelves, cupboards, a table and a tiny fridge, and in one corner was a bed. This was the whole apartment. It only had one main room separated by a curtain, which was now carelessly thrown onto a chair, so it wouldn't bother the fire dancer. There was a small bathroom, but it only had the necessary equipment, it wasn't too exquisite. The girl was renting this place for a while, until the circus moved out of town. She had enough money for a bigger home, since she gave lessons in dancing for amateurs and she was payed quite a lot just in the circus, but she picked this apartment because it was perfect for practicing and it was across the street from where the circus was stationed. She spent most of her time in the arena anyway, so she didn't need it to be comfortable. If it turned out that they were staying here longer, she would just find something else. For now, she was fine.

When she realised what time it was, she grabbed her shoulder bag from the table, pulled her shoes and jacket on and ran out of her home, locking the door quickly before sprinting across the now empty road and reaching the backstage entry of the circus in an astonishing time of two minutes, still carrying the torches and a lighter. She slowed to a fast walk, opened the door and proceeded down the stairs, checking her make up in one of the mirrors to see if it hadn't been destroyed in her warm-up run across the street. Fortunately, it was still fine. She left her bag, coat and shoes near one of the chairs, noting that Aeon's things were already there, then walked down the stairs, smiling warmly when she saw Alexia, her father and the two performers. "Are the rest here yet?" she asked, winking playfully at the little girl who looked unbearably cute in her outfit.

"There is a woman at the beginning of all great things."
Alphonse Lamartine

[Harpy•]

◙○•Tικααиι Fιℓтιαяи•○◙
Flames encircled his arms, etched into his skin in delicate shades of red and orange, a hint of black decoring the tips and outer edges. They flickered over his bare chest and crossed over his torso, tinting his skin the color of his passion; fire. A baton was held loosely in his left hand, the tip of it engulfed in the lively substance that was the inspiration of his tattoos.

The room was dark, pitch-black, just as he liked it when practicing. The flames from the baton flickered dimly in the reflection of his eyes, his chest slowly rising and falling with his breathing. And, in a sudden flurry of motion, the baton created a ribbon of flowing fire, twirling and curling around him in a glowing, fiery circle, his arms straining to twist and maneuver the batons in the complicated display he'd practiced so many times before. He could feel the sweat begin to bead on his skin, dotting the surface of it like dew, trailing down the side of his face. His breathing quickened slightly with his exertion, building up to the climax of his practice, and of tonight's performance.

He drew himself up to his full height, bringing the brightly-glowing baton up in a high, elaborate arch above his head, one arm held out behind him as he brought the fire to his lips. He felt the delicious burning as the flames just barely brushed over his lips, pulling in the deepest breath he could manage. In a great exhalation of air, he unleased his breath on the flame, closing his eyes as the flame expanded to double, triple, quadruple its original size, whooshing into the air like a rocket from the launcher it was held in. The explosion of it was clearly audible, a large crackling that emenated throughout the entire medium-sized arena.

He watched in a type of trance as the fire diminished, retracting back towards him, but disappearing before it could touch him. He twirled the baton between his fingers absentmindedly, using it as a light source as he moved over to a chair in the corner of the arena, upon with a towel had been hung with the shirt he had taken off before practicing. He glanced at a clock hanging on the wall just above his head, and sighed; it was time.

He dried his face and torso with the towel, laying it back on the chair before exiting the arena, baton still in hand. He walked past two doorways in the hallway he had entered, entering the third and passing through to the bathroom. It was his room, a small one, but he didn't need anything too large; he was rarely in it, anyways. It was quaint and tidy, functional while not seeming like someone with OCD lived in it. In the bathroom there were two shelves beside the mirror above the sink, containing rows of his circus performance things; body and face paint, mostly, though the body pain was not as needed, given his tattoos. He pressed his lips together, then chose a couple of corresponding fiery colors to decorate his cheeks and forehead, applying it with the aide of the mirror before him.

He knew he would be slightly late, but only by a few minutes at the most; not enough to anger the ringmaster, unless he was particularly anxious, and certainly not enough to endanger the set time for the performances. He finished applying the face paint---an intricate design of flames intertwining around his face, crossing over his cheeks and on his forehead---and took hold of two specialized batons, painted for the performance occasion, holding them in one hand before heading back out into the hallway, heading towards the meeting place of the ringmaster and other performers, which happened to be in an easy walking distance of his living quarters.

[Aғтɛя Ɩ Ғαℓℓ]

ChAySe DyRe HuNtEr

"Chayse? Chayse are you listening to me?" A man was talking, his arms folded over his chest and his face stern.Across from him, one leg up on a long bar, stood the girl he was talking to, Chayse Dyre Hunter, stretching. Her black eyes flickered towards him and sighing, she swung her leg down gently and stood in front of him, looking at him with mock surprise. "Of course I'm listening," She said. "No big illusions, nothing major that I can injure myself in. Don't stress, I do this all the time!" He was about to retaliate but she gave him a smile, turned and walked away. Chayse was something of a bad girl, always thinking up something daring and dangerous. She didn't care what others thought of her. Sure, she was sweet and kind, but she also had a devilish side to her. Recently, she had been suffering from a bad shoulder injury, having to miss out on half of this seasons shows. It wasn't fun for her and after having thought for ages, she decided to come back immediately after she was good. The doctors weren't happy, but she was so passionate about being in the circus, she really didn't care what she did.

Walking towards her dressing room, the illusionist opened the door and sat down on her chair in front of the make-up table. In the distance, she heard someone call out the times and she pouted in the mirror. Picking her spirits back up again she reached out from bits and pieces of makeup that she usually wore - mascara, eye liner, lipstick and eye shadow - applying it carefully. Once she was happy with the result, she dressed slowly, slipping on a black and white, knee length frilly dress with gaps around the waist and also 2 inch high heels. She stared at herself in the mirror, happy with the result before walking outside towards the others. As she passed, she watched as several different acts practiced and performed. Looking around, she pressed forward to the meeting area for all of the acts.

[Sorry, I'm suffering from WB. Terrible, I know...]

[Sparkly Ninja]

((I have found a very interesting piece of information, .

Semi-Lit: A semi-literate role player is someone who is able to post about a paragraph or two per post and fairly descriptive, tuned grammar and punctuation as well as being able to obey the rules as much as they can. Most role plays are semi-literate because a wider portion of the public are semi-literate in comparison to fully literate role players.

Literate: These types of role players have a wide knowledge of role play, as they have usually had much practice. They are able to type at least two paragraphs per post without dribbling nonsense, use finely-tunned imagery, grammar and punctuation. They may use more fonts than others and have a full understanding of the rules and strive to uphold them. Literate role plays are not as common as others on a role play forum that wasn't originally made for role play. Some websites that are built entirely on the role plays that occur on it, are literate.

So I believe that this is a literate RP, not a semi-lit. I'm not sure if this matters at all, just wanted to tell ya.))

[Kites]

Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to Cirque de la Lune...

Damien looked up as the first performer arrived: Aeon. He unwrapped his arms from around his daughter, and nodded at Aeon with a smile. "Afternoon Aeon, ready for tonight I assume?" He asked, his hands sliding into his coat pockets. As Aeon greeted them, Damien laughed. "No, she looks like her mother through and through. Don't you my dear?" He picked up his daughter and spun her round, their tails whipping around their legs as he came to a stop. He did feel his mood drop slightly as he mentioned Rose. It was like an old wound, decieving, pretending to be healed when at the slightest amount of pressure, it opens right back up again. He bit his toungue, and hitched the smile that had faltered back onto his face.
"Daddy!" Alexia squealed, laughing gleefully and pulling a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. She giggled as Allete entered the room.
Damien nodded at her, like he ad with Aeon, with the same welcoming smile. "Bonjour Allete!" chirped Alexia, adding as an after thought, "How was much accent? I'm trying to be like daddy and be able to speak everywhere!" Damien chuckled, shaking his head behind his daughters back. He tilted his head towards Aeon and said softly, "It'll take her years", with a small smirk. Though he did have to admit, his daughter did have a knack for it. Indeed, she did sound like she was french, and she had already perfected the British and American accents, probably due to Damien slipping into them so often. Perhaps he just didn't want to admit that she was better than him.
Damien's head snapped up as he heard Angel's voice echo through the what was empty theatre, and he shook his head. "Not yet, still a few! Though everyone is arriving on time, so I think that the meeting will start soon enough". He looked up at the woman who was descending the stairs towards the stage, and studied her make-up and costume. After a quick look around, his face broke into a wide grin. Everyone did look fantastic as usual, but tonight, it seemed like everyone had pulled out all the stops. Glitter sparkled at him from all angles, and he found his eyes dancing from each one of the performers, exactly like they should.
Damien looked at his silver watch once again. It was only five o'clock, people weren't late yet. He found that his temper always shortened on performing nights, and if anyone backchatted to him, he could flip out. Though, he thought that he handled it pretty well compared to most other ringleaders. Anyone in his position would feel on edge, for if a performer was late, had an accident, or if anything else horrific happened, all eyes would turn to him. Questions would be raised, doubts and rumours would spread. Like the old saying “It takes years to build a good reputation, and only seconds to destroy it".

{{Hi all, sorry I haven't posted in yeons, I've had exams all week. I've got a collage trip until Monday night, so it will be very unlikely that I will be able to post/be online until then. Sorry, but after that I will be more active!}}

[Kryptonite]

Raiven

Staring.
One minute, two minutes...
Time passed by and Raiven only looked at herself in the mirror, thoughtless and serene. She was enveloped in silence, somewhere in a dark back room, makeup scattered on a stone counter-top infront of her.
She had never liked dressing up for shows. She hated to rush.
So Raiven had arrived early, and spent time pondering silently over her disguise for the night, letting minutes slip away until eventually, a grand new idea came to her. Each night she would try to change up her 'mask', for the sake of individuality of the shows.
Gently twisting the cap on the tub of black face paint, Raiven heard people enter the building in some distant corridor, probably arriving to practice or warm up for their act.
She pushed her fingers into the black cream-like substance and dragged, collecting a small pile of the face-paint on her fingertips, then smeared it onto the right side of her face, smoothing it our slightly, so it covered three quarters of the half. Then she selected a flat, rounded brush from the countertop and used it to form the paint's edges into tips and swirls curling over her chin, lips and thin, dark eyebrows. New ideas running through her mind, Raiven quickly went on to pick out a thin brush and dip it in a less dense, navy blue paint, forming stems of twirls and curls on the ends of the black - from far away, barely noticable.
She cracked open a stiff tube of glitter and used a fresh brush to drag it along the edge, outlining the fierce black with a sparkling silver powder. An impulse of creativity forced her to stick tiny gems on aswell, strongly emphasising the area around her icy-blue eye, which was completely filled in black - lid, lashes, waterline and all.
However, her left eye was still bare, but was soon being lined with silver glitter and gems.
Raiven looked at her makeup int he mirror. She thought she had dumped on a gallon of glitter, and expected her face to look like a toddler's princess-halloween-costume, but it turned out to be a perfect balance between the solemn black, hint of night-blue, and well-rationed sparkle.
(sorry this is so late and so short, I'll post more later)

[Kites]

{{Bump}}

[Kites]

{{Bump D:}}