Username: worshipthesquid
Do you have some writing examples?: oh gosh, do I. Um, I really like designing probability-guided choose-your-own-adventure things (literally true, wow, this is basically my dream job), and I have a (sadly incomplete) choose-your-own-adventure story on storynexus, which I can tweak until it's playable if you'd like? In addition to that, I have ~5 years' worth of roleplaying experience, and yeah I'm just going to quote some stuff before I start rambling more.
The grinding of Maria’s teeth was quite audible through the receiver for a few long seconds before she replied, her voice straining for emotionlessness. “With all due respect, sir, I wouldn’t even be calling you right now if you bastards hadn’t -” She paused and looked down at the script, then laughed (or, well, made a approximation of a laugh, sans humour). “Ahahaha. That is, we at the Station will admit that having access to StrexCorp’s resources had its benefits, and so would love to…” She grimaced. “Open a dialogue. Between ourselves and a representative capable of relative neutrality, or at least of not actively trying to convert or ‘heal’ everyone they come across.” She tightened her hand around the phone until the casing creaked, and waited a couple of seconds. “Well?” she demanded.
[response]
Maria was taken aback by Blackwater’s obvious irritation - weren’t those Strex drones supposed to be all about eternal smiles and that awful, unflinchingly upbeat outlook? - before mentally shrugging. That was probably why he was on the liaison candidacy list, she reasoned. Whatever. It didn’t much matter; at least it made talking to him slightly more bearable. Speaking of which…
She took a deep, controlled breath, hand still flexing around the phone. “…Of course. I believe the first item on the agenda is, uh…” She checked the script. “Yeah. The idea is to see if it’s possible to come to an arrangement where there’s a kind of - truce.” On the last word her voice returned to a hiss and she passed a hand over her eyes, jaw set, before ploughing onwards. “Information exchanges, opportunities for staff to observe each other’s, ah, business practises, that - that sort of thing.”
Maria paused again, wishing away the headache beginning to throb at her temples, then continued, now even more obviously reading from a prepared statement. “For now we’re aiming for a StrexCorp employee in a liasory capacity taking on a diplomatic role, and you were picked as one of the most likely candidates -” for some reason, she managed to stop herself from adding - “due to your nonstandard employment arrangement. Your duties would be negotiable and almost entirely informal.”
She leaned back in her chair, away from the script, not bothering to add anything more. Either he took the job (or ‘assignment’, or 'role’, or whatever she was supposed to call it) or he didn’t; as far as she was concerned, she had done the best she could be expected to, recruitment-wise. She looked back at the script and realised that she was truly angry, something that she hadn’t been in a long, long time - ever since she had realised that it didn’t do anything except make her a target, if she was honest with herself. Well, to hell with that. They’d beaten Strex, and for what? To talk with them about liaisons and information exchanges, apparently.
“…has been traffic. Oh, listeners, it appears that the travelling void that only a few minutes ago appeared on the junction of Oxford Road and Ouroboros Road has now vanished back into the nothingness from which it came. Although gambling is, of course, discouraged, as it can decrease productivity in the workplace, I am happy to announce that Intern Anatole here has therefore won his bet on the topic of the void’s disappearance, a bet that was made against none other than Steve Carlsberg! It is not my place to gloat, listeners, but I have to say that - Oh. Well, I guess that that ‘discouragement’ is being enforced a little more strongly than I’d thought, judging by the masked and smiling men who are even now dragging Intern Anatole out of the studio. Sorry, Anatole! On to this week’s Community Calendar…”
The newest intern blinked in the dim light of the Community Radio Station reception area, looking out into the bright midday street. She (she? Yes, that felt familiar) wasn’t sure how long she’d been standing there, or what she’d been doing beforehand. She rubbed absent-mindedly at a burning sensation on one shoulder, already fading. Had there been anything before? Was the fact that she didn’t remember that important? The room, the reception area, seemed like she’d known it for a while: without turning round she could picture off the paper-strewn desk, the rickety chairs held together with tape, hope and superglue… But outside, through the door she faced, was blank.
There seemed to be an obvious solution to this lack of knowledge. Wiping her palms down on the fabric of her t-shirt, the new intern stepped out into the street that had so recently gained two inhabitants. There was no harm in looking around a bit, right?
(Both from my old Night Vale rp blog u_u)
How active are you on CS?: Alas, not very outside of holidays : //
Do you have skype?: yup!
Other: hehe, sorry, I know this is oversubscribed u_u I'd be happy to apply for Tutor as well, but I wasn't sure if I was allowed to apply for more than one position?
u want commissions? u better pm me boi 
