Hi everybody! Sumashira here!
I haven't gotten involved in any literate roleplays on Chicken Smoothie yet, but I have been roleplaying for over six years now and have been writing fiction since I was in first grade. I'm the kind of roleplayer who researches a topic if I don't know how to get into it; you don't have to worry about me not being able to do a certain type, style, or genre of roleplaying. I'm very good at adjusting and adapting; however, I'm not a fan of present tense (i.e. "she says"). I enjoy roleplaying almost everything, but I don't know anything about most anime, I'm not a fan of celebrities, and I don't particularly like historical roleplays. I don't really like homosexual relationships - it's just not in my comfort zone.
Judging by other peoples' applications, I may as well just offer what roleplays I have done and like to do: romance, runaway, family, dragons, mythological creatures, animals, humans (high school, kids, adults, creepy affairs at work...), shapeshifters, assassins, fighting... You get the gist. I can do pretty much anything that's offered up with a bit of research!
THE SUMMARY - what's my roleplaying like?adaptable, researches topics (accurate), semi-literate, prefers not to do present tense, can do most any roleplay, does not like historical roleplay, posts a minimum of three paragraphs, uses proper spelling, will not break CS rules
If you're like me (semi-literate, adaptable, and proper) then go ahead and send me a PM and we'll get something set up. :D
What do I want from you?No powerplaying, no god-modding, you need to pay attention to detail in my posts, please attempt three or more paragraphs (I'm not crazy picky, trust me - just make an effort)
OH RIGHT. An example. Hmm...
The young cub was already very slender. His dark tawny fur was spiked up all about him, especially on his neck which already seemed to be thicker than the rest of his fur, and his pale eyes which understood very little but the fact that everything he saw belonged to the Pride and, most importantly, his mother, were blazing like embers as he entered the cold, dead halls that were filled with sorrow and suffering, whines and cries, agony, misery, hate, hunger, too many emotions for a young cub to handle, but Ulrich wasn't a cub. He was more than that. He was the son of Florence, mother of the Pride, the queen who had carved fear on the all-too cocky threads of the vast canvas city known as Hexasol. He was the son of the artist, the magnificent lioness whose own claws painted truth and purity into the tainted world that believed felines and canines were equal.
It was he, Ulrich, son of the painter, the queen, the Alphess, who would someday carry out his mother's lifelong, core-deep desire to eradicate the entire race that infested Hexasol like termites, eating away at the stable foundation of society until the entire city came crumbling down to the miserable earth. They were destroying the city. They were ruining the glorious future that lie waiting for all the felines of Hexasol - they were ruining the future that lay waiting only for Ulrich, only for him and his mother's legacy, only for him and his future Pride... Yes... Ulrich thought, the fur along the entire length of his body trembling as it stood on end. I will be the king of the Pride when mother's time has come to rise to her eternal throne in the heavens... Mother will be proud of me... I will be like her shadow. When she falls to the claws of time, the canines may rejoice, but I shall rise like the Phoenix in the image of my mother... I will claim Hexasol in the name of the Pride.
Could such thoughts be imagined by one so young, one so very small? The child was tainted, heart and soul, with bloodlust and rage, hatred, scorn for all but the pure in the Pride. Those fools who lay idly waiting for the end of the battle in the Lexis Tribe were of no concern for Ulrich; he held no respect for them, not for those who believed in equality, for it was clear that felines were superior. While the Tempest Pack starved, the Iris Pride thrived simply because they were the greater species... Ulrich found his thoughts torn away at the sound of Mother's voice. His first reaction was to stand tall, eyes locked up at his mother, but it was not to him that his words were addressed; it was to the scum, the waste of warmth, food, and time that lay tormented in the bowels of the Iris Pride's Hospital. Ulrich could not recall entering a torture room before, but now, stepping inside, the cold air that stank of death blasted into his face and beckoned him deeper, whispering, "Your claws, my liege, are tools, and this wretch is the clay which you may mold with them... plaster your mark on her useless face...", made him shiver, a wicked smile that so greatly matched Florence's slipping over his dark face.
A smile of any magnitude, rhyme, or reason was unheard of for the son of the artist. He took pleasure in nothing, no apparent pleasure, really, but in what pleased Mother; stepping into this room was like stepping into his mother's very happiness. He enjoyed seeing this dog's pain, and indeed what pain it was. Scars marked the canine along every square inch of her emaciated body, countless crisscross patterns all about her, and it made Ulrich quiver. Someday it would be his turn to be the painter. The blood of numerous unlucky canines and traitors would stain his fur; he would let the blood run down his face, and all would learn to fear him, Ulrich, the son of the painter, the king of the Pride... The cub listened, eyes still ablaze and shining with excitement, as his mother loomed over the scum. The way his mother held herself, shoulders rippling with prowess, steps slow, low, and steady, made the male quiver - her lips and her mirthful tongue and the way they moved so fluidly, like a snake in a mating dance, gave Ulrich chills, and the words themselves, so like acid and poison, made him want to roar with pride (though, alas, he was too underdeveloped to let out such a beastly cry).
His attention once more became unfocused at the sound of one of his sisters, murmuring softly. "Do you know who that wolf is?" the child, Aiyana, asked softly, and Ulrich just smirked cruelly and supplied her with the malicious and simple answer, "Mother's prey." He did not circle the wolf; though his strides were much steadier than his siblings on his lanky legs, he knew that he wasn't threatening to the wolf. Not yet. But someday, the whisperings of his very name would strike the hearts of all. Sleeping pups would awake in the night, screaming in pain, because they would know the name of Ulrich, and it would haunt their dreams... oh, yes, all would fear him, even those who knew neither his name nor his face - all would fear Ulrich.
