Hi, all! I've been sitting on this idea for a while, so I hope it's okay ☺️ Rules are as usual - there's no wrong way to join in. Roll a D10 for your prompt. Otherwise, usual forum rules apply!
Write a scene of - or describe - your character through the eyes of...
1. A stranger.
2. A fairweather friend.
3. A long term romantic or platonic partner.
4. A mentor or parental figure.
5. A student or someone who looks up to them.
6. An enemy.
7. A co-worker or professional acquaintance.
8. A person in a position of authority.
9. Somebody who they're trying to impress.
10. The pizza man or delivery guy who turns up when your character is in their casual clothes, and opens the door looking a mess.
I hope you all enjoy!
Write a scene of - or describe - your character through the eyes of...
1. A stranger.
2. A fairweather friend.
3. A long term romantic or platonic partner.
4. A mentor or parental figure.
5. A student or someone who looks up to them.
6. An enemy.
7. A co-worker or professional acquaintance.
8. A person in a position of authority.
9. Somebody who they're trying to impress.
10. The pizza man or delivery guy who turns up when your character is in their casual clothes, and opens the door looking a mess.
I hope you all enjoy!
It had been a long and arduous trek through the mountain passes that lead into deepest Cornaeth, on account of his sun-swarthed skin not unlike leather, dark eyes and high cheekbones it was evident that he was a stranger to these lands. He announced himself as Kostor, Son of Voskos, a well reputed trader whom had fallen to bandits upon the trails several years before, thankfully retainers here were of the honorable sort and having paid the ransom for Kostor himself, they ensured Cornaeth's trade remained patent for the most part. The whittling months between the start of winter and the end of the harvest were the most profitable for traders, the roads were well trodden and each merchant made haste to capitalize upon the finest pickings.
Kostor hailed from the Arythean Marches, and he brought such things as were known to Cornaethians from imperial heritage but had become more novel and rarer as time went on. In particular he brought clay ampullae filled with oil and olives which he traded for butter, he gave wine for cheese, spices for herbs, a few horses and mules from his baggage train were sold as well in return for other livestock but the principal exchanges were made for hides, grain, timber and metal these goods were not bartered but rather were regulated in gold and silver., for such things were of use to armies.
Exhausted from a day of haggling, Kostor settled upon the barrel and indulged in a rare treat of goats cheese and mountain honey alongside a loaf of bread, this was his luncheon and something that he loved so much he risked the gauntlet each year to come to Cornaeth. Still mid-chew, Kostor paused, as did others as they looked to the side, the lord of Cornaeth seemed to have mysteriously graced the market, he had only caught a glimpse but something about the man struck a peasant with awe. The day waned and night took its place, amongst friends and acquaintances, Kostor, Of Voskos, recounted his day... " Tell us Kostor, what is the lord of Cornaeth like ? what did you see of the man ? "
" The Good Archon, is a man built robust and broad, of a stature that befits one who is both well-fed and well-worked. I saw him tour the markets today, inspecting the weights and scales so that we merchant-folk are not defrauded, a noble act. I noticed upon his shoulders, draped, the mantle of a great and fearsome wolf, of the sort that the old valradic centurions are said to have worn, as recounted by my father. I did not speak to him, though that alone should say that he is a man of tradition, I suspect having been a soldier for some time... he is selective in those with whom he speaks and when he speaks he confides only such things that are important, his words are equal part reprimand and hope. He carries on his person three things, a pipe with which to smoke, his sword which bears a lions head upon it's hilt so as to honor the house Leocadus and the wolf cloak which I have told you about. The archon, whose name I am told is Markos, is a daunting yet fair man and those whom have dealt with him have called him to be a just ruler, a good friend and a ruthless foe. "
Kostor hailed from the Arythean Marches, and he brought such things as were known to Cornaethians from imperial heritage but had become more novel and rarer as time went on. In particular he brought clay ampullae filled with oil and olives which he traded for butter, he gave wine for cheese, spices for herbs, a few horses and mules from his baggage train were sold as well in return for other livestock but the principal exchanges were made for hides, grain, timber and metal these goods were not bartered but rather were regulated in gold and silver., for such things were of use to armies.
Exhausted from a day of haggling, Kostor settled upon the barrel and indulged in a rare treat of goats cheese and mountain honey alongside a loaf of bread, this was his luncheon and something that he loved so much he risked the gauntlet each year to come to Cornaeth. Still mid-chew, Kostor paused, as did others as they looked to the side, the lord of Cornaeth seemed to have mysteriously graced the market, he had only caught a glimpse but something about the man struck a peasant with awe. The day waned and night took its place, amongst friends and acquaintances, Kostor, Of Voskos, recounted his day... " Tell us Kostor, what is the lord of Cornaeth like ? what did you see of the man ? "
" The Good Archon, is a man built robust and broad, of a stature that befits one who is both well-fed and well-worked. I saw him tour the markets today, inspecting the weights and scales so that we merchant-folk are not defrauded, a noble act. I noticed upon his shoulders, draped, the mantle of a great and fearsome wolf, of the sort that the old valradic centurions are said to have worn, as recounted by my father. I did not speak to him, though that alone should say that he is a man of tradition, I suspect having been a soldier for some time... he is selective in those with whom he speaks and when he speaks he confides only such things that are important, his words are equal part reprimand and hope. He carries on his person three things, a pipe with which to smoke, his sword which bears a lions head upon it's hilt so as to honor the house Leocadus and the wolf cloak which I have told you about. The archon, whose name I am told is Markos, is a daunting yet fair man and those whom have dealt with him have called him to be a just ruler, a good friend and a ruthless foe. "
rolled 1d10 and got a natural 1.
There were many words that people would use to describe Theo Stark. The one that came to the mind of Peter Parker at the moment was "morose". From the web-slinger's perspective, the son of his late mentor seemed to be a very morose person. That's not to say that Spider-Man didn't think Theo wasn't a nice person. On the contrary, he had seen that Theo could be kind, he just didn't normally show it. As Peter sat in the cafeteria of the Avenger's base, He watched Theo sharing a snack with Rhodey's son Andrew, and took note that Theo didn't seem to smile much, even when Andrew was clearly trying to nudge him into doing so.
rolled 1d10 and got a natural 7.
Ahhh yes, I love these 
Just rolling and then I'll edit for the text. Thank you so much for sharing all of these cool ideas with us!
3 - long term partner it is!
Just rolling and then I'll edit for the text. Thank you so much for sharing all of these cool ideas with us!
3 - long term partner it is!
rolled 1d10 and got a natural 3.
Rats squirmed around in the dumpster as the girl with matted black hair and glaring brown eyes peeked out over the metal lid.
She immediately saw Carlos De Vil, son of Cruella, dressed in his typical red, white, and black leather clothing. He was laughing with someone, another Isle child whom the VKs had arrived to rescue from the island.
Not her. Never her.
She was like a shadow. She wasn't even sure they knew she existed.
She was one of the only children still left on the villain-infested island and every month, like clockwork, more and more kids her age were rescued.
Never her.
Carlos always caught her eye. His clothing was the most eye-catching, and he had the most chipper tone out of all his friends. His face scrunched up when he laughed, teeth that were well taken care of glinted against the sun. Bright, too bright.
Her own mother treated her as a slave. She heard that Cruella was a similar type of mother to Carlos. How was he so bright nowadays? How was he so put-together? Why did he get a chance but not her?
Carlos was everything she wished she was, but everything she would never be. Not as long as she was hidden in these shadows.
She wanted him to pay.
She immediately saw Carlos De Vil, son of Cruella, dressed in his typical red, white, and black leather clothing. He was laughing with someone, another Isle child whom the VKs had arrived to rescue from the island.
Not her. Never her.
She was like a shadow. She wasn't even sure they knew she existed.
She was one of the only children still left on the villain-infested island and every month, like clockwork, more and more kids her age were rescued.
Never her.
Carlos always caught her eye. His clothing was the most eye-catching, and he had the most chipper tone out of all his friends. His face scrunched up when he laughed, teeth that were well taken care of glinted against the sun. Bright, too bright.
Her own mother treated her as a slave. She heard that Cruella was a similar type of mother to Carlos. How was he so bright nowadays? How was he so put-together? Why did he get a chance but not her?
Carlos was everything she wished she was, but everything she would never be. Not as long as she was hidden in these shadows.
She wanted him to pay.
rolled 1d10 and got a natural 6.
|
Eyyy let's give this a shot! Gotta say that I really dig this game concept. 2. A fairweather friend. Our dear and unreliable fairweather friend in question is a woman named Bisma i-Matlis, a Yurus (anthro maned wolf) mine overseer who runs a secret trade in rare weapon materials. She usually gives Flarus a cut of her collection for his daggers and knives, if the price is right. To Bisma, Flarus was as much as an annoyance as he was a threat. That was exactly what bothered her, too. How come that the most cunning, ruthless and capable assassin in the entire galaxy.. had decided to manifest in the form of a haughty and self-important Velox? Deep down, she admired the man's beauty. He was short, especially to the slender-legged Yurus she was used to seeing, but he had a supple athleticism about him that constantly - and much to her dismay - reminded her that he wasn't a stuck-up and frail little wuss. He had the ability to slit her throat if she didn't dance to his tune, and as much as she hated lending her metals to someone who would only use it to murder, she knew that he paid her right. Only when he was directly by her side, could she pretend to laugh at his snarky jokes and flowery speech patterns, and only then could she act flustered when he flirted with her. She was his 'Trader Pearl' and 'Gem-Eyed Seeker', and he appreciated their business, also knowing that she wouldn't dare share her wares with another. For an openly uncommitted polygamist, he was awfully specific about demanding loyalty from the people he required wares from. Bisma only tolerates and treats Flarus as a friend because he pays her generously for her wares. She wouldn't stick her neck out for him in any circumstance, and the moment that she'll feel like she'll get away with abandoning their business relationship, she would. She finds him unbearable arrogant, and it troubles here that he has plenty to be arrogant about. Obviously, she'd never show this: as far as Flarus is concerned (he knows the truth, but basks in seeing Bisma writhe and fake their friendship), she's a wide-smiling pal of him that more than happily brings him all the rare and deadly metals his heart and daggers desire. |
rolled 1d10 and got a natural 2.
This should be fun!
A person in a position of authority:
For most people in positions of authority, Victi varies between a problem and an opportunity. On the one hand, she's a dangerous loose cannon who tends to play by her own rules in pursuit of her own objectives and likes it when things are exciting in ways not conducive to smooth, consistent daily business, with unusual, unpredictable skills and abilities which can make her a massive hazard, focused to a wickedly sharp point. On the other, she's a powerful spellcaster with exotic expertise and a keen mind who can get things done effectively if the task is interesting and the price is right.
These days especially she leans more toward the latter side of things, not being in a constant struggle to balance survival with self fulfillment and curiosity lets her choose less disruptive ways to let out energy and cause less chaos. That said, most people who are in charge of something don't really like it when she shows up somewhere that they're responsible for. If something has caught her interest, it's usually either something you don't want her poking at/taking or it's a particularly nasty problem that you didn't realize you had which, while likely about to stop being a problem, has probably already caused damage in unexpected ways.
In short, people in authority see her as an ill omen. Something is going to happen, it's going to be a problem, and the problem might be her.
A person in a position of authority:
For most people in positions of authority, Victi varies between a problem and an opportunity. On the one hand, she's a dangerous loose cannon who tends to play by her own rules in pursuit of her own objectives and likes it when things are exciting in ways not conducive to smooth, consistent daily business, with unusual, unpredictable skills and abilities which can make her a massive hazard, focused to a wickedly sharp point. On the other, she's a powerful spellcaster with exotic expertise and a keen mind who can get things done effectively if the task is interesting and the price is right.
These days especially she leans more toward the latter side of things, not being in a constant struggle to balance survival with self fulfillment and curiosity lets her choose less disruptive ways to let out energy and cause less chaos. That said, most people who are in charge of something don't really like it when she shows up somewhere that they're responsible for. If something has caught her interest, it's usually either something you don't want her poking at/taking or it's a particularly nasty problem that you didn't realize you had which, while likely about to stop being a problem, has probably already caused damage in unexpected ways.
In short, people in authority see her as an ill omen. Something is going to happen, it's going to be a problem, and the problem might be her.
rolled 1d10 and got a natural 8.
Note: Who's lookin' at me?
Stranger: The truth is, she scares me. I crossed the street to avoid her when I saw her coming. Those black deadpan eyes are eerie enough, but she casually strolls down the street with a savanna cat telling people it's her service animal. I mean who uses a wild animal for a service animal? When I finally had to speak with her, she did seem nice enough. I feel kind of bad being so creeped out by her because she really is a sweet girl, but those eyes are hard to look into.
rolled 1d10 and got a natural 1.
Skylark wrote:
9. Somebody who they're trying to impress.
Keith Amos - School Tough
"Hmm... Jared Ford. A scrawny, geeky kid with glasses when I first met him in 7th grade. I picked on him for a while, but he was smart, so I sort of befriended him so I could get answers to questions in our math class. I think he was trying to impress me with his smarts. Anyway, turned out we both had a liking for photography, so I sponsored him to join a club we called 'The Camera Eye'. I still gave him shit, but more in a fun way. I also called my posse off from picking on him ... or hassling his cute little neighbor-friend Jane. When we went to high school, he was given a pass to walk down the 'Senior Hall' without getting stuffed in a garbage can because I put in a word with my cousin who was a senior when we were freshman.
rolled 1d10 and got a natural 9.
Note: ... for the Question ...
Gwen Stacy, daughter of Captain Stacy.
She was never around much, he could note this as he was the only delivery driver willing to work 24/7 for extra pay.
She also ordered a lot of pizza.
Like, a lot. Too much for a young woman like herself.
Her eyes were always squinted, bags underneath them as she appeared to be fighting off sleep as if it took the form of a monster attempting to defeat her in battle. Her stance was always wobbly, blonde hair in a mess that resembled a bird's nest.
The delivery guy had learned that whenever the address of one Captain Stacy showed up on his list... he was usually about to witness the sight of Miss Stacy fighting for her life against her typical bodily function.
One night, however, the young woman that answered the door seemed completely unfamiliar.
Her mouth was pulled in a bright smile- oh, he had never noticed that gap between her front teeth before- and... was that a tip he saw in her hand?!
"Delivery Guy!" She had cheered, catching him off-guard, "I'm sooooo sorry with how I usually answer the door. Here," she had practically slapped the extra cash into his hand.
Even he had to smile, "Consider it all forgotten, Miss Stacy. I have to wonder what's gotten you in this mood though?"
"I finally got in touch with this friend I hadn't seen in months and he wa..."
He hadn't meant to, really, he was very interested in what she had to say, but he couldn't help himself but to look over her shoulder into the bright sitting room. The sofa, usually barren, was occupied by two figures. A large, towering man he recognised as her father was sitting alongside a lanky teen, about Gwen's age, very focused on explaining something to the young man.
'Mr. Stacy, stop, you're straining yourself!' The dark-skinned boy had laughed, giggled almost, as Captain Stacy's face turned bright red.
'No, Miles, you don't get it. People keep remembering that line completely wrong! It wasn't 'Luke, I am your father', it was...'
"...alking about. It's like," Gwen smacked her lips together, pulling him out of her reverie, "no, of course I don't like him like that! At all, like, no. I don't. Ever."
Her face was so serious, blue eyes wide as she stared into his soul, like she was trying to convince him of something.
But there it was again. That smile.
All he could do was hand the pizza box over to the woman, who seemed to forget she had even ordered a pizza because of her tangent, and nod. "Good luck Miss Stacy. The people around you, they make you happy. This was a pleasant surprise."
When she waved him goodbye and went to shut the door the man could swear he was seeing his own daughter in Gwen.
She had been depressed lately.
He had been working all night.
Fishing his phone from his pocket, pulling off one of his gloves to type in his passcode, he immediately sent a text to his daughter.
'Coming home early. Maybe tomorrow we can sit in and put a movie on. I was thinking Star Wars?'
She was never around much, he could note this as he was the only delivery driver willing to work 24/7 for extra pay.
She also ordered a lot of pizza.
Like, a lot. Too much for a young woman like herself.
Her eyes were always squinted, bags underneath them as she appeared to be fighting off sleep as if it took the form of a monster attempting to defeat her in battle. Her stance was always wobbly, blonde hair in a mess that resembled a bird's nest.
The delivery guy had learned that whenever the address of one Captain Stacy showed up on his list... he was usually about to witness the sight of Miss Stacy fighting for her life against her typical bodily function.
One night, however, the young woman that answered the door seemed completely unfamiliar.
Her mouth was pulled in a bright smile- oh, he had never noticed that gap between her front teeth before- and... was that a tip he saw in her hand?!
"Delivery Guy!" She had cheered, catching him off-guard, "I'm sooooo sorry with how I usually answer the door. Here," she had practically slapped the extra cash into his hand.
Even he had to smile, "Consider it all forgotten, Miss Stacy. I have to wonder what's gotten you in this mood though?"
"I finally got in touch with this friend I hadn't seen in months and he wa..."
He hadn't meant to, really, he was very interested in what she had to say, but he couldn't help himself but to look over her shoulder into the bright sitting room. The sofa, usually barren, was occupied by two figures. A large, towering man he recognised as her father was sitting alongside a lanky teen, about Gwen's age, very focused on explaining something to the young man.
'Mr. Stacy, stop, you're straining yourself!' The dark-skinned boy had laughed, giggled almost, as Captain Stacy's face turned bright red.
'No, Miles, you don't get it. People keep remembering that line completely wrong! It wasn't 'Luke, I am your father', it was...'
"...alking about. It's like," Gwen smacked her lips together, pulling him out of her reverie, "no, of course I don't like him like that! At all, like, no. I don't. Ever."
Her face was so serious, blue eyes wide as she stared into his soul, like she was trying to convince him of something.
But there it was again. That smile.
All he could do was hand the pizza box over to the woman, who seemed to forget she had even ordered a pizza because of her tangent, and nod. "Good luck Miss Stacy. The people around you, they make you happy. This was a pleasant surprise."
When she waved him goodbye and went to shut the door the man could swear he was seeing his own daughter in Gwen.
She had been depressed lately.
He had been working all night.
Fishing his phone from his pocket, pulling off one of his gloves to type in his passcode, he immediately sent a text to his daughter.
'Coming home early. Maybe tomorrow we can sit in and put a movie on. I was thinking Star Wars?'
rolled 1d10 and got a natural 10.
A person in a position of authority.
Sigismund Aristoi, teen with checkered past. Not much is known about him and his parents are a big mystery, though he didn't come out of nowhere. For first few years he lived in a orphanage, initially he was a rowdy kid who earned a lot of complaints. Though one day he mellowed out and appeared more peaceful, he escaped orphanage at the age of 15 and was never seen there. It seemed that he was destined to be hoodlum or stay in the bad crowd. Things do get weirder as he managed to get the guardian who would have custody over him months before transferring him to high school in another city, all that while eluding the attention of the policemen and his supposed caretakers from orphanage. Another unusual thing that happened was him being adopted by affluent Aristoi family, changing his fate once more. He does seem to be friendly with people and get along without big difficulty.
Otherside
Two men sat in brightly lit room, round table separated them as they sat on opposite sides. There could be heard laughter and jazz music playing in the background though it was muted near them due to unexplainable reason.
"So why would a esteemed man like you invite me." asked tan black haired man in official suit, that was at seems trying to contain his frame. Indian man sighed, he knew that what he said was laced with irony. They were fighting each other for years, so they knew each other well. "Arash, I got a offer for you." Arash rolled his eyes "Get to the point, Indra." Blue haired man nodded, if it works out then he would be closer to his goal. "If you kill Sigismund Aristoi, I will give you 50% of my shares and let you have some territories." To his eyes there was no deceit, this man offered exactly what he said awaiting his response. Arash frowned, it was unlike him to offer something without a hook.
"Does the kid scare you that much?" he replied without hesitation, dark haired man knew legends that had to do with that kid. That question was left without answer as Indra had blank face. "I sent my nephew to test him, Cyrus crushed his spirits and supposed double-scaled Sauromatai turned to be weakling." Arash did a "favor" to his allies, it may seem cruel but Sigismund need cold-shower while he's young. Either his resolve comes out on top or he stays isolated in the ivory towers. 'That hallowed eyes user is prodigy'
Sigismund Aristoi, teen with checkered past. Not much is known about him and his parents are a big mystery, though he didn't come out of nowhere. For first few years he lived in a orphanage, initially he was a rowdy kid who earned a lot of complaints. Though one day he mellowed out and appeared more peaceful, he escaped orphanage at the age of 15 and was never seen there. It seemed that he was destined to be hoodlum or stay in the bad crowd. Things do get weirder as he managed to get the guardian who would have custody over him months before transferring him to high school in another city, all that while eluding the attention of the policemen and his supposed caretakers from orphanage. Another unusual thing that happened was him being adopted by affluent Aristoi family, changing his fate once more. He does seem to be friendly with people and get along without big difficulty.
Otherside
Two men sat in brightly lit room, round table separated them as they sat on opposite sides. There could be heard laughter and jazz music playing in the background though it was muted near them due to unexplainable reason.
"So why would a esteemed man like you invite me." asked tan black haired man in official suit, that was at seems trying to contain his frame. Indian man sighed, he knew that what he said was laced with irony. They were fighting each other for years, so they knew each other well. "Arash, I got a offer for you." Arash rolled his eyes "Get to the point, Indra." Blue haired man nodded, if it works out then he would be closer to his goal. "If you kill Sigismund Aristoi, I will give you 50% of my shares and let you have some territories." To his eyes there was no deceit, this man offered exactly what he said awaiting his response. Arash frowned, it was unlike him to offer something without a hook.
"Does the kid scare you that much?" he replied without hesitation, dark haired man knew legends that had to do with that kid. That question was left without answer as Indra had blank face. "I sent my nephew to test him, Cyrus crushed his spirits and supposed double-scaled Sauromatai turned to be weakling." Arash did a "favor" to his allies, it may seem cruel but Sigismund need cold-shower while he's young. Either his resolve comes out on top or he stays isolated in the ivory towers. 'That hallowed eyes user is prodigy'
rolled 1d10 and got a natural 8.
Me through the eyes of... 8. A person in a position of authority.
"I guess that would be my father. I think he sees me as a liability. He had made it no secret that he wanted a son, and I came along. I've dedicated most of my life trying to do the best I can in hopes I please him, but it never seems to be enough. I fatigued of this my last years of high school, and there were occasions I snuck out of my room on a Friday night to go to a party with friends. I never got caught, but I felt really guilty the next day. So yeah... "
"I guess that would be my father. I think he sees me as a liability. He had made it no secret that he wanted a son, and I came along. I've dedicated most of my life trying to do the best I can in hopes I please him, but it never seems to be enough. I fatigued of this my last years of high school, and there were occasions I snuck out of my room on a Friday night to go to a party with friends. I never got caught, but I felt really guilty the next day. So yeah... "
rolled 1d10 and got a natural 8.
9. Somebody who they're trying to impress.
Pity, I wanted the pizza delivery!
It was almost midnight in the Midnight, and I sat alone at the bar, which is always a mistake.
Being a woman draws out the weirdos. Being alone draws out the weirdos. Being a goth draws out the weirdos. Usually, the fun kind of weirdos in the last case, but if you need someone new, the jury's still out.
He was kind of big and was underdressed for the place: leather jacket, a band-shirt that was so obscure even I didn't know who they were - it might've been so obscure he didn't know either - and washed-out jeans. His hair looked like it hadn't seen a comb in years, and no scissors either.
The vibes I was getting was the missing link between a biker and a grunge rock-kind of guy.
I decided that I was legally allowed to kill him if he ever said something about being born in the wrong decade.
He tried his luck.
"What does a nice place like this doing with a… fuck, I messed up. Can I try again?"
Awkward smile.
The mess up seemed a bit too smooth. It was a practiced line.
Nice effort. Makes you look human, not too self-serious and you get a chance to actually ask for permission to flirt. A for effort, but there is just one little problem…
"Even if you got that one right," I replied "I think it is very obvious what a goth girl is doing in a goth nightclub."
I gave him the eyebrows.
"Honestly, I haven't quite figured it out yet. I'm here to learn!"
He had a warm smile, and sounded like he was genuine curious.
I had a cold smile, and a genuine answer.
"Drinking and dancing? And meeting other people like me."
He nodded. "So… do you want another drink?"
I looked demonstratively at my basically full glass, then at him.
"…that is a no then." he said. "Do you want to dance?"
I shrugged. "Can you actually dance?"
"…that is a no then." Another smile.
He opened his mouth again.
I cut him off. "You're not like me."
Another slow nod from his side, then he backed up."Is knowing how to dance a Requisite to dance with you?"
He sounded more carefully now. I saw it in his eyes: he was looking for a go-ahead. Wouldn't be that simple.
"Yes." I answered.
He said "…I know how to play bass, are those mitigating circumstances?"
"No. First off, it means that there is an 80% chance you will tell me about your shitty band…" he opened his mouth to just do that, but I just went on talking "…and secondly, did playing the bass ever land you with anyone?"
"Maybe one day" he muttered, then shrugged. "Well, I enjoy this, but I'm not sure you do, so… if you are ever in need of a drink, a clumsy dance or want to meet anyone not like you, I'll be over there."
Pity, I wanted the pizza delivery!
It was almost midnight in the Midnight, and I sat alone at the bar, which is always a mistake.
Being a woman draws out the weirdos. Being alone draws out the weirdos. Being a goth draws out the weirdos. Usually, the fun kind of weirdos in the last case, but if you need someone new, the jury's still out.
He was kind of big and was underdressed for the place: leather jacket, a band-shirt that was so obscure even I didn't know who they were - it might've been so obscure he didn't know either - and washed-out jeans. His hair looked like it hadn't seen a comb in years, and no scissors either.
The vibes I was getting was the missing link between a biker and a grunge rock-kind of guy.
I decided that I was legally allowed to kill him if he ever said something about being born in the wrong decade.
He tried his luck.
"What does a nice place like this doing with a… fuck, I messed up. Can I try again?"
Awkward smile.
The mess up seemed a bit too smooth. It was a practiced line.
Nice effort. Makes you look human, not too self-serious and you get a chance to actually ask for permission to flirt. A for effort, but there is just one little problem…
"Even if you got that one right," I replied "I think it is very obvious what a goth girl is doing in a goth nightclub."
I gave him the eyebrows.
"Honestly, I haven't quite figured it out yet. I'm here to learn!"
He had a warm smile, and sounded like he was genuine curious.
I had a cold smile, and a genuine answer.
"Drinking and dancing? And meeting other people like me."
He nodded. "So… do you want another drink?"
I looked demonstratively at my basically full glass, then at him.
"…that is a no then." he said. "Do you want to dance?"
I shrugged. "Can you actually dance?"
"…that is a no then." Another smile.
He opened his mouth again.
I cut him off. "You're not like me."
Another slow nod from his side, then he backed up."Is knowing how to dance a Requisite to dance with you?"
He sounded more carefully now. I saw it in his eyes: he was looking for a go-ahead. Wouldn't be that simple.
"Yes." I answered.
He said "…I know how to play bass, are those mitigating circumstances?"
"No. First off, it means that there is an 80% chance you will tell me about your shitty band…" he opened his mouth to just do that, but I just went on talking "…and secondly, did playing the bass ever land you with anyone?"
"Maybe one day" he muttered, then shrugged. "Well, I enjoy this, but I'm not sure you do, so… if you are ever in need of a drink, a clumsy dance or want to meet anyone not like you, I'll be over there."
rolled 1d10 and got a natural 9.
A co-worker or professional acquaintance.
"I'm not sure but I think Detective Shinomura sees me as someone whom is a hard-headed fighter, a fiery racer?" Karin let out a chuckle. "He already saw how I fight for those who I treasure them in my life. Also, he must have thought of me as someone who can't live without Hinata."
"I'm not sure but I think Detective Shinomura sees me as someone whom is a hard-headed fighter, a fiery racer?" Karin let out a chuckle. "He already saw how I fight for those who I treasure them in my life. Also, he must have thought of me as someone who can't live without Hinata."
rolled 1d10 and got a natural 7.
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