Forums » Looking for RP » Looking for Interesting Characters (closed)

With that out of the way. Hey! I'm looking for some characters to build some plots around. I did this in the past with mixed results. I'm looking for something to get excited about. Despite having a few RPs running, the lack of frequency in posts even from just different people is a bit depressing, so what better way to remedy that than to spread things out?

I'm mainly looking for people who can post once or twice a week in a way that I enjoy reading and planning with. Characters that have their own stories and are always developing, Wants and needs fulfilled or otherwise, and a writer that can express that.

I know the post is very vague in general, but bottom line is; Pitch a character you have that you like, what their story is, and I'll match them. Either play a world to progress their stories, introduce them to characters for interesting interactions, or try to destroy them~

Limitations:
- No intergalactic sci-fi. The technobabble for travel-based tech doesn't sit well with me and I don't have fun with it in a space-y setting. So anything that's road-trippy in space between planets and galaxies will get an automatic no from me. Advanced tech and modern sci-fi are more in my field of interests.
- No relying on pictures. If you have them commissioned or drew them yourself, then that's fine, but otherwise, I would prefer they not be used.
- Don't worry about length. I'm looking for content. Being able to emote and illustrate through text. Just being able to post long paragraphs doesn't accomplish that. Grammar, and consistency in tenses.
- Third person present tense is something that I can't write opposite to.


I'll add some plots and worlds of my own a little later, but for now I just want to put this out there.

First born in a dark alley way. His mother Evangeline had been cast aside by her lover. He had promised her that they would live a wonderful life, but here she was. Giving birth to their child in an unsanitary slum. Evangeline knew that her child would end up alone in this world because could feel her own life being sucked out of her body. The only thing she could do in such a situation was make sure that her child would live for as long as possible before she left him. She knew she wouldn't make it in the conditions she was left in, but her attempt to at least save one of them was to barely keep him from choking or at least raise him off of the ground that was surely covered in diseases and rotting trash. His mother was frail already from lack of food and her vision was fading faster and faster as she tried to preserve her son's life, her only hope of him being found was the cries he let out that would never be able to be answered by his birth mother.

Once Evangeline had lied back down and done all she could, she let out one final breath. Luckily, her baby boy had fallen asleep right before this had happened, so his cries wouldn't cause him to lose his voice.

His breathing was interrupted a few times by the pollution in the air, but other than that, he had slept there for about three hours, almost causing him to die of cold. It was in the autumn months and whether it be called luck or a curse, a man by a name he would never know, started to walk down the alley way. He held a gun in hand and was missing his left ear. It was clearly and old injury, but the scar lead up to the back of his mostly shaven head. He wore pretty casual clothes, but it was clear he had been drinking previous to finding the baby.

Looking at the situation, the man was to make the decision of taking the baby or leaving it to die. The decision was made actually pretty quick since he was already in deep debt and he knew that if he could make this kid useful, it would lighten the burden of his debt. So with this notion in mind, he took the baby up with the hand that didn't have the gun in it and he stumbled away to his small apartment that he was on the verge of being evicted from.

From there, the man raised the child, but not as a son. He knew he would get attached if he treated him as human, so he raised him fittingly to what he was going to do. Making him eat of the ground, neglecting to teach him how to write and only allowing him to know how to use a toilet. This took a toll on the kid's mental state and eventually the bad treatment lead to him getting really sick from what should have been a simple flu and ended up losing half his vision. He asked for medicine many times, but the man only brushed him off and told him to "behave like a good little mutt." Beginning to seclude himself after a while, Mutt adopted this name and started to feel cornered. To make matters worse, he was being forced to fight for his own survival. All after his home was invaded by strange people who spoke a language he didn't know and forced them out into the streets.

Sample

He dipped his head in acknowledgement; completely understanding of her wish to brush the issues beneath the carpet, so to speak. He wished nothing less himself, and were it not for the involvement of Don Giacomo.. Perhaps he may have. He had been close to his cousin - certainly. They had been good friends, almost like brothers; his passing had cut him deeply, it had struck somewhere deep within the pit of gloom that was his excuse for a heart. They were family. Retaliation was to be expected. But perhaps, had it gone Frank's way.. It mightn't have had to be so.. Final. He'd have found a creative way around the problem; surely the girl had family. Mother, father - perhaps brothers, sisters? Oh yes; Frank could have concocted a punishment more than fitting, that wouldn't have involved the murder of a simple street girl. She had probably had no option, in the beginning - circumstance probably dragged her into the life. Who were they to know - perhaps the girl sent money to her ailing parents or sick brother. Frank couldn't say. Nobody could say. Nobody knew her. But unfortunately, for the girl - and for Frank - it was no longer only his decision to bear. Don Giacomo had seen to that, and Frank could not deny a man the revenge of his only child.

" Very well, Francesca. We will visit this conversation.. Later.. " And he offered her a woeful smile, his gaze sliding back out the window as the vehicle grew level with the stairs leading up to the grand building, not entirely trusting himself to look her in the eye without deciding then and there to just cut her loose - let her go, and deal with the wrath of Giacomo on his own. Nobody knew he had spent time with her; nobody knew they had even conversed. That information, he had kept to himself. He could lie; say he had threatened her - beat her, even - to no avail. She had known nothing. It was a dead-end. If he took her inside, now, he would no longer have that alibi..
But he knew it was futile. He knew that she had information regarding the girl; he knew it, no matter how much Chessie might protest or deny it. No matter what excuse she used to try and cover her tail - he knew there was something she wasn't divulging, and he knew it was definitely to do with the girl. Even if he lied, it would be found out in the end.. And it would lose him any respect the men had for him. He would be classed a traitor to his own family. He would effectively have Gino's blood on his hands.. And that was not a cross that Frank was willing to bear. He was no traitor, and no liar. Not when it came to his own, at least. They were his family - the whole rag-tag bunch of them.. Not just the Don, or Gino - but each and every man, underling, and their wives or whores.. And if anyone could say anything about Frank - it was that he was loyal. Fiercely, so.

He turned back to her as she spoke, professing her admiration for the building - causing him to look back at the structure with a renewed appreciation. It was a nice building- but then again, so it should be, for what it had cost him. He returned the small smile, that mischievous sparkle sneaking its way back into his dark eyes as he nodded, not denying the extravagance of the structure.
" Wait until you see the inside.. " And he gave a slight laugh, then, shaking his head slowly in spite of himself - before he turned, throwing open the passenger door before the cab driver even had a chance to leave his seat. Slipping easily from the vehicle, he stood at the door, holding it wide for her - just as any gentleman should do, closing it softly behind her with a quiet thud. Had their reason for being together been a little more .. Pleasant.. Then he'd have taken her arm in the crook of his own, and lead her over the threshold.. But as it was, the situation was still somewhat tense. Despite his humour of a moment ago, he could still feel the friction in the air. So, instead, he simply waved the cab driver off - watching momentarily as the vehicle crunched quietly across the loose gravel - before turning back to Chessie, and spreading one arm in a gesture of welcome, " Please, do come in. "

Sample

It was a hot, sunny day as usual in the town of Abeline, Kansas in the year of 1881. Men and women were going about their days. Most were at work while the gunslingers were in the saloon looking to either spend their latest bounty money on women or liquor, or listen for gossip about new bounties.

However, to interrupt that normal, quiet day, a man rode up on a white stallion. He was dressed much like the gunslingers, and he carried two Colt Single Action Army six shot revolver pistols in holsters strapped on to either leg. He led his horse to the watering hole in front of the saloon and tied it up to a peg not too far from the watering hole so that it could drink while he was inside.

He made his way to the two saloon doors which he pushed aside with his body. As he stepped inside, he could hear the loud mouth of a man sitting at one of the bar tables. He was surrounded by several of the cathouse girls and had a couple empty bottles of scotch on the table he sat at and he poured from a third one into a glass. "That's right, ladies! I am the notorious Deadeye Ó’Deargáin. The fastest hand this side of America!" he downed the scotch from the glass before continuing his speech, "I'm the one who killed that Two Face Tommy in a duel! I also fought back a hundred savage Injins with nuth'n but my revolver, twelve bullets and a survival knife!"

The man who had entered the saloon not too long before had made his way to the man telling all these stories. "Now, I ain't believe you're the real Deadeye Ó’Deargáin. You might change my mind 'bout it if'n you pass a little test," he said, with some sternness in his voice. The man previously telling the tales had turned around to face the man who had just accused him of not being who he said he was. "You callin' me a liar! I ain't gotta prove noth'n to nobod-...!" his sentence came to a sudden stop once he caught a glimpse of his accuser's face. He gulped heavily, and his accuser spoke once more, "C'mon now, boy! The real Deadeye Ó’Deargáin wouldn't shy away from no puny challenge, would'e? Just try it! Barkeep!" he shifted his voice towards the man behind the bar counter, serving the drinks. "Put a cork in that bottle there," after pouring out some scotch for a customer, the barkeep did as he was told. "Now, 'Deadeye', just shoot the cork off the bottle. Simple stuff for a man like you, huh?"

The man who claimed to be Deadeye Ó’Deargáin nodded and got up from his barstool hesitantly. He removed his very crude pistol from the holster on his right side and aimed with trembling hands at the bottle. He pulled the trigger, but nothing happened as he forgot to cock the gun. He tried once more, pulling back the hammer and grasping hard at the trigger. The bullet barely missed the barkeep and the man went stumbling back a few steps from the force of the gun.

His accuser laughed before giving the barkeep with now soaked trousers a new order, "Spin the bottle! What're ya standin' 'round for! I said spin!" The barkeep did as he was told out of fear. The man took the revolver holstered on his right and shot it with nothing but hipfire. The bullet hit the cork of the spinning bottle, launching it right out. The man turned to face the one who previously claimed to be Deadeye Ó’Deargáin and spoke to him in a scolding manner. "Now I ain't got a problem with you using my name for some free booze and Bettys, but make sure that if you claim to be a Deadeye, you can good and well shoot like one. If you try this again without having the skills of a Deadeye, the cork of a bottle won't be the only thing takin' a bullet. Now go on! Run like hell 'fore I send ya there!"

With this, the man who previously claimed to be Deadeye Ó’Deargáin ran through the saloon, tripping over his feet once or twice. The real Deadeye had now taken his seat, his scotch and his women. He placed his arm around the shoulder of two of them and spoke, "Sorry, hunnies. No woman should have to hear the sound of gunshots. It ain't right. For that, I sincerely apologise. Oh my! I ain't even introduce myself. The name's Irial Ó’Deargáin, but you lot can just call me Deadeye."

The Year was 2020. A manufacturing company, known only as Rochlain, came out into the open, releasing the news that werewolves existed. There proof? A werewolf body, frozen. The government was the first to begin studying the body. That was what lead to our 'Coming Out' Day as it was later come to be known as. Our lives were pretty regular, like any human, we were separated into our own race. Not like it was a big deal or anything. Everything was cool, normal, casual. (Can you feel my sarcasm?)

And then suddenly, as if overnight, the world erupted in chaos. A virus was released among the humans. I'll be the first to say, that we stood by and did nothing. Like any and all segregation in history, werewolves had been treated as nothing less than dangerous beasts. To be enslaved or worse. We watched them eat each other, devouring, and destroying themselves as a whole. We were content simply to sit back and let it ALL happen.

But like any good story, there's never a SUCCESSFUL werewolf story without Rogues. I'm sure you see it now, this story, MY story, isn't like others. I don't blame the rogues for ruining us. I blame the humans. They were the idiots who created the virus. They were the reason our food sources dwindled. THEY caused the rogues to break down and feed on the Zombies. Like any chemically engineered virus, it mutated. Infecting our kind. Those infected, came to be called Wendigos. That's how all of this got started.

That's how our Survival came to be just another curse.