For the purpose of keeping things organized and feet from being stepped on, I think I’d like to propose a little guideline for our threads. This is open for discussion and/or questions.
* Dating the thread for the opportunity of RPing in the House’s past prime or fall from grace vs present day. If the thread isn’t dated, it would default to current times.
* Labeling the thread with a Status. If the thread isn’t labeled, it would default to OPEN.
OPEN - any group member(s) may reply and participate with OP
CLOSED - a 1x1 between members / preplanned scene between certain characters
PRIVATE - a “private” scene for a character, where OP wants this information to be viewed, but does not need any outside character interaction with it
Thoughts? Questions? Comments? Concerns? Suggestions?
* Dating the thread for the opportunity of RPing in the House’s past prime or fall from grace vs present day. If the thread isn’t dated, it would default to current times.
Example!
April 13th, 1919
The night air that greeted her skin was chilly and mildly minty.
Carrie pressed the decoratively ghoulish half-mask against her pale face, peering up at the abyssal sky through the hollowed eyeholes, trying to find hints of the stars through the foggy veil. There didn’t appear to be anything up there, giving her the feeling of utter isolation, here in this strange world far from the one she’d once been a part of.
Behind her, splendid light and jovial noise bled from the House’s orifices, leaking life out into this dark realm just outside the doors…
April 13th, 1919
The night air that greeted her skin was chilly and mildly minty.
Carrie pressed the decoratively ghoulish half-mask against her pale face, peering up at the abyssal sky through the hollowed eyeholes, trying to find hints of the stars through the foggy veil. There didn’t appear to be anything up there, giving her the feeling of utter isolation, here in this strange world far from the one she’d once been a part of.
Behind her, splendid light and jovial noise bled from the House’s orifices, leaking life out into this dark realm just outside the doors…
* Labeling the thread with a Status. If the thread isn’t labeled, it would default to OPEN.
OPEN - any group member(s) may reply and participate with OP
CLOSED - a 1x1 between members / preplanned scene between certain characters
PRIVATE - a “private” scene for a character, where OP wants this information to be viewed, but does not need any outside character interaction with it
Example!
OPEN
April 13th, 2023
Bastian yanked his hand back with a loud curse, “cock-sucker!”
He whipped the injured appendage through the air a few times, as if it would shake the pain loose. It didn’t, the wound still smarted. He lifted the hand for inspection, watching the dark blood eagerly well up in the freshly split flesh of his palm, before spilling over the raw lips and trickling in a glistening rivulet down his wrist...
OPEN
April 13th, 2023
Bastian yanked his hand back with a loud curse, “cock-sucker!”
He whipped the injured appendage through the air a few times, as if it would shake the pain loose. It didn’t, the wound still smarted. He lifted the hand for inspection, watching the dark blood eagerly well up in the freshly split flesh of his palm, before spilling over the raw lips and trickling in a glistening rivulet down his wrist...
Example!
PRIVATE
April 13th, 1927
The cold air bit at his throat with each inhale, pinching his lungs with each breath. It smelled rank, it tasted sour. Musky mold and sweet rot entwined gruesomely to fume the shadow-laced interior world he lived in, though he hardly noticed anymore.
In the distance, down the narrow corridor, he could see the shadows shifting; someone huddled in a corner. Crouched over something else? All he could make out was clumps and lumps of silhouettes, shapes only detached from the general darkness by twitches of movement.
He didn’t dare limp closer, for fear it was the Doctor…
PRIVATE
April 13th, 1927
The cold air bit at his throat with each inhale, pinching his lungs with each breath. It smelled rank, it tasted sour. Musky mold and sweet rot entwined gruesomely to fume the shadow-laced interior world he lived in, though he hardly noticed anymore.
In the distance, down the narrow corridor, he could see the shadows shifting; someone huddled in a corner. Crouched over something else? All he could make out was clumps and lumps of silhouettes, shapes only detached from the general darkness by twitches of movement.
He didn’t dare limp closer, for fear it was the Doctor…
Thoughts? Questions? Comments? Concerns? Suggestions?
Moderators: TheLittleWitch