Starfall - A Love RP

[Thaidakar the Ghostblood he/him]

Welcome, Lords, Ladies, Non Binary Gentlefolk, and all the more, to Starfall, a Love RP. There's been a good deal of discussion, so here's a brief rundown of the background info needed to get started.

~-~

~-~

 The Concept

Spoiler

The main focus of this RP is love in the face of an inevitable end, in this case a full-scale apocalypse. I imagine the focus will end up on romantic love, but platonic love in all of its forms is encouraged!

The Setting

Spoiler

This takes place in early 1800s London during the Regency Era of Britain, when Prince George the Fourth took over for his father, King George the third, as Prince Regent. This was a time of great social, political and cultural change. There was practically no middle class, just wealthy nobility and impoverished slums.

Beginning with the nobility, this was an extravagant time for the aristocracy, full of balls and parties among the Prince Regent's friends. There are frilly outfits, haughty attitudes, drunkenness, and scheming. Many fight amongst themselves, having battles for social and political dominance. There are alliances, too, which may often come out of arranged marriages. Love in relation to allegiances and betrothals is complex and not always sanctioned or safe.

Meanwhile, not far away, the slums are large and populous. It is very different here, economically, socially, and politically. There is widespread poverty, famine, and unemployment. The impacts of war and economic collapse are felt much worse. Despite everything, love of all sorts is still present here.

What if, in the face of a shared existential threat, these worlds begin to collide? Who will move up and down the social ladder, and why? Speaking of...

The Apocalypse

Spoiler

In the night sky, always fixed at the same point, is a star believed to be the source of all magic. Astronomists have recently made an unsettling discovery about the Star. It appears to be growing, or, perhaps, getting closer. Eventually, calculations estimate that the Star will consume the Earth in [insert amount of time] with a furious magical onslaught. This is our apocalypse. It is, as of yet, going to be inescapable. Everyone will die, unless at some point the decision is made to allow for some to avoid it, somehow.

The Magic

Spoiler

London happens to be directly beneath the Star, and has been known to have a greater degree of magic than normal. People who live there gain strange, unique talents. This is not really a magic system so to speak, and for the sake of everyone's sanity, we're going to keep the magic soft. You all will get to choose one ability. When it comes to picking this ability, please:

No dimensional travel or teleportation. We don't want people being able to escape the apocalypse, at least not with any sort of ease.

No time travel, for similar reasons to the last one, and because it has a tendency to cause issues.

Choose one, singular skill or talent. Magic isn't really the center of this RP, so dealing with a bunch of complex, multifaceted, unique systems would be overwhelming and take away from it as a whole.

Don't choose anything too overpowered. Just... exercise reason.

The abilities will also increase in strength with time, as the star grows nearer.

There will also be some environmental magic going on, and other Star-related shenanigans, so keep an eye out.

Finally, as a quick reminder for those who need it or are new, here are some more general rules we tend to follow.

Spoiler

Put all OORP stuff in quotes.

 

Naturally, follow all Shard rules, and keep in mind the content rating for RP explained here.

If you want to kill or otherwise impact someone else's character in a way that affects their ability to participate in the RP, please get permission first.

Don't RP as someone else's character without permission, or dictate any action another character performs, even if it seems like a reasonable reaction they would have to something you do. This is called Godmodding and is generally frowned upon.

If you have any questions, just ask. People will be there to answer them, though that will mostly be handled by a group of people in charge of handling the continuity of the background info, such as what historical facts will stay in the rp.

Now... 

Shall we begin?

~-~

The monthly ball at the palace of the Prince Regent, George the Fourth, was phenomenal, as usual. Ever since his father had been removed from his throne by the prince and his ministers until he would recover from his sickness, George had been doing well, or so it seemed from the outside. What went on in that man's mind, no-one could begin to know. That is, if there was anything going on in his head... He seemed too enamored with alcohol and the ladies and not enough with enforcing the law and maintaining stability for the Count Albert's tastes. Nevertheless, the lad had done right by the nobility. It was their God-given right to rule. If not, then what was their purpose?

Whatever it was, Albert knew what was to his tastes. Champagne. A tall glass of champagne always fixed the sour taste George's latest scandals. Such as running off with a woman after a party, more drunk than Albert's Uncle Ferdinand, which was saying something. But of course, the Prince Regent being drunk and the Count Albert being drunk were two very different things. It was acceptable for a Count such as Albert, hardly 24, but for a King at 22... It was hardly acceptable in any respect. 

The Count tightened his cravat, careful to not let the fabric move his thick gold ring. Albert waved for a servant. Almost instantly, they were there, tray in one hand and the other wiping their sweaty face with a handkerchief. "Yes, m'lord?" the servant asked, tucking the handkerchief deep into the depths of some inner pocket of his vest.

"Give me another champagne," the Count said, placing his empty glass on the tray as the servant lowered it. "And give a message to the Countess, it would be pleasing to me to dine together and watch the show."

The servant gave Albert an odd look, but did as ordered. Odd... odd looks weren't meant to be given to superiors. As he knew he was too drunk to remember what the servant looked like, he recorded the appearance on a napkin and handed it to a passing serving woman with orders to have him whipped. 

Albert leaned ever so slightly in his seat, holding himself there by his shoes on the table feet. he was at the side of the ballroom on a raised platform, the lights dim, music slow and thoughtful, the dancers elegant in their superfluous, almost hideous attire. Hideous, it seemed, was the fashion these days, or so Albert heard. He never really knew what looked good to other people, merely what looked good to him. fashion changed like partners in one of those old fashioned folk dance with a particularly quick pace and style. But Albert, he stayed the same. What looked good to him? A nicely tailored suit, a cravat, hair combed just enough to seem intentional, and, most important of all, a pocket watch. One with a pocket watch had places to be, people to see. Every ounce of their time was important. The fact that you were even in the same room with them was a privilege. And, so, Albert kept a silver pocket watching on him at all times, checking it ever so often.

It was at that specific moment, as the song ended and people stepped away from each other, either to find new partners or to leave the dance floor altogether, that it happened.

When in a room crowded, with so much unintnetional noise and even intentional noise, something to interrupt it all is almost never possible.

But it was this time.

It began with one person, slipping into the room with a worried expression. That person whispered it into another person's ear, who told their friends, who told others, and thus it spread across the room until...

She walked over, that smile on her face, her voluptuous hair descending down her back. Albert smiled as the Countess had a servant pull a chair for her and sat down. She was young, a few years younger than himself. Their union was not one of love, but of business. They'd grown to be fond of one another, but that was, perhaps, a part of the fact that both had a rather large sum of money to their name. "My wonderful husband... drunk again?"

"M'lady Theresa," he replied smoothly, or as smoothly as one can when drunk. "Champagne is my speciality."

She raised an eyebrow, "Is it as much your speciality as your skill when conversing with women? If so, then I pity the alcohol."

"What do you want, love?" He asked with a smile. His wife was a beauty, eyes brighter than the sun, body sleeker than silver, skin such an intoxicating shade.. but he digressed. "You were to come in fifteen minutes, I thought."

"I thought you..." she hesitated, frowning. The smile resumed on her face, the disappointed frown remaining in her eyes. "I thought you kept track of news."

"how new is it?"

"Approximately fifteen minutes old."

"Is that so?" He had a sip of his drink. "If you would oblige me with this news, I would be very pleased, m'love."

"The star," she said leaning over the table and taking his drink, having a long sip. "It's falling. They say it'll hit the earth and wipe us all out. Dead. All of us. Smithereens."

Albert froze. "Impossible. False news."

"I'm afraid not," She said, "I have confirmation from ten different sources. One even says that..." Theresa widened her eyes, slumped, falling into her seat. A look of fear emerging on her face. "Albert!" Her eyelashes fluttered, before falling on her face. She didn't move. Albert was paralyzed in his seat, eyes wide.

After a long moment of pure terror, the Count waved for a servant, "Here! The countess!" Too fast. She was just...

A servant rushed over, looking her over. He turned to Albert, a look of boredom showering his face, "Too much champ-"

"No." Albert said, cold determination bursting in his voice. "She's not drunk. This happened just now."

Panic blossomed on the servants face. he rushed off, bringing maids and a master servant. After a short discussion with the master servant, Albert allowed them to take Theresa to the Prince's own medics. "We will alert you when we know what's plaguing her and when she's cured."

He nodded. Too fast. This was happening too fast. He was just talking to her...

Albert left earlier than he intended to. After ten minutes, it became unbearable what had before made him happy. Alone in his study, he waited. Waited for the message that she was okay.

He was more excited than he thought he'd be when a message finally came. The servant walked into the room, looking around, noting the Count looking eager. "M'lord, the Prince Regent's medical servants regret to inform you that Countess Theresa Von Dalwhit, your wife, died tonight at 11 o clock precisely. 15 minutes ago."

"Fifteen minutes ago... That's old news..." He whispered. Count Albert Von Dalwhit, the formerly confident aristocrat stumbled to his bed soon after the servant left and collapsed on it.

And... for the first time in years, wept until the early hours of the morning.

@Ookla the Yellow Sock @Ookla the Abstract @Ookla the Resolute @Ookla the Raveness @Ookla the Interstellar @everyone else who wanted to participate.

Quote

More rp can happen at the ball, btw. When Albert left, there was a load left of it, probably into the early hours of the morning.

Have fun rping!

Merry Christmas!

[Ravenclawjedi42]

19 minutes ago, Ookla the Black Sock said:

Welcome, Lords, Ladies, Non Binary Gentlefolk, and all the more, to Starfall, a Love RP. There's been a good deal of discussion, so here's a brief rundown of the background info needed to get started.

~-~

~-~

 The Concept

  Reveal hidden contents

The main focus of this RP is love in the face of an inevitable end, in this case a full-scale apocalypse. I imagine the focus will end up on romantic love, but platonic love in all of its forms is encouraged!

The Setting

  Hide contents

This takes place in early 1800s London during the Regency Era of Britain, when Prince George the Fourth took over for his father, King George the third, as Prince Regent. This was a time of great social, political and cultural change. There was practically no middle class, just wealthy nobility and impoverished slums.

Beginning with the nobility, this was an extravagant time for the aristocracy, full of balls and parties among the Prince Regent's friends. There are frilly outfits, haughty attitudes, drunkenness, and scheming. Many fight amongst themselves, having battles for social and political dominance. There are alliances, too, which may often come out of arranged marriages. Love in relation to allegiances and betrothals is complex and not always sanctioned or safe.

Meanwhile, not far away, the slums are large and populous. It is very different here, economically, socially, and politically. There is widespread poverty, famine, and unemployment. The impacts of war and economic collapse are felt much worse. Despite everything, love of all sorts is still present here.

What if, in the face of a shared existential threat, these worlds begin to collide? Who will move up and down the social ladder, and why? Speaking of...

The Apocalypse

  Hide contents

In the night sky, always fixed at the same point, is a star believed to be the source of all magic. Astronomists have recently made an unsettling discovery about the Star. It appears to be growing, or, perhaps, getting closer. Eventually, calculations estimate that the Star will consume the Earth in [insert amount of time] with a furious magical onslaught. This is our apocalypse. It is, as of yet, going to be inescapable. Everyone will die, unless at some point the decision is made to allow for some to avoid it, somehow.

The Magic

  Hide contents

London happens to be directly beneath the Star, and has been known to have a greater degree of magic than normal. People who live there gain strange, unique talents. This is not really a magic system so to speak, and for the sake of everyone's sanity, we're going to keep the magic soft. You all will get to choose one ability. When it comes to picking this ability, please:

No dimensional travel or teleportation. We don't want people being able to escape the apocalypse, at least not with any sort of ease.

No time travel, for similar reasons to the last one, and because it has a tendency to cause issues.

Choose one, singular skill or talent. Magic isn't really the center of this RP, so dealing with a bunch of complex, multifaceted, unique systems would be overwhelming and take away from it as a whole.

Don't choose anything too overpowered. Just... exercise reason.

The abilities will also increase in strength with time, as the star grows nearer.

There will also be some environmental magic going on, and other Star-related shenanigans, so keep an eye out.

Finally, as a quick reminder for those who need it or are new, here are some more general rules we tend to follow.

  Hide contents

Put all OORP stuff in quotes.

 

Naturally, follow all Shard rules, and keep in mind the content rating for RP explained here.

If you want to kill or otherwise impact someone else's character in a way that affects their ability to participate in the RP, please get permission first.

Don't RP as someone else's character without permission, or dictate any action another character performs, even if it seems like a reasonable reaction they would have to something you do. This is called Godmodding and is generally frowned upon.

If you have any questions, just ask. People will be there to answer them, though that will mostly be handled by a group of people in charge of handling the continuity of the background info, such as what historical facts will stay in the rp.

Now... 

Shall we begin?

~-~

The monthly ball at the palace of the Prince Regent, George the Fourth, was phenomenal, as usual. Ever since his father had been removed from his throne by the prince and his ministers until he would recover from his sickness, George had been doing well, or so it seemed from the outside. What went on in that man's mind, no-one could begin to know. That is, if there was anything going on in his head... He seemed too enamored with alcohol and the ladies and not enough with enforcing the law and maintaining stability for the Count Albert's tastes. Nevertheless, the lad had done right by the nobility. It was their God-given right to rule. If not, then what was their purpose?

Whatever it was, Albert knew what was to his tastes. Champagne. A tall glass of champagne always fixed the sour taste George's latest scandals. Such as running off with a woman after a party, more drunk than Albert's Uncle Ferdinand, which was saying something. But of course, the Prince Regent being drunk and the Count Albert being drunk were two very different things. It was acceptable for a Count such as Albert, hardly 24, but for a King at 22... It was hardly acceptable in any respect. 

The Count tightened his cravat, careful to not let the fabric move his thick gold ring. Albert waved for a servant. Almost instantly, they were there, tray in one hand and the other wiping their sweaty face with a handkerchief. "Yes, m'lord?" the servant asked, tucking the handkerchief deep into the depths of some inner pocket of his vest.

"Give me another champagne," the Count said, placing his empty glass on the tray as the servant lowered it. "And give a message to the Countess, it would be pleasing to me to dine together and watch the show."

The servant gave Albert an odd look, but did as ordered. Odd... odd looks weren't meant to be given to superiors. As he knew he was too drunk to remember what the servant looked like, he recorded the appearance on a napkin and handed it to a passing serving woman with orders to have him whipped. 

Albert leaned ever so slightly in his seat, holding himself there by his shoes on the table feet. he was at the side of the ballroom on a raised platform, the lights dim, music slow and thoughtful, the dancers elegant in their superfluous, almost hideous attire. Hideous, it seemed, was the fashion these days, or so Albert heard. He never really knew what looked good to other people, merely what looked good to him. fashion changed like partners in one of those old fashioned folk dance with a particularly quick pace and style. But Albert, he stayed the same. What looked good to him? A nicely tailored suit, a cravat, hair combed just enough to seem intentional, and, most important of all, a pocket watch. One with a pocket watch had places to be, people to see. Every ounce of their time was important. The fact that you were even in the same room with them was a privilege. And, so, Albert kept a silver pocket watching on him at all times, checking it ever so often.

It was at that specific moment, as the song ended and people stepped away from each other, either to find new partners or to leave the dance floor altogether, that it happened.

When in a room crowded, with so much unintnetional noise and even intentional noise, something to interrupt it all is almost never possible.

But it was this time.

It began with one person, slipping into the room with a worried expression. That person whispered it into another person's ear, who told their friends, who told others, and thus it spread across the room until...

She walked over, that smile on her face, her voluptuous hair descending down her back. Albert smiled as the Countess had a servant pull a chair for her and sat down. She was young, a few years younger than himself. Their union was not one of love, but of business. They'd grown to be fond of one another, but that was, perhaps, a part of the fact that both had a rather large sum of money to their name. "My wonderful husband... drunk again?"

"M'lady Theresa," he replied smoothly, or as smoothly as one can when drunk. "Champagne is my speciality."

She raised an eyebrow, "Is it as much your speciality as your skill when conversing with women? If so, then I pity the alcohol."

"What do you want, love?" He asked with a smile. His wife was a beauty, eyes brighter than the sun, body sleeker than silver, skin such an intoxicating shade.. but he digressed. "You were to come in fifteen minutes, I thought."

"I thought you..." she hesitated, frowning. The smile resumed on her face, the disappointed frown remaining in her eyes. "I thought you kept track of news."

"how new is it?"

"Approximately fifteen minutes old."

"Is that so?" He had a sip of his drink. "If you would oblige me with this news, I would be very pleased, m'love."

"The star," she said leaning over the table and taking his drink, having a long sip. "It's falling. They say it'll hit the earth and wipe us all out. Dead. All of us. Smithereens."

Albert froze. "Impossible. False news."

"I'm afraid not," She said, "I have confirmation from ten different sources. One even says that..." Theresa widened her eyes, slumped, falling into her seat. A look of fear emerging on her face. "Albert!" Her eyelashes fluttered, before falling on her face. She didn't move. Albert was paralyzed in his seat, eyes wide.

After a long moment of pure terror, the Count waved for a servant, "Here! The countess!" Too fast. She was just...

A servant rushed over, looking her over. He turned to Albert, a look of boredom showering his face, "Too much champ-"

"No." Albert said, cold determination bursting in his voice. "She's not drunk. This happened just now."

Panic blossomed on the servants face. he rushed off, bringing maids and a master servant. After a short discussion with the master servant, Albert allowed them to take Theresa to the Prince's own medics. "We will alert you when we know what's plaguing her and when she's cured."

He nodded. Too fast. This was happening too fast. He was just talking to her...

Albert left earlier than he intended to. After ten minutes, it became unbearable what had before made him happy. Alone in his study, he waited. Waited for the message that she was okay.

He was more excited than he thought he'd be when a message finally came. The servant walked into the room, looking around, noting the Count looking eager. "M'lord, the Prince Regent's medical servants regret to inform you that Countess Theresa Von Dalwhit, your wife, died tonight at 11 o clock precisely. 15 minutes ago."

"Fifteen minutes ago... That's old news..." He whispered. Count Albert Von Dalwhit, the formerly confident aristocrat stumbled to his bed soon after the servant left and collapsed on it.

And... for the first time in years, wept until the early hours of the morning.

@Ookla the Yellow Sock @Ookla the Abstract @Ookla the Resolute @Ookla the Raveness @Ookla the Interstellar @everyone else who wanted to participate.

Aubrey Wyndham stood alone at the edge of the ball. This was her third ball ever that she attended, despite being twenty-five years of age. Her mother intended to kill her in that room where she spent all of her time, studying and reading. Was that all that she was good for? Studying and reading?

No. It was not, could not, would never be. She could do as she wished. Go into politics. Get married—her parents didn’t even have a betrothal for her. Have children.

Find love.

But all that would be a while yet. For the time being she had to content herself with her studies of mathematics and history and all that boring stuff. She was too old to have a tutor, anyway!

And yet, and yet.

But tonight that would change. Tonight she would find an eligible bachelor to love her. Tonight she would plan her future.

Because her parents weren’t here. And she was ready for anything.

Aubrey noticed a commotion with Count Albert, and took some energy from the Star to use. For Aubrey it felt like that, taking an invisible energy from the heavens which would flow into her body. From there she moved the energy up to her eyes, allowing her to see farther and with more detail, and per her gift. Das Geschenk des Sehens, her mother had called it. The Gift of Sight.

A servant was talking to him, and the two left the room of the ball. Aubrey had no idea why, though, and wasn’t interested in finding out.

No, today was going to be the best night of her life, and a minor commotion wasn’t going to ruin that.

[The Aspiring Archivist any pronouns]

1 minute ago, Ookla thePresentParticiple said:

Aubrey Wyndham stood alone at the edge of the ball. This was her third ball ever that she attended, despite being twenty-five years of age. Her mother intended to kill her in that room where she spent all of her time, studying and reading. Was that all that she was good for? Studying and reading?

No. It was not, could not, would never be. She could do as she wished. Go into politics. Get married—her parents didn’t even have a betrothal for her. Have children.

Find love.

But all that would be a while yet. For the time being she had to content herself with her studies of mathematics and history and all that boring stuff. She was too old to have a tutor, anyway!

And yet, and yet.

But tonight that would change. Tonight she would find an eligible bachelor to love her. Tonight she would plan her future.

Because her parents weren’t here. And she was ready for anything.

Aubrey noticed a commotion with Count Albert, and took some energy from the Star to use. For Aubrey it felt like that, taking an invisible energy from the heavens which would flow into her body. From there she moved the energy up to her eyes, allowing her to see farther and with more detail, and per her gift. Das Geschenk des Sehens, her mother had called it. The Gift of Sight.

A servant was talking to him, and the two left the room of the ball. Aubrey had no idea why, though, and wasn’t interested in finding out.

No, today was going to be the best night of her life, and a minor commotion wasn’t going to ruin that.

Quote

It's worth mentioning that everyone at the ball now knows the news of the Star.

[Ravenclawjedi42]

1 minute ago, Ookla the Abstract said:

 

Quote

Oh. Well in that case the news-spreaders just took a while to get to her.

 

[The Aspiring Archivist any pronouns]

5 minutes ago, Ookla thePresentParticiple said:

 

Quote

Well, I guess you could do her reaction now.

 

[Through the Living Elan He/Him]

Lord Alford wanders through London, head pounding. His lip is bruised. And... he looks down. Holy Cannoli... he thinks. His suit is ripped apart. Was that... blood? 

No... wait. Yes? 

The ball... was it still going? He was presentable enough, right? He surveys himself again. He would need... pants? Yes... those were important.

He would go get pants.

[The Bookwyrm he/him]

Quote

...You said astronomists.

It's astronomers.

 

[Thaidakar the Ghostblood he/him]

2 minutes ago, Ookla the Interstellar said:

 

Quote

It means the same thing...

 

[The Bookwyrm he/him]

1 minute ago, Ookla the Black Sock said:

 

Quote

But it's not a word.

The term is astronomer. As someone who's wanted to be an astronomer most of his life, trust me on this.

...I'm probably far more hung up about this than I should be.

And now if I do end up joining my character is going to be an astronomer of some kind.

 

[Through the Living Elan He/Him]

1 minute ago, Ookla the Interstellar said:

 

Quote

Astronomistastronomistastronomistastronomist

I also wanna be an astronomer! Or engineer for NASA!
I wanna go to space. That's my largest goal in life.

 

[Thaidakar the Ghostblood he/him]

1 minute ago, Ookla the Interstellar said:

 

Quote

*Shrug* I just checked a few different sites. Most of them say that Astronomist is a word.

Then the red line under the word now and the fact that Dictionary.com is giving me a glare says otherwise.

 

[The Bookwyrm he/him]

Just now, Ookla the Prehistoric said:

 

Quote

I don't want to go to space, because I have nowhere near the physical aptitude to be an astronaut. But I love space and have a knack for scientific research, so astronomer it is.

 

[Through the Living Elan He/Him]

Just now, Ookla the Interstellar said:

 

Quote

Same! 

But I can't live without going to space, so I need to start excersisioning. 

 

[The Aspiring Archivist any pronouns]

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Friends this is an RP

 

[Weaver of Shadows he/him]

Earl Seth Wallace sat on the very edge of the dance floor, holding a glass of wine and gathering his courage. He was here without  his father tonight, he could do what he wanted, he could dance with someone other than that dreaded lady Glen. And, with star doing whatever it was…maybe he’d be able to find someone else.

 He just had to gather the courage to start dancing first.

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When/where do I say his powers?

 

[Through the Living Elan He/Him]

25 minutes ago, Ookla the Abstract said:

 

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No. It’s a cult.

And that’s why I posted.

But no one wants to be with my half-naked character on the streets :((

 

[Through the Living Elan He/Him]

Owen Alford arrives at the party, late. And bruised. At least I have pants now. He thinks to himself. It looks like people have already paired off. "Oh well..." He mutters. 

Love could wait. It was for... well, people better at it than he. Messy red hair from his Scottish heritage and a freckled face, he wasn't the center of all fashion and beauty. And the bruises... well, they wouldn't help either. It wasn't his fault he'd been attacked though. 

Either way, he was here now. He immediately found his way to an empty table and had the servants bring him a brothy soup and some bread. He sighed, eating it slowly. No one loved him. No one would love him. At least it would end when the star finally came.

Edited December 7, 2023 by Ookla the Prehistoric

[Aeoryi she/her]

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Let me wait before joining this; I don't have the time commitment rn

 

[Weaver of Shadows he/him]

16 minutes ago, Ookla the Prehistoric said:

Seth Alford

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I see your character’s name is also Seth, would you like me to change mine to avoid confusion?

 

[Through the Living Elan He/Him]

1 minute ago, Ookla the foolish said:

 

Quote

*forehead slap*

Dude, I'll change it. 

I probably saw your name, and then forgot and used it cuz it was in my head.

 

[Weaver of Shadows he/him]

Just now, Ookla the Prehistoric said:

 

Quote

You’re all good, thank you!

 

[Through the Living Elan He/Him]

Just now, Ookla the foolish said:

 

Quote

No problemo!

Yo, do ya wanna be shardbuddies?

 

[The Aspiring Archivist any pronouns]

@Canada Lover @Ookla the foolish @Ookla the Lotus @Ookla-The-Stick @Ookla the Silver @TheOokla929 @InfiniteInsanity @Ookla the Erased @Ookla of Ravens @Ookla the Believer @Ookla the Quesadilla

[Ravenclawjedi42]

20 minutes ago, Ookla the Prehistoric said:

Owen Alford arrives at the party, late. And bruised. At least I have pants now. He thinks to himself. It looks like people have already paired off. "Oh well..." He mutters. 

Love could wait. It was for... well, people better at it than he. Messy red hair from his Scottish heritage and a freckled face, he wasn't the center of all fashion and beauty. And the bruises... well, they wouldn't help either. It wasn't his fault he'd been attacked though. 

Either way, he was here now. He immediately found his way to an empty table and had the servants bring him a brothy soup and some bread. He sighed, eating it slowly. No one loved him. No one would love him. At least it would end when the star finally came.

Aubrey blushes upon seeing the newcomer enter the ball. His muscular build, his bright hair, his disheveled clothing, how depressed he was…he just seemed so attractive.

But she couldn’t just tell him that. Definitely not. That would be taboo. But she still approached his table and dropped her necklace—golden, with a diamond on the end—under it. “Excuse me, sir,” she said. “I am looking for a necklace that I accidentally dropped. I think it rolled under your table, but I cannot bend over with how big this dress is,” Aubrey gestured to the large poofy thing covering her legs, “could you please pick it up for me?”

[Weaver of Shadows he/him]

Just now, Ookla the Prehistoric said:

No problemo!

Yo, do ya wanna be shardbuddies?

Quote

Of course!