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marcellus rhodes 11b arc
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vague lies { avalon } ; ic tutoring Dec 31, 2015 10:55:47 GMT -5

Post by marcellus rhodes 11b arc on Dec 31, 2015 10:55:47 GMT -5

Wrapping his right hand around his left, rubbing them together over the swollen red spots that had danced his skin after such a grip placed on the axe. He had forgotten to bring his gloves that day at work. He had normally found himself working alone in the forest because that was the best way to get more production done; to get more money for his family to crawl on, with more days of survival in this world of destined deaths. Daniel isn’t a fan of those tales, the ones that spoke about a life where everything was better where everything was happy-- they were only distractions from the real world that is much more horrid than the tales told.

Daniel Tate was not one for a game of lives as it only consisted of the slip of names being claimed for death, the others to slowly slip away from their grasps due to the life that most people live. He questions why others attempts and try to keep going for who do they need to live for and why do they bother trying if we all are going to breath that last breath, and once that last breath is let out the body will become limp and gone with life, gone with the wind. His mother had yelled at him, saying that he’d been locked inside his room far too long and he needs to find somewhere to go and spend his days, somewhere to waste his life away because right now he feels as if there is no life to live; no life to treasure inside of his bones.

He had never spent a day looking for someone but today might be a very good chance to do that as he was walking through the district-- (”Are you Sue Tate?”) No. He is not a hero, is not a warrior. The half-brother was a weakling, someone who knew nothing of the essence of being a hero because he never fought to his very last dying breath. He never fell into the world that is a dome made to fit twenty four people but billions of nightmares to come flying towards the one who escapes that dome as a victor with a crown placed upon their head as a trophy of murder.

Figures that could resemble shadows lay under him as they follow him, the shadow being black and following his every moment as if it were to be a mirror. Though there are no mirrors that he needs to look in because his face shows him all; he is broken. Not to be fixed. The days of knowing that he had a sibling that he never knew became a warrior and a fighter, someone who thrived for the District. His eyes trained along the ground he would walk. Daniel was looking for someone; he didn’t know who.

Someone to treasure? Possibly. Though the definite answer was someone to talk to, the foreign concept of talking to someone other than his raging mother. Finding himself coming to an abrupt stop after running into someone he’d look up at the figure in front of him. ”Sorry, didn’t see you there.” His words were mumbled but clear enough for the other to notice.

Just like his father’s mumbled lies, though vague enough for Daniel to never notice.

wc; 551

MADE BY VEL OF GS AND ADOXOGRAPHY 2.0

Last Edit: Jan 17, 2016 12:51:57 GMT -5 by Avalon

Avalon
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when i plant a fat ass cracker bitch i expect her to stay planted

vague lies { avalon } ; ic tutoring Jan 18, 2016 16:01:09 GMT -5

Post by Avalon on Jan 18, 2016 16:01:09 GMT -5

SHE HAS COME HERE

BLANCHE SUMMIT

TO RESTORE THE ROYAL BLOOD.

"The winter is meant for cold days, Blanche,
just as much as the summer is for--"

"No. It's too cold.
I can feel myself freezing over--
I'll practically be dead by sunrise."

"Don't be an over exaggerator--"

"How hypocritical.
What about Stella, why--"

"Don't mention her name!"

There remained a tipping point between the two that was broken, overdrawn, by a splintered coffin that became torn and tattered with savage minds. One had died, though the other failed to stay dead-- these are the things guaranteed in life, and I'd realized them in which the time of when a self-proclaimed queen had hauled the dead back between creaking floorboards. There was a lingering stench that clawed against the lone door that remains bordered up every new day as the sun shines through a grime window. Belle nailed it shut as Eunice ripped it down-- it'd become a systematic order in which a balance of forgetting and the inability to let go played between heat stricken bodies.

Cold hands wrapped against one another, I watched everything play out, from red wine shattering along with its fragile glass shards against a white cloth that symbolized purity in the rarest of forms, to its sacrifice, and the death of. We're all but a broken union who's dealing with grieving on various levels, and a cut throat aggression held with knives and blades at each others vital sources. It was different for each of us, truly, we hold the same tainted blood that flows within frail veins, but perhaps blood isn't always thicker than water.

"It's been over a year.
When is it time to let go?"

"There is never a time.
This isn't a band-aid wound,
don't be selfish."

An inner conflict with self and mind, I found consolation in already considering myself living among the damned and the dead. Blank eyes watched with skin growing pale, and rendered cold to the touch, I could practically feel the phantoms lacerate and drag at the soles of my feet to my shoulders. It was a muffled call for desperation in the form of silence and unspoken mumbles where I simply left it be as hands wrapped around my mouth, and I could feel the words being pried from my throat. I shrugged it off within the space of others when I refrained from being to my lonesome. Though, it wasn't particularly difficult to see that I'd dug an early grave for myself when Stella had died, however I'm not ready to be dragged beneath while she remains locked in her room. That was the problem with the things guaranteed in life: "One had died, though the other failed to stay dead."

"I'm not selfish.
I'm just over it."

"No, you're not.
And that's okay."

I made it a self-punishment, my own reprimand, I found my feet leading the way with the shadows that clings close to my heels. Lungs consumed with icy, lumber air, and my flesh decaying from the slap of frost and wind that struck every few minutes- seconds. It left my body aching for warmth and comfort, though it was to never be found, not at the house, not within fur coats, not even within the ground. Forever freezing to the touch, my body was preparing for its fall, though I wasn't ready. Unfocused eyes trailed over the blood that beaded from fingertips in small streaks, I felt pressure as my face and hands dug into the chest of a boy who looked oddly familiar. Rising my eyes to meet his I reminisce to the moment when Stella looked at Sue Tate in the Rubble, it was a moment like the same, though, Stella'd kissed him where his axe laid his only truth.

"Sorry, didn't see you there."

"Sorry,
I didn't see--"

Mouth gaped for a finished response I felt a shiver crawl up my spine instead. A yawn followed with watery eyes, and what remained was only slight awe, and a response looking to come out for there was sensed hesitation.

"You remind me
of someone very important
to someone I love, Sue."

table by elegant

Heya Arctic!
So as you know, clearly, I'll be your roleplay tutor for this thread.

You mentioned that you wanted more help with emotions, and details, within your posts, though from what I've read that necessarily isn't the case at all. The writing is absolutely wonderful and, in my own opinion, you don't need tutoring.

So, I'll get into it with advice and tips on how I write these out!
If you're concerned about anything else, then feel completely free and open to asking & learning about it!

- When roleplaying emotions out for a character, be it sad, happy, confused, etc., what I tend to do is think very carefully about the situation, ask the questions, "how would my character act if this was real life?", "what would their immediate reaction be?", treat this like you would in real life & be more realistic about it. For example, in real life one's not going to be held at gun point and react in a way that suggests they don't care, or don't find it serious, in even the slightest way.

- It is best to ignore, or rather set aside, how you feel personally out of character about something. Yes, you of course can make your character have the same thoughts as you from time to time about certain matters, though it's likely that it'll not happen all the time. It's best to go with and think out how your character feels emotionally about a situation or events going on in their mind, not necessarily yours.

- Take into consideration how your characters backstory will play out about certain situations that may come up, whether it be planned or not. For example, as you can tell in my Blanche post, I took into fact that Stella passed away in the games, so displaying it through both dialogue and memories it is clear that she is holding herself at a breaking point, or balance, of trying to both move on and let go and the fact that she simply cannot do this, for it is her sister and someone she loves.

"solitaire something you consider rare"

credit to zoë

marcellus rhodes 11b arc
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vague lies { avalon } ; ic tutoring Feb 11, 2016 12:32:49 GMT -5

Post by marcellus rhodes 11b arc on Feb 11, 2016 12:32:49 GMT -5

A girl of long blonde locks reminds him of a girl who stole the heart of his brother, the one that he had been related by blood to from a single father that had never claimed the sense of loyalty. His father seemed to despise the thought, that it was something that shouldn't really exist in this world. Though this doesn't matter, for there was no more he had to worry about for his father. He never wanted to face another day with his father, to face the male in the eyes and realize that there was not going to be any way that he would forgive the male that had never wanted to claim a single family. He never did, there was no single family that he claimed because his father didn't belong to theirs.

Though, this wasn't the time for him to think about his father. For now, his breath pauses. He stops breathing just for a second, for his breath is taken away at the beauty that had been placed in front of him. Her pale skin, her blonde hair. She was almost angelic in her face. His breath taken away from seeing her as she is beauty---

she looks up at him and speaks.

"Sorry,
I didn't see--" She halts. Her voice becoming absent and gone with the wind. The female's mouth gaped as she looks at him, a shiver slivering on up her spine. A yawn came from her after the shiver, as if she had been scared for a second.

He remembers fear at its very best, he remembers as a young boy being scared of big old storms that raged throughout the night where he wanted to have someone to hold onto, where he wanted to hold another. Where he was scared of the lightning that would come striking down on the ground with a roar to come afterwards. He was scared of being struck by lightning, he was scared that a tree might tip over and fall onto their house. There was nothing that he liked by the thought of a storm, it was a rage of rain. It was a swirling storm where people had to wait it out as they stare out of their windows to wait for the moment the rain comes to a halt, where everything would stand still. And then a harmony of sunlight would appear from the clouds as they separate to reveal the sunlight that had been enveloped behind it.

This, this wasn't fear. This was realization, a window's blinds being pulled up for those to see what was outside. But he didn't know what was outside. Nobody would, it was all a manufactured image that had been placed in our minds. People will see it differently, be forged inside of their minds if it was good or not they do not know. Her words speak again, almost as if it were to fill up the empty space that filled the air between the two.

"You remind me
of someone very important
to someone I love, Sue."

Sue. It must not be the same person; right? Sue is a fairly common name- so it must not be the same person that they're talking of.

He remembered seeing Sue in the games, seeing him get far enough to where a taste of victory was very possible for him. That, through the blood that painted his hands and the blood that would drip from his battle scars, he was able to taste the battle that he was capable of winning. His chances are much larger, though the want to win grew much stronger in all of the tributes that remained. All of the people that had the possibility, the possibility to claim the lives of others in order to win.

Snatched away from the image of reality and fantasy, they all believed that they had chances to win. Though only one person could really win, and the fantasy they all held would be dipped into reality to be overwhelmed with it in their final breaths--

a cannon, to signal that all fantasies aren't with happy endings. He looks at her, and decides to question the knowing of the male she spoke of.

"Do you speak of a male that had died in battle, died in war while fighting for what sanity they held?"

The male from District Seven pauses.

"Do you speak of someone brought down by a cannon?"
table inspired by rook