Post by albert ramsay on Jan 4, 2012 17:55:08 GMT -5
albert george ramsay
[/b][/color][/size] A Mr Albert Ramsay at the dear age of twenty has found himself upon the most curious of situations - entering into London's most tantalizing gossip. "[/i][/color][/font][/size][/ul][/blockquote]
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W R I T E R .
name: Bratley
RP experience: been rp-in' for...two years?
how did you find us?: through rpg-d
age: 18
gender: femaleee
P O R T R A I T .
eye color: a light green-blue.
hair color: light brown/ dark blonde
height: 5 " 11 1/2
body type: athletic but slender, long-limbed with slim shoulders and hips.
distinguishing features: nothing but a few chicken-pox scars along the inside of his left arm.
fashion style:
M A N N E R S .
profession: n/a
adoration for:
Cabs: he loves being able to get around the city easily, and finds the taxicabs almost a novelty.
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distaste for:
dreams:
fears:
secrets:
main:
P A S T .
family:
main:
E T C .
play-by: Douglas Booth
password: evening solace
rp sample:
Most nights, Feliks didn't see the the outside of the G-top tent until far into the early hours. Most nights, he'd lose himself, operating seamlessley with automatic smiles and witty jokes for hours without a break or a thought of anyone else. But recently, he'd had far too much on his mind to distract him, what with Marek's open face and high, melodic laugh playing on his feverish mind and all those things Ania had said chasing after him in his sleep. What with how he was so quickly and dangerously falling for Sylvie, and how the thought of seeing her the next day often made the more difficult moments go faster.
This night, though, things had been quiet, although his mind certainly hadn't been; midnight had just come and gone and was it not for a couple of regulars long descended into slumber in the corner to G-Top was empty, and it was such a rarity that Feliks couldn't help but capitalise on it. He thrived on other people after all, and when there were no people he was at a loss, and so he swiped up his jacket without another thought and left the tent, stopping only once in the course of his journey to buy a flower from a bored-looking vendor at one of the stalls before heading until less familiar territory, into the land of the sideshows and the freak's tents. It irritated him to think that Sylvie's act might be considered freakish because he was so sure that she, out of all people, would never perform anything that was less than straight, and so he wondered why her tent would be placed here amongst the strange people and the strange things and the strange smells.
It didn't take him long to be directed to her tent, and he wondered where she would be now, considered how best to get round the back to find her and talk to her and ask how her show had been. But it soon became apparent there was no way around, at least not from the entrance, and so he ducked around a security guard and into the darkness and the smoke, expecting to find empty seats but seeing the room still crammed full and smelling faintly of beer and urine...Unwelcoming, unexpected. And that was when he looked up to the stage to see her, there, contorted in a way he had never expected, exposed and enjoying it. Lip trembling he pushed away out of the tent and back into the warm fruity air, chest heaving as he looked around for something to help him get a hold on this. And that was when he noticed opening at the back of the tent which he headed for, no longer smiling.
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