I'm Sunbeams. You can call me that or any variation thereof; I'm not too keen on divulging my true
identity. c; I'm eighteen years old (nineteen soonish), and I've been attending my local university
for almost two years now. My life gets a little busy, but I try to check in and post as much as possible.
At least a few posts a week, guaranteed! I don't like partners who pester me to post a lot. If I haven't
told you that I don't like it, that means I want to continue! I might just be caught up in something at
school or at home. Life can get a little hectic sometimes, yeah?гυιеѕo1.
Chill out. Relax. Communicate. It's the internet, right? Tell me how you really feel about the way
things are going, what you'd like out of the role play, or if you decide I'm not the right role playing
partner for you. I'll understand, don't worry about it.o2.
I generally do either modern-realism scenarios, or some of the same with a tinge of the fantastical.
I rarely venture out of this comfort zone, but sometimes a well formed plot can break me out of my
shell. But, I digress... modern-realism isn't synonymous with boring, day-to-day life. Quite a few people
seem to think this, for some reason.o3.
Sex: it's important. No, really. It's a huge bonding/relationship-building experience for the characters
to undergo. This said, I do not want smut. I don't want endless pages of fucking devoid of emotion.
Let's build up to the moment, word by word. (This isn't to say that I won't do a role play sans sexual
relations, I'm just less likely to take one on.) o4.
LITERACY (cap'd for EMPHASIS) IS SO IMPORTANT. But literacy cannot be gauged by a word count,
despite popular opinion. How much raw emotion and feeling can you inject into your words? Don't write
me a thousand word reply about descriptions of every little thing surrounding your character and their
fantastically shiny chestnut brown hair and their gorgeous opalescent orbs. What the fuck are orbs?
Get outta here. o5.
Humor is great. Let's try and have a bit of it, shall we? Characters that can just verbally go back and
forth and feed off of each other's energy... it's stupendous. Let's aim for some really good character
chemistry, yeah? o6.
Swearing is the spice of verbal language. Don't be a pussy.гоιерιау
I'm just going to come up with one thing I want to role play at a time. When the idea is taken, I'll write
a new one. So check back often. Also, you can always ask me if I want to do one of your ideas. I'm
pretty open, and no is the worst thing I can say. Haha. Idea.
A therapist x patient type of deal. I'd like to play the patient, who would be five to twenty years
younger than the therapist. Think twenty and thirty, twenty-one and twenty-six, nineteen and thirty-five.
Along those lines.
She ends up in the hospital for a stress-induced ulcer bleeding into her stomach. At the advice of her doctor,
she starts going in for therapy sessions, perhaps a bit reluctant to the idea at first. After a few sessions,
she realizes that she's actually looking forward to the visits, that she really likes talking to this therapist.
Eventually the therapist and patient divulge an equal amount of information about their lives to each
other, and it comes into question: who's helping who?
I'd like this role play to end up romantic down the road. Let's delve deep into the psyches of
these characters first, alright? Possible add-ons
: the therapist could be her (by marriage, not blood) uncle or step-father, intoxicants
(cannabis, alcohol, pills, imaginary drugs--no hard drugs), whatever you might want (just talk to me). Idea
: That abandoned warehouse caught her attention every time the train took her rushing past it. The few spots of graffiti, the rusted iron panels. The covered port where she suspected they unloaded cargo. An oddly shaped building that was starting to get taken over by the flora surrounding it. Claire Easton's eyes followed it with a thirst, a thirst to explore and to trespass. Perhaps she'd take a can of spray paint with her, make an actual mark on the world. Hundreds of people saw the warehouse in a given hour, the trains--just a small part of the vast transportation system--moving past it over and over and over again.
One night after a long day of job searching--"We're not hiring, sorry."--Claire rode her bike to the road up above the warehouse, walking towards the steep hill that she had to navigate to get down to the tracks, where the warehouse was. She leaned her bicycle against a tree at the top of the hill. Fingers looped through the pulls on her backpack, she took her first step down the muddy hill and just started sliding. She screamed at first, trying to maintain an upright position and slow down. Falling onto the train tracks, she picked herself up and ran over to the building, brushing her legs off and looking around. The sun was setting, and the shadows that fell around the warehouse were ominous and made her feel uneasy.
She pulled a can of purple spray paint out of her backpack and moved to the large, nearly empty wall that sat at the perfect viewing angle for the trains. Grinning, she uncapped it and began to mark the building. Once she was done, she moved back and let her eyes roll over the intricate cursive letters. 'Will I be forgotten?' Nibbling lightly on her lower lip, she bit into it, causing it to start bleeding, at the sound of something crashing in the warehouse. "Fuck!" She started to run for the hill, climbing back up it with more ease than she had fallen, pulling at roots to help her move faster. Pausing, she saw an old, bearded man, tall and bone thin, wrapped up in tattered clothes. He was at the top of the hill, pulling her bike to the street. Claire climbed even faster, shouting: "Hey! Wait!" as she pulled herself to her feet at the top of the hill and started running. "That's my bike!" He just pedaled away.
Covered in dirt, with a bleeding lip, and having forgotten her backpack at the warehouse in all of the commotion (which she wouldn't realize until she got back to her apartment), she walked herself home. Upon arriving, Claire noticed a small yellow notice on her door. An eviction notice. Tears welling up in her eyes, notice in hand, she slumped over onto her futon and just started bawling. The bicycle her mother had given her just a few years ago was gone, and it killed her inside. Now she had 72 hours to vacate her apartment, and nowhere to go.
So, this role play will be about her being homeless for a while and trying to search for the homeless man who stole her bike. I'm thinking she gains a partner on her quest, a slightly older, also homeless, male. Maybe she meets him when she goes to retrieve her backpack from the warehouse. I want this to be an adventure, where both of us insert as many fun twists and turns into the plot as possible. And as far emotions go, let's have a bit of everything, yeah? And some humor to boot--I kind of see this as a sort of black comedy.
Well, what're you waiting for? Message me!