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⸻ 𐄁 𝐕𝐎𝐋𝐍𝐄𝐑-𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐂. // 𝐒𝐔𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝟎𝟎𝟏-𝐁
MANAGERIAL PERSONNEL ENROLLMENT RECORD FLOOR OF DISSENT: 40TH LEVEL – HIGH-CLEARANCE ONLY This submission pertains to internal authorization under the Dissension Initiative. All biometric and behavioral data logged herein is protected under Clause 9.4 of the Executive Containment Protocol.
( Post-entry memory reclamation is prohibited. Managerial insight must remain unclouded. Proceed with composure. You are now accountable to the structure. )
[ 𝗩𝗢𝗟𝗡𝗘𝗥-𝗗𝗢𝗪𝗡𝗘 𝗜𝗡𝗖. // 𝗡𝗢𝗡 𝗗𝗜𝗦𝗦𝗘𝗡𝗦𝗜𝗢𝗡 𝗙𝗢𝗥𝗠 ]
╰── santiago cabrera, 47, cis-male, he & him ]> 𝙾𝙱𝚂𝙴𝚁𝚅𝙴𝙳 𝙰𝚂𝚂𝙴𝚃 𝙻𝙾𝙶: The individual known informally as [ NICOLÁS “NICO" CÁRDENAS ] has been noted for presence within the Downe’s Hollow parameters. According to behavioral estimates, they present at approximately [ FOURTY-SEVEN ] and have been under evaluation for [ SIX YEARS ]. During scheduled daylight hours, they are recorded operating in the role of [ THE WARDEN / NON DISSENTED ]. Community observation reports suggest notable behavioral markers: prone to [ TRICKSTER ] under stress, yet reportedly [ APPEALING ] in collective settings. Volner-issued residency placement: [ ALABASTER GREEN / ALABASTER GREEN PRIVATE HOUSING ]. Echo archetypes detected in personality patterns include: [ an obsidian chalice of memory-rot, held to the lips but never swallowed — his charm, a velvet razor, masking the scream of a boy still trapped behind locked doors; a penance-machine in a tailored suit; his pulse syncs to surveillance and sonatas. where forgiveness should bloom, only ritual — ruthless, immaculate, divine; a candle burning beneath water — grief bending through the pressure of control. love becomes leverage. remorse, design. & still, somewhere, a cello mourns him. ]. 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚃𝚄𝚂: under continued observation. Decompression tolerance uncertain. Reintegration probability: TBD.
𐄁 𝗩𝗢𝗟𝗡𝗘𝗥-𝗗𝗢𝗪𝗡𝗘 𝗜𝗡𝗖. // 𝗣𝗢𝗦𝗧-𝗦𝗘𝗧𝗧𝗟𝗘𝗠𝗘𝗡𝗧 𝗢𝗡𝗕𝗢𝗔𝗥𝗗𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗘𝗩𝗔𝗟𝗨𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡
FORM 82-D | RESIDENCY JUSTIFICATION INTAKE: Your responses are recorded under Civic Harmony Protocol 6.1. Please answer with full clarity and personal accountability. Ambiguity may result in further observation.
1. Please describe the circumstances of your initial transition into Downe’s Hollow.
Nicolás adjusts his cufflink — not out of need, but rhythm. A gesture he’s perfected over years of answering questions without answering them. The light hits the silver just right, casting a faint glimmer along the bone of his wrist. ❝ Circumstances? That word makes it sound accidental. No. I walked in willingly. My name was already on the ledger before I arrived — they just hadn’t inked it yet. ❞ His voice thrums in his throat, a contemplative hum. He leans back slightly, the leather of the chair creaking beneath him like an old confession. Outside, the wind scratches against the windowpane, unnoticed. ❝ Let’s call it… a quiet invitation. After a string of obligations I was no longer interested in upholding. Downe’s Hollow offered anonymity. Control. A chance to help shape something life changing. ❞ He smiles, but it never quite touches his eyes. Something ancient flickers there — calculating, fond almost. Like an upward tug of his lips making itself evident in his tone, curling & self-satisfied if not playful. ❝ And me? I wanted silence. The kind you earn, not the kind you're buried in. ❞ Fingers steeple, his breath still, like a cathedral holding itself together just long enough not to collapse. ❝ So I took the job and became The Warden. Learned the language of the company like it was my native tongue. And haven’t heard a single unnecessary noise since. ❞ He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t fidget. The kind of man who turns torment into tenure.
2. At the time of your arrival, what were you running from, or toward?
A thumb smooths along the line of his lapel — absent-minded, precise. Not to correct anything, but to occupy the space where discomfort would live in a lesser man. The stillness he keeps around him isn’t stillness at all — it’s choreography, the illusion of calm placed just-so atop a coil of wire & flame. Light glances off the ridge of his cheekbone, lending him the look of something carved. He speaks only once the silence feels full, shaped, intentional. Not before. ❝ I wasn’t running from anything. ❞ It’s said gently, like a bedtime lie. One he’s told himself enough times to get the tone right. He takes that pausing moment just like he always does to assess. Pulse, sting of adrenaline, twitching tendons nestled behind the eyes, anything that might hide bill of a liar’s fixings. Humor usually shades it. His eyes drag, slowly, toward a spot in the corner where the wallpaper buckles slightly. Flawed things have always fascinated him. Imperfect seams. Old wounds. Names spoken behind closed doors. ❝ That word — running — it implies fear. Urgency. A suitcase and a conscience. ❞ He exhales a sound, nearly a laugh, more like a memory that tried to escape and got caught in his throat. ❝ I don’t panic. I adapt. Quite well. ❞ He can count on this life, the steady money in his bank account, the luxury. That sound when he sits back in his Chesterfield real leather office chair — the breath of expensive discomfort ��� has always pleased him. Somewhere behind his eyes, old train stations burn. A passport stamped in someone else’s blood. A voice he hasn’t heard in years calling him by the wrong name. ❝ There were… conversations being had. Doors closing without sound. The kind of attention a man like me doesn’t want to attract unless he’s holding the leash. ❞ Fingers brush along the armrest, tracing a grain he knows by touch. Every space he occupies becomes a confessional eventually. The trick is never kneeling. ❝ So I came here. To order. To erasure, but on my terms. Dissension doesn’t care what came before. It asks only what you’re willing to do now. Same with Volner-Downe. ❞ What they will never know is that, somehow, he still has his righteousness, his insufferable piety about morality but when it comes down to it, he holds all of this on his own. Black & white are constructs; the law of a manmade code. ❝ And I was willing. I still am. ❞ A ghost of a smile haunts the corner of his mouth — dangerously civilized. ❝ Let others run. I arrive. And when I do, I stay unless I need to otherwise. ❞ He rests his hands together, cathedral-like, as if in prayer or judgment. Perhaps both. Just as in youth.
3. Do you believe you chose this life, or were chosen for it?
The question hangs in the air like perfume left behind by someone who’s already walked out the door. It doesn’t startle him. He’s been answering versions of it his whole life — sometimes with a smile, sometimes with a punch, sometimes not at all. Today, he chooses simplicity. A breeze filters through the cracked window — thin, citrus-sharp, carrying with it the distant sound of something mechanical humming under the floor. Nicolás shifts his weight — not because he's uncomfortable, but because stillness, for him, is never quite empty. It hums too. He drags a knuckle across the stubble along his jaw, slow and absent, like someone rewinding a memory he doesn’t plan to explain. His body’s all loose geometry now — slouched in the chair like it belongs to him, like the room does too. The only part of him holding any tension is the way his eyes never quite stop watching the door. Just in case. ❝ You ever see a dog chase its own shadow? Thinkin’ it’s got somewhere to be? It’s like that. ❞ His voice breaks the quiet like jazz cutting through static — low, smooth, a little tired around the edges. The chair groans faintly as he leans back — not out of arrogance ( well, not fully ), but to get comfortable. He always speaks better when his spine isn’t doing the work. One hand slips into the inner pocket of his blazer, fishing out a toothpick like it’s a cigarette. He doesn’t light anything, of course. Just rests it between his teeth, the barest twitch of his jaw giving it motion. ❝ I thought I was making decisions. Real ones. ❞ He taps his thumb once against his forefinger, rhythmic, like a heartbeat trying to remember its tempo. ❝ Thought I was choosing the next city. The next name. The next bed. ❞ Grin lifting — crooked, soft, not quite sad. He flicks the toothpick to the other side of his mouth, jaw ticking once before settling again. Every movement is smooth, practiced, but never rehearsed — like he’s been living inside the same moment for too long and just learned to make it look graceful. ❝ But looking back? I was just following the pattern. Like a record that doesn’t know it’s been skipping the same groove for years. ❞ Nicolás lets a chuckle clutter his throat, then his gaze drops, lands on a scuff in the floor — probably his own doing, from a week ago. Something about the imperfection pleases him. Proof he was here. The comes the sigh — deep, not dramatic. Like the kind of breath you take when a song ends & the silence comes back heavier than you remembered. ❝ Life doesn’t always ask for your input. ❞ He lifts his head again, one brow slightly raised, as though testing the weight of honesty in the air. ❝ But the reality is quieter than that. It didn’t arrive all at once. It just… happened. ❞ The lights overhead buzz faintly, casting long shadows across the table. Nicolás glances at his reflection in the glass — a vague shape, stretched and blurry. Fitting. ❝ So no. I don’t think I chose it. But I stayed. ❞ Somewhere behind his calm, there’s a something that scintillates — something wounded that learned to wear good shoes and show up on time. Not because it healed, but because bleeding was boring. ❝ And maybe that’s the most honest answer I can give. ❞
4. When you envision the person you used to be, what part of them still lingers in the current design?
The room has that late-afternoon hum to it — light hanging low, casting everything in honey and ruin. There’s a flicker of dust in the air, caught in the rays like static searching for a signal. Nicolás watches it for a moment, head tilted — not distracted, just… considerate. He’s always had a soft spot for things that drift. His tie’s slightly loosened, though it wasn’t before he sat down. No one saw it happen. That’s the way with him — he unravels in inches, never threads. He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he slips a coin from his pocket — smooth, dulled with age, its etching nearly worn away. He doesn’t flip it. Just turns it once between his fingers, slow. Like something precious. Like something that’s burned him before. Voice quieter this time, but not uncertain. Just a little farther away, as if he's talking to a version of himself sitting in the doorway behind someone. ❝ He was louder. Had opinions about justice. Thought sharp suits could keep the world out. ❞ the coin clicks once between his fingers. ❝ That kid, man — he believed there were rules. Thought if you played nice, you could rewrite the ending. ❞ His gaze drops, not out of shame, but memory. The kind that buzzes behind the ribs, unwanted but familiar. ❝ I liked him, though. Even when he got in the way. ❞ & just like that, his posture resets — familiar, cool, indifferent. Not careless. Just unwilling to bleed where it won’t be noticed. ❝ I was stubborn, overly romantic. Too quick to trust a well-worded lie. ❞ Then, more to himself, the ghost of a grin brushing the corner of his mouth: ❝ Got burned for it. A few times. It's all good, lessons learned. ❞ There’s a silence that follows — thick, but not uncomfortable. The kind you get between old friends who know not to fill space just because it’s there. He lets it settle like dusk. Fingers curl loosely around the coin again before he tucks it away, like the thought itself. Back where it came from. Kept, but caged. ❝ What’s left of him? ❞ Nicolás glances up now, eyes clear and unsettling in their calm. ❝ I think he’s the reason I don’t flinch. ❞ A breath. Dry. Clean. ❝ Not because I stopped feeling it — but because he never stopped. We’re not the same, but I still carry his voice. He’s just quieter now. Mostly speaks when I’m trying to sleep. ❞ The corner of his mouth lifts again. Not a smile this time — just shape memory. Then silence. Heavy, holy. Like he just said something important.
5. In your current state of clarity, how would you describe your belief in the Dissension Procedure?
The ceiling fan churns lazily above, dragging warm air in slow, reluctant circles. Nicolás watches it spin like he’s trying to remember if he ever really slept beneath one without locking the door. His sleeve’s been rolled to the elbow, revealing a line of muscled forearms and scarred skin near the crook of his arm — faint, healed, but unmistakably human. That raised blemish older than the name he answers to now. The light slants across his collarbone, soft gold split by shadow. For a second, he says nothing. Just presses a thumb against the edge of his jaw, slow and firm, like he’s keeping something from leaking out. ❝ Clarity, huh. ❞ He floats levity into his voice. He doesn’t laugh this time. The word lands heavy in his mouth, sits on his tongue like copper. ❝ Sounds clean. Clinical. Feels more like… exposure. ❞ His hand hovers near his throat, as if to loosen the button he never fastened. But he doesn’t. Instead, his fingers retreat, folding into his palm — tight, bone-white for a beat before easing open again. A small rebellion, swallowed whole. ❝ The Procedure works. ❞ It’s spoken plainly. No spin, no glamour. However something in him flinches — not visibly, not enough for most to catch. It’s in the stillness. The kind that’s practiced. The kind that says if I move too fast, I might feel it all at once. ❝ It works too well. ❞ He closes his eyes briefly, just long enough to see someone he used to know — maybe himself, maybe not. Someone who looked like him and asked questions the company didn’t want answered. ❝ I’ve seen what it leaves behind. ❞ An exhale. His voice softens, though still audible. ❝ And what it takes. ❞ He presses the pad of his thumb to the inside of his wrist, like he’s checking for something — pulse, maybe. Or just trying to remember he’s still real. The guilt doesn’t show in his posture. It lingers elsewhere — in the breath he holds too long, in the slight hitch between words, in the way he doesn’t meet eyes for a full sentence and a half. And yet: it's not a thought he can ever fully admit to. ❝ Do I believe in it? ❞ He tilts his head, a half-shrug blooming through his shoulders like a sigh that never quite makes it out. ❝ I believe in my job. I believe in order. In results. In peace and silence and clean exits. ❞ But he remembers the screaming & confusion — muffled through glass when they first awake after the procedure, but not enough. He remembers the way someone’s voice broke on the fourth recitation and never found its way back. He remembers someone trying to harm themselves from a decision their "other self" made. ❝ Most times I sleep easy. ❞ He drums his fingers once, twice, against the table — then stops. That’s enough. ❝ Though that’s not what they hired me for. ❞ And there, finally, he looks at his interviewer. Fully. Like he’s dared them to hold the weight of what he carries. ❝ I just make sure the machine runs. ❞ The faintest smile flickers at the edge of his mouth, confident and charming. Nicolás stands this time — not in triumph, not in comfort. Just to put a little space between the interviewer and the wreckage he almost admitted to. The fan overhead keeps spinning. And somewhere beneath his ribs, the guilt curls back into silence, waiting for its turn again, no matter how much he buries it. But his own survival is always paramount.
𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐕𝐨𝐥𝐧𝐞𝐫-𝐃𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐞 𝐈𝐧𝐜., 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘥, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘢𝘭 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘨𝘯𝘪𝘻𝘦𝘥. 𝘞𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘫𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘺 𝘵𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳.
𝗪𝗲’𝗿𝗲 𝗵𝗼𝗻𝗼𝗿𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗲. – Compliance. Continuity. Purpose.
#Managerial Employee.#Dissension Character.#FLOOR OF DISSENT.#severance rp#plot driven rp#dark rp#mature rp#psychological rp#literate rp#new lsrp#lsprg#lsrpg#roleplay
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PRAGMA LUZ — [?], [?] — ENIGMA.
YOU ARE AN ALIVE THING THAT SHOULD BE DEAD— YOU ARE A MYSTERY EVEN TO YOURSELF. Fingers formed from ceramic and steel trace questions in fogged over glass, trail over constructed jawline, in search of revelations that refuse to come. Spectral energy hangs in your sternum, kisses your insides with heat-scalding animation, while mechanical limbs born from human hands guide each movement. Once you were something, once you were someone's. BUT WHAT IS TO BE DONE WITH YOU NOW? Memory sits like a blasted heath, a thing ruined to the point of uncertainty. There was a knife, and there was a man, and now there is only you, darling, dearest, desecrated. The shape of your own face is a mystery, the lay of the land hangs like a loaded question. Understanding comes in waves— glimpses of times gone past, echoes of others' lives. There is a hunger here, a desire to be a thing that might be whole once again. There is a beauty, a wide-eyed wonder at the whole of the world. THERE IS A QUESTION MARK WOVEN THROUGH EVERY ACTION. Washed up on shore, given life and purpose by the whims of others, the whole of you is waiting for an answer that may never come. And when all the lights go out on all the shores, there is still this: might you still remain, eternal and unsure?
CONNECTIONS
AGAPE — EVEN WHEN I’M IN THE DARK I’M IN THE DARK WITH YOU.
There was a hand that found you in the port, cradled gently by sea glass and the debris of the night before. It was a soft hand, a gentle one, one that raised you out of the waters and gasped with shock as a face formed into being. AGAPE is the one that brought you to the rest. AGAPE is a north star, a cardinal point. Your loyalty to them is something that FIRE COULD NOT MELT OUT OF YOU. It is foolhardy, eternal, the first thing that you might have called your own. If they feel the same, you cannot tell. And still, you will not let them doubt your devotion.
STORGE — THE ONE THING LEFT IN THIS WRETCHED LANDSCAPE THAT COULD SAVE US ALL FOR A LITTLE BIT LONGER THAN WE DESERVE.
There is something familiar in the way that they look at you, the way that they take your hand after jobs and promise that everything will be okay. Their presence comes with the smell of rosemary, of something known and not known hanging in the air, an echo of sleep. YOU WONDER WHY IT HAUNTS YOU. It follows the contours of how an older sibling might treat their younger half: you are greedy for it, desperately clinging to them, eyes forever following. But you wonder how you know this: how the word sibling can ever sit in your vocabulary. And with it, you begin to wonder why STORGE cares this much.
MANIA — I CAME TO TAKE UP YOUR OFFER TO NO LONGER BE TORTURED.
WHAT CAN YOU OFFER THAT THEY DO NOT HAVE? MANIA is not friend. MANIA is not foe. Even in your short time of being the thing that you are, knowing the little that you know, your heart a blank slate, even this much is clear. MANIA holds a key to a box that might hold another key to the start of the answer of what you are. But MANIA always demands a price. They hold question and answer, beginning and end: but is the price one that you will ever be able to stomach?
TAKEN BY DEL ✧ AIYANA LEWIS
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fc ideas for rumpelstiltskin please
aaaaa matteo martari, kentaro sakaguchi, chay suede, josh o’connor, luke pasqualino, alex hassell, fabien frankel, harris dickinson, louis garrel, and lee joon gi !

#it’s certainly… a range#ahdjsjd i hope it helps!#answered.#mw.#appless rp#oc rp#town rp#magic rp#lsprg
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see you around, fable. coming soon.
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Welcome to Wisteria Lane,
a seemingly serene suburban neighborhood where the facade of perfection masks a web of secrets, lies, and unexpected drama. Nestled in the heart of Fairview, Wisteria Lane is home to a diverse group of residents, each with their own unique stories and hidden pasts. From the eclectic and artistic haven of Hibiscus Circle to the affluent and lush landscapes of Hydrangea Circle, and the tranquil retreat of Cypress Lane, our community is as varied as it is intriguing. As new families move in and old residents grapple with their evolving lives, the once-peaceful neighborhood becomes a hotbed of tension and intrigue. At the center of it all is the mysterious death of Audre Thompson, whose passing has left more questions than answers. Her widow, Evelyn Thompson, is on a relentless quest for the truth, believing that there is more to her wife's death than meets the eye.As secrets unravel and alliances shift, the residents of Wisteria Lane find themselves entangled in a complex tapestry of love, betrayal, and redemption. The community must navigate the delicate balance of protecting their own while uncovering the truths that threaten to tear them apart. From clandestine affairs and hidden agendas to mysterious newcomers and unresolved pasts, Wisteria Lane is a place where every whisper holds a story, and every glance could reveal a lie.
Join us in this immersive rolepalay experience where the idyllic suburban life is anything but ordinary. Embrace your character, unravel the mysteries, and dive into the drama that makes Wisteria Lane the most captivating street in Fairview.
SKELETONS || FAQ || FAMIILIES|| FC SUGGESTIONS || APPLY
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Can I please get mwm by admins and members?
Hey non! Let me ask the Discord!
FCS: oliver jackson-cohen, diego luna, johnathan bailey, aaron cobham, joshua sasse, michael huisman, chiwetel ejiofor, david oakes, jordan renzo, henry cavill MUSES: admin di answered this here but also mentioned; viscount beauchamp, duke of northumberland, literally any of our wonderful muses admin di whipped up for ya'll! or even an oc that can fit into hampton court!
— admin velvet
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Greer Morgan (she/her). District Ten Mentor. 121st Mentor. Twenty-three. Florence Pugh.
Greer hated everything about her childhood, she was just too young to know it then. She was raised with money and privilege most others in Ten could only dream about, and although it didn’t touch the wealth of the Capitol, it meant never soothing calloused hands or fighting off hunger pains. Greer’s dad is the mayor of Ten, which meant she had a good education, a beautiful home, and four siblings who spent their days alongside her playing and learning instead of working. It should have been the perfect life, but perfection was only ever an illusion.
Greer learned from an early age that children should be seen and not heard, and they should not be seen unless perfectly presentable. She had a closet full of pretty dresses she was never allowed to stain. Her hair was always neat and never out of place. Her voice was never to be raised, and no matter what there was always a smile on her face. She was taught how to sit perfectly still through dinners, and parties, and ceremonies, and pictures, and when people would visit, they would coo over just how polite and well-spoken the little Morgan girls were.
None of this sweetness came naturally to Greer. Greer, in particular, was a horse that needed breaking. She used to protest about why the boys got to run and come home dirty with holes in the knees of their pants. Why did they get to ride horses, and look for lizards, and make noise? Greer’s sisters seemed to fall so easily in line, but Greer and her brother were an inseparable duo of chaos and noise. It seemed her parents were constantly battling the fire that burned in her, but they tamed her with the promise that good little girls get good things in life. So, Greer learned to behave. She learned to be polite and well-spoken with never a hair out of place or a stain on her dress. That was the way things were supposed to be.
How did they feel about the games before being reaped?
Greer never thought about the Games too hard. She didn’t know the farm kids that went into the arenas, but she knew the ceremony like the back of her hand. She was told early and often that the Games were a system that worked, and Greer didn’t know to question that. She never imagined that she wasn’t actually immune to their reach, so her own reaping caught her completely off guard. Greer had always been told that if she behaved good things would happen. She had been promised the chance at a Capitol university or at least the life of modest luxury she had always had. She had never taken tesserae; she wasn’t supposed to die in the arena. That wasn’t at all how any of this was supposed to go, but Greer did what she knew how to do. Greer took the stage, and she smiled.
What was their trajectory in the arena & how did they win their game?
Despite its broken promises, Greer’s childhood did help her going into the Games. She knew how to interview well and how to feign graciousness. She was well educated and had a few skills that made her adored by the Capitol audience. She knew how to play the piano, she could speak a little Latin, and she’d trained in archery enough to pull out a decent training score. All of this meant sponsorships, and sponsorships helped keep her alive.
Greer was launched into something resembling a children’s entertainment center. The tributes rose on pedestals in the center of a ball pit that served as the cornucopia. The tributes had to dig through the balls to find supplies, and the difficulty of maneuvering through the pit proved to be deadly for many. The ball pit was located in the center of a large jungle gym that could only be navigated via slides, tunnels, platforms, and nets. The bloodbath claimed eleven of the tributes, setting the Games up for a quick run.
The arena was extremely difficult to navigate as a whole and was designed to purposely confuse the tributes. There were also very few places to hide, and tributes had to learn to access escape routes if they wanted to avoid combat. The sectors of the arena were arranged vertically like floors in a building. Every floor of the entertainment center could be reached, but tributes could only move through the floors using slides and ladders embedded in the walls. No slide or ladder ever took the tribute to the same floor consistently, so the tributes were always left guessing where they would end up. Water was fairly abundant in the arena with potable drinking fountains on each floor, but food was nowhere to be found. The only food items in the entire arena were pizza and cake, moldy and rotten beyond edibility located in the sector of the arena called the “party room.”
Greer managed to escape the bloodbath by finding a bow and arrows in the ball pit and using it to defend herself as she waded through the plastic balls. After escaping the jungle gym sector, Greer wound up in the arcade sector where she formed an alliance with tributes from Seven, Eleven, and Twelve. The four of them spent the night safely sleeping in shifts and hiding in the noise and chaos of the arcade. The alliance stayed in the arcade into the second day, but by midday they were found by the pair from Four. Greer’s alliance fled through a slide and landed in a nearly pitch dark, black-light mini golf course. The dark, twisting course was difficult to navigate and proved to be very dangerous when the jungle themed course decorations revealed themselves to be arena mutts, and the group was attacked by monkeys and crocodiles. The tribute from Twelve was killed by the mutts, but the rest of the alliance escaped to a floor made up by a maze of inflatables for the night. By the third day, only nine tributes remained in the arena, and the gamemakers began routing the slides and ladders to force tributes onto the same floors. Greer’s alliance was ambushed by a group of tributes in the inflatable maze leading to the loss of the tribute from Eleven.
Greer and the tribute from Seven fled to a floor of the arena called “Tot’s Tiny Town” where they were able to hide for most of the fourth day. The two of them were able to find respite for much of the day, resting and receiving much needed sponsor gifts. By that night, only six tributes still remained, and the gamemakers wanted to begin wrapping things up. They released a group of seven foot tall animatronic mutts from the “party room” to attack any tribute they find. Through the night, the mutts killed several tributes and led the rest back to the main floor of the entertainment center before they were called off. Greer and her ally were forced back to the jungle gym where the game had started and brought face to face with the remaining careers. Greer’s last remaining ally was killed, but Greer was able to use her bow to survive the confrontation and be crowned a Victor on the fifth day in the arena.
How were they affected by their experiences in the game?
The one thing the Games did give back to Greer was her fire. When she returned home, Greer’s parents tried their best to continue parading her around, but now Greer knew the truth about what the Games were. She didn’t believe her parents’ lies about the generosity of the Capitol or the benefits of the system anymore, so they stopped speaking to one another. Today, Greer isn’t so afraid to get her clothes dirty or to make a little noise.
What are they like as a mentor?
Greer fights for her tributes, and all she asks is that they fight too. She knows that sometimes you have to play nice with the Capitol before you go in, and she would never fault a tribute for that. However, Greer always strives to make sure her tributes don’t lose their spark in the process.
What is their personality?
Mostly, Greer likes to be left alone. She doesn’t trust easily and takes a bit to get know. She spends most of her time with her horses back in Ten, and only spends time in the Capitol when she has to. However, she’s learning to let herself have fun again.
Three strengths and three weaknesses.
+loyal, independent, adventurous
-unpredictable, blunt, impatient
PENNED BY: HAIR
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i’ll be around working on some eternals bios this evening && we plan on getting our other bios back up. if there’s a character you’re looking for, let us know so we can add them to the list!
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House of Jupiter - souls of love and desire
The younger and less-fatal half of Janus, the house of Jupiter represents the double-edge sword of love and desire. A belief that morality is second to the will of one's inner most desires and affections. They promote acting on impulse and desire first, and can be perceived as self-motivated or impulsive. Other houses may view it as frivolity, but their impact and influence is insurmountable. What is the point of living, if one does not feel their soul?
As it stands, the House of Jupiter comes together as a notorious social group, focused on entertainment and the arts. A seemingly coveted and exclusive social group, souls of the House of Jupiter can often be seen walking behind a mysterious door at The Amore. Rumor has it - a private, speak-easy exists beneath...
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hello tags!! i’m lurking around tonight, and i’d love to answer some questions before i head to bed!
we are a brand new sci-fi/spy roleplay set in the year 2054! if some of your favorite movies include the matrix, inception, tenet, the ocean’s series, or any other sci-fi/spy thriller, OLYMPVSHQ is for you!
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Good afternoon / evening / morning depending on where you are, today I will be reaching out to the members who have had their FCs and various roles on hold, if I don't hear anything back within 24 hours, I will be opening those roles up once more. I don't want to withhold faces or potential spots for those who are really interested in joining. I hope you're all having a wonderful week.
#Dissension Memorandum.#severance rp#dark rp#horror rp#literate rp#mature rp#psychological rp#lsrp#new lsrp#plot driven rp#new lsrpg#lsprg#lsrpg#semi appless roleplay#roleplay#psychological drama#psychological horror#psychological thriller
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happy day everyone! we’ve been open for a FULL week and it makes me so happy, truly... when i started building the main i had no idea anyone would want to join the group and it would just be a pipe dream. i just want to say THANK YOU from the bottom of my heart for joining, checking us out and recommending acadia.
why don’t you come and join in on the fun, tags! we’ve got so many open faces and a lot of love to give!
this weekend i don’t have any surprises but that’s just because i have a big one for our writers at the end of the month, it’ll be worth waiting for!
#admin emmy#dark academia rp#dark rp#new rp#active rp#supernatural rp#supernatural rpg#oc rp#oc lsrpg#oc rpg#lsprg#town rp#city rp#magician rp#magic rp#mature rp#mumu rp
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SOKOVIA RISING is a literate, app-based Marvel/DC crossover RPG written by and created for longtime writers and passionate fans of Marvel and DC comics, movies, and media. Dozens of roles are open, so apply today—Sokovia needs you, heroes!
WILL YOU JOIN THE FIGHT?
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I just want to say how much I love this group. It is ran so beautifully with fun twists and turns every week. Anyone that wants an interesting group that isn’t super overwhelming while still full of amazing characters and writers, definitely come check us out!
🥰🥰🥰 Ahh, this is so sweet. Thank you for the very kind words!! They mean a lot to me. <3
If survival is your jam, come check us out! We’re a semi-appless rpg inspired by Amazon’s new hit TV show, The Wilds. The roleplay follows the lives of 30 young adults trapped on a deserted island with no help in sight and no choice but to combine efforts with the others for survival despite disparate backgrounds and personalities.
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i am Looking Respectfully at the wanted connections, so if anyone has any new ones to add, pls, now's the time, i'd love to see more 👀
just so that you are aware, 'nonnie, our members got VERY excited when i relayed this question to them. honestly, your power is unparalleled. but we now have had SIX new wc's submitted and added to the page, and others have expressed their interest in familial and luuurve connections which are not yet listed:
rosie, our resident simp, would love for a slow burn connection for @connoroverthehill.
@dmndmyths ( june gao ) has a yearning burning desire for an adult child over 30 !
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