thedeluge-rpg

[thedeluge-rpg]

Most wanted characters?

At the moment Solaine Remy, Aberle Müller and Laure Forestier. Gang members in general are very wanted, though, too.

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Hey, I'll be gone for a couple of days until sunday the 6th :] Just thought to let you know! - Nicole

Thanks for letting us know!

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Why the all para-ing rping? Do you not like gif conversations?

Gif chats are allowed, but I myself have experienced that sometimes the dashboards of RPGs can sometimes be filled with 99% gif chats and 1% paras and I wanted to avoid that, as I believe that para-ing is a better way to develop characters and story lines.

You're more than welcome to gif chat, I'm just trying to keep them from overruling the paras.

Also, I'm very sorry for the late reply. For some reason Tumblr didn't notify me of this message so I only saw it once I had received another one and checked my inbox.

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Brilliant, Talia! Loved your writing sample. Please make Basile's account and send in the link within the next 48 hours.

Name/Alias: Talia

Age: 19 Timezone: EST Activity Level: Right now, like 9+. I’m currently looking for a job so it might go down soon, but for now I’m around all the time. Experience (will not influence your chances of being accepted): I’ve been writing for a long time, but I’ve done tumblr rping for about a year and several months. It’ll be two years in Feb Password: aardvarks

Desired character: Basile Proulx Any changes?: Nope, I adore him! Sample (in character, third person, at least two paragraphs):

 Basile relaxed as he leaned back in his chair. He was in his personal office, where he conducted most of his business. It was relatively patched up, considering the condition of the rest of the opera house where Proulx’s gang was housed. He was actually rather proud of the way he had managed to get the place fixed up. Much of the initiation into Proulx’s gang involved heavy labor, cleaning out the lower rooms that were the most heavily damaged by the floods and the snow. And Basile was sure to take advantage of any practical skills his members had, setting them to work fixing up furniture and decor. Even though it was rather silly, Proulx wanted the opera house restored to its former glory. He wanted his headquarters to look grand and respectable. It was the reason he had chosen the place in the first place. He had spent nights there, before the storm, conducting business between the acts of whatever was showing, in whispers and quiet corners. Many important people had come to the opera, and it was a good place for him to gather clients and customers. Important people had many secrets they wanted to keep hushed up, and Basile had been happy to oblige their needs.

It had been a golden time then, with the wallpaper still shining, the chandeliers hanging and glinting in the lights. People had come to escape their problems, or would hire Basile to remove them. It was certainly different before the storm. These days, one couldn’t afford to get distracted from the problems at hand. Not when life was so delicate. Still, Proulx didn’t mind the difference. He liked the way things were now. His intelligence had pulled him through the disaster, and he had easily taken advantage of the chaos to find support in the survivors, and even rebuild his gang. He had even more power now, if he did say so himself, and he liked the freedom he had to operate. He was no longer in shadowy corners, and he was speaking in a voice louder than whispers. He didn’t have to fear any police force, any government or laws. He could do what he wanted, and run his gang in the open. It was exhilarating, the amount of power and freedom he had these days, over all the people in his gang, the men and women who jumped at his command. He could order them to do anything, and they would, out of both respect and fear. He made sure that they did respect him and fear him. He wasn’t afraid to show his strength, make examples out of the people who had betrayed him or disappointed him. It was almost fun, seeing the newer members scurry around him, doing their utmost best to please him. There was always the recruit who wouldn’t listen, of course, but the disobedience never lasted long. No one spoke out of turn around Proulx, and he made sure of that.

Basile heard footsteps approaching his office, which was actually one of the old dressing rooms, outfitted for him to conduct business. He set his chair legs back on the floor, tucking his feet under the desk again, and looked up at the doorway, putting a stoic expression on his face. One of the newer recruits, acting as a messenger boy, appeared in the doorway, looking rather nervous. Basile hid his amusement, but kept his expression stony. “Yes?” He said, giving the young man a sharp look up and down, just to scare him a bit.

  “Uh, sir, Muller said he’s ready for you.” The young man said. Basile had to give him credit for speaking without stuttering. He hated when the new ones did that.

  “Thank you. I’ll be down in a moment.” Basile said, letting his voice go a little softer, though he kept his expression still. He waited for the young man to leave, but frowned a little as he stood there, shifting his weight and looking nervous. “Anything else?” Basile added, rising from his chair.

  “Sir, the woman, Forestier, is waiting to speak to you. She says there’s a problem and she needs to talk to you as soon as possible.” The young man said, his words coming rather quickly in his anxiety.

Basile suppressed a sigh. He had been afraid that some incident might occur, with the food rations growing smaller every day. He hadn’t been able to send people to hunt for the past week, because of bad snow storms happening the past few days, and hunger always put people on edge, caused fights and disputes. Something must have happened between one of his people and Laure’s. That would have to wait, though. He had more pressing matters to take care of. Something he would enjoy much more than simpering to that woman.

“Tell Forestier that I’ll see her in a bit, but she’ll have to wait. Bring her here, get her food or water if she wants it. Make sure she’s comfortable, and that no one bothers her.” Basile said, moving towards the doorway.

  “Yes, sir.” The young man said, before disappearing down the hall, towards where Forestier was waiting, Basile presumed. He let out his sigh, before exiting his office, closing the door behind him. He strode the other way down the hall, towards the stairs that would lead to the basement, a series of rooms that had been used for storage, extra dressing rooms, and different rooms that connected to the stage. These days, only a few rooms had been cleared out of snow and ice, and Basile liked to use those to keep his very special guests. The ones who had upset him in one way or another. Those rooms were unbearably old, the walls still frozen and the floors still covered in a layer of ice. He found that the miserable conditions made his “guests” very prone to talking, giving him whatever answers he wanted to hear.

Basile strode through the halls, rather looking forward to talking to the man being held down in the basement. His spirits lightened even further, as he passed by the different rooms, seeing his people hard at work, or even relaxing on their time off. Despite the food shortages, and the sense of despair that clung to the ruined city, Proulx’s people were safe and fed and dry in the opera house. They were alive and content, even happy sometimes. He loved to see the way his people thrived, even in these conditions. He had been successful, putting together a new gang, and his people had done well, given the situation. It made him feel proud, to see people smiling, relaxing, talking as though the world wasn’t in pieces. He protected these people, and they had given him an empire in return.

  Trying to keep the smirk off his face, Basile reached the stairs of the basement, and shivered. The air was already cold, even at the top of the stairs, and he regretted forgetting his jacket in his office. His people did their best to keep the opera house warmed with fires in different rooms, chimney flues built into the walls and roof, but it still got bitterly cold, especially in this part of the building. Basile pushed his discomfort to the side, though, and stepped down the stairs, keeping careful not to slip, as the metal steps grew more slippery from the ice. He reached the bottom, and found Aberle standing outside one of the few rooms, leaning against the wall. Basile could see his friend, his only friend, had raw knuckles, and he could bet that the man in the room’s face was just as bloody. “Having fun without me, I see.” Basile said with a smile, approaching his friend.

  “Only a little.” Aberle replied, before Basile entered the room, gesturing for Aberle to stay outside. He wanted it just to be one on one, but Basile knew that his right-hand man would be there without a moment’s hesitation, if he needed the help. Basile closed the door behind him, and looked down at the man who sat on the floor, hands tied behind his back and his head hanging low.

  “Hello, there.” Basile said in a dangerous voice, stepping further into the room. The man’s head shot up, and Basile could see where Aberle had done his damage. “Getting comfortable?” Basile said, seeing the resilience in the man’s eyes. He hadn’t broken yet, but the gang leader had no doubts that the fight would die from his eyes, and he would be telling Basile all he wanted to know. “I know my friend hasn’t been treating you well, but that’s only because you’re being so rude to me, not answering my questions.” Basile said, slowly walking around the man. He noticed that the prisoner followed Basile’s movements carefully. So he had some fear, not letting him out of his sight, but not enough, not yet. “Do you think you could be more helpful? I know that I could get you some food down here, if you were to be a little more forthcoming. Maybe even a warm jacket. It’s quite cold down here.” Basile said, rubbing his hands together, to illustrate his point.

The man looked up at Basile, who was now standing in front of the prisoner. Hatred coloring the prisoner’s features. “You’re just a power-mad, disgusting dog. I’m not talking to you.”

  “That’s not what I want to hear. I want answers, not compliments.” Basile said with a smile. He leaned down close to the man’s face.

“You’re a twisted man. Twisted and sick, just like that stinking piece of shit you have out there.” The man said, before spitting into Basile’s face. Without warning, Basile swung his fist into the man’s jaw, connecting solidly with the bone, satisfied at the cracking noise that issued.

  Basile wiped the spit off his face, watching the man wince from the blow. “Now, I don’t care what you say about me. I can live with my mistakes and my failures. But you have no right to be speaking behind my man’s back. That’s just rude. What are you, a teenage girl?” He said, looking down at the man. Basile then swung his foot into the prisoner’s stomach. As the man doubled over, Basile brought his elbow down hard into his back, thrusting it into the sensitive muscle of his shoulder, making sure to leave a bruise.

  “I’m not sure if your disrespect is worth your information anymore. There are other people I can find, other people I can drag here, who would be more courteous to me and my friend. I want you to think about your self-worth, while I go attend to other business.” Basile said, leaving the room and shutting the door with a thud. Turning to Aberle, who was smirking a bit, Basile nodded. “Do what you want. Have some fun for me.” He said, before walking back up the icy stairs, glad to be away from the cold, and the disappointment of the prisoner. His fist was sore from the punch, but the physical satisfaction was still with him. As much as he hated to lose control, Basile took pleasure in causing those who disappointed him pain. He believed it was justice, even if it was a contorted sort of justice.

  Basile walked back through the halls, to his office, answering questions as he passed by some of the gang members. He stopped outside his office to take a deep breath, not looking forward to meeting with Foretier. She was quite different from him, and he had a difficult time seeing eye to eye with her. But her work was essential to the survival of his people, so he had to deal with whatever problems were happening. He had to keep her happy. Or at least keep her from getting angry.

  Basile entered his office, and saw the woman sitting in one of the chairs. He smiled at her. “Miss Foretier, to what do I owe the pleasure?” He said, keeping his bruised knuckles behind his back.

  ooc: Thank you so much for your consideration. I hope my audition isn’t too long!

[thedeluge-rpg]

I just wanted to say I really really love your rp. I think it's really beautiful and well thought out. I wanted to reserve Basile Proulx? I have to work tomorrow, and I don't know how late I'll be back home, but I really want the chance to write a proper audition for him. I'm just totally enchanted by the character already.

Yes, of course, no problem! I'm glad you like the character!

I'll reserve Basile for you for the next 48 hours. If you'd like to extend the time you reserve him for, please shoot me a message.

[thedeluge-rpg]

Ben Barnes, Bradley Cooper, Torrey DeVitto, Leighton Meester?

I'm not writing any new bios at the moment because I'm moving and starting uni, but I'll add them to the list of potential future FCs.

[thedeluge-rpg]

Unfollow:

Marie Baudin

Georges Dubois

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Brilliant application, Kel! Your requested change is completely acceptable, and I will edit that in his bio right now. Please make the account and send in the link within 48 hours.

Name/Alias: Kel

Age: 24

Timezone: PST /  GMT-8

Activity Level: Roughly one para reply per day. I have no idea how this translates to an out of ten scale.

Experience (will not influence your chances of being accepted): 1 year on tumblr, more on forums, etc.

Password: Aardvarks                                

Desired character: Damien Fontaine

Any changes?: Since there’s already a few doctors/nurses—would it be acceptable to change his field of study to something like engineering? 

Sample (in character, third person, at least two paragraphs):

                  He knew what he was looking for. The others tended to salvage for food, ibuprofen, blankets, bandages, isopropyl alcohol, sewing needles, boots with good soles. Their work was necessary to survive—but it would not sustain. He brooded on it. How long until old wheat crackers and canned food ran out? One day the thought had appeared, like a ghost, lingering just over his shoulder, and would not stop pestering him. He did not mention these things to Laure, or Jan. Damien pored over his plans at night, like how some would pore over photographs or dead blank screens, and enacted them during the daytime, by himself.

It wasn’t right to say that he preferred hunting through the streets alone—it was dangerous, actually, and he did not carry a real weapon. There was a wrench in his knapsack that had a lot of weight in the head, and someone had found a handgun, but the sort of people who posed real threats would not be afraid of those things. Ten would not be afraid of two. There was no point, and it saved him the hardship of explanation. He’d gotten better, but they—the salvagers—were used to his silence, now. It was hard to explain his motivations to others, even under normal circumstances. It was hard to admit that he wanted to give something to these people who had become his entire world, something he wasn’t sure he could even manage. It was hard to say that, with Paris under meters of snow, he wanted to construct a little sun.

                For that, he needed power. Several working generators, in fact, would be the Holy Grail, but Damien would settle for a handful of busted, cracked open, picked over ones, so long as he could figure out how to fix them or fuel them. That was the trouble—someone invariably had had this idea before, but did not know what they were doing, or knew too well, or the thing could not be moved or made useful or there was no fuel. (Petrol represented futility made liquid, in Damien’s mind.) There was a limit to the sort of miracles he could work with cobbled together tools and duct tape, and more than anything he hated to say no, this cannot be done, and watch their faces fall. 

Half the time anything he found was too close to gang territory. Damien considered the risks, and came close, several times, to justification. There was a plan. After this—heat lamps, glass cases. Seed packets out of hardware stores. He was not very familiar with growing things—he might leave that to one of the others. Light, warmth, fresh food, comfort. Music. But he allotted for only one dream at a time.

                There was a plan. He knew what he was looking for.

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Hi- I'm interested in both Solaine and Valentine, but are there any characters that are more needed around here? Lovely roleplay, by the way.

First off, thank you so much!

Well, at the moment we're looking for gang members in general, so either of those would be fantastic. Both those characters are quite influential gang members as well, which makes it even better. Basile Proulx is also a particularly wanted character.

But Solaine as well as Valentine are needed almost equally as much as Basile, especially Solaine.

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Edie Banks - Age: 28 - American - Scavenger

Strengths:  Clever, confident, good at sensing what others are feeling and knowing what to say Weaknesses:  Needs to be in control of the situation at all times, bad at talking about personal issues, refuses to admit when she needs help or comfort

Biography:

Edie lived her life mainly in California, having grown up in Los Angeles and attending the University of California Berkeley, graduating extremely early at the age of nineteen. She had always been ahead of her classes, though she was no smarter than anyone else. Edie just happened to make very few friends, if any, when she was young, and she never got into the habit of watching television for pleasure. She took to writing at an early age, always taking note of what happened in her life, making it more interesting or simply collecting her thoughts all in one place to make sense of it. As she grew older, it turned into her way of coping with the ups and downs of her life, especially when it came to the relationship she had between during the ages of seventeen and nineteen, right after graduating.

However, it did not weigh heavily on her mind as the years went on. Edie was strong, prided herself on her strength, her ability to get along without help. In fact, Edie was so independent (others might use the word vain) that she was twenty-two when she made her first long-time friend, Danny Daly, not long after he moved to America himself. They frequented each other’s places of work - a coffee shop and an Irish-themed pub - and introduced each other after a few months, hitting it off immediately. It was only just before the storms that Edie had enough money for two ticket to Paris and insisted Danny go with her, as she hated travelling alone. The trip was meant to celebrate the publication of her third book, and celebrating is always better with a friend.

They had been there all of a week. Edie slept in the hotel room when the floods began, and was woken by Danny as he tried desperately to get away from the oncoming water. Though they tried to get to the roof, the water pulled them both away. But though she did everything she could do, they were separated during the storms. Edie thinks him long dead, as she hasn’t seen him since he was last dragged under water during the flood, and it’s no surprise that she’s come to blame herself.

Edie has since made for herself a base somewhere in the Northwest areas of Paris, taking up as little room as she can in the corner of a storehouse. She has since fought off gangs as best she could, though at great cost to her own health, and finds it nearly impossible to fall asleep. She has gone days at a time, working to salvage whatever food  or fuel she can while staying hidden, until she collapses of exhaustion and often won’t move for days. Once so lively and light-hearted, Edie worries constantly about her family back in LA, terrified they might be worse off than she is in Paris. She tells herself the world is fine outside of the city, and they’re just waiting to be saved, but she knows that’s impossible. It was too big of a storm. And though she forces a laugh and a smile, concentrates as much as she can on being a source of comfort and reassurance to others, Edie can’t help but panic. She is used to being in such control of the situation, or at least being able to write to cope with it, but with both taken away from her, Edie only has her fear of death keeping her going.

Connections:

Daniel Daly.

Other:

Edie Banks is: Taken

Her FC is: Keira Knightley

She is an OC

Follow Edie

[thedeluge-rpg]

Lovely, Ree! Looking forward to seeing more of Edie in the future. Please make your account and send in the link within the next 48 hours.

OOC Information:

Name/Alias:Ree Age:18 Timezone:PST Activity Level:As active as possible, but I’m still getting used to college. Im aiming for at least 3 replies a week at absolute least Experience (will not influence your chances of being accepted):About 2 years on tumblr with lots of writing on the side Password:Aardcarks

Applying for an original character:

FC: Keira Knightley Name: Edie Banks Age:28 Scavenger/salvager/gang member: Scavenger Nationality: American 3 Strengths*: Clever, confident, good at sensing what others are feeling and knowing what to say 3 Weaknesses*: Needs to be in control of the situation at all times, bad at talking about personal issues, refuses to admit when she needs help or comfort Biography + personality**:

Edie lived her life mainly in California, having grown up in Los Angeles and attending the University of California Berkeley, graduating extremely early at the age of nineteen. She had always been ahead of her classes, though she was no smarter than anyone else. Edie just happened to make very few friends, if any, when she was young, and she never got into the habit of watching television for pleasure. She took to writing at an early age, always taking note of what happened in her life, making it more interesting or simply collecting her thoughts all in one place to make sense of it. As she grew older, it turned into her way of coping with the ups and downs of her life, especially when it came to the relationship she had between during the ages of seventeen and nineteen, right after graduating.

However, it did not weigh heavily on her mind as the years went on. Edie was strong, prided herself on her strength, her ability to get along without help. In fact, Edie was so independent (others might use the word vain) that she was twenty-two when she made her first long-time friend, Danny Daly, not long after he moved to America himself. They frequented each other’s places of work - a coffee shop and an Irish-themed pub - and introduced each other after a few months, hitting it off immediately. It was only just before the storms that Edie had enough money for two ticket to Paris and insisted Danny go with her, as she hated travelling alone. The trip was meant to celebrate the publication of her third book, and celebrating is always better with a friend.

They had been there all of a week. Edie slept in thea hotel room when the floods began, and was woken by Danny as he tried desperately to get away from the oncoming water. Though they tried to get to the roof, the water pulled them both away. But though she did everything she could do, they were separated during the storms. Edie thinks him long dead, as she hasn’t seen him since he was last dragged under water during the flood., and it’s no surprise that she’s come to blame herself.

Edie has since made for herself a base somewhere in the Northwest areas of Paris, taking up as little room as she can in the corner of a storehouse. She has since fought off gangs as best she could, though at great cost to her own health, and finds it nearly impossible to fall asleep. She has gone days at a time, working to salvage whatever food  or fuel she can while staying hidden, until she collapses of exhaustion and often won’t move for days. Once so lively and light-hearted, Edie worries constantly about her family back in LA, terrified they might be worse off than she is in Paris. She tells herself the world is fine outside of the city, and they’re just waiting to be saved, but she knows that’s impossible. It was too big of a storm. And though she forces a laugh and a smile, concentrates as much as she can on being a source of comfort and reassurance to others, Edie can’t help but panic. She is used to being in such control of the situation, or at least being able to write to cope with it, but with both taken away from her, Edie only has her fear of death keeping her going.

Connections, if any: Sample (in character, third person, at least two paragraphs):

They had been doing less during the day, now that there was shelter, now that there was food. In a way it was a curse.

When less time went into surviving, Edie found time to think. Her mind wandered, started wondering at what her family was doing. How Jess was, how her children were. Were they even alive? At times she imagined that it was just this part of France that had been hit, that people from other countries were arranging rescue missions and they had just been delayed for whatever reasons. Maybe satellites had been damaged and couldn’t figure out whether people still lived or not. Maybe there were arguments about which government would send helicopters in to rescue people and who would pay for what. Either way, whatever she imagined, the rest of the world was perfectly fine, and it was just the people in Paris and a few cities surrounding it that suffered.

She knew it wasn’t the case, but she liked to imagine. It kept her from worrying so much, kept her from filling up another notebook too quickly or writing until her pen ran out, because once it was full, it had to be put to better use than sitting around. Kindling or supports were the best for notebooks, but either way, the writing in there was gone. She had already sacrificed an entire novel, even if there were more important things to focus on. Edie still couldn’t help but mourn it.

She spent much of her time in groups, listening or talking or laughing. She still laughed easily, always did. Even if they were not entirely genuine, if they were just a bit off, Edie refused to stop showing to the world that she was happy, that she could smile even after the end of the world.

But there were things that were off, anyone who knew her well enough could see. Most likely that was only Danny, though, and Edie avoided spending time alone with him as best he could. He didn’t have the mind to confront her about it among people, she hoped, and so far it had rung true.

He knew her enough by now, no doubt, to know she hated talking about serious things, regardless of who they were about. Her worries, her fears - if it wasn’t related to survival, Edie wanted nothing to do with it. Even after the end of the world, she ran away from little things like that. It got worse at night, when there was nothing to do but think until she fell asleep, and she had come to a good conclusion about herself. There was something comedic about it, wasn’t there? She never changed her personality. Not really.

She never was a good sleeper anyway.

[thedeluge-rpg]

How active is the RP?

There aren’t many members in the group yet, and everyone, myself included, is quite busy, as it’s a rather busy time of year. The dash is pretty slow compared to other groups I've been in, but I have to admit that those groups were more active than what's average.

[thedeluge-rpg]

Could you please tell me the name of the theme you're using? Thanks in advance! :)

I'm sorry, I have no idea what the name of this theme is. Is there a way for me to find out?

There's also a link the sidebar which would bring you to the theme maker's page, so it's probably also possible to find it somewhere there.