# [let's write something awesome] lf long-Term roleplay(ers)



## spottygayfish (May 20, 2017)

|| _*s*etting_
  It's November in Detroit, Michigan. Temperatures are beginning to dip below freezing overnight. The first snow was several days ago and the inner city is cold and grimy. The streets and sidewalks are bordered by dirty, rapidly-melting slush. Nash "Fishsticks" Nitschke is out of work again, needs a bath badly, and he's just being released from the hospital for a late-night brush with hypothermia. He's got dozens of accounts in collections, just enough cash to buy some day old fried chicken at the grocery store, and a beat up pedophile van that's been retrofitted into barely passable living quarters. And while there are many things that the leopard seal bum wants, the thing he would kill for is some decent company. You know, the type that won't hit him across the back of the head with a two by four and rob him blind a few beers into the evening.


So, I wanna start a roleplay. Something long-term and novel-like. I've been working on my own writing projects for years now and it would be hella fun to start roleplaying like I used to.

I sorta went ahead and set up a rough background - I have it organized on Google Docs here, but I'll post a copy of what I got so far here too.
All I need is you! bring your lovely characters and cool ideas. I'm open to the idea of roleplaying in a group, or just one-on-one.

Thinking about involving some cool metaphysical/witchcraft type stuff later on (i.e. summoning, ghosthunting, whatever. variety is the spice of life). Open to other ideas too. ^^

|| _*c*haracters _







Nash “Fishsticks” Nitschke.
26 year old eastern dragon/leopard seal mixed breed. Homeless, unemployed. Reference sheet and character notes here.


|| _*in*troduction_


     The sun was beginning to arch back towards the horizon already, shading the hospital room in golden hues between the barred shadows the blinds cast.

Oh. He must have dozed off again.



     Nash fussed with the IV that was lodged in the veins crossing the back of his hand. They were unpleasant things – one couldn’t help but be constantly aware of its presence in the way the needle would shift beneath the skin with even the most minute of movements.

     He wondered when they would take it out. He wondered if he had remembered to take his cell phone out of his pocket before this catastrophe had unfolded, and where the remote to the deadened television screen on the far side of the room was kept. And what had they done with his clothes? From what he remembered, he had torn his sweatshirt rather badly in his struggles. He hoped that they hadn’t thrown it away because of that.


     A soft knock on the open doorframe caught his attention, the sound more of a warning than a request for permission. The nurse invaded the room a heartbeat later, tablet in hand.

     “Good to see that you’re awake,” she began. “How are you feeling?”

     Nash muttered a generic affirmation in response, extending his arm automatically when she began to unfurl the fabric cuff linked to a machine by the bed. The room fell into silence, interrupted only by the soft purr of the compressor inflating the sleeve around his arm. They went through the routine of several more checks, the nurse jotting notes on the touchscreen of her tablet after each one.

     “Well, the good news is that you should be ready to be released. Your vitals have all stabilized, temperature’s looking good – everything’s normal.”

     He extended his hand, palm down as she removed the IV and recited a list of aftercare instructions as well as signs to watch out for. His clothes, he was informed, had been brought up and were waiting, freshly-laundered in the adjoining bathroom.


     “And try not to do anymore swimming this time of year,” she concluded. “You were very lucky to make it out before the cold could incapacitate you. Oh – and I see a note in your file here. If you could stop by the desk on your way out of the ward, that would be great.”


     Well, it was time to see how far this alleged lucky streak would carry him. So far, it had done well by him – he had spent the night in a proper bed and a quiet area and saw a hearty breakfast and lunch delivered directly to his lap. It had been the first time that he had eaten scrambled eggs - good scrambled eggs, not the powdered kind – in, what was it, months? Longer than that.



     Nash stepped into the adjoining bathroom, closing the door behind him before taking a long look at himself in the mirror. His appearance was not the type that was romanticized in films and novels. It couldn’t be denied that he had the potential to be a handsome - he had an elegant build, owing much of that to his eastern draconic heritage. Grey and black spots covered his smooth fur like a watercolor painting, the pattern yielding to snowy white along his throat and chest. Out of all these, his tail was his pride and joy. Sinuous and maneuverable, it had the strength to lift objects several times its own weight and was crowned by a mane of long, dark fur that could have made goddesses blush with envy. That is, if he could be bothered to wash it. Or comb it. Or detangle the grape-sized knots of hair that inevitably formed.

He had the potential, certainly, but his lifestyle had a way of sabotaging him. Black bangs fell in unwashed segments in the places where they didn’t stick out in flyaway segments, framing a face dominated by six crimson eyes that had an unsettling way of watching several different directions simultaneously. A reddened spot was raising along his jawline, promising the emergence of a pimple later. He ran his fingers through his hair, grimacing at the texture. His fur was sleek with oil - ironically enough, the same substance that had kept him alive several nights ago.


    He stripped off the flimsy hospital gown and turned on the shower with a final glance in the mirror. He jumped in the cramped walk-in without giving it time to warm to a reasonable temperature, relishing the arctic chill of the water streaming down his back and shoulders. He was part leopard seal, after all. Cold water wasn’t enough to phase him.


A few minutes later, he emerged into the hospital room, just as oily as he was beforehand but slightly better smelling. It took a certain kind of soap to strip the natural waterproofing from his fur and mane; a type of soap that no inner-city hospital would bother to stock in the patient’s bathrooms.

As promised, he had found his clothes where the nurse had said they would be and he was now dressed in abused-looking black sweatpants and an equally awful heavy canvas jacket.


“Quittin’ time,” he mumbled to himself, rummaging through his duffel bag to ensure that what little he owned was where it should be.

Just as he slung the strap over his shoulder, the sound of footsteps approaching the room caught his attention.


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## BeautifulBasil (May 20, 2017)

(Holy cow this is awesome- but I've been writing for three years, and am at roughly the same level you are. I so wanna do this. My fursona isn't up on my page yet so I'm going to give it the best I have to convey how she looks, making the art for her later tonight ^^')

Less than a year. With a thoughtful sigh filled with whimsy and apprehension she looked at the hospital looming over and to the sun slowly making its decent behind her; the end of another day in _Milwaukee_. The sound of the cities name in her head still fantastical and foreign, the young wolgan (I've been told that's what their called, shockingly new to this fandom but not to role-play thank god) had moved here last September looking for... something new. The name of the city had always enchanted her, and after her graduation a lot of doors opened up. People she'd known all her life went their separate ways like water trickling into their own creeks, rivers, or even lakes. She was still so young, she knew it, she felt it, but her parents had determined themselves she wasn't appreciating her youth the way someone like her should. She knew they meant well, but the boot out the door broke her heart none the less, she stayed in contact, but she was moving forward just as they'd wanted and decided on her own to let them be for the most part. She had decided to try moving north, to Milwaukee. She'd found a respectable publisher here that agreed to work with her, and with her second book on its way it seemed a good call to be nearby if something went awry as it so often does.

She blinked, back to the present, taking another deep breath as she realized she'd spaced out- a sadly common occurrence for her. Taking in the hospital once again she sucked in two anxiety filled lungfuls and went inside with the apprehension that came when one goes underwater. Everything seemed... oddly normal, the visibly scratchy waiting chairs that called every doctors office home waited patiently for their next victims, a secretary sat behind a large curved desk that looked over sized with the petite mousy secretary filing her papers behind its stone protection, even with the flowers decorating its wide surface. Using her powers of observation she found elevators to her right, and signs directing visitors down a hallway to find the cafeteria and gift shop. To her surprise it looked exactly like the hospitals from her hometown, and it both comforted and unsettled her. The secretary, finally noticing her standing stiffly in the doorway, looked up and over her desk and asked-

"Ma'am, can I help you?"

She stood there like a deer in headlights looking within her mind for a totally believable and not-insane reason to be uninjured at a hospital. She managed her breathing before it became panicked and swallowed the initial shock of being spoken to before putting all the unwavering courage into her voice that she could "No, thank you." she smiled politely as the secretaries eyes drifted back to her paperwork. Crisis averted.

She strode towards the elevators, her lanky lupine legs giving her movements an elegant grace, that everyone but herself seemed to notice. As the metal doors closed around her she let another sigh, a feeling of safety coming over her with being on her own again. She mentally chastised herself, every other day she could be so charming, and charismatic, but she always got so scared of saying the wrong thing in the face of officials, or if she felt she might be doing something wrong... as she was right now.

She eyed the lit panel of buttons before her. What was she doing, really? The words of her most trusted editor rang in her ears _"this one character is just so dry!"_ she had proclaimed "_as your friend and editor I need you to go back on him, give him life. Make him real._" And she tried. Oh, how she tried. Lara had spent three whole days holed up in room, barely ate, barely slept, kept going at it from all angles, all styles of writing, and yet he eluded her. She wiped the thoughts from her mind and eyed the panel again, letting her gut feel for the floor that would take her to where she needed to go.

_7_

The number stuck to her eyes like sap from a wounded pine, dragging her hand there with a mysterious pull. She pressed the button with no hesitation, and felt herself being lifted into the air. The aluminum siding of the elevators showed only her own reflection from all angles. She was tall, even when relaxed,her coat a honey shined brunette that,at its lightest bordered on blonde with a white muzzle and belly in a saddle pattern, edged with a darker, richer, more chocolate color. Her hair went down to the middle of her back in feathery tendrils that never stayed contained for long, the same dark color as the edging on her markings. She looked Lupine for the most part, but there were key differences that were hard to ignore, the first being her sleek horns that curved like a rams but were ass smooth as glass tucked tightly against her face and ending just above her jaw,the other was her obviously draconic tail; thick at the base and tapering out until a large thin tuft of the same feathery hair hid the last few inches. Her most striking feature was her eyes, large and slightly sloped down they almost shown a vivid mint green, the same green that was a stripe of color in the front of her side parted hair, and the color of her pads on both her hands and feet. Each digit was the same brown rimmed with almost-black, like she dipped her fingers in a chocolatey dessert. She wished she'd been born with suitable wings, as many of her kind were, big and leathery and full of the sky, but her reflection was a cruel reminder that while she'd been born with them, they'd never matured. The white feathers with golden quills and tips the color of ash, beautiful, but the wings themselves no larger than her extended hand, useless for flight.

The elevator pinged open and she searched her intuition once again for direction, _'take a right'_ it whispered to her 'keep going, you'll know when to stop' She walked at a pace slower than those of most others, not quite sure where she was taking herself. She was looking for a rather typical stereotype, dark, unkempt, as bad as it was,a sociopath was preferred. She was looking for a jack-ass with a heart of gold... Or someone she could loosely use as a base to make a realistic character off of. She made another turn, her nerves on end as her intuition whispered to her how close she was. 

_Here_.

She stopped so suddenly the well trimmed claws on her feet clicked uneasily on the tiles as she realized she was the only person out in this particular hallway. She looked down at her black tank top and denim shorts, wondering if this was really a good idea at all, and what do you say to a person you meet like this? She could imagine the ridicule already _"Hi, I'm here to write a book that's not quite about you and the little voice inside my head told me you were the chosen one"_ Yeah. If that didn't get her shipped to the psychiatric ward nothing ever would. So she stood just outside the mystery person's open door, nervously wringing her hands on the strap of her satchel in front of the patient's name tag.

Well reading never hurt anyone. She allowed her eyes to slide to her right finding his name in a clinical script
"Nash Nitschke"


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## spottygayfish (May 20, 2017)

Nash froze as the footsteps approaching his room quieted. Could it be the nurse again? He hesitated, waiting for the tell-tale courtesy knock. 
It never came. His guard was up now, but he was hardly the type to cower in a room and wait for the inevitable. 
"Boldly go," he muttered to himself before closing the distance in a few strides and flinging open the door. 

His first impression was that the young lupine lass before him was indeed, not a nurse. Nash stifled a groan, careful not to let his disappointment reveal itself on his expression. It wasn't that he was particularly fond of the nurse, no. But this one looked like she worked in the office. No, she definitely worked in the office. Man, they were fast on the uptake around here. Did the hospitals around here share financial records? That had to be some sort of violation of privacy. 

"Good morning," he began, doing his best to sound suave and reassuring. Wait, it was definitely not morning anymore. It was probably around four in the evening; way too late for him to even attempt to play off the blunder. 
Oh well, it wasn't even a very relevant point anyway. Look at the poor seal man, all disoriented from his stay at the hospital. Pity him. Do not ask for his insurance information. Do not. 

"I, uh, got a message to go to the front desk already, so I'll just make my way over there," he continued, attempting to head her off at the pass. 

However, Nash had no intention of going to see the money mongers at the front desk at all. If he could feed a legitimate enough string of bullshit to the gal in front of him, he might be able to get her to shoo, or at least distract her for long enough so that he could slip out a side door without being harassed over payments. That was one advantage to arriving at a hospital unconscious. If you're dead to the world, they can't ask for money and they can't refuse treatment. Bingo. Winning situation. 
Nash made a mental note of this. If he ever did need serious medical attention, all he would have to do was find a way to knock himself out in public and then hightail it out of the hospital before they could catch on to him. 
Or rather, it might be a good idea. First, he had to pull it off this time around. 

He sidestepped around her, flashing her a disarming smile before he headed towards the elevators.


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## BeautifulBasil (May 22, 2017)

Lara could make out indistinct muttering beyond the door before her, something about going..? She was hoping she wasn't about to walk in on someone about to use the restroom. That'd be awkward.... well, even more so at least.
He opened the door, and left so suddenly she only had time to take a step back, allowing an overly polite distance between them. Feeling an air of disapproval about him as he looked over her, she suddenly felt very self conscious, she didn't dress particularly nice today, and with her denim satchel and newsboy hat, she probably looked like a hipster mailman. The thought striking her mind she looked away, suddenly unsure of what she would say. She snapped back as he said ....something mourning..? She hoped he hadn't asked for some sort of response, empathy already thick in her chest for whomever he may have lost- but before she had the chance to maybe play off her air-headedness, he flashed her a smile and was off like a shot down the hallway, leaving Lara disgruntled and empathy long forgotten.
"What...?" She muttered under her breath. Whoever he was, he was in a hurry to get out, which, as her mischievous nature led her to believe, meant he wouldn't be an easy target to pin down for an interview. Slightly intrigued with the challenge of catching him she bounced once on her feet, stretching them after being so standing so rigid since her no-so-dramatic entrance with a sly smile beginning to play on her face, and loped off after him.
She lazily jogged until she was back by his side, attempting a nonchalant and friendly posture in hopes he wouldn't run off again. 
"I think you've got me confused with someone else," she tried, succeeding in not tripping over her own words by the skin of her teeth, as her mind races to piece together what she knew now she should've prepared earlier "I don't know anything about who died, but I'm looking for somebody to help me with a personal project," she smiled with as much feminine charm she could muster "I was wondering if you'd be willing to hear me out." She paused gauging his reaction, "maybe over coffee...?" She asked as calmly as she could, but her voice still went up a pitch or two as the sentence came to a close, if he didn't already know she had no idea what she was doing, he surely did now.


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## spottygayfish (May 23, 2017)

Nash stopped dead in the middle of the hallway, confusion manifesting across his expression. “Wha-? Died?”

He shook his head to clear his thoughts as the rest of her sentence made it out. One thing was certain - she wasn’t an orderly out for his insurance information like he initially assumed. Before he realized what he was doing, one set of eyes glided sideways to glance up the hallway independently of the other two. In the next moment, he blinked and snapped all six back to look in one direction. Right. That type of thing unnerved people.

That one direction happened to be focused on the lupine lass before him. Though he wouldn’t admit it, he was actually somewhat impressed with how easily she had managed to catch up with him. Normally his brisk pace would leave others of shorter stature gasping for breath. He wasn’t sure what she meant by ‘project’, but whatever it was that she wanted from him, she was a tenacious one.


His mind was made up almost instantly. He would humor her. Besides, he was currently caught in the midst of another long season of being laid off and the days quickly became tedious with nothing to fill them. Good company was hard to find, after all.  


“Odd way of looking for a date, but sure,” he quipped. “First, we slip out of here though.” He started off at a fast walk again, pausing at the utilitarian stairwell to hold the door for her. His mother did teach him some manners. Whether or not he made a habit of using them was an entirely different matter. “Oh. Unseen, if possible. Think you can manage that?”


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## BeautifulBasil (May 27, 2017)

"There wasn't...? bah," she exhaled, clueless once again it seemed "Sorry about that-" she caught movement above what she had assumed was his only set of eyes, her eyes widened in shock "n-nO WAY." she almost shouted, drinking each of his sic scarlet eyes, with curiosity "I've never seen anybody with more than two!" she fought the childish urge to reach up and turn his face over in her hands, wondering what other strange and unique mysteries he might have for her, but before her childish curiosities took over the socially acceptable part of her brain activated, discouraging any impulsive behavior. Her fingers fidgeted once or twice by her side before she casually crossed her arms to still their nervous twitchings. 

"oh well, that's- wait _*what*..?_" she stopped mid stride her arms dropping by her side, still as death, before half-jumping to make up the distance an instant after she stopped mid-motion. "I did _not_ just asked for a date." she smiled wryly seeing what she hoped was humor, though the thin pale fur coating her nose easily gave away the flustered pink that spread across her nose like an allergic reaction to the foreign compliment. She shook her feathery furred head, symbolically brushing off his words.
"I'm... more of an... overly curious bystander. Yeah." she paused sarcastically validating her poor word choices, pursing her lips and slightly looking down shaking her head "You're gonna have to forgive me, I've never been particularly great at using my words _verbally_." one hand found its way to rest over her left eye, agile fingers pressed just below her brow keeping her palm propped a couple inches away from her face. 

She took the offered open door with a soft "thank you," and continued dragging Nash's image of her through the mud with her grace and eloquence "_Yes_, I can be sneaky."
No she could not.
But he didn't know that, and she figured she could try her best.
Inside the stairwell she turned back to him, her voice hushed against the echoing stillness that both plagued and enchanted most stairways these days 

"Why do you need to sneak out of here to badly..?"


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