[pascaline]

Because I like to do just about everything else with my free time except reply to the posts I owe, I found myself reading old RP posts of mine and found this gem:

Medea had one of those classic breathless moments that one usually has at times like this. Upon seeing the altar and the pillars, she drew in a slight amount of breath as if meaning to sigh. Instead she leaned against the unbecoming frigidity of a wall and let the would-be sigh stay caught in her throat before dispersing of it quietly.

After her honey-colored eyes had taken in their fill of wonder, she stepped lightly through the halls. Her movements were fleeting like shadows as she carefully chose in which direction to move and what corner to burrow in once she heard footsteps tread along the concrete carpet.

When a certain quiet settled over the hallways Medea's fingers found an unlocked door. With matronly gentleness she turned the crystalline handle and eased the door open wide enough for her entire body to slip in. The room itself seemed barren and empty. A red lounge couch was pushed to the far left corner while a small and poorly crafted cherry wood vanity was on the adjacent right side. It was a very barren and lonely room...

 That is, until Medea heard someone wandering the corridor that lay outside the door. With each clack of an approaching footstep she could feel her heart begin to drum two beats faster. Her eyes darted around the room for an escape, a hiding place, a solution of any kind that will render her presence invisible. The only thing she found was some shabby-looking robes that looked ancient in design but relatively new in creation. The pattern of the robe looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn't recall the exact memory it belonged to.

She quickly discarded her own traveling cloak and flung it on the other side of the room, behind the vanity set and away from curious eyes. The new cloak felt like silk and summer time against her skin. Conveniently enough, it had a hood that could cover her eyes and most of her face. She only had to push her plentiful rich black hair into the back of the collar and allow the length to be covered by the back of the robe-like gown. For that is the mark of a true thief: to have no face, leave no trace, and never have a name.

I wrote that in 2009. I mean, 'honey-colored eyes'. And 'plentiful rich black hair'? AM I WRITING A POST OR A HAIR COMMERCIAL? IDEK. And some of the wording is redundant or doesn't make sense.

So I dare you guys to try and find embarrassing past posts of yours and post them here.

[redox-kun]

i think i would shoot myself before putting up any of my old shit here

but uh have fun you guys |D

[Deleted]

I just found a site from 2009 that I was on [ironically]. UNFORTUNATELY, MY RPING WAS TOO SUCKY TO BE REVEALED UPON INSPECTION.

kay i lied. i shall share it. in all it's old-pb-template-glory.

Aug 8, 2009 23:50:41 GMT -8 @elfhorse said:

-------------------&&

`` if blood is thicker than water;;

Sayuri prowled along the sidewalk, hugging the shadows. Her fair hair covered with a thin onyx covering~ her hood. She was wearing a black leather jacket, paired with her black pants and her black boots. Her eyes wandered the on-coming strangers, looking for a familiar face. Though, it didn't matter that she didn't recognize anyone. It was normal for no one to know her. Outside of school, almost no one knew the silent girl who lived in the nearly-empty manor. Her eyes narrowed as they came across a stray can on the sidewalk. A smirk drew itself across her face as she gave it a light kick, sending it high enough in the air so that she could bounce it a few times, then with a light grace, she kicked it up the sidewalk~~ so that it flew with most of the crowd. Her mouth twitched as her ears picked up the yowl of annoyance, the angry footsteps of an angry purser, and the screams of people getting out of the way of the angry man.

Ah, another idiot. With ease, her fingers traced her way to the edge of a store and into a dark alleyway. There she turned around and leaned against the cool brick wall. Her gaze shifty to the side, falling upon the sad, peeling wallpaper. The ends of her mouth twitched up as the heavy footsteps stormed past. With the thoughts of her safety put aside, she stepped out of the shadows enough to get a good look around. Her eyes wandered a bit as she discovered that she didn't recognize the location that she was. She had studied many-a-map of Roanoke.

She traced the lines of the bricks on the wall with her fingers, a spark lighting up in her eyes. She followed her fingers along the wall, tracing her steps and recording it down in her mind with every step. Her thoughts flew off as she fantasized about where the alley could lead. Unfortunately, her thoughts would be cut short. And so would her factorizations when she walked out of the dark alley and back into the bright sunlight. Her hand flew up to block her eyes from the blazing brightness.

With all the swiftness of stepping into the bright spotlight, she never had a chance to bring her hood back up to cover her red-ish hair once more.

[ sucked because my first post was eaten by firefox. DD: ]

xoxo- sayuri;

[/sub]

;;then you'll just drown quicker than we intended ' '

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wow. back in those days I didn't realize hyphens existed and used ' ~ ' instead. lul. also. lul. I was already obsessed with asians in rping back then. [/brick'd].

also, is red hair fair? .. ide----

[darth vader]

i couldn't any like, fun bad posts, just bad bad ones. but i did find the graphics i used to make.



aww yeah 2010 and saving shit as low qual .jpgs

[Deleted]

OHEY. IF IT's GRAPHICS. I STILL HAVE THIS.
it's my first ever photomanipulation from jul 15th, 2008.

wow i need to stop hoarding my own work.
also, i've been rping for way too long. lul. how did seven years fly by --- ide --

[pascaline]

PFFFT YOU'RE NO FUN REDOX. I mean, you guys could do like... BEFORE AND AFTER POSTS? How you wrote before, versus how you write now, if you want.

Tsun and Skullbeat, those graphics are still pretty! But if we're talking graphics I have the first one I EVER MADE EVER:



versus

[BIG FUCKBOI GAMBINO]

Kimimaru is always good.

[spring]

i just can't get over the fact that i wrote some shit that didn't even make sense back in my very first english rp mind you, it's not my first language and somehow i wrote "she was crying as though it was raining". i mean what-

[konya]

c. 200...7? man idk


i swear this was some time in 2006 but i think it came AFTER that subaru one so i don't even know


and my first signature on rpg-d, can't be any later than 2004. ah, before i knew the anti-alias tool!

i have actually gotten worse/lazier with my graphics over time.

[pascaline]

I remember both those sites, Padawon!

Terra at least you get a pass though! And I love the way you write <3

[spring]

; 3 ; <3

[beekeeper]

embarrassing past posts more like embarrassing current posts hahaha

[birdie ♕]

i am was the queen of overkill psds





it's like i had a fetish for overlly red-saturated pictures

[habs]

i'm afraid i lack old posts but i have old pairing manips wow

idk the date but it was probably between 2007-2009





versus some recent work





looking at those old pictures gave me an ulcer

[Pool Boy]

the first signature i ever made, back in 2011 for pianissimo's site when I started. rustam's first incarnation.



also, this post from the same year when I lived in Germany. If anyone here understands German, excuse all the weird npc names LOL. The graphics were made by friends:

The tavern fire flickered like a firefly and twisted like an earthworm, slithering on the peat and digesting its rotten sweetness. The dust arose in a perfume among the four men surrounding it. Each one held a cup of beer as they swayed and sang in a night they would not remember. Amalric was on his fifth cup.

"My god is great," said Sir Münche. "He gives me free beer!" The knight leaned back on his stool grinning.

"If your god is great, my god is greater," Amalric slurred, then, downed half his drink, breaking into another grin that made his eyes squint. Sir Münche could only laugh at this point, considering whose the king, and took another guzzle of his cup. "Still, not drunk!" he laughed afterward.

Then, Amalric got up from his stool and wandered aimlessly around his men to the keg they had propped up. He refilled his cup with the frothing, bubbling beverage, brewed bitter from the mountains. All his knights were jolly and cross-eyed, the subject changing after each round of guffawing. They made the kind of jokes that you close your eyes to and by the time you're done with the thought and the subject ought to change, you've forgotten what the heck you were laughing. Dirty mugs clustered the stool in front of them like a city of warm glass. Amalric filled up another glass halfway, then his own the rest. He left the halfway filled one on top of the keg, and returned wobbling with his own seat. He'd forgotten it completely.

Finally he wobbled over to his old friend and poured some beer from hos own mug into the knight's. They clinked cups in that perfectly mutual way people get when their drunk, whether they be in front of their king or their boss or even their enemies, and Amalric said, "Cheers, and now, you finish!" The King chugged first, Sir Münche second with such ease that one might think they weren't trying to be competitive when really they had been pushing each other all night.

"Where is Sir Pilsener?" Sir Münche finally asked. "I swear, he went off to our room and he hasn't come back." They had lost their perception of time, you see. "We should check on him." The four men eased up, getting their bearings. They're heads all had a kind of tightness, but this was eased by the warmth of their drink. Sir Münche will chug a vase of water in the morning, while Amalric would suck it up and say he was fine. They wobbled like reluctant bears out of the common room and toward the rented tavern room. All hands felt on the narrow corridor like a bulky centipede until they came to their room of sleeping mats. The tavern was quaint, built in a rural area absent of a local noble. Amalric preferred it to the forest, only tonight, he wobbled onto the doorpost while his hand came up to his nose. Sir Münche came from behind him and was the first to exclaim, "So he was sick."

"It still was a good night," Amalric said, looking down at his knight who snored in a puddle of milky brown chunks. Amalric was disgusted, and the smell of it made him want to puke as well but he was too sedated for his gut to clench. Amalric scratched his head, wondered where the inn-keeper was. He began to turn around too go check the common room, but Sir Münche said, "We should get him off of his blanket" while wobbling at Amalric's shoulder like some blessed, drunken angel of common sense. Amalric agreed with the same rational that made him lift his glass when the rest of his buddies did - he wouldn't have helped rolled the knight over and muck up his sheets if he was sober. Sir Pilsener groaned when they yanked out the linen covering. "Stop, what are you doing?!," he growled dazed. "Go! No!" when they tried to wrestle away his smelly pillow. "Good, Pilsener, sleep in this," Amalric warned, but he soon found a solid shove in the stomach more helpful. With the sheets stripped from the hay mattress, the sick man promptly buried his head in straw. "Just leave me," he muttered, his voice hoarse.

They carried the sheets out, their own tipsiness numbing them to the horrible smell. They closed the door behind them, then huddled about what to do in the thin corridor.

"If the inn keeper sees this mess, he'll throw us out," Amalric said. The pillow was of goose down and the bile had soaked through the case. Never mind he was a king and could buy the place if he wanted. He was tearing the cloth off while Sir Münche interjected, "We can clean it."

"No we can't. Look at this!" He shoved it at Sir Münche, who shoved it back at Amalric, who shoved it back at Sir Münche who finally kept it.

"We can wash the stain out a little bit and say it was stained with cider, possibly?" Sir Münche queried, though it sounded like, "Wecouh wass astain out alllbiiit a say it wassdand wih cider, possiblee?"

"Maybe for the pillow, but the sheets?" The mess was huge and they needed their soap more for themselves than an entire bed of sheets.

"We can bury them," Amalric said at last. "Mmm. We can bury them. In the garden." Amalric decided, rolling the clean part of the blanket and mattress covering over the muck. This was his responsibility, and though he still was in a good mood, something had to be done. The man lying inside that room was his fault, and now, the whole lot of them were stuck with a mess that would keep them drinking all night to avoid going back to the room. He found a pillowcase and stuff the everything inside. Then, he wound it up and tied it as solid as the straps of a saddle.

"Münche, go check if the innkeeper is at his counter."

"Yesssirrr!" Sir Münche said loudly, clicking his heels and saluting. He marched into the common room. When he came back, another beer in hand, hiccuping, and taking rather longer than he needed, he returned to say the innkeeper had been at his post but was no longer thanks to his new friend. He gave a big drunk smile at the word friend. Amalric, in the meantime, had checked a few of the supply closets. All he could find were sheets and cleaning supplies, potpourri, and other such plain, housekeeper items, but no shovels and no trowels. He stomped down the hallway, and indeed seeing that the innkeeper absent, shouted to the lot of guests who still meandered, drinking and eating and enjoying the company of another.

"Anyone got a shovel?!" he shouted, tossing the pillowcase sloppily over his back. "Want to get rid of something."

(TAGGED) Griff and Éamonn Goronwy;; OPEN!

| king of landgraben | hunter of griffin | lover of beer | ➠ ♕ |