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Post by lions_go_rawr on Mar 20, 2007 21:17:48 GMT -8
As made up by our lovely administrators. Now some of these are related closely to the high school rp, while others are not. Make sure to specify which one you chose when you post a reply
1. Say your character was home alone, stuck in the house all evening. He/She cannot leave and no one can come over (sans food delivery). How would he/she stay occupied???
2. Character mix-up---- randomly pair characters and put them together in any situation. What happens?
For example:
Sienna-Tobias Anabelle- Andrew Grey- Adrien.
etc, etc.
3. Mid-semester is approaching and all juniors have research papers due. The papers can be on a wide varirty of academic topics.
Two options:-Group writing with all characters at the library.
- Go alone or write with another's character. What would happen? Would he/she stay on the task or get sidetracked? (Would Adrien and Sienna find that private corner in the library? Would Andrew only stay for the hot secretary?)
Must include: topic character chooses, trip to library
4. What is your character's worst fear? Why? Write a short story from your character's point of view. Can be flashbacks, reflection, etc.
5. What would your character's life be like if he/she had never been turned (vampires of course)? Write a short story.
6. (This is purely because Im listening to breakfast club songs)- Write a story, whether it is regular vamp rp or high school, where the characters are stuck in one room together and unable to get out for hours. What would go on? What secret truths would be revealed? Would the group end up being known as the new Breakfast Club, full of the jock, the princess, the nerd, the basketcase, and the criminal? We'll find out.
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Post by glamorousgnome on Mar 21, 2007 21:03:06 GMT -8
ooc: ok so im doing challenge number 1, with andrew as a highschool character.
no, i dont know what was wrong with me when i wrote this. its a little....................................................wow. its bad. haha. enjoy it before i delete it. haha.
-Stupid Things Happen to Andrew- featuring: Samuel L. Jacksons, Calicos, and Corvettes
There were a thousand things better he could have been doing but chose not to as he flopped down on the couch in the flickering room with the largest TV, watching nothing in particular. He simply kept clicking his thumb, repeatedly, on the same button that pushed the channels upward so that he could view them. Nothing on. Three thousand digital channels and nothing on. Andrew was all alone that night in the largest and most prestigious house on the block of other large and prestigious houses. The Spanish style home was completely dark other than a small glow from the kitchen and the television in the large and expansive living area. It was almost eerie, the sight of a place so big with so little people to fill it. All of Andrew’s friends seemed to have better things to do tonight. Adrien and Sienna were off doing whatever the hell they did together. Whatever it was (and Andrew had a pretty good idea), he wasn’t invited. Tobias had a family dinner to go to. Anabelle was at a birthday party for a friend. And Grey was busier than ever, attempting to cram all she knew into a test she had on Monday. The last thing she needed was distraction from Andrew. Lastly, Andrew’s father had a “business meeting” to attend to. (Bullshit, thought Andrew, he’s got another girl). Only reluctantly had he left Andrew alone, and with great admonishment. So there was Andrew, all by himself in the great expansive house with nothing to do but flip through the oversized television screen for something to watch. For part of the time, he watched a reality show repeat. Then he dozed during a new reality show episode. And finally he got so fed up with those reality shows that he switched to the HBO channels. Clicking on Saw, he contented himself to watching the gruesome antics of Jigsaw. He hadn’t seen it before, and he was riveted by the blood and the gore. He eventually turned off the TV, a bit creeped out and a bit bored at the same time, and got up from his king of the night throne of a couch to get himself a snack. That dim kitchen glow was on and as he made his way over the tile in his bare feet, one by one, watching the splash of eerie light reflect on it as he went forward. Suddenly, he paused, the hair standing up on his back. The television lights were flickering behind him. Slowly turning a full 180 degrees he swallowed. Ok…so that was weird. Taking up the controller again in his hand, he snapped it off. There. Problem solved. Returning toward the kitchen, he felt a little disturbed. The shadows in the kitchen seemed longer than usually. It was already long enough since the kitchen was designed for caterers and chefs. Taking himself on tip-toe toward the refrigerator, he swung it open, flooding slightly more light across the kitchen. Let’s see. Leftover Panda Express. A bit of cheese. A bottle of Merlot. A bottle of Coca Cola. What was left of a fruit basket. No. Nothing he wanted. Crossing over toward the pantry, he suddenly froze again. The television lights were flickering again. The little hairs on the back of his neck stood up this time, and giving a quick swallow in his throat, he dared to turn. “H-Hello?” he asked dumbly, his voice drowning in all of that house. Crossing through the dimly lit kitchen again, away from the dark pantry, he peered into the family room. The only thing visible was an image of this man bleeding himself to death through a maze of razor wire… Feeling his stomach wrench out of him, he turned it off again. “Stay off, damn it!” he swore, and he crossed over to Carnegie, the beautiful calico of the house, seated arrogantly like its owners on the arm of the couch, covered with an Egyptian cottoned blanket. It meowed and chewed its little forepaws to cleanse them. Well, it seemed to say, what the hell is wrong with you? A footstep. Andrew froze. Another footstep. A thud from somewhere… Still frozen, or Andrew would have clicked on every light in that house. All he could think to himself as he heard those thuds was ‘I’m going to die! Jigsaw is going to torture me….and I’m going to die!’ Rushing to the refrigerator, he took the only weapon he could find in his vicinity. Smashing the bottle of Merlot into the sink, he made the bottle sharp and brandished it. “Hello!? Who’s there? I’m going to kick your ass.” Turning around, the room was warped and sticking, and the TV was trailing down the water like technological goo... The cat was spitting up a key and there was this lock on its foot… And squeaking noises. You win a million dollars if you can get through this. If you can’t, then you’re off the fucking island… Andrew turned around, shaking the bottle in his hands, his knees banging together. Jigsaw, wheeling on a little child’s tricycle towards him… Warped room, this time the kitchen, and Andrew charged at him with the bottle. “ARGH!” and then he froze into the room, a hundred snakes pouring on his head………………..
DING DONG.
“SHIT!” Andrew sat up on the couch, the calico that had planted itself on his chest flying off and under the couch somewhere, its little, round, glowing eyes peering out in irritation and bewilderment from the darkness. The TV was still glowing, on moderate volume, with Samuel L. Jackson shouting some obscenity on a plane. But Andrew’s eyes didn’t shrink at the acknowledgement that he had been dreaming. There was still that ring of the doorbell. Well. He had to find out who it was. Getting up, he plodded along in his socks on the floor and opened to the door to find a man with a rather large pizza. “I didn’t order a pizza…” he sighed, rubbing his head. The pizza boy, rather, was a rotund kid, with dark, nervous features and a bored appetite for life. He was wearing the pizza uniform with little to no pride and practically threw the pizza in Andrew’s face when he’d said it. But he said, “Nice house you got. Nice Corvette…” List went on. “It’s from an Antony Baron?” asked the boy, confused. And all Andrew could think was how nice it was of his father to think of him by sending him a pizza. “It says here,” said the boy. “That this pizza is to be delivered to Andrew Carnegie Baron? You’re Andrew, right?” Andrew paused for a minute, confusion sifting onto his features, Snakes on a Plane still mocking him in the background. “Yeah, but Andrew Carnegie Baron is my cat…” “Oh, sorry.” And the pizza boy waddled into the house, knocking Andrew halfway over purposefully. The beautiful kitty dislodged itself from beneath the coach and glided gracefully over, where the boy set the box on the ground, opened it, and revealed a rather disgusting looking anchovy and tuna topped pizza. “There you go, kitty. Oh, Snakes on a Plane. I love this movie.” He then leaned over the couch rather rudely and laughed hysterically at the most grotesque parts. Andrew still stood dumbfounded, holding the door open. “There are two pizzas, right?” “No,” said the boy, “Just that one.” “No,” said Samuel L. Jackson. “I’ve had it with these motherfucking snakes on this motherfucking plane.” Andrew put a hand to his forehead. Of course his father would love the cat more than him. “Get out or come with me,” he muttered. “I’ve got Merlot to drink and a Corvette to wreck.”
FIN
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