lark
Greenhorn
don't worry about it
Posts: 1
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Post by lark on Jul 15, 2012 21:24:56 GMT -5
Username: Lark Characters Name: Jack Marston Speculated Literacy level: To the stars and beyond. Sample RP post: www.jackmarston.tumblr.com/Plot Availability: I Speculated Activity levels: I'm online the majority of the time.
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Post by Jacklo on Jul 15, 2012 21:28:29 GMT -5
Yee! first new member, However you can't be accepted right away I'm afraid, I need an example of a literate, not script, role-play sample of 200-300 words first (although I know you have characterizations down sufficiently!) ;w;
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lark
Greenhorn
don't worry about it
Posts: 1
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Post by lark on Jul 15, 2012 21:41:47 GMT -5
Alright. I suppose I'll just write something out.
The plains stretched out in front of Jack Marston. Endless and repeating, monotonous, and he felt a connection to the plains. Not just because he spent his late childhood exploring them or sitting in the shade of a tree reading a book, but because he felt his life was the same way. Every day was the same damn thing. He was tired. He wasn’t tired of chasing countless bounties. He wasn’t tired of sleeping in the dirt. He wasn’t tired of holding up in the nearest saloon each night, trying to drink his painful memories away. He was tired of being alone. He was tired of every person he cared about being dead and gone, but nothing was going to change that.
So he did was he could. He pressed on. Each day he awoke, put on his clothes, loaded up his guns, and went out into the bright afternoon. Each day he hunted men who were probably not too much different than him, and each day he ruined what was left of their lives. A long time ago he might have felt bad, but not today, and not tomorrow either. Jack Marston thrived on self-preservation. That is all that mattered, and it still didn’t matter much.
He could get shot, or stabbed, or strangled, and he wouldn’t care much about his life draining slowly away. Maybe it would be better that way. With that attitude in mind, he loaded up his guns and he left his hotel room at the Blackwater saloon. Jack Marston prepared for a day just like all the other days.
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