Post by Barbossa on Jul 21, 2010 15:29:24 GMT -5
[/center]The Person Behind The Mask
NAME: Noelle
AGE: Seventeen
GENDER: Female
HOW YOU FOUND US: "Ad" on Neopets. O:
The Puppet
"I'm disinclined to acquiesce to your request... Means no."
NAME: Barbossa
AGE: Seven
GENDER: Stallion
BREED: Warlander
COLOR: Dark Bay Pelt ;; Citrine-Hazel Eyes.
PERSONALITY:
×Whimsical;; Unpredictable. Fanciful. Acts on whim.
×Eccentric;; Nonconventional. Independant.
×Assertive;; Self-Confident. Wise. Outspoken. Dominant.
×Frank;; Blunt. Brutally Honest. Forward.
ROLEPLAY SAMPLE: Shamys remained so callously indifferent on his stoop that the mere passerby usually not dare disturb him - to the bystander who'd been there long enough to observe, this was the young man's third cigarette in around twenty minutes. The air was thick with smoke around him, but his exterior as bright as the healthiest individual ever put on god's green earth. They couldn't understand it. And Shamys regarded them with as much interested humanity as a dull old livestock animal, or some beast with his own itinerary. It wasn't until some girl came along and wrecked his silence with her nagging that he actually paid any mind to anyone on the street. She'd come a little too close for his liking, but Shamys merely welcomed the adamant female with a wide, closed grin, his eyes squinting ever so lightly, the liner around them smudging faintly together at the creases of his lids. The male was amused more than anything, even annoyance didn't plague him when she was merely a breath away - to him, at least, for all of his senses were so magnified that he could almost taste what she'd indulged in around an hour ago. Often he loathed this aspect of his physicality, the acute sensory, because most people had god-awful taste in food and drink. But his gifts were both those, and curses, depending upon the angle in which one looked. Shifting himself to the side, Shamys regarded the women from her tipsy-toes all the way up to a little flyaway hair popping up on her head, his arms now crossed over his torso. "Well, nosiness slayed the ninny, and you can't kill what's already dead, anyway," was his snide, entertained response to her distaste. "You don't oblige yourself to live or work here," he remarked, gesturing toward the macabre, old-fashioned theatre sign reading the name of the place in spindly letters, "and we're outside, love. Go 'way, if it bothers you that much." Shamys realized that she really hadn't been belligerent, but he was intuitive enough to pick up on how disgusting she found his habit. Good Londonese-delivered logic, in a smartass tone, was all it boiled down to be. [/blockquote][/blockquote][/size]
