Thread: A Call To Reason (and Roleplay) - Now with plot/writing sample

Admittedly, these will be very elemental and familiar stories. These basics are classic for a reason, I suppose, and stand in here as essentials meant to be varied and shifted for the benefit of individuals. Do not mistake these as cravings if I've learned anything, it's that roleplayers want Romeo and Juliet, and they want it over and over again and there's nothing wrong with that, in case it wasn't clear. Nothing seems to catch the public's collective eye better, and there's no use reinventing the wheel for so simple an introduction. My first rule of roleplay is that everything is disposable . Take these outlines as gestures, meant to indicate my typical leanings and overall style. Plot Synopsis A vampire, worn thin by time and experience, struggles with his position in the world and disconnect from humanity. A chance encounter with a beautiful, strong-willed and intelligent young woman makes him question his outlook and patterns of behavior. Over time the notion of a relationship surfaces, something he'd long refused himself the fantasy of, and he pursues the burgeoning relationship in earnest. His personality quirks, after so long feeding from and discarding humans, make for a bizarre social dynamic, in addition to the restrictions imposed by his state of being re vampire. The two, bound by mutual interest or his bewitching supernatural power, struggle to make it in a work in a world not designed for their union. Writing Sample Two walls, a dumpster, a dead body, discarded refuse, and a vampire. Still, all. None moved. Not for a long time. The darkness made no nevermind to him. The pool was the same in any light. The pattern was always different, unique, varying on the person's size and how much he drank. But it was always the same. The thick stuff, the dark blood, it was like the end of a bottle of wine. Too thick to enjoy. Not fit for consumption. Always the same. Her beautiful face was frozen in shock, a touch of pleasant surprise around the corners of her mouth and eyes. The venom that beaded from the lining of his gums responded with the human body alone, brought about an immediate release of endorphins akin to that familiar post-orgasmic haze that makes one tired and pleased. The agony of want replaced with its soothing absence, so very close to the sudden pain of his bite numbed with tranquilizing effluvium. A brilliant madman once wrote, Perhaps all pleasure is only relief. He was writing about opiates, of course, but need is need. Standing there, regarding her mix of pain and pleasure, he searched for something. Deep in the chest of a killer something swirls, ebbs, nags. It's beyond touching, something they're not meant to see, but it existence cannot be denied. The truth is, human beings were not meant to kill each other. It's counter-productive, evolutionarily speaking. We are meant to adapt to our environment, not the social reality formed by groups. That particular tier of 'survival of the fittest' is self-imposed and a crime against nature. It's why we develop post-traumatic stress disorder, or any other level of trauma or dementia, remain scarred for life upon severe genocide, or participating in the taking of life to any degree. Unless trained to be that way virtually from adolescence or even birth, human beings respond with violent physical and mental illness to the act of snuffing out essence. If it were intended to be that way, this word would be much different. Less than half a percent of the population can kill, truly kill, without remorse or afterthought. These are psychotics. They are anomalies, and society roots them out and ends their lives by reciprocal murder, drug-educed comas or lifetime imprisonment. People like that are, as previously stated, counter-productive to the furtherance of the species. When two bears struggle for territory or mating rights, it is extremely rare that either die, and in those few cases it is almost always accidental. In a wolf pack, the established Beta is merely relegated to a lower position of authority. Animals do not kill each other as a rule, not within their own species. They posture and tangle until a superior is cemented, and the group or adversaries adapt accordingly. So it is with people, most of the time. It is the beast of civilization that creates the greatest atrocity. The orders of kings and generals and presidents alone facilitate murder in the thousands. Civilization is as unnatural as the act of murder itself, but has proven itself an inevitability in our numbers, we are so many . So as the vampire stood over the fallen young woman, the thing inside his once-human brain struggled with the pattern he needed to follow, largely muted through the re-wiring of his person post-transformation. The thing he was now, the demon, it needed to feed, and it overruled the primordial, natural impulses to the contrary. Yet, there they were, yanking at his insides, begging for respite inasmuch as they could. Hours passed, until a passerby couldn't help but notice him, recognize the scene. It was the vampire's un-motion that drew the stranger's attention, the stillness reserved for things dead or at least inanimate within the otherwise human form that registered as bizarre with the caveman inside him. Fear and defensive arousal brought the man's shoulders back and ears up, and he called out on reflex. What's going on in there? He called, finding in the dark alley a second motionless body. The vampire did not turn to face him. Call an ambulance! The inflection was dead-on, a worried, well-meaning man in a state of alarm, but emotionless nonetheless, and that emptiness rang clear just as his too-still petrified stance did. His mouth was still sticky with her blood. Seconds after the stranger vanished, so too did the vampire. Hideous waste, that girl. Always the same. Over rooftops he moved, kicking loose gravel and peering over edges to observe the comings and goings of humanity. On nights like tonight they do a beautiful, colorful dance in the city streets, howling and clamoring from nightclub to bar in pursuit of a story, a memory, a connection. People relate to this as depressing in the abstract, but in truth it's anything but. A testament to the human need to experience life on an altered plane, inspiring, if somewhat misguided. Their gravitation not unlike flocking birds, several would seem to turn on a dime, alerted to changes and danger all at once. He would wade into such places with an air of pleased, detached interest. They were unique, each and every one, but patterns inevitably emerge and impending couplings became obvious. He liked the way they danced. The courting, the flirting, the intoxication, the arguments and fights... The recidivist nature of man lends itself to this sort of yearning. He'd pick one, by and by, seduce and allure, befriend and ally, promise opportunity or money or friendship or sex... For a time they'd taste of his offerings, a warm gesture and a little money spent. It wasn't hard to know a human, truly know them, in a very short time. He'd look into who they were and learn their hopes and values. The people he liked lived on. Whomsoever he disapproved of, not so much. Now, this moment, his eyes were all for one girl. He could find individuals like a bloodhound finds a hare. There was an edge to her, a darkness... It is a tenant of the universe that victims are statically more likely to victimize, and those with haunted looks or faraway eyes brought him near without a thought. She looked like she'd seen things. She looked harder, stronger, experienced without age. It wasn't a good combination. Broken people hurt each other. Was their cruelty in this girl? He had to know.