Hello, Everybody! You can call me Royce (he/him, please). It’s so nice to meet you! I’m a little new to this whole thing so I’ll try to ease myself in.
I currently work at Clivesdale Financial and I’ve lived in the city my whole life. I just love it here so much! Go Chemists!!
Let’s see… hobbies! Yes, that’s a good one to start with. I like reading, attending local sports games, and going out to eat. Especially if I’m with my daughter. I even used to write, on occasion.
Recently I’ve been finding myself in the town of Hatchetfield. The Clivesdale library didn’t have the book I wanted so I decided to hop the bridge and see what the Hatchetfield library had to offer. Little did I know this town was so quaint! I love exploring new places so I think I’ll stick around for a bit.
Daughter: @a-regular-clivesdale-girl
RULES!! —————
1. This is an RP blog! Feel free to send asks, tag me in things, or whatever else.
2. Keep it pg-13. Royce is an adult and so am I, the user running this account, but I won’t engage with content that’s too inappropriate.
3. If I don’t respond to an ask within 48 hours you can send it again. If I’m ignoring it for a specific reason I’ll tell you.
4. OOC will be marked with squiggly brackets { like this }. Sometimes I put it in the post, sometimes I hide my thoughts in the tags.
TIPS —————
When Royce speaks in crossed out subscript that’s more of an inside thought or something he mutters under his breath. You can respond and react to it in rp if you want or you can leave it be.
Sometimes I give fun colors to specific words and there’s no real reason behind it.
Actions will be italicized and bolded (and probably in third person).
Don’t know what to ask? Me either!! Jk. Ask Royce about himself, or life in Clivesdale, or his past, or send him to places in Hatchetfield. He is here to explore, after all. Anyone can interact with him; OCs, Lords, duplicates, anyone!
USEFUL STUFF —————
Tags:
Royce RP - generic tag, used on all posts.
Hatchetfield RP - generic tag for search purposes.
Royce OOC - for non-RP posts.
_____ Interaction - designates the character Royce is interacting with.
[ End of Interaction ] - marks the end of a longer interaction chain.
💙 What a Quaint Town! - for wandering about and trying new things (AKA open RP prompts).
💙 A Question for Me? - ask responses.
💙 If You Wouldn’t Mind - responses to Royce’s asks.
💙 Look at That! - RP responses to non-RP posts.
💙 Having a Friendly Chat - for longer, typically lore-heavy RP chains.
Certainly a choice. Odd that you're interacting with a Hatchetfield citizen by choice, but I guess I can't judge. Do tell me, why do you like Clivesdale so much? I was drawn to Hatchetfield for reasons, so you must have reasons for liking... that place.
Well why wouldn’t I? Clivesdale is clean and friendly and there’s always something fun to do! The Cherry Festival is coming up, and I can’t wait to get together with my friends and go! The whole town really comes together in a show of positivity and love for big events like that. It makes me feel like I’m part of a real community.
And don’t get me wrong—I love Hatchetfield! They make for such a nice sister-city. But there are… reasons to stay out of Hatchetfield, I’ve found.
It’s best not to dwell on our differences. I prefer to love it all, all the same!
Petey doesn't move, and doesn't talk, he simply writhes and bleats like an injured lamb.
He grips his hands to his face, and when he pulls back his hands, they're stained in what looks like blood, but the color is off. It's shimmering and metallic, and looks a little like brass.
Petey looks back up from his spot on the ground, making shaky eye contact with Royce, and it's clear that the blood is pooling from a singular spot on his forehead.
Royce looks down on the injured lamb-thing. He’s aware this isn’t normal but that doesn’t matter to him. Beneath the feathers and the ears and the hooves he sees a child. One who needs help.
Deciding the creature probably wasn’t going to snap at him again, Royce gets a little closer.
See, it’s okay. I just want to help. I have a daughter around your age. We don’t live here but I wonder if she maybe knows some of your friends.
Just keep talking. Nice and calm. Royce studied Petey’s face. The injury was clear. It almost looked lethal but the creature in front of him wasn’t dead so there must have been another factor at play. There was always some sort of “other factor” here in Hatchetfield.
Royce pulled his hanky from his suit pocket.
Here, bud. Hold this against your head. Let’s see if we can stop that bleeding.
A packet of fruit snacks fell out with the hanky. Perfect.
You want some fruit snacks? They’re Mott’s, nothing fancy. But I say sugar always helps when you’re hurt.
Petey rolls himself onto his stomach, then holds the handkerchief in his hands. Slowly, his hands still quaking, he presses it to his forehead.
Petey flinches and hisses at the initial pain, but then settles. This is definitely going to stain, but within the moment that doesn't matter.
He pushes himself up, at least until he's sitting down, ears twitching, head spinning from the sudden movement. He coughs up more blood.
Then, at the sight of the fruit snacks, he sort of just eyes the packet with longing. With his hands focused on his wound, he can't exactly open the packet, so...
Royce still speaks softly. He doesn’t want to spook the poor creature. He tears the fruit snacks open and gently offers the packet to Petey.
I’m Royce. Your name is?
Royce flinches internally when Petey coughs up blood. He’s still not exactly sure what he’s dealing with but it can’t be good. At least the creature is responsive now. If he could just figure out what happened…
He notices the hanky is starting to slip and slowly reaches over to adjust it. He carefully wipes up the trail of blood that was dripping down Petey’s forehead. Then he adjusts the fabric to find a clean side to return to the wound. Smears of brass blood start to dirty his hands but he pays it no mind.
Where did you come from? Do you have any family?
He noticeably avoids asking “what are you?” He isn’t sure what he’s expecting for an answer.
No no, it’s okay. You don’t have to answer. Not yet.
Royce gets closer. He’s sitting next to Petey now.
How can I help you? More fruit snacks? Medicine?
Should I call 911?
He was thankful to see the bleeding was starting to slow. The critter was still in pain but maybe he was on the mend.
I have a car if you need a ride. I’ll take you wherever you need to go. You just have to promise to get that— he gestures to the bullet hole— checked out by a professional. It looks bad.
Petey doesn't move, and doesn't talk, he simply writhes and bleats like an injured lamb.
He grips his hands to his face, and when he pulls back his hands, they're stained in what looks like blood, but the color is off. It's shimmering and metallic, and looks a little like brass.
Petey looks back up from his spot on the ground, making shaky eye contact with Royce, and it's clear that the blood is pooling from a singular spot on his forehead.
Royce looks down on the injured lamb-thing. He’s aware this isn’t normal but that doesn’t matter to him. Beneath the feathers and the ears and the hooves he sees a child. One who needs help.
Deciding the creature probably wasn’t going to snap at him again, Royce gets a little closer.
See, it’s okay. I just want to help. I have a daughter around your age. We don’t live here but I wonder if she maybe knows some of your friends.
Just keep talking. Nice and calm. Royce studied Petey’s face. The injury was clear. It almost looked lethal but the creature in front of him wasn’t dead so there must have been another factor at play. There was always some sort of “other factor” here in Hatchetfield.
Royce pulled his hanky from his suit pocket.
Here, bud. Hold this against your head. Let’s see if we can stop that bleeding.
A packet of fruit snacks fell out with the hanky. Perfect.
You want some fruit snacks? They’re Mott’s, nothing fancy. But I say sugar always helps when you’re hurt.
Petey rolls himself onto his stomach, then holds the handkerchief in his hands. Slowly, his hands still quaking, he presses it to his forehead.
Petey flinches and hisses at the initial pain, but then settles. This is definitely going to stain, but within the moment that doesn't matter.
He pushes himself up, at least until he's sitting down, ears twitching, head spinning from the sudden movement. He coughs up more blood.
Then, at the sight of the fruit snacks, he sort of just eyes the packet with longing. With his hands focused on his wound, he can't exactly open the packet, so...
Royce still speaks softly. He doesn’t want to spook the poor creature. He tears the fruit snacks open and gently offers the packet to Petey.
I’m Royce. Your name is?
Royce flinches internally when Petey coughs up blood. He’s still not exactly sure what he’s dealing with but it can’t be good. At least the creature is responsive now. If he could just figure out what happened…
He notices the hanky is starting to slip and slowly reaches over to adjust it. He carefully wipes up the trail of blood that was dripping down Petey’s forehead. Then he adjusts the fabric to find a clean side to return to the wound. Smears of brass blood start to dirty his hands but he pays it no mind.
Where did you come from? Do you have any family?
He noticeably avoids asking “what are you?” He isn’t sure what he’s expecting for an answer.
Petey doesn't move, and doesn't talk, he simply writhes and bleats like an injured lamb.
He grips his hands to his face, and when he pulls back his hands, they're stained in what looks like blood, but the color is off. It's shimmering and metallic, and looks a little like brass.
Petey looks back up from his spot on the ground, making shaky eye contact with Royce, and it's clear that the blood is pooling from a singular spot on his forehead.
Royce looks down on the injured lamb-thing. He’s aware this isn’t normal but that doesn’t matter to him. Beneath the feathers and the ears and the hooves he sees a child. One who needs help.
Deciding the creature probably wasn’t going to snap at him again, Royce gets a little closer.
See, it’s okay. I just want to help. I have a daughter around your age. We don’t live here but I wonder if she maybe knows some of your friends.
Just keep talking. Nice and calm. Royce studied Petey’s face. The injury was clear. It almost looked lethal but the creature in front of him wasn’t dead so there must have been another factor at play. There was always some sort of “other factor” here in Hatchetfield.
Royce pulled his hanky from his suit pocket.
Here, bud. Hold this against your head. Let’s see if we can stop that bleeding.
A packet of fruit snacks fell out with the hanky. Perfect.
You want some fruit snacks? They’re Mott’s, nothing fancy. But I say sugar always helps when you’re hurt.
Petey rolls himself onto his stomach, then holds the handkerchief in his hands. Slowly, his hands still quaking, he presses it to his forehead.
Petey flinches and hisses at the initial pain, but then settles. This is definitely going to stain, but within the moment that doesn't matter.
He pushes himself up, at least until he's sitting down, ears twitching, head spinning from the sudden movement. He coughs up more blood.
Then, at the sight of the fruit snacks, he sort of just eyes the packet with longing. With his hands focused on his wound, he can't exactly open the packet, so...
Royce still speaks softly. He doesn’t want to spook the poor creature. He tears the fruit snacks open and gently offers the packet to Petey.
I’m Royce. Your name is?
Royce flinches internally when Petey coughs up blood. He’s still not exactly sure what he’s dealing with but it can’t be good. At least the creature is responsive now. If he could just figure out what happened…
Petey doesn't move, and doesn't talk, he simply writhes and bleats like an injured lamb.
He grips his hands to his face, and when he pulls back his hands, they're stained in what looks like blood, but the color is off. It's shimmering and metallic, and looks a little like brass.
Petey looks back up from his spot on the ground, making shaky eye contact with Royce, and it's clear that the blood is pooling from a singular spot on his forehead.
Royce looks down on the injured lamb-thing. He’s aware this isn’t normal but that doesn’t matter to him. Beneath the feathers and the ears and the hooves he sees a child. One who needs help.
Deciding the creature probably wasn’t going to snap at him again, Royce gets a little closer.
See, it’s okay. I just want to help. I have a daughter around your age. We don’t live here but I wonder if she maybe knows some of your friends.
Just keep talking. Nice and calm. Royce studied Petey’s face. The injury was clear. It almost looked lethal but the creature in front of him wasn’t dead so there must have been another factor at play. There was always some sort of “other factor” here in Hatchetfield.
Royce pulled his hanky from his suit pocket.
Here, bud. Hold this against your head. Let’s see if we can stop that bleeding.
A packet of fruit snacks fell out with the hanky. Perfect.
You want some fruit snacks? They’re Mott’s, nothing fancy. But I say sugar always helps when you’re hurt.
Everybody has a favorite song. Usually it’s something that makes you feel seen, or perhaps it’s a catchy tune that gets stuck in your head. My favorite is Lonesome Town, the Ricky Nelson version. I like to hum it on quiet nights (even though it annoys my daughter!).
Oh. Well, I guess I’ll have a blueberry muffin. Call me crazy but I’m just not a fan of croissants! I’d much rather have a good, old-fashioned muffin. Blueberry in particular is a favorite of mine.
Oh. Well, I guess I’ll have a blueberry muffin. Call me crazy but I’m just not a fan of croissants! I’d much rather have a good, old-fashioned muffin. Blueberry in particular is a favorite of mine.
Dan and Donna are the news anchors in Hatchetfield! And they're better than whoever the losers in Clivesdale are, because they give updates on Peanuts the Pocket Squirrel 😌
I do enjoy learning about Peanuts the Hatchetfield Pocket Squirrel. Maybe I’ll tune in someday and check it out.
Did you know Rod and Rachael have a segment where they highlight events happening at Clivesdale High? It’s so wholesome to see the students’ passion projects and sports games make it onto TV.
Once more, it's a collective FUCK Clivesdale from all of them.
Haven't we gotten this one before?
Well, yeah, but are you going to turn down an opportunity to shit on Clivesdale?
Hah, I guess not!
They're missing out on all the pizzazz of Hatchetfield.
Hey, Leighton, was Gary from there? Clivesdale, I mean.
Hm... Huh! I don't think I ever asked 'im. I mean we traveled there a lot, for my family. But I dunno if his familiarity of the place was 'cause we both went there annually, or 'cause he was from Clivesdale.
I do agree that Clivesdale lacks a certain pizzazz Hatchetfield manages to maintain. Maybe someday our sister-city will share her charming secrets and we can finally get along!
