Some people find this place once, and never again. Some people swear that it appears only when you least expect it. Some people know exactly which turns to take, which paths to wander…
…and some of them find they never want to leave.
But here you are, so. Take a seat at the bar, traveller. You and I can swap tales of our adventures, hm? Or perhaps you're here looking for something… particular. I'll fetch you a drink, shall I? No need to order.
I already know. A little parlour trick of ours. Call it… part of the entertainments.
This blog is a roleplay account, centering on a bar called The Shadowed Rose, and the staff you find within. Any characters, OCs and canon alike, are more than welcome inside.
There is also a secondary, connected blog: @shadowedrosewriting, where you may find lore, trivia, and other general writings about this quirky cast.
Rules below the cut.
General Rules:
The Shadowed Rose is open to 18+ only. This is not necessarily due to content, but a personal boundary. I don't feel comfortable interacting with minors over the internet.
This blog is run and managed by a single admin. Please be respectful of the fact that life does exist, motivation can be fickle, and responses may not always be immediate.
Respect should also extend to other writers who may be sending in asks, or participating in RP. Be kind to one another.
Roleplay Rules:
These are specific to this blog. The rules are not necessarily the same -please ensure you check both before interacting.
Anything sent to this blog should be in character. Questions and other commentary should be directed to @shadowedrosewriting
This is a semi literate roleplay blog. I understand that some people are newer to writing, but ask that you try for at least short paragraphs. This would mean roughly five sentences, excluding dialogue.
Please do not, under any circumstance, tell me what Shadowed Rose characters are doing if you are directly interacting with them. There is exactly one exception to this: if it has been cleared beforehand. My DMs are open if you'd like to clarify.
If you have any questions or concerns, please do make them known.
It'd been a long and arduous day for the demon, but no more so than usual. He spent his hours with his guitar, performing at various clubs, and lending his vocal talents as an accompaniment. He tended to throw his all into performances, never staying still, ensuring the audience felt immersed and satisfied. As a result, his throat was parched and his muscles screamed at him every time he moved.
Desiring to take the edge off, he sought the comfort of a watering hole. The one which seemed to reveal itself to him was enticing by appearance alone, it emitted an aura that drew him in by a thread of curiosity and anticipation. He walked through the doors as if in a daze, simply putting one foot in front of the other until they led him to where he needed to be.
He took a seat at the bar, slid his guitar strap from his shoulder, and exhaled heavily. "Grasshopper, please," he told the bartender. "Or something else with midori in it."
The Shadowed Rose was quiet tonight. Less patrons than would usually be present, music spiralling soft and lazy through warm air. The buzz of chatter and soft clinking of glasses seemed muted, like the entire scene were submerged, or perhaps wrapped up in cotton-wool.
Quiet enough that the bartender had been draped casually against the bar, idly flipping a coin between long fingers. The penny flicked into the air, was deftly caught, and vanished into a pocket as the man straightened, flashing a perfect, pearly smile.
The staff didn't seem to have much of a dress code. This particular bartender seemed to favour red and gold, almost matching the decor. Silky-sheen of a scarlet shirt, the top buttons left undone. Golden chain curled around his throat, and a stud glinting in one faintly-pointed ear. His eyes were accented by a smoke of dark makeup, eyeliner sharpening the edges into something vaguely feline in shape, pointed inner corners and sweeping wings.
Dark eyes. Too dark, really - like drops of spilt ink, the irises indistinguishable from the pupils. His hair, too, was the same shade - tousled raven's feathers, a contrast to the paleness of ivory skin.
Every movement was swift. Graceful. Too fast to really track, combining ingredients, hands fluttering like hummingbird's wings. The drink that slid across the counter was... definitely leaning more towards something else. A deeper shade of green - viridian, not mint. It shimmered faintly with something silvery, twisting gracefully within the depths. The little sprig of mint on the edge of the glass was similarly dusted in shimmer at its edges.
"...Something else," the bartender almost purred - or maybe that was just his voice, a velvet-smooth drawl - leaning a hip lightly against the counter, and watching the bar's newest patron with a quiet kind of interest.
"First time here, hm?"
"First time," Anthony responded softly, "and with any luck, not the last." He curled his fingers around the glass and collected it into his palm, then lifted it towards his lips, taking a delicate sniff like a curious kitten. One could almost imagine whiskers trembling in anticipation as he luxuriated in the aroma before indulging himself in a singular sip. The taste was sensational, evoking a lilted sound from his throat that subsided with the accompaniment of the glass rim. It wasn't a vocalisation he'd intended to share, and masking it beneath the action of drinking was perhaps a little belated, but an attempt was made nonetheless.
His gaze travelled towards the face of the one who could gift him with such an experience in the form of tangible hydration, taking in every detail like a camera lens. Not that he'd disclose any such details about himself, but he had a type, and the bartender certainly resided within it. He hadn't come to seek anything close to a connection, however, merely a reprieve from the working world. Aesthetics and attraction were simply a welcome bonus. Ordinarily, he'd cull the conversation and express wanting to drink alone, but those desires hadn't yet surfaced.
"Thanks," he added quietly, tapping his fingers against the stem of the glass to indicate where his gratitude lay. "Whatever this is, it's taking the edge off."
The bartender winked. Another flicker of that pearly smile.
"Shadowed Rose special, darlin'. We pride ourselves on knowin' just what'll hit the spot."
Definitely just his voice, then. The almost-sultry weight of something Southern tinting the syllables-- easier to hear in a longer sentence. He drummed long fingers once, twice, on the edge of the bar. A fleeting rhythm racing against polished wood. He tilted his head slightly, dark eyes skimming from the deep-green drink to the face of the one holding it.
"First drink for a new patron's always on the house," he informed, after a moment. Then he shifted pose, leaned his elbows on the bar, and brought his face far closer to eye level, resting his chin lightly in a palm.
"But if you're thinking of coming back, well. Does our newest regular have a name, or just a guitar and a pretty face to go with it?"
This particular bartender been told before that he was dangerous. Mostly in a half-joking way, one wrapped in soft laughter, but still. Dangerous. The soft velvet of that voice, and how easy it was to simply melt into it. Most people never questioned it. Most people never caught the edge beneath the softness.
Perhaps the best comparison was golden windchimes, swaying softly from the lowest branches of an old tree. Not many looked past their music to see the darkness of the forest behind them.
A pause. A moment of quiet, music briefly lulling as the song transitioned into something new. The bartender's smile flickered again.
"Call me Cameron," he says, voice soft. "Figure it's less of an ask to know a name... if you already heard mine, hm?"
It'd been a long and arduous day for the demon, but no more so than usual. He spent his hours with his guitar, performing at various clubs, and lending his vocal talents as an accompaniment. He tended to throw his all into performances, never staying still, ensuring the audience felt immersed and satisfied. As a result, his throat was parched and his muscles screamed at him every time he moved.
Desiring to take the edge off, he sought the comfort of a watering hole. The one which seemed to reveal itself to him was enticing by appearance alone, it emitted an aura that drew him in by a thread of curiosity and anticipation. He walked through the doors as if in a daze, simply putting one foot in front of the other until they led him to where he needed to be.
He took a seat at the bar, slid his guitar strap from his shoulder, and exhaled heavily. "Grasshopper, please," he told the bartender. "Or something else with midori in it."
The Shadowed Rose was quiet tonight. Less patrons than would usually be present, music spiralling soft and lazy through warm air. The buzz of chatter and soft clinking of glasses seemed muted, like the entire scene were submerged, or perhaps wrapped up in cotton-wool.
Quiet enough that the bartender had been draped casually against the bar, idly flipping a coin between long fingers. The penny flicked into the air, was deftly caught, and vanished into a pocket as the man straightened, flashing a perfect, pearly smile.
The staff didn't seem to have much of a dress code. This particular bartender seemed to favour red and gold, almost matching the decor. Silky-sheen of a scarlet shirt, the top buttons left undone. Golden chain curled around his throat, and a stud glinting in one faintly-pointed ear. His eyes were accented by a smoke of dark makeup, eyeliner sharpening the edges into something vaguely feline in shape, pointed inner corners and sweeping wings.
Dark eyes. Too dark, really - like drops of spilt ink, the irises indistinguishable from the pupils. His hair, too, was the same shade - tousled raven's feathers, a contrast to the paleness of ivory skin.
Every movement was swift. Graceful. Too fast to really track, combining ingredients, hands fluttering like hummingbird's wings. The drink that slid across the counter was... definitely leaning more towards something else. A deeper shade of green - viridian, not mint. It shimmered faintly with something silvery, twisting gracefully within the depths. The little sprig of mint on the edge of the glass was similarly dusted in shimmer at its edges.
"...Something else," the bartender almost purred - or maybe that was just his voice, a velvet-smooth drawl - leaning a hip lightly against the counter, and watching the bar's newest patron with a quiet kind of interest.
"First time here, hm?"
