#muse sample

[snipeheart]

for that character meme, let's go with alfred ashford :3c

give me a character and i'll give you a sample of how i'd rp them

He supposes he's done too much for a glorious or comforting end.

He is alone now. Everyone else is gone. The soldiers, the staff, the prisoners. Umbrella was gone. His father, Alexander, was no more. Even Alexia...

He wonders, sometimes, if maybe he should have let her sleep forever. That way, at least in some manner, the Ashford line would have lived. She could have simply dreamed for eternity.

But now here he is, himself the last of a once-great lineage brought low by human experimentation. He doesn't know why Veronica has sought to revive him...he isn't worthy. He is an accident, a freak. The line continuing through him was the same as it being dead and gone.

And yet...he persists. Is he a zombie? A lich? Something else, by some name not yet coined? All that he had ever considered worthwhile was gone, so what was he to do now? What was he even to be?

Veronica is within him... Veronica chose him. No, that was incorrect. It chose Alexia. It simply had no other options. But if they were stuck with one another, then what, in fact, did Veronica want? To destroy those who lived in spite of her efforts? To burn their very lives down to ash? To spread her knowledge throughout the world?

Any of those things could be a start...

[snipeheart]

Tyler Howard

give me a character and i'll give you a sample of how i'd rp them

"Today's the first day of the rest of our lives. Today's a new beginning."

That's what she'd said to him.

He'd learned many things since coming to Philosophy. The human desire to learn, the human instinct to connect, and how isolation and loneliness could destroy someone. Make monsters of men.

He holds the letter in his hands, the words on it now meaningless. The promise of a father to come back...

Before, he'd have done anything to see his father again. But now, after everything... He can't help but wonder if not knowing was the better option. A part of him had anticipated this, even five years ago, though he supposed denial was a powerful force.

Was it really worth it? he asked himself. Coming out of the shadows had been for nothing. He'd thought he could get his father to see the truth, come back to normal society.

New beginnings fucking suck, he thought to himself.

He sets the letter in the flame, hoping maybe, just maybe, there's some truth in there he hadn't discovered yet, and that maybe years down the line, he'll understand it.

[snipeheart]

show me RICARDO IRVING

give me a character and i'll give you a sample of how i'd rp them

His breathing was heavy as he hunched over the filthy sink, face wet with sweat and looking into his own somewhat manic expression in the mirror.

"What are you going to do about them?"

They considered him a failure. They considered him expendable.

Impotent rage took hold of him, acutely aware of the little injector in his coat pocket with its dangerous mutant occupant inside, feeling it hot against him like he'd stowed a burning coal in there. They wanted him--HIM!--to die to slow down these two little BSAA runts.

Fucking ingrates... Never any goddamn respect in this shithole country. Complaints from the locals, attacks from those little swamp savages, constant digs into his wallet for the scale of these projects....

Did they not fucking understand whose money this was?! How much he'd given them to get their shitty little experiments off the ground?! Did they not know whose goddamn connections it was to get them buyers for these rancid little parasites in the first place?!?!

The sheer disrespect tightens his gut. No. No, no no no no no no NO!

He was not going to let it end like this. He'd blow the whole oil field fucking sky high before he let that happen.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a cell, rapidly dialing digits with the expertise of a longtime businessman. He doesn't wait for introductions before barking, damn near screaming, into the receiver.

"Get me some goddamn hi-yield explosives."

[lunariansage-archive]

✍

SEND ME A ✍ AND I’LL INTRODUCE YOU TO A MUSE THAT I’D LIKE TO RP AS.

"Hands up! Give me your wallet!" A cold cylinder pushed against the back of Maiza’s head as he nearly turned to face the attacker. He had just been looking at a poster for an upcoming theater performance, but it seemed that someone had other intentions.

"Sorry, friend, but I don’t have much in the way of money on me. Give me just a moment." With a careless shrug he began to reach in his coat for his wallet.

"I-I said hands up!" The gun was shaking at this point.

"Now I can’t exactly get my wallet with my hands in the air, can I? Settle down or you’re going to-" He only felt the recoil of the gun against his hair and the pressure of the explosion in his ears as the mugger misfired, but the metal passing through his brain went unnoticed as his whole body slumped to the ground.

He could still see, though his vision swam with images of the visions first presented to him when he gained the arcane knowledge that sustained him even now. Far away sounds, as if underwater, warbled through his ears as the crook cursed and panicked, finding Maiza’s empty wallet and unloaded gun before cursing some more and fleeing the scene.

And soon things began to clear up again. Sounds gained clarity and the visions receded to blurry glimpses of the alley pavement. Man, did his head hurt. “So impatient…” he groaned, pushing himself to his feet and attempting to wipe the mud off of his coat and pants. Unfortunately it seemed that both were ruined. The gunshot had shattered his glasses too. “… the boys are sure going to give me a hard time about this.”