In the mood for an RP, and oh boy do I have some prompts // CLOSED // OxO

Browsing Pinterest, found a bunch of prompts, and I’m ready and raring to go for any single one. I’ll share the prompts once you’re clear to join :).

Rules:

• Probably keep it pg13 on the questionable topics but if you need to go R rated just run it past me.
• Just because I don’t use overly explicit language doesn’t mean you can’t. Feel free to curse like a sailor, but I will not return it.
• If you don’t like humor or playful insults then this probably isn’t the best rp for you. We don’t yet have an established storyline, however half the time I still have terribly humorous characters.
• Please have at least ok grammar. I get that sometimes people don’t— heck, I don’t most of the time— but please try.
• Please respond with actual content, I don’t want to have to keep the story going myself. Have your character act more than react.
• Have fun, buddy. It’s your rp as much as it is mine. Take it by the horns, derail it, smack it back on track, whatever you want.

I’ll get templates and storyline out once someone joins :). I will ask for a writing sample. If you find this and think one of the prompts given are cool, but someone has already joined, say so and I’ll totally make another chat to take you up as well.

( @GameMaster, sure go ahead and send in a sample! As for @gracehustle, I could start a new thread and tag you, if you’d like. Or we could get storyline and whatnot sorted through pm’s instead of just clogging this chat lol. Whatever you prefer :)

(Yes, looks great, you’re in! Do you have any preference on genre or writing style?)

(Of course. I’ll type them up tomorrow and we can choose— and possibly start— then :)

Alrighty, here we go!

These can mainly be changed to fit different genres:

• A normal person with a sort of bleak background is being tracked by an assassin. A spy/hitman was sent out to protect the person against the assassin, but when the spy is killed, the organization has to turn to the next best thing… the intern. The person must be protected at all cost. Even if the cost is sending out the only thing they have left. Either an intern or newly employed, one this is for sure— they’re not very good at their job.

• One of the best monsters is assigned a child’s bed to creep under, since all the other monsters say they can’t scare them. The monster arrived his first night, and almost immediately the child acknowledges their arrival. The monster does everything in their power to scare them, however the child doesn’t budge. Upon giving up and asking why, the child replies that there is something much scarier to be worried about.

• When two long forgotten lesser deities get bored of living in the celestial plane, they decide to take on a different human form, and travel down to experience how far mortal life has come. Now able to feel the excitement and pleasures of real life, as well as the fragility of a human body, they realize the mortal plane is not as bad as they first thought it would be— and maybe even better.

These three I really liked. If none of them fit your fancy I have a few others I can stick here. We can alter them however you like, too.

Your choice, really. I can get up some character templates. Would you rather be the very bad spy or the person in which needs protecting? Or a third undetermined?

I also have a few. But first, what time are we thinking? Modern day? Medieval? Future? Etc. And would you want it to be a romance? Or any other kind of subgenre?

Alrighty. Do you have a template you like using, or should I go grab one?

(Any of the unmarked sections you can leave tbd)

^Full Name:
Aliases:
^Age:
^Gender:
Occupation(s)/Job(s):
^Physical Desc: (Links okay, but please describe them too. Shorter desc if links are provided, but otherwise please be semi-thorough)
Standard Apparel:
^Personality:
^Habits/Mannerisms:
^Hobbies:
^Backstory:

^Full Name: Anderson March
Aliases: DD / March / Rookie
^Age: 20
^Gender: Male h/h
Occupation(s)/Job(s): Newer “Tracker Agent” tasked with keeping a certain someone safe.
^Physical Desc: Sort of a lanky guy, standing at roughly 6’0” and holding a moderate amount of muscle. It’s less defined, thus the lithe structure and sort of skinny appearance. He has a kind smile, one that tends to get him out of trouble. His hair is a darker blonde, almost caramel brown, and cut shorter on either side of his head. It’s pushed back and stays back, save for a few strands that end up in his eyes anyway. His eyes are a nice striking amber color, although they appear dimmer as he ages. As a child, they were bright to the point of being like a kaleidoscope in the sun, to being just moderately orange with a few flakes of dirty gold. He holds a more angular facial structure, and despite his sort of resting serious face, it can switch in an instant to a sheepish grin.
Standard Apparel: Anything he can move easily in. DD’s mainly in his standard USS jersey or suit. It’s a deep navy uniform that allows him to move somewhat freely. It has dark copper trimming on the insides of the sleeve cuffs, and holds his small patch in the shirt pocket. The patch is one of his most valued possessions.
^Personality: Despite his mostly intimidating appearance, counting his serious facial expression and height, Anderson is a complete idiot. He’s really… not good at his job, and has a terrible knack for unwanted trouble. He has more or less a “bleeding heart,” and will try to help anything he sees having trouble. He is deeply caring and gets attached easily, but is also completely easily distracted. He’s not a one to joke or flirt either, mainly because he’s very oblivious to social cues.
^Habits/Mannerisms: DD speaks with his hands a lot, and tends to motion frantically when nervous. He has a hard time keeping his cool, so it’s not hard to get his heart rate up and pumpin’. When flustered, his breaths quicken and he tends to ramble.
^Hobbies: Tinkering / Inventing, in his free time (which he rarely gets) / Helping others
^Backstory: Always fascinated with the secretive ways of the Unsung Service, Anderson devoted himself to becoming a part of it. With the help from mainly supportive parents, he was able to land an internship at one of the branches off their headquarters. Needed new recruits desperately, because hard times call for those kinds of measures, they let DD join. Tracking one of their important cases, the people at USS soon discovered the tracker on the case of <insert your character’s name> had been killed off, and a replacement was greatly needed. Being the only member without an already important position, Tracker March was set off to fill in the previous tracker’s quite massive shoes.

(Here we go. I can change anything pertaining to the storyline, and I’ll be happy to take any pointers you have :)

(Love her! And yep, sounds good. We ready for the starter, or should we get anything else fleshed out before?)

(Oh don’t worry about that at all, you can take it in any direction you want! I’ll get the starter up in a sec :)

“Why does she need protecting, exactly?” he asked, brushing the blonde strands of hair from his eyes as he strode forward, desperately trying to keep up with the head coordinator.
“Agent, what did I say about asking questions?” the bigger man replied stoically, upping his pace even more. His voice was gruff and unforgiving, holding no pang of vulnerability whatsoever.
“Well, not to, but—,” March began, but before he could speak another word, the bigger man reeled around and held up a scarred hand.
Stopping abruptly, Anderson’s papers nearly dropped from his hands, a few threatening to be whisked away by the generated wind.
“I just want to know why,” DD cooed, his cheeks and ears both fading into a light pink as he averted his eyes. “The only information on her portfolio is her name and that she works for The Daily Gold, as well as residency, age… other.”
The coordinator— or CHC, as the rest of the crew called him— put his raised hand to his temples, massaging them with his thumb and middle finger.
“Listen, Rookie. You keep your mouth shut, and you’ll be fine. You keep your distance, and you’ll be fine. You stop asking questions, and you’ll be fine.” He paused for a moment, straightening out his posture and letting his hand fall limp once more. “Now, go to the rally. Or whatever case she’s working on now. In a crowd of people, you’ll look standard. HP has your equipment. Do you copy?”
“Yes, sir,” Anderson muttered timidly, watching as the man wasted no time in turning back around and stalking off.
With a lazy sigh and throw of his head, DD headed off the way he had come, organizing his papers as he went.

Anderson was late. Terribly late.
Still, the mayor hadn’t showed. Which was odd, since it had already been roughly twenty minutes. However, right as his watch struck twenty-after, the man took to the stand. From his look-out point, which was just a nearby balcony of an apartment, DD could see a few reporters taking up the front— their cameras pristine and ready.
Anderson had always had good eyesight. Which was nice, because although he had been commanded to stay within the crowd, he had a perfect vantage point from above. It was an unused apartment, for-sale, actually, and it provided a beautiful encasement of the public gathering.
He was wearing standard clothing. A light purply-grey shirt with a black jacket and heavier slacks. In one of the pockets of the overcoat was his badge— a prized possession he swore to never lose.

As the speech dragged on and his answers began to lack flair, Anderson’s vision wandered again to the crowd. He took out his receiver— a little phone-like device used to contact headquarters— and flipped it between his fingers, leaning on the railing. With a sigh, his amber eyes finally rested on his target.
Her name was Abigail Aster, the reporter for that one news company he often kept up with. She was relatively pretty, at least in her portfolio files at the grounds. From here it was difficult to tell defining features, but from the dark hair and olive skin, it was apparently her.
He watched as she maneuvered her way out of the crowd. Odd to see, since the speech wasn’t over, but Anderson didn’t blame her.
In a split second, his eye caught on someone else. A different figure, face clouded by the deep shadow of his dark hair, almost following her out. It did it discreetly, and quite well, might he add, to the point where he wasn’t sure if this was even her follower or not.
Deciding to send his suspicions to CHC, he flipped the receiver one last time before pressing the button to record. However, his finger slipped, giving him a split second of a near heart attack before it fell to the ground with a menacing CRACK.
It wasn’t big enough to cause a scene, so many may not have noticed and he could just scale down and pick it up and be on his merry way. However, it fell directly in front of his target.
He was just happy it didn’t fall on her.
Quickly he jumped over the railing and onto the fire escape, skimming down the stairs before landing before her, feet flat on the ground.
Anderson’s face held no sense of bashfulness as he picked up his broken receiver, slipped it in his pocket, stood up straight and proud and muttered, “Sorry about that. It didn’t hit you, did it?”
He was certain it didn’t, but he had to make sure. It was these uncertainties that made him who he was. That is— quite a nervous person.
DD gave a small smile, a sort of kind and comforting one, however it held a pang of anxiousness. He was told under no circumstance was he to talk to Aster, however this seemed like it could pass under the radar. Right? As long as he wasn’t seen any other time… right?
At lest he didn’t see the other figure anywhere anymore. Maybe it was a good thing, maybe a bad thing. Although, he had other things to deal with now.

He gave off a slight nervous laugh as his face reddened involuntarily. He wasn’t supposed to be here. Especially conversing with the target. But what was he supposed to do now? Turn away and just stalk off? He was a gentleman before anything else… or at least, he tried to be.
His clouded thinking subsided as he met eyes with her again and held out a hand to offer a shake.
“I’m… Derek Boultler,” he said hesitantly. It was a name he had made up to tell people while he was on the job, especially those with close affiliations to whomever he was “guarding.” Although, up until now, he had never had a reason to use it.
“And, uh, what I dropped?” he began, starting to fiddle with his fingers. “It was just my re— wallet. Just my wallet. By accident.”
He patted his pocket reassuringly.
“Anyway, I must be going,” he said quickly, the words escaping his mouth before he could say anything else. “It was, eh, nice meeting you Miss Aster— shi— I mean— It was nice meeting you, stranger.”
Before he could dig himself deeper, Anderson pivoted on his heels, turning to stride away quickly.

Anderson coughed and spun back around, his hands out in front of him in a sort of praying motion. But as he faced her, he pointed his fingers toward her, taking a deep breath in.
Racing wasn’t a dramatic enough term to explain what his mind was doing. More like… rocketing at hyper-speed to find something to say.
She’s a reporter, was all his mind could tell him. So he went off of that.
“I’ve read what you’ve written in the paper?” he said, although it sounded like a question seeking confirmation. He gave another light laugh, averting his eyes to the crowd, then back to Abigail.
And endless line of profane language rhythmically thumped around in his head, each and every word pertaining to himself and the situation.
“I just didn’t want to seem… like a creepy fan, so I, uh, quickly ‘corrected’ myself.” He let his hands fall and adjust his jacket. “Sorry about that.”