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Fox

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About Fox

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    female
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    listening

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  1. Unless you already have someone who will be jumping into your game, I'd suggest advertising your Wasteland RP in the water cooler. Will definitely help get more eyes on it and increase the pool of potential partners

    1. Fox

      Fox

      Thank you, supernal! Thank you for caring about me! It has been such a long time since I first came to this role-playing platform, that if I ever learned the information you sent to me, I must have forgotten it! I am waiting for sapphicSphinx, my partner, to respond to what I wrote her. But in the future if I want to role-play with others and I am not sure who to turn to, I will be sure to advertise my role-playing ideas in the water cooler! 😊

  2. Fox

    Wasteland

    It's all about poetry, in the end. As the Sun begins to set, the surface of the Earth begins to redden, reminding me of a metal sword rusting away in the sunlight, lost to the sands of time. "You ever read King Arthur?" I look to my right. The blackbird that's been sitting just a few feet away watches me, its black eyes sparkling. "We could be friends, you know." It says nothing. Shrugging harmlessly, I return to gaze out at the view. My outstretched hand is motionless, so as not to frighten the creature, and yet a few seeds slip between my pale, thin fingers, tumbling past the edge over which my legs dangle. Precarious. "Of course, that's not a problem for you, is it, My Winged Traitor?" The blackbird maintains its silence. Or should I say "their" silence, thereby granting some form of personhood to the creature? I chuckle. I smile. My eyes--sometimes green, sometimes blue, sometimes grey--narrow. Blackbird can reach the city in the sky forbidden to someone like me. Up there, I wouldn't be good enough. I wouldn't be... suitable to their standards; I wouldn't be considered worthy, or good, or even lovable. That's why I'm down here, in the lower parts of Earth's atmosphere, known affectionately to the sky people as the "Wasteland." That's right. I'm living in a dump. My lip curls. "What I wouldn't give to see through your eyes." When Blackbird doesn't answer, I make my hand into a fist before thrusting the seeds to the side, sending the small grains scattering across the curved surface of the roof. The bird squawks and dives after the pebbles in a furious motion of feathers. Sighing, I shake the last few specks from my fingers before drawing my knees into my chest and lowering my head to my chest. My dark, straight hair covers my vision further, until all I can make out behind my closing lids is an array of sunlights filling the air with geometric light-shapes. But this doesn't have to be the end. "No?" I poke my head up, entertaining the small voice that urges me to shy away from the drop. It says nothing. "And why not? Why not now? Why not here?" I feel the wind tickling the hairs on my unshaved legs, the possibility existing because of my dark orange shorts. I reach out toward the Sun, attempting to grasp it. The light shines brilliantly between my fingers, although it's all a blur. The contact lenses Dad acquired for me are in the workshop, next to my bed. They were there this morning when I woke up, and they're there now; I haven't touched them all day. I planned to never do so again, actually. "Dad told me he could heal my eyes. But can he heal my mind? I don't think anyone can. What's the purpose of living, anyway? Up there, they say I have no value. I'm meaningless; my entire existence is. I don't deserve Paradise; all I deserve is this Hell." Tears well up, and I taste the salt when it reaches my dry, cracked lips. A moment later, my hand is running along my mouth, feeling the ridges of the valleys. Are my eyes sparkling now, the way my fingers were when the Sun was in-between them? Are my lips glittering with a lubricating gloss, woven from the realization of meaninglessness? If it weren't for beauty, I would never had withstood the sadness for this long. My bitter self-reflection comes to a jarring end when I become aware of something for the first time. Blinking the tears away, I turn my head cautiously to peer over at the bird with the eerie eyes, whose small body is bent as it attempts to gather seed. Except... it hasn't managed to. The bird continues to peck, in an almost metronomic fashion, the sound of metal on metal cutting through the otherwise serene silence of the twilight. A cold, electric chill permeates my body. In the fading light, I begin to notice the uncanny jerkiness of the bird's movements. My heartbeat begins to pick up as I perceive a shudder running through their bird's body every time it hits the roof's metal surface, as though absorbing an impact shock. Dread fills me as I begin to pick up on the metal echo emanating from its rich plumage. As though it were fully hollow on the inside. Trying not to make a sound, I begin to move. Wanting to take off running, despite knowing the foolishness of doing that in such dimly-lit environs, especially without my contact lenses, I begin to lift myself from my seated position. My body shakes as I maintain awareness of the blackbird, and my legs threaten to give out underneath me. But I rise anyway, attempting to get my footing. Blinded by the darkness and distracted by the newest threat, I lose my former awareness of the building's edge. My hand trembling as I lift myself, my rings clink together repeatedly. The bird stops. Swallowing forcefully, I stop breathing. The bird tilts its head, which then snaps to face me. It sounds like its neck is breaking. A motion of 180 degrees, in the blink of an eye; its body hasn't moved. Its eyes glow a pale white. My muscles are too paralyzed to scream. Driven by instinct, I stumble over my bare feet, then break into a run. Deafened by the sound of my own heartbeat in my ears, I fail to notice the unstable groaning of the metal underneath my feet. Glass cuts into my skin, but its sharpness goes unnoticed. Then the tinkling sound of crushed glass fills the air, and the next thing I know, the floor is giving way and gravity is pulling me through. A scream escapes me now. My body passes through a glass rain, which leaves my lips bloody. Innumerable cuts adorn my exposed legs, and my exposed arms. I fall freely down into the long-abandoned building, the fluttering of bird wings accompanying my rapid descent. The speed of the fall is what shocks me the most; it takes my breath away. Yet I scream the whole way down.
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