voicetest | Recent Entries

Help me! Help me!

[This particular cry does not come from the white-haired girl wandering through the forest, but from a nearby apple tree. Mytho does not appear to be particularly disturbed by the voice, and she turns to look placidly at the tree.]

What's wrong?

[The tree heaves a great sigh.]

My apples, one and all, are so very ripe! Won't someone shake me?

[Mytho barely considers this before saying:] Okay.

[Without another word, Mytho reaches up and begins to shake the branches with a surprising amount of strength, considering her petite size. Apples are now raining down on all and sundry.]

digsruins

As much as Lara loved to skim through auction houses and see what was available online that piqued her interest or was something that could lead to a greater adventure, there was also something to be said for those small hole-in-the-wall antique stores. Not the big garish ones that boasted of Queen Anne chairs or apothecary tables. No, Lara preferred the ones whose windows were dusty enough that you had to enter the store if you wanted to see what it held. They generally had things that had been lost to the ages, manned by someone who might be considered an antique themselves. The dingier the store, the better the treasure they held.

Not to say that a majority of what collected dust on the shelves wasn't junk or very good knock offs, but once in a while, she found something that had the collector and adventurer in her soaring, something that made her pulse jump when she saw it and inevitably reached for it.

She was hoping for just such a find as she stepped through the door of one such store she'd spied, the bell jangling like a broken chime above her as she stepped in. She had to pause at the door for her eyes to adjust to the gloom inside, but she was hoping that this little deviation would be worthwhile.

rollbookstinger

Her footsteps were being intrusively loud. Of course, she was wearing heels, but she hadn't quite expected to end up here when she'd gotten up in the morning. But that was assuming this was the same day. Her watch had stopped, her lips were dry, her nails had outgrown the clear coating of polish. Her teacher's garb—button-up blouse, gray jacket and skirt—seemed out of place, even though she didn't know what "in place" would be. Orange jumpsuits, perhaps, but that didn't seem right, either. The gravity was on, and the place was larger than she would have expected. But still, she got the impression she was in space.

What was she doing here? It was no use digging up the last thing she remembered—from what she remembered, she should be dead. Or if not dead, then some far-flung place that didn't resemble a space station. Maybe this was a joke. A joke from the Chairman: Ha ha, we fooled you. Welcome aboard. She wasn't a new employee (in either sense) and the Chairman wasn't given to jokes.

She turned the corner. Desperation and confusion drove her to speak even as she entertained the thought that it might be a trap. "Hello? Is anybody there?"

secretsymphony

[Tonight's gig has just ended and the band has split up to enjoy the luxuries of the hotel for a couple of hours before their driver comes to pick up both them and their equipment. Their instruments look sort of lonely, left behind up there - on the small, round stage in the corner of the room. It's a nostalgic observation that Shiori makes, glancing back over one shoulder before sitting down on one of the free stools at the long, mahogany bar and it makes her feel strangely estranged. From the situation. From her surroundings. Although she's a stranger to neither.

Cocking her head slightly, she surveys the selection of alcohol on the shelves behind the bartender. Lets her eyes run over each bottle individually while she tries to make her pick. She can't, though. The jitters from performing have died down and left her with no hole to fill. If she's drinking, she'll be drinking to fill the silence instead and there are other ways to do that, right? Thus, she turns her attention towards the person next to her.]

What do you think I should get? I'm drawing a complete blank.

envy_the_nayme

Max Payne sits alone on a crummy stool in a crummy bar in a crummy part of Hoboken, New Jersey. Outside, dirty snow drifts down like ash from the sky. Inside, the lights are dim, the music is faint and scratchy, the floor looks like it was last cleaned during the Clinton administration. An ashtray filled with crushed, smouldering, used-up cigarettes sits in front of him. The tobacco is also crummy: cheap cigs for a cheap place.

The only thing in the joint with any kind of class is the half-empty bottle of scotch Max has next to him. It’s the high-quality stuff, high potency too. Max has been working his way through it for about two hours now. He pours himself a glass, and stares morosely into it as though it holds all the answers. Then he drinks the answers, decides he doesn’t like what they reveal to him, and lights another cigarette as he contemplates his next move. Inevitably, his next move involves pouring another glass. He’s got a system down, a routine. Life is meaningless if you don’t give it any structure.

Max isn’t what anybody would ever call a sociable drinker, or person for that matter, but tonight something (probably the scotch) makes him start talking. He’s not speaking to anyone in particular, just wondering aloud. Maybe he’s hoping for better answers than the drink has been giving him.

"Friend of mine said something to me once," he says, his voice flat and dry. "If the only choice you've got is to do the wrong thing, then maybe it’s not actually wrong, maybe it’s just fate. Something like that." It’s not an exact quote, he’s paraphrasing as best he can. Memory is the enemy to Max, a monster he tries to keep at arm’s length so it can’t rip him to shreds. "I used to think that was just crap he used to excuse himself when he screwed people over. But maybe..."

Maybe there are no choices. Maybe life is a one-way train track, speeding people toward their inevitable derailment. Maybe there’s just enough free will in the world to justify guilt and regret, but not enough to actually change things.

These aren’t easy words to for anyone to speak, especially someone halfway through a bottle. Max trails off, then shakes his head, losing his train of thought. “Ah, forget it.”

He resumes his routine.

soldierofskies

[ Haruka crosses one long leg over the other and idly pokes at her salad with a fork while checking her phone for messages. On the cafe patio, the waitress bustles from table to table, customers chat or wolf down their food and drink or signal for the bill. None of it seems to make an impact on the blonde, though her lip quirks upward when a pair of schoolgirls pass on the sidewalk and whisper excitedly about "that cute guy".

The buttons of her phone make a "pip pip pip" noise as she scrolls through her inbox, ignoring -- for the moment -- messages from the track team, notices from the F1 forum she'd posted to, and the fifteen different texts from Usagi. With a slight huff, she closes her phone and tucks it back into her pocket. The salad is getting warm from sitting in the afternoon sunshine, but she fishes a tomato out anyway. Popping it in her mouth, she looks up at the cloudless blue sky. ]

It's a beautiful day.

caneous

[ Fourbuck is an unusual surname, by most standards. Once every five times Camden's mentioned it, he's had to explain that Fourbuck is his hand-to-God last name. He doesn't really mind it, except for when he does. Like tonight. He's in no mood to be social tonight, knowing what the date is and what it means to him and the man he calls Dad.

Here's to you, Ma, he thinks as he hails the bartender for another drink. The bottle comes to him with condensation all over it, and he spends a bit rolling the bottle from one hand to the other before caving in and turning to the closest person on the bar. The bartender didn't give him a coaster, see, and normally he wouldn't care about that, but— ]

Hey, you mind if I borrow your coaster?

storyofmylie

[Go find Lorelei, the All-Mother said. Go bring her back, the All-Mother said.

Go ruin the carpet and the punch, the All-Mother did. Loki is still sour about the ruined carpet, but that's in the past and something that can be easily mended.

As for now, right here, in this very moment, the black-haired God of Mischief finds himself late at night in the streets of Paris. He supposed he could understand the charm and appeal of the city. It did have its own sort of distinct flavor. As it happens, this is one of the few moments he is mostly himself, appearing as a young man with a fur-lined jacket, a deep green shirt and black jeans tucked into boots.

Even Gods had to take a day off every so often, right?]

caelum_ignis_draconigena

Skyfire was one frustrated dragon at the moment. He was trying to reach and dig out a plant that was half under a live tree without destroying said tree, and failing miserably. He couldn't get too close without tangling his horns in the branches and his paws were too big to get at the plant without ruining it.

"Oh come on..." He let out a huff as he dropped the spade that he'd spent days making to give him a longer reach and an easier to use handle. It wasn't made for the angle he needed and he felt rather frustrated with himself. This was only his second plant of the day, and he had more to gather.

He made quite the interesting sight to be sure... A 30 foot long, white and red dragon with wings... trying to get under a tree to get a tiny, foot tall plant without smashing it or ruining it's roots for replanting... Not something most people see every day.

unclebob

The machine is puzzled. It's an odd emotion, but no stranger than the others he has felt over the past few days. Why is he still here? He was lowered into molten metal and went offline. That should have been the end of it. Should have, but was not. Now he is here, wherever "here" might be.

What is his purpose now? His mission has been fulfilled. John is safe. So the tall robot stands there with an unnatural stillness about him, staring out as the people pass on by. His face wears a small expression of befuddlement.

darkpants_warmfeeling

Jacob Taylor is hard at work in his starship's armory. He's in charge of maintaining an impressive array of assault rifles, heavy pistols, grenade launchers, and other implements of destruction and defense. Jacob's aware that the lives of his friends and crewmates might depend on the condition of these weapons. It's a job he takes seriously, and it's a job he's good at.

When your character enters, Jacob turns away from his electronic console to greet them.

"Hey. Can I help you with something?"

arealboar

( kagura is hurrying along, trying to hurry along, going as fast as one can go while trying to put papers and a notebook in a bag while navigating down a busy street and trying to not run into anyone and wearing wedges on top of all that, when something slips and —

yes, there it all goes, a sheaf of lined paper, several handouts, pens, and a thin textbook labelled EARLY CHILDCARE & DEVELOPMENT, scattering in the middle of the sidewalk. ) Ooh — crap! ( she falls to her knees, mindful of her short dress, and begins trying to gather it all before it scatters or is stepped on. )

assistanting

[Everyone from your city hall's parks and recreation department has some Really Important Thing to do that isn't being in the office right now, leaving former-intern-now-paid-employee April Ludgate to handle all of your ridiculous complaints, questions, and concerns about the parks system in your city.

Joy.

Maybe no one will actually bother her in this entire block of time.]

Three hours, god, hurry up and go faster.

inursatellites

INTERIOR: GENERIC SPACE BAR

[Soundwave is not the sort to frequent places such as this. He prefers not to "indulge", as it were. But this is what his Lord commands. This is what Megatron commands. And thus, this is what Soundwave will do.]

[He's slunk into a darkened corner, simply listening. There is, in fact, a cube before him, the liquid glowing blue within, but he hardly seems interested in the drink. His attention is, instead, focused on the room around him.]

[There are so many interesting conversations to eavesdrop on. And, in all those conversations, there must be some kernel of useful information.]

[So the massive satellite transformer listens.]

[In utter, creepy, silence.]

wearer

a. space

( cut for possible klk spoilers. )

b. horror

( cut for violence. )

c. general

[ she is sipping her tea when she hears the knock at the door. it comes as no surprise, of course - she has been expecting this meeting for some time. nevertheless, it is a harsher end to the silence than she might have liked, and the corners of her lips tug softly downward.

she takes another sip, closing her eyes as the warm flavor passes through, and speaks only after she has finished. ]

You may enter.

[ even when phrased as permission, it still seems like a command. perhaps it's just something in her demeanor - her authoritarian tone, or her unquestioning nature.

the door finally opens. satsuki does not bother to look. ]

Well? Speak quickly, or hold your tongue.

eskalated

[A]
Eska couldn't be called one for much of what was thought of as the typical female hobbies. Her clothing was chiefly in the style traditional to the Water Tribes and she had no taste for seeking out other outfits. Her own was sufficient for her needs and displayed rank well enough so why should she? Shoes bore the same conclusion as clothing. Jewelry brought her some minor pleasure but given training, wearing much in the way of baubles was useless. One must be free to 'flow like water' and so it was the same with her. Food was food and one could only eat so much.

Thus marketplaces tended to hold little pleasure for the apathetic young woman. Today though was apparently a day of distractions and one would find Eska lingering before a store front window in thought. What was she looking at precisely?

[B]
"Guard to your left! You're too open!"

Eska's words are quick and clipped, flung out sharply as she moves into her next stance. Thought this moment was simply practice, a glance at the woman could find that she held this fight as serious as any other. Her eyes are icier, her expression firm and resolute. If she were simply playing around it would be one thing but now she's obviously trying to test her opponent's limits.

"You're too slow!" At that a tendril of water snapped in the air dangerously close to the other person, sharp enough to be more a whip than a mere flow of suspended water.

Eska is a rather brutal training partner.

[C]
[OOC: Feel free to pick your own scenario. Please stick to prose. :3]

[D]
( NSFW; Domination; )

just_echoes

(A)

You are a client of the Dollhouse and you've chosen Echo to be your own personal... what? Student? Date? Maid? Rocket scientist? All of the above? You choose the "fantasy" and Echo will be it.

(B)

You work FOR the Dollhouse as a handler or one of the oh so kind staff members who work hard to make sure the Actives stay as healthy and content as always. Or maybe you're another Active. Echo is between engagements for the moment but she seems to be acting a little differently than normal. She seems more aware. She's saying things the other Actives don't understand. What do you do?

(C)

Echo enjoyed being free - both mentally and physically. Her mind may be crowded but at least she was aware of it. It was a significant improvement on the wiped state she'd been living in before the changes started. She took a deep breath of fresh air, determined to enjoy one of her last days of peace before they returned to the Dollhouse. They had a lot of work to do but that didn't mean she wasn't going to enjoy life a little.

She stopped at a local florist, leaning down to give the roses a sniff. Smiling, she touched the petals with her fingertips for a moment before straightening to continue down the sidewalk. Unfortunately she'd let herself get so distracted by the flowers that she got careless. When she turned she ran right into someone walking behind her.

She fumbled, trying to hold onto them to keep them both upright. With a laugh she smiled sheepishly, "I'm sorry, I didn't see you there."

darkanddreamless

"A deal with the devil... I should have known."

In an expanse of wilderness that seems vast, almost endless, sits a young girl. Though she can't be more than perhaps 13 years old, there seems to be a great and heavy sadness surrounding her. Cradled protectively in her small, white hands is a pale lotus flower, its petals closed.

"Abigail... are you there? Can you hear me...?"

She calls to someone who doesn't seem to be there. It's very nearly ironic, considering she seems entirely unaware of the presence of the very real and physically manifested person approaching her...

[A NOTE: though the OP is prose, if you'd like to reply with brackets, feel free. I'm up for either.]

curryparty

[Game Start!]

[You know how it goes. Everyone wakes up to find themselves trapped in some new location, with only vague details of the hows and whys. After a day or two the initial shock wears off, but few have really gotten their feet under them as of yet. Apparently there are strange events that may happen from time to time, but so far no one's been witness to any - an air of uncertainty clouds the newcomers.

Not that you'd be able to tell by this kid's wide grin.]

Hey, hey! Yes, you there! Wait up!

[He's waving happily as he jogs to catch up. Have you even seen this guy before...?]

[Friendship]

[Whether you like it or not, Asuma seems to have decided that you are now his friend. Which means that every time he sees you, without fail, you will be greeted with a cheerful:]

Heeeeeeey! Over here! Hi!

[...Right before he dashes up to your side like an overeager puppy. Still, he's a nice kid, even if he's silly at times. Hopefully he doesn't annoy you too much.]

[Event]

[One of those wacky jamjar events has come into play. The effects? Are totally up to you! Body swaps, compulsive honesty, cupcakes that make you behave erratically - anything PG is fair game. Although if you want to bump it to PG-13 at the highest, that's fine too. Just let me know first!

Either way, Asuma doesn't seem to be all that concerned for now at least. Does this kid ever worry about anything?]

grim_poet

[there's a very tall, bespectacled man folded up at a table in the corner of the cafe you find yourself in. he looks like a stiff breeze would probably send him flying off into the sunset, and he's staring off into the distance, intently, a stub of gnawed pencil hovering in one hand over a battered notebook.

after a moment, he turns his head sharply and looks directly at you, as though he's been talking to you for hours, and you already know each other. you totally don't.]

Is 'aubergine' too elite an adjective, do you think? Normally I trust my own judgement, but I'm really not sure.

((A/N: Simon here is a poet who tends to write about controversial things. If there are any issues that you would rather NOT come up in the conversation, please note them in your tag header. For the most part, I will keep the details of his writing generic so as not to trigger anyone. As in his canon, it's not the end product that matters so much as the reactions to it and the things that inspire.))

vulpin

[OOC: Both settings loosely from his canon aka fantasy early 19th century Europe. The first is a dreamscape if you don't want to think about world-switching logistics. Also if icons swap it's because I've gotten around to finishing his new set]

a. [Something about this place doesn't feel quite right. Like he knows that he's dreaming, but he sure as fuck doesn't know this place. Looks like the gardens in Nephele, but... bigger. More impressive. Like they'd decided one wasn't enough and just piled more on top - trees and flowers and fancy little open buildings that probably had a name he didn't know. But in sort of a nice way. Helps that all the paths are even, and there are plenty of benches. One of which he's sitting on, for the moment.]

b. [This bar is almost the same as the last six they've passed through, though with slightly better booze. Nowhere near as bad as some of the dives in the Lower City, but everything past the Perblanches was rough. Rural, Felix would probably say. If he felt like talking and not being a total asshole at the same time, which was getting to be a pretty fucking rare combination. A part of Mildmay's not sure how to feel about this, but he could get used to not having to worry if half the bar is going to jump him as soon as he walks in the door.

He's got a drink and a deck of cards he picked up Kethe knows how many towns ago - they're okay on money right now, so maybe he can just fucking relax for once.

Of course, if the people at the table in the back escalate their argument into an actual fight, that could get dicey.]

chirurgical

[You can't quite place it, but there's something slightly intimidating about the giant, secluded, Mary Shelly-esque manor. Maybe it's just something about the light. Either way, it's the only shelter for miles, and you're not going to let any sort of pop-cultural preconceptions keep you out here in the storm.

After a few solid seconds of knocking, the doors creak open to reveal a girl, probably no older than her late teens, covered in a network of stitches and surgical scars and flanked by a pair of monstrous manservants. Literally monstrous. One of them has a dog's head, for Christ's sake.

Maybe you should've just kept walking.]

Ah, hello! Can I help you?

chub

[A cigarette dangles loosely between his lips as he reaches for his lighter. Maybe he should do more, but he's a no collar boy with a genius IQ who doesn't want to take up the responsibility of saving everyone else. Maybe that's why he likes doing shitty schemes. In that way he's certainly Frank Gallagher's kid-- only he's smarter and better looking. Still he makes the ends meet however he has to, no matter what Fi thinks. This is his life after all.

So once the cigarette is lit, he'll start walking around the back of this old building. He can sell anything, though he doesn't have anything on him to protect himself. He's no Malkovich. But he's in the business of making money. He taps on the back door.]

I heard you got something for me, [Lip replies when the door finally opens.]

ooc: rating is for language/ illicit deals, etc etc. Lip is looking for anything/ anyone if he thinks he can make a buck on it.

larue

[ London, 2063.

The fog is thick tonight. It paints the world a particular shade of gray that blends streets and buildings together, so much that the glow of the street lamps seem to come from nowhere and everywhere at once.

A curious thing that you see though, is the sight of a young man in his mid-twenties, dressed in a deep crimson suit as he comes to a stop at one corner. There's a distinct click as he lights up a cigarette, the same hand that stows the gunmetal Zippo back in his pocket fishing out a phone that he brings to his ear. ]

All quiet on my end.

autopilots

[ He's sitting on a piece of concrete that's been cut away from a larger slab of concrete. It was probably part of a wall before; now it's only good for sitting on, and Raleigh doesn't mind it. It's as good a place to sit on as any.

Raleigh's picking at the dirt on his hardhat, when he looks over and sees someone loitering at the construction area. He knows it's been clearly marked as a dangerous area. ]

You're not supposed to be here without at least a hat on, you know.

Profile

For all your voicetesting needs.

for all your voicetesting needs

Recent Entries

Setting: An Enchanted Forest

Setting: Antique Store

setting: space station

SETTING: a luxury hotel

[CW: Alcoholism] Setting: A Jersey Bar, Night

[action]

setting: a random waterhole in a college town

Location: Paris, France

Setting: A forest somewhere, max rating about pg-13

Setting: A generic street

Setting: Spaaaaaace!

SETTING: A STREET?

location: city hall

PG13; possible alcohol?

[cw: violence/nudity, spoilers] settings listed by entry

[CW: NSFW Scenario] i may be bad but i'm perfectly good at it

Echo | Dollhouse - Multiple choice! (canon point is during s2e7)

Wendy, from the game Don't Starve. PG for now; possible discussion of death and suicide.

Generic Jamjar - choose your own adventure!

Setting: Slice of Life, R for possible language

R for language

rating for extremely probable body horror. canon is Franken Fran

Hey, come on try a little. Nothing is forever

i write sins, not tragedies.

hell yeah

Profile

Links