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Your character, NOIR style |
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RE: Your character, NOIR style |
06-01-2016, 03:39 PM
The gentle rustles and clicks as you clean your police issue .38, the only remnant you have from your 15 years on the force.Â
Its cold steel holding the memory of your betrayal, and the promise of a revenge never fulfilled. The last pin goes in with a click, the bullet the slow rasp of copper and lead. You raise the barrel to your head, reaching out for one last drink. The slow click of high heels on cement, and then on the cheap carpet of your lobby. Past the empty desk of the receptionist you no longer could afford to keep. The rap of bone and flesh on glass, the shadow of a woman, silhouetted by flickering electric light. You sigh, resting the gun on the table like an old friend. The shadow knocks again, more insistently this time. What a joke, you think, knocking back the last of your drink, I'm the shadow here. Then you stand, leather soles scraping on threadbare carpet as you go to let her in. |
RE: Your character, NOIR style |
06-01-2016, 03:40 PM
Another hot, rainy afternoon made me reconsider postponing that drink over at Mel's Bar. I loosened my tie and went back through the ledgers. Something wasn't adding up over at the Bureau and it reeked of dirty money and worse laundry. I cringed at the painful squeal of the overburdened chair across the room. My sometime business associate and all-the-time hired thug, a big chap going by the moniker Tin Man, looked ready to complain yet again that he was miserable in this summer's heat. The guy's shirt was wetter than a man swimming with concrete shoes. I held up a hand to forestall his grumbling before he even got started.
That's when she walked in like a cold current in a warm ocean. My eyes traveled up those shapely gams til they met in the middle and up towards that red pout she carried on her pale face. A low whistle echoed from the desk across the room. Apparently, Tin had gotten a good look at her, red heels to soot black hair, and liked what he saw. He was seeing only her good side; I got the full effect of the woman's bad side. Those pale green eyes were both beautiful and deadly as a viper's. If those head-lamps were turned on anyone in anger, I knew that fellow wouldn't survive the encounter. I fought back an unseasonable shiver. "What can I do for you, Miss?" Her voice was cold enough to keep my beer chilled all day. "You are Ralin Thalin, yes?" I raised an eyebrow. Was she asking or stating what I could expect to find on my tombstone? "I am. And you are?" My eyes flickered over to the nearby window, calculating just how far a drop it was to the street below. Ignoring the wooden client's chair parked near my desk, she nestled her curves into the old leather sofa I used as a bed on those lonely, dark nights. She folded her claws over her lap and smiled up at me. I was instantly reminded of a snake ready to strike. "Valia Rosa. I've come to see you about a murder." Tin and I exchanged nervous glances. "Are ya arrangin' one or wantin' to solve one?" His gravely voice rumbled across the room like an earthquake rising to the surface. |
RE: Your character, NOIR style |
06-01-2016, 04:07 PM
(This post was last modified: 06-01-2016, 04:12 PM by McBeefâ„¢.)
The door swings open, and you're not sure what stuns you more, the light of the lobby, or the tears in her eyes. They're the type of eyes a woman can lose herself in, deep caramel orbs, covered in long delicate lashes.Â
She blinks, and another tear squeezes free, and then she's falling towards you, face hidden in a flood of shimmering brown curls. Almost by instinct, you reach out to her, trying to stop this frightened beautiful creature from crashing down onto your dirty floor. To protect her, to stop whatever has done this to her. It's almost too late once you notice the knife. You curse and turn, the hot flash of pain as the blade hits at an angle and bounces off a rib. And now she's falling for real, the black heels not meant for such a maneuver. Your hand catches the knife with the wrist, and you jerk her towards you, grabbing a hair in a maneuver that brings real tears to your visitor's eyes. You both stand there in that dark office, silhouetted in a single shaft of light. The only movement the heaving of your chests, and the slow drip of blood from your side. You can feel her back quivering against your chest, fighting with you for the knife.Leaning forward, your voice a low growl as your cheek brushes past those devilish brown curls, lips almost touching her ear, "Why don't you drop that knife beautiful." "And tell me why you're here." |
RE: Your character, NOIR style |
06-01-2016, 05:20 PM
Obligatory, for Telluride.
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RE: Your character, NOIR style |
06-01-2016, 05:30 PM
(This post was last modified: 06-01-2016, 05:30 PM by FallenFedora.)
Stroud Forscythe
It never mattered to him how brightly the Thanalan sun burned through the clouds and cast it's brilliant rays across the well paved stones of Ul'dah, this place was as dark and desolate as the deepest dungeons to his eyes. From the heights of power housed from among the affluent to the dismal street corners sheltering the despondent, all were equally beyond hope... Dreams turned swiftly to nightmare upon the realization that they'd never awake this lucid sensation they'd all labelled life, even the man whom gazed from the mirror, longing for release. A feeble mortal coil tying everything to one singular moment - bound forever by ambition and petty desire... For these things, the rich, poor, or otherwise would dance to a merry tune, forever disguising the silent battle waging on 'twixt any two people whom drew breath - The mirthful glee one might draw upon stepping another into the dirt to advance their own selfish whimsies... '...No more... It has to end...' Even as such ambitious wishes doomed him to join in the waltz. |
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RE: Your character, NOIR style |
06-29-2016, 08:23 PM
I usually start, "so this dame walks in..." but I can't do that this time. Â I can't tell if it's a dame or not first off. Â Its got them cat ears and a tail so I'm going with Miqo but the specifics elude me. Â The smell hits me like a liver spasm and I beforehand didn't even know a liver could spasm, but I figure it's deeper than a stomach turn. Â You know that moment, when you first saw a picture of some poor schlep who'd been laying under a bog for an odd millennium or two; not so much rotted, but all desiccated, twisted and leathery? Â And you think to yourself, "wonder what that would smell like?" Â I think I gots an idea: like this cat. Â It sits down and behind this mop of white dreds I can see her face...I decide its a 'her.' Â The kit's not all there in the chest see, flat, like the heart-rate of her hairdresser. Â But she's got that sly girl's face with them big yellow cat eyes, but them Keeper ones, you know, like a normal cat plus LSD. Â So there I am: Â in thinly veiled revulsion and she tells me about her case. Â The shit that comes out of this kit's mouth...you ever heard profanity in past pluperfect tense? Â Up till then, neither had I. Â I mean it's clear this cat gots smarts, but the kind of smarts that makes you want to empty your revolver into your own leg so that you can steer the conversation into something a little less taboo....
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RE: Your character, NOIR style |
10-12-2016, 01:41 PM
(This post was last modified: 10-12-2016, 01:42 PM by McBeefâ„¢.)
I took this picture while fucking around with the new gpose filters.
Seemed appropriate |
RE: Your character, NOIR style |
10-12-2016, 03:39 PM
(This post was last modified: 10-12-2016, 03:41 PM by Aegir.)
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