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Post by Vash Alois Zwingli on Oct 28, 2013 11:18:30 GMT -8
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Post by Vash Alois Zwingli on Oct 28, 2013 11:14:00 GMT -8
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Post by Vash Alois Zwingli on Oct 28, 2013 10:41:19 GMT -8
I think... I think I like it. CHARACTER NAME Gender - Age - Group - Sexuality - Profile ♔ BIO : Far far away, behind the word mountains, far from the countries Vokalia and Consonantia, there live the blind texts. Separated they live in Bookmarksgrove right at the coast of the Semantics, a large language ocean. A small river named Duden flows by their place and supplies it with the necessary regelialia. It is a paradisematic country, in which roasted parts of sentences fly into your mouth. Even the all-powerful Pointing has no control about the blind texts it is an almost unorthographic life One day however a small line of blind text by the name of Lorem Ipsum decided to leave for the far World of Grammar. The Big Oxmox advised her not to do so, because there were thousands of bad Commas, wild Question Marks and devious Semikoli, but the Little Blind Text didn’t listen. She packed her seven versalia, put her initial into the belt and made herself on the way. When she reached the first hills of the Italic Mountains, she had a last view back on the skyline of her hometown Bookmarksgrove, the headline of Alphabet Village and the subline of her own road, the Line Lane. Pityful a rethoric question ran over her cheek, then Far far away, behind the word mountains, far from the countries Vokalia and Consonantia, there live the blind texts. Separated they live in Bookmarksgrove right at the coast of the Semantics, a large language ocean. A small river named Duden flows by their place and supplies it with the necessary regelialia. It is a paradisematic country, in which roasted parts of sentences fly into your mouth. Even the all-powerful Pointing has no control about the blind texts it is an almost unorthographic life One day however a small line of blind text by the name of Lorem Ipsum decided to leave for the far World of Grammar. The Big Oxmox advised her not to do so, because there were thousands of bad Commas, wild Question Marks and devious Semikoli, but the Little Blind Text didn’t listen. She packed her seven versalia, put her initial into the belt and made herself on the way. When she reached the first hills of the Italic Mountains, she had a last view back on the skyline of her hometown Bookmarksgrove, the headline of Alphabet Village and the subline of her own road, the Line Lane. Pityful a rethoric question ran over her cheek, then ♔ FRIENDS : Far far away, behind the word mountains, far from the countries Vokalia and Consonantia, there live the blind texts. Separated they live in Bookmarksgrove right at the coast of the Semantics, a large language ocean. A small river named Duden flows by their place and supplies it with the necessary regelialia. It is a paradisematic country, in which roasted parts of sentences fly into your mouth. Even the all-powerful Pointing has no control about the blind texts it is an almost unorthographic life One day however a small line of blind text by the name of Lorem Ipsum decided to leave for the far World of Grammar. The Big Oxmox advised her not to do so, because there were thousands of bad Commas, wild Question Marks and devious Semikoli, but the Little Blind Text didn’t listen. She packed her seven versalia, put her initial into the belt and made herself on the way. When she reached the first hills of the Italic Mountains, she had a last view back on the skyline of her hometown Bookmarksgrove, the headline of Alphabet Village and the subline of her own road, the Line Lane. Pityful a rethoric question ran over her cheek, then Far far away, behind the word mountains, far from the countries Vokalia and Consonantia, there live the blind texts. Separated they live in Bookmarksgrove right at the coast of the Semantics, a large language ocean. A small river named Duden flows by their place and supplies it with the necessary regelialia. It is a paradisematic country, in which roasted parts of sentences fly into your mouth. Even the all-powerful Pointing has no control about the blind texts it is an almost unorthographic life One day however a small line of blind text by the name of Lorem Ipsum decided to leave for the far World of Grammar. The Big Oxmox advised her not to do so, because there were thousands of bad Commas, wild Question Marks and devious Semikoli, but the Little Blind Text didn’t listen. She packed her seven versalia, put her initial into the belt and made herself on the way. When she reached the first hills of the Italic Mountains, she had a last view back on the skyline of her hometown Bookmarksgrove, the headline of Alphabet Village and the subline of her own road, the Line Lane. Pityful a rethoric question ran over her cheek, then ♔ ENEMIES : Far far away, behind the word mountains, far from the countries Vokalia and Consonantia, there live the blind texts. Separated they live in Bookmarksgrove right at the coast of the Semantics, a large language ocean. A small river named Duden flows by their place and supplies it with the necessary regelialia. It is a paradisematic country, in which roasted parts of sentences fly into your mouth. Even the all-powerful Pointing has no control about the blind texts it is an almost unorthographic life One day however a small line of blind text by the name of Lorem Ipsum decided to leave for the far World of Grammar. The Big Oxmox advised her not to do so, because there were thousands of bad Commas, wild Question Marks and devious Semikoli, but the Little Blind Text didn’t listen. She packed her seven versalia, put her initial into the belt and made herself on the way. When she reached the first hills of the Italic Mountains, she had a last view back on the skyline of her hometown Bookmarksgrove, the headline of Alphabet Village and the subline of her own road, the Line Lane. Pityful a rethoric question ran over her cheek, then Far far away, behind the word mountains, far from the countries Vokalia and Consonantia, there live the blind texts. Separated they live in Bookmarksgrove right at the coast of the Semantics, a large language ocean. A small river named Duden flows by their place and supplies it with the necessary regelialia. It is a paradisematic country, in which roasted parts of sentences fly into your mouth. Even the all-powerful Pointing has no control about the blind texts it is an almost unorthographic life One day however a small line of blind text by the name of Lorem Ipsum decided to leave for the far World of Grammar. The Big Oxmox advised her not to do so, because there were thousands of bad Commas, wild Question Marks and devious Semikoli, but the Little Blind Text didn’t listen. She packed her seven versalia, put her initial into the belt and made herself on the way. When she reached the first hills of the Italic Mountains, she had a last view back on the skyline of her hometown Bookmarksgrove, the headline of Alphabet Village and the subline of her own road, the Line Lane. Pityful a rethoric question ran over her cheek, then ♔ LOVERS : Far far away, behind the word mountains, far from the countries Vokalia and Consonantia, there live the blind texts. Separated they live in Bookmarksgrove right at the coast of the Semantics, a large language ocean. A small river named Duden flows by their place and supplies it with the necessary regelialia. It is a paradisematic country, in which roasted parts of sentences fly into your mouth. Even the all-powerful Pointing has no control about the blind texts it is an almost unorthographic life One day however a small line of blind text by the name of Lorem Ipsum decided to leave for the far World of Grammar. The Big Oxmox advised her not to do so, because there were thousands of bad Commas, wild Question Marks and devious Semikoli, but the Little Blind Text didn’t listen. She packed her seven versalia, put her initial into the belt and made herself on the way. When she reached the first hills of the Italic Mountains, she had a last view back on the skyline of her hometown Bookmarksgrove, the headline of Alphabet Village and the subline of her own road, the Line Lane. Pityful a rethoric question ran over her cheek, then Far far away, behind the word mountains, far from the countries Vokalia and Consonantia, there live the blind texts. Separated they live in Bookmarksgrove right at the coast of the Semantics, a large language ocean. A small river named Duden flows by their place and supplies it with the necessary regelialia. It is a paradisematic country, in which roasted parts of sentences fly into your mouth. Even the all-powerful Pointing has no control about the blind texts it is an almost unorthographic life One day however a small line of blind text by the name of Lorem Ipsum decided to leave for the far World of Grammar. The Big Oxmox advised her not to do so, because there were thousands of bad Commas, wild Question Marks and devious Semikoli, but the Little Blind Text didn’t listen. She packed her seven versalia, put her initial into the belt and made herself on the way. When she reached the first hills of the Italic Mountains, she had a last view back on the skyline of her hometown Bookmarksgrove, the headline of Alphabet Village and the subline of her own road, the Line Lane. Pityful a rethoric question ran over her cheek, then ♔ OTHER : Far far away, behind the word mountains, far from the countries Vokalia and Consonantia, there live the blind texts. Separated they live in Bookmarksgrove right at the coast of the Semantics, a large language ocean. A small river named Duden flows by their place and supplies it with the necessary regelialia. It is a paradisematic country, in which roasted parts of sentences fly into your mouth. Even the all-powerful Pointing has no control about the blind texts it is an almost unorthographic life One day however a small line of blind text by the name of Lorem Ipsum decided to leave for the far World of Grammar. The Big Oxmox advised her not to do so, because there were thousands of bad Commas, wild Question Marks and devious Semikoli, but the Little Blind Text didn’t listen. She packed her seven versalia, put her initial into the belt and made herself on the way. When she reached the first hills of the Italic Mountains, she had a last view back on the skyline of her hometown Bookmarksgrove, the headline of Alphabet Village and the subline of her own road, the Line Lane. Pityful a rethoric question ran over her cheek, then Far far away, behind the word mountains, far from the countries Vokalia and Consonantia, there live the blind texts. Separated they live in Bookmarksgrove right at the coast of the Semantics, a large language ocean. A small river named Duden flows by their place and supplies it with the necessary regelialia. It is a paradisematic country, in which roasted parts of sentences fly into your mouth. Even the all-powerful Pointing has no control about the blind texts it is an almost unorthographic life One day however a small line of blind text by the name of Lorem Ipsum decided to leave for the far World of Grammar. The Big Oxmox advised her not to do so, because there were thousands of bad Commas, wild Question Marks and devious Semikoli, but the Little Blind Text didn’t listen. She packed her seven versalia, put her initial into the belt and made herself on the way. When she reached the first hills of the Italic Mountains, she had a last view back on the skyline of her hometown Bookmarksgrove, the headline of Alphabet Village and the subline of her own road, the Line Lane. Pityful a rethoric question ran over her cheek, then |
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Post by Vash Alois Zwingli on Oct 11, 2013 11:50:39 GMT -8
YOU STRIP YOUR FREEDOMS  | Perhaps he could have been a bit rusty since his last partner... though he did try to push away the thoughts of her. He wanted not a thought of how sweet her kisses had been. Sweet as her apple pie. Apple pie and chocolate... but chocolate can be bittersweet and he wasn't ever going to be able to take such sweetness again. But at least he couldn't consider Aoife's lips the lips of a virgin, nor could he be the one to taint, for they were equally tainted, and equally guilty at that. This was satisfying all the same, even if his judgement could be a bit biased at the moment because of just how long ago it was the last time anything like this had happened.
He felt a bit more free here on the couch in his own living room with her. They had taken extra cares to make certain no one at the office would even have a reason to suspect anything going on between the two of them, or else a certain degree of humiliation would come with the Kirklands involved with the MI6. Vash wasn't going to hear the end of it from Iain. Nor was he going to hear the end of it from Donald. Perhaps they both feared Donald's reaction. Donald would... well Donald would have a St. Patrick's Day parade with this.
He laughed a little at the small collision and moved a strand of bright red from her face.
"You aren't too bad." he said as she closed the space between their lips and planted another kiss, her lips soft as his tongue gently touched the tip of her tongue, the embrace tightening, a warmth that seemed to be vacant from the streets of London.
He heard the door opening, yet didn't turn to look, dismissing... perhaps he shouldn't have dismissed it, but his reasoning was that Lili was supposed to be at work that day. Or so he thought. "Maybe we should just go through the back--"
He heard the words but paid no heed. Perhaps it was something in his head, something that was supposed to pull him back, perhaps a worry that Lili would ditch work and go to the house, problems that he made in his own head. Indeed, he did the exact opposite of what a person would normally react. He continued on with his romantic tirade... until the sound of Donald's voice paralyzed him, his laughter striking, the flash of equally ginger hair shining gloriously with his disbelief and surprise.
For a split second, he was petrified.
The next, he was reaching into the couch, where he hid a pistol, just similar to how he hid other guns around the house. One by the name Marilyn, to be exact.
He tried to retort something, but no words came out until he looked towards his sister.
"What are you doing in my house and why are you with my sister?"
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Post by Vash Alois Zwingli on Oct 9, 2013 11:24:46 GMT -8
YOU STRIP YOUR FREEDOMS | It was a trivial thing, this pride and secrecy. They had no problem living this way, no problem with keeping secrets, and had reached an agreement when it came to matters like this: There was no way that her family should know about this, and no way he was going to let anyone know he was dating someone. It was a pride thing. It was a secrecy thing. An agent thing. An instinct. And just... well what humiliation would both of them have to face if any word of this happened to reach... certain people's ears?
Of course, no matter how secretive you were and how well you hid things, eventually something was going to happen. A window was going to be open and someone would see something or something spontaneous would happen or someone would walk in and... well yes. Sometimes you had to do certain activities with your partner and unfortunately, your home wouldn't exactly be the most private place. Or at least you thought it was a private place, safe enough for these kinds of things. Or you forgot your sister had no work. Or your sister made you think she had work and... damn it.
He happened to be enjoying his afternoon with her. It started out with making chocolate in the kitchen and a bit of teasing, along the lines of never expecting him to be that kind of guy. A bit of sweetness, some chocolate, some mont blanc cake and then a bit of cuddling on the couch. A perfectly good afternoon.
Her kisses tasted like chocolate and a bit of Guinness, two flavors that worked perfectly well together. He had his arms around her waist and it was the two of them. No Iain to boss them around. No Donald to eat crisps. No Lili to worry about. No bad guys to gut them or shoot at them... perfection. He ran a hand through her fiery red hair as her arms draped around his neck, their bodies closer and closer together, between them only two layers of clothing. It was something, both bright and fiery, like the burning passion of a thousand suns. Something that could melt the permanent ice in his eyes temporarily, something that kept her on her feet.
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Post by Vash Alois Zwingli on Oct 9, 2013 1:00:01 GMT -8
 Michael Collins was the kind of man you never refused invitations from if you were in service to the government, even if the man probably didn't know you personally. You simply didn't. It was an unspoken rule among the agents in MI6. Unfortunately, they didn't seem to have unspoken guidelines on how to act around the CI head, or on how to react to Collins observing and inspecting you. It made Vash somewhat uncomfortable, but he said not a word about it. He couldn't exactly object to it. It was something he usually did on the job. And of course, it seemed Collins probably didn't know or remember him. After all, he was simply a guy from the MI6 out of countless agents.
"I'm sorry, have we met before? And if you don't mind me asking, why are you alone? Meals tend to taste better with company, though I'm not sure even good company can salvage the food here."
To reveal agent status or not. That is the question. But this was a man he was supposed to trust, though he felt just a bit suspicious... strange. This man was someone who represented an organization against organized crime. No need for this kind of unease.
"We met before during one of your presentations at the SIS Building, though you probably spoke to so many of my colleagues," Vash said, recalling Collins' animated presentation on the big crime organizations currently active in London. Collins had put together a very informative PowerPoint that included pictures, video media, and even some sound effects. The White Lotus, Dieudonnee *, the recently disbanded Irish mafia group, the Bratva, the British branch of the Italian Dionisio. From what Vash remembered of the presentation, this very restaurant was put on the MI6 watchlist, along with the Barbican Arts Centre and the MI6 lab itself.
"And I don't have a reason not to be alone. It's late and this place happened to be on the way from work. Who would I bring here anyway? And anyways, I am here to eat, and the food is perfectly..."
He couldn't lie. The food wasn't good at all. Even company wasn't helping it taste any better. And there was perhaps someone he would bring to dinner, though perhaps not this place...
Vash allowed a silence to cut through their conversation as he attempted to eat the oily, oily chow mein. After struggling for a few minutes and eating a bit more, he asked "How has your evening been, Mister Collins?" Letting people down is my thing baby |
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Post by Vash Alois Zwingli on Oct 7, 2013 12:24:37 GMT -8
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Post by Vash Alois Zwingli on Oct 7, 2013 12:23:50 GMT -8
BLACK TEARS, BLACK SMILES Black credit cards and shoes You can call all the people you want But it's you who's being used If there was anything Vash Zwingli had to learn, it was small talk. Or at least it seemed like he needed to learn it. He wasn't always like this, no, but really, he could at least make a bit of effort to small talk properly. Stating the obvious wasn't exactly small talk. Of course, though, his partner, his colleague, his coworker here did deserve a bit more talk than small talk in reality. Vash just wasn't cutting it today, now was he? He rarely gave anyone so much as a word, but in this trade, trusting anyone was difficult. But to give one of the people in his life that he trusted a word? Couldn't he have done a bit of a better job here? He took a sip of his Guinness. Oh how lively and delightful the beverage felt as it passed through his lips and flowed its way down his throat. A relaxing kind of drink... a loosening drink, a delightful drink... "It's always a long day, Vash. No matter how much or how little gets done, it still never stops. I really need a break..." she mused. "We all do. I just feel fortunate that they didn't send us off on another one of those Underground inspections. The stupidity you find on public transportation, really now."Another sip of the Guinness. No need to think of stupid situations at the moment. No need to think of stupid people and their misconstrued actions, their inability to read directions, those vandals, those people who call themselves "artists" and "liberators". Relax for a bit... It was simply disappointing that a pint of Guinness was simply a pint and not more, not less. Of course it would be empty soon enough. "I ordered another pint for you as well, by the way. Don't worry about the cost or anything; it's on me."
Free Guinness was good Guinness. Vash nodded and took the pint. No need to protest about it, no need to question why she'd order another drink. Don't question your blessings. If she was expecting more conversation, fine. It wouldn't be Vash's problem if she didn't enjoy his form of conversation anyways. He wasn't a conversationalist. He isn't satisfying with conversation. But be it so, it's his way of showing he aimed to please, and perhaps with the Guinness, that aim would be a bit better. He observed her drinking her own Guinness, shifting back and forth, back and forth on the two legs of the stool, her smooth legs following... That was an inappropriate observation. He drank his Guinness and rolled his eyes away from those legs. He snapped back from that observation when she chimed in. "Tell me, Vash. Why are you so damn uptight? Still can't quite believe you didn't want to get some action with Niamh today. She's a real good looker, and rumour has it, excellent in bed~"He perhaps wasn't sober enough to tell if she were really drunk or not. At the moment, he was in a state in between drunk and sober, and the sober side was going to stay determined to keep itself up. "I'm not uptight, I'm just not interested at the moment, and even if I was, I'd rather be doing that with someone else," he said, taking another sip of his Guinness. Why is everyone curious about his bedroom life anyways? That hasn't been exciting in a long while! CODED BY ELECTRIC OF BACK TO NEVERLAND |
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Post by Vash Alois Zwingli on Sept 27, 2013 11:50:45 GMT -8
I'M SORRY MONA BUT I GUESS WHEN I WAS EDITING SOME CODING I GUESS I TOUCHED SNT TOO SEXILY.
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Post by Vash Alois Zwingli on Sept 26, 2013 21:02:08 GMT -8
AHHH BUL ; A;
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Post by Vash Alois Zwingli on Sept 25, 2013 21:12:47 GMT -8
Kill - Yao (For justice, of course.)
Fuck - Sadik
Marry - Donald
Kiku, Toris, Aoife
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Post by Vash Alois Zwingli on Sept 25, 2013 11:42:23 GMT -8
Memories broken The truth goes unspoken I’ve even forgotten my name I don’t know the season Or what is the reason I’m standing here holding my blade A desolate place Without any trace It’s only the cold wind I feel "Please allow me to accompany you." a child said. Had the child not said anything, Vash would not have noticed the child. It was a bit strange to see a small child with this obviously nervous doctor.
What is a child doing in an organ smuggling operation?
It was concerning. Perhaps the child was going to be harvested to pay for family debts. The child's eyes were a beautiful shade of green, not unlike his own sister's eyes. What a shame... Vash's instincts told him that getting the child out of there had just became an objective of the mission.
The child turned around, expecting "Erich" to follow. It felt just a bit strange that the child was leading him to where the organ smuggling operations were, assuming that operations were really happening. He followed withoutmuch of a word.
Donald, you better be following stealthily in the car.
He pressed the third button of his suit goat in order to release a GPS signal. The GPS in the car would then blink with his location. However, with the path they were going, it seemed Donald was going to have to get out of the car.
The trio crossed into an alley, apparently going towards a back door.
Literally a back door operation.
"Boy, where are we? I need to go out for dinner with my... wife after this, so it would be nice to know how far my car is from here."
A really bad excuse, but realistic.
"And Doctor, how long do you think this engagement shall last?"
Donald if you are listening in and laughing, damn you.
Words: 269 Notes: Too low please forgive me Tagged: Donald, Aoife
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Post by Vash Alois Zwingli on Sept 24, 2013 21:10:34 GMT -8
Ey I am doing songfics, comment with your character account here if you're willing to let me use your muse in my boredom.
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Post by Vash Alois Zwingli on Sept 19, 2013 8:20:07 GMT -8
We should plot! I really do enjoy your interpretation of Belgium and it's been a while since I've RPed with a Belgie ; w;
Just tell me how you want to go about and I have other muses, but yes, may we plot?
- Asu
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Post by Vash Alois Zwingli on Sept 12, 2013 13:06:39 GMT -8
Up in Flames
We have slowly gone Those words simply made the hug even tighter. She only held on tighter... and he wished he could stay hanging on. If only this world weren't so cruel, his career simply an obsolete fantasy used for movies, and humans weren't so evil! If only humans could defeat the root of their evil and overcome their natures, if only they could see that problems may be eradicated in this way. The evil does not lie only in the man that you wish to end, but in you yourself. But Schwester, Schwester dear... simply the rarity of the world. The rare specimen of purity, of goodness, of no contempt, but that was simply his perception. Everyone was consumed in some way, given their greed and pride...
A silence was a wall between them. There was no words, yet she never released her embrace. This was a cruelty, to know that this was how things was going to work and this is the direction things would head in... she wasn't a young girl anymore. She wasn't that little girl he left for school. She wasn't as innocent as he perhaps remembered her, but that didn't stop him from seeing her as someone that he must protect from all corruption. Protect. Preserve. Persevere for.
And he forgets that he himself needs protection as well.
"Could you make me any promise, Vash? Any at all? I just want some kind of sign or-- or a guarantee that there won't be a day when you just don't come home at all!"
And he couldn't give her that guarantee. Even if it weren't for his line of work, there were just so many other ways that things could go. Life was cruel in how the cards it dealt, and sometimes the cards it dealt could be both desirable or undesirable. On the bad side, he could be killed in his line of work, or severely injured that he could be hospitalized (not that he has had to go through that yet, luckily). On the good side, he could perhaps go on some unannounced vacation with a pretty lady and not come back home for six months, something that seemed fashionable to get away from reality. Of course, he couldn't see himself being dealt a good card, nor would he accept it: He didn't deserve it.
People simply accepted the love they thought they deserved. And frankly, he doesn't know if he should accept his sister's love with how much grief he could give her, how much angst, how much worry, how much sorrow. People like these do not deserve to watch the ones they love hurt themselves. And he regrets every moment.
All he could do is give her a promise and a smile. A smile he had given up on long ago.
"I'd still feel bad throwing them back at them but... I'll try. Alright. If he stops by again I'll be sure to tell him that! If, you know... we need to have him meet you."
"I do have to meet him. Maybe I can meet him a bit sooner. Do you happen to know his name?"
And in that moment, he decided to concede. If he was going to end eventually, he would make certain that she had someone to treasure her and protect her.
words: 551
notes: sorry ahhhh
tags: lili adelaide zwingli
lyrics: coldplay - up in flames
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