Post by Joon on Nov 18, 2006 12:31:09 GMT -5
Name:Joon
Age:14
Genres:Lots. Hogwarts (all eras), anything Modern, Futuristic, High School, True Crime, Horror, anything with a dark subject matter, and just about any movie or book I've experienced during my life.
Experience:Four years, more or less.
Sample:
--THERE IS SOME GORE IN THIS SAMPLE--
It was a dreary, rainy day. The streets of Los Angeles were packed with traffic, and the dreary atmosphere was affecting the moods of street dwellers. But, inside a particular bar on the corner of an abandoned street, the atmosphere was quite different. Lights flashing and loud music averted the attention from the weather to the bar life. It was packed with men. Military men, men with beer bellies and a wife sitting at home, men with potential, and men who had lost their jobs.
In the middle of the men ordering liquor, being rowdy and manly, there were two fine young specimens. Young ladies, starlets. Both girls radiated within the busy atmosphere, calling attention to themselves without lifting a finger. Myriad amounts of drinks were sent their way. Both beauties, however one particular female stood out. Full, red lips sent air kisses to any man that she could see. Her creamy, pale skin was begging for a man's touch. This was Elizabeth Short. Her mane of black hair tumbled down her shoulders, perfectly groomed. Most men in the bar would be surprised to know that the girls that they were attempting to coax into going back home with them were fifteen.
She wore black clothes, size eight, which gave her a dramatic looking edge. It was just how she wanted to look in the case that she would ever meet a casting director, or movie producer. Movies were her life. She was bound to be an actress. A viewfinder hung around Betty's neck in a silver chain seemed to be her most prized possession, every now and again she would admire it, and show it off to the woman sitting next to her. According to Betty, she already was a major star. Few knew that it was a lezzie film with the girl sitting next to her that she performed in.
Betty had set her eyes on the prize. A handsome young male adorned in a military uniform. She could never resist a service man. He had piercing blue eyes, and she could feel them burning into her as she playfully looked at him and then back to her friend. This was her life, this was her game of cat and mouse. He would buy her dinner now, it was coming soon.
Sure enough, after a few more moments of flirtatious glances, the man with combat boots on and a full head of red hair was moving towards the bar. A chiseled chin and tall muscular figure attracted her to the man, and she knew where this was going from the instant he sat down next to her. She wasn't nervous, she wasn't tense. This had happened many times before.
"I'm Red," he introduced himself. His voice was not nearly as pleasent as his looks, but she could live with that fact.
"Betty," she giggled, playing the part of an airhead. He offered to buy her dinner, she accepted, and the next thing she knew, they were at his apartment.
---
The next morning, she awoke in a foreign bed, but was not surprised. She wasn't surprised to hear the man from the night before urgently telling her that she needed to leave. She wasn't surprised that his girlfriend was making an unexpected visit. Red ushered her out of his house, but not before giving her his phone number, and telling her to meet him the next night.
---
The next night came and left, and so did the next two. The weather was considerably better than the day that Red had met Betty than when he saw her again. She was lying in the grass outside, and although considerably mangled, he could still recognize her body. Oh, yes, he could still recognize her, though perhaps it would have been better if he hadn't been able to.
Rubberneckers and policemen surrounded the body, a covered stretcher arriving so the press was unable to take snapshots for the tabloids or newspaper. Elizabeth Short had been cruelly cut in half. Betty's whole body was unclothed, her legs spread wide. On her left thigh was a triangle cut, and it was clear that her inner organs had been removed. A cut ran from one ear to the other, mimicking a large gruesome smile.
That beautiful hair that he had dreamed about was an oily, tangled mess. Cigarette burns dotted her upper half, and her right breast was nearly cut off. There was no blood on the scene, signalling to the policemen that the kill had not been made here, but the poor woman had been taken from the scene of her death and placed here. She had been treated badly by many people in her life time, but this, by far, was the work of a devil. A random job? A fantasy soldier who was actually real? Red couldn't think of a person who would be capable of cutting this young girl.
---
Another bar, another day. The sun was blindingly bright, and birds were singing sweetly. It was a cheerful day. People bustling around with places to go and things to do slowed for a minute to feel the heat of the sun beating against their backs.
The newspapers were out, headlines three inches tall. Fresh off the stands, still with the smell of ink on them. One of these newspapers was held in a bar not quite unlike the bar Betty Short was in a few nights back. A lighter atmosphere however; though it excluded one depressed man.
A life was gone in an instant. A beautiful young aspiring actress. A cock tease. A bar hopper. Red sat with his head in his arms, in yet another bar, with three empty shot glasses on the bar in front of him, one on the way. She was good, but now she haunted his dreams. He didn't even know the girl. They talked, they exchanged shit, they had sex. Now he felt responsible for her. As if he had a stronger connection with her, he should have been there with her, protecting her. They were rediculous thoughts, and he knew that, but the fact was, he saw the corpse of the woman that he did three days ago.
When the cops came to question him, his girlfriend would know all about the night. He would be in the newspaper, and would be a suspect in the crime. And worst of all, he didn't even have an alibi. He couldn't remember what he was doing at the time of her death.
She had been so friendly. During their dinner, she told him all about the engagements she had to naval officers and military men, but he knew they were all just fantasies. He indulged in her, agreeing that she was too good for those scoundrels who went off with another woman, went off to war, got killed in the war.
Her figure haunted his mind. All he could see was her pale skin, clad in all black, with her hair. Oh, that hair. And now she was gone. Brutally murdered was a nice was to title the way that she had died.
She was dead.
She was Elizabeth Short.
She was the Black Dahlia.
Accepted!
Roselyn: What a sample. I took heed of the warning.
Quite some detail; that's good. =) Such a killer sample roleplay. Haha.
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