a dark choco monstrosity
- Roleplay Invitations
- One on One Roleplays
- Posting Speed
- A Few Posts A Day, A Few Posts a Week, Slow As Molasses
- Writing Levels
- Adept, Adaptable
- Genders You Prefer Playing
- Male, Female
- Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
- I can be both passive and aggressive. Depends on my partner.
- Favorite Genres
- romance. angst. drama. tragedy. hurt/comfort. fantasy. supernatural. adventure.
- Genre You DON'T Like
It rained. Betsey was particularly fond of the rain, especially the after rain. When she exited her house after it rained, the air always smelled like roses thanks to the rose bushes her mother had planted in their yard. The scent in the air was a pleasant surprise that always lifted her mood, if only a little, after her mother had gave her some cutting remark. Remarks that she thought she would have been used to by now, but every now and in then the woman would say something that hit too close to home and left her somber the entire day. And today was no exception.
Betsey did something stupid, she spilled tea on her mother’s breakfast plate. Before the older blonde had even said anything, her cold eyes emulated something near to repulsion and that was enough to make her want to shrivel up. It wasn’t just that mistake, but all the mistakes and all the problems that Betsey caused. According to her mother, she was the mistake and the problem. A lot of times, her father agreed when stressed. Betsey herself couldn’t help but agree, but that was why she tried harder than anyone else to be better, though, she knew it would never be enough.
Still, that strong scent of roses in the air made her smile softly. She couldn’t help but scoop up a select few fallen petals to add to her scrapbook for later. If she was lucky, the smell would stick to the paper. Only then did it dawn on her that maybe she should by scented paper for her next book. With a slight nod, she decided she would do so once she was finished with her current book and proceeded to carefully place her petals in the side pocket of her pastel blue backpack.
“Everything is okay,” she breathed slowly, though her breath was slightly ragged. No, it’s not. That annoying voice in her head said, she knew better than to lie. Betsey hated lies. She had been told nothing but the truth, so, it made sense to tell herself the truth. Her fist clenched at her sides and she closed her soft blue eyes momentarily. “It will be okay.” Will it? Yes, yes it would. If she didn’t believe it how had she possible made it this far even when it only got worse? Because it would be okay, eventually. And she couldn’t go to school on the verge of packing.
Once the heavy and invisible weight was removed from her chest and she could breathe correctly again, Betsey reopened her eyes and unclenched her fists. Her knuckles had gone white and were only now regaining their color. She raised her hand to check her watch and found she still had some time before school, but that time would be eaten up by the time it took her to walk there. Her mother refused to give her a ride and her father left too early in the morning to work for her to even ask and he rarely offered.
So, she jogged, which she didn’t mind, she liked getting the exercise in. And jogging was something she liked to do. When her mind was a mess, which it so often was, jogging help. In particular, running did, because that was what Betsey does. She runs away.
The fresh cool air felt even cooler when breathed in, but that same breath of hers was caught when she saw the wings of a colorful bird. A hummingbird in particular. It was flying around the flowers of some shop. she didn’t bother to read the name of, and looking every bit magnificent. Her jog slowed and she reached to pull out her phone and take a picture of the creature when she bumped into something, or someone to be precise.
The blonde stumbled back and almost fell on her behind, instead her half opened backpack hit the ground and dropped half of its contents. Blue eyes frantically looked up from the bag and to the face of the person in front of her before averting her gaze and quickly apologizing, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, that was my fault!” Looking in the face of others was hard, but she couldn’t help but look back at him through the strands of blonde hair. He looked too familiar, handsome, but also terrifying. And fear happened to be something that ruled her actions and her mind most of the time.