Narrate yourself

[Zyntoxic]

(ok, I'll give this a try, but I'm telling you I find describing one self as pretty awkward)

You enter the cellar and are met by the sight of a small, badly lit room with a table in it's center.
The chairs around the table are occupied by five people, four of them looking at the girl at the end of the table, sitting behind a paper screen.
She has a round, almost childish face decorated by a pair of square framed glasses, but her blue eyes are hard, glaring at each of the other occupants in what seemed to be expectation, chewing absently at one of her already too short fingernails while she waited.
"Ok, we go in" one of the men say with a grim voice, and slowly a wide grin spreads across her face, making her lower lip piercing loll to the side before she springs into action.

She jumps off her chair and starts pacing behind it, tapping her chin and tossing a die in her other hand. Even though the others are seated she is barely taller as she looks down upon them, red bangs falling across her face.
She straighents her back, the action further empazhising her voluptuous form, and then shrugs "The room is empty".

The others let out a sigh of relief, their characters already mortally wounded, probably not able to withstand another fight.

"But!" she says, silencing her subjects "There is an aged note laying on the floor"
"I pick it up" one of the other men says suspiciously "what does it say?"
The grin was back as she picks up a little book and starts reciting "bow to your master, the creater of dungeons, bring her gifts or tons of vamps wait around the corner" the dungeon master looks up from the book and she gives you a serious look "that includes you too"

 

[Blow_Pop]

Out of the shadows the glint of the knife's finely crafted blade moved up and slashed down at the attacker over and over until the silver turned red. Kneeling down using her attacker's jacket she cleaned the blade off and re-sheathed it on her thigh making her trench coat cover it. Deceptively small, nerdy, and pretty she stepped out of the shadows and continued her trek with an evil smile upon her face.

 

[ChaoticKraus]

Feeling a bit giddy off the caffeine, ChaoticKraus barbequed his meat with unnecessary enthusiasm. He poured himself another drink of Redbull Vodka with large gestures while humming happily to himself.

In the background the throaty bass and haunting synths of "Yonkers" were thundering away. His parents had just left for a party and thus there were no-one to complain about it. Leaving the grill alone for a minute, he seached his wardrobe and changed to a pair of jeans and a dark red T-shirt with the numbers "72" printed on it.

Overall it was a good evening and ChaoticKraus were intent on keeping it that way. Later he and a couple of friends were going to meet up and waste their precious lifetime on anime, club music and Smash Bros. He couldn't be more happy about it.

Before the guy went off to finish his meal he hung on his favourite neck-chain and stretched out his big frame. Well fuck me, he thought. This week is turning out fine after all. A melody suddenly emerged in his head and to his annoyance he understood it would be stuck there for weeks. He went up the stairs singing the accursed tune.

I gotta feeling..... That tonights gonna be a good night.

 

[Johnny Impact]

Sandpaper eyelids scraped torturous paths over eyeballs some maleficent fiend had kiln-fired for a month and reinserted still hot. The eyes had been blue when last he had seen a mirror. What color were they now, after such abuse?

His smooth, unremarkable face shone an unhealthy bluish white -- not far removed from its natural hue -- by the light of the large LCD monitor into which he blinked owlishly. Gold-framed glasses hung slightly askew from ears that stuck out just far enough to annoy him. He had a small, almost delicate nose, the type old ladies would call cute. This, also, annoyed him, as did his appallingly greasy skin, steadily increasing corpulence, and several other facets of his anatomy.

Impact had heard it said that the body was the ultimate instrument, the most beautiful thing in the world. He didn't buy it. He had always felt as if he were imprisoned in a cell built of fleshly embarrassments, caged in by bars built of crooked teeth, forced to watch the world go by through the scratched, grease-smeared window of his defective eyes. If his body truly was an instrument, he wished to know how he could go about getting a replacement through warranty.

The clock on his screen said just after five in the morning. Bed, thought Johnny sluggishly, his tall frame slumping over a softly glowing keyboard. Why am I not in bed?

Peering about, he could come up with no justification. The detritus of a life lived alone, without hope, joy, or pride, surrounded his cushy swivel chair. Mr Impact (omitting the customary period from "Mr." was perhaps his least off-putting quirk) was not a wealthy man by any sense of the word. Thanks to an existence almost completely devoid of vice, and completely devoid of the myriad expenses normally accrued by that process typically referred to as having a life, he had a great deal of time, and a bit of money, to spare.

Now, which things to mention..... Could possessions define a man? He had never felt like much of anybody. Perhaps possessions were what he had instead of an identity. Removing his top-of-the-line Sennheiser headphones, Johnny rubbed the mouse-brown stubble that covered his head like the cheapest of carpets, and took stock.

A PS3, complete with a row of games, waited next to a respectably large HDTV, complete with room-shaking surround sound. A gaming PC that had cost him $2500 two years ago -- and been upgraded since -- whirred an endless, toneless monotone to itself. The purposeful breezing of an air conditioner drowned the PC to near inaudibility. A portion of his half-painted Menoth army -- eighty-eight figures done, perhaps sixty untouched, about twenty in progress -- lay on a small folding table among tiny jars of paint, awaiting a moment of imaginary glory that might never arrive. A Bowflex, largely unused, taunted him from its station next to a monolithic, overflowing bookcase. A number of electronic devices were scattered within easy reach -- a scanner here, a digital camera there. Over, around, and atop these items lay the strata of disorganization: unpaid bills, notes written to himself (all cryptic; some indecipherable even to him), an iPod that had stopped working, a sketch of a superhero he played in an ongoing dice-and-paper game, and other bric-a-brac. To one side, his vacuum cleaner stood sentinel; he'd forgotten to put it away again.

Johnny had never turned his surround sound up past the 60% mark. He was a coward like that. Besides, he had neighbors a few feet to either side. They were okay. They had never complained about him walking around the house in his underwear, nor showed up at his doorstep bearing a casserole dish full of odd-smelling brownish gunk which was, presumably, edible, to try and make friends with him. Either would have been awkward. Impact simply wasn't a people person. Basic greetings in passing would do just fine.

Pausing to look back on what he'd written so far, Impact's brow furrowed as he realized he didn't like it. This was not surprising. He had never liked himself and didn't suppose he was about to start any time soon. Describing himself felt like lying on a psychiatrist's couch, being peered at by a professional who could locate and dissect his every flaw and secret shame. Introspection, a habit of his since time out of mind, seemed less a tool for serene self-discovery and more like picking at a scab.

 

[sgt. soap mctavish]

And some guy came in humping a saxophone for some odd reason.

 

[Redingold]

As Redingold pondered this topic, he wondered if he could make it recursive. So he typed "As Redingold pondered this topic, he wondered if he could make it recursive. So he typed "As Redingold pondered this topic, he wondered if he could make it recursive. So he typed "As Redingold pondered this topic, he wondered if he could make it recursive. So he typed "As Redingold pondered this topic, he wondered if he could make it recursive. So he typed "As Redingold pondered this topic, he wondered if he could make it recursive. So he typed "As Redingold pondered this topic, he wondered if he could make it recursive. So he typed "As Redingold pondered this topic, he wondered if he could make it recursive. So he typed "As Redingold pondered this topic, he wondered if he could make it recursive. So he typed "As Redingold pondered this topic, he wondered if he could make it recursive. So he typed "As Redingold pondered this topic, he wondered if he could make it recursive. So he typed "As Redingold pondered this topic, he wondered if he could make it recursive. So he typed "As Redingold pondered this topic, he wondered if he could make it recursive. So he typed "As Redingold pondered this topic, he wondered if he could make it recursive. So he typed "As Redingold pondered this topic, he wondered if he could make it recursive. So he typed "As Redingold pondered this topic, he wondered if he could make it recursive. So he typed "As Redingold pondered this topic, he wondered if he could make it recursive. So he typed "As Redingold pondered this topic, he wondered if he could make it recursive. So he typed "As Redingold pondered this topic, he wondered if he could make it recursive. So he typed "As Redingold pondered this topic, he wondered if he could make it recursive. So he typed "As Redingold pondered this topic, he wondered if he could make it recursive. So he typed "As Redingold pondered this topic, he wondered if he could make it recursive. So he typed "As Redingold pondered this topic, he wondered if he could make it recursive. So he typed "As Redingold pondered this topic, he wondered if he could make it recursive." And so he found that he could.

BWWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM [http://instantinception.com/]

 

[Xaio30]

The young man took a sip out of his glass of water, wondering if he should refill it with something not room-temperature'd for more than two hours.
He took a quick look out the window and then continued his writing.

"Narrating myself, aye?"

For a moment, he thought about just shutting down the browser to continue Planescape Torment, but the thought was fleeting and was soon gone in the vast abyss that was his mind.

"This water is starting to taste like piss..."

With a deep sigh, he stood up from his chair and turned towards the kitchen to fill up his glass again, but not before he pressed "Post".