Narrate yourself

[SilentCom]

Image that you are a newly introduced character in a book. How would you be described on first meeting?

I'll start off:

He sat there silently, lounged back and his head resting gently on his hand. His eyes were sharp and analytical, but they were staring off into the distance as if lost within his own thoughts; perhaps pondering the answer to some deep philosophical question. While not very attractive, there is a sense of brooding mystery about him. The young man looked up, as if his thought was interrupted. His hair was dark and eyes light, although with a prominent red scar on the left eye. He spoke softly in a low and barely audible voice, "your turn."


(Captcha: lizarr otherwife,)

 

[Lord Mountbatten Reborn]

"Hi," said Lord Mountbatten.

No description of this new character was required, for Chief Detective Sergeant Agent Doctor Francis McGurnigalagar had left his book of metaphors and similes at home and couldn't think of anything noire-ish enough to say.

 

[RaNDM G]

"Hello!", typed RaNDM, his eyes unhealthily fixated on the computer screen in front of him.

 

[the spud]

The electronic buzzing nearly drowned out all life from the scene, suffocating the atmosphere in cheeto dust and smugness.

I will never be a writer.

 

[SilentCom]

The electronic buzzing nearly drowned out all life from the scene, suffocating the atmosphere in cheeto dust and smugness.

I will never be a writer.

You will never be a writer? I thought your description of suffocating cheeto dust and smugness was funny.

 

[Lullabye]

And onto the scene burst Lullabye! His overly large phalic weapon swinging to and fro, laying waste to the hobbit army before him! It ssemed like the battle would be lost for the little hobbits, their hopes and skulls being crush with each strike of Lullabye's act of overcompensation.
Suddenly, Timmy the crippled hobbit leapt down from his treehouse with the knife his father had left him, aiming for Lullabye's throat. His mind being focused on the little ones beneath, he did not expect a surprise attack form above.
The knife torn through the side of Lullabye's neck and Timmy fell to the ground. Quickly he rolled away and perched himself up on his stump of a leg, knife outstretched. he quickly realized defending himself would not be necessary as all that stared back at him were eyes filled with death.

I woulda went with something more perky but my captcha was 'bitter end'

 

[the spud]

The electronic buzzing nearly drowned out all life from the scene, suffocating the atmosphere in cheeto dust and smugness.

I will never be a writer.

You will never be a writer? I thought your description of suffocating cheeto dust and smugness was funny.

Thing is, it took me like 3 minutes to come up with that, and another minute to type it (I'm a slow typer).

 

[shadyh8er]

"Then I saw shadyh8er. He was a rather attractive man of Indian descent who, for some reason, had his fingers buried deep in his raven-colored hair. Upon closer inspection I realized that his shoulders were covered in white flakes; he was picking out dandruff!

He must of noticed my disgust because he tried, and failed, to look casual as his hand whipped out of his hair, and across both shoulders, brushing the flakes off."


How's that?

 

[Mr Thin]

Skeletal hands crept over the keyboard, the flickering back-light illuminating the characters as he pressed them.

Were one possessed of such folly as to investigate this typer beyond their bony digits, they would discover pale while arms, slender beyond imagining, dusted with freckles and fine white hair.

Responsible for the activities of these limb-like appendages was a young man, his shriveled form contained by his black A Clockwork Orange shirt and mottled grey cargo pants.

His sandy blonde hair stuck out in tufts, clearly the result of waking up recently; the black head-phones covering his ears probably weren't helping. He chewed his lips constantly as his unblinking grey-blue eyes stared through their prescription spectacles into the brightly lit rectangle of his laptop screen.

All things considered, he did not make a positive first impression.

 

[TheNaut131]

He sat attentively, eyes focusing on his laptop, fascinated with the thread presented before him. The light from his monitor washed over his face. It still a minor strain on his eyes, even on the lowest settings. He quickly scratched the top of his head, digging into the curly black fluff while also checking for dandruff. He was constantly adjusting his broken chair, and repositioning himself for maximum comfort. His hands were methodically tapping the keys, narrating himself, narrating himself, narrating himself...He took a quick second to pause, amused with the possible Inception reference and "Yo Dawg" meme. While pausing, he also used this time to truly reflect over the OP's question.

TheNaut131, or Christian Livinus, was a 15 year old, 6 foot, African American male. His skin had a more cinnamon, mocha complexion and he was a quite built pretty well. He wasn't rimmed to the teeth with muscle, but he wasn't fat either. He spent most of his time on the internet, on his laptop, jumping between his constantly open tab of YouTube, DeviantART, and the Escapist. His parents didn't much fancy their son's exclusion from the rest of the family, but they typically tried not to push him on the subject. Though his father did constantly remind him of the dangers with long exposure to small monitors and eye site. However, their partial teasing, and referring to his room as a "Jail Cell" were already enough to make him partially, self-conscience, thus motivating him to leave the room on certain occasions, typically for food, minor conversation, and a quick glance at the television.

Christian looked over his post, correcting all spelling arrows and revising on certain sections. He contemplated to himself, "Have I divulged too much? Given out too much information about myself?" He wondered if perhaps he should've put himself in a fiction scenario, spinning off his own fantasies. He thought about this for a few seconds, but continued typing out his introduction. Having a minor interest in writing, Christian was quite amused with this thread. He figured he could actually be wrapping up a chapter to his own story right now, or perhaps actually finishing Julius Caesar, his Summer projects for Honor's English. However, the internet had significant role in his life, perhaps a slightly unhealthy role, but it still gave him a place to frolic and explore.

He looked over his introduction, quite pleased with it. He'd probably edit it once it was posted, as are most of his post, but for the most part TheNaut131 was most satisfied with himself. He sat back, just to be reminded that he didn't have a back rest to his chair.. He rubbed his eyes, stood up, and walked over to his closet. He opened it and turned on the lights. His desk lap was broken, so he had to live with his closet light. The Naut131 took one final look at his introduction and pressed post.

tl;dr: I'm the most boring character ever.

 

[Free Thinker]

Head cocked to the side and an aura of sarcasm permeating the area around him. He doesn't seem to care that much, but has a nonchalant, and easy-going nature. When he finally speaks, you can easily tell the sarcasm from the sincerity. Dark brown eyes with piercing black pupils going from person to person as they speak. Every word from his mouth is a velour bass that flows smoothly. Every now and again, he rubs his beard because hell, he has a beard, he is going to stroke it like Pai Mei from Kill Bill.

 

[Galaxy Roll]

Hello.

He rolled over in his bed to face the wall, accompanied by various snorts in his hibernation through the dark of dark.

Wake up.

The monitor's glow gave the room an air more fitting of a horror film than the humble bedroom that is was.

Wake up, now.

The words appeared across the screen in real time, the lime letters only taking a small space in the corner of the otherwise black monitor. The man stirred, but he gave no regard to owner of the text.

BEEEEP

The noise shrieked through the room and ruptured the surreal. The man bolted up. He stood there atop his mound in a stance more fit for catching a charging bull.

We have lost much time. I was called on my bluff.

Another man sat typing away on a keyboard, changing the screen of the bedroom a world away with each keystroke. The two triangle windows behind him let in the moonlight, giving the room a blue glow, one of the two sources of light. The second from the screen in front of him illuminated the dark mask that rested under his eyes, crafted from long nights of staring into the abyss. His dark brown, shaggy hair were a part of his appearance that would show his youth. Everything about the figure showed him to not have even passed a score of years. Everything except his eyes, that is. His eyes betrayed his youth. A dark disk sat in the middle of a white ocean; an ocean that showed a lifetime's worth of hardships. The eyes, unimpeded by corrective wear, stared into the screen as his fingers worked.

You may call me "Galaxy," and you must get moving.

 

[Duck Sandwich]

A nervous tension filled him as he watched the others go through the drills. He waited anxiously, knowing that he was up next. As soon as the last person was just about to finish their last jumping squat, he got into position.

"This is it," he thought, as he squatted down as low as he could go, then bounced back up to an upright standing position. As he bounced up and down, he made circular motions with his arms, as though he were swimming through the air. After several rigorous repetitions of various leg exercises, he was finished the first round of the circuit. His heart thrusted against his chest, and sweat flowed down his forehead. He anxiously awaited round two.

 

[JemothSkarii]

The room seemed brighter than morning as the young man sat in the creaking office chair, clad in parts which had seen over a decade and showed the time it had experienced, and an obsidian shirt with a fairly recently pop culture reference detailing a man and his love for combustible citrus fruits. It was perhaps a size too big; he didn't matter, his golden brown eyes scanning the text in front of him as his fingers lazily tapped away at the keys of a battered notebook. His skin was pale and tanned in patches, his arms really the only parts of his skin showing colour. His eyes held dark rings around them, not from a lack of sleep, but too much broken sleep. His mind wandered from the troubles which tormented him, to whether he could muster the effort and energy required to grab a cup of coffee.

He leaned back and stretched, not a sound in the house except for a neighbour somewhere down the street working in their shed with power tools, the long whine of the object resonating through the house. His legs seemed non-compliant as he rested them under his chair, a side effect of the disability which had affected him his entire life. Growing bored of writing out his own narration from the clutter of his desk, he muttered "My name is Ben" and clicked on the Post button, somewhat content.

(I want to be a writer, I just haven't written anything creative in 6 months due to Writer's Block, Stress, and Depression)

 

[InfectedStar]

After I finished my agonising fight with my cat, I slowly washed off the thick red blood and bandaged the scratch marks on top of my left hand and that was just another night of medication for it. "God what a pain." I thought to myself, as the humitity continued to rise and my headache continued to ache; finally sitting at my computer I began to type while listening to the beginning theme to "Maverick" from across the room. Resting my head back I rubbed the sweat off my eyebrows, and while doing so I realized something... I need a vacation.


Captcha: barking mad, pretty ironic.

 

[game-lover]

She was watching the clock one moment and looking out the window the next. All was silent in the room for the most part. She didn't want to risk not hearing it's approach. Their approach. It was important to know when they were coming. It was depressing to be caught off guard...

There's too many things to do. Too many things and not enough time! Oh, this was so frustrating!

But there was nothing to be done for it. This wasn't anything new. It was the same old, same old. Her breath came out in a little sigh before she faced the screen, eyes on nothing but her goal.

Only about making progress on this machine and this screen...

 

[WeakEnd]

Using her arms as braces to hold her up, the young woman lazily scrolled through the forums she seldom frequented. Eyes glazed, she read the posts halfheartedly; the past few days clouded any amazement or joy she felt at the splendid use of language before her.
Taking far longer than she thought to post, a thought crossed her mind and lingered: "What's my actual reason for participating?"
Not being able to answer herself, she posted anyway; she was sure the semblance of interactivity would perk her up, if only momentarily.

 

[Shadow flame master]

Entering his room you see nothing special of a young 16 year old. You look down and see a stack of magazines. No, not Play Boy or Hustler, but of Nat Geo and Time. His desk full of paper with which he regularly uses to jot ideas on. His bed has a laptop on it and is on. By flicking the touchpad, you see many tabs open: one for the Escapist; Youtube; his favorite manga site; favorite anime site; and of course porn. Again, nothing special. Just before leaving his uneventful room you notice a gundam00 model. You know not of it's name but remember the sniper rifle it used. While admiring its gun, a quick down-ward glance reveals a box set. But not any box set, a Cowboy Bebop box set. In shock and disbelief, you fail to notice me standing in the doorway. With the clearing of my throat you turn in shock and notice my familiar features. My black signature glasses sliding down my nose. My brown eyes fixated on your yours. My black course hair that needs to be brushed. All of these complemented the graphic tee and boot-cut jeans I was wearing. Suddenly, you realise that this 5 foot 4'ish black boy has black flames coming from him. The blank expression on his face turned into a smile as I slowly walked to you. Terrified for your life, you plead to give up one of your box-sets to keep your life. Uninterested in your offer, I reach out my hand and gesture you to shake it. You take my hand and listen to what I say "Join me in my quest to be the ultimate master of flames." You ask why I have such a goal, and I respond saying "Well I want to do something before I go to college next fall, and as someone with flames spurting out of my body, what else would I do?" You don't know why, but you agree to my proposition and become my right hand man/woman into a journey through flames.

Such is the budding friendship of the Shadow flame master.

Edit: I also tell you to wear some glasses. Befuddled, you ask why. I respond "Becasue people who wear glasses *pushes up glasses* are badasses." YYYEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH

 

[Anarchemitis]

Apples had always been his consolation. Try as they may, the distraction of biting into an apple had yet to be the cause of Anarchemitis being killed in Team Fortress 2, but reminding him of the mantra "Pretzels can kill" championed in the game manual to Crimson Skies, he was always wary of the danger of eating while playing video games. However it never had circumvented him from eating one while posting on an internet forum.

 

[Sir Boss]

Sir Boss just lay there, eyes fixated on nothing, mind fixated on many things, pondering many ponderous thoughts, ranging from the minor, like the need for a snack, to the major, like life in outer space. He then let out a mighty yawn, and went back to his Computer Science assignment. Sir Boss generally had the TV on for background noise, today was no exception, today he was doing his assignment to Seinfeld.