Erica Tesla (etesla) wrote in roleplayers,
Erica Tesla

  • Mood:
  • Music:

on introductions

hi folks. i love roleplaying, but a lot of the groups i've been in really sucked (people not knowing the difference between IC and OOC knowledge and such) so i don't do it much anymore. i couldn't stand being away, though, so i've created a character and i rp/write her alone.

and i need help with one thing.


that is carlie. she's my character, and she... well, she can be cruel. very cruel. she's a dancer, and she doesn't play well with others. i'm trying to figure out whether she should be a toreador, lasombra or ravnos. (quite a choice, i know.) she's not... formal, i guess, enough to be a setite, and her style doesn't really fit with any of the other groups. my problem is she may be too violent to be torie, too artistic for 'sombra and too refined and pretty for ravnos.

what do you guys think? here's an excerpt from her journal; keep in mind that this is her being *very* tame.

from carlie's journal.


the men who come to these places never come to watch dancing. the come for the flesh, for the sight of a flushed breast and saline sweat clinging to a bare thigh. their faces betray drunkenness, to the point i am not even sure they can see what they have come for.

it was different when i danced in london. the socialite atmosphere spoke to me: it said, "we want you. we need you. we need it to be something we haven't seen before." and i showed them. you could see their eyes from the stage, hundreds of eyes, and in them were all the emotions in the human spectrum. but most often lust. lust, or fear. lust bored me, and fear excited me, and in these elite gentlemen's clubs i would see fear in my spectators eyes. never once did a fearful gaze break from mine. in the rooms behind the stage i took them one per night, and most returned.... eventually. i never tired of my gentlemen.

but boston is not london, and men here--if they can truly be called men--have not yet learned to fear. they know only one emotion, and when i take men to the back rooms now, we are both fulfilled but i am still, somehow, unsatisfied. they are greedy in their lust, and i do grow tired of the ones who return nightly, their eyes broadcasting no fear, and not really lust either... only expectation. they don't return when i decide they should not... but neither do they leave.

i remember one night, in london, a man with new eyes (or new expression in them). it was contempt, and when we were in the back with the heavy curtain drawn, i asked him... he said, "perhaps i am a mirror, reflecting back how you feel toward..." and he gestured out toward the stage, and the crowd hidden behind the curtain.

and i paused, and i laughed, and he was my first childe. my first lost childe. has london swallowed him? i do not know. when i fled the witch hunts, i fled him too, and wished the city were so kind to swallow me.

perhaps, though, it is time to stop wishing today were yesterday. in a few eyes here i have seen more than the emptiness i find elsewhere, and i can cultivate the elite of this "new world" into a force... my force.

but not here. not in boston.

it's time to move on.

also, a question. i'm posting carlie's stuff to my own journal, should i post it here too?

thanks for any input...

  • Post a new comment


    Anonymous comments are disabled in this journal

    default userpic