Post by jen on Jul 15, 2010 14:19:17 GMT -5
Username: Jen.
Canons you own:
Link to RP thread: saved by the canon drive, I think? n_n
Audition:
Love was such a curious emotion.
XII had lost count of how long she had been this way: an empty vessel, cold and uncaring, studying emotion from the sidelines with apathy and detachment. She could not hate what she was. Of course, she was incapable of feeling such an emotion. However, even if she were capable, Larxene wondered whether she would hate what she was. In so many ways, she was unbound. Free. She felt nothing. What a glorifying talent she possessed. Why did the Organization run from it all?
Feelings were for the weak.
She considered this, passively, as she flicked lazily through the pages of a novel. The main character was not remarkable; like so many, she was a weak, desperate fool, who loved to love. She and her lover gained nothing in the end except for an eternity of lying side by side in a crypt, a knife through her heart and poison in his veins. How very pitiful.
A tiny smile flickered across the young woman’s elfin, delicate features. She felt nothing. She did not even pity them – she could not, and she wouldn’t if she could. To be human, with irrational feelings and hopes and silly dreams … it was an insult. Why did the Organization chase such a goal? She giggled at the thought. A sweet, innocent sound. So very unfitting.
“Hm…”
Again, the voice seemed strangely out of place. A sweet, simpering soprano that was so prone to uttering such ugly, callous words. The Savage Nymph mused indifferently as she continued to flip through the pages, tracing words that were lovingly crafted by a love struck author with cold amusement. Such an awful waste of time.
“Hm…”
This time, the slight frustration was evident in the blonde’s voice. A slight crease to her brow appeared as she glared at the small print, as though attempting to uncover an encrypted message, of sorts. She studied emotion for a long time. She understood sorrow; she understood why humans cried for their fallen comrades. She understood anger; she understood why they cried, in turn, for revenge. She understood jealousy; her fellow members replicated this emotion flawlessly. But she could not comprehend love. The Nymph’s eyes narrowed into scorching, emerald slits. Silver flashed through the air. Metal sliced through paper like butter, severing the pages into segments that flew into the air, scattering and falling like burnt embers. Larxene tucked away the knives serenely, a small, simpering smile lighting up her pretty, dainty features.
Canons you own:
Link to RP thread: saved by the canon drive, I think? n_n
Audition:
Love was such a curious emotion.
XII had lost count of how long she had been this way: an empty vessel, cold and uncaring, studying emotion from the sidelines with apathy and detachment. She could not hate what she was. Of course, she was incapable of feeling such an emotion. However, even if she were capable, Larxene wondered whether she would hate what she was. In so many ways, she was unbound. Free. She felt nothing. What a glorifying talent she possessed. Why did the Organization run from it all?
Feelings were for the weak.
She considered this, passively, as she flicked lazily through the pages of a novel. The main character was not remarkable; like so many, she was a weak, desperate fool, who loved to love. She and her lover gained nothing in the end except for an eternity of lying side by side in a crypt, a knife through her heart and poison in his veins. How very pitiful.
A tiny smile flickered across the young woman’s elfin, delicate features. She felt nothing. She did not even pity them – she could not, and she wouldn’t if she could. To be human, with irrational feelings and hopes and silly dreams … it was an insult. Why did the Organization chase such a goal? She giggled at the thought. A sweet, innocent sound. So very unfitting.
“Hm…”
Again, the voice seemed strangely out of place. A sweet, simpering soprano that was so prone to uttering such ugly, callous words. The Savage Nymph mused indifferently as she continued to flip through the pages, tracing words that were lovingly crafted by a love struck author with cold amusement. Such an awful waste of time.
“Hm…”
This time, the slight frustration was evident in the blonde’s voice. A slight crease to her brow appeared as she glared at the small print, as though attempting to uncover an encrypted message, of sorts. She studied emotion for a long time. She understood sorrow; she understood why humans cried for their fallen comrades. She understood anger; she understood why they cried, in turn, for revenge. She understood jealousy; her fellow members replicated this emotion flawlessly. But she could not comprehend love. The Nymph’s eyes narrowed into scorching, emerald slits. Silver flashed through the air. Metal sliced through paper like butter, severing the pages into segments that flew into the air, scattering and falling like burnt embers. Larxene tucked away the knives serenely, a small, simpering smile lighting up her pretty, dainty features.
