The dark crow is... || GxB {P} || ...Human?

    • The dark crow is... || GxB {P} || ...Human?


      Thanks for stopping by!
      My character, Michael Sarin, is a human/crow shapeshifter. He is always migrating from place to place, because of the fact that he is often pursued by hunters, due to his rarity and the bounty on his head. Not from a crime, but due to his odd ability. Of course, more often than not, he is a target for sport hunters and farmers who believe they are defending their crops. They only see him as a normal crow, after all.
      When Michael is shot and crashes into your character's window, you come into play. Your reasons for taking Michael in and nursing his wing back to health are for you to decide, but the main plot is this:
      After your character finds herself bonding to Michael after he exposes his human form to her, he thanks you for your help and starts to leave, explaining on how he needed to move South for the incoming winter. You decide to come with him.
      *Plot is open for discussion/editing later on.
      This roleplay takes place in Michigan, America. When Michael and your character meet, it is October 27th. It has already snowed once, but thankfully just a short inch. Your character will find Michael outside in the snow, outside of her window.
      I would advise you to think over these things when creating your character:
      Display Spoiler
      Is your character:
      (Travelling will be extremely easy, and make things less interesting - Acquiring needs such as food/water/clothes will be easy, but your character will be a target for criminals/thieves.)
      Middle class?
      (Travelling will be harder, and others will pay less attention/be less likely to try and steal. Acquiring needs will not be as easy. Budget is important.)
      (Travelling will be exceedingly difficult - most likely done on foot. Acquiring needs will be difficult, and use of money will be extremely tight. Getting a job will most likely be needed. Most dramatic/interesting RP.)
      Is your character a shapeshifter?
      (Much easier to immediately relate/connect to Michael and his position - less variety/room for character/relationship development)
      (Takes more time to get used to the fact that Michael can turn into a crow at will; much more character/relationship development)
      Reasons for taking care of Michael?
      Why did your character decide to help a random, injured crow in her yard? Is it because she has a good heart? Is she skilled in taking care of animals? Is she an environmentalist? Does she aspire to be a vet/doctor?

      I have no set form for you to fill out, but I'd appreciate if you did the basic things, i.e. name, age, written appearance/personality, etc.
      As the thread hints, this is a moderate RP thread. I would appreciate at least 1-3 decent-sized paragraphs per post. (5-7 sentences). I would also appreciate good grammar/punctuation. No, I'm not expecting you to be the epiphany of English writing. We all make mistakes.
      Display Spoiler
      Michael Sarin
      19 years old
      Michael is rather short for his age, standing at a mere 5 feet and 5 inches. He weighs a feathery 140 Lbs. His eyes are dark blue, which accentuates his particularly narrow face. He has no real home to call his own, so years of travelling he country has made him particularly fit. That's not to say he's bursting at the seams with muscles - in fact, he looks pretty scrawny. He just has good endurance. Michael is never picky about his clothes, provided he has some to cover himself when he's in human form. Michael would wear glasses if he could afford them, due to the fact that he's a little farsighted, but it can't be helped. He's survived just fine without them, so he doesn't really care. Besides, why would they make glasses for crows?
      Michael isn't picky in the least. He takes things as they come, and despite his lifestyle, he's pretty innocent. He's a little too polite due to social awkwardness, and he tries his best to avoid human confrontation altogether. His interactions never really end well, anyway. He tends to be jumpy, ready to change and fly away on a moment's notice. He always feels bad about it, but he never has money, so he resorts to using his crow form to steal fruits from stands, and - in desperate-case scenarios - from within stores. He hates stores, and finds them dangerous due to one-too-many close calls. Being near people makes him afraid, since he fears that they know he's a shapeshifter and that they're all out to kill him.
      Michael loves being alone to himself. No people, no predators, no problem.
      He also has a strange fascination with scarves. If he finds any, he'll wear or nest in them for as long as he can before he has to move on.
      Michael has a severe social anxiety, so people (and animals) are on his to-avoid list.
      Michael can't help himself. He's part crow. He loves to collect shiny things.
      Michael hates bananas. He finds them weird and gross.
      His favorite temperature is 60 degrees Fahrenheit. He doesn't know how to use Celsius.
      His favorite colors are light pink and white.

      Michael Sarin was high in the air, his dark feathers wings spread wide as he glided on the chilled air currents. Down below him was a town, and he watched the buildings disappear behind him as he gradually increased his speed. Feeling a little happy, he folded his wings to his sides and dove several feet before stretching them wide once more, catching the undercurrent that took him back into the air. He enjoyed flying. It was where he was free of all the troubles down on the ground. Michael took a deep breath, gently parting his black beak before closing it. Fresh, cool autumn air. It was early morning. The sun was above the horizon, casting a milky light that chased the darkness of night away.
      Tilting himself down, Michael brought himself closer to the rooftops of the town below. He circled around, making a few lazy loops overhead before he continued the direction he was headed: South. He wanted to travel a little ways down before sunset. Lifting his eyes from the roofs below to the horizon, he spotted the Great Lakes in the distance. Maybe he could make a pitstop? Find some seeds, maybe a trinket on the shoreline to take with him. With a small shake of his head, Michael changed his mind. Winter would be coming soon. It had already snowed once - he could see it strewn across the roofs and ground. It would snow again soon as well. The clouds in the distance were obvious enough.
      Making one last loop around, Michael got closer to the ground. This time he could clearly make out the features of each house as he passed them by.
      He was dully aware of a sharp cracking sound ringing through the air when he felt something hit his wing. Wobbling in the air, Michael let out a screech before he plummeted down, confused and pained. His wing was failing him. Why? What happened? Desperately trying not to meet his demise, he forced his wings open, and attempted to glide to the ground.
      He was barely aware when he smacked into something and fell into the snow, his consciousness escaping him.
    • New

      name- Jillian Lake
      age- 19
      appearance- a tall girl- 5'11"- with a remarkable shock of scruffy ginger hair which she keeps cut in a short pixie style. She has an unusual face- very round, and covered with freckles, with two narrow, pale green eyes and a cute upturned nose which she considers her best feature. Her figure is big-boned and curvy, and although she doesn't work out much, her size gives her a certain measure of natural strength which she makes use of. Her body is just as freckley as her face and, overall, her appearance is one of wholesome "peasant girl" charm.
      personality- a gentle, easygoing type, Jillian is a bit directionless in life at the moment; she dropped out of college to paint full-time and is just barely making ends meet. She's independent but not antisocial; she'd just much rather go for a walk in the woods than hang around with a lot of people.

      (sorry my reply is so long, by the way- I just can't help myself! don't feel obliged to make yours as long as mine)

      we travel on the road to adventure, on a desert highway straight to the heart of the sun
      like lovers and heroes, and the restless part of everyone; we're only at home when we're on the run

      The post was edited 1 time, last by Lee ().

    • New

      Jillian trotted quickly up the stairs to the loft apartment she was renting. It was a small three-room affair- bedroom, great room, bathroom- above the separate garage building of a well-off family. It was the perfect place for her- close to the beautiful wild spaces that inspired her art, and not too expensive. She had a little stand at the flea market in town, and she would take her bike down there on weekends to sell her art. Paying for the apartment and the stand didn't leave a lot of money left over, but she wasn't starving. She thought she had a perfectly nice life.

      She was returning from a walk in the woods behind the house; the first snow made for lovely photo opportunities, and she preferred to base her paintings off photos she had taken herself whenever possible. Plugging the camera's SD card into her old laptop, she began to flip through the photos before settling on a nice one with an the orange leaves of a drooping willow hanging over the small stream. Her great room was a bit of a mess; it was clearly intended to be a combination of living room-kitchen-dining room, but the only furniture besides the kitchen counter, stove and fridge was a blue denim loveseat she'd found at a thrift store and a chipboard side table. The rest of the space was taken up by stacks of canvases, folding metal chairs with half-finished palettes resting on them, makeshift easel stands covered with paint specks.

      Jillian placed the laptop, with the image she'd chosen, on the arm of the loveseat and placed a canvas up on one of the easel stands. Then, whistling to herself, she opened her box of oil paints, and was just picking out the battered tube of Titanium White when something large thumped against her window and she gave a small squeak of surprise.

      "What the heck was that...?" she muttered, walking over to the window to look out into the yard. There was a small smear of red on the glass- and below, in the snow, she saw a small dark shape.

      "Oh, damn it," she exclaimed, dashing across the room and throwing open the door. She went down the stairs two at a time, then ran out onto the driveway in her socks, paying no attention to the cold snow on her feet. She quickly ran around to the side of the garage and to the small black thing that was laying in the snow-covered grass. She knelt down next to it and saw it was a crow; they were definitely common around here, but usually they were much too smart to go flying into windows. Was it dead? She cautiously poked it with one finger, saw the bright blood on its dark feathers and realized what had happened; some amateur hunter had taken a shot at it. And it was still alive; she could feel the fragile bones in its chest moving up and down.

      "Poor critter," she whispered, taking off her sweater and carefully placing it over the injured bird before picking it up in her hands. It was heavier than she'd expected. She'd always had dogs when she was a kid, big dogs like Golden Retrievers and Newfoundlands; this was a completely foreign experience for her. But she couldn't just let it lie there in the snow, not when it was still alive.

      Back in the house, she dumped the tubes of paint out of her paint box and gently placed the sweater-and-bird bundle inside it. I wonder if it'll become my pet if I help it, she thought with excitement. That would be so cool!

      Trying to think in terms of common sense, she placed the box on the kitchen counter next to the refrigerator- there was some warmth coming out of there- then carefully opened up the sweater bundle. It already had blood on it, but she decided that was no big deal. She had plenty of sweaters. She took out a roll of paper towel and tore off several sheets, tearing them up and packing them around the sweater in an effort to approximate a nest.

      "Okay, now you stay there," she said to the crow, and quickly ran back over to where her laptop was perched on the arm of the loveseat. She was going to need help from The Google to figure this one out.

      we travel on the road to adventure, on a desert highway straight to the heart of the sun
      like lovers and heroes, and the restless part of everyone; we're only at home when we're on the run
    • New

      Am I... dead?

      Michael subconsciously recalled something soft surrounding him, and he immediately felt a trickle of security. Yes, that's right... He was in his nest, safe and sound. Nothing but a bad dream. His body still numb to the pain it was currently undergoing, the bird slipped into unconsciousness once more.
      His mind drifted aimlessly through dreams, yet he couldn't recall a single one. It was odd... Michael normally dreamt vividly. He enjoyed thinking about them when he woke up. No, maybe it wasn't that. Perhaps he wasn't dreaming at all? He could feel it pressing in on all sides - the dark, empty void. Deep sleep. Is that it? Maybe. He didn't want to think anymore. He gently sank into the soft depths. He was tired.

      When Michael finally awoke, he had to strain himself to lift his head. As all feeling rushed in with a painful burn, the crow let out a long, quiet noise. His vision was blurry, and he struggled to see around him. It was warm, which confused him. Was this Heaven, or whatever it was called? Had he froze to death? No. Surely he hadn't. He could feel fabric pressed against his sides, but his cursed farsightedness prevented him from seeing it clearly. Closing his eyes for a few seconds again, he lifted his head as high as he could as he looked around.

      Panic gripped Michael viciously.

      He wasn't outside, nor in his nest. He was inside.

      Letting out a fearful squawk, the crow struggled in the fabric folds, flapping his good wing wildly. The other refused to cooperate, its refusal translated into pain. At once, he fell still, his little chest heaving. Body trembling, he forced himself to calm down as he searched his surroundings.

      For one, the place was a mess. Canvases, papers, and paint everywhere. Lots of places to hide, perhaps? His scan stopped dead when he spotted the ginger human sitting at a desk, tapping away on a computer. Alarmed, Michael burrowed into the folds of fabric, hoping it would hide him. She hadn't heard him, had she?

    • New

      What do crows eat?

      The search came up with many results; Jillian clicked the first one. "Worms... grubs... I haven't got any of those! Wild fruit... nuts..." She was interrupted by a sharp squawk from the direction of the kitchen, and immediately brightened. She closed the computer and rushed over to the kitchen, peering into the paint box. Her crow seemed alarmed, trying to hide in the folds of the sweater, and the quickly opened the fridge and brought out the small basket of blueberries.

      "It's okay, don't be scared," she said to the bird in a soft voice. "I'm not gonna hurt you. Here." She carefully placed a blueberry on one of the folds of fabric and took a few steps back, watching hopefully.

      we travel on the road to adventure, on a desert highway straight to the heart of the sun
      like lovers and heroes, and the restless part of everyone; we're only at home when we're on the run
    • New

      As soon as Michael had pulled his head out to check if the human was still there, a shadow loomed over him. His head jerked upward, and he found himself staring into her eyes. His feathers fluffed up defensively, making himself look bigger. He kept completely still as the hand reached into the box. He was prepared to bite her if he had to.

      But, much to his surprise, she placed a single blueberry in front of him before her hand retreated to her side. His first thought was that the blueberry was tainted somehow. Was she trying to poison him?

      She had said she wouldn't hurt him, though... Michael was confused. Was she lying? She looked friendly enough. Swallowing once, he took the chance. Tapping the small berry once with his beak, he grabbed it and swallowed it. The sweet berry's juices tingled on his tongue. Now what? Well, he would either die or he wouldn't. He searched the human's face, expecting an evil look of triumph.
    • New

      Jillian grinned and clasped her hands when he took the blueberry. She wouldn't have thought that a bird could look suspicious, but this one definitely did. She knew crows were smart, but this one seemed especially so. Maybe it was the way it looked at her- it was almost creepy, how intense its stare was. No, his stare- this was a boy crow, she was suddenly certain.

      She placed another blueberry in front of him and watched, head tilted. Maybe if she could gain his trust he would let her look at his wing. She definitely didn't want to get bit by a wild animal.

      we travel on the road to adventure, on a desert highway straight to the heart of the sun
      like lovers and heroes, and the restless part of everyone; we're only at home when we're on the run
    • New

      Michael's eyes followed her hand as it plucked another berry from the basket - which he just noticed she was holding - before placing it in front of him. Michael was hungry. He knew that. His last meal had been yesterday afternoon - he had found a couple french fries that had missed the trash can. These fresh berries were like a blessing. His moment of hesitation was gone. He snapped up the berry, head tilting back as he swallowed it. For the time being, everything was forgotten, including his wing. He was warm, and being fed. Who could ask for more?

      Michael looked up at the human again, black staring into green. The suspicion that had been plastered there just moments before had vanished. Reading the expressions of a bird was obviously hard, but the bird was feeling intense gratitude. Shifting his body a little, he nestled more into the paper towel-sweatshirt nest and rested his beak on the fabric.

      Then a thought crossed his mind, and his head shot up. He couldn't stay here! He had to get moving before the snow got here! If Michael was snowed in, he'd be doomed. The northern states were his home, but he needed a warmer climate to hide in while he resumed his human form. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't stay a bird forever. The longer he stayed a bird, the more it would hurt to change back. Which was annoying.

      The crow pushed himself to his spindly legs, stretching out one wing as he squawked out a thank-you. Then, with a few steps and a hop, he was outside the box, waddling over to the edge of the counter.

      The post was edited 1 time, last by TheCakinator09 ().