Comment on One x One SEARCHING by Methuselah87

Hey! I'm Methuselah87! Because I am a bit of a ditz, I never knew there was a forum here!

I am a veteran roleplayer with about five or six years of experience on gaiaonline.com.

It doesn't look like here that I can make profiles and such,
so I'll just give you a sample.
OH! I only play men. I can play women, but don't prefer it.

Yaoi or straight doesn't matter to me, I enjoy both.
But no lesbians! No offense, I'm just not comfortable with that.

I'm interested in:
* Sherlock - I can play John or Sherlock
* Rise of the Guardians - I play Jack
* Teen Titans - I can play Robin, Jericho, Hot Flash, or Beast Boy
* Young Justice - I can play Robin, Superboy, Kid Flash, or Captain Marvel
* Batman and Robin - I play Robin
* Artemis Fowl - I play Artemis
* Leviathan - I can play Alek or Deryn
* Clockwork Angel - I can play Will or Jem
* Soul Eater - I play Death the Kid
* xxxHolic - I can play Domeki or Watanuki
* Code Geass - I can play Suzaku or Lelouch
* Godchild - I can play Cain, Disraeli, or Cassain
* Loveless - I play Ritsuka

Anything else in mind? Ask away! I'm here daily to check up!

Here's my sample! I post plenty, at first, but I usually match what you write because it's what I have to go off of. : ) This is from a Rise of the Guardians RP I had in gaia.

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It spiraled like a twisting ribbon in the breeze; in fact, it was the breeze itself - the wind, curling down with a chill for the city. A very particular chill. A familiar chill, and right on time, like always. A Jack Frost chill. Soaring down through the clouds, straight as an arrow and hollering with excitement, a child who looked to be no more than seventeen was flying on the wind with a staff clutched in his hands. His blue eyes were alight, his white hair was wild, and as he soared, a grin curled his lips, mischief growing in his face. He was wrapped in a blue cloak bound at his throat and a white dress shirt, unbuttoned and worn. It was tucked in and belted at his waist, where khaki trousers stretched down, tattered at the ankle. He wore no shoes and no gloves. Not even a pair of socks. As he descended on New England in the chill of the first breath of winter, the city faced him as it always had, for years. The years he'd been awake as Jack Frost. That made it... what? Late 1800's? Everyone was dressed pompously, erect and proud as he glided over them, casting his chill about. Ladies clutched their jackets and trembled with cold, men clutched their hats and mumbled about the cold air. The children turned from where they were playing and smiles lit their faces. If the first chill was coming - that meant snow was not far behind! All around the cobblestone streets, the warm glow of sunset came, and Jack blew his cold all around. It wrapped the homes and lakes, tinging the water with frosted ice, and crept up on window panes.

When the sun had gone down and warm lamps lit the streets, Jack drifted down to check on the homes. Here and there he would lower himself at a window, lying on his belly, using his staff as a broomstick, and peer through the curtains to see the people he created the cold for. They sat in their homes, the women weaving and the men fretting over their books, the rooms lit by the fireside and candles on every table. Here, in America, the women had become an important part of the labor force ; where elsewhere, they still resisted letting women do much else but he housewives. It was... interesting, to say the least, to listen to the women chat, either bored, excited, or annoyed, about their new found jobs around the men. Working for lower wages, sure, but still working. They competed to see how many men they could out-do at work that day, and as Jack moved from house to house, he gauged that the men did not like it. He frowned. Their women were strong here, independent. Why would they have a problem with that? "Defiance," the men spat, complaining to each other in small company or bars. "Women? Working?! This is humiliating for the young boys at the factories, and bad for the females' attitudes!" Jack drew closer to the window of a particular bar, where four men with thick mustaches and high hats were speaking in close quarters. He pressed his nose to the glass and it began to spread frost on the pane. "They've never spoken back so much," the second one raged. "my daughter told me to stuff it last night, because she had a job and got a promotion over one of her male classmates! It's ridiculous!" The others made noises of angry agreement and called for more brandy.

Jack swirling in his cloak and landed on the ground, his staff clacking against the cobblestone as he landed. He didn't see what was so bad about women working. They were stronger willed now. So what? He liked a girl with at least a little spice. Shrugging, he pushed back the hood of his cloak and strolled into the city square. There, he hopped onto a stone fountain and peered deep into the chilly water. It didn't matter if he was out in public, in the air, or at a window, nobody saw him anyway. So here he stood, and reached out, dipping the end of his staff into the water. It froze at once, spreading out like a flame, eating up all the water until it was frozen solid. Jack turned his eyes to the sky. Tonight was a new moon, wasn't it? So his father moon would be invisible. He sneered moodily. Good thing. He didn't want to see him. Again, he'd asked about his purpose, and again he'd been left in the dust. After all, he was a child. He'd had no father to teach him - his memories of his passed life were gone now - no one had taught him how to be, and how to live. Of course, no one else was Jack Frost, either. So it only made sense that when he'd opened his eyes and saw the moon had created him that he'd be his parent. No parent stayed silent for so long, and let their child run wild. Not that he'd ever seen, anyway. All the humans had parents who cared, even if they didn't show it often. But they at least showed it. Jack sighed and sat down heavily on a lip of the fountain halfway up it's peak, an ice shelf that fit him perfectly. He stared down a his staff sadly. "And here I am again," he said aloud, "making my rounds, as always. Nothing will ever change." He swung his legs and looked up at the gathering clouds and pointed his staff up at them, flashing a bit of ice from its tip. That flash flew into the clouds, and they all lit up blue for a moment, and then dimmed. Slowly, ever so slowly, snow began to fall, and soon it was fluttering all over the city, and Jack, twinkling in his stormy eyes.