SK Wynter

[quote]Of course! Name one protagonist that was ALBINO! I can't think of one, but I can think of plenty of VILLAINS who were Albino![/quote] Annan's pretty much neutral at this point. Her alignment will shift depending on who she ends up with after the island.

If it makes any difference, Annan will be getting back to proper land. Somehow. And possibly not all in one piece. In all seriousness, someone could come in on a cruise ship and I wouldn't mind, as long as it makes sense you'd be sailing.

Doesn't mean a Xinyan countryman could be sailing. The topic is fully open; if anyone has issues with such and wants me to make it closed after X amount of people, my PM box is open. To get the creative juices flowing, consider this — albino parts are considered a good on the black market in some circles. Edit: Executive Minister, you are more than welcome to RP that out.

It's easy to fit a plausible reason for why you'd come across Annan and Sargun's as-of-now-unnamed character. He's on a yacht, the island could be in someone's territory, and not everyone on the seas has good intentions for stranded albinos.

What was the reason and why had he came? Who owned the boat that looked so much the same? The young albino looked far out to sea; she barely saw the outline, much less a figure...that was calling. "Hello? Hello!" A human voice on the wind, distant as a dream; Annan blinked in surprise, not sure what to think. She took a little step into the tickling waves, straining her eyes to make out what she saw. Overhead seagulls cried out loud, their bellowing the trumpets greeting the man who had come around. To block out the sun, even with weakening from the clouds, she raised a hand to better see the visitor about. "...Hello?" Her voice was cracked; how long had she been mute? How long had her voice been in disuse? Her vocal cords dry, her throat feeling weak, she tried to yell again with a slightly louder, "Hello!" The lonely rocks of the island echoed with her voice. It gave a sense of identity to this girl on the shore; her voice had a lilt, somewhere from the North, from a land of woad and bagpipes blasting full. The Scottish accent was not too thick, so it had to be listened to to discern. Otherwise, it would be drowned among crying seabirds and barking seals, lapping water and scuttling beasts on the rocks. Just as the sea could sweep everything out in a single take, so too had the sea taken her for so long.

[quote]Well, I can see it would be interesting to have a citizen of my nation RP'd by someone. Though Annan would not be ethnically from the region, of course, it's possible, if you like, for her to be a citizen of the Xinyan Republic, the nation I RP. It hasn't been around too long so there isn't much history that can't be learned from its news thread.[/quote] She'll go with whoever picks her up first in the [i]And Woe that She Should Wet Her Feet[/i] thread. If anyone is interested, all they have to do is reply to the thread.

[quote]Excellent RPing SK, very well written.[/quote] Merci, Californian. Her character was inspired by the Malkavian vampire clan in the Old World of Darkness. [quote]Tea, of course, is certainly an elegant, civilised drink, there is no argument against that. One who cannot appreciate the fine nuances in taste and aroma of the different varieties of tea cannot claim to possess a refined palate.[/quote] Indeed. [quote]Also, where is SK Wynter's country located? Er, I assume you got land somewhere.[/quote] Actually, I've decided to try a different route in my roleplaying. I wish to have Annan live as a citizen in Bob, and then decide if my little albino is going to rule a country or not. Of course, I do not wish to RP as a citizen in someone's country without their prior consent, and I do not know the history behind most of the nations (as the game can shift radically), so I'm seeing if anyone will pick Annan up, and go from there.

But how could he be called a gentleman if he is a cannibal? Unless, of course, you are referring to one who would fit the Noble Demon trope.

[quote]Clearly, my friend, you are accustomed to that muck you call 'coffee' that is sold at corporate joints like Starbucks. That mud is as much coffee as Mao Zedong was a loving democrat. To appreciate true coffee, one must venture to the few places in which real coffee can be found--though I don't doubt you would rather settle down with your 'fine whiskey'.[/quote] What about tea? Tea is a fine, dignified drink that has been sipped by some of the greatest minds of our world. Its varieties and methods of preparation are something to be appreciated; why, just look at the elegance of a Japanese tea ceremony.

[size="2"]((OOC: This is an open topic.))[/size] [hr] What was it about that wondrous blue? That vast expanse, the oceanic way? Foam and tide licked at her feet — bare as the stones that held creatures discreet. Indeed, the unnaturally pale lass had nearly had a toe clipped by a wayward crab, the child of Cancer scuttling across the stones after she apologized most dearly. Like her, they were but allies, compatriots, both lost upon a speck in the great and unchanging waves. What was it about those of albinism, with their pale skin, white hair and sharp, blue and red eyes? Why were they held up so high in culture, so demonized and worshipped, because of a mere trait that came with drawbacks like photophobia? Here she stood, at the edge of her abandoned little isle, a living stereotype of the white and mysterious waif. She clutched tightly the scrap of a thick hide, taken from a fur seal she had ambushed some time before. Annan Rusby had stood many times on that stony shore. She watched, with her red eyes calm, as the horizon never changed. A boat in the distance, yes, or some sort of migrating whale, but neither came for her. She wasn't quite sure either why she was waiting; she had dragged herself, a year and a half prior, onto the deserted shore with a bloodied head. Clinging to life after letting go of a scrap of wood, she remembered little: a storm. A gunshot. A tipping boat and hissing electronics, sparks flying as saltwater overtook the electrical system. And then her, in the water, dead and back again, this barren place her only sanctuary. She tried to remember, yes, picking at the lonesome corners of her mind, only to grow uncomfortable and migraine-ridden as she did. Repressed memories. There was a pea under the mattress, but the princess, despite her searching, her tearing, her taking a knife and cutting through the many layers with surgical precision, could not find it. Something in the deep was there, but perhaps for her sanity's sake, Annan's mind refused to yield. As such, she was forced to obey some long-gone instinct, standing at the shore and searching for human attention. That is, when the days were cloudy; the albino's pink-red eyes could barely focus as it was. Bright lights only gave way to sharp pain, knives of the sun bearing down, slicing at her malformed rods and cones and sensitive pupil. Upon the island of rock and water-creature, where no tree stood and the air was cold and salty, one might of thought Annan to snap. Isolation made the heart grow fonder, until it became jealous, delusional and needy. The mind would bend as the heart began to crack and rot, emotions strained like birds against wind and logic shrivelling like dry seaweed. Indeed, she had considered the thought of walking out into the high tide, throwing away her seal's hide to prevent any possible barrier between her and hypothermia. But woe if she should wet her feet — her pale, calloused feet with its dirty, long nails — and her head dip under, only for a hand to reach down and save her. To not reach back, to watch as help watched helplessly, the bubbles rising from her mouth in plumes of life then lost? Madness. Pure, utter madness that would make for a restless soul to haunt that little island's shores. And thus, she waited. Annan Rusby, albino, amnesiac and alone, waited for someone to take her from her prison upon the sea. [hr]