Cold start

A cold start is the idea if reading a starting post and through no context messaging with your own reply. Either by introducing your character in that moment or just something in space and time. It's a more organic way to RP, rather than back, and forth questions all the time.

Just format it "role play reply to post number 1. 2. 3, etc, then your reply." Also if you prefer both of us to use third person, no issue.

I normally do 3rd person and multiple paragraphs. I'll reply when able. I am trying to take a break from my excessively smut ridden Rps for something a bit more challenging and engaging.

Roleplay 1 Iraq 2007-

    I sat in a lawn chair several years past working, in what was left of it. A sunbleached mess of plastic, stained tan, and white by sand, and sun. More sitting on the sand bag under it, that held it down. While, at the same time, remaining in the aluminum frame. The air was cold. Cold for here at lease. It was common to get a 40° drop in temperature at night here.

   Looking up with Nods (night vision goggles) to see more stars was such a private move but what else was there to do? What could I do? Instead I reached down and held the hand of my friend. It was cold and stiff now. The fingers didn't respond they way they should. Not when you were dead anyway. The rest of the Platoon of tankers were inside. Still ringing and settling into yet another new normal. Yet another set of names they would avoid saying. Keep it inside. Keep it tight. Just for now.

   For now I sat by the helicopter pad. It had already left with 2nd Platoon's wounded. Hard to say they were lucky. Hell, if given a choice, I think most of use would crawling in a bag, then limp around, numbing it the rest of our lives. Still...

   The COP (combat out post) was small. Just 800meters  from ECP (Entry Control Point) to Mess. We inherited this palace of a shit hol,  lucky as we were. You always named your COP after a letter of the military alphabet till someone died in the outfit. This one had a name. Nepsa. COP Nepsa was just a collection of barrier. Three hesco bags of sand high (2 stories). Then pickets held triple stranded (staked) wire over that. Towers at the high points around it. 4 in total, then an Eagle's nest, atop the mosque we used as our company HQ. All 64 tankless soldiers lived in this 800 x 800 meter box. Tenets in Tents, buried in with sand bags for protection and wind. Tankers without a tank. T.W.A.T.s so the saying goes.

   Well this Twat was me. SSG Brown. A blue eyed North Carolina boy who found himself in charge now of Third Platoon. He was holding the hand of his best friend. The now dead SFC Tonk. "You know this is fucking gay." Tonk said from his bag. The bag moving with the wind. My over stressed and tired mind happy to hear his voice.

  "Fuck you. I only do it to see you hard." I joked back. To tired. To drained to know how mad I was going.

   "Those boys. They'll follow you." He said now. Feeling the world like he squeezed my hand back.

   "They shouldn't. " I hissed back. Shocking myself by the venom in my voice. Looking at the body of the 22 year old Platoon Leader next to him. "He followed me."

   "Happens. Stop being a bitch. Time to sack up. Brown, Brown.... Br-

  "Staff Sergeant Brown!" Came my name again as if by magic there was a helicopter here now and a pretty little red head helicopter door medic in my face. Had I fallen asleep? She had her hand on my hand. Trying to pry it from SFC Tonk's dead one. "Staff Sergeant. I need you to let go." She looked like she could have prided him off me of she wanted while I was out. Just thought better than to risk it.

     I looked up at her green eyes with my NODs still on. Unsure which was the dream. I looked around in a confused fog. "Two dead. Battle Roosters-"

  She pushed my hand away and a team took my friend from me. I went to stand up and the tiny 5'1 95lbs woman pushed my back down. "We got it from here. Get some rest Jake. " said SPC Heather Rose.

  As she left I felt a weight sat on my chest. I couldn't fully breath. It kept me planted on that bag of sand till the Blackhawk leap from out little grey concrete pad and away. Fast and low. It was still again. So still that I barely noticed the small tiny woman next to me. An and bag leaning against her foot. Clean uniform. Clean hair. She even smelt like a woman. It was uncommon outside very few jobs then for a woman to serve.

   She was.... it's hard for you to understand. It would be like being shown a rose when you had never seen one. Time stopped for me. I guess you could say that tonight was a night for lost, gain, held, and confused time. She couldn't be real. But that hadn't stopped me from speaking to my friend one last time. So what if she wasn't real? What if she was? Tonight, I could either have kissed her on the lips or put a gun in my mouth. Both I would have closed my eyes for and welcomed with the same passions.

   "Are you real?"

https://images.app.goo.gl/4uZqb895KtMFLomd8 [face claim for SPC Heather Rose]

https://images.app.goo.gl/drGgZYCPkbQRnrnd9 [SSG Brown, Jake. Face claim. Change eyes to blue]

Role Play 2 Hellsing- 

    Dead was a strange thing. It seldom has a place in society. In the normal. In the day to day. However it's all around us. Constant. It's never outside what we have always done. However, when Maddam Hellsing's father died, formality set into motion felt... unfair.

   The last living Male pure blooded Hellsing had fallen not to poison, combat, beast, or a broken heart. Not disease or failure of the body. Sir Charles Van Hellsing died 1780, December 15th in his bed. Old age of just 55. No enemy to seek revenge on. No Army to raise.

   He left behind his daughter who he raised without his wife after her vanishing at the girls 12th birthday. Magic gone wrong. Still Walter, the head family butler was still here. A staff of 50 handmaid and butlers. And a standing guard of 100 Hellsing knights.

    Like any family they all wanted to dress in black, curl into a ball, and pull the covered over their heads but here they were.

   The wake had music playing down stairs to violins of all things! Pianos going. The ancient family manor bustled of rich and influential people from all over the world. Here to kiss the ring. Forge new ties to the new and possibly.... LAST Hellsing. For the daughter had never taken a husband. Sired no young. Nor had any suitors. On top of this assault on theor grieve, possible suitors floked around in power and frill like polished peacocks. Ready to dazzle and win affections not but a day after burying her father. These people.

   The day prior had been wet. Barely able to stand under the force of the rain but stand they did. Walter, her, and Queen Elizabeth.  No guards. No ceremony. It just wasn't they way. Not for a hellsing. You carried your loved. You buried your love. Walter and her made the work of it. Elizabeth at her age wouldn't be moved. Goodness knows why she let herself get a fever out there but the Queen waited to bury a friend. In his way.

   Muddy, soiled, wet, and with aching souls they both crawled in and pulled their rapped family down unto them. Wrapped with holy water washed fabric. They salted him against possession. Blessed him from curse. Wrote the 23 wards. Then poured golden oil over him. Walter leaning down to say words to his master one last time. Crawling out he waited to her to light him. So that none may use any part of him in ritual, magic, or harm. You have not had a bad day till you bury your father and light him on fire. It was then Walter and Elizabeth cried. It would have been a matter of impossibility to determine who loved him more.

  Not but hours later here they were. The Queen was long back at her home. Recovering in more ways than one. While they were here. Putting on airs for people they wouldn't have stepped over on the street. 

   See, 200 years had past since the last major monster happening. Since then maybe a werewolf in Russia needed putting down. A siren colony on a distant set of rocks butchered. A witch found in Aisian limiting trade progression. For over 2000 years England, Spain, Egypt,  India, South Africa, Peru, Whales, Ireland,  Scottland, Greenland, Netherlands, Poland,  etc all used the great Hellsing clan and their vast Army of trained monster hunters to deal with this problem.

   But as the need diminished so did the need and funds for an Army. Pretty soon sons left to start their own families. Their hellsing blood ties cut. Soon only the ceremonial position of "First Hellsing" remained in England. Always the 13th permanent voting seat in parliament. No one knew now exactly what the mysterious Hellsing family was, or did. They knew they were old. With old Money! Companies all over. Invetments. Investors. seen at royal weddings to Make the new King and Queen take the secret meeting. Always a treat to discuss what that could be. But you also got to see their scary knights!

  Down stairs guess pointed and giggled. Looking at the masked knights. Each having a custom made mask to hide theor faces. Hellsing service was a secret duty. Usually a high honor as warriors were not choosen or sent but had to volunteer and seek out the family. Rumor was it was extremely hard to become a hellsing knight. And they were right.

    Rather than a musket the knights had a group of flint pistols in a bust of five on them in their own choosen arrangement. A high spear or a long Katana like bushido. So it was all a very exciting opertunity to get to come to this Hellsing "realignment." Most saw it as an exciting party to talk about in social circles later. They didn't give a fuck about her father and neither did the people in the staff give two shots about them.

   As the weeping kitchen staff made busy the evenings refreshment, a cook pushed open a large wall sized drinking barrel door to the homes ancient cellar. Lit only with old red candles, he expertly walked the loose brick floor of old candle wax to pull a bottle. Not noticing the deterioration on the back wall.

   Through that back wall was a forgotten thing. So forgotten I left it out on purpose. See there have been attacks over these past 200 years. Werewolves. Sirens. Genies. Harpies. Maybe a witch or... well. Things. But what you did not hear me say. What I would never say. Was vampire. See, those things were hunted to extention. Hard to kill. Almost as easy to spread as werewolves. Hard to snuff out. But for some reason it happened at all at once over a 20 year period. During the French crusades. Attributed and gifted to the world by  the lovely and famous Jon De La Arch and Hellsing's own George Von Hellsing the first. Before the Church ultimately burned her for being a which of course. "No good deed", as they sat.

   I say that because of what lay bellow. I say that for something had been buried. Somethings you just can't kill. Not with fire, Iron, stone, blade, bomb, drowning, poison, blessing, curse, or God. For it was God who first made him. I was God who punished and seen him fit to punish the world hinch forth. For 200 years he swayed. Behind this wall. Upside down. Wrapped in silver holy chains. Bound in ruitual leather. His dry skin wrapped to bare bone. His black hair slowly matting the dirt floor. His sudden in eyes burying red and hot. Driven even move insane as his ability to scream had gone long long ago. Here he did not rest. The forgotten secret of the Hellsings. The forgotten reason. The forgotten deal. Why no monster treads on the Vadican. Why no Monster draws breath in English lands. Why England expanded its Empire from its tiny island sooooo fast...

   Tonight, the last Hellsing will die but be born again. Tonight humanity will be reminded why it looks out in the dark of night from its camp fires and fears what it can not see or know. Tonight the world will remember Alucard.

   A knock came at the door of the study

 A fire almost dead to embers. The voice of a friend. Walter: "My lady Hellsing. Are you ready?"

https://images.app.goo.gl/EVRQhPvopZjyGxKx5 [subject to your changes, field wear]

https://images.app.goo.gl/FvGRVpYvAZokKWFKA [subject to your changes, a lady in morning]

https://images.app.goo.gl/NuptnCTVQKUxArqU7 [Alucard base look]

https://images.app.goo.gl/TXLXxQs1zJE218nu9 [Walter]

https://images.app.goo.gl/1Y5Rg7MXQhxWJPga8 [Gabriel]

https://images.app.goo.gl/YmosabxztxG6g6J37 [base model Hellsing Knights]

https://images.app.goo.gl/FxqStrX4erWriGvb9 [example of a Hellsing mask, usually art based on their region of origin]

Role play 3, Supernatural- 

   A train rushes by over the overpass with a loud horn. Making Jullian wake up with a blade out. Reaching for a face that isn't there. A cold sweat on his tanned face. Metallic blaring in his old 1972 blacked out Nova. His shirt in the rolled up window to his left as it had died.

   Gulping down some dry cold air. He shivered and started the car. Thankful it cranked. He hadn't moaned to fall asleep. Looking over at the now empty seat to his right he rubbed his face. 30 felt like 30 today. How long had he been hunted for? It felt like he had never not been doing it.

   Steeping out for some air he sucked in more of the air in this Colorado mountain town. His boots Brown, cheap, borrowed from a grave before salt and flames could ruin them. Standing up in faded now grey jeans. He pulled his red and white flannel back on

 Buttoning it. Feeling the welcome wake up of the chilly air. The world was white and in winter here. Chains on his tires as he bristled as the approach of a cop car just as he acted to fix his boot. Slipping his knife down inside it. Standing up to give a way he signed as the cop stopped.

   "Car trouble? Hell of a rode you got there." Said the mountain policeman. A man younger than he. A fact they both seemed to notice at the same time and take differently. 

   "No, no she is a good girl. Just drove to far. To long. Needed a rest. Just waking up and heading to.... know where Silverton is from here?"

  The COP laughed, "not sure how Google works old man?"

   "Not a fan of phones that much. Always loosing them."

   The comment earned a stare from the younger man as he leaned out and punched his plate into his computer. Waiting to see what came back. "Ah, well... you just about could have slept in Silverton. Just keep going. Maybe 10 exits." no warrents came back the computer. Slapping the sode of the car the officer fixed his seating and grunted. "Well, ill let you get on. Lets pick a proper place to rest next time Mr...."

  "Graves. Jullian Graves. And I will." Jullian said. Tipping his no existent hat and giving a winning smile of bright whote teeth.

  Getting the same back the COP let feeling no more at ease about Mr. Graves than Graves did of him. But he was here for a reason. Something was killing young girls.

https://images.app.goo.gl/UL8BHZZVXNv6bqi1A [Jullian Graves]

https://images.app.goo.gl/tWBPnYQXSpgtiFdK8 [his car, not those tires but regular stock rims with fatter wheels.