Player → Rem
Player Journal → rem_sama

AIM → remdatenshi
EMAIL → mirriem@gmail.com

PREFERRED CONTACT → AIM, PM

✕ ✕ ✕

HOW'S MY DRIVING?

This'll be my first time bringing Saïx back into the roleplay scene proper, so I am concerned that I might be a little rusty/a little off, not to mention that there's some new material (no matter how small) to work ( Read more... )

( --and has a dark side which he never shows to anybody. )

( The Mun )

How quiet it's suddenly become.

This village really is the same as it's always been. [ The light crunch crunch crunch of new snow accompanies his voice, as does the occasional snap of a brittle twig underfoot. ] I'm not particularly surprised.

To alter little, to go nowhere, it's particularly--[ But he stops there, as if that line of thought was ( Read more... )

So now we fight for them.

Some of us, at least. [ Saix, for his part, sounds completely unmoved by this. He's kept well to himself for the past weeks, aside from...

Mm. ] Is it too late for celebrations?

In honor of the righteous going off to war. [ You'd have to listen very closely, but there is just a hint of disdain in his voice. ] It would ( Read more... )

--d something happen?

It...must have.

[ A boy in blue and white with yellow wings poking through new holes in his top is sitting on the snow outside of the grocery shop, journal open on his lap. On either side of him are bags of food and toiletries that, formerly, he had been carrying ( Read more... )

[ it's rather late in the evening - or early in the morning, depending on your perspective, when the following message appears in the journals. ]I remember this place. And I remember all of you ( Read more... )

[Who doesn't care about all the new people?

Saix doesn't care about all the new people.

To show just how much he doesn't care, he's in the clothing shop, methodically picking out replacements for clothes that were damaged on the way to the village.]

[A man is approaching the north edge of town late in the evening, the cold, harsh winds whipping his somewhat battered coat around him. He's looking a little the worse for wear, with tears in his clothing here and there, frozen, muddy snow caked on his boots, and his hood pulled down low over his face to block out the icy bombardment from the wind ( Read more... )

[the words are written in straight, harsh lines; they read like a diary entry, one that the writer does not expect other parties to be privy to] At least the puppet lacked the audacity to raise a hand against me. Roxas has shown himself to be of the opposite nature. His unexpected burst of relative competency has led, through some convoluted and ( Read more... )