All done with the changes. Sorry they took so long Flinky! Thank you for waiting for me too! *gives you a hug in thanks*

Gah! My turn to be nearly done! /flails

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Flink:

BONUS MATERIAL

Interesting neighborhood.

There was an inn. It was a charming creation, a simple structure with the maternal nature of a nun. Not the sort of nun whose bony finger could accuse through a parka and ten layers of woolen garments and still leave one smarting with guilt and bruises, but the sort of nun who simply floated about murmuring blessings and psalms. Such a nun was not entirely trustworthy nor sane, but pleasant enough in that she drifted through reality without doing worse than occasionally condemning one to the depths of hell. Which in itself was not entirely pleasant, but considerably better than being rather violently skewered by an elderly finger.

Next to this pleasant-yet-not-entirely-trustworthy inn was a bakery. It tried to appear considerably less pleasant and trustworthy than its neighbor. And it put forth quite the effort. Someone had created a cleverly placed crack in the window, and made sure that it was smudged just enough to make the glass almost too smeared to look through but not quite. And the golden words on this glass were written in a script just old-fashioned and fancy enough, and scraped away just enough to appear faded but legible enough to entice the passing hungry customer. All in all, it was a very sincere attempt at atmosphere and this effort made it seem more honest and kind than the effortlessly pleasant (and therefore rather sketchy) building to which it stood beside.

Dystopia was the one making these observations. She stood at the juxtaposition of these two buildings, left hip jutting intrusively into the space beside her where it was partially hidden by the curls of mist which seemed to gather by her side. It was as if nature thought her side too big to be pleasing to the eye, and had sent the fog to censor her. Probably thought she was too wide. What a jerk, just because she wasn't airbrushed up to be a set of talking tits and hips...

Well. If the small companion of mist was nature's way of expressing disapproval of Dystopia's figure, there would be some other blinding freak of nature in the near future. The meager coins in her possession were clinking soft farewells to each other, knowing that some would soon be spent on something edible and reasonably fattening. Not literally clinking... There was no sign of a pocket on the sashes of cloth she wore as garments and if the coins were indeed clinking, one would worry of where they were being stored.

The reader is now saved from pondering the rather scandalous answer to that question by a piercing scream which catches Dystopia's attention.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-"

A piercing scream caught Dystopia's attention. The sound appeared to be coming from the innermost depths of the bakery. And it was getting louder. Such screams generally implied that something unpleasant, such as an axe murderer or the dentist himself, was within the immediate area. Others may have spent the next few moments contemplating an escape route. Dystopia stood her ground and wondered why a human being would want to create such an unpleasant sound for a prolonged period of time. She had similar sentiments to opera.

"-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-" Thunk.

The scream suddenly stopped. And it was replaced for a moment by the sound of flesh colliding with wood. Dystopia assumed that this second sound was created when the one screaming had made close and intimate friends with the closed wooden door of the bakery. Let this be a lesson to the reader to look forward if one wishes to scream and flee at the same time.

"-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-"

Ah. It appeared whomever had crashed suffered no permanent injury. The door was jerked open and a figure shot out. It was rather comical figure, with one hand preoccupied with flailing madly and the other busy stopping a bloody nose. It promptly began to flee the premises without any word of greeting to the bemused Dystopia, who had stepped out of the way to avoid being knocked over or tread upon.

Dystopia stared after the escaping figure. Then raising both shoulders in an apathetic shrug, she turned towards the bakery and opened the door. She took note of the door and the small flecks of blood that now decorated it. As much as it added to the atmosphere of the building, she doubted this was sanitary and made further note to alert the owner should she encounter him or her.

"Hallo?" She called into the cobwebby darkness and the scent of baking, awaiting answer.

(( >.O Is that okay? ))

Hate to do this, but could everyon who's sent me a Profile please send me one more thing. I seem to have forgotten the personality section of the profile skeleton. So please PM Flink the personality for your profiles.

Also, please specify what you were going for with your profile. Funny, Sue, horror, etc.

BONUS MATERIAL

Before the barkeep could answer Zea's question about whether or not they served apple cobbler, his attention was drawn to the stool next to her. Having been zoning out and dreaming of warm food, she got quite a shock as she turned around to see a rather eccentric (and terrifying) looking harlequin sitting behind her and ordering drinks, his voice slightly muffled as if he had something in his mouth. Ever since she was a little girl and her parents had taken her to a traveling fair, Zea had had a fear of clowns. At the fair, one of the jesters had kept on following her family around and even though it wasn't an all-out sinister motion it had creeped out Zea's mother, and seeing her react like that had given Zea the same unease. "U-u-uh, nevermind. Serve him f-first." she squeaked to the barkeep, sweating like a pig. To heck with it all, she thought, How can a booberry muffin be worse than sitting in here with this guy.

After stumbling out of the bar in a blind panic, Zea breathed in the cool night air and slipped her jacket back on. Looking across to the decrepit looking building to the left of the Inn, she rubbed her hands together and took in the image. The windows were cracked and smeared with grime, the lettering on the sign declaring it to be a bakery was old and worn out, and most disturbing of all was the blood flecks on the old, fragile looking, door. Pushing on it rather gently the door creaked open and Zea stepped into the dimly-lit bakery. The inside was just as damaged and dilapidated as the outside; the arm chairs in the corner were threadbare and dusty, and the dining tables and chairs in the general center of the room were cracked and pitted from years of use (or disuse). As Zea stepped a little further into the room, she ran her finger along the surface of the table closest to her; underneath the layers of grime and who-knows-what-else the wood was actually good quality and made to last, looking to be oak of some kind.

"Hello? Is anybody there?" She called out to the oppressive silence, the lack of noise seemed to suffocate her. "I was told that this was a bakery..." Zea trailed off, watching as some of the tables in front of her seemed to part like the Red Sea in front of Moses. Utterly creeped out now Zea began to shakily turn towards the door, but before she could even take one step she felt a surprisingly comforting hand on her shoulder. Whipping around to face her attacker, Zea squeaked in surprise as she found herself standing directly in front of a rather robust man wearing a flour-covered apron and hairnet over his long ginger beard. The man smiled at Zea and extended his rather large hand, he seemed friendly enough so Zea took it hesitantly. His skin was ice cold but for some reason that didn't seem to bother her, he seemed a rather comforting presence and not sinister at all. "Hark, friend!" He boomed with a slight German accent, shaking Zea's seemingly-tiny hand in his large vice-like grip. "Not many dare venture between these four walls!" He beamed, still shaking Zea's hand like an over excited octopus. "I cannot remember the last time I had a guest..." He sighed, a little more melancholy now. Finally letting go of Zea's hand he perked up again, sitting up a little straighter and bowing in a gentlemanly manner. "Ah, where are my manners! Come, come, I shall fix this place up for you! We cannot have a clean bottom on a dirty seat now, can we?" he laughed friendlily, clapping his hands three times. Before he had even finished, the overturned bar-stools righted themselves, the dilapidated armchairs off to the side began to sew themselves back up, and even the broken oil-lamps seemed to fix themselves.

Zea, who was now shaking her hands to regain blood circulation, grinned as the bakery became a warm and welcoming place. "Wow, that's awesome!" she smiled when everything was righted and fixed, pushing down on the satin cushion-seat of the chair nearest to her. Turning to look back at the baker, she sat down. "You're not human, are you?"
The baker sighed and grabbed the seat opposite Zea's, scratching absently at the bridge of his nose. "It is true. Once, long ago, I was just a simple man but one night in Autumn, just as the leaves were beginning to turn, I was kidnapped and tortured by the members of some kind of cult. I was kept there for many months, but eventually the excessive electric shocks they were giving me as the tried to appease their ungodly deity triggered something deep within me. Physically, I am dead, but somehow the cultists have made me immortal. It has been so for nearly five-hundred years. Some even call me a ghost, though that is not technically true."
"That's horrible!" Zea cried, laying a comforting hand on the man's shoulder. "How can you bear it?"
The man shook his head sadly, and placed his hand over Zea's. "At first it was difficult watching all of my family die, but eventually everyone I knew was dead, along with the old Adelard Jager. I wandered from place to place but eventually I settled here and set up a bakery, making it seem terrifying so I would only be serving the brave and the good. Speaking of which... Are you hungry?"
Zea grinned at Adelard (as she guessed the man's name was) and drew her hand away from his shoulder, "I could kill for a muffin right now, I hear your special is 'Booberry'?"
Adelard grinned and shook his head knowingly, "You are a human, are you not? Booberry muffins are not good for mortals. Could I interest you in some plain old blueberry instead?"
Zea sighed, "Oh, thank you for warning me. It's just that Flink suggested them to me earlier this evening and I had no idea what they were so... But anyway, yes! Blueberry would be lovely."

Flink is picking the winner for her last Bonus round! Stay tuned~

:O Gasp. /awaits

-also gasps- O_O

xD I intended my character to be something more elegant so to be amusing, I had to try and convey it through my writing style. /facepalm

Don't get your hopes up, Flink takes FOREVER to judge stuff. -cackle-

[Dys] Ah, the woes of changing your writing style... I cannot do anything to make my writing interesting, it is just dull and stereotyped xD

By forever, do you mean days? Hours? Years? O_O

*pops in, nips at Flink's shoulder, dashes out* <3

@ Flink - Edorugh. D:

@ Zeap - Lol. I actually have a variety of writing styles. One of them is a more witty one, but I confess that I forced it big time here.

[Dys] I think I have one or two, but it generally depends on how I'm feeling or what I'm writing.
And, uh, I feel the need to apologise for sending you the wrong thing again xD I really wasn't thinking, I was really tired...

@ Zeap - xD No worries, as long as it made it to the right person.

I'm pretty sure it got to Flink in the end. I live in hope. xD

Yes, FLink got it. There were a lot of good entries. So Flink's being easily amused is why it'll take awhile to process. :)

Okay, good to know Flink~
Oh, wait, are you talking about the profile or bonus round? O_O

Bonus round. Flink will judge the profiles at the end, since they're a full event thing.

Oh, okay, because I accidentally sent my profile to Dystopia instead of you the first time around xD

*head desk* had a post ready to go for the RP last night that i liked, hit the wrong button and refreshed the page and lost it all, hence my lateness for a reply!

Aw, I think we've all been there at some stage, Assasin :hug:

*cracks knuckles*
Right, lets get this party started. I have a rough memory of what i wrote, so lets improve on perfect shall we?

Go, Assasin, Go! -waves pompoms-

Work is trying to keep Flink from Men.

Really? I have the same problem with work keeping Assassin from women!