rubycitymods: (Default)
Ruby City Mods ([personal profile] rubycitymods) wrote2012-01-13 01:45 pm
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APPLICATIONS


APPLICATIONS


Applications are processed weekly, every weekend. The cut-off time for the submission of applications is 11:59PST on Saturday.
✗ Before applying, please read the FAQ and Rules pages.
✗ Please submit your application with the journal you plan to use if you have one made already. If not, another journal is fine, but we prefer your intended journal so it makes for an easier time in granting access to the mod journal and the contacts page.
✗ For very long applications, we would ask you to please separate them into various comments so that they will not take up too much of the page.
✗ Please title your application as { [CANON/CANON OC/OC]CHARACTER NAME || Series Title || reserve/no reserve || X of X } in the subect header
IMPORTANT: Our application form was edited on September 07, 2015. Please use the revised form.
✗ If you are looking for an example of what an application should be like, please refer to the application here for an example of a canon character application, and here for an original character application.


✗ Canon Application



✗ Canon OC Application



✗ OC Application



A note for CR AU applications
Ruby City does allow previous game history/CR to be brought over on a case by case basis. If you want to include this in your application please add additional sections for PERSONALITY DEVELOPMENT and PREVIOUS GAME HISTORY beneath the Personality and Background/History sections.

In these additional sections we would like to see a brief outline of your character's previous game history and how it potentially impacted on and altered their canon personality.


✧ N A V I G A T I O N ✧
ingenues: (Default)

[CANON] Historia Reiss | Shingeki no Kyojin | Reserved 2

[personal profile] ingenues 2014-01-10 05:02 am (UTC)(link)

Background:

Wiki: http://shingekinokyojin.wikia.com/wiki/Historia_Reiss

Abilities:

Having been subjected to three years of intense military training, she is competent at using weapons and possesses the fighting abilities of the average soldier. Her battle skills are average, and yet are adequate enough to place her among the top ten of her class. While she possesses great social skills, she’s not particularly field intelligent.


First Person:
[The soft voice comes to life on the network murmuring and unsure, and definitely unaware of being broadcasted to anyone at the moment.] I thought I did it right the first time, but this thing isn’t cooperating at all. Perhaps I should have asked someone to help with this after all--Oh!

I’m terribly sorry about this! I hope you didn’t have to listen to me ramble like that. I didn’t mean to inconvenience anyone. Perhaps it’s possible to talk to someone in person? I’m guessing we were given this to use in case of an emergency, but I feel like I’m wasting everyone’s time, what with making you listen to me. It’s not my intention at all!

...But if it isn’t an inconvenience, after all, I’ll be outside the building with all the little living units. I have so many things to ask. [There is a pause, as if Historia is thinking over her next words.] How do I turn this off, again?



Third Person:


When she wakes up for the second time, the panic finally starts to set in.

The first hour has gone by in a complacent daze of disbelief and confusion, mild and perplexing. There were the unfamiliar moving surroundings, unobtrusive and inoffensive in their mundanity. It is easy to keep to oneself when there’s not much required of you in a new place. Historia doesn’t miss the loud commanding voices, booming in their urgency upon waking up every day. She doesn’t mind the lack of oppressiveness in the atmosphere, reminding her that every day and any day can be her last. It is easy to stay in and stay still, willing the unfamiliarity to go away from the comfort of her new and unrecognizable room.

It is when she wakes up for the second time to witness the movement and quiet, humming noise, she does so with a start, and her heart starts racing not soon after with disquiet and urgency and discomfort. Looking outside makes it all too real that she is not anywhere resembling home. It is quaint how she’s come to call the barracks home, but the memory is at least comforting. The act of rubbing her eyes--feeling the solidity of the non-dreamlike nature of the cool glass against her palm the stale air in her lungs and the fabric on her skin reminds her that none of this is a dream. But it can very well be a nightmare.


The comfort comes with the first human face she chances upon once she arrives. The sight makes the task of smiling easy and effortless, and the words are soon out before she knows it.

“I’m glad you seem to be alright, sir,” she lets out a breath, before seriousness takes over, “I think I need help getting home.”
ingenues: by <lj user="ingenues"> (pic#6999035)

REVISION

[personal profile] ingenues 2014-01-13 01:46 am (UTC)(link)
Sorry about that! I have totally missed that part.

--
Third Person:

When she woke up for the second time, the panic had finally started to set in.

The first hour had gone by in a complacent daze of disbelief and confusion, mild and perplexing. There were the unfamiliar moving surroundings, unobtrusive and inoffensive in their normalcy. It was easy to keep to oneself when there was not much required of you in a new place. Historia couldn't miss the loud commanding voices, booming in their urgency upon waking up every day. She didn't mind the lack of oppressiveness in the atmosphere, reminding her that every day and any day can be her last. It was easy to stay in and stay still, willing the unfamiliarity to go away from the comfort of her new and unrecognizable setting.

It was only when she woke up for the second time to witness the movement and quiet, humming noise, that she did so with a start, and her heart racing shortly after with disquiet and urgency and discomfort. Looking outside had made it all too real that she wasn't anywhere resembling home. It was quaint to see how she’d come to call the barracks home, but the memory was at least comforting. The act of rubbing her eyes--feeling the solidity of the non-dreamlike nature of the cool glass against her palm the stale air in her lungs and the fabric on her skin did remind her that none of this was a dream. But it can very well be a nightmare.


The comfort then came with the first human face she chanced upon once she arrived. The sight made the task of smiling easy and effortless, and the words were soon out before she knows it.

“I’m glad you seem to be alright, sir,” she had let out a breath, before seriousness took over, “I think I need help getting home.”