Describe yourself in the manner of your Novel’s Universe (serious)

[Rhaps]

His look compels mystery, a man that look eeriely similar to a woman, in other words, a femboy. Not by his own choice but by genetics, playing a silly prank.

Yet for someone who would be a joke character, being there for the sake of being inclusive for... whatever reason, he always stay in the background. His sharp gaze, brown irises so dark they might as well be black, observes everything with keen interest.

He would joke about doing terrible things. Nobody knows if those are just jokes or genuine threats. But behind that mask of cruelty, he is a good person, who outside of causing harm at a whim will help anyone with all of his strength.

An enigma, for someone to be so cruel, he can be so kind. That is how humans are, he is no exception. Contradiction is what maks him a human...

 

[T.K._Paradox]

The young man had a rosy complexion especially in his cheeks, his short wavy hair was the color of wet sand on a sunny day and his eyes were the color of October moss.

He was short and stout, also possessing wide shoulders and hair lined every bit of his body all the way to his knuckles. His face was unusually stern and brutish with his naturally frowning face, small but wide nose, and arched eyebrows that looked like a wooly caterpillars had decided to rest on his face.

Not to mention the many scars, both faded and pronounced that riddled his body .

 

[ElijahRyne]

Prompt: Describe yourself in the style of your novel.

example for myself:

Brown eyes alternating between bright as a sparrow and dull as a beetle flick around the room. The bow of her lips twang as a stolen moment leads to internal laughter. They fall flat once again as the bowman returns to the present. The string is pulled taught as her mouth stretches to form a frigid smile, apples of her cheek frozen by the frost of professionalism. Thin fingers take on an a robotic clacking pattern as the thoughts whirr and the eyes darken. Concentration brings wrinkles to the forehead and rabbit-like twitching to the nose. The face falls flat, the email sent. The business smile returns, head tilted to listen better to the higher powers. A worker ant sent sprawling in a hamster’s well, a rat in a cat race, a china plate in a bull shop. She contemplates herself, and, unimpressed, burrows back into her work.

There laying in bed was a person. With one hand between their head and a pillow, the other typing on a tablet. They had messy hair and were wearing headphones. I could hear a faint drum beat and humming coming from those headphones. That sound brought me back to when I was younger. I used to go walking with headphones on oblivious to the world around me, caught up in my own world. I carefully sneaked past this person and left their house.

 

[HungrySheep]

A black-haired girl with straight bangs, bearing no remarkable qualities.

I tend to describe characters relative to their importance in the story. As for myself, I'm just another NPC doomed to the wagie life.

 

[ConansWitchBaby]

That one guy with the face. The angry one that doesn't disappear even when smiling. Perpetually indifferent unless something gets his attention. With an unassuming build draped in baggy clothing. Is that a bird landing on his head?

 

[Kalliel]

A dude.

 

[breakofdawnstories]

Prompt: Describe yourself in the style of your novel.

example for myself:

Brown eyes alternating between bright as a sparrow and dull as a beetle flick around the room. The bow of her lips twang as a stolen moment leads to internal laughter. They fall flat once again as the bowman returns to the present. The string is pulled taught as her mouth stretches to form a frigid smile, apples of her cheek frozen by the frost of professionalism. Thin fingers take on an a robotic clacking pattern as the thoughts whirr and the eyes darken. Concentration brings wrinkles to the forehead and rabbit-like twitching to the nose. The face falls flat, the email sent. The business smile returns, head tilted to listen better to the higher powers. A worker ant sent sprawling in a hamster’s well, a rat in a cat race, a china plate in a bull shop. She contemplates herself, and, unimpressed, burrows back into her work.

That person was a little bit weird. Okay. Not just a little, but big weird. The type that would make people raise their brows by how random and out of place this person was in a middle of an always-in-order crowd. That weird.