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[SOLD Roderic 1,000] .::.Auction Card: Amaranthia.::. 2016
Posted: 18 Jun 2016, 14:29
by Amaranthia
This is your chance to purchase a a piece of artwork crafted by Amaranthia, the elusive founder and Owner of The Necropolis. Ask her anything you would like, though do not be surprised if you do not appreciate the answer.
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RP Restrictions
* Character Death (RP-wise): No.
* Discipline: No.
* Torture: No.
* Other: This is buying a set of graphics for you, RPwise Amaranthia will be doing Design work on your behalf. I will offer a Live RP session, and a banner/avatar set.
The following people will have their bids ignored:
None.
Re: .::.Auction Card: Amaranthia.::. 2016
Posted: 02 Jul 2016, 12:25
by Roderic
After giving BB a nice one finger salute and getting back something pretty equal, I move on to the other cards and make a bid on an unfamiliar face.
"One Thousand Dollars. Ric."
I move on after signing my name, to look at the other cards and what they're offering.
Re: .::.Auction Card: Amaranthia.::. 2016
Posted: 03 Jul 2016, 12:51
by Amaranthia
The brightly lit LED screen switched from the auction price to "SOLD for $1,000"
Amaranthia raised her brow, the individual seemed familiar yet she couldn't quite place them.
"Please make the necessary arrangements and I'll need the basics for your commission please," She looked down at her iPad, a recent purchase after someone tried hacking into the Necropolis' mainframe, to look for his name "Roderic."
Re: .::.Auction Card: Amaranthia.::. 2016
Posted: 05 Jul 2016, 10:06
by Stonehouse
To say that Grant Stonehouse had been keeping a low profile would be a monumental understatement. Any lower and the tall Englishman would be claiming the gold medal at the Olympic limbo dancing championships. Harper Rock was littered with clowns, and Stonehouse had never really been much of a fan of the circus. Rather than mingling with the masses, the dedicated entrepreneur had generally kept himself to himself, focussing on his moneymaking ventures.
However, something had drawn him out of the shadows, like a mystical pipe enticing the cobra to leave the comfort of its wicker basket. It was auction time. Stonehouse had offered his services up to the highest bidder during the previous cattle market, an escapade that had lead to a few interesting “friendships” being forged, but more importantly, to a tidy sum of cash being made. It was easy money, money that paid for the creation of two new business enterprises.
This time around, Stonehouse didn’t want to place himself on the centre of the stage. Now was not the occasion to parade about like a flamboyant peacock, it was a time to be inconspicuous like a tiny sparrow. Anonymity was key, so the normally elegant gentleman decided to be far more subtle than usual, choosing to wear a dark hoodie and army surplus combat pants rather than his preferred choice of a tailored suit.
Stonehouse casually entered the venue for the soiree, a nightclub called the Necropolis. He was fairly unfamiliar with the building, and more than likely would be a stranger to most of the clientele. Socializing was an unnecessary distraction on this particular evening; the businessman was here to view the goods on offer, before vanishing into the night once more.
One “slave” instantly leapt out at Stonehouse like a crazed jack-in-a-box wielding a blood-soaked axe. The owner of the nightclub, a woman called Amaranthia, had made herself available. Ideal, thought Stonehouse, surely she would be the type of person worth an introduction? How disappointing, then, for Stonehouse to discover that he’d entered the fray a little too late, and that his initial target had already been sold.
“$1,000?” whispered Stonehouse to himself. “Well, isn’t that a shame.”
With a gentle puff of his cheeks, Stonehouse moved on, keen to browse through the rest of the ponies on parade.