So, I found a meme that is apparently extremely popular. It's called the Narrative OC Meme or something like that. It's where you pick five OC's or random characters and use each to answer the prompts provided (sounds like state testing but IT ISN'T). It's pretty fun, actually. I've been treating the questions as writing exercises...and the stories I've written so far are kinda too long to post all together, so I'm gonna post em one by one, when I finish them. This is the first one.
4. Sealand. (Hetalia) Technically my sister's OC, even though he's from the Hetalia series and I won't pretend she created him, but she did make up a completely OOC personality for him. Beeb's Sealand is a complete diva. Everything must be done his way, all the time, or he gets very snappy and snarky. Sealand is the spoiled youngest son of England, and the little brother of America and Canada. England dotes on him the most, giving him anything he wants at the drop of a hat, while his other two sons receive little attention. Sealand's favorite things include money and candy, and he has a weakness for cute outfits, sparkly nail polish, and makeup. If he ever met Poland, let's just say the two would become fast friends. Sealand often uses the enormous sums of money England gives him to purchase candy and to donate to places like the zoo, so that the animals there can "live in style, like me!" Sealand's favorite shows are Spongebob and Pokemon, and he hates football (much to his brother America's dismay). His footmen always make sure to affix a small TV to the elaborate litter called "Sealand's Chair" that he rides in, so that Sealand can enjoy his favorite shows on the go. If you ask Sealand how a certain endeavor went, he is likely to say: "It was fiiiine, but I could have gotten more money!"
Prompt: One of your characters decides to make a grand entrance into a random tavern. How does that go? Pick either Prissa Stonewall or Sealand.
Stars glittered in the midnight sky over the small English countryside village. Street lights glowed faintly, providing just enough light to see by. The streets were relatively quiet and deserted, the hour too early for nighttime drug dealers and too late for the 9 to 5 Average Joe. Nothing moved, save a noisy, canopied litter inching towards the local tavern.
The horned owls which frequented the town at night, hooting loudly from their fencepost perches, quickly took off on soundless wings when the elaborate procession clinked and clanged past. Four burly men struggled, veins popping from their temples and brows sweating, to carry their precious cargo forward. A whip lashed out from heavy curtains surrounding the litter and, cursing, the men surged onward. A pale hand reached out of the curtains and drew them aside, revealing a curious eye and a flash of golden hair.
Sealand sat impatiently in his chair, hidden by the draperies, watching the drab little world of the British town crawl past him. Peeking out of his elaborate enclosure, he was disgusted by the dusty road he traveled on. How could his own father allow such a boring, brown little village to exist in his house? There was no pink or blue or any semblance of neon shades anywhere; black, brown and gray dominated. "This village needs a major makeover, the Sealand way," Sealand grumbled under his breath. "What a bore."
He sniffed in disgust and let the curtain fall back into place. Sealand planned to bring some excitement to this dreary town. When he showed up at the tavern, wearing his best outfit and ready to meet his father, the sleazy boozehounds there would be reminded of real beauty, and England would remember why Sealand was his favorite son. Everyone would talk about his grand entrance for weeks, and America and Canada would be left in the dust.
Sealand smirked, settling back into his cushioned velvet chair. No doubt his brothers were already at the tavern, drinking a beer or two (or five, in America's case) and chatting with their father. Who cares, though? Sealand thought smugly. It's better to be fashionably late.
The litter halted suddenly, accompanied by sighs of relief from the footmen. Sealand switched off his portable television, cutting off the sound of Spongebob's annoying chatter, and waited for his servants to gently lower the litter to the ground before stepping out daintily. Merrill, Sealand's favorite ass-kisser, removed his cloak and laid it across the short, muddy expanse from Sealand's Chair to the tavern door. Sealand noticed that the entrance was a double door, straight out of an old Western and perfect for a dramatic entrance. He grinned slyly and thrust his small hands against the doors.
With a loud band similar to the report of a gunshot, the double doors flew open. Every bearded, dribbling face in the pub looked up in surprise. A dusty mug slipped from the bartender's hands, and the resulting crash dropped like a stone on the now heavy silence. Everyone's mouths were gaping wide open.
There Sealand stood in smug glory. From his gaudy top hat to the oversized bows adorning his shoes, he looked the part of a foppish nineteenth century British gentleman. He waited for a minute, tasting the silence like a delectable cake. America's face was absolutely comical. It was all he could do not to laugh. Finally, he tapped his cane twice upon the wooden floor and announced, "I have arrived. The party can really begin now!"
When no one replied, Sealand scanned his audience in haughty disapproval."Well? What are you all sitting there gawking for? Someone bring me some candy! Chop chop!"