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December Octopodes
Dec 25, 2008

Christmas is coming
the squid is getting fat!
Screw it now or never. I'm in.

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December Octopodes
Dec 25, 2008

Christmas is coming
the squid is getting fat!
1257 words I went ahead and added the extra words. I was late, no excuse.

The city lay before them. Strange how a single star can steal the eye, and change the shape of the night. St. Petersburg was silent and calm. The assistant reminisced about his youth before he met Scriabin, before his destiny. Scriabin himself dreamed of the song he had created, the song that would end humanity. Every note, every chord echoed in his head as a crooked smile spread upon his face. The flight to the Himalayas was in their near future, and with the help of his trusted assistant he would escort humanity to a higher existence.

The star had first grabbed his attention long ago, when he was just a child, but ever since it had filled his mind. Images of far off places, impossible angles, and sounds unknown to human kind filled his dreams. The star of Sirius, to so many just a regular star, was so much more to little Scriabin. Ever since he was in grade school it shaped him, sculpted him, and somehow planned every feverish, intricate step of his exterior life. He had been hailed as a genius, a prodigy, but the truth is, without that star he was nothing. Every song he ever wrote seemed to start with an image of the star, and only the faintest echoes of screams in the background. It had guided his every step and even

Years later, his health failing, he adopted a child to help him carry out his magnum opus. Performers the world over would be present, representing the best of musical and visual arts. The Apocalypse, with bells fastened to the very clouds would summon the spectators, those ancient beings, and usher in a new era of peace and understanding. He had arranged the song years ago, but the necessary details had eluded him. He locked himself away for ages working with scientists and blacksmiths on the finest of metals to create a net capable of hanging from a cloud. Another year was spent on creating a bell that had both the right tone and an effervescent presence just light enough to truly hang from a cloud. All of these details came together as he guided his assistant, shaped his young mind to observe the star and hear its message.

The assistant was going mad. At six years of age Scriabin had plucked him out of an orphanage, and at first he was excited to learn about music and how to create symphonies. Once he progressed far enough though, it all changed. The lessons, once pleasant exercises, were now tinged with madness as Scriabin would talk about a star that simply did not exist. He pretended to see it, after all this man had put food on the table before his mind started to go. He fantasized about killing him, seeing the blood spread in scarlet tendrils. Every time he thought about the song it made him angry. All of his hard work at becoming a composer like his adoptive father, and now this mess? He felt as if he was a joke, some punchline to something he didn't understand. This final work of Scriabin's made no sense, the melody, the rhythm, the chords that were formed all seemed fractured and incomplete.

The flight towards Nepal took hours, and Scriabin's humming dug deeper into the assistant's mind. Every dissonant note humming, droning, and slowly driving the assistant mad. On landing, they were greeted by a veritable mob of Sherpas, all prepared to lift the crates containing the elements of the symphony. The ascent was treacherous, and a landslide delayed them for an entire night. They lost a guide to the snowfall, and all that was left was a kukri. The assistant hardly knew what he was doing as he picked up the kukri and tucked it away in his own small bag. Later that night he sat in his tent, and slowly sharpened it. As he did, his own song sprung to mind. A few notes at first, simple, with a warlike beat. A song to shed blood by.

The next day was bright and beautiful, with just a few clouds in the sky. They ascended the peak, and saw Everest floating in the background on a sea of clouds. The Sherpas slowly opened up the crates and made their preparations according to Scriabin's orders. Somehow, the nets attached to these ornate bells were supposed to be light enough to fasten on clouds and actually lift them. Scriabin opened his pocket watch, and making a few calculations, ordered two guides to take the edges of the net. On three, they threw the net at a passing cloud, and impossibly enough it caught. The assistant stared in awe as the bell slowly rose into the air.

After the first bell the others rose quickly, and before the sun touched the horizon the preparations were ready. With the bells hung they descended further into the foothills, and waited for the performers to arrive. They arrived from around the globe, dancers, choirs, and the best orchestras in the world. At last the symphony began, a few chords that managed to soothe the assistant. The blade he had sharpened stayed safely tucked away. The next days went by in a blur, and suddenly the final day was upon them. The performance carried on until the sun was just peeking over the horizon, prepared to usher in nightfall.

As the orchestra played the final measures, Scriabin ascended the mountain with his assistant close behind him. Unlike before, there were no Sherpas. The music played into the night as they made their way to the lonely peak. As they began climbing the final length, the miraculous cloud bells began to sound. One by one, the bells rang out as some force acted upon them. As each one sounded, the net suspending them snapped, sending them tumbling through the clouds to produce a tortured clang.

This was the moment Scriabin had waited for, when everything old would be swept away. The other instruments died down, and the only thing left was the bells. The last bell rung out and the assistant saw red. One moment later, the kukri in his hand he slit Scriabin's throat. As he watched the blood spread out, he sang his war song and watched the horizon. The earth trembled as the final cloud bells rolled down hill clanging out, mixing with his own notes to create the complete chords that Scriabin needed. No expense had been spared, and nothing overlooked in Scriabin's preparation. The musical education of his assistant was just one part, as the work on the Apocalypse helped create the murderous state of mind that was necessary.

Scriabin had known he wouldn't see his work finish, and knew the final notes would be provided by his own assistant. The tremors grew in strength, and hundreds of miles away, the waves grew in intensity crashing upon the shore. The assistant realized he had been used, and yet the world didn't end. As he made his way down, he noted a star he had never noticed before twinkling in the sky. Deep below in the ocean something stirred for a moment, reached through angles unknown to man and then hit snooze. The trembling came to a halt, and the ocean waves soon calmed. As it shifted over to its other side it muttered something which could most closely be translated as "One more eon."

The sun rose on a new day, just like any other. It was done. Not well, but close enough.

December Octopodes
Dec 25, 2008

Christmas is coming
the squid is getting fat!
gently caress, I forgot the title.

December Octopodes
Dec 25, 2008

Christmas is coming
the squid is getting fat!

The Saddest Rhino posted:

We got a little tipsy yesterday and we chose for all of you the best songs to represent your stories.


December Octopodes Untitled

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XVekJTmtwqM



The car is on fire, and there's no driver at the wheel. This was really cool, and a good fit! Thanks for the backhanded compliments.

December Octopodes
Dec 25, 2008

Christmas is coming
the squid is getting fat!
May I have a crit please?

December Octopodes
Dec 25, 2008

Christmas is coming
the squid is getting fat!

Anathema Device posted:

In.

Will also crit some stories from last week if anyone asks.

Hey would it be possible to get a crit? Thanks.

December Octopodes
Dec 25, 2008

Christmas is coming
the squid is getting fat!
The Missing Pie 217 words

Her pie was missing. She had finished the apple pie, and set it to cool on the window sill. She turned away to wash up, and it vanished. She knew something was wrong, and the neighborhood kids were simply not quiet enough to pull it off. She wandered outside and quickly noticed there was one more gnome than normal in the yard. Walking over she quickly picked up the extra by the scruff of his neck.

"I know it's you Bifrons, so drop the act." The gnome pulled a face, and shifted to its true form a monstrous head attached to nothing at all. She tossed him down to the ground, and pinned him with her stiletto heel. "Give me one good reason I shouldn't banish you for a century, pie thief."

Bifrons squirmed under her heel. "I can reveal the secret herbs for longevity, vitality, and power. I don't want to go back to hell." He whined.

"Tell me something I don't know." She said. Her temper was short, and losing that pie was making it hard to not finish the job.

"I know who took your second child, the other twin." He gasped as she dug her heel in a little deeper.

"I don't have a second… What did you say?!" He had her attention.

December Octopodes
Dec 25, 2008

Christmas is coming
the squid is getting fat!
I'm in.

December Octopodes
Dec 25, 2008

Christmas is coming
the squid is getting fat!
Sticky Candy

1323 words


We succeeded in the worst way possible. The four of us sat in Bart's room, and listened to the ocean lapping at the shore nearby. Two keys, four thieves, and no good way to surprise members of the council again. The city of Umbra held so many promises in it's dark alleys, places that hadn't seen the sun in hundreds of years, but the promise of glory for four of us could not be kept.

"We only have two keys. We were all supposed to join the Council together, but that is impossible now. So the question stands, how do we split our spoils?"

"I didn't come this far to let my boys down, Amboyna. One of those keys is mine." Bart said. He set his heavy hands on the table, daring us in every way save word to challenge him. His gang, the Blank Slates, had been absolutely vital to our scheme, even if half the plan had fallen apart.

We had decided on four council members and managed to convince them that another Council member wanted a business meeting. Argos, the legendary thief, had been on the council for years, but his age was beginning to catch up to him. Bo Moruga, wasn't a young man either, but he led the Bloody Eyes, and used them to control the night glass factories in this town. He did well, but the greedy pig was slowly expanding on the mines outside of the city. Nictos, who claimed he was a priest of the Shroud, and sliced up anyone who might argue the point. Finally, there was Mr. Minter, one of those rare souls with enough Lectrum to buy a key, and pay enforcers to keep him safe. He ran the upperclass districts smoothly.

The plan was simple, we convince them the meeting is real, and when they meet we strike. Bart would use his Slates to keep the Bloody Eyes occupied, and we would use a little smoke bomb an engineer friend of mine created. We were to focus on our target and come away with a key. The plan started off well, and when the bomb hit I was ready. The Slates came rushing in and immediately tangled with Moruga and Minter's bodyguards. I closed in on Nictos, who was famous for his knife work. Carefully and quietly, I hit him in the back of the head with a brick. He dropped and I was able to claim my prize.

The smoke was starting to lift so I quickly retreated to a small alley a few streets over. The next to arrive was Washburn, with only a shiny new black eye for his efforts. Next was Sapentia, twirling the key in her hand like a prize. Finally Bart arrived, cursing and stomping with some superficial cuts on his arm. We returned to Bart's apartment to take stock. Which brings us to the table.

"Bart is right, we wouldn't have stood a chance in a straight fight." Saying this I slid the key over to him. His hand clasped mine, and as our eyes met he gave the briefest of nods. It is true he provided the manpower we needed, but it is also true that he still had more than enough manpower to make sure he got his way. Some things are beyond my control, as my mother would say. Sapentia spoke next, as we all tried to decide who would claim the key.

"Argos wasn't that tough, but I still think I should have gotten Mr. Minter." She took a long pull off her cigarette, and I could not read her face at all. Two days before our plan commenced I had managed to talk Sapentia into attending a play with me. It was a small hole in the wall, that insisted the audience remove their night glasses. She had sighed and gently removed her silver-lensed horn-rimmed glasses. I took in her eyes, a rare pleasure, before I took off my own. The shadowstone built into the walls no longer glowed, and the cast lit torches.

If not for the pleasure of seeing Sapentia without night glasses I might have felt my time was wasted. The play was about some lower noble from Eridu, and his desire to create a better life. The acting was fair, but didn't really grab me until halfway through the play. The only scene that seemed to have real passion behind it was a discussion between the noble and his lover.

"I want to be able to stand tall in this city. We will have the lives we deserve, with a fine home, many slaves, and whatever our hearts desire." Said the young noble, with a passion that had been absent.

"A house, slaves, these are the things we deserve? We have each other, my love. Isn't that enough?" His young lover replied, responding to the energy in his voice.

"But we deserve more. I am destined for greatness, and you will enjoy the fruits my work bears."

"Fruit? I think it is only a sticky candy. You may have your success, but your hands won't be clean."

"If I must be dirty to taste sweet success, so be it."

The scenes that followed ran together, and the play ended with the noble dead by suicide, his life ruined by his pursuit of power. We applauded politely and slipped our night glasses back on. The familiar glow of the shadowstone returned, and I asked Sapentia a question as we headed outside.

"So what do you think of the sticky candy called success?"

"I think he didn't know what he truly wanted. Success is nice, but for those who only want comfort, it might as well be poison."

"Poison? Well, perhaps the poison is not so deadly." I replied.

"We'll never know until we seize it." She answered.

We ended our night in a beautiful embrace, and prepared for the great theft. I remembered that conversation, and realized what I wanted.

"I think Washburn should have the key. After all, it was his idea in the first place to create the meeting." As I spoke I slid the key across the table to him. He spoke up for the first time, having quietly nursed his sore head.

"Really? I know it was my idea, but you and Sapentia are the reason we even have the keys." His hand reached out for the key, uncertain where Bart had been sure.

"If you want the key take it. There are ten spots on the Council after all." Sapentia said.

Washburn claimed the key, and that settled it. Bart let us out soon after, promising to keep in touch, Washburn left towards his apartments closer to the night glass factories. Sapentia and I shared a few words and went our separate ways.

Looking back I see how this was the beginning of so many things. Bart and the Slates soon took control of the entire harbor, pushing out any competition on that front. Washburn did well, and was able to pull off some amazing jobs here in the city and abroad. He turned to drinking though, and for all the money he had, he never looked happy. Sapentia was seen hanging off the arm of Mr. Minter, and eventually succeeded him to the Council when he died under mysterious circumstances. When I heard of Mr. Minter's death I remembered our parting conversation on the night we stole the keys.

"You gave away my sticky candy, Amboyna." She said.

"Then I'll have to comfort you with a different sweet." I said pulling her close for a kiss. She offered her cheek, and I drew back.

"No, I think I'll have to find my own candy. One man's poison is this girl's reward." She kissed me on the cheek, and walked down the street laughing to herself. We both wanted a sweet life, but she was willing to live with dirty hands.

December Octopodes
Dec 25, 2008

Christmas is coming
the squid is getting fat!
I'm in.

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December Octopodes
Dec 25, 2008

Christmas is coming
the squid is getting fat!
Time Traveler's Bastard 1117 Words

"Hey there Sam, I'm here to pick you up."

"Huh?" It had been raining for hours, and this had been the first car I had seen in all that time.

"How do you know my name?"

"Oh, I met you about twenty minutes from now. That's how long the drive is. Here hop in!" He reached over opening the door of his car. Up the street there were no other cars, and down the street was the same story. A non crazy savior failed to materialize. Ignoring the urge to run I hopped in.

"Hey thanks for the ride, but don't you mean twenty minutes ago?"

"Oh you might think that, but no. I live backwards, which is to say I live for thirty minutes at a time and then go back an hour." My jaw had gone slack as I stared at him.

"Sorry, sorry. It's just when we meet, or met, you seemed really knowledgable about this. Umm how to put it." He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "Okay, from your perspective I will seem younger and know less every time I see you, but only by thirty minutes or so."

"Yeah, then why the hell was I waiting for the last few hours for a car to show up? If you know about me in your future you could have been here a long time ago." I felt a migraine creeping up on me, and shut my eyes praying it would go away.

"That's a really good question. You know I've never had this happen before, but my morning journal didn't mention you at all. It's like you weren't here until you were here."

Yep. That was the migraine pushing against my head. "Let's change the subject, what's your name anyways?"

"Oh yeah, it's Billy. Hey, here we are. Home sweet home."

His headlights illuminated a two story house set back from the road. We pulled into the garage and my migraine lessened for a moment as the constant patter of the rain was captured by the house instead of the car.

"Hey I really appreciate…" His seat was empty. The garage was well lit and there was no sign that he had slipped out. I shrugged and got out of the car and knocked at the door to the mud room. I expected Billy, but what I got instead was completely different.

I noticed her eyes first. Young and healthy, with those bright green eyes, her eyebrows knitted together as she asked the obvious question.

"Hello? Who are you?"

"Hi. My name is Sam. Billy picked me up, but I'm not really sure where he's gotten to." She looked me over and a strange look came into her eyes.

She looked down at her watch and said, "Oh I guess that explains it, it's about that time. I'm Jane by the way." We shook hands and she led me into their living room. It had a warm fire going and a lurid floral print couch. Next to it was a recliner occupied by Billy.

"Hey there Billy." He looked startled for an instant, but quickly composed himself.

"I'm guessing you've met me a little while ago?" I nodded.

"My name is Sam. You rescued me from this downpour."

"Hey I brought some coffee. It will help warm you up." Jane walked in bearing three cups of coffee.

"Thanks honey, but one sec. How long was the drive?"

"About fifteen minutes, I was to the left as you leave the driveway."

"Alright, save some coffee for younger me dear. If I head out now I should make it just in time."

He was out the door and we both heard the car roar to life and then he was gone. I could feel Jane staring at me, so I made the warm coffee the focus of my world. I was hoping it was working when I felt her hand on my shoulder.

"You weren't in his journal." Her hand trailed along my should and found the back of my neck. I felt chills down my spine, not wanting to betray a man who had saved me from the damp.

"His what?"

"The journal he writes when he wakes up. You weren't in it." My coffee had vanished, and she was sitting in my lap.

"It's like you didn't exist this morning, a ghost, a mystery." We kissed and I was doomed. When I woke up I realized it was the middle of the day. I was in a field and when I lifted my head I saw the same two story house. The tree in the front yard was taller, and all of the leaves had fallen off.

I knocked on the door hoping I could have a shower or something before I hit the road again. Jane answered the door, but it wasn't the woman I had met. Gray had crept into her hair and wrinkles made a map of her face.

"Sam! You look exactly the same. Are you like him?"

"Him? What do you mean?"

"The time thing, he's twelve now and getting shorter every day. You were here for one night and then poof twenty years later you show up on our door step not a minute older."

"What happened?"

"It was like you were never there. He never mentioned you, and then nine months later…"

"What? Nine months later what?"

"I had a kid, I didn't feel ready so I put it up for adoption. Billy, well, we were together close enough to then that he didn't question it."

"That kid. Where did you put him up?"

"St. Guinefort's."

"1976. That was the year. Wasn't it." I knew before she said it. My mother had placed me in St. Guinefort's that year, and I had no way of knowing who she was. Until now.

"I need to go." I could feel the migraine again.

I came to and it was the same house, no car, the massive tree I had seen was just a sapling. I was standing in the kitchen. I made my way upstairs and found Billy laying in bed. His eyes were bleary, and he had to be ancient. His body was a mass of wrinkles.

"Hey Billy. Do you remember picking up a hitch hiker? It was a rainy night, and your wife was still young, eighteen maybe twenty."

"Sam? Yeah, that had to be about forty years ago. Why?"

"Where do you keep that journal?"

"It's in the desk. Why? What happened?"

I walked over and opened up the journal. In it I wrote, "Do not pick up the hitch hiker." One minute I was there and the next I faded away.

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