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Jan 18, 2015

In a world where everyone's a rebel.


Jan 18, 2015


High Noon

Word count: 737

This is where I draw my line in the sand. I'm about to change the world, and this is my manifesto. I am writing this to tell you about my world, and my reasons for this rebellion.
If you haven't lived under a stone for the last two years, you already know what I am about to say. This is for the future. For those who will grow up in the world I am about to shape.

The scientists were the first to lose it; the mathematicians, the engineers, and most others who relied too much on a logical mind, were soon to follow. They would stare up at the sky, baffled, not able to comprehend the situation. They would do their measurements, their math, make their hypotheses, and at every step it would fail.

As weeks passed, first a few, then many more, would get that look in their eye. That almost glassy look that told you they had clocked out. The "lights were on, but no one's home" look that only pure and utter defeat of everything you held dear could accomplish.

Some of them would take the easy way out, while others would bunker down in their basements, or find a deep, dark, cave to hole up in and not set foot under the sun again.

Those who remained, those who would keep on trying to find a solution, would lose it more and more. They would either go stark raving mad, or find their peace in the illogical, like divine intervention or magic.

The sun. The sun is the problem. It used to rise and set. We used to have wonderful, dark, scary nights. But now, the sun is in its zenith. Or should I say, in everyone's zenith. It is directly above our heads, frozen and unmoving. And that is impossible. You would think it would be night on the other side of the planet, but no, everywhere you went it is high noon. For everyone. At the same time.

The animals don't seem to mind. They are staying on their regular cycle, not caring that the sun won't move. Maybe for them it still does, who knows.
The weather's the same, too. There's no blight, the sea isn't boiling from overheating, and the deserts are not covering the entire planet by now. It, too, is unaffected by the sun standing still.
So, yeah, most illogical.

My mother was a scientist. She was one of those who sound some deep, dark, hole in the ground to live in. I see her once a month when she braves the light to resupply and pay our bills. She used to be one of the greatest minds of our time. Now she collects spores, molds, and fungus.

Dad and I are trying to cope. He drinks a lot, more than he used to, and I play video games.

School's been out for a few weeks now. All the teachers just up and left out of the blue one day, and there's been no replacements.

Everyone's lost it to some degree. You, whoever you are reading this. Look at yourself! Look at the people around you. You have given up! You have lost your drive, your focus! You have lost your humanity! You wake up in the morning, well, noon, you have your breakfast, and you go about your day as normal. But inside you are dead. When was the last time you told someone you loved them? When was the last time you stopped to chat with your neighbors? When was the last time you smiled?
I liked it better at the start of all this, when you were raging, rioting, wrecking everything around you. When you showed your passion, and a will to fight and live! Then you were human. Now I don’t know what to call you anymore.

Hell, I feel like I'm the only sane person left on this mud ball.

I'm not going to bore you with my personal details. You don't need to know who I am to understand my message. I’m just a nobody, fed up with how this world is turning to apathy. So I'm going to do something about it. I'm going to make a statement.


Gary hesitated for a moment. Then he clicked on post, and turned off his computer. He grabbed the bag by his bed and walked out.

And then he changed the world.

Jan 18, 2015

Yeah in and flash please.

Jan 18, 2015

In with a flash, and flash me.

:toxx: for last week's missed delivery as well.

Jan 18, 2015

Flash rule: Stranded on a shipwreck of dreams

Cut Off

Word count: 749

"Aelwyn, I need you to listen carefully to me." He was my friend, but his place on the council had put a strain on our friendship. I put it on my mental list of things to fix.

"I'm sorry for this, but the council, they-- we have decided to cut you off." His voice carried a mountain of regret and sadness. He spoke to me the way you would speak to an animal about to be put down. I was sure it was real, he still cared for me enough to give me that.

"Wh-what? No! Please, I'm so close! I almost have it in my grasp, I can feel it! I just need a little more time!" The shock on my face and in my voice was undeniable. I would know, I had practiced it in front of the mirror enough times. The delivery was a bit hammy, but I afforded myself that luxury.

"Again, old friend, I'm sorry for this," Gaeron continued. "I argued against this, I tried to remind them of your early successes, but your lack of progress in the last six months have upset them greatly." He stopped for a moment, the well-practiced dismay and disbelief displayed on my face eliciting discomfort in his.

"Archmagus Daelledeas is especially displeased with you. He told me he had had such high hopes for his protégé." Hah, I thought. Protégé my rear end. My 'apprenticeship' under him was no more than me doing all his dirty work while he lazied about. Whatever I learned of magic during those years, I taught myself. "Now he sees you as a failure."

"They-- we-- were willing to give you more time. We understand that your research into the source of magic is unprecedented, and as such would produce results irregularly. Since the nasty business with the daemon, however," the look of sheer grief might have seemed over the top to Gaeron if he hadn't been horrorstruck himself by the thought of that day a few weeks ago. I really should have practiced that one more thoroughly. "The council has lost faith in your ability to continue this research."

It was only reasonable that they would react like that. The daemon had been summoned in my hometown, and my whole family had died in the chaos and destruction. I sighed. "I understand." I said meekly. "I assume they have someone else coming in to continue my research?"

"Yes, Marrien will take over."

"And what about me?" I asked.

"I argued exile. I told them you were harmless, and would be no threat to their work." Exile, I mused. Typical Gaeron to just push his problems away. "But they would have none of that. They will have you arrested and executed."

I feigned horror again. This was as expected. It was happening a little bit faster than I'd liked, but I had planned for this eventuality. "Execution?" The shivering lip was an improvisation, but it seemed to pass as natural.

"I'm so sorry, Aelwyn. I delayed the order , but they will be here to arrest you in about an hour. You don't have much time. Grab your things and go. Leave this land and go as far awy as you can. Live a --" Yada-yada-yada. I stopped listening at that moment, insyead mentally adjusting my plans for this new set of information. One hour is plenty of time.

They would pay, of course. Five years I've worked for them, bringing new discoveries, new vistas of the fundamentals of magic, and a new level of understanding the universe. And they had profited. They had used my discoveries, and claimed it for their own. MY DISCOVERIES! MY DREAMS! They had ripped my dreams apart seeking new riches!

So when I discovered a whole new dimension of magic power, channeling chaos instead of boring, predictable, lawful magic, I had "stopped." There were no more discoveries from me, and that made them restless. And that's when I summoned the daemon. They would see my 'personal trauma' as a liability and decide to get rid of me. And that suited me fine. It was time to set down my stakes somewhere else and continue my work undisturbed.

"--so I say, farewell my friend!" Gaehad finally finished his prattle.

"Thank you," I said, and he left.

Well, I thought. Time to set out to forge a new age.

Jan 18, 2015


Fleta Mcgurn posted:

Permanent Interprompt
5 words

Judges lost at sea. Waves _______________.

Jan 18, 2015

In Lhasa Apso

Jan 18, 2015


sebmojo posted:

write bad stories, but try and make them good bad. who'll be the judge? i will, along with a couple of other intrepid fictionauts.

Bad stories? That's, like, my jam! In with this crazy!

Oh, and to get out of the doghouse: :toxx:

Jan 18, 2015


Umm, already added a picture to my in post. I added it as a URL link. Should I go with my picture, or the one you provided me?

Jan 18, 2015

Skull-Crow vs. Tank-man

Words: 983

A star-beam whizzed past his ear and, with a sharp bang and a flash of rainbow light, turned his already totaled sky-bike into little more than dust and twisted metal. Overhead the barrage of star-beams continued as he creeped deeper into the ruins of what had been one of the finer establishments in Jätte. The lightly clad woman on the neon sign would never do her jiggly dance again, and the patrons and workers, who's bodies Mellan nimbly avoided as he sought a new vantage point, would neither.

A soft moan drifted out from somewhere, and Mellan stopped. One of the red draperies, lead-lined to keep people with x-ray vision from peeking, was moving, and it wasn't the wind.

He looked around carefully. The rainbowy explosions had siezed for the moment. My tank-flash must have worn off, Mellan thought. He had managed to blind his opponent, Skull-Crow, before diving into these ruins.

He snuck up on the shifting cloth, and yanked it away. The naked human woman looking up at him was very attractive he realized immediately, though his mind used other, more vulgar, adjectives to describe her.

He put on his best smile, taking a heroic pose with one hand stretching towards her as to give her a hand. "Well, hello there." he started, but the next words died on his lips as the woman pointed at his head and shrieked. And then fainted. One after the other.

"Oh, bugger."


Rend. Burn. Destroy. Blinded me! Destroyyy! Skull-Crows mind was ablaze with the sweet smell of destruction surrounding him. He was firing his shoulder-mounted blaster at anything that moved now, disintegrating swirling scraps of paper, flapping cloth, and the occasional stray with heedless abandon. His eyes, blinded by a flash-ray earlier, was clearing now, but it would be a few more moments until the fog in his head would clear.

When he had landed on the outskirts of Jätte just hours earlier the town had still been standing. Or, using its residents' favorite position as an analogy, bent over, ready, and waiting.

Jätte was the kind of town you could try using words like 'cesspool' or 'that slimy stuff you'll find in the pipes of a chili house toilet that hasn't been cleaned in, like, forever', but it wouldn't do it justice. It's easier to say, and Jätte's surviving residents would agree, that its near-total destruction was, on the whole, a marked improvement.

Now, Skull-Crow walked through the ruins of the Main Strip, scanning each building as he passed them. His mind was clear, and though the litany in his head was still playing, it had taken a back seat to his more cognitive functions.

He stopped, slightly crouched with his head up, and sniffed the air. The skull bio-mask grafted over his face not only gave him a range of additional senses, but also enhanced the ones he already had.

A shriek filled the air, and Skull-Crow's head snapped, listening. The red eyes behind the mask glowed in anticipation.



Mellan had moved quickly once the shriek had died down. Grabbing the woman, he had bounded out the back wall, zigging and zagging through the debris. He he kept a low profile as he darted in and out the ruins in search for a new hidey-hole. He had the woman slung over his back like a sack of potatoes, and her head bounced limply against him every time he leaped over a a small obstruction.

He spotted a mostly intact wall that had fallen against some debris, creating a small cave. He dove into the thick darkness under the slanting wall. He put down the naked woman, and put his hand over her mouth just as her eyes opened. She started to struggle under him, and he pinned her down and put a finger to his lips.

"It's the tank, right?" He asked quietly, bitterness lacing his words. "It's strange you know? In this universe there are millions of races, all different, in every color imaginable. But one guy has a tank on his head, and panic! Frankly, I'm offended by peoples racism."

The woman had stopped struggling, and Mellan released his grip over her mouth slowly. "You're- You're HIM!" She
Exclaimed terrified.

"Ah, yes," Mellan mused. "I guess it could be my reputation as well."


Skull-Crow came upon the overturned wall. He could smell his Mark inside. There was someone else in there. An innocent, if that is possible in this town. He needed to thread cautiously now. Protecting the innocent was one of his duties.

"Mellan!" he growled loudly. "Release hostage! Come quietly, or I tear you limb from limb!"

"On what charges?" Came a voice from under the wall.

"You know," Skull-Crow snarled. "Now more. This town, everyone on the list."

"Well, You were supposedcto be one of them!"

Another minute of silence passed, then movement as two figures emerged from the darkness of the hole. Mellan was holding the naked woman as a shield in front of him.

"Release!" Skull-Crow barked.

"I will come with you nicely if you give your word you do it by the book." Mellan replied. "I don't particularly want to lose any limbs."


"I'll hold you to that, officer." Mellan raised his arms, releasing the woman, who ran off screaming.

"Hrrm. Hands. On your b-" Skull-Crow started, when the tank's cannon suddenly fired, filling the air with light and then smoke and booming sound.

First, the light, a rainbow hue, faded, then the sound. Only the smoke remained. A shadow fell, and when the smoke finally cleared, Skull-Crow was on the ground, his blaster pointing at the dust cloud that had been Mellan Stor. He had expected the betrayal, but even so, it had been too close.

He stood up, smoke drifting off the hole in the arm where he'd lost a good chunk of flesh.

Hrrm. Nasty report.

Jan 18, 2015


How did I manage to screw that up???

Here's what it should have looked like:

Also, fjgj.

Jan 18, 2015


Jan 18, 2015

Yup, IN for the SIN.


Jan 18, 2015

Flash rule: Shadow Wizard

Let the shadows reign

Word count: 1288

"Where is it?" The words were like nails on a chalkboard, and the foul breath accompanying them made Derrec's stomach bubble with the threat of future messiness.

"Wuh?" he managed to slur, before sliding back into the state of semi-unconciousness he'd been in for the latter half of this evening.

Rough hands grabbed him and he was shaken back to reality. "The idol." The words were ice now. "Where. Is. It?"

Derrec tried to focus on the face, but his eyes kept finding the man's shoes more interesting. A sudden slap jolted him back and gave him focus. Blinking to get the fog out of his eyes, he noticed a few things.

The first thing was the light, or, more precisely, the lack of shadows. There were oil lamps everywhere. They took up every nook and cranny of what he could see of the small room he was in. More lamps were hanging from the ceiling, bathing everything in orange light. Uh-oh, he thought, not without trepidation.

The next thing he noticed were the thick ropes holding him to the wooden chair, whose uncomfortability his body now was getting intimate with. Double-uh oh.

His eyes still swimming in all the light and confusion, finally focused on the face glaring down on him. It wasn't a handsome face. Some might say it was the antithesis of handsomeness, but Derrec wouldn't call it ugly. Just... mismatched. The eyes didn't quite fit well with the bridge of the nose, the chin and the mouth did each other disservice, and the paleness of the cheeks clashed with the crimsomness of the nose. It was a shame, really. Every piece was perfectly fine, they just didn't belong together.

What wasn't fine, however, was the smell. Ye gods! What has this man been rolling around in?

"You." Derrec's voice was gravel, the smell almost gagging him. "Why? What?" He recognized the face in front of him, though he couldn't for the life of him put a name on it. He lived close to the university, and Derrec must have seen him a hundred times in the last few months. "What is this all about?" he asked.

"The idol of Noctis Umbra." The new voice from somewhere over Derrecs shoulder was silky smooth, and the same could be said for its owner as he came into view. He was a middle-aged man, with the grays showing in, but not overwhelming, his neat visage. He was slightly petite, but his rich suit was so fit you could hardly tell without a frame of reference.

Now, standing next to the foul-smelling man, his eyes were the level of the other man's chin. "You have it, no? Somewhere hidden. Somewhere safe, hmm?" The eyes were striking, Derrec realized. Those blue diamonds had a way of boring into your very soul and lay everything bare. Almost like magic. Derrec clamped his mouth shut, no longer trusting it to keep silent.

"You refuse to talk, hmm? Very well, we have our ways to pry those lips open." He turned to the foul-smelling man. "Fetch us the 'persuasion kit'"

As the other man left, he turned back to Derrec. "Oh, where are my manners? Your name is known, but mine is not. You may call me Lord Gaervin." The last part was accompanied by a flurried bow. "My smelly associate is not important though. Call him whatever you please."

Lord Gaervin reached out and grabbed Derrec's wrist. His grip was harder than expected for his small frame.

"Shall we begin with a broken finger, hmm? Or maybe pulling out a few of your nails will loosen your tongue? I shall not enjoy it." The smile on his face and the steely lust in his eyes told a different story.

Derrec's mind was reeling, the threat of imminent torture making it hard to focus. He had been focusing his mind on all the dark spaces he could sense, In the creases of his clothes, under his armpit, in his mouth, but he knew he'd never have time to utter the incantations to control the shadows. He could utter them in his mind, but to have the fullest effect the words needed to be spoken out loud. That was a drawback with wizardry.

"The idol," he started, intending to buy some time. "It does not exist. It is just a myth passed down, like the sword of fairies, or the chalice of the blue gods."

"Hmm?" the Lord replied. "Tut-tut-tut, do not try to fool me with your fibs, my dear mr. charlatan. I have seen you use its powers. That is how you got your wizards hat, is it not?"

He snatched the pointy hat off of Derrec's head. "You cheated yourself into the university, using that eldritch charm." His voice had a feverish heat to it, and he spoke with unmistaken passion.

Suddenly he calmed down, and his voice regained its silkiness. "You may try to deny it, but I have watched you for quite some time. Shadow magic is all you know. You cannot cast any other spell. That is how I know you are a fake, and that is how I know you have the idol."

At that moment the door opened, and the foul-smelling man reentered. In his arm was a large open box, full of various pointy and pully tools.

"Ah, well then," the Lord smiled. "Shall we begin?"

Derrec's body tensed, but his mind was strangely calm. He had passed through terror into a calmness he never felt before. His mind was sharper than it had ever been, and he could feel the shadows, he could see them pulsate with unearthly darkness all around him. The tiniest speck of shadow lit up in his mind.

As time seemingly slowed, Derrec focused his mind on one of the lamps behind his captors. The flame flickered, and he could sense the difference in intensity. Staring at the light hurt his eyes, but he did now waver.

Suddenly there was a pulse, and with his mind he reached out, and twisted. He couldn't do much without uttering the words and the strain was incredible, but a little was all he needed. The small speck of shadow swelled up and swallowed the light. The lamp went out.

Derrec stole a glance at Lord Gaervin, but the Lord was rummaging through the pursuasion kit and had not noticed.

There was a greater spot of darkness now, and Derrec used it to reach out to the next lamp. He had to work fast now. He took out a few more in a circle around the first. Still no notice.

"Hrrm," he began, going for a distraction. Lord Gaervin and the smelly man both looked up at him. Lord Gaervin held a very sinister looking plier in his hand..

"You wis to speak?" the Lord asked, with a hint of disappointment.

"The idol," Derrec started. "I touched it, once. I was not a wizard yet, merely an acolyte, but I could sense its powers. I touched it, and it disintegrated. Now its powers lie in me." Derrec smiled. "I was the star pupil, you know. I had done the math, studied the incantation, and knew the invocations. I was on my way to earn the hat when the Umbra leapt into my mind and pushed everything else out."

Now his voice went soft. "A wizard is not defined by what spells he can cast." He slashed out with his mind, killing a dozen light around them. "And believe me. I AM A WIZARD!"

The two captors, staring in disbelief at the dead lamps turned back towards him, but too late.

"Et Regnabit In OBUMBRATIO!"

The darkness swallowed everything, and all was still.

Jan 18, 2015


sebmojo posted:

inter prompt: yarn (50 words)

The Hunter

Word count: 33

The hunter stood posed by the barn.
The prey was a ball full of yarn.
He sprung to attack,
and gave the whole basket a whack.
There goes the socks I would darn.

Jan 18, 2015

Mind and Matter.

Jan 18, 2015

:toxx: in

Jan 18, 2015

Prompt: Time out of joint, 100 words


100 words

The sound came first, loud, screeching. Filling his ears before his mind realized what had happened.

Next, his body, lifting in slowmotion from its seat, defying the laws of gravity, moved up and forward on its own.

A new sound reached his ears, and he looked at his wife floating in the air next to him. Her mouth bellowed, a mask of terror on her face.

His seatbelt strained, and his body came to a stop, suspended in air. His wife, who wore no belt, were not so lucky.

Time regained its regular pace, and his life was changed.

Jan 18, 2015


Jan 18, 2015


:toxx: and in with:

5xFleeta's choice (be gentle)

Jan 18, 2015

Pink (the color)

this picture:

Word count: 1686

Arms and Corsets

"It's too tight," Dana grunted. "Don't push so hard." 

The corset creaked and groaned as the old woman gave a final pull and secured it. She gave Dana a pat on the back that made her stagger.

"That's all done, my dear," she said. "Just remember to breathe from the diaphragm."

"Well, thanks Nan," Dana wheezed. "I'll try to remember that when oxygen deprivation sets in."

"Don't be smart with me, young lady," Nan replied as she prepared Dana's dress. "I helped your mom into plenty of those death traps in her days, and she only fainted once." 

Dana looked up at her Nan's reflection in the mirror in front of where she was standing, and there was a sparkle of something rarely seen on the older woman's face. 

"Did you just make a joke? I saw that twinkle in your eyes!"

"Don't be silly, dear, Nan replied. "Old biddies like me don't have a sense of humor." 

Dana couldn't help but giggle like a schoolgirl, even though it made her ribs groan. As she slipped into her dress, with Nan's help, she thought of all the wonderful moments she had shared with the older woman. Her heart suddenly ached.

"So," Nan suddenly said, breaking her from her reverie. "Can I ask you why you agreed to this foolishness? Normally I'd applaud anything that gets you out amongst people, but an arm-wrestling contest? Now, I'm not averse to some light ogling-"


"-of the male physique, but there's nothing dignified in what they are having you do."

"Nan. You don't need to worry about my dignity. This is all just for fun. They'll be flexing their muscles, and I'll feel them and make some amusing comment. Completely harmless."

"I just don't want to see you get hurt. I hope you can see that."

The two women's eyes locked for a moment, and Dana felt her love for her Nan swell inside her until it threatened to turn the corset into confetti.

This might be the last time I see her. The thought popped into her mind unwillingly, and she fought it down. Too late, it had reminded her of what she was really here to do.

"Are you alright, my dear?" There was concern in Nan's voice. "For a moment there you looked like you'd lost your favorite teddy to the dog again." 

"What?" Need to get rid of Nan. Feign surprise. Not too much. Add a bit of tiredness. "No, sorry. I'm just tired, that's all. Would you mind if I had some time alone? I need to collect myself before I go out."

"Your nerves again? If you'd gone out to all those parties your friends tried to drag you out to, instead of sitting at home reading, or doing gymnastics, or whatever else you were doing all those evenings, then maybe you wouldn't be so nervous going up on stage. Maybe you'd even be married by now."

"Nan," Dana put her hands on her hips, indignation suddenly radiating from her. "For the last time, it's my business how I chose to spend my time, and it's my choice whether I marry or not!" 

The last part had come out in a near shout, and Nan's face, hiding mirth just a moment ago, now showed irritation and a smudge of hurt that she was so good at faking.

"Nan," she was back in control. Feign tiredness. Add regret. "I'm sorry, Nan. Like I said, I'm tired and it's making me testy. Could you give me a moment? Please."

Nan looked at her for a second before answering. "Of course, dear. I'll be here to help you out of that contraption when this ridiculous show is over."

The door closed, and Dana's head sank. This is not how I wanted to say good-bye. 

A moment later focus was back, and she swiftly picked up her handbag and sat down on the chair it had occupied. 

She opened the bag and started searching the lining. She soon found a loose thread, and pulled. There was a soft click, hardly audible if you didn't expect it, and a secret pocket opened.

Dana sat motionless for a moment, hands poised over the secret compartment, before she took out two objects. 

The first object was a small note, folded neatly into a small square. She opened it up gently and looked at it, though by now she knew it by heart.


Priority: Omega

Type: Personal for Lady Dana.

Target: Target will be known by use of the keyword 'Potatoes'.

Reward: The name of Lady Dana's father's murderer. 

Dana stared at that last line. The name, she thought. Soon she would know who had killed her father, billionaire Charles Bendervildt, on her twelfth birthday. She had been after this information for so long. Knowing only that it had been a contract killer, she had dedicated her life to infiltrating the assassin's guild. She had taken many contracts herself and risen fast, and now it was finally paying off!

She looked at her watch,and then picked a pair of gloves out of her bag. She put them on with great care, making sure that the secret slot in the left glove was unobstructed.

Satisfied with how the glove sat, she picked up the second object. A short, incredibly thin, knife, not much bigger than a nail file, rested in her hand for a moment before she slid it home into the secret slot.

With preparations finally done, Dana felt no need to wait around any longer, and walked out the door.

She proceeded down the hallway towards the hall, thinking of all the things she was about to say farewell to. Her mother, her Nan, the few actual friends she still had. She had already moved a large portion of her wealth to her off-shore untracable accounts, though her 'career' had already made any money trouble a moot point, even if she lost her inheritance.

A sudden sound from below made her jump, and her hand went deftly to the small knife as she scanned her surrounding. Her alertness soon changed to childish joy as a small kitten walked up to her, meowing for a treat.

Dana crouched, ignoring the pain of the corset digging into her sides, and started petting the small animal with great mirth.

"I'm sorry, little one. I don't have any snacks, you see." She held her hands out, palms up, to the kitten, who sniffed and meowed.

Finally she stood up. "Thank you, darling. I really needed that. But now I have to go and do what needs to be done." 

With that, Dana set off again.

The mitten looked at her leave, and having no clue how to find its monmy, decided to follow her.


The first hour of the competition had passed, and Dana had dutifully, and with no great reluctance, done her job while trading quips and wittiness with the contestants. She had, on occation, tried her wittines on the match commentator, a man named Blutt, but to no avail. He had turned out to be quite the old boor, despite the all-but neon pink jacket and top hat he wore. 

She was proceeding now down the line of men ready for the next round of matches, enjoying herself fully. She had just compared one contestant's arms to her own legs in a slightly coquettish manner, producing laughs from all around, as well as a redish tint on the contestant's cheeks, and now stood before a behemoth of a man. Her mind raced at the possibilities, not just for great quips, but also, deep in her mind, what might be under the tricot, when she suddenly went on high alert.

Just moments before. The voice of Blutt, the pinkish boor, droning in the background, talking in a bored monotony about stats and percentages, blandly detailing techniques and tricks. She had paid no great mind to it, simply ignoring it as background noise, when one phrase sprang into the forefront. 

"-this one, I must say, is not like the other couch potatoes. He-"

potatoes! Her mind was all business now, with a momentary widening of her eyes the only outward sign of her change. She walked up to the manly goliath, all smiles and seductive movements. She was at the top of her game, giving the best performance of her life. The quips hailed from her, and the laughter was deafening. With one last smile, and a soft caress, she left the hulk silent, stunned, and proceeded to the next man in line. 

She managed to pass another two contestants before the giant man's paralysis broke. He fell with a thundering crash, breaking the floorboards and sending splinters like shrapnel every which way. 

People shouted in dismay, staggering around holding scratches and wounds of varying severity. It took a few moments before someone got around to checking the big man, but by then it was too late. He had died standing up several minutes before.

Later, a thorough investigation would find the small knife imbedded in his neck between the first and second vertebrae that had paralyzed the man while at the same time almost immediately killing him.

It took even longer before they realized that the most likely suspect would be Dana Bendervildt, whom by then was long gone.


Dana had left in the first confusion. The huge crash had been her cue to leave, and no one had paid her any attention as she slipped backstage. 

She tried to keep an even pace, and not blow her lead in panic, but she came to a sudden halt when she almost stepped on a small ball of fur on the floor.

A tiny meow greeted her.

She stared at the tiny kitten for a minute, suddenly not feeling the rush of time as her window of escape became smaller. Then she reached down, and lifted up the kitten gingerly. 

"Hi there, little fella. Do you wanna come with me?"

Another meow.

"OK. Hang on tight!"

And with that, Dana and the kitten rushed off towards the exit.

Jan 18, 2015

Yay! Not a loss this time!

Fleta Mcgurn posted:

To see various crits 'n comments, you can check out the Google doc here.

Thx for the crit!

Also, I'm in.

Fuubi fucked around with this message at 03:18 on Aug 16, 2017

Jan 18, 2015

In with

Psy Duck

And because of failure: :toxx:

Jan 18, 2015

The Story of Psy Duck

word count: 840

You want to know the story behind my name? OK, but I should warn you. It's not a very interesting story. Just the same, sit quietly until I finish.

To begin, my father's name is Mr. Duck. My mother named me Psy. Psy Duck. Like the pokèmon.

Yeah, it's a silly name. Ha ha, I heard them all before, so don't even try it. 

My father went to Korea in his youth and brought my mother with him home. There were some fuzz with her parents not being thrilled about the whole thing, but that's part of my next story.

Anyway, she was quick enough to get pregnant, and before long, I was born.
Now, my mom was always a bit reserved. I guess that's unavoidable if you escape your family and your country, and you're not very comfortable speaking English. So it came as a bit of a surprise for my father when she vehemently argued to name me Psy. 

He refused, of course. No son of his would be named after a k-pop singer. It was absurd. So she killed him.

She loved my father. She did. But as she told him that night when she let his blood flow, "The power comes from the name!"

Ah, that piqued your interest, didn't it?

Power. Even the word itself has the power to attract people. There's social, political, economical, and many other types of power, and most people strive to gain some. Futilely, most of the time.

On my mother's side of the family, power is something more direct. They can do many tbings, from astral projection, to telepathy. Maybe they have a range of genes that others don't, or maybe their brains are wired differently. I'm not sure of the details, and frankly, I don't care. All I know is that I have it too.

For me, I'm actually not sure if its psychic, or merely psychological. I don't have telekinesis, pyrokinesis, or any other -kinesis, I think. I do have some ability with psychometry though. That is how I learned how my mother killed my father before I was even born.

No, my power lies in suggestion. I can tell a person to do something, and it will come as the most natural thing in the world for them to do. They won't even realize they are doing something wrong.

Let me give you an example.

You, in the striped shirt with that god-awful tie. Take out your gun and shoot the guy with the weird hair over there in the corner.

See? Nothing to it. And that was completely normal. No need to panic. Good.

Where was I? Oh, yeah. 

After my mother killed my father by slashing his throat, she ran off to give birth in some cabin in the woods. That's where I lived for the first three or so years of my life. Then the assassins came.

We ran. I wasn't old enough at that time to understand my powers, but my mother, who had some telekinetic powers, got us through most scrapes unharmed.

We traveled through the country haphazardly, never stopping long, and never with a plan. We just chose our next destination randomly. I guess that's the smartest thing to do when you're trying to avoid psychic assassins.

My mom survived long enough to see me master my powers. Then she took a knife in the back. Holding her as she died not only taught me her and her family's history through psychometry, but also that empathy was for losers. 

I also learned that anyone named Psy in her family gained tremendous power. It has something to do with the Chinese characters used or something, honestly, I don't know.

I guess I went full-blown psychopath at that point. So far that has suited me well. It's so much easier to deal with life when other people don't matter. You should try it out sometime. 

I sent my mother's killers back to the family in Korea with the suggestion that there are a few too many of them. I haven't heard from them since.

These days I just travel around the world, meeting people, suggesting things. I can do whatever I want, eat wherever I want. gently caress whoever I want...

Frankly, life is quite boring.

That's why I requested this meeting. You are all the best in your field. Detectives, assassins, crime lords, politicians. General scum of the Earth. And I have an offer for you. 

I want you to sit here until, say, noon tomorrow. Then the hunt is on.

Come at me. Find me. Try to kill me. Make my life interesting again. Use all your knowledge. All your resources. You will not sleep. You will not eat. You will only think of me, and how to find me.

...actually, do eat and sleep when you need to. This would end way too fast otherwise.

So, are we all in agreement? Say 'Aye!'

Good! Then I will see you around. Feel free to talk amongst yourself and share any embarrassing stories and deep, dark, secrets you may have. 


Jan 18, 2015


jon joe posted:

In and the moral of the story is: "Don't say anything you wouldn't want repeated."

In, and "Always look on the bright side of life."

Edit: I'll take the One-armed man challenge as well.


Captain_Indigo posted:

In with this.

Make Hay While The Sun Shines"

Oops guess this one is mine.

Fuubi fucked around with this message at 14:30 on Sep 5, 2017

Jan 18, 2015


Chili posted:

Continuing my crit catch up journey.

Thx for the crits!

Jan 18, 2015


magnificent7 posted:

I'm waffling on this one, but OKAY FINE. I'm in!


I was gonna do a dumb waffle joke! Oh well, I guess I can't mussel my way out of this... I'm in with a :toxx:

Jan 18, 2015

At least it's not the French

Word count: 901

"Ensign! Report!" The captain's voice thundered over the blaring alarm. The shaking had woken her moments before, and captain Rose Molhey of the US space explorer Watterson did not like to have her sleep disturbed.

"M- multiple EMP explosions off starboard quarter, Captain!" Ensign Weaver's voice quavered. This was his third week on duty, and his second night on the bridge, and he had hoped for an eventless first voyage. 

"Keep it together, lad," the captain responded, not with a lack of empathy. She remembered her first battle, back when she was but an ensign.

She turned to her first officer standing by the Wheel. "Damage report."

"Bumps and buckles all over the hull, and on most of the crew, but no serious injuries. EMP took down visuals, but radar is still working. Shields are holding steady, too." First officer Hanlon was a handsome man, chosen for his skills as a pilot, and as a team leader. His suaveness had put him in many of the ship's beds, including the captain's. When asked, he attributed that to his easygoing nature, and winning smile. Up until the first explosion he'd been charming the lieutenant at the coms, with expected results.

"What is the source of the explosions? We don't seem to be under attack," captain Molhey asked as she took the captain's seat.

"From what we can tell we have ventured into an old, uncharted, minefield. We set a few off before we noticed, and we're holding still now until we've charted a way through. Drones have been deployed." 

"What's the ETA on th-!" A sudden explosion threw the captain out of her seat and sent her sprawling into the navcom console. The bridge shook and the floor lurched before the grav-stabilizers had a chance to kick in. 

"Evasive maneuvers!" hollered Hanlon. He was on the Wheel before anyone else had time to react, hands moving deftly over the controls. 

A new dot showed up on the radar, and as the ship started to move, he started to maneuver them away from the dot, and through the minefield, using only the radar and the partial data collected from the drones.

"Ensign, check on the captain," he commanded ensign Weaver without taki g his eyes off the screens in front of him. "Take her down to sick bay."

"I'm... I'm all right." Hanlon couldn't help glance at the captain on her hands and knees on the floor. Her hair was disheveled, and blood was streaming out of a small jack near her ear, but as captain Rose Molhey rose Hanlon saw a fire in her eyes he had not seen before.

She'd be a devil in the sack tonight. he thought.

"Watch out!" The shrill voice of the luitenant at coms brought him back to focus, and he quickly finished his maneuvers, and moved the ship out of the minefield. 

Suddenly, in front of them on the radar was a huge red blip.

"Lieutenant! Give me a name on that ship." Captain Molhey's voice was ice.

"The Quantum Space Identification Transponder states it as N/A." She swallowed before continuing. "It's a pirate ship."

More explosions rocked the ship. Everybody was hanging on for their lives as Hanlon executed moves that the grav-stabilizers had a hard time to compensate for. At first, he managed to avoid the enemy torpedoes, but finally, one clipped a wing, and with it the engines died. 

"Get ready! We are going to get boarded!" As everyone got up from the floor once again the captain and her first mate had already drawn their pistols. Soon everybody had armed themselves.

They waited for the inevitable sound of ship linking to ship, but what they heard was instead more explosions.

"What's happening out there?" Rose looked at the lieutenant.

"I'm... I'm not sure. The pirates were there on the radar, but then their QSIT went silent." She looked closer at her instruments. "But I think there's another ship out there! I think we are saved!"

"Identify them, quickly."

"It's the-! Oh." The lieutenant looked up. "It's the BSS Hergé"

"The French?" The first officer groaned. "We were saved by the french? We'll never live this down."

"It's not the French," captain Rose responded. "It's the Belgians. Open up a channel."

"'Ello? This is captsin Dupond of the BSS Hergé speaking. Hope you are all fine over there." The thick accent was jovial, and Rose relaxed somewhat.

"Yes, we are good now. Thank you for your timely rescue," she responded.

"We are happy to be of assistance. We see your engines are down. We can send some men over to help with repairs, if that is agreeable?"

Rose smiled. "Thank you, that is agreeable."

"Then prepare for the anchoring. Have a good day."

The two ships anchored together, and the Belgians boarded the ship.

"Everybody, stand down. They are here to help," the captain said over the intercom. That was the last thing she ever said.

As she greeted the captain of the Hergé on her bridge, she was shot at point blank range, her crew was gunned down, and the Watterson was stripped of all its valuables.

As captain Dupond reentered his bridge he told his crew to change their QSIT back to N/A, and to refill the minefield.

"Ah, Belgians. We get them every time with it." The captain laughed, and the Hergé set off to find its next prey.

Jan 18, 2015

OK, I'm in!

Jan 18, 2015


QuoProQuid posted:

:toxx: because that's apparently the only way i can finish stories

flash me up, mojo

What s/he said. In. :toxx: flash.

Jan 18, 2015

The Last Ride

Word count: 1175

Flash Rule: Aerial

It wasn't until they had boarded, and found their seats, that Glenn realised they were on the wrong train.

"Hey, Lucy. Aren't we going the wrong way?" He turned away from the window, as the train station disappeared behind a bend, and toward the redhead sitting next to him. She was in her late teens, like him, and they had been together roughly a year. This trip was actually to celebrate their first anniversary.

She looked back at him with clearly feigned surprise. "What? We are not going towards the Fairland Park? Oh, no! What ever shall we do?"

She smiled at his dumbfounded look and took out an envelope from her purse. "Here you go, darling. Happy anniversary."

"What's this?" Glenn took the envelope and looked at it. It was an older type of envelope, made from a thick, yellowish paper. It felt expensive, and a feeling of dread washed over him. On the front were written "Happy Anniversary!" in Lucy's flowing writing. It was sealed with a red wax heart, with their initials inside.

Glenn opened it slowly, breaking the heart seal. Another sense of dread came as the broken wax parted and he saw the gilded paper inside. He looked at Lucy in disbelief.

"Come on. Take it out!" Her eyes were wide, and full of the wonder he knew he should be feeling. He suddenly knew what was in the envelope, and now he knew where they were heading.

His trembling hand reached into the envelope and brought out two gilded tickets.

STARLIGHT PARK was printed on them in big, bold letters. Underneath, in a smaller font, was written World's 8th wonder!

Glenn's breath froze. This was bad. Really bad.

"Well?" Lucy's voice had an undertone of slight annoyance, telling him that his reaction was not what she had expected. He quickly snapped out of his bewilderment and put on a big smile.

"We're going to Starlight?" His voice was filled with excitement, and somehow he managed to fake it enough to alleviate her annoyance at his poor reaction.

"That's amazing! These tickets must cost a fortune! And on Halloween night as well!" He laid it on thick now, doing everything he could to suppress the rising terror in his gut.

"Anything for you, my darling," Lucy replied beaming. "I even booked a room at the Stargaze Hotel for us." Her smile turned naughty for a second as she said that, and she winked coquettishly.

Glenn hugged her close, feeling her warmth. "I love you, Lucy." His face, hidden from her, could now express his fear.


Lucy stood at the window watching the park draw closer. Her face was that of a child on Christmas Day, and she couldn't stop expressing her wonderment all the way up.

Glenn stood next to her, with an iron grip on the horizontal bar above his head. His eyes were fixed on the approaching monstrosity, held in the air by propellers, jets, magnetism, and who-knows what other thingamajig or doodah that kept it floating a thousand meters above ground. He could not avert his eyes, howver much he wanted to.

Glenn's father, who was an aerospace engineer and a pilot, had told him time and again how the Starlight was an impossibility; that it broke just about every law of physics by staying afloat that way; that it was an abomination, and that it made a mockery of science. Glenn, having flown with his father more times than he could count in his experimental aircrafts, had learned the hard way the horrors of keeping things afloat in the sky.

"Wow! Everything looks so small from up here!" Lucy's excitement reached a new plateau as she looked down through the glass floor. "Glenn, look! The railway just a tiny line down there!"

Glenn, eyes fixed looking upwards and ahead, just nodded abd gave a small "Yeah..." in agreement.

I'm gonna faint the moment I set foot on it, he thought with dread.


He did not faint, and, he noticed, his feelings of horror dissippated slightly as they disembarked at the gondola station.

As his feet touched the ground for the first time, he noticed how solid it felt. He looked around, and all the attractions and buildings hid the horizon from him. In the late afternoon glow he felt as if he was down on the ground, at any ordinary amusement park. Then he took a better look at the attractions.

His eyes opened wide, first in bewilderment, then in actual excitement of the fantastical display that spread out around him.

Roller coasters, circular rides, ferris wheels, water slides, and every other kind you could think of! And they were all powered by, and utilised the strange technology that kept the park itself up. The gravity-defying technology elevated the experience, and made even the most mundane ride exciting and new.

Flabbergasted, Glenn took Lucy by hand, and together they went into the park for a great evening of excitement, and a wonderful night.


The morning came too fast for Glenn. The evening and night had been a wonder, with many firsts tried, and his sense of dread had completely disappeared by the time they got on the second ride.

"Lucy," he said as they walked arm in arm towards the exit. "This was truly wonderful. Thank you for giving us these memories."

"Aw, chucks," she replied blushing. "For us, I'd do anything."

Glenn didn't know what else to say. He was ashamed of his feelings coming up here. He should have spent that time being amazed with her, instead of dreading something that never came.

He thought back at all those dreams he'd had, of falling from great heights. Every time his dad had taken him up, they had gotten worse. Night after night he would fall, fall, fall. Never hitting the ground, just building up the horror inside him as he fell faster and faster. It got to the point where he would faint as soon as the aircraft left the ground, and, though his dad never noticed, he grew to hate the sky.

But now he felt this could be the moment of catharsis. He had felt his fears draining away through the evening and night, and now he knew he could enjoy the ride on the gondola with Lucy. He smiled greatly at her.

"Where are you going, silly?" She suddenly asked, stopping. She smiled at him the way that told him she had one more surprise. His heart sank.

"To the... gondola?" He answered confused. He swallowed in trepidation.

"No, no. The gondola is for going up! We're taking The Last Ride down." The glee in her voice was palpable, and suddenly the terror came back full force.

He followed her on shaky legs as she skipped of to the side towards a big sign exclaming THE LAST RIDE! in bloated letters.

His heart stopped, and the last thing he heard as he fainted was Lucy saying, with impish delight, "I heard the safety field only works most of the time."

Jan 18, 2015

Yeah, in.

Edit: And thx for the crit Yoruichi!

Jan 18, 2015


In Asia before

Jan 18, 2015

Title: Of Honor

Word count: too many

Flash: Meiji Restoration

"My father was a samurai," Arashi said while swirling his sake cup. "As was my father before him." He quaffed the alcohol, and the smiling man next to him filled the cup once again to the brim. He gestured for Arashi to continue.

"I... I would have followed in their footsteps. That was the path I had chosen." He downed the alcohol again. His cheeks glowed a bright red.

"That was all I ever wanted. To don the armor of the samurai like my father and his father before him. To wield my sword for the honor of my family."

He looked down at his cup, already filled by deft hands, and a moment of melancholy passed over his face. One lone teardrop slid down his cheek before passing to oblivion on the sake-stained table.

"It is a shame," the other man said. "I, too, have lost my honor thanks to those imperialist swine." 

Arashi looked at the man, and a moment of sobriety returned to him. "You shouldn't say that. The walls have ears." He slumped down and his eyes lost focus again.

"The sword," he continued. "My father's sword. He wielded it, as his father, and his father before him. It was mine by right, but now it will become food for my wife and child once we reach Edo." 

"Ah, you're going to Tokyo? You still have a long ways to go then." The man lifted his own cup for the first time. "Safe travels, my friend. I am truly sorry for you, and for this country."


Arashi awoke before the sun, as he always did. His wife, Naoko, would sleep for another hour before her day started. His son, Hoshi, stirred, but Arashi gave him a pat, and the young boy soon slept deeply again.

He enjoyed the calmness before dawn. It was a time of darkness when everything slept, and he would spend the time meditating while going through his motions.

Today, his thoughts kept drifting to the man he had met the night before. As he completed his thousandth swing, he felt saddened that he may have to kill that man. 

He put down his practice sword. He then stripped and sat down by the river where they had made camp the day before. Off to the distance he could see the silhouette of the town of Narai, where he had met that man.

His calmness trembled as the man's face once again made its way into his mind. He recalled the conversation from the day before.

The way the man had kept filling his cup and motioning him to talk, all with that false smile... He had been fishing for information. He must be with his friends already, somewhere up the road.

Arashi finished washing his body, and took a final dip in the water to remove any remaining suds. As he sank below the surface he contemplated his options.

By the time he got out of the water, he had made his decision. He had to tell his wife their journey would take longer than expected.


They set off on the Koshu Kaido, the southern road to Edo. He pulled the cart, and his wife and son sometimes walking beside him, sometimes riding in the cart. The southern road would take longer, but he decided it was preferable to being ambushed by ronin in the mountains.

Ronin. To fall so low as to abandon the code of the samurai. The man had been nimble with his fingers, but his body had screamed of lacking discipline. His only redeeming quality, and the only reason why Arashi decided not to hunt him and his deserting friends down, was the pain in his eyes when he mentioned the imperial rule. Those eyes had told him how much the man had loved the way of the samurai.

He dismissed the man from his thoughts, and focused on the road ahead. They would be on the road a day or so longer than expected, but they would reach Edo safely. 


The yoing man came rushing into the camp. He turned to one of the men eating by the dying camp fire.

"Dengen! You were right!" His voice echoed through the camp.

"They are moving south! They took the southern road like you predicted." 

Dengen took another bite of his bread. "Hah! I knew that bastard saw through me." He swallowed, took a swig from his water puch, and stood up.

"OK, boys! Finish up. We'll cut through the valley and catch them unawares at the Koshu Kaido." Dengen spit into the embers, and a small jet of flames shot into the air. He smiled. "Time to have some fun!"


Settling down by the fire, Arashi felt uneasy. Choosing the safety of Koshu Kaido should have put him at ease, but instead his body was tense. He felt like a dog before an earthquake.

"Is something wrong, dear?" Naoko could sense her husband's anxiousness. She knew that when he worried about something, it was bad. 

"I don't know," Arashi answered. "We took the safe route, but something feels... wrong." He sighed. "Maybe I'm just overthinking it, but could you bring me Kazakiri?"

Naoko let out a small gasp. She quickly went to the back of the cart and produced a long bundle. She knew that if her husband asked for Kazekiri then things must be even worse than she feared. She glanced over at Hoshi, who was sleeping on his blanket in the cart. She suddenly felt a great fear, like she hadn't felt before in her life. 

When she came around tha cart she saw her husband by the fire. He standing up, while poking the fire with a stick. Something in the way he was standing, looking casual, made her take a step back, deeper into the shadows of the cart. He seemed focused on the fire, moving the stick around  aimlessly, but she could see the sign. He was coiled and ready to spring into action.

She took the sword out of its bundle. It was an old sword, a Masamune katana, handed down for generations through her husbands family, and it was worth more than all of their other possessions combined. Arashi was going to sell it once they reach Edo, though it would kill him to do so. 

Suddenly, there was a sharp spark from the fire as Arashi flicked one of the burning logs into the darkness. As it hit something with a yell, he held out his hand towards her. She knew immediately what he wanted, and she flung the sword towards him with all her might.

At that moment there was a large shout, and men emerged from the trees by the road. Their swords gleamed in the fire.

Arashi caught the scabbard of his sword, and with a flash he drew, and the first man fell to the ground before anyone had time to react. 

Arashi moved faster now, catching the men off guard as the element of surprise was lost to them. They had counted on him being unarmed.

They tried to fight back, but the confusion was too great, and they fell, one by one. Soon, the Kazekiri crossed paths with the sole remaining sword. 

Dengen stared at Arashi as their swords clashed. He had been a master swordsman once, before they took his honor, and his arms remembered even though his body had lost its grace.

The swords clashed again and again. Dengen sweated as he parried desperately. He had not expected this from a man who was never a samurai. He could see his end coming, and his mind went back to what he had lost. He lost his focus, and as the Kazekiri cut throuhgh his neck he could only weep for the life he should have had, and his last thoughts were that of gratitude for being able to die in battle.

Arashi cleaned off his sword, and wept for the fallen men. He would bury them, and pray for their souls, even though they were ronin. It was the least he could do.

Jan 18, 2015


QuoProQuid posted:

Of Honor - Fuubi


Thanks for the crit!

Jan 18, 2015

In and I think I'll take 'I'm bad at getting to the point' for 500, Alex.

Jan 18, 2015

In before all the good games are taken.



Jan 18, 2015

Prompt: The Secret of Monkey Island

No Reason to Try

Wordcount: 359

"I want you to know," the man in a neat gray suit said as he raised his bloodied fist again. "I'm not doing this because I hate you." He looked down with distaste on the man he was pinning to the ground. The man was, in contrast, wearing baggy clothes that were garish and slightly uncomfortable to look at.

The fist descended and more blood splattered on the ground. "Don't get me wrong. I hate your guts," He readied his fist once more and lifted Braec Schaveic's head up by his neck. "But this is purely business, Mr. Slavic. Nothing personal."

"It's Schl-" The next strike hit squarely between Braec's eyes, and, as his head bounced off the wooden floor with a loud thud, he slipped into a welcoming unconsciousness.

He woke up some time later, and the first thing to assail him was the smell. It was foul, no doubt about it. Something had died recently, and it had not been pretty. 

He tried to shake the fog out of his eyes as he sat up, but the room was much too dim for him to make out any shapes.

Where am I, he thought.

As his vision steadied and he got used to the gloom, he started picking out more details. One of the biggest being the huge cauldron spewing foul-smelling green smoke on to the floor not far from him.

The fire beneath it was the only source of light, and it cast eerie shadows on the wall. 

Suddenly there were a shuffle, from beyond the cauldron.

"Oh! You're awake!" The voice was bright, to the verge of being shrill, and he could see a shadow moving where he'd heard the voice from.

"Wait a sec! I'll turn on the light." Another shuffle, and the sound of something falling followed by an "Oompf!" and another shuffle.

Suddenly the room was flooded by a bright light, and as Braec blinked to adjust his eyes he could see a petite woman standing by the door, nursing a bumped knee. 

"Sorry about that. I like to keep the lights off while I meditate." She looked at him sheepishly.

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