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derp
Jan 21, 2010


Lipstick Apathy

i wrote two stories and am trying to figure out which one yall will hate less

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apophenium
Apr 13, 2009

I am a real boy.


The Edge of Gorrin
994 words

Feirgo burst into my tent giddy with excitement. I peeked through blankets at what he held. A xylaki. Badly injured but still living. My dream came back to my: I lived elsewhere. I had a family.

“This is big, Ledda! A living xylaki! Finally people will have a reason to come back to Gorrin. The only people who come here anymore just want to wish on a trinket thrown in the stream.”

I finally sat up and acknowledged Feirgo. “Take it outside before it bleeds on my furs.”

The moonlight made me squint. I looked around our village and saw no one else. Good. I’d hate to start gossip that Feirgo and I were talking again. Anyways, the bastard was right about the xylaki. He cradled it like a baby, like the valuable creature it was.

“So I suppose you want a poultice. Maybe a charm potion to keep it by your side?” I pulled my blanket tighter against the night chill.

“Could you? I’ve already posted a letter to the capital. The Queen’s envoy will be coming in a month or two, but I expect interested onlookers will start showing up any day now.” His excitement was refreshing to see. It was catching, too. I could even forgive him for not saying please.

“Don’t wait up. I’mgetting some more sleep tonight.” His face fell so I quickly added: “I’ll go ahead and bandage it, don’t worry.”

Feirgo’s tent was too large him alone. I suppose it’s not too late for him to find someone new. Far too late for us. The xylaki’s breathing slowed as I massaged it. It’s eyes glittered with alertness and alien intelligence. It was hard to keep my frown on; I was genuinely intrigued by the possibilities of a Foreign creature in our village.

Feirgo exhaled and paced. Perhaps watching me work reminded him of how things used to be. Perhaps he was just concerned the creature would die. I stanched the bleeding and tied the bandage tight. I stood the creature up on its hind legs and it twittered at me. “You’re welcome,” I said. To Feirgo I said, “Don’t wake me up before sunrise ever again. Xylaki or no.” And I left before he could respond.

But I couldn’t go back to sleep. I imagined the Queen here. I imagined stuffy, well-dressed morons standing on their tip-toes to see a fabled xylaki. I thought about leaving Gorrin. Let the xylaki die. It would teach Feirgo a lesson for getting his hopes up. Or tend to it. It could be the kid he had never wanted. I sighed at myself for being so maudlin and set to work on the poultice.

When I woke it was past noon. I was shocked at Feirgo’s patience. For the first time it struck me. Did anyone else in the village know about the xylaki? No one waited outside Feirgo’s tent. There was no buzz of excitement or anything. I waited ‘til the coast was clear and slipped in through the back of his tent.

He sat on the floor near a small cookfire with the xylaki wrapped up in several furs. “Does it have a fever?” I loomed over the two of them and tried to see. “Can they even get fevers?”

“Not according to anything I’ve read. But it started shaking.” His concern burned away for a second and he shot me with an angry glare. “It could have died.”

I shrugged and knelt down. “I don’t have to help you, Feir.” I unwrapped the tiny pale blue creature and felt how warm it was. The bandage was soaked with thin blood. The wound underneath looked like a puncture from an arrow. I squeezed the poultice in my hand to activate it and placed it on the wound.

“Did you shoot it, Feir?” I asked, tying up a new bandage. He stared in silence for a spell and gave only the slightest of nods. “Did the arrowhead come free?” Again, silence, nod. I sighed my relief. “Then it’ll live. It could be shock.”

I held the xylaki in my hands and looked into its innocent face. Ah, what could we have had, Feir? A little one to teach how to track deer, like you? And maybe if I taught them a few mixtures they’d have a chance of making something for themself, here or elsewhere. I plopped a few clear drops of painkiller into the creature’s short snout and prayed Feir would be kind to it.

Not a week later the first curious visitors appeared in town. I smirked to think how backwards and ugly our lives must seem to them. And to think us lowly forest-dwellers had something they had to see. I was pleased, I admit. And they spent gold on my mixtures.

Feirgo had not gotten far with training the xylaki. The poor thing was still ailing, but could traipse around on its delicate legs.

More showed up the next day, and the next. They set their carriage houses up on the outskirts. I had not anticipated this. I thought people would come and go. But the pressure was building. They wanted to see the xylaki do what it was supposed to.

At the end of the month the crowds were massive. I became a hermit. But I was there when the xylaki finally blinked, zipping from one spot to the next with a flash of blue light. I heard the gasps and I saw how proud Feirgo was.

So the Queen wouldn’t be disappointed, after all. Feirgo had done it. I put a stock of treats for the xylaki in his tent when I left. It may take him some time to realize I’m gone. I hope it doesn’t hurt him too much.

Feirgo had found a better purpose. Seeing his new life begin pushed me to seek one of my own. It was not going to be in Gorrin a few paces from his arms.

killer crane
Dec 30, 2006



sparksbloom posted:

The Lamp burns sure -- within --
Tho' Serfs -- supply the Oil --
It matters not the busy Wick --
At her phosphoric toil!

Wants
776 words


In the early spring The Mother tasked her sprites to dig clay from The Father's land in the dark of night, night after night. The sprites piled the rudy clay on the steps of The Mother's cottage in the morning lights. After some time, when satisfied with the amount collected, Mother cut her hair into the clay, and locked herself away to work its shaping.

The sprites, then left alone, mischieved the land around The Mother's cottage in an attempt to favor her attention. Saplings were blown from the ground. Spring garden vegetables rotted on the plant. Two young stags pierced each other's throats with their newly grown antlers, and bled to death outside The Mother's window. Their cries didn't arouse even a glance from her.

“The Mother has abandoned us,” a young sprite cried to the others. “She left us no labor. We sprout no fruits!”

Another sprite shook her hair, “The Mother always provides. You are but leaves and twigs, young one, what need do you have for usefulness?”

“Every tree buds and flowers. I've nothing to do! The Father clothes the men of the valley, provides them dwellings, and gives them domain over animals. They are rewarded for their toils” the young sprite said.

“It would be nice to own something,” agreed another. “We should tell The Mother of our… our…” the sprite looked to the others for a word she's never thought.

“Our want!” the young sprite yelled with a jump. The others nodded.

“But what do we want?” The sprites argued through the evening about their newly discovered wants, and what they would ask of The Mother when she emerged. Many wanted food, or clothing, or dwelling, or other things a sprite has no use for. By sunrise they came to an agreement.

In the first moonlight of summer The Mother left the cottage cradling the lump of clay wrapped in bright cloth. “Mother. Mother,” called the sprites, and not wishing to waste time said, “We've decided we want names.”

“Oh my dearests we've no time for that, and besides you've no need. The kiln must be lit.” The Mother picked up kindling from the woodpile in her free hand. “Come along then.” The sprites looked to one another, and followed The Mother into the cottage. The Mother placed the wood and clay into the kiln. She snapped her fingers with a spark, and the fire was lit.

The young sprite was the first to cast herself into the furnace. The elements which clothed her burned away. Her body blazed and disintegrated. The glow brightened the dim room and her soul drifted up with the embers. She hoped the fire would not dwindle and the cottage darken before her new body was shaped.

Unbodied and at the will of the breeze the sprite considered her wants. She considered her nothingness, and The Mother.

She settled on a thicket of grass. The green blades grew around her, weaving a figure. Days passed by before the sprite was whole enough to gather in the forest life by herself. Once full she made her way back.

Inside the cottage The Mother inhaled; she arched her back, extending her arms, and taking more than just the breath into herself. Once full she knelt on the floor before the kiln and blew deep into the fire; coals crackled and sparked. The young sprite stepped back from the heat, “Mother, may we discuss our request?”

The Mother breathed in with same gesture. As she exhaled she answered the waiting sprite, “We've two moons until the firing is complete, and much work after.” Not hesitating in her movements The Mother continued the same pattern. “For now the fire must not falter.”

The sprite waited a moment to consider The Mother's words before jumping into the fire. Once again she flared into a puff and floated into the forest. Two moons passed as the young sprite and her sisters repeated their incinerations while The Mother tended the firing.

When the first snow fell the fire was doused. The sprites gathered to watch as The Mother pulled the clay from the kiln, wrap it in dull cloth, and sing it a winter's lullaby. The shape within its wrappings stirred, and cried out. “Go fetch a basket and bedding my dears. The Father has a new child.”

The Mother fed the child, and placed him in the basket. “They will name him in the valley, won't they?” asked the young sprite.

The Mother smiled to her sprites and answered “They will. Everything in the valley has been named. But while he is with us here he has none.”

derp
Jan 21, 2010


Lipstick Apathy

Lizat’s First Meeting
1000

removed

derp fucked around with this message at Jan 1, 2019 around 17:56

Antivehicular
Dec 30, 2011

I wanna sing one for the cars
That are right now headed silent down the highway
And it's dark and there is nobody driving
And something has got to give


Ultra Carp

sparksbloom posted:

It is an honorable Thought
and makes One lift One's Hat
As One met sudden Gentlefolk
Upon a daily Street

The House on Lindworm Street
997 words

Available on the archive

Antivehicular fucked around with this message at Jan 1, 2019 around 04:52

Tyrannosaurus
Apr 12, 2006

I failed to submit because I was so excited about New Zealander Tim Price winning the Burghley Horse Trials on the quirky but freakishly talented Ringwood Sky Boy

Charm Sellers
1000 words

Archived.

Tyrannosaurus fucked around with this message at Dec 25, 2018 around 19:25

Fleta Mcgurn
Oct 5, 2003

Roses are red
Violets are blue
Chocolate tastes bad,
also fuck you <3

Morning Bell posted:

The wind blows across the desert sands. A snake slithers over an empty pack of winfield blues. A voice in the distance calls:
"Fleta Mcgurn and YoruichiBeefSupreme shall brawl against Sebmojo and cptn_dr"

1,750 worlds max
Due date: 1st of December 23:59 PST

Prompt: each writer shall choose one out of the three options below (tell me which prompt when you post your story, you don't have to choose now).
1. The only pub in town has just closed
2. A new hospital in town has just opened
3. It had been forty eight degrees Celcius for three days in a row
(please convert to Fahrenheit yourself).

Any genre, any style, any setting, as long as your words are good and I can see the prompt in your words

Morning Bell posted:

Yes yes everyone can have an extension of 24hours

BUT

Fleta McGurn - if you want an extension you must include two of the following three words in your story:
wetness, unfathomable, horticulture

Extermination Excursion

1744 words

Rebecca had only two memories from before the war. One, which she cherished, was about fireworks, light against velvet and cheerful cacophony. Not so precious was the other pre-war memory: the first Clench victim. His corded neck and twisted face splashed across a public broadcast screen. Rebecca had stared in horror before being whisked away, her childish questions going unanswered. Clench had been a rare, almost unfathomable malady before the war. During the rebuilding period, it became a plague.

The Clench started slow. It always began in the mouth or face, then slid horribly downwards. Some sufferers put pieces of cork in their mouths, or scraps of leather, so that their teeth wouldn’t crack when their jaws spasmed. You could see every tendon in the neck stiffen and wrench. Rebecca had rarely seen anyone with an advanced case- usually, it affected the lungs and heart before it could spread much farther- but she knew what a Clench Crash looked like. The merciless, uncontrollable twisting and jerking. The body a tortured puppet, trapped by itself. Most victims chose to end their lives long before the disease reached the torso.
She heard the front door open and close. “I’m in the basement,” she called. The rusty thermometer on the side of the house read 48 degrees. Rebecca wasn’t escaping the heat so much as hiding from it. She panted like a dog on the filthy floor, the moldy taste of the air thick on her tongue.

David came to the top of the stairs. “You fix these yet?”

“Nope, why would I? Next tenant’s problem.”

“Goddammit, Becca.”

She propped herself up on her elbows. “Just come down, okay?”

When David arrived at the bottom of the stairs, Becca jumped to her feet and pointed to her forehead. “Look!” After a few seconds, a sudden twitch appeared above her left eyebrow. It started slow, but soon built up a speed and rhythm that was horribly familiar.

David stepped back in disgust. “Ugh! That’s pretty good,” he admitted. “How did you manage to move a muscle in your forehead?”

“It’s been hotter than poo poo for the past three days, David. Nothing to do but hide down here and practice. Check it out, I can do it at the same time as other muscles in my chin and—”

“I am good, thanks. No need for further demonstration.” He shuddered. “Are you packed?”

She nodded. “Yeah, and I got the biofuel. We can get at least halfway to Van City with what I have. The car’s in the public square and I already stocked it with water and food. We’ll just get in and drive away.”

One strange effect the Clench epidemic eventually had was to bring communities closer- too close. Terrified of being unable to meet horticultural quotas, most settlements refused to let their citizens leave, and borders were heavily patrolled. It especially was difficult for a woman of breeding age to leave, especially if she didn’t already have children.

Rebecca was old enough to serve in the mandatory breeding program, and the local officials had been sniffing around lately, asking pointed questions about when she would come down and register. Some women looked forward to their time in the program- the clinics were relatively clean and luxurious, often with functional water lines, and lots of food- but Rebecca wasn’t one of them. She understood why someone else might want to have a family, but it made no sense to her to raise children in a toxic landscape. Many more children died than were born, and Rebecca had no interest in losing anyone else she loved. The one way she knew she could leave her small settlement was to get the Clench. If David claimed he was taking her out for extermination, they could get away easily. It happened so often, and the officers were all squeamish about catching the disease. Rebecca knew they wouldn’t waste much time examining her. Once they were in the Extermination Zone, it was only a few days’ travel to the capital. Van City was big and busy enough that she and David could both disappear.

“We’ll be there in less than three days,” Becca said to David. Mindful of her purported illness, she didn’t jump in excitement, but she did squeeze his hand. “Then we’ll be free of this place forever.”

David nodded. He looked uneasy. Rebecca knew he wasn’t quite as eager to leave- he still had a living sister in town- but she’d had to give him an ultimatum. If he wouldn’t go with her, she’d go on her own, and they’d never see each other again. David had made his choice, but she knew he was conflicted.

When they left the house, neither looked back.

Rebecca and David arrived at the public square just in time to see a Clench Crash. Not a community member, but a stranger. Two onlookers prayed. Everyone else just stared, waiting.

The man didn’t speak, only made a feeble rasping noise. His tongue lolled from his mouth. It was grotesquely fascinating to see it wiggling and twitching on its own. Were he a little farther from death, his limbs would have been equally as frenetic, but his exhaustion overcame even the effects of the Clench. The man was naked and blistered all over from sun and chemical rain exposure. He must have walked for a long time to find someone to help him die. Rebecca wished she could show some compassion and take on the extermination herself, instead of having to wait for the police, but she knew better than to draw attention.

“This is good,” David said in a low voice, “everyone’s distracted.”

With difficulty, Rebecca looked away from the dying man. David was right. The police must be on their way to the square to carry out the extermination, which meant everyone would stay there and watch. The car wasn’t far. “Let’s go!”

The door was unlocked. David poured the biofuel into the bottle mounted on the dirty dashboard while Rebecca fiddled with the old keys. “This stuff smells,” he complained.

“No poo poo- well, all poo poo, actually,” she quipped. David cracked a smile, but his eyes looked worried. “You okay?”

“Thinking about Diana,” he answered, looking back at the crowd as he pulled away. Rebecca managed to lower the seatback. “I think she knows.”

gently caress. “Would she tell?”

He shook his head, keeping his eyes on the dusty road. “Even if she figured it out, I don’t think she’d say anything. She wants to enter the breeding program next year and needs to have a clean record. Being implicated in this could gently caress that up.” He swerved to avoid a massive hole in the road. “We’ll be at the checkpoint in about ten minutes. Are you ready?”

“Yeah.” Rebecca put her hand on David’s leg as she lay down. “I love you, you know.”

He looked at her quickly, flashing a big smile. “I love you,” he answered. “No matter what happens.”

Rebecca noticed that he did not quite meet her eyes.

The border checkpoint wasn’t busy. David pulled over into the designated waiting zone. Rebecca lay back down and closed her eyes. Straining, she managed to get the forehead tic going. With great concentration, she managed to set her cheek muscle twitching at the same time, although it was dammed hard. Rebecca grunted with the effort, which she hoped would read as a grunt of pain.

“Ready?” David asked, knowing she couldn’t answer. He put the car in park.

Rebecca heard the border control officer’s rebreather, felt a stab of jealous hatred for them having one at all. She cracked an eye open to see the officer, in a sparkling white environmental suit, peering through the window.
“Papers,” the officer said. Her voice sounded tinny through the speaker.

“It’s an extermination excursion,” David said. He sounded genuinely unhappy.

“Pull over to the side, please.”

Rebecca didn’t move, concentrating on her twitches. She heard David get out. Rebecca knew he was being taken into the office to sign some paperwork, while an officer drove her into the designated exit zone. There was no security in the extermination sector, and they could drive straight across it to Van City. She was overwhelmed by the idea of emerging from the zone of corpses a free woman, ready to make her own kind of life.

She grunted and twitched for the benefit of the driver, even managing an extra spasm in her jaw muscles. Not once did Rebecca open her eyes, fearful of losing concentration, but she assumed everything was going well. Her heart leapt when she felt the car slow down and turn into a parking space.

Rebecca had expected the officer to get out right away, but they just sat there in silence. After a couple minutes, curiosity overcame her, and she cracked open one eye. It was David in the driver’s seat, and he looked sick.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she whispered through her clenched jaw.

He didn’t answer. She gave him a little poke in the side. “Hey!” she said louder, and opened her eyes. “Where are we? Why did they want us to park in here?”

David turned his head and finally met her gaze. At first, she couldn’t identify the emotion on his face, but then it hit her- guilt.

“You fucker,” she breathed, and sat up suddenly.

It seemed that they had been waiting for her to do exactly that. Rebecca screamed and kicked as the officers dragged her from the car. ‘Why the gently caress would you do that?” she screeched at David, who sat frozen. “We were going to have a life! We were going to be free!”

“I’m not leaving Diana,” he shouted back, “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, Becca! This is for the best!”

The officers were strong; Rebecca couldn’t break away. She struggled for a moment, then went limp under their crushing hands. She scraped her face on the jagged pavement, screaming as she felt the wetness of the blood. Her fists beat a futile tattoo against the white-clad officers surrounding her.

The woman from the front gate brought the sedative. Rebecca couldn’t see her face- couldn’t see any faces- but she heard a metallic whisper as the needle went in: “Nice try.”

Just then, Rebecca felt her face twitch. Involuntarily. A cold feeling of horror shot across her heart. She opened her mouth to warn them.

Then everything went black.

Solitair
Feb 18, 2014

This statement is a lie!


Me and My Shadow
997 words

quote:

How many Flowers fail in Wood --
Or perish from the Hill --
Without the privilege to know
That they are Beautiful --

REMOVED

Solitair fucked around with this message at Dec 31, 2018 around 22:59

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

Boozeborne Hearts
1414 words

sebmojo fucked around with this message at Jan 1, 2019 around 23:34

BeefSupreme
Sep 14, 2007


Kill the Sun
1749 words

“It worked.”

The words, uttered in Nero’s low growl, crackled through the two-way radio on Nakano’s shoulder and straight down her spine. She stood at the end of a pier, eyes tracking a cloudbank lit up by the dawn rolling in from the northwest, a postcard perfect scene, but she saw none of it. She was transfixed by the two words she had been waiting months to hear, ever since she and Nero hatched their plan. Two words that confirmed years of suspicion and silent observation.

“Copy,” Nakano said into the radio, the squeak of her voice betraying her barely contained excitement. “I’ll call you from my secure line. Wait 5 minutes.”

She turned from the pier and walked up a broad paved avenue that curved up and away onto the short cliffside flanking the beach. As she walked, she turned her gaze back to the ocean, and now saw that picturesque coastline with fresh eyes. The sky above was illuminated by the breaking dawn, radiant and dazzling colors splashing against the underside of clouds and the mirror-glass of the buildings on the coast. A streak of gold ran down the center of the vast oceanic expanse which ran from horizon to shore, deep, brilliant blue and ever-shifting. White foam topped perfect curls that washed softly onto the white sand beach. A smooth wooden pier ran the length of the beach, and expanding outward to the east was the rest of the city—a center of commerce, culture, and community. It was always bustling, but never crowded. It was perfect. Too perfect, almost. If Nero’s experiment had really worked, then, perhaps, the unthinkable was true. Perhaps this place was, in fact, too perfect to be real.

She reached her home a few minutes later, a small house on the perimeter of the city, atop the cliffs that sat just south of the city. She was a tinkerer, a designer of custom gadgets, machines, and the like, and she’d done quite well for herself. She entered and walked down to the lower level, her workshop, and sat at her desk facing the window looking back over the beach. grabbed a cord which ended in an earpiece and placed it in her right ear. The other end plugged into a small box with a touch screen dial pad. She punched in a string of numbers she’d long since memorized, and a familiar hum clicked in her ear, as the device sought a secure connection to Nero. She had never actually met Nero—she knew they lived in the same region, as they’d discussed geographical features from time to time—but had spent hours over the phone and on internet message boards discussing their various theories about the nature of this world. After a few moments, the hum disappeared and a low growl replaced it.

“Hello, Nakano,” Nero said. “Kill the sun.” A passphrase.

“Shatter the moon,” Nakano replied. Then, for a few seconds, neither spoke. Nero wasn’t much of a talker, and Nakano was nervous. Soon enough, though, her curiosity took over: “Did it really work?”

“Check the sensors. Plug in the coordinates.” He rattled off a string of numbers, but Nakano already knew them. She had helped select the particular coordinates, a remote patch of forest in a distant wilderness she’d never seen, and which it seemed nobody else had either—no roads for a hundred miles, no powerlines, no nearby flightpaths. She’d rigged up a solar-powered drone, attached a suite of sensors and cameras, and piloted it to the plot of land they’d named Calvary. She quickly opened her laptop and pulled up the environmental sensor program Nero had written—he was a programmer by trade and by hobby.

“What am I looking for?” Nakano asked.

“Look at the temperature readings for last week, starting from last Sunday.”

She clicked a few settings, set the date range, and pulled up a report of exactly what he’d said. When the graph appeared on her screen, she gasped. From Sunday the 22nd to Tuesday the 24th, there was a single, straight line at 48 degrees Celsius. It had been a constant 48 degrees for three days in a row. Immediately before and after those 72 hours, the temperature fell within normal ranges for the time of year and time of day—5 degrees at night, 20 degrees in the afternoon, and all normal fluctuations in between.

“Does this mean…” She stopped, knowing precisely what it meant. She and Nero had spent years discussing the very ideas that led them to this particular experiment, and that this experiment confirmed. This world was too perfect. It was a utopian vision, a perfectly functioning precision machine, in which everything was available to everyone, in which everyone could do anything they wanted and be well compensated for it, in which nothing ever broke, not really, and nobody died that wasn’t supposed to, in which nature and man lived in perfect harmony. And then there were the visions, the dreams which seemed to come from past lives, of a different world, different names, different places. Of hands, her hands, she thought, signing document after document, of sterile rooms and rows of networked servers. “Have you confirmed it?”

“Yes. Twice. I—” His voice caught in his throat, and he held his breath, a rare moment of excitement for Nero. “I can control it.”

Nakano’s heartbeat quickened, and her breath shortened. It was at once both unbelievably exciting to have their theories proven true--that this world was a simulation, a facsimile, some kind of virtual reality--and impossibly upsetting to wrestle with the implications of that truth. Her mind ran in circles over miles of conversations that she’d had with Nero over the preceding years. Her eyes stared at the graph, still up on her screen, and her ears rang with Nero’s words. I can control it.

Soon, her mind settled on the one conversation they’d had many times, and which was most pressingly relevant at this moment—what they would do if their theories were true. They had been in agreement on that from the beginning: if this world were false, they would find the seams, and rip it open.

“If you can control it… Can you do it? Can we crack the shell?”

“I can.”

“When?”

“Today.”

“What do you need?”

“A signal amplifier.”

Nakano smiled. They were destined to meet before the end, after all. “I’ve got one here. I’ll send you my coordinates.” She repeated a string of numbers from memory, then looked up from her laptop and out the wide window in front of her. The day was shaping up to be another perfect one, as usual. Then, a new thought entered her mind, one which, somehow, had never come up in any of their conversations.

“Nero… What happens? After we break it? Will we… Wake up? Will we die?”

Nero was quiet for some time, as was his way. Then, a short bark of laughter, then: “I haven’t the faintest loving clue.”

“I can’t believe we never talked about that part. The after. I guess… I guess it never really mattered?” Nakano sat and chewed on that thought for a moment, then spit it out. “No, that’s not true. I think I just always knew that if the world was false, there was only one thing to be done. Who cares what happens after?”

“Agreed.”

“Okay. Meet me here as soon as you can. It’s time to break the world.”

*****

She heard the car coming from up the road. The loud backfiring engine that echoed a bygone era was tremendously out of place in a neighborhood rife with electric vehicles. It hadn’t been long so she was still tinkering with gadgets when he arrived. She set down her current project and headed to the door to meet for the first time the man she’d spent the last several years collaborating with.

What she saw when she opened the door was equal parts shocking and completely unsurprising. His car was a beat-up old sedan with less paint than rust. It smelled of burnt excrement—she’d heard him talk about biofuels before—and, in stark contrast, the backseat was packed with high-end electronics. Nero himself was a vision of singlemindedness: his hair stuck out at odd angles, his was covered in a patchy beard, and his clothes had seemingly not been washed in weeks—if ever, but out from behind that unkempt exterior stared a set of piercing blue eyes that belied an astonishing intellect. Nakano smiled in recognition. “Let’s do this thing.” Nero didn’t respond, except to follow her inside.

Once in her workshop, Nakano handed Nero a cable. “Here. The signal amplifier. I set it to repeat across every possible spectrum I can get to with my equipment.”

Nero pulled a tablet from his bag and plugged the cable into the side. He began to tap his fingers across the screen rapidly and precisely, and then he set the tablet on the table. “It’s done.” He turned to look at the room for the first time, and smiled. “Ready to destroy the world, but still living in it, I see.”

Nakano shrugged and smiled.

“Do you think they’ll have a response?” Nero asked.

“If they even know what they’re dealing with… Whoever they are.”

Just then, lights, bright red and blue, flared through the house’ front windows and down the staircase. “I think we’re about to find out.” The door opened with a clatter, and from the workshop Nakano could see several uniformed police officers striding downstairs guns drawn and eyes wild.

“Lanie Kim, put your hands up!” The lead officer shouted.

“No thanks,” Nakano replied. Nero chuckled—they’d never shared their real names, either.

“You are ordered to shut down all broadcasts immediately!”

“Again, no thanks, buddy. This world needs to die.”

The officers looked at each other, then back at Nero and Nakano. “You signed the contracts! You agreed to all this! Do you understand what will happen?”

Before she could respond, the officer’s face began to split and pixelate. Nakano jumped slightly. “Guess we’ll find out.” Then Nero tapped her on the shoulder, and she turned to look behind her. The world outside was tearing in half at the horizon. The sky had turned an unearthly shade of green, and objects seemed to be appearing at random in midair. They had succeeded. They had broken through.

“Kill the sun.”

“Shatter the moon.”

Then all went black.

BeefSupreme
Sep 14, 2007


^^^ that's my "I'm not sure who's fighting or what we're fighting over" Brawl Entry

Thranguy
Apr 21, 2010

With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls,
For stony limits cannot hold
H U L K A M A N I A

SUPER SUMMERSLAM
THUNDERDOME 2019


Julie In Bloom

710 words

There are hundreds of thousands of worlds, connected in a web of folded-space gates, cosmic societies, thousands of species in the dance of war and trade and culture. Earth isn't part of it. So I found a way off. I'm Julie Fossa, and this is my story, or part of it.

* * *

We stepped out the gate onto Dragonet VI, Rue and me. It was our third date. Decision time, time to find out if I should just move on or if there was going to be kissing. Our third date, and he takes me to his planet.

“Well,” said Rue, “My family's planet. My father's planet.” He looked down. The ground was covered in a light dust of snow. “And it isn't much of a good one, not just yet. A long term investment.”

“I like it,” I said, taking a few steps, getting used to the light gravity and leaving muddy footprints. “It hardly ever snowed, back in the City.”

“What was it like?” said Rue. “Earth, I mean. I'm sorry, you must get asked that all the time.”

“Crowded,” I said. “And lonely.” I smiled. “And no, you're the first to ask. No, really.”

“How...?” he started. “Unless-”

“You were pretty much the first person I met in the human part of the Core,” I said. I was a bit lost in the Nexus of Nexuses, and he offered directions and a cup of coffee. “I hope you're actually as cute as I think you are. After three years with just the crystals and pigs for company, I'm not sure I trust my judgment.”

“I know about the Frixi,” he said. “But pigs?”

I told him about the pigs. They were the reason I could come, why they even had atmosphere on the ship. Somewhere in Frixi space there was a biosphere with a roughly pig shaped hole in it. So they bought some pigs, and since they don't much like touching anything if they can help it and since their robots spooked the swine they had a position available.

“Turn around,” he said. I did. He waved at the path we had made. Where we had stepped there were green shoots emerging from the mud, growing fast enough to watch. “What was it like, living with Frixi?”

“Lonely,” I said. “They're telepathic, sort of. Radio communication, constant contact. So they forget to talk to people who aren't.”

“That must be strange,” said Rue. “Imagine talking and listening to someone on the other side of the world.”

“It's why so many of them crew the slow ships to and from the Rim,” I said. “To get away from other Frixi.”

“Ex-lovers?”

“Family, mostly.”

“I can relate,” said Rue. The snow was starting to melt, even where we hadn't stepped, and more shoots pushed up, turning the ground beneath then from white to green. “I'm a massive disappointment, you know. To Mother and Father. My sisters both have careers of their own. Magda's a doctor, and Lys manages the terraforming here when she's not on tour performing Mozart. And here I am, barely qualified even to inherit.”

“You could always run away,” I wanted to say. The words stuck in my throat. Fear. That he'd say 'no’. That he'd say 'okay’. Then the flowers began to bloom, green tips bursting into sprays of yellow and red and white like silent fireworks. I watched them, then watched as Lys’ tiny robot bees flew among them, pollinating each blossom.

He touched my shoulder. I turned to him, and looked into his eyes. And there was kissing, and more than kissing, for the hours before the snows returned to Dragonet VI and marked our time to leave. The flowers were hardy enough to make it through the hard long winter. We were not.

There was no future for us. I was never going to stay in his aristocratic corner of human space, not with a hundred thousand other worlds to see in the Core. And he was never going to come with me, not far and fast enough to outrace family and regret. But not everything is about a future. Rue - Rupert Willington III, in full - was a present, an extended moment, short and beautiful as the Dragonet VI spring.

cptn_dr
Sep 7, 2011

It's just so good!


Carcinogen
600 words.
DrMojo Brawl


The empty lot on the edge of the city is no more. The bare patch of red earth has been churned up, gouged and broken. The construction workers swarmed in like wasps in their yellow jackets, giant machines shattering the baked earth with great concussive booms.

From the broken ground sprouts a steel skeleton, germinating and filling with operating theatres, air ducts, corridors - its organs, airways, arteries. The workers retreat back to their hives, never to be seen in town again. Local council said that the construction project would bring jobs, but nobody can even say they know someone who knows someone who worked on it.

The newborn hospital looms over the town. No matter where you are in town, you can see it, crouched on the western horizon. Doctors and nurses, custodians and administrators, the staff creep in from out of town, and live in small buildings on the extremities of the property. They never have to leave, and spend their days proceeding through their schedules with a clockwork precision, working to itineraries set by unseen management. Time passes. The hospital matures.

Beckett is a nightwatchman, spending his nights keeping watch on the periphery, just outside the chain link fence that surrounds the new hospital. He’s not allowed across the boundary, but marches up and down, vigilantly protecting the threshold between the hospital and the outside world.

People aren’t often admitted at night. Beckett assumes that most patients arrive by day, and only real emergencies warrant a midnight trip. It’s a private hospital. It must be, because they never admit locals. Eventually Beckett notices a pattern. When the ambulances come - well, what he assumes are ambulances, though they are longer and more angular than any he’s seen before, even on TV - it’s always shortly before the news of a disaster nearby. The sinking of the Antipodes. The collapse of the new bridge over the Yarra. The Wagga-Wagga knife massacre.

Tonight he finds himself staring at the hospital in the dark. The lights in the windows flicker on and off, one at a time. It seems random, but the more Beckett stares, he becomes convinced that there’s a pattern, some message hiding just beyond the edge of his comprehension. He stares without blinking. Third floor, sixth room across. On. Off. Seventh floor, room twelve. On. Off. His mind grasps for meaning. He counts the time between flashes. He tries to predict which light will flicker on next, and takes umbrage when he gets it wrong. The lights keep flickering. They begin to speed up.

He takes a deep breath. He is still concentrating intently on the lights when the first ambulances arrives in silence. The gate slips open like a widening grin, and the ambulance passes through. Rather than snapping shut, as it has on every previous occasion, it gapes open. Another ambulance. Another.

No more arrive, but the gate still doesn’t close. Beckett thinks that maybe if he gets closer, he can crack the code. He slips across the threshold for the first time in six years. He can feel something churning below him, a great mechanical rumbling.

He finally understands. Meaning, sharp and clear, burns itself into his synapses. Beckett understands what the hospital is. And Beckett sees the angel.

Investigators don’t know what sparked the firestorm that destroyed Beckett’s town. The case is closed, inconclusive. The lead investigator is stumped, and drives home feeling that he has failed. As he pulls across the bridge into the small town where he lives, he notices that they’ve broken ground on a construction project at the edge of town.

Djeser
Mar 22, 2013



https://thunderdome.cc/?story=7025

Djeser fucked around with this message at Dec 31, 2018 around 20:14

Flesnolk
Apr 11, 2012

by FactsAreUseless


Sorry

Flesnolk fucked around with this message at Dec 4, 2018 around 14:12

sparksbloom
Apr 30, 2006


Submissions are closed.

Morning Bell
Feb 23, 2006



Illegal Hen

Beef Mcgurn & cptn_mojo failure-desert brawl judgement will be sometime in the next 48 hours. Tremble!

Yoruichi
Sep 21, 2017

Time for tea and Thunderdome

Interprompt: How did Mom get all these bitcoins?

Flesnolk
Apr 11, 2012

by FactsAreUseless


sjgj

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk


that doesn't explain how mom got all these bitcoins though

Flesnolk
Apr 11, 2012

by FactsAreUseless


Sufficiently slow judging is indistinguishable from bitcoin mining. Pretty sure Clarke said that.

Thranguy
Apr 21, 2010

With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls,
For stony limits cannot hold
H U L K A M A N I A

SUPER SUMMERSLAM
THUNDERDOME 2019


Yoruichi posted:

Interprompt: How did Mom get all these bitcoins?

Top Ten Theories

10. Selling edibles.

9. Took them in the divorce.

8. Ransomware attacks on the United Nations Cafeteria Website.

7. Was left them in her great grandfather's will.

6. Deposited by infamous Russian assassin Pavel 'The Mallet' Drovchek with notation "For October 6,2016"

5. Put mining software on entire Purdue University network while working in the development office.

4. Selling Coke.

3. Stole them from the president of a Central American country.

2. Bought in early with her neighborhood investment club, then forgot about them when Patsy moved to Reno. (She was the only one who really cared about it, and the only person who could socially buffer Mom and Hyacinth as well.)

1. Logged in to that nice site selling those Magical Gathering cards Johnny likes with her usual name/pwd combo, 'RockingMom6'/'donuts', hacked Mt Gox thinking she was getting change back from buying 4 Taigas.

sparksbloom
Apr 30, 2006


week 330 results

HMs: "Vanity Fatigue" by Sitting Here, "Gnosis kai Khara" by Djeser
DMs: "Lizat" by derp, "Edge of Gorrin" by apophenium
Loss: "Crimes?" by Flesnolk
Win: "The House on Lindworm Street" by Antivehicular

Welcome back to the blood throne, Antivehicular.

sparksbloom fucked around with this message at Dec 4, 2018 around 12:20

Antivehicular
Dec 30, 2011

I wanna sing one for the cars
That are right now headed silent down the highway
And it's dark and there is nobody driving
And something has got to give


Ultra Carp

Thunderdome CCCXXXI: A Very Thunderdome Hanukkah

Let's have a simple seasonal prompt. For this week, in the spirit of Hanukkah, I want to read stories containing these two elements:

1. Something (or someone) that has endured longer than expected; and
2. A miracle. (This can be either the secular sense of "very unlikely fortuitous occurrence" or some kind of actual divine intervention.)

These should not be the same thing. Also, don't get cute and actually try to retell the Hanukkah story, although other dips into folklore are fine.

No erotica, fanfiction, topical politics, Google Docs, poetry, or archive-breaking coding.

Word Count: 1000 (2000 on toxx)
Signup Deadline: 11:59 PM Pacific, Friday December 7th
Submission Deadline: 11:59 PM Pacific, Sunday December 9th

Judges:
Antivehicular
apophenium
??

Participants:
1. Tibalt
2. Thranguy
3. Fleta McGurn
4. Djeser
5. Sitting Here
6. sebmojo (dreadmojo?)
7. Solitair
8. Bad Seafood
9. Kaishai
10. Tyrannosaurus

Antivehicular fucked around with this message at Dec 8, 2018 around 20:13

apophenium
Apr 13, 2009

I am a real boy.


I would like to judge, if you will have me.

Tibalt
May 14, 2017

lol suk it proud boi


I'm in.

Exmond
May 31, 2007


im doin it ma im writing

THUNDERDOME


Yoruichi posted:

Interprompt: How did Mom get all these bitcoins?

December 17th, 2018

Did you know that bitcoins have a sound? Charlie found out when he woke up to an electronic wail. It sounded like a combination of a MIDI synthesizer mixed with the "freedom" of the free market.

Charlie looked outside and saw his Mom consoling a woman, who was crying digital currency. He opened the window, leaned out and asked. "Why is that women crying, Mom?"

"Honey, Yoruichi is crying because she got absolutely thwomped in a brawl with Exmond," The mother said as she put a bucket underneath Yoruichi, "But don't worry now, we are rich!"

Exmond fucked around with this message at Dec 4, 2018 around 16:46

Thranguy
Apr 21, 2010

With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls,
For stony limits cannot hold
H U L K A M A N I A

SUPER SUMMERSLAM
THUNDERDOME 2019


in and

Fleta Mcgurn
Oct 5, 2003

Roses are red
Violets are blue
Chocolate tastes bad,
also fuck you <3

in because I want to be where the chosen people are

Djeser
Mar 22, 2013



in

Yoruichi
Sep 21, 2017

Time for tea and Thunderdome

Exmond posted:

December 17th, 2018

Exmond, I thought for a moment there that you might be trying to fight me, but then I realised this must be your entry for this week, because it contains someone enduring (“a woman, who was crying”), and an absolute miracle (“Yoruichi ... got ... thwomped in a brawl with Exmond.”)

Fleta Mcgurn
Oct 5, 2003

Roses are red
Violets are blue
Chocolate tastes bad,
also fuck you <3

Yoruichi posted:

Interprompt: How did Mom get all these bitcoins?

Can I break the "no fanfiction" rule if the story is about Zaurg?

Exmond
May 31, 2007


im doin it ma im writing

THUNDERDOME


Yoruichi posted:

Exmond, I thought for a moment there that you might be trying to fight me, but then I realised this must be your entry for this week, because it contains someone enduring (“a woman, who was crying”), and an absolute miracle (“Yoruichi ... got ... thwomped in a brawl with Exmond.”)

Only miracle here is how good that Blood-Empress crown and dress is gonna look on me!

Yoruichi
Sep 21, 2017

Time for tea and Thunderdome

Yes you’re correct, that would indeed take a miracle.

So I guess now I’ve got to fight you to defend my and Sitting Here’s honour?

Bring it bitch.

Exmond
May 31, 2007


im doin it ma im writing

THUNDERDOME


Yoruichi posted:

Yes you’re correct, that would indeed take a miracle.

So I guess now I’ve got to fight you to defend my and Sitting Here’s honour?

Bring it bitch.


There isn't much to defend then.



Morning Bell
Feb 23, 2006



Illegal Hen

FAILDESERT BRAWL FAIL BRAWL DESERT BRAWL
BEEF MC GURN CAPTAIN MOJO BRAWL


I looked into the sands of the foul failuredesert and this is what I saw.

Carcinogen

I dig the direct way this is told. Language isn’t bad at all. A lot is done in a few words, consistent tone, the reader knows what’s up. It’s a fair concept and set up nicely. The way the hospital goes up, the weirdness around it, the way we’re seeing it from some guy’s eyes. The ‘direct story-telly’ voice is a delight.

I’m not sure about the angel line, and the immediate understanding, and the “here we go again” ending. Not that it’s specifically bad, just that it’s very ho-hum and lazy. All the interesting stuff has happened in the first half. Up to “Wagga-Wagga knife massacre” (inclusive, naturally) you’ve done a good job. But the rest is totally phoned-in. It’s not especially bad, but it’s a predictable way to wrap up what has been an all right story. I was really hoping you’d do something surprising for the reader. Next time you do a similar piece, why not consider taking a risk and doing something that you know the reader will not expect or be overly familiar with in the ending? Would pay dividends. The real problem with the phoned-in end is that the rest of the piece, while good, is very ‘straight’. We’ve read yarns like this before. You need to raise the reader’s eyebrow with the ending for this to shine.

If I had to represent this story with an image it would be a skier going downhill, where the level the skier is above sea level represents the quality of the story.

Extermination Excursion

Strong opening sentence but the start a bit jumpy, the way the info is given to us and the way the point of view jumps around and the voice and tone oscillates. The voice is often too casual and uneven.

Careful with your action and blocking. “When David arrived at the bottom of the stairs, Becca jumped to her feet… feels and reads like a static image as opposed to a series of actions, which is probably what you want: David arrives / Becca jumps to her feet.

Concept is good but again, the way it’s told is not selling me. It reads more like a blog post than prose. You have some occasional formal language: “relatively clean and luxurious, often with functional water lines” - but most of it is pretty casual and baggy, e.g. “Rebecca had no interest in losing anyone else she loved” reads pretty casual and The one way she knew she could leave her small settlement was” is plain awkward.

Plot complications are good though, I like what you’re doing in concept. “Diana knows…” "Rebecca noticed that he did not quite meet her eyes." Ending twist (involuntary twitch) is good too.

The Diana/David betrayal really doesn’t hit us very hard because we’re not really feeling for these people. They’re more like names involved in the events being described. Why would David betray Becca for Diana? Things like choice humanising details about the characters and their lives would make us feel much, much more. In short fiction like this, you’ve only a small amount of words to work with and I suggest using your words more on making the characters seem human, real and complex, instead of describing actions that could easily be implied.

Stay conscious of the mood and pacing, too - for example, when "everyone's distracted" by the Clench Crash, this should be a heart-beating moment, but the story is simply casually describing events.

At the moment there's a lot of quite generic stuff: “we were going to have a life! we were going to be free! / Im so sorry, this is for the best!” is totally hum-dum. You want more specific details in both dialogue and character backstory and description.

The plot (as in, “the things that happen”) you’ve done well enough, though. Some really grotesque stuff (mandatory breeding) is handled well in the context of this world (its horrific, but for a resident of the horrific world of the story, could see how ‘some people looked forward to it’).

Kill The Sun

Effective and nice first few lines. But then… hmmm. She hears a thing over the radio by a pier and sees stuff and walks home? Not sure how necessary the first part is, it’s a bit “nothing”, though I don’t mind the visuals and the mood setting.

I’m very curious about the characters. The certainty in which they want to destroy the world if it is a simulation is good, I like that a lot. I want to know more about them but also I like that the story doesn't tell us a great deal because they grow bigger and complex in our heads due to this certainty of breaking the world. I like how they’ve never met and how Nero says nothing in the moment when they do meet. Very nice.

Really, though, we do need to know what it’s like to live in the world, not just be told it. We’re told a lot of the beauty of the world and hows its perfect but all the human stuff is hollow. We know how beautiful it looks but I want to know: how do people live. Right now the Utopia is mostly visual.

“In which everything was available to everyone, in which everyone could do anything they wanted and be well compensated for it, in which nothing ever broke, not really, and nobody died that wasn’t supposed to, in which nature and man lived in perfect harmony.” - this would work in a much shorter piece, but with the amount of details given to everything else by this story, this is insufficient and too generic.

"Signed the contracts" is great with what it implies but also how do the cops know? Implies they have knowledge of “world outside"? That adds a surprising element to the utopia that I do not think is welcome this late, feels cheap instead of clever.

Good concept and a lot of interesting and nice stuff but there’s nothing about the world except for pretty physical description. Like, if it’s a utopia… Nero looks like poo poo. Great! Is that cause the utopia not working for him? Why did he become obsessed with find out out the truth? We might not need the answers told to us explicitly, but we probably need them implied. How do people live in this world? What’s it like, what are Nero and Nakano losing and how did they feel living in the world? Is this the sort of thing that's like “even if the world is super nice and utopian and you can have a nice life, some people will be disillusioned and unhappy”? Are they sacrificing anything by shattering the utopia? Is it not really a utopia for them, are they just struck by boredom/ennui, or are they legitimately sacrificing something for "the real truth"?

Answer those questions and you have something very good here. And you want to answer them without giving us too much detail, either - the certainty that the characters want to destroy the world with, coupled with the little things of them that we know, indeed hints at answering the questions I posed! The story is on it’s way there, certainly.

Tasty use of prompt, too.

Boozeborne Hearts

We’re going for humour by contrast, I guess, with Ernesto and Dwayne’s speech manners and even names? OK, it works. “Wanklord” is pretty good. “Goneburgers” is out of tone, cheap laughs, booo.

The contrast of absurd and straight is carrying the story at the start, I suppose that is fine. The details are good. “Oonawarra uniform”, “whose last name was Pipe (a fact he preferred to remain unknown)”

I hate the punctuation: the “willl not STAND” and “maaaate” for me does not mimic speech, but in fact detracts from the story. A very lazy way to try and show speech mannerisms. Do not do this please. Do not do all caps, do not draw vowels (and especially not consonants) out like that, it makes funny things less funny.

Dialogue between Dwayne and Ernesto a sheer delight. The story truly comes alive then, after the crowd dispersed and we are left with the two of them. Their friendship is lovely. Love with Ernesto and Wendelby actually works because: 1. it’s funny 2. it’s related in an intimate friendship moment 3. the magic power of flash fiction: the less general details you give and the more explicit details (Ernesto is a weirdo and we get his melodramatic personality but we don’t know a lot of ‘basic stuff’) means the mind can fill in the blanks and leaps like this do work. Good way to add depth.

I like the end, get me on board the Antipodes (and get me off before it sinks). A legitimately sweet yarn. This is the opposite of cptn_dr’s story, and I would liken it to a drunk hiker striking out for a mountain summit, where the top represents high quality and the base represents low. The screaming outside the pub is probably too long or too... empty. You might instead spend a few words establishing the rest of the Oonawarra folk a touch more, and perhaps even their feelings about Ernesto - Dwayne is great and sweet to him, but what about the rest?

It’s a touch too comic and empty at the start, and the aforementioned dialogue punctuation really does drop the quality, but this is cozy and good.

Verdict

Carcinogen’s tight and it's direct telling is commendable, even though the story is a bit ‘straight’ - the lazy ending dampens the piece, missing an opportunity to surprise the reader and turn a ‘straight’ story into something more memorable.

Kill the Sun needs work but has possibly the most promise to be the best story after a heavy edit, since the question it raises (utopia vs truth) is a pretty tasty one.

Boozeborne Hearts, if improved, I would want to see in a “fun Aussie adventures” fiction collection. It’s a cozy piece with a lot to like, especially the sweetness of Dwayne and Ernesto's friendship and the humour.

Extermination Excursion has decent plot elements and a proper arc, ticks the ‘story’ checkboxes, but drastically needs tightening of prose and voice, depth of character, and the way its told - at the moment you’ve got the skeleton of a sci-fi yarn but all the meat, uh, hanging off it is a bit rancid.

As for Memorable Methods of Transportation: Kill the Sun and Extermination Excursion both have biofuel cars and that is cool and I commend the synergy, but the cruel sinking of the Antipodes in Carcinogen after its wonderful appearance in Boozeborne Hearts edges team cptn_mojo.

Win goes to cptn_mojo team which is the team consisting of forums posters dreadmojo and cptn_dr

Thank you to everyone for giving me stories with promise.

Sitting Here
Dec 31, 2007


Blood Empress of Thunderdome

Tap to emit spores


Clapping Larry

Exmond posted:

There isn't much to defend then.







In for this week

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010



Legit Cyberpunk

ty for the judging, and to fleta and beef for joining on our retarded autoflagellation.

I'll to crit all the stories in the week I failed and the week just gone, by 2359 pst this sunday.

BeefSupreme
Sep 14, 2007


dreadmojo posted:

ty for the judging, and to fleta and beef for joining on our retarded autoflagellation.

seconded

Morning Bell posted:

FAILDESERT BRAWL FAIL BRAWL DESERT BRAWL
BEEF MC GURN CAPTAIN MOJO BRAWL


this is far and away the best brawl judging i've seen

Adbot
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Sitting Here
Dec 31, 2007


Blood Empress of Thunderdome

Tap to emit spores


Clapping Larry

Yoruichi posted:

Yes you’re correct, that would indeed take a miracle.

So I guess now I’ve got to fight you to defend my and Sitting Here’s honour?

Bring it bitch.


Exmond posted:

There isn't much to defend then.





I would judge this flea circus, but apparently my honor is at stake so I don't think I'm impartial. Someone step up!

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