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sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk









Djeser posted:

:toxx: for that smojo flava

Your characters cannot stop exploding

Adbot
ADBOT LOVES YOU

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk









rat-born cock posted:

Okay. First time In. I would like to :toxx: for a mod challenge rule, too.

Your protagonist was the sole cause of the apocalypse, and feels really good about it

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk









yeah, :toxx: in etc

and give me a proper hellrule not this babby bitch flash nonsesne, if you're not looking at a hell rule and feeling like you're being fundamentally unfair you need to try harder

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk









Staggy posted:

Your power: you command the loyalty of birds.
Your mistake: you remembered.
Mercury is in retrograde, you idiot. You buffoon.



sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk









magic cactus posted:

I got nothin' for this one. Taking the :toxx:

knowing you have failed, sit at your keyboard or hold your phone and write dumb words irregardless

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk









Man of the Javelin
600 words

I’m halfway through the wall, feeling the bricks powder and shatter behind me, when I remember the first one. Think of his expression, a sort of genial befuddlement; sharp-edged lines of light crossing his face as the vault door opened, as he saw the ranks of sarcophagi stretching out into the fluorescent depths of Lazarus Peak. It was the only way, of course. Some might think it excessive, but there’s only one world. Only one.

I blame Methusaleh. The man of the javelin, the man of Selah. I knew him. We got drunk together mainly.

“You’re the criminal,” I’d said as I passed the octagonal bowl of wine over to him. I remember the feel of the cool Samian glaze on my sweaty hand. “You will make them dream of eternity.”

He hadn’t replied, just looked at me with those dark eyes and taken the bowl. Wisdom takes people hard once they get past a few hundred years, the connections start metastasising.

That’s when I had the idea, but then the Flood happened, then the Romans, then a few big wars and my mind was elsewhere. It was tiring work, and midway through the cold war I paused for a beer in a cellar in Krakow after defusing the latest nuclear crisis and, as I blew the foam off the top it came back to me, in a rush.

Making history happen was tiring. And I got very little gratitude for it (though that wasn’t why I was doing it) from the people I was shepherding. Why not get them to help? A few dozen years of excavation and preparation and I threw the switch. It was satisfying to see the apparatus working, and even more satisfying to find my first candidate: Harry Everard McCann, former bricklayer. I brought him to the mountain, laid him to rest. And felt the jolt as his dreams slithered into my backbrain. From there it was a steady process expanding and extending the complex, filling it up with old people who the world wouldn’t miss.

I explained the whole thing to them, naturally. I’m not a monster. The world was limited, and it could take so many people. Not just resources; dreams. There were only so many dreams that could be had, and one day they would all be gone. Harry had a few questions, but he was happy enough with the answers. He was the first of my sweetly sleeping ancient ones, and now there millions.

I smile at the memory of the lid closing on his face just as my back slams into the ground and the bricks fall on my face. It hurts quite a lot. I reach up to pull them off, but someone steps on my arm and I can't move it.

"You trapped their minds," he says. It's an old voice, smooth, worn down by the passage of years into the faintest whisper but it echoes in my head like bells.

"No," I croak. "They trapped themselves." An age-gnarled hand reaches down and pulls the bricks away from my face. I blink up at Methusaleh, squinting through the brick dust. "Their people have forgotten them, and their can dreams live in me forever. It's a fair trade!"

Methusaleh shakes his head. "Nothing lives forever." He's got a sign in his other hand, big, red, octagonal. I see the word emblazoned on it as he raises it high.

"Stop," I say, and he brings it down.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk









I'm in

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk









Chairchucker posted:

Someone is going to yell or passive aggressively snark at you soon, so to pre-emptively clarify their position, responding to crits within this thread is frowned upon. You can do so in Discord or whatever, and there might be a separate thread or something I dunno.

doing story readings is not gonna get you yelled at it is strong td praxis

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk









Fleta Mcgurn posted:

Um, Daylight Savings Time kicked in and no one told me (I thought it was canceled for Spain this year!) so I desperately need an/that extra hour. DQ me if you want, but please don't ban! I genuinely had no idea.

midnight isn't for another 28 minutes

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk









Fooling the Eye
919 words

Three things. One big, one small, and one invisible. That’s what it takes to grab a shopper’s attention, thought Enderby Slythe as she adjusted the cardboard cutout. It was a tall standee with vivid slashes of colour penetrating a globe of pure blackness that seemed to glisten and revolve when viewed out the corner of one eye.

It’s not moving really, though, Enderby told herself. It’s an optical illusion, a… um… She stopped, puzzled. The words had been right there in her mind, fancy french things, and just like that they had vanished. At the same time as her eye had fallen on the black orb, coincidentally.

“Is that moving?”

It was a girl, maybe 11, in a lime green hoodie. She was standing there with the uncertain expression of one who isn’t sure whether she’s just heard someone say her name.

Enderby took a moment to summon her inner warmth, then smiled. It was a competent smile, though it made her cheeks ache a little. She held it for the VoidManual approved four and a half seconds. “Why no indeed, young miss! That’s ‘Voidy’, the VoidMart mascot. It’s a ball of pure darkness. Isn’t that fun?”

The girl frowned. “It looks like a hole. I don’t like it. Why did you put it up?”

Enderby reached up and snapped the final clip on the standee, then took a step back to stand next to the young shopper. “It’s Void Day,” she said. As she spoke the cardboard rippled, like it had heard her. Probably just my imagination. “Or, rather, it will be.” The girl reached forward to touch the blackness and Enderby’s right arm twitched, wanting to slap it out of the way but the VoidManual had a whole chapter on assaulting customers and this was not one of the Fourteen Occasions.

“It’s so slippery,” the girl said. “Like oil. What’s void day? I’ve never heard of it, we do units on the public holidays at school. My favourite is Christmas, because of the presents.”

There was something glistening on the end of the girl’s finger. Enderby watched it as she spoke. “It’s pronounced Void Day, actually. We celebrate the day the Void came into all of our lives, and we walk the blessed aisles of the Mart, and we, you know. Buy things. Are you looking for something special, little girl, or are you just waiting for your mother and/or father?”

“I’m an orphan,” said the girl. “My mother and father both died in simultaneous car crashes on opposite sides of the city, a few years back.”

Enderby was still smiling, and left that expression up as she furiously flipped through the VoidManual (Expressions and Phatic Utterances Appendix) for the right one. She settled on 155b, Heartfelt but Restrained Empathy. “Goodness,” she said.

“It’s okay, they were awful. So when is Void Day?” she articulated the syllables with exaggerated precision. “I’m not sure I really want to buy anything. Is that hole getting bigger?”

Enderby chuckled a light, airy little 271d chuckle. “In a sense, it’s every day. There’s no day when VoidMart can’t enrich our lives, you see. It offers us things, and we buy the things, and they make us more and they make us better.”

“Yeah, but what date is it? In the calendar?” The girl put her head on its side, then pointed at where the velvety blackness of the orb was now touching the edge of the standee. “It’s definitely getting bigger. It’s like it’s seeping through the cardboard.”

Enderby Slythe took a deep breath, savouring the fine processed coolness of VoidMart oxygen. “No, it’s not. Except in the sense that VoidMart is growing inside us all, in the things we buy and consume. Growing like a fine strong black spot of darkness. So though it may look like it’s glistening and growing, it’s actually a … gosh. What’s the French phrase for an optical illusion? Do you know it? It’s on the tip of my tongue!”

The girl looked up, that uncertain expression from before on her face again. “Trompe l’oeil? Mrs Burson at school likes saying that. We did Escher last term. My finger feels funny.” She was swaying as she said the last.

“That’s the VoidMart Difference,” said Enderby dreamily. “The date used to be the first day of the year, but then we kept putting the decorations up sooner and sooner to catch the early shoppers and finally… we met ourselves going and coming. So now every day is Void Day! Truly blessed.” She eyed the girl carefully. Her skin had a sudden, waxy colour like she was a candle without a wick.

"I think I might need to lie down somewhere. Do you have a first aid couch?" The girl took a step backwards, as though to stop herself from falling.

Saving customers from collapse was one of the Fourteen Occasions so Enderby grabbed her by the arm and put her hand on the opposite shoulder. Her grip was firm, comradely. "I think you might need a lie down, little miss! Luckily VoidMart has everything you need in that respect; our lying facilities are second to none."

"Not... little..." muttered the girl, whose eyes were flickering shut.

"Of course, and can you confirm that you will neither be sought after or missed? Just for the record?"

The girl gaped up at her. "What? Who are you?"

"I am," said Enderby, "the Seasonal Decorations Marshall." And, with a step, a twist of the hip and a deft lunge, she hurled both of them into the humming black void that had consumed the rippling cardboard of the VoidDay standee. The display rocked back and forth for a few moments. Then, like a photograph being developed at the nearby VoidMart Phot-o-Smart! instant photo printing facility, a picture wavered into being on the blackness. Enderby and the girl, hand in hand, walking the aisles of VoidMart. The girl was tugging at Enderby's hand, pointing at something wonderful just out of view, and Enderby had a well framed expression of parental indulgence, like the phrase 'oh you!' printed out and pasted on a face.

There was something in their eyes, though, something barely visible; something hidden.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk









In, how can I not be

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk










:toxx: to post a redemption by friday 2359pst

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk









Yeah ant me :toxx:

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk









Anomalous Amalgam posted:

Eh, I have to eat a toxx. I failed to submit for my brawl on time.

toxxes normally have some leeway; rattle something out now to beat it.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk









redemption for last week

Hearts and Stars
1000 words

Space Captain James Mann slammed his fist into the Triumph's duralumin bulkhead, wincing as the shock ran down the muscles of his arm. “This is bad,” he muttered. “How far out are the Trilaxians?”

“9 million klicks, and closing fast, Jim.” Lieutenant Weatherby handed him the visi-slate and their fingers touched. Automatically, Jim’s eyes flicked to his, only to see him look away. It had been like this ever since that night on the smaller moon of Arcturus 7, sharing a smoking phlouchg bowl in the spaceport bar...

“Weatherby, I—” Jim began, then shook his head. There was no time to worry about feelings, not with a killsquad of Trilaxian war-barges coming in. “Follow me,” he said, slappping the door actuator and striding through it. “9 million gives us, what… half an hour at full battle boost?”

“The fleet will be here in 28 and a half minutes, based on ship calc, give or take a minute. Depends how hard they want to stress their engines in the braking flare, could be they will—”

“No,” said Jim as they pounded up the ramp to the bridge. “They want me bad after that little fracas at the Zebulon Interzone. Emperor Za’glzx has issued a mosqvur, an edict, and they’ll be racing each other to please him, that’s how they are. In fact… that might just be what saves us!” Jim paused at the entrance of the bridge, taking in the blinking galaxy of liights and readouts, each station manned by an officer in spacer blue. The filtered air of the bridge felt tense with words unspoken and fears un-named. Like a puppet show. Jim narrowed his eyes. Puppets have strings.

“Weatherby, you grabbed the recording of the Emperor’s mosqvurl off the GNN feed, didn’t you? Pull it up on your slate.” He spoke up, louder, for the benefit of the bridge crew. “You can see the incoming, this is most definitely not a drill. I’m not going to lie - this is a scrape, but we’ve got out of nastier ones. Warm up the Klystron Tubes for a quick getaway; we’re too low on fuel to get back to Earth but we can give them a run for their money!" Jim's gaze was firm as he swept it round the room, but he wasn't sure he was convincing anyone. Trilaxian war-barges were armed with triple neutron phase blasters, strong enough to rip through the Triumph's shields like wet kthokk paper.

"I have it," said Weatherby quietly. He flipped his slate round and on it was a cold reptilian visage of the Emperor, Za'glzx himself. His eyes were dull black marbles and his long rodentlike jaw barely moved as he whispered Jim’s alleged crimes.

Jim took the proffered slate and started tapping on it, picking out words. “This is going to be tight. Get the computer working on faking his image saying these words. Cut all non-essential processing functions to speed it up. I’m going to prep an escape pod. I might be out there for a while.” He looked up from the glowing words on the slate and saw Weatherby’s eyes, caught in a moment of despairing shock before it was covered up by the rigid professional armour of the spaceways.

“Of course, Captain. I’ll … get right on it.” He took back the slate and turned, heading back down the corridor towards the computer core.

“Weatherby… Lieutenant. Simon.” Jim took a step towards him and put a hand on his broad shoulder. It was hard and warm through the regulation duraweave. “We’ll make it through. I’ll make it through. I always do. You know that, right?”

Weatherby didn’t turn, and he was clutching the slate tight under his arm. “Yes Captain. Is.. there anything else?”

Jim rolled some words around his mouth, then shook his head. “Get to it man. I’m counting on you.” With on last glance at Weatherby’s retreating back, Jim turned and started clambering up the ladder to the lifepods.

Exactly twenty seven minutes later Jim’s comm buzzed. “Job’s done, Captain - it’s not elegant but it might fool them for long enough. We’ll broadcast it on the lifepod's transmitter. Are you sure you still want to go through with this?” His voice was tinny coming through the little speaker on Jim’s wrist, but he thought he could see the expression on Weatherby’s face.

“It’s the only way. I’ll get you a beer back on Earth. Or… maybe one of those smoking bowls?”

There was a pause at the other end of the comm, then a dry laugh. “That would be really nice, Captain. I’ll look forward to it.”

Jim smiled tightly, pulled the hatch of the lifepod shut and started the launch sequence. He felt the weight pull him sideways as the Triumph kicked in its drives, then he hit the launch stud and the pod release slammed him back into his seat.

Space was beautiful, a sheet of black jeweller’s velvet spread with riches, but he had no eyes for it. Saying a silent prayer, Jim hit play on the faked up speech Weatherby and the ship’s computer had devised.

“ATTENTION SHIPS UNDER MY HAND! THIS IS THE SUPREME EMPEROR. HEED MY DECREE. SUCH ARE THE CRIMES OF THIS SPACEMAN JIM, THAT HE MUST BE TAKEN BY THE MOST RIGHTEOUS AMONG YOU. DETERMINE THIS BEFORE YOU SEIZE HIM.”

It went on and Jim held his breath as he watched the scan, watched the onrushing fleet. Then - there! And there! Flashes of light arcing between the ships as they fought for the right to capture him.

The next stages of his desperate scheme, getting the bomb that was nestled between his legs into the winning war-barge and getting out safely, were still ahead of him but he thought he’d make it. He’d made a promise, after all.

Jim fancied for a moment he could smell the aromatic smoke of an Arcturan phlouchg bowl, and smiled.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk









The Us
600 words

I was born into the Us a long time ago, eyes seeing everything there was in that wide beautiful world, twitching antennae smelling each scent and passing it on to my sisters with quick, eager dabs of trail pheromone. I remember coming out of the sac already full of my sisters’ gifts of Food, already bursting with delight. I remember the joy of finding a nugget of fallen Food, sweeter than anything that could be imagined, and sharing it with my sisters. Here, I said. Come here, with me. There was nothing better than being together, and feeling together, seeing with a hundred million eyes. We were one, and everything was joy, running, always running, to the next thing and the next thing and the next thing. The sun was younger then and the world was hotter, though at the time I didn’t know it; the young never do.

I thought nothing of the sap when I came upon it. My job was simple and required no thought, only joy - run, eat, run, eat, run. But not this time. Not this time, because my right antenna wouldn’t move. It was stuck to the sap. Inexplicable. Disturbing. I slapped my other one down to investigate because this might be a Threat and Threats were as important as Food. The Us was all of us, all the time, but I was very much the Us in that moment. I was stern-eyed and duty-proud, both antennae laid on this Threat to decide its nature. I could feel the warning glands inside me hot and ready to pop if needed, ready to bring my sisters with jaws full of retribution. My life was a nothing, and I would have given it in an instant.

Neither of my antennae could move.

I pulled, gently at first then harder. They did not come. I yanked, then put my front right leg on the huge globule of hateful sap to give me leverage because this was stopping me from running and eating and that was a bar from joy and could not be tolerated. My foot was stuck. I clambered onto the sap. Each one of my beautiful legs was stuck. Mired in the globule. I hated it. It mean I could not run and could not eat and there was no joy. My limbs thrashed, pulling me into the sap, deeper. I tried to yell to my sisters with my warning glands but they were stuck, everything was stuck, as I sank into my translucent tomb.

I could feel them out there, not searching for me because I was only one of the Us and there were so many more, but out there running and eating. I quivered, yearning, frozen. Something about the sap preserved me, preserved each of the jewel bright memories I had of running and eating and my beautiful, radiant sisters, preserved the Us in me. I could feel the Us and it kept me alive.

This is painful so I will say it quickly. There were many of Us, then there were more of Us, then there were fewer of Us, and then, cursed and impossible day, there was one of Us. There was me. And I sat, entombed in amber, the last Us in all of the world, quivering with a grief you could never comprehend or experience.

Which brings us to now, as you hold me in your enormous meaty fingers, studying me with your lens, cataloguing my sisters through me.

You will never know their beauty.

You will never know our joy.

You will never know Us.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk









INTERPROMPT: they came from the sky on wings of fire (250 wrds)

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk









lofi posted:

Was that a "not mentioning everyone", or did I get lost in the swarm?

https://forums.somethingawful.com/showthread.php?threadid=3878659&pagenumber=89&perpage=40#post499796476

Grats to Sitting Here!

If you weren't mentioned, then you survived, and that is all we can hope to do

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk









SlipUp posted:

in

Booze.

:toxx:

Everyone is drowning on dry land

Anomalous Amalgam posted:

In
Blood
:toxx:

Caffeine sounded like rear end, let's spice it up with bloooodd

kitchen appliances are watching everything, what do they know

Djeser posted:

in :toxx: wildlife hellrule me sebby

the ground will no longer hold us up

Saucy_Rodent posted:

Oh, :toxx: hellrule please

story is told in breaths

Black Griffon posted:

In, sleep, sebmojo :toxx:.

protag is quivering into oblivion

flerp posted:

in peace

:toxx: (no hellrule plz)

there are no personalities in your story but we still care what happens (nb you don't have to do this i did not read your words properly, you can if u want tho)

Antivehicular posted:

In, sanctuary

:toxx:

protag doesn't believe they exist


story takes place in the barrel of a gun

crimea posted:

in connection

:toxx: give me a good one, seb

all of your characters actions are meaningless

sebmojo fucked around with this message at 00:07 on Nov 13, 2019

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk









Try it and see

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk









Carl Killer Miller posted:

Awesome. I'll take my toxx rule then, Seb

since FLORP has disdained it, you may have:

there are no personalities in your story but we still care what happens

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk









ENTS RULE everyone can't stop fighting, not even for a moment

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk









sparksbloom posted:

In, The Moon, :toxx:

No words longer than three syllables

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk









Hella in

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk









Anomalous Amalgam posted:

Freshly blooded after a brutal defeat, I return once more to spill blood upon these sands.

My thirst for glory drives me. Who here wants to get cut?

Veteran or rookie, I'll bury you under the spew that is my bad words. Who feels bold?



it's been a while. batter up.

:toxx:

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk









Chili posted:

Ok butthorns.

Your brawl is due on December 12th sometime during that day whenever your time zone says so idgaf.

I want a story that ends where it begins. Interpret that as you like and take up to 2000 words to tell your tale.

Upon request I will provide a list of 4 songs for each of you. Choose 1 of those 4.

yeah, gimme some songs, can we bump teh date to the 19th we are having tdnerd meetup in my town before that

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk









in, react me

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk









Chili posted:

Well you're 8 days late. But did sebmojo submit anything?

We rescheduled to the 19th. Writing it now, will be an hour or so.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk









Lived here my whole life

1167 words

Juan checked his wallet, passport, and pack again; safe, safe, and safe. He’d done it two minutes before and they had not come into any obvious peril in the interim, but it made him feel in control. He was going a long way away, his poo poo needed to be tight. He pulled the pack onto his lap, just in case and leaned out into the aisle to see if the driver had woken up yet.

In fact, he hadn’t; he was lying, slumped back in his seat, with his DOS HERMANOS cap pulled down over his eyes.

“This your first trip?” said the wiry old man seated across the row. "Good weather for a traveller."

Juan couldn't stop the smile. "Yep. Heading out from this town. Don't know if I'll come back, and all."

The old man made a complicated face, like he was remembering something he used to love a lot, but wished he wasn’t. Juan looked out the window.

Outside the plaza was still, and dusty and bone dry. Menendez the fruit man was standing behind his stall, flapping his cloth at the flies. Next to him was Walesa the Pole, squatting with his back to one of the dusty yellow brick walls that ringed the plaza. He’d arrived before the sun was properly up, and taken his position. A wine jug was nestled in his arm. Juan had a sudden impression of days upon days, stretching out forever, clamped together like the bricks in the wall. His jaw set and he turned back to the scratched vinyl of the seat in front of him.

“I set out like you, once,” said the old man.

Juan hesitated before turning his head. He’d heard a lot about the risks of travel, and one of them was certainly being marked out by robbers for murder and burglary; it was possible that this was some kind of prelude to that. The contrawise thought that making friends on the road was important for enrichment and general wellbeing made him turn his head, if slowly.

“When was that? Are you from here?”

The man smirked, an expression like he was remembering something he didn’t love but had gotten used to pretending that he did. “Oh, yes. From here. Long ago. I travelled the, the world. Buses, and trains, automobiles, bicycles too I suppose. An aeroplane, once.”

Juan was impressed, but determined not to show it. “Why did you end up back here?”

“We all do, young fellow. You carry it with you, like your rear end. Can’t leave your rear end behind, heh!” The old man laughed, a sudden grinding cackle that made Juan recoil. “Can’t run away from your rear end now, can you!” His eyes were full of malice as he laughed.

Juan swivelled back to the window like he was on a turntable and clutched his pack closer to him. The old man was evil, it was the only explanation. He had certainly marked out Juan for destruction and robbery at the first stop, which was, huh. Juan frowned.

What was the first stop on the long, long bus journey that led him out of this town and into the life that was waiting for him somewhere far away? He was sure he’d spent hours poring over maps, so long they’d almost disintegrated; he could see the feathery edges of the paper where the folds had ripped. There were names on the map, and towns, perhaps the old man’s laughter had driven them from his mind.

“rear end!” chortled the man one last time then fell silent. The bus rocked slightly in a gust of wind curling over the high wall behind the fruit stall.

Juan lifted his head up so he could see whether the driver had woken up without leaning any closer to the contemptible old man. The top of his cap was visible, moving ever so gently.

“So where are you going young fellow? Just a cork on the waves? Stone through the water? Where does your travel lead you?” Juan wasn’t looking but there was a harsh edge to the horrible old man’s voice now, like someone who resented having to pretend to love anything at all.

“I’m going, and not coming back.” Juan’s voice chopped the words out like carrot slices on a chopping board. “There’s a life out there for me a, a long way away, and I’m going to find it.”

“That’s inspirational,” breathed the old man. “And when it fails, what will you do? When you step in failure like a foot into donkey poo poo, feel it squishy and hot between your toes?"

Juan didn't answer. There were only a few other people on the bus so he decided he would move when the bus started going, that way it wouldn't look like he was running away. He tried to remember the departure time, but couldn’t bring that to mind either. It was the old man, he was the trouble, he’d fllummoxed his brain.

“I’ll tell you, young fellow, because that’s one of the joys of age.” There was no joy in his voice, which was cold and low like a snake in a tunnel. “When, not if, you fail then you will be back here. Because you’re really never going to leave here, and even if you think you do, then you’re going to carry it with you. It will be a weight that you cart around getting heavier every day until you realise the only way to let it off is to come back.”

Juan could feel tears inside him, a clogging and thickening of his mucous membranes. He didn’t cry. Instead he turned back to the old man and stared at him, cold and low. “I don’t need your opinion, sir. This is my world now, not yours. I’m going to go, and I’m never coming back, and i’m going to do something great.

They stared at each other. Juan’s hands were tight on the buckles of his pack, the metal edges digging painfully into his fingers.

Finally, the old man shrugged. “I’m sure you know best, it’s your life.” Then, with a smile like someone who’s trying to remember why he’d walked into the room, he looked out the window at the other side of the yellow brick plaza.

It was very hot in the bus.

Juan shifted his legs under the weight of his pack and tried to convince himself he’d won the encounter. It was hard, not least because he was now entirely certain he had no idea of where the bus was going, and more importantly, if it was ever going to leave at all. He thought of all the places he was going to go, and things he would see, and they had the primary coloured unreality of vaguely remembered cartoons.

The old man was breathing loudly across the aisle, a rasping sound. Juan looked out the window at Walesa, crouched by the yellow wall made of bricks that had been formed and placed, it occurred to him with sudden and nauseating force, with the utmost skill and care to stay exactly where they were put and nowhere else.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk









:toxx: to have crits for the last 2 weeks i failed done by 3/1/20

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk









merry christmas you monstrous creatures, goodwill to all men even the stupid and terrible ones. as a present I've turned off kayfabe or whatever tattered shreds of it remain. now is the time to say what you like, what you hate, what should change or stay the same in this dumb dome that we love so much

have the gently caress at it

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk









That's fair, I like it in general bc it seems to make good stories but toxxing without a flash rule should be fine too

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk









Yups

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk









Oh and someone should scroll carl up with a fancy new av, he is a loser who became a winner

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk









Yoruichi posted:

*Ahem*

Sebmojo, I believe you have an unfulfilled toxx

Because of the bizarre machinations of this brawl, this monstrosity is the relevant story that you have toxxed to read, with music.

Merry Christmas.

what you mean this little thing? it's nothing but a trifle; heh, heh, heh

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk









Exmond posted:

It's been an interesting year, and I'd like to discuss one stat in particular as it was generated by a member of this community:

  • Threats of Violence aimed at me: 1


While I didn't go to the authorities, nor do I feel any actions are required by moderators, I did feel unsafe in our little writing community that is called ThunderDome.


This occurred is the discord, something that has less moderation compared to the IRC channel of old. Any further critique of the discord isn't useful as well, it's coming from me, and my reputation (and avatar) precedes me. I do feel someone was just venting, perhaps at my antics, instead of wishing actual violence. Maybe this is the SomethingAwful way, or a misunderstanding, but the core abuse was still there.


That is generally why I have not participated much in the past. I have only participated when a truly terrible idea hits me ( I AM SO SORRY ABOUT THE poo poo SLUGS) or when people get together and are enthusiastic about a prompt. I have to say, the other writing communities I have joined don't have that same level of community, companionship, and camaraderie that you do TD.

Don't bring offsite stuff in here please.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk









This thread is going to close soon, and then it's going to get goldmined, and then no-one can change it not even Jesus.

So if you want to snip any of your stories out so you can submit them to magazines or w/e then now is the time.

Check that it's in the archive first though, it has been in hiatus the last couple of months. It will be updated before we archive the thread.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk









New thread is live. Assume this one will close and get goldmined at any moment, so if you want your stories out of it then :choco:

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sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk









It will get goldmined but not for a week or two

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