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  1. - Top - End - #241
    Bugbear in the Playground
     
    Helgraf's Avatar

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    Default Re: Shipping VIII: Yes, Eight. No, really. We are THAT insane.

    It's beautifully crafted, Rabbit. And can feel the self-destructive rhythm in it, feel the unresolved pain. It's very powerful. And it makes me want to hug the poor girl, whether it would help or not.

    I really have to write something again. Still have Mad Season, Dead Air, and another fic for artwork piece to do. Plus the drabble archive, though to an extent I'm holding on Curly there. And I should get back to IStLY at some point too.

    Quote Originally Posted by RabbitHoleLost View Post
    I...don't know how to explain this one.
    Partially thoughts that came to me during my first Hookah experience, partly something that just exploded into my mind right now.
    I've been working on three separate ships.
    This is none of them.

    And I'm not exactly sure it makes any sense at all.

    Blame
    Thanatos/Brandi (Dirk)
    Spoiler
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    Sometimes, she's furious about it. Her thoughts race and her mind aches and her heart hurts, and she sweats and curses in her fury, inescapable, inevitable.
    Most of the time, though, she hardly thinks of of him. She keeps herself busy, really. Boozing, flirting, sleeping around. Work, art, music, friends. Men, women, occasionally those lost in between.
    Nothing is out of her interests. After all, they all force him from her mind.
    Sometimes, though, her roommate is out of town, her parents are vacationing in Cuba, her friends all have to go to bed early in order for wake up for their "adult life" jobs. There's nothing on TV, the taste of ruby red wine grows sour in her mouth, and the dark labyrinth of the outside world seems threatening. She has no energy to be angry, or shroud herself in the safety of her animosity.
    In these times, Brandi curls up on her couch, exhaling magic clouds of menthol. She wasn't a smoker, no, not usually. Not unless it was a time like this.
    She puffs away, leaving the cigarette in her mouth, her hands lifeless in her lap. Fruitlessly, she shapes her mouth into a 'O', trying to form the rings of smoke she had seen, as a child, her mother make.
    Brandi could never do it, sitting back in the overstuffed chair Rabbit had bought years ago, watching the failed rings levitate in the air, dissipating quickly.
    Poof.
    Into nothingness.

    Apologies are pointless. As children, we are forced into reciting them when we do another wrong.
    "Tell your sister you're sorry."
    And we chant, meaninglessly. Sorry, sorry, I'm so sorry, sorry. An instant bandaid, we are lead to believe. An elixir of a word.
    We grow up believing it is all that needs to be said.
    Its earth-shattering to discover it does nothing. Mindless phrases, as useful as broken swords.
    Even if he said them to her, she wouldn't take them.
    Then why was the urge to scream it at him, to plead for him to accept her vain apologies so strong?

    Tapping the butt into an old beer bottle, she frowns. He would grumble and moan and complain about her drinking habit, much to her eyerolling, were he there.
    There's a sizzling from inside the bottle, as ignited ash meets fermented barley, or whatever the hell beer is. Barley? Wheat germ?
    She doesn't know.
    It tastes horrible, fills her stomach, numbs her heart and brain.
    The too-large shirt shrugs off of her shoulder blades. It was his.
    Or had been his.
    In his absence, the musky scent of man had long since left.
    Elongated yawns announced her entry to the bedroom, cluttered with far too many things, baubles, memories, for such a small little apartment.
    Cynicism kills.
    But, oh, so nicely.
    Goodnight world.
    She cocoons herself in cotton, muffling her mind to the desperate want, the longing, the desire she so often masked in bitterness.
    She blamed him.
    When he spoke to her so casually on the phone, through IM's, she pressed the fault silently on him, even as she denied it, even as she claimed over and over again that she was happy for him, for his new life without her, and with this perfect little girl, almost too young for him.
    Almost too young at all.
    Her pain, her fury, her confusion, the billowing clouds of smoke and the taste of tart wine, also too young to be consumed.
    She blamed him for it all.
    And she would blame him and blame him and blame him until she had no more anger, until the world could hold no more bitterness, and then...
    And then...
    And then...

    Goodnight, world.
    Catatar made for me many years ago ... pretty sure by banjo1985
    Werewolf Awards: 'Best Narration: Helgraf'
    Rabbit says stuff that makes me blush.

  2. - Top - End - #242
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    Reinholdt's Avatar

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    Default Re: Shipping VIII: Yes, Eight. No, really. We are THAT insane.

    Incredible Rabbit. You really are a very strong and poignant writer.
    Last edited by Reinholdt; 2009-09-09 at 11:29 AM.
    Quote Originally Posted by Lord Magtok View Post
    Gods, Reinholdt was right, a hundred percent right.
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    -Nyahahaha~
    Quote Originally Posted by Supagoof View Post
    Tale as old as thread
    And you find yourself dead
    Reinholdt was the Beast
    Quote Originally Posted by Philistine View Post
    Reinholdt had already told the truth once in that post, and therefore was over his annual quota.

  3. - Top - End - #243
    Titan in the Playground
     
    Destro_Yersul's Avatar

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    Default Re: Shipping VIII: Yes, Eight. No, really. We are THAT insane.

    My job is incredibly conducive to thinking, I have discovered. I took a notebook with me and was able to come up with ideas for no less than 5 ships, including the next part of SotR, which I really need to do more of.

    This is not SotR. It is one of the other four ideas.

    Hiding One Thousand Words
    Raistlin/Rabbit
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    Raistlin sat on his bed, staring at the picture on the dresser beside him. It was of Rabbit. Rabbit from a happier time. She was standing in front of a tree, smiling at something he had just said. A moment of time captured by the camera. He reached for it, picked it up.

    The frame was heavy in his hand.

    He sighed, slid open the bottom drawer of the dresser. The one that held all the clothes he never wore. He shoved the picture under a pair of horrible orange and grey pants he had been given for his birthday one year by some aunt or other. Then he stood, used his foot to shove the drawer closed, and left the room.

    It was winter. Snow swirled around him as he left the apartment building. His motorcycle was parked a short distance away, but he didn't take it. Where he was going, he didn't trust himself not to do something stupid.

    Raistlin walked the few blocks to his favourite bar in silence. He passed a few people, coats pulled tightly around themselves, hurrying off to get out of the cold. A few of them were couples, keeping close to each other for warmth, laughing and smiling. Raistlin looked away when he passed them.

    The bar was warm, and he shed his jacket when he walked in, draping it over an arm at first, and then a chair when he found one. The music was loud, and the band's singer couldn't carry a tune. Nobody cared. The booze was cheap and the girls were easy. That's what they all came here for.

    Raistlin spent some time by himself at the bar, had a few drinks, and scoped out the opportunities. There was one girl, really pretty, dancing to the horrible music with three or four guys. No good. Too much competition. His eyes roamed around the room, fell on a girl and her friend.

    They were giggling when he walked over. Raistlin slid easily into a seat between them and smiled. Hey girls. Mind if I buy you a round or two? That made them giggle more, and one of them nodded.

    Raistlin flagged down a serving girl. Can I get three margaritas? Thanks.

    He struck up a conversation. All the regular small talk questions. Where you from, what's your name, what do you do... After the third round of margaritas the two were giggling more than ever, and Raistlin saw his opening.

    He checked his watch and shook his head. Getting a bit late... He said. I need to get home.

    Girl number one grinned mischievously and took the bait. Mind if we come with you?

    I love this bar. Raistlin grinned back and put an arm around each of them. Pair of beautiful girls like you? No problem at all. Let's go have some fun, shall we?

    Afterwards, he never remembered the walk home. Just opening the door with the pair clinging to him, the rush to the bedroom, clothes flying off. It was a fun night.

    When he woke in the morning, they were already gone. He shrugged and got up, making his way slowly to the small bathroom. A hastily scrawled note was taped to the mirror. He peeled it off and read it, groping for his toothbrush with his other hand.

    Last night was great. We should do this again sometime. ;) Under the note was a pair of phone numbers. Raistlin grinned.

    He fell into routine easily. Monday to Friday were work, Friday night and Saturday night he went to the bar. Sometimes there were different girls, sometimes there were ones he'd seen before. Sometimes they rented a motel room, sometimes it was his place. Once or twice it was theirs. He turned it into a challenge. Trying to go for some of the tougher prospects. If he failed, he'd pick another one and try again, or fall back on the collection of numbers he kept in a box next to his phone.

    It was fun for a while. The end of winter and the following Spring went by quickly. But the game had started to be less fun. There was something off, and he couldn't quite place it. He just wasn't happy.

    He still went out, picked up a few different girls, but he couldn't hold them like he used to. Something about it felt wrong, and it weighed on his mind.

    Raistlin covered it up as best he could. When he was with them, he didn't let his feelings show. He kissed them and loved them, and they went to sleep wearing smiles.

    Raistlin couldn't sleep.

    Spring turned to summer. The bar quieted down a little, as people hit the beach. Raistlin followed suit, taking along a case of beer and crashing a few parties. He fit in easily, and they were always happy to have more booze. Then, once the sun hit the waterline, he'd find a pretty girl and smile and suggest they get away from the crowd for a while. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't. When it did it was fun, but there was still something missing.

    He found it while he was looking for a bathing suit.

    He'd had a week's vacation from work, and had spent it barcrawling and hitting a few different parties. Most of them were at the beach. Raistlin dug through the dresser looking for a spare. Something heavy in the bottom drawer clunked against the side as he moved a pair of pants to look under them.

    Raistlin picked up the picture frame and turned it over. A twinge of regret touched his mind, and he smiled sadly at the photo. Rabbit.

    He went into the kitchen, the bathing suit forgotten, and set the picture on the table. Then he picked up the phone, fingers dialing a distantly familiar number.

    Hey Rabbit. It's me. I just called to say that I'm sorry, and that I've realized something. He paused for a moment and sighed. I'm sorry I haven't called, and that it took me this long. I... I still love you.

    Call me. The phone clicked as he hung up.


    It's probably crap, but I spent a while writing it, so I may as well post it.
    I do LP's sometimes! I'm currently on hiatus for college purposes.

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    Sea of Stars Rogue Trader - Ongoing

  4. - Top - End - #244
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    Reinholdt's Avatar

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    Default Re: Shipping VIII: Yes, Eight. No, really. We are THAT insane.

    It's sad Destro. Keep up the good work.

    *waits for a happy ship today*
    Quote Originally Posted by Lord Magtok View Post
    Gods, Reinholdt was right, a hundred percent right.
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    -Nyahahaha~
    Quote Originally Posted by Supagoof View Post
    Tale as old as thread
    And you find yourself dead
    Reinholdt was the Beast
    Quote Originally Posted by Philistine View Post
    Reinholdt had already told the truth once in that post, and therefore was over his annual quota.

  5. - Top - End - #245
    Troll in the Playground
     
    RabbitHoleLost's Avatar

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    Default Re: Shipping VIII: Yes, Eight. No, really. We are THAT insane.

    Quote Originally Posted by Helgraf View Post
    It's beautifully crafted, Rabbit. And can feel the self-destructive rhythm in it, feel the unresolved pain. It's very powerful. And it makes me want to hug the poor girl, whether it would help or not.
    I...I..I..

    :: hides self away in blanket::
    Your praise means a lot. Though it doesn't have any real connection to me, I put small parts of myself into that ship, raw.
    I enjoy writing in short, clipped, dramatic sentences, for some reason. And I was most pleased to have an idea where it would be most appropriate for me to do so.
    Thank you for your consideration =)

    Destro: Hmm. S'well written.

    "This is why it hurts the way it hurts.
    You have too many words in your head.
    There are too many ways to describe the way you feel.
    You will never have the luxury of a dull ache.
    You must suffer through the intricacy of feeling too much"

    Iain S. Thomas
    Avatar by Qwernt

  6. - Top - End - #246
    Bugbear in the Playground
     
    Helgraf's Avatar

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    Default Re: Shipping VIII: Yes, Eight. No, really. We are THAT insane.

    Quote Originally Posted by RabbitHoleLost View Post
    I...I..I..

    :: hides self away in blanket::
    Your praise means a lot. Though it doesn't have any real connection to me, I put small parts of myself into that ship, raw.
    :nods: Had a hunch. Writing has a certain intensity to it when it's drawn directly from the well of one's own experiences; there's a very direct, no second-guessing-ness to it, you _know_ exactly what you're attempting to encapsule.

    Also, as long as you're bundling up in there ... :: reaches over and puts a size 10 3/4 tophat on your head :: ... don't want to catch cold now.
    Catatar made for me many years ago ... pretty sure by banjo1985
    Werewolf Awards: 'Best Narration: Helgraf'
    Rabbit says stuff that makes me blush.

  7. - Top - End - #247
    Bugbear in the Playground
     
    Helgraf's Avatar

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    Default Re: Shipping VIII: Yes, Eight. No, really. We are THAT insane.

    PicFic, as promised.

    ((A note: This is an experiment, and one I admit I have been putting off because I am nervous. I am writing for an established character, a favorite of the author who invented her, and has a vested image and mythos construction involving her and her companions. I am hoping I do all of this justice.))

    . . . ((Kara Kuro [Sayaku] / Helgraf [Renfield]))

    Spoiler
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    Gentle chords drift in the wind, the soft chiming thrum evoked from the strings of the small silver harp by the long, lithe fingers of the woman who leaned against a marbled pillar, the post of the harp on the stone lip, between her legs that fell to either side. The orbless almonds of her eyesockets peer past the mercurial nature of her surroundings; past the impermanent marble and malachite, the white and black whose tones form the base strokes of the artwork that flows forth and between them and all within; it is a quiet beauty, one that is gracelessly graceful, one that does not demand attention, yet is ever there when one is ready to appreciate it. It is a reflection of the lady, whose Sanctuary this is, and like the almost etheric beauty of the harpsong that her fingers call forth from the instrument, it is effortless and undemanding.

    The strands of onyx-dark hair shift in a rippling dance of their own, counterpoint to the tiny motions of those fingers and arms in motion; their song is experienced by sight and by touch; in the absence of Chroid and Acryn, it falls to the other who sits in this oasis of freely given experience to interpret and understand, and here we draw back, reluctantly, aye, for while Sayaku playing her harp in this place of comfort and safety, neither wearing nor having need of anything more protective than the long onyx tresses that swayed so as they ran the length of her back and under, til they nearly reached her knees - and would, if she were standing, while lesser creatures such as you and I would find no better joy than to continue regarding her thus, we must yet draw back to give the fullness of the picture, and in this we see her visitor.

    Here, imagine, if you might, how one might make a rough image of a man, sculpted from rude clay, malformed and misshapen, whose limbs seem askew, misproportioned and improperly aligned; as if, after God had made man, he had given leftover bits to a loved yet unpracticed child, and the child had made effort to copy the father's creation. Starting thus, give this distortion, this unintentional mockery life and intelligence - a mind of keen and sudden insight, one alternately elated and crushed by the constant flow of inspiration.

    Now, place these two together. She, as described before, playing the harp, and he, combing her hair with a bone-white ivory comb and his own, hook-bent and warped fingers. Watch the hideous worm-lips of the misbegotten one writhe and perhaps feel relief that the gentle music of the harp keeps us from hearing what is said.

    And in doing this, we would be guilty of the same fault shared by so many whom have looked upon this woman from afar, have gazed and wondered but never approached. We might suppose she allows him out of pity, and ascribe to her falsely a pride she does not possess. She is, plain and simple, and in simplicity has captured a serene wonder that she gives freely to any who can comprehend it.

    Her fingers slip from the instrument at last, but the last notes linger some time in the air before they fade away. Turning slightly, she offers a smile to the other, who cannot see it any more than she, for while her eyes were taken, his are grey and clouded; such sight as he has comes from the whirl of insight and probability that whispers inside his skull at all times; feeling the tension as she shifts, he gently sets aside the brush; hand too slides away. One of her hands moves to his, and here too, the dichotomy-in-synthesis continued; her gentle to his rough; black to white, entwining and drawing apart.

    A soft sigh. They can neither of them grant the other's most fervent desire, but perhaps, one drop at a time, in each one memory, one meeting, they might stave off the pressure that gnaws. Forget the anchor of time they can never set aside; unlike us, they never have the opportunity to lay down their burdens but that they must be picked up again.

    Time passes slowly and here we might well feel as if intruding; the two communicate wordlessly, through sensation, touch, and scent. Perhaps they do not use words because the words themselves are too limiting, too easily subject to misinterpretation. Perhaps instead they prefer a less defined relationship, one communicated in the oldest ways of all, in the flow of stance, motion and reaction. Or perhaps they both have already said all that is neccesary; that to speak further would be a reminder of realities they both must face all too regularly. Regardless of the particulars, they share these moments in near-silence, each giving, receiving ... knowing all too keenly that this cannot last, cannot become more than the moment, a moment, a string of pearls in history.

    Eventually, it ends with a pair of kisses, each to the other's forehead. Sayaku turns to her harp, and before the first note ripples through the air of the Sanctuary, the other is gone, only the faint bitter scent that accompanies him lingering, feathering and fading, until even her senses can no longer detect it, save in memory.

    A smile lingers there, one tempered with the echo of sorrows. There is much to be done. The time of the Rites of her long lost people comes again. Chroid and Acryn will return soon, bringing with them that particular gentle bittersweet tangle of memories she knows so well.

    We fade away. She remains.
    Catatar made for me many years ago ... pretty sure by banjo1985
    Werewolf Awards: 'Best Narration: Helgraf'
    Rabbit says stuff that makes me blush.

  8. - Top - End - #248
    Titan in the Playground
     
    Destro_Yersul's Avatar

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    Default Re: Shipping VIII: Yes, Eight. No, really. We are THAT insane.

    Darn you people and your posting of brilliance right before I do things. It makes me look inadequate!

    Seriously, it's very well done. You're an incredible writer.

    Here is my own offering for today. It is significantly less incredible, and involves the only idea I came up with at work today.

    Dancing with the Devil's Daughter
    Reinholdt/Rabbit
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    Reinholdt spun, not spilling a drop of the cocktail in his hand. With his free hand he reached out to the girl next to him and raised her arm over her head. She spun too, laughing, as music blared around them.

    The club was packed, but it was easy for Reinholdt to find the space to dance. He was completely in charge, the cat-like man in the pinstriped suit, and when he was on the floor, people noticed.

    Tonight though, it wasn't just him they were noticing. Across the floor was a woman in a deep purple suit, complete with a top hat. She had worn through three dance partners already and showed no signs of tiring.

    The woman flicked her eyes towards him. The confidence and arrogance he saw in them could not have been a clearer challenge. He knocked back the rest of the cocktail and sent the glass sliding across a nearby table, then threaded his way over towards her. They were drawn together like magnets, space clearing around them, as the next song began.

    The music was fast and powerful. The rhythm pulsed like a heartbeat, sending them circling around each other. Their dance was a test of strength, a duel of wills.

    So. Reinholdt smiled, showing his teeth. Come to try yourself against me?

    She laughed as she spun, the tails of her purple coat flying behind her. It was like fire, her laugh. It sent a thrill through him. Perhaps. said Rabbit. Or perhaps it's the other way around.

    Not here. His smile didn't waver. This? This is where I'm most at home.

    The pair wove around each other, pulses quickening with the music. That makes two of us. Rabbit rolled her hat in her hands, then flipped it and slid to the side. The hat landed at a jaunty angle on her head and she grinned. Though I do admit, you're better than most I've seen.

    I, said Reinholdt, am the best.

    Rabbit swung in, took hold of him and forced him backwards and downwards, her lips pressed against his. The song crashed to an end, and in the split second of silence between songs he heard her whisper in his ear.

    Not quite.

    Then she pulled him back up and spun away as the next song began. It was time for round two.


    I'm actually rather pleased with this one. Much more so than my last.
    I do LP's sometimes! I'm currently on hiatus for college purposes.

    My Youtube Channel

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    Avatar by Vael

    My Games:
    The Great Divide Dark Heresy - Finished
    They All Uprose Dark Heresy - Finished
    Dead in the Water Dark Heresy - Finished
    House of Glass Dark Heresy - Deceased

    We All Fall Down Dark Heresy - Ongoing

    Sea of Stars Rogue Trader - Ongoing

  9. - Top - End - #249
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    Reinholdt's Avatar

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    Default Re: Shipping VIII: Yes, Eight. No, really. We are THAT insane.

    @ Helgraf - Well I say your experiment is a success. I wish I could write descriptive text nearly as well as you do. Stop fueling my writer's jealousy or I may have to find you and eat your brain.

    @ Destro - Meep!
    I'm not sure whether to be frightened by my own aggressiveness or the fact that Rabbit is even more aggressive.
    Quote Originally Posted by Lord Magtok View Post
    Gods, Reinholdt was right, a hundred percent right.
    Spoiler
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    -Nyahahaha~
    Quote Originally Posted by Supagoof View Post
    Tale as old as thread
    And you find yourself dead
    Reinholdt was the Beast
    Quote Originally Posted by Philistine View Post
    Reinholdt had already told the truth once in that post, and therefore was over his annual quota.

  10. - Top - End - #250
    Bugbear in the Playground
     
    Kara Kuro's Avatar

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    Default Re: Shipping VIII: Yes, Eight. No, really. We are THAT insane.

    Wow Helgraf.That was really, really quite spiffy. As with any creator watching their character be written by another party, I would have done some things differently...

    But they way you writer her is spot on. Congratulations on that one Sir, I don't know how you did it because I really didn't give you much to go on.

    Has a NEW new art thread!
    Quote Originally Posted by Nameless View Post
    "Rule 1: If it doesn't have obvious boobies, it's male."
    - "A Guide to Kara" by Nameless.

  11. - Top - End - #251
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    Helgraf's Avatar

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    Default Re: Shipping VIII: Yes, Eight. No, really. We are THAT insane.

    Quote Originally Posted by Kara Kuro View Post
    Wow Helgraf. That was really, really quite spiffy. As with any creator watching their character be written by another party, I would have done some things differently...

    But they way you write her is spot on. Congratulations on that one Sir, I don't know how you did it because I really didn't give you much to go on.
    And that is part of the nervousness I'd mentioned above. I was flipping between the image and the bit you sent me from Chroid's point of view; eventually it condensed down into a small number of themes that I used to guide my writing vis a vis Sayaku. Please note all of these are based solely on my interpretation.

    1. The power of simplicity. Sayaku (in my mind) works because she doesn't entangle herself in layers and layers of expected obligations and societial mores; she has her functions and she performs them. Being free of the social trappings, she brings little in the way of preconceived notions to the table when she deals with others; her blindness is actually an asset in this regard, ensuring that even the appearance of others, a difficult thing for most to overcome, does not weigh upon her reactions.

    She has the Rites and the Duties of her long dead people, yes - but even here, her primary duty is not one of destruction, but of returning things to a natural state. Herein we grasp an irony, for her immortality is not a natural state, and this lays the seed for her major personal conflict.

    2. Synthesis of opposites. Both in the nature of her own person, pale & dark; garmentless but clad in the great length of her hair (and yes, this part was heavily influenced by the artwork more than the story); and in the nature of the sanctuary and its artwork. Again, the main character both follows this guideline, and breaks it by being an immortal who tends the concern that is ultimately mortal but can never participate in it.

    (more later ... must off to work)
    Catatar made for me many years ago ... pretty sure by banjo1985
    Werewolf Awards: 'Best Narration: Helgraf'
    Rabbit says stuff that makes me blush.

  12. - Top - End - #252
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    Default Re: Shipping VIII: Yes, Eight. No, really. We are THAT insane.

    Destro: Hmmm. I like it. I'm not really as much of a predator as I make myself out to be, but, damn, I really like it when I'm portrayed that way.
    Although, I could never see Rein like that =P
    Helgraf: In the long periods between your ships, I miss you something terribly. Its always exciting to see something new posted from you, and I am never, ever disappointed.
    You have a way of writing women that makes them seem to be so much more than just women. And this really isn't the first time I've noticed it, but really the first time I've ever had any kind of words to describe it.
    You idolize women in your writing, no matter who it is you choose to write about. To be featured in one is to be subjected to the greatest compliment of one's femininity there is.
    On to this specific ship, its much more..simple than your normally complex style. Still, as elegant as ever, but the piece doesn't seem to twist and writhe on the screen.
    In that manner, it also flows pleasingly.
    I hope Kara continues to inspire you, if we receive such ships.

    Condensation Reaction
    Hell Puppi/Thufir
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    She sat alone in the diner, forgetting the long minutes that passed into the young hours of early morning. Coffee (with two creamers and three packets of Equal, because it dissolved faster than sugar) growing frigid, though she still sipped from the old, cracked mag from time to time. Coffee was chased with Sprite, because the caffeine left a bitter taste in her mouth, accompanied by a gritty feeling on the teeth.
    The waitress, a young girl working her way through art school, paused by her table with a tired grin, refilling what needed to be filled dutifully.
    Hell Puppi was grateful for the small breaks from her labyrinthine mine, but it hardly lasted.
    Almost mindlessly, she began to trace designs in the condensation from the glass of the soda, mesmerized by the pattern of the faux wood of the booth tabletop.
    It wasn't meant to be anything cohesive, let alone something so clear and defined.
    A name.
    His name.
    Thufir.
    Defeated, she sank back against the vinyl booth and sighed.

    "This is why it hurts the way it hurts.
    You have too many words in your head.
    There are too many ways to describe the way you feel.
    You will never have the luxury of a dull ache.
    You must suffer through the intricacy of feeling too much"

    Iain S. Thomas
    Avatar by Qwernt

  13. - Top - End - #253
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    Reinholdt's Avatar

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    Default Re: Shipping VIII: Yes, Eight. No, really. We are THAT insane.

    ... Ouch. That one just sort of hit you at the end. Very nice. Rabbit is quite good at generating emotion.
    Quote Originally Posted by Lord Magtok View Post
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    Reinholdt had already told the truth once in that post, and therefore was over his annual quota.

  14. - Top - End - #254
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    Default Re: Shipping VIII: Yes, Eight. No, really. We are THAT insane.

    Quote Originally Posted by RabbitHoleLost View Post
    Destro: Hmmm. I like it. I'm not really as much of a predator as I make myself out to be, but, damn, I really like it when I'm portrayed that way.
    Although, I could never see Rein like that =P
    Hehe. Glad you like it. I know Rein isn't like that at all, but I needed someone for it and then again, Playa.
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  15. - Top - End - #255
    Bugbear in the Playground
     
    PirateGirl

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    Default Re: Shipping VIII: Yes, Eight. No, really. We are THAT insane.

    The man who shot arrows at the sun
    Starring: Destro
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    Once upon a time there was a man named Destro. He liked to sit around on hot afternoons and shoot arrows into the sun. One day, his arrow flew high and straight. It struck a passing bird, dropping it to the ground. Destro was surprised. He had never killed anything before. Holding the bird in his arms, he cried and cried. After he cried he went inside his house and took a bath. When he was done bathing, Destro went back outside and shot arrows at the sun.
    Still not really here. Still just an illusion.

  16. - Top - End - #256
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    Helgraf's Avatar

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    Default Re: Shipping VIII: Yes, Eight. No, really. We are THAT insane.

    Quote Originally Posted by RabbitHoleLost View Post
    Helgraf: In the long periods between your ships, I miss you something terribly. Its always exciting to see something new posted from you, and I am never, ever disappointed.


    Quote Originally Posted by RabbitHoleLost View Post
    You have a way of writing women that makes them seem to be so much more than just women. And this really isn't the first time I've noticed it, but really the first time I've ever had any kind of words to describe it.
    You idolize women in your writing, no matter who it is you choose to write about. To be featured in one is to be subjected to the greatest compliment of one's femininity there is.
    :blushes redder:

    Quote Originally Posted by RabbitHoleLost View Post
    On to this specific ship, its much more..simple than your normally complex style. Still, as elegant as ever, but the piece doesn't seem to twist and writhe on the screen.
    In that manner, it also flows pleasingly.
    I hope Kara continues to inspire you, if we receive such ships.
    Yes ... this one was meant to be gentler. It is a quiet intimacy, not an intense passion, by intention - it is also 'drawn fuzzy' so the exact line of interaction between the two characters can be decided upon by the individual reader.

    Inspiration comes from many sources, Rabbit. In this case, I essentially tempted Kara with a fic for one of her pictures in exchange for the answer to a question she was being hedgy about. So she turned it around, answered the question, pointed me at her gallery and essentially said 'pick one'.

    I found the one I used on the very last page. Something about it spoke to me, so I asked a few questions, got some answers ... and this led, about a week later, to the fic I wrote last night.

    I seem to have wandered off my original course.

    Quote Originally Posted by RabbitHoleLost View Post
    Condensation Reaction
    Hell Puppi/Thufir
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    She sat alone in the diner, forgetting the long minutes that passed into the young hours of early morning. Coffee (with two creamers and three packets of Equal, because it dissolved faster than sugar) growing frigid, though she still sipped from the old, cracked mag from time to time. Coffee was chased with Sprite, because the caffeine left a bitter taste in her mouth, accompanied by a gritty feeling on the teeth.
    The waitress, a young girl working her way through art school, paused by her table with a tired grin, refilling what needed to be filled dutifully.
    Hell Puppi was grateful for the small breaks from her labyrinthine mine, but it hardly lasted.
    Almost mindlessly, she began to trace designs in the condensation from the glass of the soda, mesmerized by the pattern of the faux wood of the booth tabletop.
    It wasn't meant to be anything cohesive, let alone something so clear and defined.
    A name.
    His name.
    Thufir.
    Defeated, she sank back against the vinyl booth and sighed.
    Poignant. I can see the scene readily, submerge myself in it. Realization isn't always a happy thing. Well done.
    Catatar made for me many years ago ... pretty sure by banjo1985
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  17. - Top - End - #257
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    Hell Puppi's Avatar

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    Default Re: Shipping VIII: Yes, Eight. No, really. We are THAT insane.

    Quote Originally Posted by RabbitHoleLost View Post
    Condensation Reaction
    Hell Puppi/Thufir
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    She sat alone in the diner, forgetting the long minutes that passed into the young hours of early morning. Coffee (with two creamers and three packets of Equal, because it dissolved faster than sugar) growing frigid, though she still sipped from the old, cracked mag from time to time. Coffee was chased with Sprite, because the caffeine left a bitter taste in her mouth, accompanied by a gritty feeling on the teeth.
    The waitress, a young girl working her way through art school, paused by her table with a tired grin, refilling what needed to be filled dutifully.
    Hell Puppi was grateful for the small breaks from her labyrinthine mine, but it hardly lasted.
    Almost mindlessly, she began to trace designs in the condensation from the glass of the soda, mesmerized by the pattern of the faux wood of the booth tabletop.
    It wasn't meant to be anything cohesive, let alone something so clear and defined.
    A name.
    His name.
    Thufir.
    Defeated, she sank back against the vinyl booth and sighed.


    with two creamers and three packets of Equal, because it dissolved faster than sugar
    ...that's pretty much exactly how I take my coffee.

    That was very well done and poignant, Rabbit. I think I have another Playgrounder that I have to badger into writing a novel. Not that the badgering has worked so far but you know, one day.

  18. - Top - End - #258
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    Default Re: Shipping VIII: Yes, Eight. No, really. We are THAT insane.

    Tisk tisk tisk. Shame on you all. Why so serious? You need to lighten up. Not really, the writing is great and all, but I've done an extensive research into this last page and found it dreadfully lacking in me.

    And so, without further ado-

    The Magnificent Adventures In Steam-Powered Technology Of Sir Vespe Ratavo And Sir Thomas Magtok, And The Friends And Associates Thereof.

    Part The 1st: In Which We Quickly Grow Tired Of The Word "Interesting"

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    MagRat. If you looked it up in the dictionary twenty years ago, depending on which dictionary you were looking in, you would either find a description of a young witch in a certain book written by a Mr. Pratchett, or an empty space somewhere between magpie and maguari stork.

    But if you looked it up now, you would find the following description.

    "Founded in the year 1880 by Sir Vespe Ratavo and Sir Thomas Magtok, MagRat Inc. is a multinational corporation that rose to fame after producing many revolutionary inventions, including the self-polishing shoes, automatic dog, and steam-powered corset. It currently has divisions in everything from household cleaners to briefcases for international diplomats. Yearly profits are simply silly."

    The dictionary was not sentient. But if it were, it might have found it interesting* to note that the man currently running a finger over the definition was one Sir Vespe Ratavo. It might have also criticized him for being vain,** at which point he would have thrown it into the fire.***

    *(adjective: arousing or holding the attention or interest of someone)
    **(adjective: overly proud of oneself)
    ***(noun: a chemical reaction involving oh god, help me, I'm burning...)


    Nobody likes a smart book.

    But the dictionary was spared the fire (not that it knew this), and was instead set down on a desk, due to a nearby door being opened. The dictionary thankfully did not find this interesting.

    It was interesting, however, because the man coming through the door was one Sir Thomas Magtok, known, informally, within the company as "the one with a not particularly interesting first name."*

    *Vespe, on the other hand, was referred to in whispers as "the one with a somewhat silly name."

    "Vespe, we need to talk."

    "Sure thing." He threw his feet up on the desk, accidentally knocking the dictionary on to the floor. "What about?"

    "This zeppelin thing. I know it's a new century and all, but we can't just rush in. We need more time to test it. For all we know, it could go down like it's made of lead, and you're inviting practically the entire royal court on board."

    "Has anything we ever invented malfunctioned?"

    "There was the automatic cat - "

    "I thought we agreed to never speak of that again."

    "You brought it up."

    "True enough." Vespe stood up. He rounded the desk, and picked up the dictionary, retuning it to its spot on the desk. He turned back to his friend. "Risks are what define a man, Thomas. They're what makes life...interesting."

    "Has anyone ever told you you use that word too much? Interesting?"

    Vespe shrugged. "All I have is a dictionary. I need to get a thesaurus sometime."

    "Tell you what, if that thing gets us across the English Channel and back alive, I'll buy you one. My treat."

    "Much obliged, old friend. Much obliged."

    "And if there's one scratch upon my daughter, I'll kill you, kill myself, follow you to hell and kill you again."

    "Duly noted. Are you quite finished?"

    "I suppose so. Happy new year, old friend. Tomorrow's the big day." Magtok turned and left, as Vespe leaned back in his chair.

    "Happy new year." Vespe flicked the switch on his automatic window-opener. They burst open, the riotous noises of MagRat brand fireworks filling the room, with lights of every color of the rainbow covering the night sky like a giant canvas.

    The wind knocked open the dictionary. It eventually settled on curious, which if Sir Ratavo had owned a thesarus, he would have known was a synonym for interesting. It also described the day that would follow rather well.

    Very curious indeed.

    Avatar and sig-banner by Mr_Saturn.

  19. - Top - End - #259
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    RabbitHoleLost's Avatar

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    Default Re: Shipping VIII: Yes, Eight. No, really. We are THAT insane.

    Quote Originally Posted by Hell Puppi View Post




    ...that's pretty much exactly how I take my coffee.

    That was very well done and poignant, Rabbit. I think I have another Playgrounder that I have to badger into writing a novel. Not that the badgering has worked so far but you know, one day.
    Hehehe. That's how I take my coffee =P

    Anyways, I totally would write a novel, but it seems that if I write anything that takes more than twenty or so minutes, I lose interest and never want to touch it again.
    I'm rather glad you like it, though =)

    Vespe: Eeeeee~
    Veve is back, Veve is baaaack.
    Very in-er, appealing. I'm rather excited to see where this leads. If anywhere.
    I like it when you make us lost.

    "This is why it hurts the way it hurts.
    You have too many words in your head.
    There are too many ways to describe the way you feel.
    You will never have the luxury of a dull ache.
    You must suffer through the intricacy of feeling too much"

    Iain S. Thomas
    Avatar by Qwernt

  20. - Top - End - #260
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    Default Re: Shipping VIII: Yes, Eight. No, really. We are THAT insane.

    Hehe. That amuses me, Jack. Stupid sun. I'll kill it with those arrows one of these days.

    In Space, You Are Not Alone
    A Sci-Fi Epic, Part 9
    Starring Rabbit, Destro, Reinholdt, Twobit and DeeRee
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    Magtok tore down the hallway and around a corner, pounding on the door until it opened. He slid through and ran, diving under a tangle of pipes and pressing himself up against the wall. The ship was silent around him, the normal thrum of engines completely absent.

    Magtok listened carefully for a few minutes before crawling back out from under the pipes. The engine room was nearby. It was cooled by a liquid system, and not the ship's ventilation. It should be safe in there. He made his way slowly down a flight of stairs to the door at the bottom and stepped inside.

    Oh hell.

    The room was a mess. Control panels were gouged, monitors smashed. Bodies and body parts littered the floor, some human, some alien. One body was slumped against the wall on the far side. Magtok's heart froze as it moved, raising it's head to look at him.

    You're it? Dammit. It's been hell down here, and...The man on the floor coughed. All they send is one goddamn mechanic.

    I'm all there was to send.

    Figures. Listen. He coughed again. Engines are down. Failsafes shut them off when they hit the control center.

    Right. Magtok looked down at the man's uniform, read the nametag. Ok, Jericus. Just tell me what to fix.

    [hr]

    Remind me, said Rabbit, why we are in the crew barracks.

    Protocol. Everyone was supposed to hole up here when the attacks started, but I'm not seeing anyone. Destro had logged into a terminal in a nearby security office and was flipping through the various cameras. Then he stopped. Oh god...

    What? Reinholdt looked over from where he was standing with Rabbit.

    I found them. I... Destro shook his head. We can't help. Not anymore.

    What now, then?

    We head for the shuttle bay. As far as I know, all the shuttles are still there. Let's get off this ship.

    [hr]

    Twobit blasted one thing in the head with his pistol and spun around, putting three rounds through another one's chest. DeeRee was twenty feet away, down on one knee, snapping off shots into the horde. They were doing well, holding them off, but there were always more. One of the guards screamed as he was pulled down, and the others tightened their circle.

    The blast door was shuddering as whatever was on the other side slammed into it repeatedly, slowly bending it out of shape. Twobit didn't want to think about what would have the strength to do that.

    Somewhere behind him, a console beeped.

    Attention, Mason's Blade. This is the USF Audacity, broadcasting on all frequencies in response to your distress call. What is your status? Over.

    DeeRee! Get that! Twobit ducked, narrowly avoiding the scythe-talon of one of the aliens. He stabbed it through the eye with his sword, then turned to cover his daughter as she ran for the console.

    DeeRee scrambled over, hurriedly glancing over the controls. She grabbed a microphone and hit the respond switch.

    USF Audacity, this is the Mason's Blade. We are under attack by an alien life-form. Request immediate assistance. Over.

    Negative. DeeRee's heart fell as the voice continued. Scanners show you're too close to those asteroids for us to jump in very close. We'll have to come in the old fashioned way.

    How long?

    ETA is half an hour. Think you can hold out that long?

    We'll try. DeeRee glanced over her shoulder as the blast door shuddered again. But I don't know how much will be left to rescue.
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  21. - Top - End - #261
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    Reinholdt's Avatar

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    Default Re: Shipping VIII: Yes, Eight. No, really. We are THAT insane.

    @ Vespe - Grand stuff. Poor dictionary. Doesn't realize how threatening it is just to live near Vespe.

    Not that we'll see anything about them, but I am curious about these cats though. I find them interesting.

    @ Destro - They're doomed! DOOMED!
    Goodie.
    Quote Originally Posted by Lord Magtok View Post
    Gods, Reinholdt was right, a hundred percent right.
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    -Nyahahaha~
    Quote Originally Posted by Supagoof View Post
    Tale as old as thread
    And you find yourself dead
    Reinholdt was the Beast
    Quote Originally Posted by Philistine View Post
    Reinholdt had already told the truth once in that post, and therefore was over his annual quota.

  22. - Top - End - #262
    Bugbear in the Playground
     
    PirateGirl

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    Default Re: Shipping VIII: Yes, Eight. No, really. We are THAT insane.

    Furnace Sands: part one
    Starring: Destro and Smee
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    The man was being pursued by tireless hunters. They had trailed him endlessly through the blistering heat and vast sands. It was his own footprints, stretching behind him, marking his winding passage through the wastes. Each one laid down and left for dead. In the same way his companions had been left for day so long ago.

    His mind was scattered, destroyed by the oppressive heat that had beaten down on him for so long. He heard voices calling to him day and night, mocking him, sneering at his weakness and plight.

    "You fool!"

    "Give up already!"

    "Death is your only escape from this hell!"

    "Yes, from one hell into the other!"

    Would you like some water?

    The man let out a hoarse laugh at that last one. It wasn't he first to offer him water so far, but it was by far the most convincing to date.

    Yeah, sure. I could use a good steak too, while your at it.

    I don't have any on me, but I can get some good food for you later if you like.

    Heh. Sounds like a plan.

    He came to a stop. Something wasn't right. Slowly he lifted his eyes from the blistering sands at his feet. At first he didn't believe his eyes. Surely another mirage conjured by the blasted desert to torment him. A figure before him, dressed in such thick and overlapping layers that their features were indistinguishable beneath them. The only part of them that was visible to him was their eyes. Hazel points peering from behind a face covering shawl, taking him in in ways that the man could only guess at. He guessed it was a woman, given her pitch of voice, though he wasn't sure she was even real at all.

    Behind her was a large creature, four legs and with a humped back. A camel. The man had seen camels before. A few days ago he had had a delusion in which he found a dead camel and feasted on its flesh, gaining precious life saving moisture from its fat filled hump. Or maybe it had actually happened. Real and fantasy had blurred together, becoming hopelessly entangled.

    Are you... real?

    She let out a slight laugh.

    As real as anything in the shifting sands. Come with me. I have been searching for you for days and there is little time left. We must return to the camp at once.

    The woman's words held so little meaning to the man. The only one that stuck in his mind was "camp." Camp meant shelter. Shade. Water and food. He started towards her, half expecting the woman and her camel to vanish into the heat like so many hazy hallucinations. It felt like the first meaningful steps he had taken in days.

    Who are you?

    You already know my name. We have met many times before, in unremembered dreams and passing visions.

    Sm-smee?

    The name rose automatically to his tongue. He didn't know how he knew it, only that it was as familiar on his lips as his own name. He could feel the woman smiling behind her coverings.

    Correct. And I know you're name as well, Destro.

    Destro. His name was Destro. He was shocked to find that he had forgotten it. The woman, Smee, helped him onto the camel's back.

    Rest now. You have traveled far and been through much. I will wake you when we arrive at our destination.

    The man wanted to tell her that he would not, could not sleep under such an oppressive sun. But the word failed to escape his mouth before he passed into a thick and seemingly endless sleep.
    Last edited by Jacklu; 2009-09-15 at 06:08 PM.
    Still not really here. Still just an illusion.

  23. - Top - End - #263
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    Default Re: Shipping VIII: Yes, Eight. No, really. We are THAT insane.

    I kept waiting for it to turn silly, like most of Jacklu's ships. But it stayed sweet and pretty, like Smee.

    Though the thought of Smee being dressed in concealing clothing earned a snort.
    My avatar! Isn't it just utterly diabolical? Ashen Lilies made it!

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  24. - Top - End - #264
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    Ms.Malbolge's Avatar

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    Default Re: Shipping VIII: Yes, Eight. No, really. We are THAT insane.

    Little Doll Parts.

    Starring: Rabbit, Curly(as Mommy), Happy Turtle(the Sister!)
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    She sat amidst a most macabre spectacle of playtime horror, for little doll parts were scattered all about the bare wooden floor. Little pieces of plastic or porcelain shaped into hands and legs, torsos and the occasional head lay in organized, if not a tad grotesque, little mounds awaiting use by the little creature who presided over the scene of dolly carnage.

    She was a pale little thing with skin barely a shade darker than the lumps of porcelain that surrounded her while her unkempt and rather plain brown hair stood out in the oddest of angles. Her face seemed to shine from youthful enthusiasm as slick hands twisted band aids and rubber bands around a leg here, a discarded piece of hand there. One piece would be picked up and placed before her, and after much lip-biting and inspection would be either added to the great work or placed gently into the appropriate pile. The young girl giggled as she placed the head, smooth and warm upon a torso it stayed upon only with a large amount of string and rubber bands covered carefully with a large skin-toned band aid.

    There was so much giggling in fact that there was soon the sound of footsteps outside the little girl's room and as the door opened the girl turned quickly, hiding the fruit of her labor behind her as the woman entered. A woman in fact that looked much like an older version of the girl save that her face bore a more mature set and her brown hair was a tad bit lighter but it was very clear that the woman was indeed the girl's mother. When she looked around the room, taking in the piles of plastic gore she shook her head slowly before lowering her gaze upon the little girl before her. "Dear dear Rabbit. What on earth are you doing here?"

    Rabbit giggled, face splitting into a broad grin as she looked up at her Mommy and when she spoke her face was filled with all the glee that young girls are known for. "Mommy I made a new sister!" Her voice was so full of eager enthusiasm that it was nearly a squeal and her mother smiled a bit despite the fact her daughter had destroyed a fair bit of moneys worth of dolls. She crossed her arms while she looked down at little Rabbit and raised her eyebrows. "A new sister? What was wrong with the old one?" She didn't bother to wait for Rabbit's reply and as the girl opened her mouth to speak she was cut off. "Oh very well. Lets see this new sister of yours dear."

    Rabbit brought her new sister before her as her smile grew even larger. Held before her was a tangled and awkward mass of plastic and porcelain, rubber bands and string and when one looked closely one could see something else in the doll, something... not plastic. Mother took a step forward and leaned down to get a better look at both the doll and the mess upon Rabbit's hands and dress, eyes roaming the small creation carefully. The not-plastic was smooth yet pliable unlike the other pieces of doll and the little doll head was hanging down, staring at the floor. Rabbit unleashed a fit of giggles and rocked back, causing the doll to shift and when it did the head came into view. It was large and round, hairless and pale and covered with a drying red slickness. "A new sister Mommy! Much better than the old one! I'm gonna call her Turtle."

    And Mommy screamed, and screamed, and screamed.


    It's been a rather long time since I wrote anything and this was a rather spur off the moment ordeal. Either way it's posted here, given to you despite it's mediocrity.

    Enjoy.
    Last edited by Ms.Malbolge; 2009-09-13 at 12:29 PM.
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  25. - Top - End - #265
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    Default Re: Shipping VIII: Yes, Eight. No, really. We are THAT insane.

    Heh, it was good. And totally something kid-Rabbit would do.

    Part 3 of Destro's life:
    Spoiler
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    Have to run, have to hide. If they find I'l be full of ****e!
    Have to hide, have to run. If they find me, it'l be no fun!
    Have to flee, have to get out of here, less they put my head upon a spear.
    Have to get out, have to flee, otherwise they'l torture and kill me with glee!


    ''Damnit'' Destro whispered to himself as he was running, quickly yet silently as he could. That nasty tune and rhyme had been haunting his head for for what felt like hours. He had no idea when he had come up with that rhyme, but it was damn annoying and damn distracting.

    He heard bombs dropping where he had been earlier, a small village.
    Destro had stolen one or two chicken and was devouring the first somewhile away from the village when the bombing had started.

    The farmer's house, the farmer was gently smoking his pipe there. Nothing the matter, all as if the outside world didn't exist. Dead.
    The farmer's wife, gently, softly singing tunes to her children as she put them to bed. Dead.
    The little paper boy, he'd been going from village to village on his bike. Selling his papers about the outside world. More bad news. Dead.
    He was way to young to die. Yet he was dead.

    This reminded him of the paper boy of what used to be his village. Was he dead? Captured? Perhaps brainwashed? He was far too young for any.
    Then an eary little voice in Destro's mind told him 'But they don't make exception in war. Everybody dies, dies, dies!' It ended with sadistic glee.

    Damn. Destro, lost in thought had tripped over a tree root. Oak. There was a good chance it wouldn't survive the winter. People would want to burn it for heat.
    He couldn't really get lost in thought again.
    Quickly looking ahead, he saw the little used and partially overgrown road go right. Right to the north, not where he wanted to go.

    So far Destro had been able to use roads or just use them as a route while walking alongside it, some dozens of meters away, through the fields. Sometimes the paths and routes were just too open.

    To his left, hilly regions and forests. There was a small fire going on, some trees were burning. Corsica, the island below the mainland. His family had went on a trip there once.
    Oh the beautifull hills and the mountains and forests. And the shores!
    Destro had loved them all the same. But on the third day while he was there, it started burning. Burning all around. They had retreated to the harbor city, where it would be safest. People were being evacuated. The hills covered in wood were all aflame now. The firefighters couldn't keep up with the fire. It was entering the city. All the flames turned to him.

    His village was burning again. 'Merde*' Destro thought. 'It is not my fault! Yes I am a coward, but it is not my fault!' Harshly yet gently, yet never settling and giving peace were eyes, staring into his. Draco, young, sweet and innocent. Did she really have to die? He could hear her screams among dozens. Yet it was hers that stood out. It was feminine, yet you could hear the child within, slowly killed.

    It was all his fault.
    And there came that jeering rhyme again!
    Sighing slowly, Destro started running again. For the hills.

    *Merde = **** in french.
    Spoiler
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    Quote Originally Posted by RabbitHoleLost View Post
    DD: .... DEM HIPS.
    Quote Originally Posted by faerwain View Post
    Why do I have the feeling that you actually really grind Smurfs to make your ice cream?
    Quote Originally Posted by banjo1985 View Post
    My wedding underwear has a picture of Dallas Dakota's face on them.
    Ceikatar!

  26. - Top - End - #266
    Titan in the Playground
     
    Destro_Yersul's Avatar

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    Default Re: Shipping VIII: Yes, Eight. No, really. We are THAT insane.

    Jeez, I go to work for one day and when I get back there's two ships with me in them and one by Mala? I obviously need to go to work more often.

    Looking forward to seeing where this one goes, Jack. Always have liked deserts. Well, not being /in/ them. Far too hot. But looking at pictures and reading about them and watching movies? Oh yes.

    It's good, Mal. Innocence combined with creepy. You do that so well...

    Yay! More Me! Dallas, I demand that you write more.
    I do LP's sometimes! I'm currently on hiatus for college purposes.

    My Youtube Channel

    The rest of my Sig:
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    Avatar by Vael

    My Games:
    The Great Divide Dark Heresy - Finished
    They All Uprose Dark Heresy - Finished
    Dead in the Water Dark Heresy - Finished
    House of Glass Dark Heresy - Deceased

    We All Fall Down Dark Heresy - Ongoing

    Sea of Stars Rogue Trader - Ongoing

  27. - Top - End - #267
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    Reinholdt's Avatar

    Join Date
    May 2008
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    In hiding. Always hiding.

    Default Re: Shipping VIII: Yes, Eight. No, really. We are THAT insane.

    @ Ms. Mal - ...
    I don't know why you ever stopped writing. You're just so good.
    I know I'm not going to be sleeping tonight.

    @ DD - You certainly captured Destro's scattered thoughts and his panic well. You can practically hear him hyperventilating. Good job.
    Quote Originally Posted by Lord Magtok View Post
    Gods, Reinholdt was right, a hundred percent right.
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    -Nyahahaha~
    Quote Originally Posted by Supagoof View Post
    Tale as old as thread
    And you find yourself dead
    Reinholdt was the Beast
    Quote Originally Posted by Philistine View Post
    Reinholdt had already told the truth once in that post, and therefore was over his annual quota.

  28. - Top - End - #268
    Troll in the Playground
     
    mangosta71's Avatar

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    Default Re: Shipping VIII: Yes, Eight. No, really. We are THAT insane.

    Lots of good stuff over the weekend.

    @Vespe - Very Pratchett-esque. I approve.

    @Destro - I really like the sci-fi setting, and I'm familiar enough with your previous work to know that you won't allow a cliche ending. Looking forward to it.

    @Jacklu - Different from your usual. I was, like many others, it seems, constantly expecting a punchline. Had to read it again to appreciate it properly. Can't wait for the next one. But I would point out that the pink is somewhat difficult to read against the spoiler background on some monitors.

    @DD - Is it wrong to so enjoy a story of human suffering? Poignant.

    @Mala - Can I have your babies? If more horror was written the way you do it, I might actually be interested in the genre. Evey time you post something here I just want to tie you up and do things to you in front of your computer so you have nothing to do but write more.
    Delightfully abrasive in more ways than one
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    Quote Originally Posted by RabbitHoleLost View Post
    Mango:you sick, twisted bastard <3
    Quote Originally Posted by Gryffon View Post
    I think Krade is protesting the use of the word mad in in the phrase mad scientist as it promotes ambiguity. Are they angry? Are they crazy? Some of both? Not to mention, it also often connotates some degree of evilness. In the future we should be more careful to use proper classification.

    Mango is a dastardly irate unhinged scientist, for realz.
    Quote Originally Posted by Sartharina View Post
    Evil's awesome because of the art.

    Avatar by Kwark_Pudding

  29. - Top - End - #269
    Ettin in the Playground
     
    Thanatos 51-50's Avatar

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    Default Re: Shipping VIII: Yes, Eight. No, really. We are THAT insane.

    /pops into the thread and reads
    /offers positive comments and praise to all ship-writers, as theres been too many for him to give a detailed review of all of them, so he will only do so for the one wherein he is mentioned
    /challanges Rabbit to do NaNo this year
    /continues using slash-command type actions for no reason

    Rabbit: Re: Ship:
    Wow... I am a jerk.

    /poofs away from the thread, now throughly humbled and definatly not going to write a spontaeous ship
    NaNoWriMo Beat Me
    Red and the Phasmavore by LCP

  30. - Top - End - #270
    Troll in the Playground
     
    RabbitHoleLost's Avatar

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    Feb 2008
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    Default Re: Shipping VIII: Yes, Eight. No, really. We are THAT insane.

    If it makes you feel better, Than, I have another short one in mind with you in it.
    You'll like this one much more

    "This is why it hurts the way it hurts.
    You have too many words in your head.
    There are too many ways to describe the way you feel.
    You will never have the luxury of a dull ache.
    You must suffer through the intricacy of feeling too much"

    Iain S. Thomas
    Avatar by Qwernt

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