[Corwin]

Sometimes, Corwin hated having a heightened sense of smell.

The office, if such a term could be a accurately applied to such a room as he was standing in right now, throbbed with the hot, furtive aromas of a hundred different things that had gone bad in a hundred different ways, and navigating his way to the Officers desk from the doorway had been like picking his way through a minefield of rotten eggs and farting lizards. And that was to say nothing of the actual mess that littered the floor, the walls, the door, the...sweet Spinoza, he thought...the ceiling!? How on earth did jam get up there? He tried to focus on the desk and nothing else; if he couldn't see it, it couldn't kill him. Or make him up-chuck in a most un-English manner, at least. Eventually, he got close enough to the desk to feel safe and with a single graceful leap alighted atop of the desk, landing haunched, tense. He glanced this way and that, back at the door, and then to the desk again. Nothing. He relaxed.

"Chaos Theory." he muttered quietly to himself as he dipped his hand into his pocket to pull out a small, thin copper tube. It was adorned with a single decorative piece of yarn tied around it's centre, but otherwise looked entirely practical and ordinary in its design. One more survey of the room as he held it.

"So disorganised it comes...all the way back around to some semblance of functionality. Hmmm. Not my cup of tea, but still..."

Taking the cylinder in both hands he ran a finger down from the top towards the other end until it snagged on something that was not immediately apparent, and began to roll the tip of his claw in a counter-clockwise motion, as though he were winding up a toy. With a faint "pop" the top end of it flicked open and gently ejected its contents into Corwin's waiting palm. The parchment did not unroll itself immediately, and was crumpled at the edges. With practised care and feline caution, Cowrin placed the copper carrier back into it's pocket and smoothed open his submission piece. He checked it to proof, even though he'd read it a hundred times or more already; just to be sure. At the top of the page, in bold italic, was the title:

"Is it Shiny? Does it Jangle?"

He smiled. He was rather proud of it. It was largely autobiographical, and it had pretty much written itself, as would it's further instalments.

"Well I jolly well hope so," he sighed under his breath. "There doesn't seem to be a lot of good tea around here." A troubling thought. Shaking it off, he regarded the parchment once more before setting it down in the space on the desk that his tail had now finished clearing of clutter, it's dexterous tip re-organising the mess of paper, quills, inks and pots into a more workable solution without him really asking it to. Another bonus of being turned into a Man-'o-cat, which is what Corwin surmised he was now. His task done, and with a nary an upset caused or attention unduly garnered towards himself. Exactly how he wanted it, he thought. Exit stage left, incognito, crumpets and tea for one. He was getting the hang of this, for certain! He confidently hopped off the desk, turned, and began making his way towards the door, smiling.

And that is when he realised that he had been watched all along. By not one, but two other people. Something just above his stomach made a fist and punched upwards, and his chest suddenly exploded in a ball of fiery terror. He became very, very still. He tried not to notice them immediately and pretended to study the room further, as if he didn't know what he was looking for, which was a big fat monkey lie because right now he wanted nothing more than to find an alternate exit and a rocket with which to fly through it with, and right now he was coming up with negative results on both.

He was trapped.


OOC; thanks for the heads up. Consider this my RP-flavoured submission piece. I'll get back to "carrying it on" once I've had coffee and got re-inspired. Cheers peeps!

This post has been edited by Corwin: 06 July 2010 - 10:00 AM

[Snypiuer]

You'll learn that my critique skills are not much more then "I like" and "I don't like".

I like!

Someone should be along shortly to review your recruitment post.

Don't hesitate to ask ANY questions you may have!

Except THAT question! If you must ask THAT question, please reword it for the protection of the innocent.

[Quincunx]

"Eh, Snypiuer, I followed _you_ here," Tzimfemme added, from just outside the door. There was a space behind the sentence, a gap just long enough to fit the word 'boss' into, and add a deferential bobbing of the chin. Instead she transposed herself, doorway, and Snypiuer to end up inside the office and out of the reach of Snypiuer's costume, the wings of which had already swept a stack of IOUs to the floor atop several other piles of previous IOU blunders. She leaned back from the ankles as Snypiuer spun around trying to figure out how she'd done that, his traffic-cone-snout nearly poking her eye out. "Hate being short," she appended, rippled back upright, and spotted the cat smack-dab in the center of Wyvern's (former) (how strange _that_ sounded) desk, surveying the clutter with. . .not feline indifference, no, interest, yet a shield of objectivity behind that. She rubbed her face with one hand. It _felt_ familiar, that gaze. Facial muscles tense around the eyes, no interest and no tension in the jaw. It was what she wore, dispassionate in the lab, when the lab coat was no longer an option to wear.

"Oh." She kept on mouthing sounds beyond that for a few seconds, until she heard herself and cut them off with that same hand. "Snypiuer, we--No! Later. Him first." Tzimfemme did bob her chin deferentially, then, but to the cat. "Hello, fellow researcher. Have you the power of speech or should I brace for psychic communication?"

*****

(OOC: Yes, a stand-alone story is perfectly fine as an application, but the acceptance RP tends to migrate into an office-like setting regardless of the form. This won't happen with all serious stories, just the ones in this sub-forum. Any story that is complete and needs to not be treated like an RP will be read and left un-smudged in the Assembly Room.)

[Snypiuer]

Looking around Snypiuer is suddenly, viciously and inexplicably attacked about his head and neck area by a turtle wielding a rather large baseball bat - WHACK! SHMACK!! THUDDD!!! (the last having an alarmingly meaty, wet ring to it). It seems the legendary, NAY! the no-less-then MYTHICAL Turtle of Realization has once AGAIN managed to sneak up on him!

Snypiuer realizes that Degorram is NOT in the office! He ALSO realizes that (at least it SEEMS that) Tzimfemme believes HE is filling in for Wyvern! AND he further realizes that there is a fresh NEW mark member whom he can swindle! assist in joining the Pen!

With a nod of satisfaction, the turtle melts into the shadows and is gone.

Snypiuer quickly rifles through the desk and finds the ACCEPTED stamp, lift's the cats' tail and stamps him APPROVED! (I KNOW it's an 'ACCEPTED' stamp!)

"Very good application! Please pay Tzimfemme ALL application fees, processing fees, judicial use of Official stamps fees, various and sundry atmospheric and geological arbitrary fees along with local, provincial and statutory taxes and levies. We take cash only and have a very consumer friendly (54% daily-compounded interest rate, plus ALL applicable fees, paperwork and handling charges) payment plan if you are short on cash!" He says with a wide, INNOCENT, warm smile - sweat (and blood - you know, from the beating!) starting to trickle down his neck as he silently hopes to get the cash and run before Degorram returns.

"Welcome to the Pen!"



***********************************

OOC: Degorram is the OFFICIAL recruiter, BUT the situation does fit MY agenda! Once again, I LIKED the story and would like to read more!

[Corwin]

Fighting the fight-or flight instinct was hard, but Corwin was given just enough time to subdue his feral instincts and think like a man for this one. Loosen up, he thought. They're here to help. Talk to them!

And then the whole thing with the turtle happened, and Corwin lost his bearings completely.

Disregarding the bulk of the hastily-spoken welcome from the thing-in-a-costume, which came out as a splurge of cobbled-together (if well-meaning and sincere) platitudes strung together with a thin thread of rank profiteering, Corwin got straight down to what was really bothering him at that present moment in time.

"...excuse me sir, but were you just violently assaulted by a floating turtle?"

The thing-in-a-suit shifted his feet on the spot and glanced nervously back at the other, shorter entity that was still standing in the doorway blocking his exit, and Corwin's gaze followed his, noting then how her diminutive figure was still capable of filling the open spaces between the tested oaken frames with a considerable presence. A quick calculation in his head regarding how likely he could vault over her and into the open corridor beyond was immediately checked by a more feline instinct; No. The thing-in-a-suit turned further towards the doorway and tried his best to look at ease with the whole situation, at which point Corwin noticed the extent of his injuries. He gasped quietly, and began fumbling for something from the inside of his waistcoat.

"Weeeell, it's NOTHING really, you should have seen what it did the LA-" said the thing-in-a-suit, gesturing mock-jovial to his companion behind him before he was cut off as Corwin's hand firmly, but carefully, took hold of his chin and held his head so that he could step in a pace and get a keener look at the wound.

"Hush, man! You've sustained a...considerable amount of trauma from that hockey-boy bat, and you're going to need first aid at the very least! Now hold still."

"Nnnar noo eh nnnnocktrr?" said the thing-in-a-suit, as best he could through clenched teeth.

"No," said Corwin as his other hand returned from his waistcoat with a gold pocket-watch, which he then held horizontally a few inches away from the ugly gash that he was now staring intently at.

"...I'm a physicist. Sanare!"

And with that, the pocket watch sprung wide open, and with a hurried clicking and snapping of now-observable gears and levers began to go about its intended business. Multi-jointed appenditures whirred forward,three of them in total, each one with a device attached to it's end, each distinct and different from one another; a piece of cotten wool, a spray canister and finally a cotton bud. They honed in on the wound, and with surprising dexterity and sense of purpose began to clean and disinfect the area as well and as thoroughly as any practised nurse. Once finished, they each turned to point up at Corwin, and waited. One of them cocked it's cotton-bud head a touch, almost inquisitively. Corwin nodded calmly in response.

"Yes, very good, well done. Carry on now."

The arms arced back in on themselves and dipped there heads into the inner-workings of the watch, and began to enthusiastically search for something. After a few moments rummaging, they re-appeared; two of them held a roll of thin, steely cord between them, the other a delicate looking needle, threaded through at it's end with said string. The thing-in-a-suit caught sight of it on the edge of his vision and trembled a little as the needle made its way cautiously towards him.

"Don't worry, stay still, it'll be all over in a moment and then you'll be right as rain. Archie here is very good at this sort of stuff, aren't you, Archie?"

As a manner of reply, it deftly stitched the wound with a blur precise movements, the needle making cool, quiet "swiff-swiff-swiff" sounds as it whent about it's work. Once finished, the needle-arm turned back towards Corwin and nodded twice before assisting the other two with packing the rest of the implements away. The arms folded back into the watch and Corwin swiftly snapped the device shut before placing it back into his waist-coat pocket. Giving his handy-work a customary glance he gently released his grip on the thing-in-a-suit's chin before he glanced back up at the woman in the doorway, and then quickly back down at the slightly skittish fellow in front of him.

"There. All fixed. Sorry about that, I tend to dive straight in when I see some thing's not right, and I completely forgot to introduce myself! Unforgivable. I apologise. My name is Corwin and yes, I am scientist, not a doctor. I leave the physician-work to my friend Archibald, he's much better at it than I am. And you must be...umm...Oh! Snypiuer! I'm sorry if I pronounced it incorrectly, these aren't...my neck of the woods."

He smiled nervously. Wasn't that the truth! He looked past Snypiuer to the figure beyond.

"And you must be, then, Tzimfemme. A true pleasure to meet you. I hope I have sufficiently answered your query; The jury is still out as to whether I have nine lives or not, but I can say with scientific certainty that I cannot communicate with my mind alone." He looked down, a little crest-fallen at this. "A pity, really."

He looked back up and fixed Tzimfemme with a steady, even stare.

"Now, what's this about me paying what to whom again? Be patient with me, mind; I'm good with science. But bad with money.



OOC Ohmy dear lord that was longer than originally intended. HAVE FUN

This post has been edited by Corwin: 06 July 2010 - 06:31 PM

[Degorram]

Degorram stumbled in to her office wearily, ripping a blindfold off her eyes as she dropped into her chair with a sigh. Glancing at the application before her -- which was now covered in sticky notes, having been read by many, many Pennites before her -- she flipped through it and ruffled her hair.

"This is very nice work. I do apologize for not having gotten to it sooner. You see I was held hostage by my router, and was unable to come to work. My thanks for your patience." She picked up a green stamp and slammed in on the first sheet in the cluster, handing it back to Corwin (who had begun to grow a bit of facial hair waiting in her office), who took it and left hurriedly, looking vastly relieved. Only an instant later, he popped his head back in and asked, with a slightly crazed look on his face, "Er...where's the bathroom? I haven't left this whole time you see..."

"Third door down the hall on your left," Degorram said wearily.

*********

OOC: SOOOO SOOORRY! My internet vanished and I was unable to get to this sooner. Thanks so much for your application. And welcome to the Pen!

OOC (Part Deux): And upon a further and more intense reading, I have to say that I really really do like it! Your characters are charming, the dialogue witty, the setting easy to grasp without floods of detail -- overall a very good piece! My only suggestions is that occasionally your sentences get a little long, causing the brain (or at least mine) to stumble. And if you have me read your stuff very much here, you'll find me using THAT particular phrase a lot. There are also a couple places that you have more prepositions than are necessary, but nothing that is drastic enough to destroy the flow completely. I also can't wait to see more. <3

[Ozymandias]

A shadow peels away from the wall to fix Corwin with a back gaze. The thing primly hands him a tightly rolled sheet of vellum and promptly disappears under Degorram's office door.

The paper reads:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



Dear Sir,


You I like.


May love and wine their rights maintain,

Ozymandias



~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[Quincunx]

Tzimfemme had relaxed a bit once the pocket watch had come out--so she hadn't been hallucinating a scent of turtle, then--only to whip back out of reflex as it proved to be a clockwork device. Still, it proved itself to be an unusually fit-for-purpose clockwork device, and so she leaned back within the presumed blast radius to better witness the first aid. Not too close, of course. Keep the field sterile. She raised an eyebrow when the needle slipped into Snypiuer's wound without any outcry, then realized: contact anesthetic liquid on the cotton ball. This clockwork was _very_ fit for purpose. It was almost disappointing to step back again once it had finished, but this feline needed his personal space. In lieu of that, she snagged a post-it note and quill from the table and jotted down a few lines.

"Now, what's this about me paying what to whom again? Be patient with me, mind; I'm good with science. But bad with money."

At that, Tzimfemme raised an elbow to jab Snypiuer-as-Wyvern and jar that avaricious look off of his be-coned face, but reeled it back down to admit Degorram. The newcomer spoke quickly and to the point, and Tzimfemme was glad for the luck of having picked up a sticky note, for she could attach it to Corwin's arm as he exited: Would be very pleased to see your lab once you have settled in; plenty of space in Pen Keep for duplicate lab or portal to more comfortable locale; send notice to circular tower, vitreous lab, or drop in at any time. Degorram sank her head in her hands, shoving the blindfold up and almost off, stray locks jutting out between headband and fingers. "What a week," sighed the shapeshifter, addressing the desk as much as the others. "Did I miss much?"

"Not much, starchild. Grats on the promotion by the way, I hadn't heard. Probably didn't _listen_ in the first place and you announced it anyway, but still, grats."

". . .what did you call me?"

Tzimfemme blinked hard, thrust her head forward slightly to get a better look at Degorram. "Er. Starchild?" She tipped her head to one side for another angle. "Meteorite, Keren of the Light? . . .I'm babbling. Also there's stars in my eyes." Scrunching her eyes shut, shaking her head like a dog with ear mites, opening them again--"'What a week' indeed. Giddiness. What say we mutually retire and refresh ourselves?"

[Corwin]

Corwin was still fumbling with the post-it note on his jacket arm whilst trying to roll-up the submission piece and place it back into its holder when the shadows from the wall to his left un-froze themselves and shuddered into life. Gauzy, hazy shapes peeled away from the bruised and tattered wallpaper and drifted into the open air, all angles and flatness, a mirage with purpose and direction. Smoky tendrils grew from each floating block and wrapped around one another, inter-locking and pulling themselves taught, and within a matter of moments many pieces had become one, a gangly human-like thing bound together with sinews of shadow and little else. It had been staring at him the whole time; the hairs on the back of Corwins neck rose straight and high, bolts of continuous electricity seemed to be racing up and down his spine and he was struggling hard to deny the urge tohiss at the thing.
Presently, it dipped its hand into a pocket that Corwin could not see and out of it's insubstantial mass pulled out a fully-formed and very real roll of vellum. It looked ancient, as if it would crumble into ash were anything but shadows should try to grasp it. It regarded Corwin with a look he failed to read before handing the paper to him. His hands full, he was saved any awkwardness by the timely intervention of his tail, which cordially wrapped its tip around the note and deftly popped it into his jacket pocket. Surprisingly, it did not crumble into thin air on contact, and Corwin could feel its weight in his pocket, assuring his sceptical mind that it was indeed real. Its task completed, the shadow solemnly sank into the floor and glided, noiselessly, towards the open door of the office. It slid into the gap between it and the floor below it, but failed to re-appear on the other side. Corwin stood still, staring blankly at where it should have been for a good minute before realising that his mouth was wide open and was in danger of sinning in public with unwanted drool. His tail slid up underneath his arm and helpfully pushed his mouth closed. He gulped once, loudly, and then read the note.

"...oh. How very...kind of you."

He had no idea who he was talking to any more. He did not think it really mattered, anyway. Not here, at least. He decided he needed fresh air and a clearer perspective before he could move forward with the day; settle down before settling in, he thought.

He walked quickly away from the office and through the myriad corridors that lead to it, always moving upwards, ascending stairs with ever-brisker steps and occasionally sniffing the air, trying to catch the scent he was after. After a short while, he got a whiff of it, faint but unmistakable; fresh air. Up, to the left, thirty paces or so. He turned in that direction, and picked up his pace further still. When he saw the open window in a disused office at the end of a long, narrow corridor, he suddenly broke into a sprint. He let his mind go and allowed instinct to take over, the urge and need to get out and be free driving all thoughts and motion towards the achievement of that one goal, and he was on all fours pounding the floorboards beneath him with fluid, savage movements before he'd even entered the room. The space between him and the window was obliterated within a matter of seconds and he leapt clear of the room, vaulting off the windowsill and into the wide open world beyond. Sunlight cascaded into his vision, waves of it pounding into his eyes ceaselessly, so bright after all that time in dark, shaded rooms, and it blotted out his vision completely before his eyes could re-adjust. He entered a void of perception: weightless, sightless, the air around him whistling tonelessly in his ears. At last, finally, he was free. Ecstatic joy overwhelmed him, his world went pure white with the void, and then he was lost to the dark soon thereafter.

He woke up on the roof, on his back, the clear blue sky above him. His jacket was half-off, one armless sleeve flapping lazily in the breeze, and the post-it note given to him by Tzimfemme was now stuck to the side of his head, one corner of it scratching his nose. He pressed the palm of his hand against it and pulled it away, reading it. Oh God, he thought. my lab! It'll be here by now. I wonder...

Standing up, he looked for the tower mentioned in the note and spotted it just to the south of the main keep. With no labyrinthine corridors to navigate, it was a straight dash as the crow flew across the roof of the keep and then a little leap of maybe twenty feet or so to the nearest tower window, and then it'd be a simple matter of blowing the whistle and waiting to see if his suitcase had heard it. And if not, he could at least visit Tzimfemme and make temporary arrangements whilst he waited for his own gear to arrive. And I could check her out, too. he mused. And then caught himself immediately. her lab, of course. Lab. And her set-up.

What *do* naked scientists research, anyway? Invisible lab-coats?

He pondered it as he made his way across the roof towards the tower. Only one way to find out, obviously.


OOC; sorry, that one meandered a bit. More interaction next, feel free to disturb me mid-run!

[Snypiuer]

Slowly.

Nonchalantly.

AND as innocently as possible. . .

Begins making his way out of the room. . .

HOPEFULLY, before anyone realizes it.

[Quincunx]

Not long after Corwin left, Tzimfemme also took her leave, trying and failing not to notice that the darkness was an entity in its own right. It was not bad enough to be incapable of small talk with either Degorram or Kikuyu under normal conditions, but when others were plucking on the strings of the soul and shooting stars. . . .She halted and cast her mind back over the past few minutes. Scientist. Science. All things observable and quantifiable. Now the moving darkness was not a metaphor, but familiar. "Damned black mages," she reiterated. "Weren't you disbanded after that necromancers' quarrel?"

The shadows dipped down at shoulder height, the approximation of a shrug, then pasted themselves back in the shapes the light dictated. She crossed her arms. "Ah. Sentinels. Spin on, mad world--eh?" A salute, of sorts. She descended the stairs and re-traced her route out of that section of the Pen Keep, kicking another fallen shard of Snypiuer's costume ahead of her. One last good punt sent the broken flowerpot sailing into the nearest bed of perennials, there to confuse archeologists of future times, before she crossed the grounds to the circular tower. Meanwhile the shadows of the perennials played over the shard. . .

At the jump tube, Tzimfemme checked herself, and nearly turned around to seek one of the more conventional forms of ascent; a gnome had been tinkering with the design. Down at gnomish height a box had been bolted to the open jamb, which Tzimfemme knelt to inspect. It was wired into the tube itself and sprouted buttons like mushrooms after a soaking rain--in fact, one button was labeled with the silhouette of a mushroom--but the only ones depressed were a smiling face and a T-square silhouette. She tested the airflow with her hand and, finding that it responded with the usual force, gulped and stepped out into space. Up she drifted, and as she grasped the handholds at the appropriate floor, a side-mounted vent opened and blasted her onto terra firma. Tzimfemme blinked. "That's new," she began to say, but was cut off by another new feature. Metal meshes descended and cut off the doorway, the smiling face button popped out, a spring-labeled button popped in, the fans lost power, and a gnome flashed into view and out again, falling. Fans roared to life, and the gnome shot back briefly into view, now flying upwards shouting "wheeeee!". Silence. "Wheeeeee!" Fans. "wheeeeee!" Silence. "Wheeeeeee!" Fans. "wheeeeee!"

Tzimfemme shouted past the mesh, "Dare I ask?"

"Wheeeeeeeee am testin'" Fans. "wheeeeeee the failsafes" Silence. "Wheeeeee is FUN!" Fans. "wheeeee!"