Tralla

Author's Note: Oooh, It's been a while. Oh well. Sorry. =D There would be more, but I need sleep. Blame human weakness, if you like. Here you are, then: Most contractors sent underlings to obtain Master Fallik's services - lip-curling, sneering, supercilious toadies, one and all. These underlings were met by equally scornful younger scions of Master Fallik; the battle of thinly veiled insults that ensued was always a marvel to whichever orphans happened to overhear it that day. This visit, however, was different. An underling was sent, and although he was as arrogant as other such who had come before, he was much better at veiling his insults, and wore livery expensive enough to warrant the air of superiority he bore about him like a cloak. On top of that, he had really only been sent to notify the Fallik Home of his Mistress' impending arrival, so that the meeting could be carried out with all due pomp and shameless groveling, of course. When he had delivered his message, the underling turned - swirling his cloak of arrogance about him with a disdainful flick of his hand - and took up position just outside their door, awaiting his Mistress. He looked at nothing, spoke to no one, and seemed not even to notice the scurrying children at all. The gather bells began to toll, and the children assembled quickly in the main hall, as they had always done. The visitor had chosen the greatest day of rest in the week, Sahmay, to come to the Home, so most of the children were present in the hall. Every single Guardian was also present - a rarity, these days - and lined the entire wall behind the silently waiting children. Their ever-ready whips slithered faintly against the recently swept stone floors, waiting eagerly to catch an unwary child mid-fidget. However, the children's hard-learned discipline held, and the whips never got a chance to sing through the air and strike at child-flesh. When the Hall was finally still, the Fallik family began to file in, one at a time. It was a procession of awe-inspiring ugliness; each child was more hideous and openly mean-spirited than the last, from a genderless hell-spawn of four years of age called Rig, right up to the most cruel and unattractive of them all, Thag. Altogether, Master Fallik has sired fourteen children, and no greater array of humanity's base imperfections had ever been assembled. After the children came the Master himself, remarkably repulsive in a suit of fine brown silk that caused him to resemble his own horse's latest… expulsions. He was just as short and fat as Zee remembered him to be, and undoubtedly just as good-natured. He positioned himself at the very center of the Hall, with Thag just behind his right shoulder, and the other children ranged in a somewhat ragged line behind him, but in front of the orphans. He harrumphed a little and fidgeted with his clothes slightly while he surveyed the cumulative effect of the gathering, then turned to the main doors and waited. And waited. And waited. The Fallik children, spoiled enough to expect instant attention, began to fidget almost instantly; Guardian whips didn't lick their flesh, Zee noted wryly. So, they fidgeted, the orphans were careful not to, and the Guardians kept their malevolent eyes on all. Finally, when the Master himself began to fidget as well, the main doors swung open as if kicked in by a hundred booted feet and crashed against the walls with a thunderous boom. A few of the children flinched, and the Master jumped a good two feet back, stumbling into Thag and causing both men to look decidedly undignified when in strolled the High Mage, outwardly as calm as a brewing summer storm. It was one of the women that had come to visit, not the ruling High Mage of their own city, who was male and very, very old. This woman appeared to be fairly young, in her early to mid-thirties, although her features were so unnaturally smooth that it was hard to tell. Her hair was very long and very black, and bound back in some impossibly elaborate style that must have taken an army of twenty handmaids to accomplish in less than three hours. Her gown - for it was a gown, not the oversized robes most High Mages traditionally wore - was shimmering cloth-of-gold, so thin and fine it clung to every perfect curve on her body; the precisely positioned holes in the fabric did nothing to salvage her modesty, either. Her hands were clasped in her great drooping sleeves; her back was flawlessly straight; her expression was impeccably neutral. She was the perfect vision of absolute power. Her attendant entered behind her, surveyed the assembly, and barked, "Kneel for the great High Mage, vermin!" The orphans fell obediently to their knees, and the Guardians dropped down on one, but the Fallik children - and their sire - remained standing. The attendant glared at them wrathfully and opened his mouth to make another equally scathing command, but was waved to silence by his mistress. "Enough, Callin," she said serenely. Her voice was peaceful and almost pleasant, but exuded an air of iron control that made it seem more menacing than an entire legion of whip-bearing Guardians. "You forget that we are the guests here, not them." "But they do not show you the respect you are due, Great Mistress," he replied. If he'd been a dog, he would have whined from where he strained at the end of his lead, keen to take these unworthy wretches to task for their insolence. "They show respect in their own ways, pet. You forget, these are Felamorrell's people, not mine." "Very well, Great Lady." The High Mage turned to Master Fallik and gave him a cool smile, and extended her shoe delicately. He fell stiffly to his knees and leaned slowly forward to kiss the back of her foot, as any higher gentleman would her hand, were he permitted. "All Gifts to the High Council and the Mages to guard us," he murmured in the most respectful tones Zee had ever heard him utter. "How may I be of service to you, High Lady?" "I seek the Service of your children, sir," the High Mage replied, gesturing for Fallik to rise. He did, but kept his eyes downcast. "Certainly, Lady Councillor. As many as you desire are at your command." "I require perhaps a dozen children. Maybe two dozen. I will pick them myself - they must be ideally suited to their appointed tasks, you understand." The High Mage strolled past Fallik to examine a few children closely. "I will accept only the best, Fallik." "I would offer the Great Lady Zermaterix only the best of the best of my stock, of course," Master Fallik agreed smoothly, following a step or two behind her as she paced the lines of children slowly. "Perhaps we could retire to a more comfortable chamber to discuss details, arrange a viewing of the available labour upon your convenience, to-" "Great Lady," Callin hissed, rushing up to his mistress' side. "I smell-" "You smell unwashed urchins and cheap perfumes, Callin," the High Mage interrupted sharply. "You will await my pleasure outside." "Y-yes, Great Mistress," Callin stammered, peering about intently. He retreated, visibly reluctant, out into the bright sunlight of midday, and stepped to one of the entrance, so he was just out of sight of everyone still inside. "My convenience is the present, sir," the High Mage continued, turning back to Master Fallik. "I will view every child in residence this evening - not just the available labour, but every child. I demand only the best, Fallik, and your best is very likely already employed elsewhere." Master Fallik flinched slightly - the cost of severing a standing contract was significant - but bowed and nodded eagerly enough. "As the High Lady wishes, so shall it be," he murmured. He waved his oldest son forward, and Thag scrambled to his father's side, bowing several times nervously before his father caught his arm to stop him. "I will oversee the preparations myself, Great Mistress," he continued, "if you would permit my son Thag to guide you to a resting suite, or anywhere you desired to go." The High Mage gazed steadily at Thag until the normally overconfident man was visibly trembling in his boots, then nodded fractionally and returned her attention to his father. "Such an arrangement pleases me," she announced. "Proceed as you please. I will view the children at six this evening." "Anything you wish, Great Lady," Fallik replied quickly. He bowed again, then waved his son off and gestured grandly for the High Lady to follow. With a nod, she did, sweeping silently from the chamber on the unfortunate man-turned-boy's heels without so much as a backwards glance.

LoL riiight... um Happy Birthday Falc m'dear. =) *hug*

Eraser shreds, aka eraser filings, aka eraser poop, aka the tiny bits of rubber crap that you usually just brush irritably out of the way...

As any southpaws in the audience are fully aware, pencil results in the entire side of your hand being coated in lead powder, which is a pain to erase off. (Good) Pen results in the entire side of your hand being stained blue, or black, or red, or *cough* purple ( ) for several days. Bad Pen (ie ballpoint) only really works half the time so you end of with letters half-formed and compositions barely legible and certainly not neater than left-hand-smudged pencil. So, I'm screwed either way. Forget the written media, it sucks. Keyboard all the way, man. I even write class notes via a keyboard hooked up to my Palm. Nothing better than going klackety-klack-klack and waiting for a couple minutes while everyone scribbles to catch up. =D

Have a great one, Chanz.

O.o

Whee! Happy Birthday Deggie! *hugs, and kisses his cheek* Enjoy today, it's the one day that it's legitimately all about you. =D

I like the push and pull aspect of the poem... In the beginning, the speaker has strength, but isn't using it... you can see the hints of it in words like "allowing" and "pulls" instead of, say, "drags". The addiction is pulling and controlling her, but there's still an essence of willingness in her, that slim part of her that, by the end of the poem, stops the motion, breaks free, and starts pushing the addiction away ahead of her. The word usage, whether intentional or not, is very interesting.

This IS good. A suggestion: If you want to really draw out the exhaustion at the end of the poem, give "oh" "so" and "very" their own lines... oh so very- tired or, oh so very- tired. Tis just a suggestion to play with... No need to listen to my ramblings... Spacing is a great way to get across what you're trying to express.

Ohhh I like this. Sorry, can't get any more constructive than that.

Welcome to the Pen, Fallout Boy. =D

I absolutely LOVE these lines! Now *that* is a great slant - a complete reversal on a very very well-known story. I believe that is the real driving force behind some of the more powerful stanzas, along with the phrases "A man who was dead,/Removed from his grave." and "In a moment in history,/When disease was rife." One of the things that makes me hesitate to read religious-themed material, especially Christian, is that the most common pov's of "It's a good religion", "It sucks", and "Well, it *is* good, but..." have been done over and over and over again and every well-known issue has been beaten positively to death. Being able to take a humorous/cynical spin on what is often an overly serious topic makes such a read refreshing. So, although the image of the priest and boy is very powerful, I have to say I like the Wilde-esque comments far more, and I think they do much more for the poem as a whole, especially to make it stand out from the abundance of religious-themed works out there. Thank you for sharing, Parm.

This is great, and delightfully original. Well done, Psimon.

*sniffles tearfully* It's like Christmas! *begins to propose a big group hug, then decides she doesn't want all that dust on her clothes...*

*blink* BHUR! *hugtackle* *cough* Yes... Um... Hi. Better stick around a bit longer this time, or... *Fingers her own quill thoughtfully* Remember you, indeed... You're as foolish as...as... an overgrown chickadee! Ohhhhkay I'm not normally this scattered. Time for sleep, I think.

Ahhhh I missed more birthdays??? O.o *sighs and leaves, muttering a dejected, 'I give up.'*

*runs over and hugs Yui and at Gry*

What if I don't *know* how I present myself??? ó.ò I pity the poor soul that has to write about me...

Jebus don't DO that! O.o *hug*

lol Zool - flying glomps are better, but I thought I should retain *some* scrap of propriety and dignity. Just not much of it. =P

Fooooooooooooeeeeee----! *hugtackle* Missed you, hun. =) Stick around a bit this time, eh?

*sighs* Late as always... *grumble grumble* Ah, well, not *too* late this time. Ozzyboo, dearest, I hope you had a lovely birthday.

Count me in. ...but... What if you don't HAVE a persona? *scratches her head*

Bravo! That's great!

Happy quasi belated one.