Canid

Three will have to do! Push us together already. The wolf shed her layers of society and broke down to her instincts. Suddenly gone were her years of intuition, of speaking to species she'd never met before, riding with humans and elves, and comforting frightened dragons. Now the dragons could kill her, the humans and elves didn't need her assistance and an elephant could sneak up on her unnoticed - that is of course if her eyes were closed and the elephant had a shroud of silence cast over it. Canid was a wolf alone. She stuck her nose against the ground and set off at a trot. The goose did not help. It got under her feet. It stank. It made her hungry. She wanted to eat it. Canid followed the horse trail up to a river and stopped for the night. The trail didn't seem any fresher and she was fed up, and hungry and smelling of week-and-a-day old goose. Furthermore, she was dusty. She had left her trench coat behind. The wolf took the goose off and looked it over. the feathers on one side were gone. It had been dragging along the ground for a good twenty miles and they had all rubbed off. The skin was scratched and covered with dirt. Canid left it on the ground, sighing, and jumped in the river. She had a little swim and a drink and came out feeling much refreshed and nicer smelling. She lay down thirty feet upwind of the goose and went contentedly to sleep. When she woke up, she heard flies.

Setting: Travelling Horse and Carriage Prop: A goose Brain: Untested ~~~~ * ~~~~ The sky had taken on an oddly green hue. Quite a warm green actually, but entirely lost on the figure that sat hunched over in the driver's seat of a dusty wagon, behind a dusty horse, on a dusty road in a lightly treed and rather dusty forest. The figure was not dusty. This was because she had on a very nicely fitted trench coat that got dusty for her. Despite her amazing lack of dust, which really was tremendous good fortune in these parts, the figure was not happy. Ungrateful someone would say; but there you have it! Some people just don't appreciate cleanliness when they've got it. About a week ago, she had been enjoying a sunrise in something quite close to black and white when it suddenly turned a red so deep that even she could see it. She had gasped (though gasping was obviously quite pointless and ineffective at changing the state of events) and gawked as the red persisted for several seconds, then went away, taking with it the immense magical power that she possessed. She had walked around, confused, for several minutes and then a tree turned into an old man leading a sleeping horse and covered wagon. "A thing has happened." said the old man. "I know. Is it a bad thing or a good thing?" said she. "It is a thing, and to retrieve your magic, you must travel with this horse and carriage to Eorwaxe." said the old man with conviction. "I’ve not a clue where that is," replied she. "The goose will show you the way." answered the man and he promptly turned into a red mushroom that was purple. The horse stayed asleep as she stepped onto the driver's seat and peered into the wagon. There were only two things sitting in the wagon; one was a short length of rope, the other, sitting on top of the former, was a very tatty looking goose with feathers greyed with age, which was staring at her. She lifted the goose carefully out and stood it on the dirt road beneath the wagon. Without a single warning snap, which might have been useful, a branch fell from an overhanging tree and straight onto the goose, which promptly died. She stared dispiritedly at the carcase. A branch lay neatly across its neck and the head flopped forth from this, pointing down the road. Without her magical sense to guide her, she took her best bet and followed the road in the direction the head pointed. She had the forethought to buy a trench coat first. The figure sneezed and the reigns slid off the seat and onto the road. It didn’t matter. She had found it very difficult to use them and the horse had essentially taken over steering for the past four days anyway. She was beginning to regret using the rope to tie the goose against her neck. It had stopped bumping its way off the back of the wagon, yes, but it was beginning to take on a rather unpleasant odour. She called the wagon to a halt and jumped off. She had slid out of the trench coat and taken off the goose before realising that the horse was suddenly watching her very closely. She took a step towards it. This was too much for the poor animal. It bolted. Canid shook her fur out and watched it go; she should have known a horse wouldn’t take kindly to seeing a wolf under the trench coat. She looked down at where she had dropped the goose. It was pointing in the direction of the runaway horse. Canid barked a loud, frustrated bark, put the goose back on and followed the horse.

I believe with inkblots it is what you see first that is telling. I saw a man in a costume. I'm afraid a lizard wouldn't have occured to me... no tail. If you like looking at inkblots though... expand my avatar and tell me what you see. I designed it with 'finding things' in mind.

Your poem has a nice sound to it, and I certainly like the "give me trust" verses, but I don't think the tie-ins to the five senses work. Why would trust be the taste of rotting meat? How is it the sound of a grave dog's bark? There is no clear reason why it would be. You do need the stated negative paragraphs there, and you might be able to tie in the five senses too, but the links between trust and element-X have to be obvious. The betrayal comparison for example worked, as trust can clealy be betrayed. But many of the others seemed lacking. I particularly liked the Queen on her throne verse... to me (and I know this is just personal because of associations particular to me) it had a less ominous ring to it than the others, more of a simple truth. Overall well done. ...and on the off chance that you agree with what I said about the sense verses, I'd love to see an edited version.

...and all I know is quite ignored, my understanding seems deplored they seem to want naught but a word of blibble in the text. ...and next we see a smoking gun, let's play with it (let's have some fun) that's gun, thus gum, thus chewing gum, and smoking's bad, then so is gum. We'll tie it up with paper lines, and paint it up in jarbled rhymes, and hope it looks like cables thick and strong, though clearly can't be it. Oh pulling rabbits from our hats: no feats of magic done with that, a simple fabricated fact is all they want to hear. My god! It's gold! The structure's right! The metaphors about his flight, connected with a golden pen! Real meaning's quite forgotten then. But what's the harm in seeing scibed, something that there was not implied, that has not a hint a real text, within its analytical complex? Please do make refrains, add verses, change words and generally rewrite it however you think it should be. Comments/questions/criticisms are welcome as well of course! I am in a happy sort of angry mood right now.

As we were asked in the Cabaret room what our favourite colours were, I thought I'd do a little colour association.. thing .. These are the images and thoughts that pass by for each of these colours. I'd be interested to compare them to other peoples' if someone wants to do the same thing below. White A pastey nothing, Flour. Eggs. Sunless skin on human legs. A soft discintegration down. A hard surface slapping cold - a loveless crown. Yellow A confusion of sunlight and sick. Good and bad. Flowers and chemicals. Warm but dirty. Beauty and ugliness combined in each way. Red Bold and forward, Agression and life, Beauty and elegance But dark. Frightening. Drawing. Purple Warm or cold - not both. Indifferent, unyielding. Stain. Rich. Looming cloudish background. Blue Cold and bright. Happy. Icy eyes and pretty tinges. Wealth and open space. Isolated. Green Life. Plants. Richness and joy. Nature, oceams and warmth. Sunlit leaves and forests, Jungles. Hot and primeval. Fresh. Beautiful and versitile. Brown Earthy. Warm. Rough texture. Natural. Rich smells. Home. Black Enclosed and secure. Warmth. Calm and aware. Nightcreatures. Alone but near others.

I have two favourites... Asthetically: Green Intellectually: White I do not like the standard analysations of colour as I tend to find many exeptions to their rules. I find black comforting and certainly don't associate white with purity. White is my favourite intellectually because it is a combination of all colours, and I have always liked having bits of everything. Mixes of styles, races, multiple species... every seperate element of my slice of cake (ie the cake bit, the icing bit, the fancy topping bit, the fruit bit, etc etc) in one bite.... My asthetic liking of green is purely a personallity thing. My emotional response to just about any shade of green is distinctly joyfull, it always has been. It was always what I named as "favourite colour" when little, and only later when my reasoning surrounding white came about did that shadeless light come into the picture... ...so to speak.

1) A Pen Member - The Grim Squeaker 2) A distance - thirty-four feet, five inches and three smallish wood-louse eggs 3) A place in the Pen - the replica of a dragon's ear that Canid keeps tucked away in her tunnels 4) An adjective - useless (and to a degree greater even than a white hankerchief when faced with an angry hippopotamus whose infant is currently screaming from where you have confined it in your truck) 5) A number - 5 to the power of the maximum life span of a naked mole rat (in seconds) 6) A noun - gigwillean hypno-cow 7) A verb - gawk in horror An adjective - trendy, yet amazingly usefull to anyone who had ever been in a state of wheightlessness, facing a 2000-individual army of gigwillean hypno-cows 9) A Color - sunset pink, as seen by a mostly blind dog 10) A plural noun - gigwillean hypno-cows (with heart disease) 11) A material - tanned naked mole rat hide 12) A type of light - non-visible spectrum 13) A part of body - mentolabial sulcus 14) A name for an underling - festering amoebic slime puddle 15) An animal (plural) - galactic super bunnies 16) An adjective - dismissive 17) A height - as tall as a 9 foot mouse would be after a small moon broke through the planet's atmosphere and hit it on the head 18) A cryptic phrase - evolutionary leftovers are best left alone unless they get infected 19) A verb - strain 20) Any phrase - If you give 'em an inch, they'll take a nail. [OOC: this is the original version of "if you give 'em an inch, they'll take a mile" ... a nail was a measurement just over an inch] [edit: wow... there were four responses made while I decided mine. Also, I appologize if most of these are too specific to work. I hope you can find a way to fit them in gramatically]

HURRAH! The one guess I made was correct! ...I even based it on observation rather than just picking a name. *Canid is now very happy...* Congratulations Ageon! Smartly done... good character too. *grins* Now please take your horse and carriage out of the river.

My own beliefs dictate that death is simply the end of life; that a person's being is contained entirely in the chemical signals of their brian and that when their life ends, so too does the essence of that person. A sensory void which one does not experience. Thus the only thing we have to experience is life - and it should not be wasted or unnessesarily shortened.

Canid sniffs a plate of oreos and proclaims them much to chemically. She zaps them with a little of that ol' Archmage verdant magic and they suddenly become organic. Canid offers one to Finnius... it is now an oddly green hue.

(I second that.)

Hmmm... well, I know this is streatching it rather a lot as it isn't a room... but some essentially inaccessible deep-sea crevice seems like a rather good place to put such a camera.... the creatures of the deep are many, fascinating and largely unknown.

Oh dear... I'd hate to think that this would be held as the best of my work (much though I appreciate the complement). I am glad that for what it is, you think it is quallity; I'd have absolutely no abillity to judge there since I absolutely loathe poetry like this. To me, such work is pointless beyond a personal level - I don't know why people like it. Out of interest, "shrinking view" was litteral. It was one of the things that clued me into the fact that the vision was going down hill as opposed to being maintained - the picture is smaller by about a couple millimeters depending on the distance of the object.

It is quite possible I can turn it around... just very possible that I will fail.

Not so much on aging as on loss and hope.... losing sight in one eye (however gradually) is not a plesant thing to experience at 17.

"I suppose it would make no difference to any of you if I said I think Miranda did it? After all, you all seem quite determined to lynch Jim." says Vert testilly when people appear too distracted to pay him any attention. It is at this point that Vert realises that the deluded guest in a corney Sherlock Holmes get up has just poured the entire contents of a wine glass onto the floor. As none (or at least very few) of the other guests had taken notice of this, it is only natural to assume that they are somewhat shocked when the petit but dignified looking butler, hoists Inspector I. M. Clueless up by the neck and says "There are things in this house that would just LOVE to sink their teeth into you, Monsieur! Shall I introduce you?"

No... I'm crediting him for editing. I was in a poetry-writing mood and was sitting in English class. I had just written "All Hallows Even" and didn't want to waste the mood, so I asked the person beside me for a random, non-emotional topic. She said "potatoes" and hence I wrote this. When it was finished and I had posted it, I showed it to my grandfather who began making editing suggestions - I felt obliged to credit him.

I fielt like writing this... pathetic, I know. A shrinking view; far too far from perfect to survive, and I, alive, mourn as it passes. Into the oblivion of the right half of my perception it sinks as I wonder if I will slow or recover, if I will see in age as I see now. [Edit: Potatoes is much better... go and read that instead! ...don't know why I bothered. ]

"So noone owns a carriage with a horse that is now in the river? A carriage that has 1/2 inch thich gold lettering spelling out "Ladies beware, within rides Barclay B. Scarlettenniavordsmanville" on it?" Vert stares meaningfully at the 'fop'.

Vert enters the hall looking tired. His dark green uniform has flecks of mud on it, though his hands remain immaculate. He sets down a tray with numerous small dishes of chocolate spinach meringue on it - each with a spoon and a lump of whip cream sitting on top. "Who owns a gold trimmed carriage with an expensive looking horse? It is in the river." He calls out in an annoyed tone.

With a dusty whirr a grandfather clock on the floor directly above the ballroom begins to chime with a deep and ominous ring. On exactly the seventh tone, the whirring stops and the huge oak double doors to the dining hall swing open with a low creak. "Dinner is served!" announces Vert Gressam, raising his arms with grandure from the center of the hall. There are two long wood tables placed end to end with no tablecloth. Spaced evenly along them are four roast turkeys with turnip sauce. Dishes on either side contain the fixings such as an oddly coloured gravy, a cranbarry sauce with an odd taste of iron in it, potatoes, stuffing and the remaining dishes of custard salad. There is a plate and complement of cutlery for every guest and one at the head of the table should the master decide to join them for the meal. A side table with a white cloth draped over it, supports two pitchers of water and several bottles of wine. Vert's face falls as he sees the corpse laying in the middle of the room. "Damn you all!" he shouts. "Has no one any respect for the work that needs to be done to keep a house like this clean?" The butler storms forward, pushing guests asside and grabs the carcass, lofting it easily over his small shoulders and walking out through the main doors.

Blaming the interuption from the zombie for the lack of success of his custard salad, Vert moodily put down the platter with a single gap between bowls and stalked off toward the entrance to clean up after the guests undoubtably muddy shoes.

Mmmm, custard salad. He would put in rice and raisins and cheese. There would be a roast turkey with turnip sauce and le piece de resistance, chocolate spinach meringue.... but the rabbits had flown the coup. Tonight, they would not be on the plate, but eating the spinach! No! No! The spinach must be saved! No! "Oh cruel world, kill the flying rabbits before they get it!" screamed Vert Gressam shooting up in bed and wincing from the sudden glare of sunlight in his wide, frightened eyes. Being a solitary butler and of such small figure as Vert in such a large manor was a stressful job. Nightmares plagued his sleep and that thing... plagued his waking hours. Never the less... he kept a tight ship. He kept up with the cleaning, with his master's meals, the OTHER meals, the ground keeping, the financial affairs, the public arrangements like parties... ...parties. Parties. "Oh my god, the party!" he exclaimed and leapt out of bed with a speed that only a manservant who knows he has made a big mess of things can achieve. *Some 5 minutes later* Vert Gressam poked a well groomed, if somewhat harassed looking head through the kitchen entrance to the ballroom, where all the master's parties were held. He quickly found the master distracted, talking to one of the guests and took the opportunity to sneak into the room as if he had been there since morning. He immediately began offering around the small dishes of custard salad to the guests.

Canid puts her name down in emerald green writing and trots off laughing evilly...