smallscale_mind_games

"God I pray thee from me this history take" Would have to be my favorite line. Keep it there please?

*The RP dies*

Yay! A depressing poem with an uplifting ending! I really like your free-verse style. 'tis truly quite neat, in a messy sort of way.

Wow. I saw this thread and decided that it might be nice to check out this story...and it was! Filled with humour and drama, and all that other wonderful stuff! I was in awe, not to mention very happy at having something to read!

((She's only six actually)) "I have too many people watching my back. You should come back with us, whenever we go back, and meet everyone. Yasi, beers isn't good for you. Kenji had too much beers once, and she threw up on the floor and fell asleep. And then she was grouchy. " Her brown eyes were wide and solemn when describing the hangover of a member of her surrogate family.

((*blink* even thieves don't like being stolen from)) He blinked, surprised, looking up at Elwen with intelligent light grey eyes. Getting over his timidity, he stood up in her hand, the better to make eye contact. "Actually, ma'am, there are certain spells for the excorcism of clingy spirits.... M'name's..." He stopped a moment to think of a false name. He was lying, and didn't care who knew it. "...Louis. Louis Toussaint. Pleased to meet you."

"I don't have any aunts. No guardians either. It's Kenji who'll slaughter you if you don't take care of me." She nodded wisely after stating this random unknown person's name, with a baleful glare at Elwen for refusing the cookie.

Sure, scott, parmenion makes sense, but you don't. 0.o you have primitive BRAN? Oatmeal anyone? from the prehistoric era?

Thank you, wrenwind, that was very depressing. Well written enough that I think I'll go mope now. Yay.

I really like the sort of reverse pyramid effect you've got going there. So very neat, and has this lovely cold finality.

That's some deep stuff for a little kid. ^^ so cute.

in the works, believe it or not, since I was in the fifth grade. And it still hasn't improved a heckuva lot. But oh well, I kind of like it! Advice would be welcome! Oddly enough, I can never quite get it memorized , and it changes every time I write it over. Mirage Surrounded by myself I stand Wondering, wondering where I end Scanning the vast seas of mind Is there anything else of my kind? Multiple alone I end Reflections on a sea of sand.

((It's magic Kitsune lint. They all have it, no matter what they wear)) Was she being sarcastic? Probably. Zach had heard about how harsh her kind were when they caught a would-be theif. The general advice was bite them and run, or curl into a protective ball. He chose the latter, his slate grey braids flying after him as he tucked his head under both arms and rolled up. The bony ridges on his back were clearly visible through a shirt that was worn thin where it wasn't ripped.

"No one said you were Ki!!" The fox-girl growled at the kitsune "I'm Ki! You want a cookie?"

*explodes* why are you so good? Whyyyy? Stop it! OK, don't stop. Because then no one would read your wonderful poetry, and that would be bad. I can say it again and again, I love your stuff so much.

Argh, I thirst for their sweet, sweet blood-candies. Awesome poem, I love the way your stuff flows. May I put a sluice in your head and/or siphon off your creative juices? I really am thirsty

Damon thought he had escaped the hugging. He was wrong. Merry falls off the ceiling (dragging Pip and Lynne along with her) and all three enthusiastically glomp Damon, shouting various things along the lines of "congratulations". Leaving the others to do as they will, Merry runs off to hug the various other people.

Zacchariah Sheperd, shadow pixie and theif extrordinaire snuck up behind the odd group, wondering whether it was worth it to enter the semi-liquified brains of the dead boy and plunder his memories. Upon seeing the hole in his head however, he decided not to risk it. Then he smelled the Kitsune. He nearly leapt for joy, because every pixie knew what Kitsunes had in their pockets: lint. But not just any lit. Magical residue that gathered in their pockets-and they didn't even notice! It made wonderful wine, and was worth more than twice its weight in gold. His ragged black brown and grey mottled clothing hid his five-inch-tall charcoal colored form as he hovered silently in the air beside Elwen's pocket and dove in, careful to move it no more than would a breeze. This accomplished he began to scrape at the lint.

-Merry runs in slightly late and much chagrined, for she had been assigned to a job and was tardy! She looks nice but slightly rumpled as she hurries to a table in the depths of a temporary kitchen-tripping over her skirt three times in the effort to get there. This accomplished, the amateur writer/animator/shapeshifter grabs a tray of hors'd'oveurs ((Sp?)) and weaves among the crowd, offering them in order to do her part at the founder's party as a junior-ish member of the pen. Seeing Wyvern with a glance of pity, she trots over and offers a spicy-sausagey-mustardy thing-

*sniffle* pretty poem. I wish I'd written something nice-ish for mother's day.

3, 5, 7 (Picking by arpeggio.)

Wow! Awesome idea! I know I'll join. Organization, however is something I can/will not do

*glares pointlessly at Alaeha* I am not in ANY way male! I'm still a girl, you hear! Wyvern made a mistake is all. *mutter* a mistake that people make all too often...perhaps I SHOULD grow my hair out. *returns Peredhil's hug*

*Nervous grin* nope, Ayshela, still a girl. Lol, it must be the short hair. *wanders away making a show of grumbling about Wyvern's mistake, but once she is out of the room, sqeals and huggles her accepted application tightly*

A weight of magic shifted beneath the floor, as an ancient Earth elemental awakened for the first time in fifty years. The creature examined its emotions, and found that they still rankled with bitterness for that idiot sorcerer...pure luck that the fool had managed to trap it here for more than half a century. The sentient plant was also hungry...these little mage-fools and a dark-servant in the room above. Perhaps they would be a suitable meal. But first, the angry potted plant tore off the tag that read 'Herbert'