Finnius

Well!

Why thank you. Seriously, it was a blast, and I'll totally be watching the game thread to see what happens. Have fun, penerinos!

Aww... I was hoping to get at least one post off in this one. Mynx, any chance I could work out my lynching post with ya?

Guitar Hero, or Guitar Hero II, both on ye olde PS2 - go, my son, and rock. Or both. Both is good.

I need a creative kick in the arse every once in a while, and this sounds like a good excuse to make myself stop being lazy and write something. Sign me up for number 2, please.

Ways Finnius has already died - Cannabalized at a birthday party. Slipped in the kitchen and impaled himself on an onion peeler. Cut down by Gyrfalcon, though admittedly he was possessed by a demon at the time. (Finn, not Gyr.) Retroactively blowed up at Mount Tyrant, again by Gyrfalcon, though admittedly he was possessed by a demon at the time. (Gyr, not Finn.) Died of unspecified causes, possibly in an attempt to get some pie at the funeral. Ways Finnius could die, and possibly already has and just doesn't remember - Babysat for Minta, ended up as a funny blue zommie. Haggled with Wyvern about why exactly he's still paying guild dues when he hasn't been in a guild in ages, was unexpectedly crushed to death under the weight of a falling stack of Wyv's unfinished paperwork. Accidentally suffocated during a Peredhug, was immediately ressurected and dusted off. Rolled over during one of his frequent naps in the higher branches of the Mighty Oak. Finally figured out how to succesfully cast a Fireball.

Name: Luke Carpenter Age: 25 Twin: Duke Carpenter Luke is a hardworking and industrious young man, and half of the second set of twins to the Carpenter family. (Being the younger brother of Taleena, as played by Tanuchan) Before Taleena's marriage, she and Luke were very close - they both lost a twin to the Wolves during the last wave of kidnappings, and naturally filled the hole left by the loss of their twin with each other. Eventually he apprenticed to their father, and is still learning all the workings that go into running the Saye June Nef, as it will eventually be his farm to deal with. His actual twin, Duke, helps as much as he can, but it is clear to all that he is swiftly fading. He tends to spend most of his days sitting on their front porch and attempting to speak with anyone who passes by. With Taleena's marriage to Zeldon (played by Mith) three years ago, Luke once again feels as if, in some way, he's lost his twin. Still, he's polite, and even helpful to the Clearwaters. Every week he brings them spare vegetables, milk, and red meat from the farm, and makes frequent stops by the Devar-Tete Whye to visit his sister, nieces, and nephew. He may or may not be oblivious to the fact that this irritates Zeldon to no end, and is unlikely to cease his visits even if told flat out. He enjoys hunting, woodcarving, and occasionally can be heard singing in a surprisingly fine tenor on warm, dark nights.

*huggles* Good luck and hope to see you back soon, 'Shela.

Fluffy soft and pointy teeth, Tapered ears and tail, Banded rings and racoon stripes, Howling, wolven wail - Walking contradtions seem, To be your stock in trade, But when you look just close enough, You're sunshine with no shade; A bounding, nipping tackle, When I always need them most, And a warm and caring shoulder, So to you I raise this toast - You're a kind a loving friend, (And the reason why I'm blue,) So tumbly fun tanuki-chan, This poem's just for you.

Mmm... Mmm? Mmm! Mmhmm! (I'm in! Character stuff as it pops up.)

I can't really add anything that wasn't said in the post directly above me, but I would like to add an emphatic agreement with 'Shela. I understand that some topics can potentially be offensive or inflamatory. This one, especially in the clear, realistic, and rational way it was presented, is not. Besides which, we are for the most part adults here, and those that aren't have consistently impressed me with their ability to behave as such. (Really, I'm only 24, and I very much remember being younger. I could grasp difficult concepts then, and I still can now.) Either way, I'd be against closing or changing a topic unless and until it actually crosses the line into being offensive.

"Let's take a walk," he said, "Down to the waterfront, And I'll show you all the places I once knew." The waterfront was dead, He could not bear the brunt, Of not seeing all those faces, He once knew. We sat there on the end, Of an old abandoned dock, Our feet hanging in the waters, He once knew. And then he had to mend, The fast turning of the clock, And he slipped into the waters, He once knew. I still recall his face, Drifting down in dark liquid, And the pale hand falling after, I once knew. I still go to that place, Though now the water's misted, And I sit and think of laughter, I once knew. I'll join him soon down there, In his dark and lonely place, That cold and silent picture frame, My eyes will always stare, Into his blessed face, I just have to recall his name... I once knew. (Yeah, again, no idea where this came from. I like it, though, in a weird sort of way.)

I did, and thanks for the haiku. Hopefully I won't make it to that particular fifty, though.

(I got bored with a plain old description this reset, so I figured I'd do something enjoyable. I likes it anyway. ) The wind blows softly through the trees, And carries with it new found spring, A life begins - a shuddered sob, A tiny, helpless, crying thing; But life blooms quickly in the warm, For every cliff there is a rope, I face the wind and kill my fears, While I draw breath, I hope.

Aww, shucks, guys. On Being 24 Another year has flown away, Taking with it joy and sorrow, The promise of the coming days, Of one more shining new tomorrow, And leaving me these creaky joints, An aching back and wobbly knees, A few more interesting points, On the atlas that is me, But also bringing newfound friends, And old ones that I've rediscovered, New beginnings, long-sought ends, Dreams I'd have are now uncovered, In the light of one more year, One more half-decade has missed me, And yet, I realize with fear, Now I'm nearly halfway fifty. Seriously, it's my first birthday in like at least five years where I'm not sick, dieing, or working, and I'm actually having a blast. Thanks, guys! *hugs and love*

...had a government agent compliment you on your shirt moments before telling you you've been selected for additional security? ...gotten seat 1A on an airplane? ...worn your clothes inside out and not realized it until you were halfway through a work day and a customer told you, then wondered why nobody else did?

Oh, wow. I've had stupid customers, I've had oblivious customers, but that pretty much takes the proverbial cake. Thank you Tzim, thank you ever so much for posting this. I am officially in your debt.

*offers hugs, much-deserved praise for the loverly poem, and condolences on the passing of an equally loverly kitty*

Oooo, mind if I ask where?

There's a sort-of stranger here, A quiet person who's not me, A mumbling, crazy, weirdo nut, Who needs some psychotherapy. But he's not all bad, not even most, Although he says the strangest things, He flaps his arms, claims he's a ghost, Then floats away on silver wings. At least he makes me laugh sometimes, When no-one else either can or will, And brings my sweet forgetfulness, The good dreams and the staying still. I guess I must admit he's me, But that would be the easy end, So just between the two of us, He's only my worst best friend. And just because we look the same, And sound alike and laugh together, Doesn't mean we're quite insane, I like to say 'Over the weather.' ~~~Counterpoint (So there's a guy, he gets upset, At little things, but not at large, And sometimes when he's down like that, He needs a hug, a boost, a charge. And that's where I come in, right there, I like to look at shower tiles, They're shiny and reflect your soul, Sometimes I stare for quite a while. And his is good, if somewhat spotty, The soul reflected in the white, It makes my eyes go dazzled brown, And helps me keep my wrong from right. That's why I laugh and mumble so, And stretch my arms and spin and wind, My clock's a little off you see, My eyes are just a little blind. My friend is good, he tells me so, And we're a perfect, matching pair, Of madcap, laughing maniacs, With wild and flowing twirling hair.) ~~~ One of those that just kinda sprang up on its own. I like it though.

You were born on a Tuesday. Your star sign is Sagittarius. The season was Autumn. You are 23 years, 8 months, 6 days old.* It is 116 days until your next Birthday.* You are 8,650 days old.* You are approximately 207,603 hours old.* You are approximately 747,371,936 seconds old.* December 21st birthdays 1879: Joseph Stalin, Russian revolutionary leader December 21st in History 1620: The Mayflower lands at Plymouth, Massachusetts 1986: Over 50,000 students demonstrate in Shanghai's Peoples Square, for democracy and freedom in China 1940: (England) F. Scott Fitzgerald, author, died.

Meanwhile, halfway up the Mighty Oak A little blue man snores silently in the branches, tossing precariously from side to side. Obviously, Finnius is not a light sleeper. He mumbles something about overdue membership fees and Wyvern not having had quite such a large mousetrap in his ownership before, and then rolls over, getting a facefull of leaves. He splutters a bit, waking in a flurry of waving arms, tangled robes, and a bird that was working on making a nice nest in his hair pecks angrily, then flaps off to find better pastures, so to speak. The effect of all this is to unbalance the poor fool, and he crashes with the expert non-grace of an accomplished faller for about fifteen feet, before landing in the Mighty Courtyard atop something warm, soft, and angry. Finnius gives a sheepish grin, waves, and carefully stands up, dusting himself off. "Hi, Sal! Erm... fancy meeting you here?"

*le blush* Aw, shucks guys, thanks.

There once was a ship, And a bonny wee thing, She bounced on the waves, No ropes, only string - She was lighter than air, But not quite as sturdy, And clean as a whistle, If a whistle was dirty; Two tattered sails, On three leaning masts, She floated on runners, Made from her life rafts. Most of her trips, Were riddled with stress Like monsters and pirates, And men in a dress - But that didn't stop them, From trying their hands, In search of adventure, Or at least some dry land; And sometimes they found it, Land up to the neck! But that only happened, Right after they'd wrecked. The crew never sailed, More than twice in their lives, And going out on her, Gave most of them hives - But still, she looked good, In an odd sort of way, And the sight of the Satire, Made a privateer's day; Or at least they thought so, Until they tried to board, And sank to the bottom, Through the holes in her floor. And this was a ship, Where a deck was a floor, They got it on sale, For a few pennies more - When they built the Satire, They quite broke the mold, And used it for scrap-wood, Or so I was told; But whatever the case, I know that it's true, The Satire's still sailing, Way out on the blue; Although the captain, Has long called it quits, Saying "Whoever named her, It certainly fits."

Hey now, you'll give my lady ideas. Besides, I'd make a better ball of yarn than yoyo. More fun to play with, and you don't get that off-chance of knocking yourself in the teeth with it! (And don't say that's impossible, because I can so prove you wrong. )