troubled sleep

gah! The thread for the Fall Ball keeps getting longer and longer...and because of this I've been skimming the posts instead of reading them thoroughly whenever I have a spare second or two, and recently that's been between moments of inspiration for a research paper for my English class(15% of my grade, does that sound like fun or what?) so...yes, my reason for posting this little message is to apologize to Merelas, Quincunx and anyone else I have yet to find(thought I think they're the only two...) who have talked in any way to my character and then been completely ignored. =cowers= But yes, so I'm incredibly sorry about that...

"Oh yes, thank you." she said, accepting the drink from Merelas. "You're right, I don't believe we've met before, Merelas. My name is Sam," she said with a smile, "Oh, and I apologize for not answering sooner I...I guess I was zoning out a little, it's so easy to get lost in the large crowds." Too bad getting the crowds out of your head isn't quite so easy... she thought, frowning inwardly at the dull roar of everyone's broadcasted thoughts which she had pushed to the back of her mind.

=waves= hello again!

Sam stood sipping her drink, scanning the crowd around her. With Peredhil's help in strengthening her defense against the thoughts of the others, she felt more confidant and just a bit more secure. But still she scanned the room, with a slightly terrified eye, unsure of whether she should just walk up to someone and inroduce herself or just stand here.... In the end she had to move, as part of the floor was being cleared so that dancing could commence. She watched the dancers for a moment, admiring the ladies' dresses before turning back to her own situation. She glanced about the room, verifying her earlier scans of who was there. Sure enough, her telepathic scan hadn't failed her, though of course there had been a few additions to the party since then...but still, no one familier other than by sight had appeared. Taking a last sip of her drink, she set the empty glass down on a nearby table and looked around once more with re-newed resolve. Despite the fact that everyone seemed to be grouping up, there were still a few people standing alone. And so, burying her nervousness, she walked towards one, a woman sitting by herself. She could almost remember her name...something with a Z...Zariah maybe? Yes, thats what it was, or at least she hoped so. "Hello," she said once she was both closer to Zariah and had triple checked to make sure her defences against casual and broadcasted thoughts were still high, "My name is Sam, I think I've seen you before around here, but I've never really spoken to you. Oh," she stopped, noticing the book in the other's hand, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you...".

Sam paced in front of the ball room's large double doors, trying to decide whether or not to enter. Her uncertain expression clashed with her simple, yet elegant, gown and short dark hair which had, after much force and persuassion, been convinced to lie straight instead of curling off in random directions. But frankly that was the least of her worries. Standing just a few feet from the closed doors, she pursed her lips and closed her eyes as she tried once more to reach into the room, to sense who was inside. But something in the doors seemed to be enchanted to deflect anything remotely telepathic. Or maybe it was just that she wasn't strong enough. Not that it mattered. Her list of good friends at the Pen was incredibly short, and most-no all-of them had been absent lately. So it would have been highly strange for any of them to be present. But she still wished that she could have had an idea of who was at the Fall Ball before going in. in desperation she tried one more time reach telepathicaly past the doors, but to no avail. "Oh forget it...I'll never get through..." she whispered as moved to open the door. Her hand lingered on the handle for a moment, but she soon pushed the door open with renewed resolve. She hadn't been prepared for the granduer of the ballroom. She also hadn't been prepared for the noise. Not the audible noise, but the hundreds of thousands of different thoughts suddenly bombarding her mind. She glanced around uncertainl, and feeling like a fish suddenly pulled out of water, gasping for breath. Though, of course, instad of breath she was gasping for thought. Suddenly she felt a touch at her shoulder, and a far off voice voice asking her if she was alright. Focusing on the voice she turned to face the speaker, building up her mental wall against the noise as she turned. "Are you alright?" Ayshela repeated, concern in her voice. "Yes..." Sam said, "I'm fine, thank you. I just...I'm fine." she said rubbing her left temple and reveling in the sudden silence, "Oh, and my name is Samantha Carmichael, Sam actaully." "I know," Ayshela, face brightening, "Enjoy the Ball." she said before turning to the next guest. Sam nodded and forced a smile. Walking into the room, she took a deep breath and risked letting her mental wall down enough to search through the room to see if anyone she knew was there. This time, since she was prepared, she held out long enough to discover that she had been right; no one she knew all that well was here. Feeling as though she would loose control of her thoughts any second, she built her wall up again. I need to get out more... she thought, cursing herself for acting like such a fool at the door. Ah well, next time I'll remember to prepare myself before walking in on a party...

Ok! So at one point a friend suggested that I write a sequel to ‘How to take over the World on $80 or Less’ concerning whatever happened to Brandon Basset and Nicki Claris. Well, here is my one for Brandon...though frankly it would work better as a prequel, especially with the ending I used(which is killing me! But I simply cannot think of another way to end it without re-telling the previous story and that’s out of the question since I want to keep thisso that it can at least somewhat stand alone) By the way. Gloria is a real person, and while she may or may not be from New Sweden, she is Puerto Rican, her father did make her promise to be a nun on his death bed, and she at least works in a kennel in Peachtree City, GA. Now what that has to do with New Guinea is beyond me. But like everything else, it seemed like a nice idea at the time. As usual, if this turns out utterly horrid, please inform me of the fact and I'll attempt to fix it. -------------------------------------------------)( A nondescript hitchhiker stood on the side of the road, thumb thrust out in the traditional manner. He looked to be about twenty-three with dark hair and light coloring as well brown eyes which were squinted in both frustration and in attempt to block out the sun. He was dressed in horrifically blen-dable and ordinary clothing; and frankly he wouldn’t have looked out of place sitting in a cubicle in a law or doctor’s office. In fact, many of those people speeding by actually thought he was indeed a person from their respected offices. Or they thought he was their long lost friend from college. Or their cousin. Or their eccentric Uncle Chris they hadn’t seen since four Thanksgivings ago. It was because of this frightening familiarity of his appearance that no one stopped to offer him a ride. After all, no on wants to admit that they knew or were related to a hitchhiker. But luckily for the hitchhiker, he looked absolutely nothing like anyone Gloria Rivera was close to. So she maneuvered her large white van to the far left lane and pulled over. The hitchhiker took a few tentative steps towards the van, and when nothing happened after a few minutes he picked up his pack and apprehensively opened the passenger door. He was slightly startled by the van’s hot pink interior, but this was nothing to match the surprise of what greeted him when he stuck his head into the van. “Hello?” He said, blinking several times to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. “Hello!” an enthusiastic voice that was thickly Puerto Rican called from inside the van . The owner of the voice was a heavy set woman dressed in flowing orange clothing with thick orange eye shadow and lipstick to match, and her frizzy dark hair bounded off in all directions. As far as the van itself went, the back seats had been ripped out and all remaining areas from floor to ceiling was upholstered in what looked like pink shag carpeting. And lounging on silk pillows everywhere on the floor were dogs of all breeds and sizes. The Puerto Rican woman, still smiling brightly, poured a little more dog food into a crystal dish before sliding it into place on the floor in a bolted down cup holder in front of a large golden retriever. “Welcome to the Pampered Pooch! I’m Gloria Rivera, you need a ride?” she said, lumbering past all the dogs, some of which were sleeping, and sliding back into the drivers seat. “Uh....yea,” the hitchhiker said tearing his gaze away from a large Doberman Pincher staring menacingly at him. “A ride would be good.” “Well hop in then! And just put whatever on the seat on the floor, it’s not important.” “Uh....yea,” he said uncertainly, shifting a stack of business cards and a road map of Virginia to the floor with his own bag. Once this was done he climbed up into the van and shut the door, “I’m Brandon Basset, by the way.” “Like I said, Gloria Rivera,” she said with another toothy smile. She quickly put the car into gear and jammed down suddenly on the accelerator, oblivious to her passenger’s sudden white knuckle grip of his armrest. “So, where are you from,” Gloria asked once they had gotten up to 95 miles an hour and were weaving in and out of traffic. “My family is originally from Puerto Rico, but I’m from New Sweden by birth, then I moved to Kansas when I was eight, and that‘s where my family home is. But I haven‘t been back since my father died.” Gloria said, pleasantly. “Umm...I’m sorry about your loss?” Brandon said, not wanting to offend her. After all, if she got angry, she could very well toss him out on the side of the road. And above all , Brandon Bassett did want to end up wandering the highways of Delaware for the rest of eternity. “Oh, don’t be.” Gloria said, clearly unfazed, “Now I bet you’re wondering after my truck?” “Actually I-” “Well it’s a funny story, and a long one, but it’s not really like you’ve got anywhere to go, right?” “Well no, but how far can you-” “Ok then!!“ Gloria said excitedly as she jammed down on the accelerator again, “Well, it all started right before my father died. When he was on his deathbed, actually! So we were having this great big party at my family‘s home just when my dad was passing. It sounds strange, I know, but it’s a Rivera family tradition! All the family gets together in the dying’s house and get’s really drunk in their name and memory. But then in one room of the house, the dying sits on his deathbed and all is very somber.” she said, pausing afterwards as though to relive the memory. “That’s odd, I thought that was more the Irish who had the parties when people died.” Brandon said, taking advantage of the pause to try to get a word in. “Yes, yes, the Irish, the Scottish, and the Rivera family. But the thing is that I came in late, and didn’t even get a drink before my Great Aunt Maria-Hilda Romaro pulled me over to the side and said ‘you insolent girl! showing up late when your father is dying in the next room! Your poor mother! How my dear little niece would be turning in her grave if she knew how irresponsible her youngest daughter had turned out’,” Gloria said, making her voice old and harsh sounding to impersonate her ‘dear’ great aunt. “So she brought me to my father’s bedside, and he basically continued Great Aunt Maria-Hilda’s lecture for a few minutes, then suddenly he grabbed me by the arm and made me swear on his pending grave and that of our ancestors that after I recovered from the hangover I would no doubt receive after drinking too much in the next room, that I was to go and become a nun. After all, he said, it was the only way I would make up for my existence to both him and my heavenly father, not to mention my poor mother. So of course, I said that I would become a nun, after all, he was a crazy old man, and frankly I’d say anything to stop him from ranting about what a disgrace I was.” “You don’t look like much of a nun...” Brandon said suddenly. “Well of course not!” Gloria said, laughing so hard that her frizzled hair, and indeed the whole van, seemed to bounce about wildly in every direction at once. “But that’s later in the story! So I left the room to go and see the rest of the family before they got too drunk and started doing Ricky Ricardo impersonations.” “What??!” Brandon said, a little scared. “Ricky Ricardo. You know, the guy from ’I Love Lucy?’.” “I know who he is but-” “You should hear my cousin Paula, now *there* is a Ricardo impersonation!” Gloria said, throwing a hand up for emphasis. “Really well, you’re family certainly sounds interesting but-” “Now as I was saying,” she said, oblivious to Brandon’s attempts at getting a word in, “I was leaving the room, when I bumped into my great aunt Maria-Hilda again. Literally. Apparently she had been listening through the keyhole, the old witch, and had heard every word. And she was as hot on the idea of me becoming a nun as my father had been! The worst part was that she was old friends with this mother superior at a convent in New Guinea. So before I had even been able to even say hello to my cousins, aunts, or uncles I was standing by the phone listening to my great aunt chat with Mother Superior Mary Hubert.” “Hubert?” “You’d be surprised what names those New Guinea nuns have. But where was I again...?” Gloria fumbled for a minute and nervously tapped her foot up and down. Her right foot, that is, and it happened to still be positioned on the accelerator causing them to fly up to 100, then back down to 60 several times in the space of about a minute. “Ah yes, so the very next morning I was flying out of Kansas bound for New Guinea, with all my worldly possessions held ‘in trust’ by my younger brother Steven. So for the next two years I was at the convent in some obscure town somewhere. And it was-say, have you ever been to New Guinea?” “No...can’t say I have...” “Well, I hadn’t gone until then, and it was not what I expected! You see, I thought they had whole ranches of Guinea Pigs! It being New Guinea and all, but no! I kept asking the nuns about it, but they just stared at me. It was terrible. I thought at least that I would be able to get one as a pet! I always wanted one, you see. When I was a girl, I had a little stuffed animal of a Guinea Pig. It’s name was Puinea Gig. And I always wanted a real one-” “Umm...you know, Guinea Pigs aren’t native to New Guinea. Or Guinea for that matter...they’re actually form South America.” Brandon said tentatively. “Oh, are you sure? Well that certainly explains a lot...But...uh...back to the story!” Gloria said with a bit of nervous laughter, “So I was there for two years, and then one day I knew I couldn’t take it any more. So when the annual nun conference in Atlanta, Georgia came around, I volunteered to go along with Sister Mary Myopia. And let me tell you, the moment we landed I ran into a Starbucks, hid behind a couch and I never saw the old nun again. Of course now I have the curses of the entire convent behind me as well as those of my dear departed father, but then, you take what you can get.” she said with a shrug. Gloria spent a moment musing on this while Brandon strained his eyes trying to see a road sign of any sort. The last time he had checked, they had been somewhere in Maryland, but now there was nothing to differentiate this highway from the hundreds of others he’d been on. In a few minutes he gave up, and with a sigh opened his mouth to urge Gloria on with her story. “So you ran into a Starbucks and then what?” “What? Oh, yes. So then after I was sure I had lost her and any other nuns who might be roaming the airport. Nuns do that a lot, you know. It’s not the kind of think you hear about, but nuns are drawn to airports like a bug to light. It was quite the scandal back in the ‘80s. The Vatican tried to hush it up, but I know the truth!” Gloria said, waving a finger at Brandon, who was quite lost for a logical reason why nuns going to the airport would be considered a scandal. Apparently Gloria was too, because she didn’t move to explain, just continue on as she had before. “So as soon as I was sure I was safe, I left the airport. And after walking down the high way for a while, it hit me: I was a jobless ex-nun. This was quite a shock, so I walked to the nearest Waffle House, they’re *everywhere* that far south, to drown my sorrows in maple syrup. But it didn’t take long until I was out of money, the Waffle House was out of syrup, and I was back out on the curb. So I was sitting there, trying to think up some way to get a job, when right out of the blue I was hit by another revelation. You see, I have always loved animals, especially dogs as you can see from my other passengers” she said , indicating the pampered pooches lounging about what would have been the back seats while munching on premium dog chow and sipping champagne out of cut glass goblets. “So I decided I wanted to open a kennel, get a few dogs, maybe a house in the country, you know the whole American dream thing. But I had one little problem; where to put it! So I wandered and wandered, hoping I‘d find somewhere with a decent phone book. But right then, right when I just couldn‘t walk anymore and I was about to collapse, I saw it....” she said, pulling her hands off the wheel and motioning upwards towards the heavens, “A sign, ‘Peachtree City, Welcome home’ it said. And I knew. I just knew that had to be the perfect place.” She paused dramatically for a moment, and thinking she expected feedback, Brandon opened his mouth to speak. “Umm, that’s nice.” he said lamely, hoping that she would choose to take control of the steering wheel rather soon. “Well it was! And considering I love peaches I was more than happy to hock my last possessions- a replica of Jesus on the cross and a few antique paper clips- to afford a nice little place to start up. But I soon learned that there were no peaches, the neighbors were mean, and about a month after starting up one of my poor pooches was run over my a golf cart!” she said, eyes full of emotion. “Um...I’m sorry?” Brandon said, unsure of whether or not to say this. The last time he had said he was sorry for the death of someone, it had ended up this long and involved tale of parties, nuns, and golf carts. “Yes, well” Gloria said, wiping away a tear for her poor lost dog, “But I opened my kennel all the same. And things were great. For a while. Six months later I was evicted from the space rented for my kennel by the Peachtree City Council.” “Why??!” “My berms weren’t pretty enough,” Gloria said, more tears coming. “You’re what?!” “Berms. The little humps of land in front of my kennel. Apparently the way the mulch was arranged was ‘unattractive’ as the Peachtree Citizen put it. And the trees I planted were apparently not on the official list of acceptable trees. And all I wanted to do was add a few peach trees to Peachtree City!!” she said, sobbing into the steering wheel” “Umm...It’s going to be alright...I guess,” Brandon said trying to be comforting, “But would you kindly look back up at the road because we’re about to slam into a truck.” “What? Sorry” she said, abruptly sitting up and yanking the wheel to the left., “Sorry about that, I though I was over all that...but...you know. But after all those...problems I decided to go back to the land of my family; New Sweden. So I went there and started the pampered pooch. And things are going alright now...I’m actually on my way back now.” “Really? And where exactly is New Sweden?” “Why we’re in it, silly!” Brandon quickly turned and pressed himself against the window, hoping for some sign of civilization where he could be dropped off. It wasn’t that he was ungrateful for the ride...but after spending three hours in a van with fifteen dogs and a temperamental Puerto Rican woman, you would be anxious to get away too. But much to his annoyance, there was nothing, not even a 7-11 to break up the same wooded scenery that they’d been driving past for hours. “So New Sweden is a highway?” he said after a moment “No! Not at all!” she replied, laughing as hard as ever and this time clapping Brandon hard on the back. “You know, you really are too funny! And you don’t know your history! New Sweden is basically everything around the Delaware River up to Trenton, everybody knows that!” Brandon just blinked, then turned back to the window. “So...where are we going then?” “I am taking these adorable pooches to their waiting owners in Wilmington, Delaware. That’s where I’m from, by birth anyway. You see, my family is really originally from Puerto Rico but-“ ”Yes,” Brandon said wearily, cutting her off, “you mentioned that earlier.” “Well, ok then” Gloria said in a tone which suggested that she had been personally affronted by his cutting her off. She looked sourly at the road in front of her for a minute, then brightened again. “So! Here I have been , going on and on about myself and my history, like a conceited fool! So what about you? I mean, even hitchhikers have to start somewhere, no?” “Well...I’m not sure that I-“ ”Oh come on! I want to hear all about it!” she answered enthusiastically. Brandon sighed. It looked like she wouldn’t take no for an answer, so he began to think back. On the whole, it was a little embarrassing and a lot farfetched, but Gloria was still waving encouragingly at him, and frankly he’d do anything to avoid hearing more about her Puerto Rican(but new Swedish by birth!) Relatives. So he sighed once more and tried to think of where to start. “Well...it was about Christmas last year,” he said suddenly “and I went to my local mall up in Washington State to look for gifts. It was then I saw this kiosk which seemed to stick out from the rest of the crowd. This may or may not have anything to do with the fact that it had a huge Neon Sign flashing “How to take over the World on $80 or Less!” in various colors, or that the kiosk itself was painted a brilliant grey. The point is, however, that against my better judgement I pushed my way through the crowds until I was right in front of it. I stood their for quite a bit, staring at the sign, and after about five minutes a girl sitting in the booth looked up and asked in a very bored tone if I was interested in taking over the world. I didn’t really have anything better to do, so told her that yes, I was interested ...” Brandon said as he started to relate his odd account of receiving world domination tips from one Nicki Claris to an increasingly surprised Gloria Rivera and pack of pampered pooches. -------------------------------------------------)( <The random tourist traps and roadside attractions will return! In the epic tale of whatever happened to Nicki Claris...but it may be a bit, since my muse seems to be taking an extended holiday in the South of France(according to my French text book, Provence is very nice this time of year)>

I happen to really like this...and so I hope that you'll post some more soon.

=smiles broadly= Thanks everybody!

=pulls up a chair and sits down to wait for more= With each new addition I like this more, can't wait to read the next bit...

I'm terrified of being forgotton. As stupid as that sounds, I'm terribly afraid that one day I'll wake up and all the people who are important to me will have suddenly forgotton who I am and everything I've ever done or will do will become meaningless.

Oh good the magnets are on their way!! And I was getting worried, too. Usually they have them out no more than a day after possible terrorist actions. But seriously now, you do have a point. But then you know that politicians would have gone to great lengths to make sure that those public works projects were neglected, at least now they have an excuse which they can build up to seem halfway true in the eyes of the uninformed public.

Well, actaully the state of Georgia was somewhat affected....at least the Atlanta airport was. The scary local news people kept going on and on about how backed up the airport was for people trying to get a flight to places in and around New York. But other than that things were so calm this far south that I didn't even *know* about the blackout until about three hours after it happened when I chanced to flip past CNN and see the headlines.

Haha!! I finally found this poem! I read it once quite a bit ago and have been looking for it ever since so that I could tell you how much I liked it. And while you may think that it makes no sense...it makes a world of sense to me...hmmm, I'll have to show it to the locals once schools starts again...but as I said, I really do like this poem.

Yes yes, very out of character and yet...nice too, not that I'm any authority on poetry =cringes at the memory when she once tried to write something in that genre=, but still if my opinion counts for anything, I think it very nice.

This is an exteremly odd little =fumbles for a word=...snippit of a thing which I wrote completely randomly one day while visiting a few relations over the past few weeks. Now had I been in my right mind I would have abandoned it, but seeing as I was in 'vacation mode', I took it home, cleaned it up and had two friends of mine read it. The first one thought I was crazy and the story odd at best, but the other said it was slightly humorous, so I decided I may as well post it. So the point of all this introductory stuff is that there is relatively a 50/50 chance that you won't like this, and frankly I ask you to comment as you will, because I happen to think this amusing if nothing else. Also, I haven't the faintest idea if this should have been posted on the Cabaret Room board instead. So if this really is in the wrong place, could someone with the ability please move this? And one more thing...cut me some slack with the grammer...run on sentances are constantly stalking everything I write. --------------------------------)( Please do not disturb the radishes. Why? Because they never did anything to you, did they? I've always been a fan of radishes, though frankly I have never eaten one before. But that's alright; people don't seem to need a reason to hate and despise things, so I don't think that I really need a reason to be a fan of radishes. Did you know that there are actually Radish addiction support groups in a remote country of Africa? Apparently if you hadn't ever been exposed to Radishes in your or the lifetime of you're ancestors(as is common in this remote country of Africa), then you eat some with, say, dinner the results can be either fatal or terminally addictive. Therefore I can only hope that somewhere in my family's history someone, perhaps my great-great grandmother, picked up a radish out of sheer curiosity and took a bite. Because obviously these relations never died, or else I wouldn't be here. But then, if no in their family history had ever eaten a radish before, then why didn't *they* die? So I can only conclude that there were, perhaps, a few years somewhere in the dark ancient past of this planet in which Radishes weren't poisonous to the average caveman. So it must have been then that this tradition of eating roots was started. But it seems to me, however, that if people are dying in Africa because of these radishes, then perhaps there are still families here in the United States which have never been exposed to the roots. And since there is a bit of question of my own family's Radish eating trends, I don't think that I can safely eat these radishes which you have placed before me. Though, of course, they look delicious. But I feel that I must watch out for my own mortality and so decline these radishes. And, for your own safety, I caution you to think twice as well before disturbing the radishes. --------------------------------)(

A small figure stood in the doorframe observing the scene and looking for this 'sign-up sheet' to see the Seer Madame Quixotic. Of course, the sheet was no where to be found, at least not from this vantage point. So with a sigh she began to walk towards the crowd, hoping to stay unnoticed. Unfortunately, it was hardly possible for her to stay anonymous, mostly because behind her she was dragging a large and cumbersome cello case. And it certainly didn't help that the case was bright blue, covered in stickers bearing the names of various places she had recently visited, and that the case's wheels had a bad habit of rolling right where someone was currently resting his or her foot. Finally, and after much squashing of other's toes, she saw someone adding what appeared to be their name to a long sheet of parchment and immediately started towards them. "I'm not too late then?" she said, but apparently too softly because the signer didn't look up when she spoke. She considered speaking again, but with a flourish the other finished signing and put the sheet down on a table. After a brief look around to make sure no one was waiting in front of her, she produced a pen from somewhere in the pocket of her jacket and quietly scribbled: Sam Carmichael rather belatedly requests the honor of a reading by the illustrious seer Madame Quixotic. It is hoped that the lateness of this request will not create conflict, as it couldn't be helped seeing as the aforementioned Sam Carmichael was away on extended vacation until very recently. There, That should do. she thought, reading over her words again and hoping her handwriting wasn't too terrible. After laying the parchment back on the table and capping her pen she left the room just as silently as possible, musing on the possible futures this Madame Quixotic may see for her.

"And I may consider going back just because well...becuase...frankly I have only a rough and sketchy idea of *why* Calonderiel almost died, and why you nearly died and lost your voice-though obviously you seem to have found it." Char said suddenly with just the smallest hint of the bitterness that comes from feeling severely left out. It was in the silence that followed that she realized that not only had the question not been addressed to her, but she had also sounded rather rude. After all...perhaps there is a very good reason why I have very little idea what anyone is talking about. she thought guiltily. "I don't mean to be rude or anything," she said, her voice sounding small and meek and it becomes suddenly obvious that she is far younger than she appears, "It's just that I would like some answers."

"Right this second?" she asked, suddenly unsure of whether or not she really wanted to come on this seemingly crazy escapade. But then, what's there left to do here but loose more money... "But what the heck, lead the way and I'll follow." she said to the dwarf with a gesture of indifference, "Though, it occurs to me that I have yet to introduce myself. I'm called Kail Vernius by most, if that sort of thing matters to you. If it doesn't...well, then that's your problem, not mine."

((sorry, I can't post officially right now, and I may not be able to do so for another week or so. Just someone note somewhere that my character (Char) is following everyone rather nondescriptively.))

Thanks guys for you're comments and whatnot. I'm glad I got a laugh out of some people and I'm sorry I couldn't thank you for you comments earlier but I've been away from the internet due to lots of vacationing.

"The Grey Rose...but that's just an old wives tale." Disbelief at hearing of such an odd topic, as well as the seemingly suicidal plan to find this Rose, was clearly written on her face. She began to speak again, but then stopped herself. After all...stranger things than the prospect running off to find ancient-and perhaps nonexistant-artifacts such as this had happened. And she did seem to have gotton herself into a loosing streak here... And its not as though I've got anyone inparticular who would miss me should I not return... she mused. It was then she noticed that a few people were still staring at her, as though expecting her to go on with her words. "But old tale or not...if you really will let anyone who wishes come, I'd wouldn't be opposed to joining you all." she said, still trying to cover up her slight drawl.

"Maybe I have." she said with forced lightness, "Maybe I'm just bored. But the point is that if we're not going to play again at some point I'm moving on." she said. She was glad the other had stopped her laughter, for though it seemed kindly meant...it made her nervous.

Great. Now I'm a suspect. Whatever that means...And how is it that dwarf can be so...*happy* sounding after all that. she thought, frowning as the rest of the casino answered the dwarfs statements with nervous laughter. She then went on think about how annoying it was for people to be happy when she was in such a sour mood, but was interrupted as someone handed her one of those drinks the dwarf had been referring to. She accepted the drink gratefully, (she never was one to turn down a drink; especially if someone else was paying) and took a long sip before addressing those still assembled around the table. "So...are we all going to do another game? Or just sit around being drunk?" she said, her contralto voice carrying a slightly drawling accent. It was obvious, though, from the odd way the words rolled out of her mouth that she was trying desperately to conceal her accent.

A human of perhaps elvish decent drummed her fingers absent mindedly on the gambling table next to her. Her expression was bland, despite the sudden 'excitement' between the two elves which had suddenly presented itself in the casino. Before these odd occurances she had previously been mumbling at the young elvish looking gambler to quit showing off her supposedly clean dice and cards and start a new game. Her tone had been cold in the way that only a failing gamblers could be. After all, she had to get at least some of what she had lost back, and joining a new game seemed to be the best and fastest way. She was about to resume in her attempt to get someone else to start a new game...but an increasing number of eyes were turned to the scene between the two elves and the dwarf and in light of this most gambling had, for the moment, ceased. So she simply continued to drum on the table, moving her fingers in a constant rhythm and hoping that this incident would wrap itself up so gambling could resume.

Wow, people actually commented!! =is suddenly very happy at the prospect that she may have managed to write something decent. Oh, and sorry about the length...I do have a tendancy to get a little long-winded. Oh come on Pip, it wasn't the worst randomly depressing away message as they go. And I see you're using my refrence to Tan as a plug for your own story;Which I gave you the idea for, by the way! Also, I have never heard of a "shaggy dog story", unfortunately I don't get out much... And sequels..hmm, I may have to attempt that during the long car trips up and down the Eastern Seaboard I must soon submit to. Though, knowing my luck, I shall probably descend into my muse-less state for the next three months.