Mardrax

Shadowmarch by Tad WIlliams. Somewhat on the more typical fantasy side, especially compared to some of his other stuff (although by no means a "been there, done that"), but a good read if you can stomach that sort of thing. Also just read the national kiddybookweek's book, which everyone gets for free here when buying at least $10 worth of children's books during that week, or when working in the school library http://www.themightypen.net/public/style_emoticons/default/ohmy.gif A barely 100 page story about a kid getting tangled up in a Second Life-like MMO thingy. A tad too moralising for my tastes but decently written. That is, next to piles and piles of schoolbooks, of course

Edited. Not quite pleased with it yet, but until now haven't a clue what to do about it. Comment away by the way, I might need it

"Your secretary? You treat your secretary like that? While you have your children in sight? As if cross-dressing wasn't enough for you. You just had to add to it by doing something like that. Your secretary, of all people. So what have you been trying to do? Get rid of the evidence?" Rachel tossed the half glassful of wine into Dan's face, turned on her heel and walked off for the bar again. Never had a party called for so much drink as this one. (OOC: accusing Dan/Mithrandin)

I grab for my curse cling to it Time and time again I reach for it Never quiting reaching the salvation that which I seek Small gray tendrils of toxins unraveled 3 oxygenated dollars going up 3 dimes at a Time No more excuses Give in blinded by my own doing Rather admit defeat the/an Winning over Time and time Again; At least as long as fags last, Or until we (be)come One More Time

Rachel took one look at the startled Blby. She took something from her cleavage and handed it to him. Some sort of business card. "Call me." Turning on a good few inches of rubber heel, she walked away into the crowd, flashing Blby a wink just before she dissapeared. The Scarlet Pimpernel sitting rambling on a table was the first to peak her interest. Rachel noticed her peril, walked over to the bar and returned in time to overhear the last few words. A new shot glass in hand, which she promptly handed over. "Don't lose your pretty head over it dear. Whatever it is, it's a maniac, or it's something that goes way over your heads. I'm just glad I'm no colleague of yours... Are you sure that Corban guy isn't just trying to... slim down the staff? In any case, next week, this guy might be just a cubicle away from you. Then again, if he's working with this Corban guy, I'd expect him to get a good promotion over this." She considered the Corban had managed the lynching just then. That had just been too relaxed. She looked around the room after that, looking for apossible associate. The guy with the oh so inconspicuous brown hat. The guy who, from his constant scratching, had just started growing a moustache. Preparing to move up in the world perhaps? After all, he was the janitor. What she imagined to be the worst job in the world, next to being a toilet lady. -None of those around, right? Right.- The one here who would stand most to benefit from a promotion, especially at his age. No way he would be doing such a physical job for much longer. In all truth, Rachel never had seen much of the inside of an office building. A couple of executive offices. The elevators and hallways that led there. Still, at that time, she thought him the most suspect man ever. (OOC: vote for Elliot Banks/Akallabeth.)

Boot up a little stickied thread in Assembly and Banquet, asking people to volunteer for it and let the first post of it keep an up-to-date list?

"Oh my friggin' god! What is it with tonight? Is everyone intent on getting me dirty? You. Yes, you. The tablecrawling guy. You heard me. Do you have any idea how much these shoes have cost me? Do you have any idea how ruined they would have been if that glass had landed a bit more my way? ... What's with that sheepish look? Cat got your tongue? You know... you can answer me. I'd think an apology would be in order. Not as if I'd bite your head off or anything." She chuckled over some inside joke, then shifted the wineglass to her left hand and offered him her right with a smile. "It's alright baby... I'm sorry, I get a little agitated at times. Name's Rachel, by the way. And who or what are you supposed to be? Edward Scissorhands sans-scissors?"

Some things, you'll just have to figure out yourself In general, I like taking words out of their regular context, so I understand the confusion, maybe even aim for it. Who's to say?

I totally agree with that philosophy most of the time Peredhil. I have my waverings of faith though, and this was written in one of them. Sometimes, one just can't give anymore, I guess. Preprise, thanks for the well thought out comment, and welcome to our little community. Joining up on my birthday like that, the nerve

She jumped up from the table she was sitting on with a shriek. Hadn't done that for well over a decade. Last time she'd been just passed 18. Mike she'd met just a couple of months later. He was the best friend she could have wished for. Rachel had been living large when she was 20. No cause for shrieking when you have a 200 well-armed pounds of muscle watching over you. The poor playmate had landed just a few yards to her left. Rachel was still in doubt though. Did she back off that much out of fear for her table being the next to go, or for getting her insanely high (and insanely expensive) white pumps red? The first she'd found that she was actually able to walk in comfortably. No use for an extra 8 inches when you were swaggering all over the place. She brushed against several dressed up men while taking that overly trained strut over to another snack-filled table, -Seemingly completely accidental, of course- and regained her mental composure. No overhang overhead. No liquids spoiling her sparkling white. She sat down on a barstool and flung one leg over the other in a single move. While gently swinging the leg back and forth, she surveyed the room. Who was this man so intently looking at everyone in the room? He definitely didn't want to hide it. His eyes darted back to the poor playmate one last time before coming to rest on the hairy legs that peeked out from under Dan Gray's skirt. He had to be involved in this somehow, she would have bet last night's pay on it. (OOC: Vote for Tommy/Giles Jordan)

She nudged a single strand of hair out of her face with one hand while she let the other be taken and moved it for Corban's mouth. The smile never left her face. "I must say I'm not used to being undressed with words honey, but come now. I don't ask you what's behind your mask now do I? I must say though, you know how to throw a good party. D'you have a reason to get up early tomorrow yet?"

It's completely intentional. When the torchbearer is borne, her purpose is defeated, thus may light herself, to shed more light but consume herself through it. The question is, will I burn my hands through bearing her such and thus be consumed myself? And Pered, if so, is it still worth it? Thanks to the both of you

A mumbling sound, muffled, from inside the chamber. The thick slab blocking the shrill voice. Followed by its own first aroused attempts at being awake. "Zooo? Zoo? Zoo?" Almost the right tone. "Zoo!" It slithered into it's waterbowl. Dust. "Zoooo." Dissapointment. Desperation. Loneliness.

Why do I do it? Pick up the torchbearer that she may light herself burning will she light my way? Why do I do it? Offer my hand to the fallen down will they drag me? Drag or be dragged Burning or alight Open the door or be left alone

In. Character: Rachel Stevenson - A hotel "regular" who just happened to be in the hotel when the party started. Thankfully, a costume's never too far away. Costume: *plays Animaniacs tune* Helloooooo Nurse

*fiddle* Oh how I know the troubles of using that thing (There, as it should be. Note to self: check login. Note to Ap: logout )

The pen, which had been hanging seemingly oblivious to the happenings arround it for some time already, burst into motion with a quiver as it was mentioned. Swift strokes, sloppy almost, with a copious ammount of shivers scattered among the lines, a few feet from the gnome's face. "Minta... It IS Minta, right? Dear cluster of energy, had I enough of this... "ink" in me to trace the lines of magic around you for people to follow... Oh dear. And the people would get... crazy fast, I fear. Be more specific, youngster. That line from your ex-life, halfway trough that non-life? By all means." The last period stretched out into a long line, all the way up to the tree the lines seemingly disappeared in, the pen leading it every inch of the way. Then, as it hit the bark, the pen backtracked to hover before Loki, only to write a big, pulsating "SumimaWHO? MuchitsuWHAT?" in front of her. Another backtrack later, it was back under its previous writing to Minta, writing in gnomish once again. "Are you talented enough in the arts of life to understand it? And enough so to see this all shouldn't be somehow? Is that too much to expect from this you? ... Oh, and about that tracing of your magic, yes, in a... very other time and place." To wrap up its ink-spending spree, Wylliam got his moustache replaced, this one firmly attached to his upper lip.

Still love it Translates well enough to writing for me, but then again, I can hear you reading it every word of the way still, so not quite sure my vote counts on that one Do run a typochek on it, btw. Music is not meant to be written down in the first place, and I would go as far as to say it can't be, without molesting it in some way.

A finger down my cheekbone slides All my will expressed in snide Can't tell how or where he eyed When I hear the halt in his stride His wanton longing's been denied Could it turn to the wants of hide? (Need to find the strength No hope but for contempt No matter how he'll vent know it's just pretend) For all his power, just a child His body's tower wrecked by pride The tearful shower that he cried Outlast the scour, storm this night Together we are purified Me and he who took my sight Velvet blindfold, show our plight To all who would and all who might take our perennial pangs of fright and drive them to extinction

when did you get so compliant?

*grin* you can just tell me it's shite without sarcastic winks mate

The crystal ball flicks on again, revealing a bit of Mardrax' robe around the stomach area. "Ehrm... yeah. I mean. No. I mean. Ashton, yeah. 'The great AB'. 'The wackest MC on WyvTV'." A slight pause, certainly accompanied by some gesture, though just looking at the cloth move, it's impossible to tell what. "Sorry mate, if I made you fear, fear being analysed, fear my words to be sincere. Other than you, I have other occupations, a life to fend for, relationship tribulations. It might at times take me 7 days to get a break, but if you think I analyse you, I take you personal, you make a big mistake. Though I won't be the one to blame you for any mistakes you make. What I would prefer though, if you would indulge me, is to take another second, to read over what you see. I for example never called you spammer, I welcome you to the fray, but I'll be offensive if you want me to, if you have to be that way. Don't doubt yourself though realise there's much to learn, a lot to see, a lot to hear for that top spot to earn. As for me, I'm having fun, for Norman, I cannot tell, but knowing him he'd walk away 'fore making his life hell. As for Wyv, he's full of shit, you know him like I do, so disregard him as you see fit. For now, I salute you." The robes move backward a bit, allowing a somewhat wider scope of Mardrax' chest just before a mass of hair moves down and back up, totally filling up the crystal ball, just before it flicks off again.

All around me Children hanging from my arms "Come play with us, come play with us!" People banging on my door "Come talk to us, come talk to us!" Babies crying on the floor "Whèèè, whèèè, whèèè, whèèè!" All around me Thousands of people, hanging around No single sigh, no single sound. A single sign, hanging from that door - "Do not disturb" - and everyone heeds it. Such blissful fantasy

Making love to my microphone almost beating flesh and bone Shure, S&M 51 Just like all those nights at home. But there's a reason I am gone by myself, not quite alone This little old microphone can't ever speak all on it's own 'less I'd reverse the input. ______________ Recipes of verbal spam

While the BPS is inserted into the poor sod of a zombie on one end and simultaneously emerges from 3 other ends, Pen traces a long line of gnomish tinker-poetry from around where Minta has landed to right in front of the flaring nostrils on Williams snout, still excited about the prospect of unearthing "reading material". The line ends in a big "SumimaWho?".