Mardrax

been there

A stick figure hopped onto the doorstep, and off it on the other end.

The pen slung over its shoulder like a dwarven soldier would a giant rifle.

Jungle surrounded it. Huge trees, seemingly made of single, razorsharp leaves jutted from the ground millionfold around it.

It hadn't been able to see much more than ten. If it had had any eyes to see with.

Sadly, the figure was as featureless as the trees, and it swiftly collapsed onto the soil and an ant carried it off.

The ant would probably cry in its bed that night, for finding its prize missing when it got home.

Yet like the figure had no eyes to see, the ant had no tears to shed, nor a bed to wet with them.

The pen, meanwhile, had floated up to a higher perch, a couple feet above the field.

It awaited what would come in solemn silence.

For it had no noise to make.

A tiny reflection catches the eyes of the bystanders, bounced off the tip of what seems to be a very thin thread, originating from the pen, but speeding toward and around Wyvliam. It zigzags back and forth behind his back, sewing the tear shut with some quick strokes and a tiny knot. While the needle separates from the string and falls away, the pitch black zigzag is still clearly visible, together with some text: "I gladly give to the poor"

The pen itself -now also separated from the thread- wiggles in place a bit, then tilts to horizontal and back towards Stick in mock-answer to his greeting.

The choice to format this into three columns was actually just made to have the second stanza-column make more sense. Also, 18 one-or-two-word lines, separated into 3 stanzas, all below eachother would have just have been hell to read if you ask me, next to looking bad at first glance. I'm a visual guy

At any rate, you have me interested now. Do see what you can dig up, by all means

*poke poke*

*zip woosh slalom woosh

curl curl curl wavy wavy curl curlycircle poke halt*

It didn't like being poked. It might just be an object, but it was an object with feeling.

An object not just with feeling, with emotion, but an object of Limbo made solid.

Not that anyone here could care about that.

No in-betweens among these.

Although that girl...

Something was odd about her.

The pen shifted, positioning itself horizontally while flying toward Minta, maneuvering itself around several objects in its way.

Not least of which avoiding to impale Loki, and just barely missing a bouncing skeleton's collarbone.

It came to an abrubt stop in front of Minta, back into a vertical, after some twirling around in the air, some armspans from her face.

"Hiya!" it said in big, curly letters, the pen itself functioning as the exclamation mark's upright.

If it had been lead

We would have collapsed then

Our burden was much lighter,

much clearer then, much brighter

As when it all began,

the day we found it dead.

If it had been lead

Away, far from our eyes

It might have lived another day

yet all of us were led astray

Still it was no surprise

when we found its severed head.

If it had been lead

It wouldn't have been eaten

The butcher's son did eat it whole

-Everything but the gumdrop skull-

So now he has been beaten

and he is far from glad.

Yet the gingerman is dead.

_______________

RSS feeds nourish us

Just a quick idea that popped up.

Comments welcome indeed as always

               Volve

Involve        Revolve       Dissolve

Involve        Revolve       Dissolve

Everything     Everything    Everything

Everyone       Revolves      Dis

No choice      Around        sol

No option      Everything

Involved

podcast

And I totally forgot to include a new line

____

Prophets preaching to pharaos

sphere

with

"What's new at the Very Merry Seamstress' Shop?"

We used to shop and eat and drop and pop.

1815, oh if time could stop,

it should have stopped there, yes I would swap

those days for this these, these are a flop.

With screaming death metal and fast hip hop,

when there were no taxis or motorbike cops.

We used to sit sowing or play with spin tops.

But gone are those days, now I can but sob:

"My friends all died

but remember that line

What's new at the Very Merry Seamstress' Shop?"

This grew a bit too much for this section, so the complete version can be found here in the Scarlett Pen

There is no place like fair Burbank

Where all the films

that ever stank

were all produced, it seems

Where all the men of general's rank

in aircraft hangars

cold and dank

heeded Locks with gleams

on Cali sunshine faces

In Toyon shadows

grow strange places,

and legless farmers too

have aspirations

and walk the Walk of Fame

-

So if you want these kind of dreams

it's Californication.

___________

Codebox spoiler acronym

(and yay for randomness! )

believe in hope

out there it dangles

don't

grasp it, clutch it

get entangled

let it shine

and let it spangle

for it will be there

always

~

A new entry on the playlist

that's because of all those bad quality Irish greens mate

Everything has a meaning, Wyv mate. Here, everything continues on the latter and the title is a timestamp

love
hate
juxtapose
those not opposed
the first behind
the latter enclosed

Fabergé
in cast yellow plastic
shell within a shell
taken away
on the full moon tide

Rachmaninov
on a one octave xylophone
a tool not easily wielded
by those unproficient

May 27th, 7 AM

The sun had climbed the sky already. All of our master's kind were fast asleep.

Not us.

We were in the car. Three black SUVs riding in column.

Armored to the point of being tanks without tracks.

Armed to the point of being tanks without tracks.

The house on the hill would be an easy target.

-

She threw the blankets off her in a centuries old reflex.

It was too hot.

Hrm? Too hot. I'm cold to the bone. Have been for ages.

She peaked a drowsy look towards the window.

Fire. Four broken bottles lay between the bed and the window.

Flames were already licking the bedpost.

She jumped up and threw open the door towards the first floor walkway.

An inferno greeted her.

As the morning's numbness subsided to give way to Rötschreck,

she caught a glimpse of the men gathered in the courtyard, through the two story window.

It had always allowed her to see so clearly, and it did for one last time.

Their attire was a telltale sign of whom had set this on her, and just confirmed her earlier suspicion.

She had chosen the worst of allies.

-

[7:16] * Angeli has quit IRC (Ping timeout for Angeli[517.624.2.142])

[20:28] * Connecting to goldendown.uglytruth.org (8883)

-

[20:28] -goldendown.uglytruth.org- *** Looking up your hostname

-

[20:28] -goldendown.uglytruth.org- *** Checking for ident server

-

[20:28] -goldendown.uglytruth.org- *** Found your hostname

-

Sylas no such nickname

-

Sylas end of /WHOIS list

-

Bigears is bigears@517.625.8.181 *

Bigears using sewergrate1.gd.uglytruth.org [517.625.8.181] Goldendown Shadowdwellers

Bigears End of /WHOIS list.

-

[23:29] -> *Bigears* Good morning.

[23:29] <Bigears> Ey. Dya hear?

[23:30] <Angeli> What, exactly?

[23:30] <Bigears> Sylas.

[23:30] <Angeli> ...

[23:30] <Angeli> Where?

[23:31] <Bigears> Sewers. Kine. Two down. Mercs, probably. No IDs on em.

[23:31] <Angeli> Morte.

[23:31] <Angeli> No one showed for Elysium tonight.

[23:31] <Bigears> The kine might have hit again. Taken us all down in one blow.

[23:32] <Angeli> True.

[23:32] <Angeli> There's one person I would have expected to show though.

[23:32] <Angeli> Right, I'm off. Getting hungry, and I have some calls to make.

[23:32] <Angeli> Let me know when you hear something, as always.

[23:34] <Bigears> Right. Cya.

-

Quit

OOC:

Voting for Andreas/Venefyxatu.

I hate having to break ties on myself :\

Cookie

Whiskeysheep

paaaarty!

In the following hours, this letter is left where it in locations where it may be found by all whom it concerns.

In letterboxes, e-mail accounts and dumpsters.

Clean, corporate paper, with a rainbow logo printed on the envelope.

Dear shareholder,

 

We have arranged a meeting to discuss replacing our old CEO, who has so unexpectedly passed away.

You are expected in Club Elysium, at 9 PM tomorrow, the 26th of may.

Beverages available at the venue as usual.

For those who are unable to attend, joining in through conference call is possible.

 

For further information, call us at our regular number:

704-867-5309

 

In anticipation of a pleasant evening:

 

Sarah Harpy,

public relations manager of Rainbow Computer Services

quarry

Alrighty Mai, have fun with working this one out Taking the same approach as Quin here. I have no familiarity whatsoever with the tristat system, so I'm completely winging it. Feel free to work out or adapt what should be

And most of all, don't feel rushed

The Pen.

A standard dib pen for all appearances, just totally black, with an inky sheen.

Because the Pen IS mightier than the Sword

Body none, as far as physical leverage goes. Can't exert any force by itself. Yet has a very tough time caring about any sort of harm.

Mind fluctuating. Tends to have the greatest insights hidden amongst seeming nonsense. Or just nonsense, without insights. Usually relatively clear though.

Soul average.

Defects. I'll start with those since they are easiest.

No arms, legs, head or other limbs more commonly found in less innocent genres of anime.

Just Can't exert physical strength by itself, though it can just stay in place. For example, while it could stop a 30 ton weight in mid-fall, it couldn't lift said weight back up, nor a sheet of paper, for that matter.

Sensory Impairment. Has no sight or smell, yet has a sense that doubles for sight in the nearby vincinity. Say within two dozen yards or so.

Can't talk.

Unusual diet. Exists off of ink alone. With no qualms to induce the holder of the ink as well.

Slightly off the hook.

Attributes.

Ageless, and mid-level invulnerability from the NGG link.

Small. It's a standard dib pen as far as dimensions are concerned.

Hovers. Is unaffected by gravity, and moves by hovering at normal human speeds.

Drawy! It draws, on paper, on anything else, or just in thin air. Whatever it draws is quite real, and usually shares the same qualities the pen itself does, though can potentially be "alive" with a limited sort of intelligence. Say stick figures could walk, or even lift objects relative to their size. Ink reservoir is limited but far larger than it reasonably should be. Anything drawn in thin air will collapse after some minutes, or at the pen's whim.