Venefyxatu

"Come again? Somebody else died? C'moooon! What is this place, a TV studio or some kind of survival-of-the-fittest test? I mean, Doug? Who's going to make sure the stages are all right now? Whattatyamean he caused the explosion? Are you saying he was destroying his own work because he got paid for it? Man, that must've been one hell of a lot of money! But at least it'll be over now - I mean, if they had enough money to bribe Doug and somebody else they might as well retire, buy an island for every crewmember and live happily ever after!"

 

About an hour later, one of the technicians can be seen drinking cup after cup of bitter coffee without even complaining, trying to get out of his Emmett-talk-induced stupor ...

w00t! Congratulations, Presidente! I wish you two all the best!

*waits patiently for the general tacklehug-confusion-puzzle to sort itself out*

 

Happy birthday, Merelas!

His work at make-up being done, Emmett decides to go and watch the recording after cleaning up his stuff. Just when he enters the room the explosion takes place, and with an impressive movie-ish dive he manages to throw himself to safety on the ground, never mind the fact that he hurts his arm a bit in the process.

Getting up and hitting the dust from his clothes, he looks around in the confusion.

 

"Woweee... what was that?? Terry, what were you doing there? I mean, sure, nice effects 'n all, really cool, I've never seen an explosion like that on a stage, but was that really necessary? C'moooooon! Look at everyone, they're totally ..."

 

"Emmett, shut up!", Seelvergh roars. "The last thing we need now is you adding even more confusion!"

 

Quietly, Seelvergh's roaring being one of the few things capable of shutting him up, Emmett leaves again so he doesn't learn of the death until a few hours later, when he's talking to one of the other make-up artists who's also suspecting murder.

 

"Dead? What'cha mean dead? C'mooooon! That can't be happenin', not here! I mean, aren't we all trying to get this show saved and make mr. Seelvergh happy by getting even higher ratings? Oh, c'moooon! Why would anyone want to ruin the show like this?"

 

With the other make-up artist trying (and sometimes succeeding) to get in a few words, Emmett also learns about some of the accusations being made.

 

"Bernie? No way! If this show goes down the drain, he's going to lose even more money! And Doug? That's ridiculous! You know he wouldn't have one of his sets destroyed even for special effects! Debra? C'moooon! She's so cute, she couldn't hurt a fly if you paid her to! And Zeke, don't be ridi ... whattayamean trying to remove Debra because he can't stand having to look at her through his camera instead of for real? Yeah, he could find a new job as a camera guy easily enough, but he'd be looking at other cute actresses as well, wouldn't he?"

 

They ... or rather, Emmett keeps discussing for quite some time...

 

OOC : Accusing Deggy / Zeke, because of the aforementioned theory. I know it's far-fetched, but maybe that's why it's true

 

Edit : attempt (in vain? ) to clear up some confusion

Yay! Congratulations!! \o/

 

There are so many beautiful girl names out there that I'm sure the chance you pick one that's ... shall we diplomatically say not-so-beautiful, is ... umm ... zero. Yes, that's about right...

*stares in disbelief at Appy's signature, having never noticed this*

 

Yay! Another one who understands!!

 

*hugs Appy as well*

 

There are a few up there ^ that are too good to let them pass by - I just have to add my own versions or related ones...

 

There is no use worrying about things over which you have no control, and if you have control, you can do something about them instead of worrying.

Give me the strength to change what I cannot accept, the tenacity to accept what I cannot change, and the wisdom to know the difference.

> this one is what I try to live by

 

Grant me the wisdom to understand my employees and the patience to forgive them their mistakes. But don't give me strength, because then I'll bash in their skulls!

 

~The best index to a person's character is

1. how he treats people who can't do him any good,

and

2. how he treats people who can't fight back.

If someone is nice to you but rude to the waiter, they're not a nice person.

> All too true ...

 

Never take a Black Belt's invitation to hit him full power...

 

And never believe him when he says he won't hit back

Always remember rule number one!

> Pratchett fans unite *looks at Appy, and probably others as well*

 

There are only three kinds of people in the world. Those who can count and those who can't.

Actually, there are 10. Those who understand binary, and those who don't

If you tell the truth, you don't have to remember anything.

Exactly! Finally someone else who understands! *hugs Zariah*

 

 

I also have a few items to add to the list - items I did not, fortunately, learn from experience. They are quoted from what happened to be the daily joke on ARC today. Nice coincidence, eh?

 

-Don't squat with your spurs on.

-Lettin' the cat outta the bag is a whole lot easier 'n puttin' it back in.

-If you're ridin' ahead of the herd, take a look back every now and then to make sure it's still there.

-If you find yourself in a hole, the first thing to do is stop diggin'.

-Never slap a man who's chewin' tobacco.

-Always drink upstream from the herd.

-When you give a lesson in meanness to a critter or a person, don't be surprised if they learn their lesson.

-The quickest way to double your money is to fold it over and put it back in your pocket.

 

The last one does not fit the list exactly, but I decided to leave it in to point out more coincidence :

-There are three kinds of men. The one that learns by reading, the few who learn by observation, and the rest of them have to pee on the electric fence for themselves.

Hooray for Insanity! It's a mighty gift ...

 

Seriously, though ... I see why you don't want to quit - it would be like giving up and that's a very hard thing to do for some people, you among us apparently.

I know that it's not quite the same but I also had a few teachers I did not get along with, both in my school career and in my piano "career". For someone who has gotten used to getting along with every teacher he has that was pretty hard, but quitting, changing school, ... are options I wouldn't even have considered. So just do your best, and make sure that you enjoy rubbing it in his face when you succeed!

 

As for the schedule part : this is something that all schools seem to do. If even I can do it, then you definitely can! I mean, yes, it gets harder every day (I know this from experience - going to bed at 1 am and getting up at anything between 6 - 9 am does get harder every day), but it is do-able. I mean, like, even I can, like, keep like, doing it

 

You're not alone Mynxie, courage!

Buddha birthday happyhappy!

 

...

 

Birthday Happy Buddhahappy!

 

...

 

Happy happy Birthdaybuddha!

 

...

 

Happy birthday Happybuddha!

As Emmett saw Lizzie French approach he grinned broadly - for some reason all the other makeup artists were always about halfway done before he could even start, and he did love his job so much. The fact that he rather liked Lizzie made his grin even broader than usual, and he invited her into the chair with a gesture that was almost courteous.

 

"Eeeeeyyyy Lizzie, what do I have to turn you in this week? A horrible monster? That'd be hard, but not impossible ... your beautiful self? I hope not, 'cause then I'm done already, and you know how much I love doing this, don't you? I mean - we've both been here long enough to know how we both love our jobs, don'tcha think?"

 

While Emmett is chatting Lizzie's ears off and painting her at the same time, Debra's make-up is being done by a rather more quiet person.

 

"Your eyes, miss? No problem ... let's see ..."

 

Bartholomew strokes his chin, looks over what he calls his "magical tools", picks a few and gets to work - a brush here, a highlight there, and before Debra knows it she's looking rather pleased at her reflection in the mirror.

(And does the name sound Japanese? I didn't mean for it to be Japanese. Oh well.)

lol, I must've gotten paranoid about it then... that's what an anime overdose will do to someone who's not really a fan of it

 

Enneh ... thanks, cherrie, for the link!

Yay! I'm a conformulist as well!

 

But getting paid to ignore somebody, now that's an interesting thought ... I could become rich from that if I handled things the right way.

 

*ponders*

 

Salary : The money you get for doing a job

Ignore : Pretending as if someone (or something) isn't there.

Pay : Giving someone money (or goods) to get him (or her) to do something for you.

 

Salorary : noun

The money you get for pretending someone (or something) isn't there

Panore : verb

Pay someone to ignore someone else for you.  Of course, the money you give them is called their salorary.

Like this?

 

 

And then there's this joke we have here.

 

Kleptomaniac : Someone who has an irresistable urge to steal things

Pyromaniac : Someone who has an irresistable urge to set things on fire

Masochist : Someone who enjoys hurting himself (or herself), or getting hurt.

 

Cleptopyromasochistiac : noun

Someone who has an irresistable urge to set himself (or herself) on fire with stolen matches.

Right ... the Critic's Corner is underused, or so I've heard, and I've no intention of interrupting Shathward's story with my ramblings.

 

I have to admit, my first thought when I saw the title was "Another Japanese-sounding name. Why??" Without going into details : I guess I've just seen too many of them

Anyway, Shathward, you set a won-der-ful scene. I could easily picture the old, wooden boards of the floor floating through the blackness of this "place beyond time", empty except for the torch, a chair and the person sitting in the chair.

You might want to add some more descriptions (of other items in the room and the walls and the ceiling, if any of those actually exist), unless, of course, the way I envisioned it is correct and there is nothing more to describe.

 

Combined with the title, this piece makes me wonder : is that the thief who kind of became a saint? Or is this going to lead up to it? Who or what is this being?

 

The runes on this being are fascinating as well - will they serve a purpose in his ability to wield magic? Are they decorations or status symbols? Do they protect him? The golden symbol of divinity is a great finishing touch!

 

I love it, and I'm hoping I'll get to see more of your world as you create it!

Now that the setting is not Star Wars anymore, count me in again! I'm going to stick with the character I originally thought up for this theme : Emmett, one of the make-up artists. This guy has the biggest afro ever to be seen on a white man and just ... doesn't ... stop ... talking! It's not that he's unfriendly, but actors who want to remember their part try to avoid getting their make-up done by him.

 

A non-stop talker ... now there's a challenge for someone like me

 

Thanks, and congratulations to the other promotees as well! If I ever go to Finland, I'll definitely keep in mind the phrases about the axes ...

 

Venefyxatu wanders off, pondering whether the quote he got would really work

Venefyxatu carefully takes the dandelion from Gwaihir.

 

"A talking flower ... this is a remarkable gift, and I thank you for it. I'm sure I will enjoy its conversation."

 

As Gwaihir doesn't quite know what to say, Venefyxatu is about to answer his question when Pilocanci's assault troops come in. Before five sentences are exchanged he quits paying them any attention, discarding the entire scene as what he once would have seen as petty squabbles compared to his own battles. Noticing that Gwaihir would have no problem thinking of a more interesting conversation (from what he has seen, most likely with a plant), he further ignores the interruption.

 

"Zariah? Upset? I did not really notice, although at first she did seem a little worried that the ball would not be a success. That turned out all right, though, so I see no reason why she would be upset. But ... why would she be mad at you, if I may ask?"

 

As Gwaihir tells Venefyxatu vaguely about what happened with the punch, the latter manages to suppress a smile.

 

"I think I just caught a glimpse of her, and I did not notice any punch stains, so I think that has been solved. She did not seem like a person who bears grudges, either, although all that would be a lot easier to tell if she ... didn't breathe so much."

Congratulations, Lady of the Crows! Enjoy your brand-sparkly-new title

Welcome back Salinye! I did vote too although that it doesn't really matter that much as long as you have a very healthy baby.

To continue on Mynx' lighter note : I really do hope that the doctors won't tell you "Umm ... we don't know what gender it is, but it is healthy!"

 

 

Edit : add the missing letters!

When Zariah saw the door to the garden slightly ajar, she vaguely remembered seeing Venefyxatu and Tanuchan heading out there. She quickly went outside, relishing the cool air, and could hear their conversation continuing while they were both looking around, as if searching for someone. They were walking quite slowly, due to the necromancer's short breath, so Zariah easily caught up with them.

 

"Tanuchan, I saw Ayshela inside - I believe you were looking for her? And Venefyxatu, you should come back as well."

 

At his surprised look, she added with a grin that spoke of hidden fun, "You'll see."

 

Pleased that she found both of them at once, Zariah accompanied them back to the Cabaret room.

 

"Zariah." The name sounds a bit strange spoken in the necromancer's soft voice. "You did a wonderful job at organizing the ball - thank you."

Venefyxatu cringes as he sees the huge quill crash to the floor, but nevertheless makes his way through the dust and rubble towards ntraveler.

 

I was no member of the Pen at the time of the incident you refer to, and as such know nothing about it. I'll keep it that way as well, leave the past behind you and all that.

I do remember your name from the AM Conservatory, and recall reading some very enjoyable RP posts. It is good to see you again.

Samantha nodded wearily, standing up a little straighter than before, not clutching her stomach so hard anymore.

 

"So you claim to be both ... I'll accept that, for now. From your stories I would say that you are a bard, from your fighting skills I would believe you being an assassin, so why not both at the same time? I'll stick with calling you Travis, though."

 

Travis gave a brief chuckle, but noticed that Samantha seemed to be speaking a lot easier, almost as if she wasn't injured.

 

"So, M'lady ... now that we have the time to rest, how is your wound?"

 

Sitting down again herself, Samantha answered, "Don't worry about it. It's not as serious as it looked. And now that we've fought together, you can start calling me Samantha as well."

 

Travis shook his head.

 

"It was serious, I know Bonnie... when she strikes, it's serious. But I believe that's not your only gift, is it, Samantha?"

 

Samantha looked at him with those strange, white eyes, some green starting to shimmer through where the irises should be. Maybe because there was some sunlight filtering through cracks in the walls by now.

 

"Whatever do you mean?"

 

"I'm not blind, and I am used to great speeds ... but the speed with which you moved to Bonnie was greater than even an Elemental Assassin would've been capable of." Looking Samantha straight in the eyes, he added, "And I noticed how your eyes change at night as well."

 

Samantha nodded.

 

"Aye, 't is true, I do have other gifts, although I cannot use them when there is too much light. Do you remember what I told you about the Shades?"

 

Travis nodded briefly.

 

"I have some of their abilities, though I am not nearly as powerful as them. That is why they are looking for me, to find out how I acquired these abilities and why I am not one of them yet, for they know that I've had them for quite some time now. The only reason I'm not cooperating is that I know enough about them to be sure that being questioned by them would be ... unpleasant."

 

"Then why don't we destroy them? I'm sure that we could get rid of them by killing them."

 

"No. The two of us together could probably kill one of them, but two of them together? You've seen how I move - and they're better. A lot better. Besides, even if we could kill the two that are on my trail, they would only send more."

It's good to see that you're still around!

 

When the voting is done, are you going to have the baby's sex changed to match the winning fote?

OOC Note : please don't post in this thread since it will be developed into a story. If you wish to comment, feel free to start an OOC thread in the Critic's Corner. Thank you!

The prologue that started this all can be found here.

----

The book opens with some cracking protests from the pages. Nevertheless, it doesn't attempt to close itself again as many books tend to do.
On the first page, centered and in a beautiful, hand-written font, the title of a story is written.

 

"L'homme à l'harmonica"

 

On the pages after this one, a story is written. Sometimes the handwriting is a bit hard to decipher, but it is obvious that whoever wrote this took great care to avoid this.

It is a small town in the middle of a vast desert. The wooden houses have stood for so long that the boards have almost turned to sand themselves. They haven't started to rot yet because there is simply not enough moisture to start a rotting process in the first place, let alone sustain one. Some of the houses are leaning into each other, as if searching for support in their old age, their windows broken such a long time ago that sand, wind and time have dulled the sharp edges of the glass that is still left.
A thin veil of sand covers the houses for a few moments as a soft breeze stirs, too warm to relieve the harshness of the sun, carrying too much sand to be called even mildly pleasant.
It doesn't matter anyway, for the last inhabitant of this place has died or moved away such a long time ago that no living soul even remembers the existence of this place. This town is a real ghost town, the buildings, worn and old though they might be, still vaguely remembering some of the liveliness that was once so common here. It shows in a faded, fluttering red curtain here, a small patch of faded blue paint desparately clinging to a wall there and the piano in the saloon that hums softly if the wind strikes it at exactly the right angle.
Only the sun, mercilessly beating down on the little town day after day, casting sharp shadows on what once were dusty roads but are now mere dust, knows where this town is located.

A very faint sound drifts through the streets of the town.

Or not?

The sound becomes a little stronger, strong enough to identify it as being a sad, lonely tune played on a mouth-organ. Slowly the notes drift through the streets, carried by the wind.

In the distance, something shimmers on the horizon, something different from the haze in which the sun dresses the horizons day after day.

The sound of the mouth-organ becomes a little stronger but the song loses none of its sadness. On the contrary, it becomes even sadder, sounding lost and lonely in the deserted town.

The shimmering in the distance becomes larger. Apparently, a large black spot is moving sedately towards the town. As it becomes larger, the spot dissolves into four smaller spots, moving at equal speeds, staying next to each other.

The song doesn't seem to fade away as it drifts past the streets of the town, instead staying strong as the wind carries it towards the moving spots, almost as if calling out to them in its loneliness.

Closer and closer they move, slowly becoming four riders who are as terrible as they are radiant. They make no haste as they ride closer to the town, nor do they stop as they reach the first of the buildings. Riding through the hot shadows and blistering sunlight alike, they don't even stray from their path.

The old man sits on a stone under a dried-up tree so old it has almost become a stone itself, its trunk barely wide enough to cast a shadow on the man. His clothes are ragged, softly flapping around his thin body in the light breeze, faded to a blue so light it is almost as white as the little hair he has left.

He is aware of the riders although he keeps his eyes firmly on the ground, his brow wrinkled in concentration as he plays his mouth-organ. He knows that it might even be because of his song that they have come, but he doesn't know for sure - just like he doesn't know who or what they are.

The houses stand motionless as the riders pass, no curtains flutter in the breeze, no doors creak, no shutters suddenly slap closed. Nothing moves but the dust around the feet of the horses and even that settles down again faster than the wind should allow.

They pass the last house and stop at a stone. Near the stone stands a dried-up tree so old it has almost become a stone itself, and on the stone sits an old man, his eyes still fixed firmly on the ground, his brow wrinkled in concentration as he plays his song.

The last notes of a very sad song slowly drift through a ghost town, fading away as they are carried by the wind until they are no longer recognizeable as coming from a mouth organ. Never again will they be heard in this abandoned town.

- Erik, Wijnegem.
Based on the song.

A few pages are left blank after this story, with the obvious intent of writing the title of the next story on them. After these blank pages, the word "In" is written, and nothing more ...

Just as Tanny and Venefyxatu are heading for the buffet Wyvern enters the room. Seeing that the latter will be occupied for a few moments before heading for the food, they decide not to rush. With a wave to Black, Venefyxatu continues explaining that Nether magic is not as evil as it is thought to be, even though it is often used for evil purposes.

 

As they get back to their seats, there is a momentary lapse in the conversation. Venefyxatu uses this to produce a small present from one of the hidden pockets in his robes and slide it over the table towards Tanny.

 

"I have something for you. I came across it a long time ago, on Terra, and although I know I've never seen it in any of my incarnations, it seems familiar somehow."

 

Tanny blushes slightly, accepting it. "Thank you... though I hope you know that having your company for the Ball was a gift in itself."

 

The Nether mage arches an eyebrow, a bit surprised by her words. "I have to confess that it's not very common for... humans... to enjoy the company of an undead..."

 

"Maybe because I'm not exactly human myself?" She grins, and there's a glint of amusement in her eyes. "And besides... being undead doesn't mean heartless."

 

While he ponders at the meaning of her last sentence, Tanny turns her attention to the package in her hands.

 

As is so typical with presents, from the shape it is not so hard to tell what's inside. Indeed, as Tanny removes the wrapping paper, a book is revealed, looking very old but rather well-preserved. Its leather cover has grown hard with age and maybe magic, its thick pages, yellow with age, are stiff and crackle when turned. Apparently, the cover once held a title but age has made it fade away into nothing. And yet, from the way no dust comes off of it and the precise manner in which the pages do not crumble when touched it is obvious that this book was taken good care of. The text on the pages is still legible, at least as far as the handwriting allows, the black ink restored where it has faded.

 

"It's... precious..." Tanny murmurs in almost reverence, caressing very lightly the pages as she turns them carefully.

 

"I hope you like mysteries ... I have the feeling that there's a spirit connected to this book somehow, but for all my skills I was unable to learn anything about or from it. I think there are more stories involved with this book than just the one inside it ..."

 

Tanny snaps out of her reverie, pushing away an urge to shake herself. "Yes... I would say so..."

 

She grounds herself, seeking the pulse of earth below her, and delicately reaches out to the book - the leather covering, the yellowed pages... all coming from nature whether in this plane or another. Venefyxatu senses the use of energy, and, although he's curious, manages not to reach out to it to gain more information. From what he can feel there's some Verdancy magic in there, although not quite the same as what he would've felt from another Archmage.

 

"Human... and something else I don't recognize..." she whispers, again in a half-trance. "But someone who cared for this book strongly enough to pour his inner energy into it... "

 

Venefyxatu blinks, the only sign of his surprise.

 

And here I was, thinking that my Secret Valentine assignment was... a common one... she surprises me. She is definitely no Archmage, but she is a lot closer to it than a mere shapechanger. Good thing, though, for an Archmage probably would've tried to eradicate him by now - Verdants were ... not that fond of Nether mages, to put it delicately. And she didn't even seem to mind ...

 

After staring at the book for a few more moments, captivated by ... something about it, Tanny turns to Venefyxatu and smiles.

 

"Yes, I think I can feel there's more to this book as well. Thank you, Venefyxatu... I'll definitely enjoy this, and I will take good care of the book."

 

She sets the book aside a little bit so it won't risk being spilled on. After eating and talking some more, Tanny starts looking at the door with more frequency, sometimes frowning a little bit.

 

"Missing someone, Tanuchan? Maybe your Secret Valentine?"

 

"Yes... sorry, Venefyxatu. And call me Tanny, please." She smiles again, apologetic. "I sent my Valentine a small something this morning, and I guess I'm wondering if she has appreciated that. But I'm sure she will arrive soon."

 

"Maybe you would like to look for her? Who knows, she may be out, or in the garden... "

 

"Would you come with me? I like your company, and I'm sure that Ayshela would enjoy meeting you also."

 

"I would be glad to join you... if you really don't mind."

 

With a grin, Tanny got up and started heading for the door.

 

"Of course not!"

Aye, what ^^ Gryphon said.

 

Say, a ranger dropped by today with a jug of some liquid stuff, claiming it had magical powers ... want to see if it'll heal you?

Seriously, though - get well soon!