Slam Quest

[Zariah]

Zariah was very proud of Thomas. He was really trying hard....the whole thing confused her a little...and she drifted back to the moment when Revery had whispered in her ear...

....and then she remembered that SHE was supposed to go up and read something!!

 

Suddenly, she forgot everything she had rehearsed.

No one had gone up next, and she felt pleading eyes from somewhere that begged her to fill the dead air.

 

Zariah made her way up on stage, and put on her "Performance" face.

 

"Good evening everyone! I hope you are enjoying the refreshments and great entertainment? Well...it turns out that the part of my memory that had rehearsed the poem I was going to share has gone on an unexpected vacation....SO...if anyone would like to jump on in---

 

*silence*

 

--that'd be great?"

 

Zariah blinked and looked around for the next volunteer. She then put on her famous puppy dog face with those irrisistable pleading eyes.

[Katzaniel]

"Well, that was nice," said Horace to Gabriel. She was standing just inside the door, having arrived in the middle of Thomas' performance. Gabriel, unseen inside the briefcase, rolled his eyes at Horace's utter oblivion.

 

She stepped inside. Her dark hair was done up in a pony-tail, and her small horns were just visible through it. She wore a fashionable red dress, the picking out of which was a story all its own, because Gabriel had decided he wanted her in something really nice for this, and Horace had a hit-or-miss sense of fashion.

 

The briefcase seemed really out of place for her clothes and the event, but even Pennites who did not know the story of it knew that Horace never went anywhere without the thing. Their real surprise of the evening would be when Gabriel started his mind-speech.

 

"Oh, what cute animals!" cried Horace, seeing Mynx. "I wonder what they are?"

[drummondo]

Drummondo sat at a small round table in a smoky corner of the hall, watching the proceedings with an air of skepticism; "Slam Poetry?" he thought, "you people don't know the half of it."

 

As Zariah struggled on the microphone, he stood and jumped into the fray. Spinning as he reached the stage, and with a smile to Zariah's Performance Face, he coughed quietly and waited for the audience members to notice the new activity.

 

No-one cared.

 

"People, for the love of poetry, please, pay attention to my life!" he shouted.

 

A couple of old guys by the bar mumbled something along the lines of "Who does this guy think he is?"

 

Drummondo, now getting impatient, fished a pen from his jeans pocket and threw it forcefully at the sign-up book. It made the faintest of dots on the open page before clattering to the floor. Immediately everyone was watching.

 

It's interesting how people only watch

When they've been told to.

When they're supposed to.

When a kid's hit by a souped-up ride,

And it's labelled an "accident", they throw the charge at him,

It misses.

No witnesses.

When a girl eats herself away inside,

Until all that's left is a loaded gun,

And it misses.

No witnesses.

When all is said and done,

Nobody cares unless they're paid.

She'll cut herself again some day,

And no-one will take the blame.

 

People only watch when they've been told to,

When they're supposed to,

I'm just a ghost who

Can't get close to

Anyone.

 

The most I do is talk.

 

Do I have your attention yet?

 

How about some observational humour?

 

We are only as late as our bus rides.

 

Audio Insert. Section 4. "On Life"

 

It starts at the stop.

The guy who strolls arrogantly up behind

And waits two minutes

After your twenty,

Before getting the same lift.

 

Hop on,

Pay an unfair amount,

Fare enough

To those in control,

But who don't care.

 

Head up,

Find your place amongst

Returning shoppers

And the lads

On the way to John's night out.

 

Pick your spot in the corner,

As far back as the people will allow.

From here,

Begin once again

To view them.

 

The kids in suits, tracked

And monitored

By only the finest

Metal bracelets.

 

Notice the old man

Fighting back sleep,

Head lolling

like a car ornament;

He's at that point where

Consciousness, unconsciousness

And his conscience

Scare him.

 

The elderly couple;

They've made it pretty far,

But they get off here.

 

There's that girl you always want to talk to.

What's stopping you?

Her eyes,

Or the fact that

You'd have to explain

Meeting her in such a place?

 

Some fat guy blocks the gangway,

And half the stairs.

How dare he

Half block the way up.

How can one big entity control our ascent?

 

Another girl you thought was eyeing you

Leaves.

You're disappointed she didn't look back,

But face it;

You didn't once look at her

When you had the chance.

 

End of the line,

You're the only one on the bus.

 

Step from your red, velvet-style chair,

And make your way to the front.

 

It's your time.

Turn to thank the driver.

 

Realise there's no-one there.

Walk away into the night.

 

He paused on the final line, as if suddenly finding new meaning from his own work. Before stepping off the stage, he pulled out a piece of torn paper and a pencil, and quickly wrote down a thought.

 

Then he sat down to watch the remaining poetry, patiently awaiting the Slam.

Edited May 25, 2005 by drummondo

[Mynx]

Mynx paused in her work to watch the Pennites as one by one they got up to perform. As she listened to Drummondo with a soft smile on her face, a small part of her couldn't help but wish her poetics were better so she could have entered the contest.

Although she had to admit, her owls were having fun.

Hearing a now familier crash come from Thomas' direction, Mynx continued back to her work, laughing at the expression on Wyvern's face as she flicked her ponytail and wandered by.

When she got to the table that had hosted Thomas' latest accident, she couldn't help but laugh.

As liquid both hot and cold dribbled over and off the table, Cryptomancer ignored it soaking through his clothes as he desperately tried to salvage his poems from the liquid mess.

Guilding Thomas a few feet away so as not to cause trouble in his apoligetic panic, Mynx waved her paw over the table, removing as much of the liquid as she could with a simple spell.

Cryptomancer grinned thankfully at her, collecting the last of his now slightly damp but not ruined works.

"Thanks," he smiled at his friend. "By the way, nice hoo-"

"Owls." Mynx glared at her friend as he attempted to feign innocence.

"That's what I meant!"

"Mm hmm," Mynx folded her arms, tapping her paw on the floor as the Runemage continued to grin.

(un?)fortunately, before anything further could be said, Thomas proceeded to drop a tray of new glasses, causing Mynx to sigh and return once mroe to her job.

[cryptomancer]

Cryptomancer looked at his notes, licked on of them and savoured the coffee that had stained the parchment.

 

"well, great, coffee ink and paper, not mixed quite as i would like, but nevermind,"

 

His hand toyed with the small silver bell on the tabletop, making it jingle a bit as it rolled beneath his fingers.

 

"I think it is time I had some more coffee, a couple of shots of espresso should do,"

 

Cryptomancer looked around trying to catch the eye of the feline waitress with the cute owls.

 

[Katzaniel]

Not now. The thought interrupted Horace, who was on her way to ask Mynx about the strange pair of animals on her shoulders. It's Open Mike and I'd like to stretch these poetry muscles before competing. Sign up for me, would you? The demoness sighed and followed orders. Much as Gabriel was her captive, he was becoming a bit of a friend lately, and she had decided this would be his night.

 

Gabriel was actually a little worried. Slam poetry was meant to be heard aloud. So what would it mean if it was instead inserted directly into the audience's thoughts, as his speech did when he was on Earth? At least his words would be easily recognizable from the listener's own thoughts, as they tended to resonate, and were always on the highest level of thought, one that most humans did not use.

 

Well, nothing for it but to try. Horace wasn't very good at writing, but she noticed that another poet had already signed with an X, so that must be acceptable. Then she paused. That meant X was already used, didn't it? So she signed with a Y and made her way up to the stage. She stood for a long moment, wondering why Gabriel didn't begin, forgetting as usual that he could not see.

 

The audience began to notice this strange, reddish tinted person, fidgetting on the stage. Finally she hefted her briefcase and whispered, unintentionally loud enough for everyone to hear, "Why aren't you saying anything?!"

 

So Gabriel started.

 

Oh moonlight, moonlit, moon of light,

Lightly shining, shines so softly.

Circle shining, light so mournful,

Mournful light makes up the night.

 

Oh sunrise, light rise, raise the sun,

Rise to heavens, Heaven's sun.

Circle, bright light, bright so rising,

Rousing light makes up the morn.

 

There was a distinct pause. Horace watched the effect on the audience, most of which was sitting up in their seats, not watching the stage at all, but some far-off point of their own brains, trying to figure out what was going on. Then Gabriel's whisper, still carrying across the room, Did it work? Did they all hear me? Horace nodded and ran off the stage before they looked at her again.

Edited May 26, 2005 by Katzaniel

[Peredhil]

Guido gave a happy sigh as the psychic poem ended. He felt sorry for his Boss, who had automatic defenses against such things and simply hadn't heard it. A closed mind catches no poems.

 

Peering at Peredhil, Guido began to smile to himself. Peredhil was too polite not to listen, but sometimes he didn't catch everything...

 

"Say Boss, wouldn't it be a Good Idea if you sent Nuncio up to the Stage. It would help him to grow."

 

Peredhil started as if poked with a needle.

 

"Umm, quite right, I owe you the change to grow, and promote growth. Nuncio, you jump right on that!" Peredhil settled back into tracing runes with his finger on the table that only he could see.

 

Nuncio sat with mouth firmly shut, arms crossed over his chest, glaring at Guido. Guido sat back slowly and smiled back.

 

"Nunce, you heard da Boss. Go grow."

 

With a black look that should've struck the snickering Guido with plague or lightning, or at least stopped the gleam in his eyes, Nuncio made his way slowly to the sign-up book.

Unfortunately, no one leapt in front of him. Guido squirmed in gleeful anticipation. Nuncio forgot how to talk small when nervous.

With a deep sigh he signed his name, and mounted the stage, squinting out against the light.

He winced at the thuds and squeals as he tried to adjust the mike up, and settled for crouching slighly.

 

"Ummm" He jumped back in surprise, reflexively drawing a gun as his voice blared out over the speakers. Reluctantly approaching, he tried again, and ended up nearly whispering, totally forgetting he still had a drawn gun in his paw.

 

I am an unostentatious guinea pig, of sicilean genesis you know.

I'm not a trouveur or adherent of any singular manifestations of a Muse.

I'm longsuffering and longanimous to a fault

As is attested by unending tolerance of Guido's abuse.

 

You may ascertain a pulchritudinous Rodent of Unusual Size,

And While I'm not an loquacious open-mike dazzler or pursy poetic peer,

I've learned to show bravado when thrust into the spotlight

To disregard the ignis fatuus of fame lest a cicatrix be found in a derogitory sniggle or leer.

 

Such a laudable clientele of dramaturgic devotees

deserve better than a besetment pest

So I retreat to my seat having done my best.

 

With a jerky bow, Nuncio raced back to the table.

[Vlad]

Zariah looked at the judge's table where Wyvern was sitting. We've got one of them here... The other two should have arrived by now... Pushing the thoughts from her mind, she went back to her place at the door.

 

No later than when she reached her post, another person walked in - Vlad. With a cursory greeting, the newcomer walked directly to the stage. Ignoring the creative costuming of the staff at this event and the crashing of... everything, the lich carefully signed his name up on the list. Making small-talk with Revery while Nuncio finished up his performance, Vlad assured the organizer of this event that it would all turn out great.

 

Walking on stage, looking slightly disheveled, his mind raced to which piece he would perform. Something new. It has to be something new...

 

 

 

The koala and the elephant

They frolik to and fro

Yet they are so bitter enemies

Who's battles go and go

 

The snake and the rattle

Inseprable at birth

Tend to grow apart with time

Although never found alone

 

[pause]

 

If I saw a tree

Everytime I talked of stars

Then eskimos would ravage

The deserted desert lands

 

[longer pause]

 

A stapler!

 

[even longer pause]

 

The petunias and the merigolds

Grow so happily until they meet

But only when geranuims meddle

Do we have a deeply rooted war

 

[short pause]

 

That's some poetry especially for you Let's give our wonderful wait staff a quick hand here. Have a few drinks, folks, you'll appreciate my works more.

 

 

 

Stepping off the stage, Vlad shakes a few pair of hands before taking his place at the judging table next to Wyvern. After thinking for a moment, he moves himself to the other edge, leaving an open spot for the final judge in the center.

Edited May 26, 2005 by Vlad

[Cerulean]

A lone voice far off pipes: 'I always said those geraniums were up to no good'. With a knowing shake of her head, Helga shoulders her shell and continues past the rowdy hall bound for the Pen Gardens and blessed foliage.

[Mynx]

Finally succeeding in catching Mynx's eye for another cup of coffee, Cryptomancer grinned at his friend as she brought the tray over.

Mynx managed a tired smile at the Runemage - she was beginning to get rather tired and frazzled what with having her workload doubled with the 'job' of cleaning up after Thomas.

Placing the drink on the table, Mynx straightened up and looked at her friend who appeared to be staring avidly in her direction.

"Will one be enough or will you..." Mynx paused and looked at Cryptomancer, before clearing her throat.

"Crypt?"

"Yeah?"

"Stop staring at my owls. My eyes are here."

[Ayshela]

A slightly disheveled Ayshela strode through the door with an apologetic look for reverie and Zariah. "I'm sorry I'm late, it's been a bit hectic lately. I know I'm signed up for the open mike, should I go on after Vlad or is there someone else ready then?"

 

Zariah quietly assured Ayshela that her going on next would be fine, so they watched the crowd gathering while listening to Vlad. Ayshela took the moment to quickly smooth her hair and brush her clothing back into proper order so that when she took the stage she was prepared.

 

Taking the mike she smiled briefly at the audience and said ,"Before I begin, I assure you this is nothing related to any of you." Scanning the crowd once more, she took a breath and nearly spat the words...

 

 

 

Pride

 

Backbiting, badmouthing, backstabbing bitch

you claim that you love her then try to destroy

what little remains, not just of your friendship

but those she has led you to, sharing the wealth

of warm hearts, companionship, friends in dark hours

knowing you needed them, shoring you up -

she gave you everything and watched it all sour

as you turned them against her to make them all yours.

Backbiting, badmouthing, backstabbing bitch

it's only in forms of betrayal, you're rich.

 

 

With a wry smile for the stunned silence, Ayshela returned the mike to its stand and made her way to the judges' table. Warily looking at the remaining seat which Vlad had carefully left for her next to Wyvern, Ayshela muttered to herself "I think I might need a drink for this." and went in search of a purveyor of scotch before taking her seat.

[reverie]

Fountain frantically hurried his way through the halls towards the carbaret room, scolding himself for waiting 'till the absolute last minute... Peering around the door, he gasped aloud at scene. The crowd was more than he had expected. Suppressing a gulp of anxiety, he made his way in as unobrusive as possilble, trying not to draw attention away from Ayshela who was just finishing...

 

He completing failed though... Ayshela's poem so mark him with it's strong sentiments, that he missed a step, stumpled and perceded to banged his shin loudly into the Judges Table...

 

Wincing in some from the pain he gave a apoligetic smile towards the Wyvern and Vlad, then tried to make himself look small.

 

Eyes Cast down, he finished making his way, avoiding the look revery gave him and hurriedly signed the book.

 

 

 

Davie Poplar

 

Eternally Inspired

By the exuberance of perpetual youth

The old poplar tree persists.

Though hollow now, and filled with questionable stone

An Icon, his roots run deep…

 

Standing tall, leaves full and majestic

The Old Patriarch still blooms green

Though supported with helping hands…

The Poplar often wavered, but never fell.

 

Though lightening blast and foundations shake

Whether from God or the prideful spite of Man,

He resolved to stand.

In the persistent, land which bore him…

 

...

Edited May 27, 2005 by reverie

[Zariah]

Zariah found some time to think up a "replacement" poem to present.

Not really excited, since it was raw and unpolished, she still made her way on stage.

 

"All right, I've something to share. I beg you beware...for it's a rough sketch of something I'll clean up later. But just like anime fans like to see the artists "rough sketches"...this is the equivalent in a poem I suppose...."

 

Zariah began to recite her words in a flow and felt the potential....

 

"Words you used…they pierced my heart

But I’m fighting back

I’m biting back

To show you that a wound is just a patch

A trophy scar showing who you really are

I wear it loud and proud

And hate you I do not

But I’m fighting back

 

You called me many things

But I know what you really meant

Words obscured to mirror hate

Since I was straight and you were bent

I was an easy target, I admit

But now I’m fighting back

 

If only then I’d realized your pain

Those daggers I could’ve seen as tears

Your fears and situation

With stipulation

I’d have understood

That truly you ARE good

But better late than never I suppose….

 

I’m biting back

To penetrate your heart

With realization

Understanding…

And concern….

Forgiveness…

And Love.

 

I’m fighting back with love."

 

She gave a slight bow and smiled. She felt good for contributing something poetry-like. Participation was one of her favorite feelings.

[reverie]

Revery watched intently as Zariah performed. Tuning into his discerning eye, he pondered his friend's performance..."She's not that bad is she, Fountain?"

 

Fountain seated to his left perked up, "Bad? That was great improv...much better than mine"

 

Revery smiled pushing aside the slight, "Eh, you did fine...just stop procrastinating and you'll find your life less stressful...not that you have too much to stress over..."

 

At that point Revery noticed a, a slightly disleveled Mynx working her way towards them...

 

"Order me a chai when she makes her way over here Fountain, I'm going to make the next annoucement," he said. Then thinking it over, "On second thought, go throw on an apron and find Zariah...I think Mynx could used some help out there."

 

Fountain let loose a long suffering sigh that belied his youthful appearance. He seemed ready to respond, then thinking better of it, nodded slightly and went off to meet with Zariah and Mynx...

Edited May 28, 2005 by reverie

[reverie]

Watching As Fountain strolled off, Revery readied himself. It's time, he thought.

And with that he closed the Open Mike ledger and walked over to the Stage.

 

Scanning the crowd of familar faces, Revery beamed with pride...

 

This really is a lot of fun, I can't believe I waited this long to do this, he thought.

 

Focusing now, he began:

 

 

Good Evening. Friends, Guests, and Pennites Great and Small... I am Revery the dreamlost, and let me be the first to welcome you all to first Mighty Pen Open Poetry Slam Competition. First off let's give a hand for all the wonderful and brave Open Mike Poets out there.

 

Applause errupted throughout the room, and serveral of the younger Open Mike poets visibly blushed from the attention. As the applause died away, Revery began again:

 

Also, please be sure to thank your Hostress and fellow staff in the most appropriate of way. Come on people, don't be stingy, they have educations to pay for....

 

Okay, now we are moving into the main Event: The Poetry Slam. Pennite's you are in for a Treat. We have five fine Slam Poets competing this Evening. This means we be having two rounds of competition. One Poem shall be read for every round of competition. In turn each poem shall be scored by a superb panel of judges... Please note that only three Poets will advance to the Second and Final Round of Competition. The winner of theCompetition shall recieve a special prize from our featured guest, none other than the ethereal and wise Cyril Darkcloud.

 

May I present to the judges:

 

Here seated before you is the ever-versatile Elder of Iniates, a Patron Saint and SPB (Shiny Pen Bard) who also happens to be the Founder of the Almost Dragonic Brand Enterprises, the Pen's very own Wyvern...

 

To his left we have the engimatic, passionate, nocturnal, and up and coming future elder in training (he just doesn't know it yet ), Vlad the Imploder... Vlad with be accepting donations of black magick puppies all night at the bar...

 

And last, but certainly not least, we have the clever, constructive, and ever supportive Mistress of Shadows from the Story Weaver's Guild...Our Lovely Troubadour, Ayshela...

 

As the applause died away... Revery paused to introduce the Slam Poets:

 

 

Will the Slam Poets please rise when called:

 

From the Articulate Artisans of Alliteration: The recently frocked Co-Guild Leader and simply marvelous poet and wordsmith: Mira

 

Not to be out done, the incredibly adept and deceptively simple: Loki Wyrd, The Unknown Poet. Hopefully, the title shall prove false in the illumination of time.

 

Next up we have Gabriel the Archangel of Heaven. Gabriel is accompanied by the fiercely mysterious briefcase-wielding: Horace... Horace's briefcase has also been featured in the theatrical engagement "Pulp Fiction" and is also available for Weddings and Barmistvas...

 

We are also honored to have with us a Modern Day Minstrel with a Urbane Flair for straight up self expression... The Mighty Mighty Freestyle Page Poet: Drummondo

 

Last and by no means least, we have The Raven, the Keeper of Carla's tongue...Who may yet to be truely named, but still florishes as an up and coming Poet with fire in his eyes...I give you the Runemage: Cryptomancer

 

Come on people give them all a hand...

 

Once the applause died down, Revery continued:

 

The Slam Competition will be begin after a brief intermission... Please take this time to refresh yourselves... Also immediately following the Competition we will be have a very special guest performing. Please stay and you will not be disapointed. Believe me you do not want to miss this performance.

 

Thank you.

 

And with that the dreamlost seated himself and waited for the competition to commence...

Edited May 30, 2005 by reverie

[Loki Wyrd]

Loki steps to the mic, and clears his throat.

 

 

"Now would be an appropriate time to go get a beverage or use the bathroom, if you must."

 

"Eh, this is a slammish little thing I wrote up for the occasion..."

 

 

This is take-out

Southbound on the freeway

76 miles per hour on the dash

Burning 4 gallons an hour

With the windows down

Grease-seething paper bag

Riding shotgun

Fries tumbling

Cell phone ringing

 

Voracious youth in the background

Seat-belted in

Chubby little fingers reaching out

To touch someone

[[[E. Coli-conditioned sweat suit

Everyone, hold hands

Fear of a generation spreading

Energizer Bunny® propagating

Relentless banging on his drum

Penetration, freedom permutations

 

Marketing figures

Justifiable cause--disclaimer's discretion

Revival on speed dial

Where Poison Control echoes

Penetrate subterranean feed lines

[[[Ambrosia outdone

Drilling for home

Not again, you can't go

 

 

(Note: '[' represent spaces, though it can be tough to pick up on them when I'm reading )

 

 

 

Addendum: I don't know if there is any interest in actually hearing this , but I can email an mp3 version of it to anyone who is. PM me if so.

Edited May 28, 2005 by Loki Wyrd

[Mynx]

Mynx smiled tiredly with relief as Fountain (albeit begrudgingly) volunteered himself as an addition to the wait staff.

"That would be brilliant!" she enthused, handing him an apron and a cloth.

"To start, would you mind clearing table 13? I haven't had the chance to get there yet and I still have 15 drinks to serve..."

Nodding and forcing a smile, Fountain began weaving his way through the crowds while Mynx went in the opposite direction delivering drinks.

She took advantage of the brief respite Reverie's announcement gave her from the attentions of the audience to down a 6 shot coffee herself and fix her hair. Grinning widely as the caffeine coursed through her bloodstream and took effect, Mynx set off once more about her work, eyes and ears searching through the visual and audio noise for the various orders, requests, and crashes that were making up the feline's evening.

[Wyvern]

"Not shiny yet," hisses Wyvern after revery has finished introducing the judges. He taps a claw twice on the "Bribery Bin" that rests at his side. "But please, slam poetsss, do consider a small donation to go along with revery'sss intro. I promise that it will go to a good cause. Namely, the cause of your being included in my judging decisions."

 

The reptilian Elder sneers as the assembled slam poets cast him awkward glances. He then cocks his scaly feet onto the pannel table, knocking over Ayshela's tall Mocha Capuccino.

 

"Oh, and remember, always refer to me as the Mighty Judge Wyvmettic when you speak to me." Wyvern winks in the direction of the slam poets. "Otherwise, your poem fails."

 

The slam poets murmer amongst themselves. Wyvern claps his claws twice and lets out an obnoxious whistle.

 

"Waiiiiiiittttreeeeessssssss! Can I get a glittery crown that fits a head with horns, a large peacock feather, a tall glass of melted chocolate and a soothing massage? And make it snappy!"

 

----

 

Shiny the Elder Dwarf bumps into spectator after spectator, her vision blocked by a large gem that rests in front of her face. She guides herself by touch until a hand falls upon her gold-plated, jewel-studded shoulder.

 

"Shiny, right?"

 

"Yeah," comes a muffled voice from under the jewels. "But tonight, my name's Glitzy. Who're you?"

 

The sound of a rustling bag answers her. She pauses for a moment as a hand grabs her other shoulder.

 

"Hey! What're you-"

 

The bag is tied shut with a *clink.*

 

----

 

Sexy the Elder Dwarf mulls over a bottle of white wine at the Slam Quest bar. He sighs and lifts it to his lips, downing a shot.

 

"Say," grunts the bartender. "Ain't you that, uhh, that Dwarf? The Sexy one?"

 

"Kinda," murmers Sexy glumly. He brushes a speck of dust from his purple furry coat. "This evening, I've been nicked Sleazy. Go figure, psssshhhh."

 

"Why so glum?"

 

"Well, you see that waiter over there?" Sleazy points a finger at Thomas. "Thanks to that guy, I just haven't been able to get my mack on correctly this evening. Why, if he was half his size-"

 

"Hey, hey, cool it." The bartender casts Sleazy a patronizing look. "Lemme get you another drink."

 

----

 

Bravery the Elder Dwarf makes his way through the Conservatory crowds as Loki Wyrd begins reading his poem. The dwarf's guns clink against each other as he turns in the direction of Guido, and he tightens his bandana upon spotting him.

 

"Hey, pig." Bravery strikes a macho pose, claiming "realer than real" status. "You like rappin bout' shootin dem guns, don't ya? Well, let's see ya use'em, tough guy."

 

Guido raises a brow at the Elder Dwarf.

 

"Brav'ry? What're youse doing?"

 

"Not Bravery this evening." The Dwarf undoes a few bonds on his back, and picks up two large tommy guns. He wavers from side to side under their weight. "Tonight, the name's Thuggity! Represent, represent fool!"

[Mynx]

"Waiiiiiiittttreeeeessssssss!"

Mynx winced as she heard Wyvern's cry pierce her sensitive ears.

"Can I get a glittery crown that fits a head with horns, a large peacock feather, a tall glass of melted chocolate and a soothing massage? And make it snappy!"

He wants what?! her mind wondered in confusion, before the final command to 'make it snappy' brought her to her senses.

You want snappy? I'll give you snappy... Mynx thought to herself, before putting on her widest smile for the Almost Dragon.

 

"Why, of course Mighty Judge Wyvmettic! I'll be right back with your order!"

Well, Wyvern thought smugly as he watched Mynx disappear and return almost immediately with a large trolley, It's nice to get some respect around here!

"Here you are sir!" Mynx giggled. "Just as you ordered!"

Before he could react, Wyvern felt a crown that felt about 2 sizes two small jammed on his head, blinding him as it stuck in place.

"Crown," Mynx stated. "Feather,"

A large, dusty feather was placed in one scaly claw, the movement causing dust to blow up his nose and make it itch horribly.

"Oh, I'm SO sorry, Mighty Judge Wyvmettic! The only peacock feather I could find was way up in the Pen attic! Here, maybe the melted chocolate will help. A tall glass, just like you ordered."

Feeling the glass pressed into his other claw, and scenting the chocolate, Wyvern forgot about his prediciment and raised the glass to his snout - only to have it stop there.

"Oh!" Mynx mock wailed, " I'm so sorry! You said a tall glass and I assumed you wanted a narrow one too. Silly silly Mynx!"

"Nevermind," Wyvern muttered from beneath the crown. "How about that massage?"

"Right away sir!" Mynx immediately began to work at the Almost Dragon's shoulders, bringing a small sigh of relief from the scaley lips.

"Oh! I forgot! You wanted it snappy!"

Before he could protest, Wyvern felt talons digging into his shoulders as Mynx's owls each took a shoulder and began 'massaging' with their claws, occasionally snapping at the Almost Dragon when he twitched in pain.

 

"Hope you're happy with your order, oh Mighty Judge Wyvmettic!" Mynx giggled.

"I have to go help some of the other attendants now, but I'll be back in a while for my owls. Byyyyyyye!"

With that, Mynx bounced off, leaving the remaining two judges (and more than a few Slam Poets and members of the audience) snickering at Wyvern's prediciment.

[cryptomancer]

The Raven landed on a table that had been placed in a prime location in front of the judges. a glittering headband on his head, and a towel draped over his shoulders as he sipped from a sports bottle, (filled with espresso).

 

"Morning as the inspired mind knows breaks the day asunder, spilling the glory of its promises to feed the life of all."

 

Pausing and looking quizzically at the gathered crowd,

 

"To morning I summon my heart"

 

 

And thus the Raven began.

 

 

It was a dark and dreary morn

All helpless and forlorn

That in the echoes of nightlessness

Embraced the winter dawn

 

Sleep eyed and dream soaked

To tired limbs my soul spoke

Eyes fastened on the bed

Legs tied in bands of lead

 

Each step each step

Only a few more

Each step each step

I shall reach the door

 

The cold awoke my sleeping shell

And I recall the dreams that fell

For shattering upon the concrete floor

I left my sleep at the front door.

 

Legs awoke from the dream

Each embraced the foe unseen

And in the adrenalin flow

Muscle and heart whispered, “go”

 

Each step each step

Last one I tread

Each step each step

I should still be in bed.

 

The dew glittered around

Scatterings on the ground

Each drop a hopeful chant

That I with rest my body grant

 

I flew over the tumbled night

Each ray of dawn followed my plight

I fled the dreams I fled the bed

The echoes of blood pounding in my head.

 

Each step each step

The pavement calls

Each step each step

The waistline falls

 

I saw the sky I saw the sea

The rim of the sun glanced at me

I closed my heart to sand and surf

I followed the path across the turf

 

The hill I knew, my bane of old

Majestic and sheer in the cold

The road went up and so did I

Each step closer to the sky

 

Each step each step

Heart pounding fast

Each step each step

I will outlast.

 

The hill is won the summit gained

Rejoicing that it hasn’t rained

I set my path to the sheltered tile

Home again in just over a mile.

 

Drips of dew fell from the tree

Drips of dew that seemed to be

Falling from the branch above?

No branch just cloud, “oh for the love….”

 

Each step each step

What’s with the rain?

Each step each step

Each time the same.

 

My door at last in plain sight

My body tensed and in it’s might

My legs gained strength as never before

And my sprint took me to the threshold floor

 

Drenched and tired, upon the floor

Sore and soaked, under the door

Tick of time my watch cut short

And numbers noted as my breath caught.

 

Each step each step

Fitness craze fed

Each step each step

I should have stayed in bed.

………

 

[Peredhil]

Guido looked with an incredulous grin from Bravery, oh 'cuse me, Thuggity, to Peredhil, who was still deep in thought, to Nuncio, who'd settled back into his chair with a delighted smile of his own.

"Well dear brother," Nuncio said smugly, "It appears you've been challenged." He continued with a happy sigh, "It appears there is justice after all."

Guido turned and eyed the dwarf with mixed emotions. He really liked the little guy, but he'd been called out. Normally by now, he'd have taken the guns and tried body art with them, but Peredhil had a knack of coming back to reality at the most awkward times, this was one of the Seven Pen Dwarves, and it might put a damper on the poetic mojo.

 

As Guido hesitated, Thomas, turning to watch the Raven's bow as his performance concluded, tripped over Thuggity. Guido and Nunico dove under the table, one paw reaching up to snag Peredhil down after. Thomas went down in a tangle of limbs with Thuggity, Thompson sub-machine guns flying one way as glassway and tray flew the other.

 

As the glasses shattered, spewing contents in alcoholic pools, the Tommy guns hit and began firing. In the sort of improbablity that seemed to delight and cavort with Wyvern's presents and plans, the bullets managed not to wound anyone - almost.

 

Wyvern's fluted glass shattered, along with the held glasses of most of the crowd, Cryptomancer lost the very tip of a tail feather, and Minx watched a single severed whisker fall.

 

There was silence in the room. Then in a whooshing inhalation, most were talking at once.

 

Peredhil, oblivious to the moment, continued to mutter fragments such as "moon... june... cliched! Argh. Calamity... don't ya see... Pit!" An ochre liquid pooled around his right sleeve, and suddenly he was jerked back to awareness.

 

Guido and Nuncio, guns at alert and scanning the crowd for reaction, both jumped as a muffled voice came from beneath them. Unfortunately, as they were under the table, they both bonked their heads. The voice repeated itself most calmly.

 

"Why am I under bodyguard butts?" As the Guinea Pigs scrambled to uncover their Boss, they winced to hear, "Why is my Armani raw silk shirt sleeve now dissolving in what appears to be Ole Peculiar?"

 

They pulled Peredhil from the floor and began daubing ineffectually at the sleeve in question.

Peredhil blinked at the display of Bravery trying to get free of a very helpful but clumsy young man whose eager apologies and attempts to help were keeping them tangled in a heap on the floor.

Taking in the shattered glass and spray of drinks, he took a deep breath and pinched his nose lightly.

 

Guido and Nuncio stopped daubing and moved away slowly.

 

Reaching over to Guido, Peredhil removed a knife from the frozen Pig and delicately cut away the dissolving sleeve. He silently passed the knife back.

 

With a sigh, he chanted softly Words, and sealed them with a Gesture. The broken glass was gone. The rest of the glassware was now unbreakable.

 

"Help them to their feet please."

 

With a final rueful glance at his sleeve, he went back to trying to think of a piece worthy of Reverie.

[Katzaniel]

Horace returned to the stage when Gabriel was called up, this time remembering to jiggle the briefcase in signal. The kidnapped Archangel, uncharacteristically nervous, muttered, It's shorter than I'd hoped, but it's complete... Well, here goes, before launching into the actual poem.

 

Once with whistling winds I wandered,

now on sea of sand I stand.

Whispered words should ne'er be squandered;

laughing love brought life to land.

 

Once I walked with gait unhindered -

now I'll be on beach awhile.

Better that her love should linger:

I'd stay and still my heart would smile.

Edited May 30, 2005 by Katzaniel

[drummondo]

I am troubled; I never could play roles.

If you think this makes me any worse then step up here and say so.

 

You'll see a lotta poets thinkin' they can flow it but this show itself is hopeless,

Cos I own it from the opening; I joke and sing and soak in bling; a token ring.

I go for broke with spoken things, sometimes I hope to choke on wind, if only so I float without your wings...

 

You think I find it easy boasting here? I roast your ears and peer into the skies,

Because I mostly fear your eyes, they sear, and leer, and jeer at lies, it's like they know my whole life...

 

Please-tell-me-how-it-ends...

Can we be friends?

I thought not, friendship is a curse...

 

I'm just a poet with a thirst for air,

The only person spitting verse

Who's not allowed to swear, 'cos curses

Only serve to scare, and that's a first,

Now if I don't get these emotions off, I'll burst,

And what's worse, is that you'll all appreciate,

Like you can rate my written traits,

Like you relate to what you've seen,

But you're too late, 'cos I'm already me...

 

Already me...

 

And no-one can pretend to be depressed;

Don't second-guess my personal mess.

 

I'm not the best at amusing rooms, I start abusing too soon,

I jest at scars that never felt a wound, so let's assume I'm dressed to swoon,

I'm playing roles to win, and not to lose, and if I had to choose,

I'd pick my words with interviews, I need to know their news...

I like opinions, I'm into views, I have several winter do's

To keep my brain warm; I carry pens in case I have a brainstorm,

I feign scorn at those who sit on fences, but I remain torn.

I mainly mourn the passing of time; the late, great-grand-father-clock-chimes in time to my rhymes...

[Mira]

Mira watched the other Slam Poets with great interest. They were good, all of them, and he was going to have to be at his best if he even hoped to reach the second round of the Slam. Once Drummondo had finishe, he stood up, took a second to compose himself and to make sure his coat was strait, and approached the stage.

 

When he reached the mic he graciously bowed to the judges and said, "Vlad, Ayshela, Mighty Judge Wyvmettic, and esteemed members of the audience. I have prepared a piece for you tonight, which I will read for you now. It is titled "Daedalus Son" From within his coat pocked he produced a piece of paper, cleared his throat, and began.

 

With unchecked reckless force,

he hit the clear blue water.

The crisp coolness of the sea,

sharply contrasted the heat of the sun.

 

It solidified the wax.

It took his breath away.

 

He tried to swim;

the ruined remains of wings squandered his efforts.

Vainly he kicked and clawed at the water.

The world seemed to swell;

Whirl.

He blinked,

and everything was clear.

 

How cruel of the gods,

to grant him this moment of absolute realization,

right before the end.

 

Realization, which let him see that

there could only be one prayer worth saying.

Only one prayer that would give him escape.

 

He surrendered.

Opened his mouth;

his throat.

 

And for the second time

in his sad short life,

he was free.

 

Once finished, Mira stood for a moment in silence before once again bowing to the judges and exiting the stage. On his way back to his seat though, he swung by the judge’s table. As he drew near a geld piece suddenly appeared in his hand. It rolled along Mira's fingers, catching the light, and more importantly the eye of one of the judges, whose mouth began to water at the sight of it. Once at the table, he dipped his hand into the jar once marked "Donations Bin for the Charity of Cute, Innocent Kittens". The clink of coin brought a grin to the Almost Dragon’s face, and it was not until later that he learned the sound was not of geld going into his jar, but rather, out.

[Vlad]

Vlad sits at the judges table for a few minutes, before deciding that it's too cramped for his style there. Sneaking away from the would-be focus of the slammers' attention, the lich finds an open spot near a cute lady that he hasn't seen in a while. Settling in - and ordering a Triple Venti Mocha Esspresso - he prepares for some good poetry.

 

--- [Loki Word's Poem: This Is Take-Out] ---

 

Loki had just barely finished his last line when Vlad turned to the lady sitting next to him with a wry grin. "I usually hope to get more than nineteen miles to the gallon." She just lets out a laugh and nods.

 

"It wasn't bad..." he continues. "I like the idea of pop culture riding along with you in your car. I like the corporate metaphors, and he did a nice job tying it all together."

 

"But what about that end... didn't it leave you... hanging?" she rebutted.

 

"Thinking, maybe."

 

Both Vlad and his friend smiled, then looked back at the stage awaiting the next poet.

 

--- [Cryptomancer's Poem: To Morning I Summon My Heart] ---

 

"Each step he takes brings him close-"

"-er than before," Vlad's companion interjected.

 

"That's not what I was going to say."

"I know."

"What'd you think of the poem?"

"Philosophical... It's not really about staying fit, you know..."

"I know."

"It's about the-"

"Shhh... the next poet's getting on stage."

 

She started to protest, but he placed a finger on her lips and motioned to the front with his other hand, ignoring the gunfire taking place around them.

 

--- [Horace's Poem: Untitled] ---

 

"Quite the high-brow piece of work, wouldn't you agree?" Vlad probed.

"It's short..."

"But sweet."

"It's like a tongue twister..."

"That's alliteration, m'dear."

"Oh look, someone else!"

 

--- [Drummondo's Poem: Troubled] ---

 

Vlad turned to his companion, and for the first time that night sat in silence.

 

"Yes?"

"That was intense." Vlad had a calm, glazed look in his eyes. Probably from the amount of coffee he'd already had.

"It was a weak topic. It was about writing."

"Well, I liked it. He took the topic and ran with it."

"You'll like anything that the poets spit out tonight..."

 

"Yes. Yes I will."

 

--- [Mira's Poem: Daedalus Son] ---

 

"Freedom, what a classy subject," the lich mused.

"So cliche, if you ask me."

"I didn't."

"..."

"Oh, come on... Don't give me that look."

"..."

"Fine, what did you think of the poem?"

"It was cliche."

"Was that the last one?"

"I think so."

 

Vlad sat for a moment contemplating, then scribbled down five numbers on a napkin. Calling Mynx over, he planned on asking her to take the scores to the other judges. Upon her arrival, however, Vlad found himself visibly distracted.

 

A finger was tapping him on the shoulder from behind. "Those aren't her eyes, you know."

"What's not her eyes now?"

"What you're looking at. Those aren't her eyes."

"Oh, right. Umm... What was I looking at then?"

"Her hoo-"

 

"You need another cup, Vlad?" Mynx interrupted, not wanting to hear the rest of that sentance.

"No, no... Can you take this to the other judges?" Vlad asked holding out a napkin.

"Sure thing. Is that the scores?"

The lich nodded.

 

As she walked off to deliver the note, Vlad distinctly saw Mynx unfold the napkin and take a peek before heading to clean up after Thomas some more.