Messages

Well, Villager and I were talking about coming down for a day in about two weeks, since I forgot about this and was pretty not well off on Friday. I'll repost this bit in the Providence spags thread if you like.

Screw that.  Come for a curling lesson this weekend in Bridgewater.

You fuckers better vote for Trump, or there's gonna be hell toupee. 

And that finishes this story arc. My SOs think I need mental help.

It was certainly exciting.

The awful shriveled little soul in me is giddy about the fact that you thought you didn't have the bastardry to have Sams kill Shareese, but you're totally cool with tearing a child asunder.

I'll second Feet of Clay and the Moist von Lipwig books (but especially Going Postal).  Really the wonderful thing about Pratchett is that you can't go wrong.

For Neil Gaiman, it's a short read but The Graveyard Book is very good, and of course the standards of Neverwhere, Anansi Boys, and American Gods.



Just finished reading No Country for Old Men.  If The Road and Blood Meridian hadn't convinced me, I love Cormac McCarthy.  The movie for this one is probably the most faithful adaptation I've seen.

[his parents and friends deserve it all.]

Pickle, you might want to consider having some sort of sympathy for people who kill themselves. No one in their right mind does that. It's a mark of extreme and unhelped mental illness.

it's selfish, and the ultimate "look at me, me me" act.  It's self serving at its worst.  oh, you can't fucking cope?  life's too fucking much for you and you want to leave the planet early?  fine, tell everyone you know what you plan to do, everyone who loves you, thinks about you and cares about you.  tell THEM it's just too much for you to handle and get their thoughts on the matter first.  If the people who know and care for you agree that it's hopeless for you to remain on the planet, there's no better way, you're in too much pain and it would be a mercy for you to shove off this mortal coil, THEN fine, do it.  But do it privately, quietly, and not in front of a room full of fucking strangers.  Fuck him.  Those people have to go to sleep the rest of their lives with that fucking shit in their brain.  No one exists in a vacuum, and no matter how alone you may think you are, there's going to be at least one person you fuck in the brain for life when you decide to take your own life.  

And this is coming from a self proclaimed libertarian, who also happens to be the sort of bloke that helps out complete strangers when it's in my ability to do so.  

fuck him, I've no sympathy at all.  his parents and friends deserve it all.  he deserves exactly what he gave himself.

Hey Pickle, my brother committed suicide. So did someone else's on the board. You are now officially on my "total piece of worthless shit" list, and I will endeavor to make the rest of your time here as unpleasant as possible.

I believe what Pickle was saying was that his parents and friends deserve all the SYMPATHY, Nigel, not that they deserve him killing himself.

Five armored figures walk in a line down the sewer tunnels of Southampton, England.  Adorning each is a cheerful cartoon Lock Ness monster, complete with smile and kilt, of the sort found in the roadside rest areas leading to the attraction.  The first figure, the one in the lead, is the simplest.  The monster is green, its big watery eyes spared the marks of the large red X over the image.  The Hessian moves patiently, and with a nervousness that belies the deadly strike he's come to teach his followers.

Behind him the Loch Ness monster shares the same colorings, down to plaid of the kilt.  The exception is its eyes, which are scratched out in a scribbling angry hand.  Its bearer, a Hessian.  They are, all of them, The Hessian's students and they bear his name.  But they are a Hessian, and their leader is The Hessian.  In the rare times the other Templars question it, this is what they are told.  The eyeless monster moves like a panther.

Following, the third in the line, a deep red color for the drawing.  At times a thick coagulation and at others a flaking crust, the monster is made of blood.  Blood of Nessie or blood of man is unknown; blood is in no shortage here.  An air of nonchalance shows itself in the movement.

Second to last the Loch Ness monster is black on a painted white background.  It has no eyes or smile, its drawing is crude, and like the rest its X is bright red.  The look is almost that of a chess piece.  It gives little to the answer as to which side is winning the match.  The wearer walks as one with the man behind him, their movements practiced as they tread back to back in the narrow walkways, steady visors scanning their sides and rear.

Finally, a monster of what appears to be rust.  He is a mirror of the man before.  Back to back, eyes always scanning.  He feels the group halt without seeing it.  The first of The Hessian's students, the most apt to guard their secondary point of vulnerability.

They stop.  Each of them questions why, silently.  The move again.  Passing the spot they'll search for the reason behind their pause.  No reason will come from the scene, but it follows shortly with the song.  Nessie's song the sweet lullaby the concert the show the sorrowful and angry death bell of the sewers, the sultry voice behind smoke and golden liquor the mockery of beloved music for its, more than anything, foreignness.  And the Hessians know the pause was the fear.

Nessie came, fast violent shadows and death in four forms.

"They're attacking the center," said The Hessian, "take your targets."

The line broke, as always, while the fighters moved to their assailants.  They moved to wait for the blow that would kill them.  It did not come.  Another blow came instead.

"I'm down," the rusted one cried.

"Down," the eyeless monster.

"They're pushing us out, glancing us to get us out of the way!  Get back up, they're surrounding the others," The Hessian shouted.  He worked with the servos to haul the weighty metal from the slime and muck of the bottom, desperate to stand before the attacking creatures.  It made too much sense.

All four Nessies coiled at once.  The figure with the chess piece charged.  He threw himself with all the weight of the armor behind him at the nearest attacker.  While his weapon pierced its flesh, he bowled forward still, with the faintest hope his momentum might take him beyond the reach of the second set of limbs.

The figure of blood took his target.  His second Nessie struck home.

Three fallen Hessians joined the fight again, squaring off as they'd been trained.  The Burst came appropriately, this time, with surprise no longer against them.

Two of them tended to the wounded man, the one with the Loch Ness monster of black.  His suit was malfunctioning and he bled and he moved, weakly.

The Hessian stood above their fifth.  Behind the visor lay eyes no longer lit by the spark of curiosity that set this group, not above, but aside from their peers.  They were the eyes of a young man.  They were the eyes of two others before him that walked beside their leader in the sewers.  And before even them, they were the eyes of a young man whose foolishness was not to tread through the death wish tunnels, but merely to talk to the wrong friend.

I'm getting there, sorry guys. Work has been a bitch and I keep injuring myself in new and interesting ways. There's one more segment, maybe two. Sams lives, the hooker dies. That much I have. I planned on writing the rest Saturday after I get off work.

Can I kill the hooker? Write it any way you want, but if the hooker gets killed by a nessie (or, alternately, gets killed by something else right as the nessie is about to get her), that would be aces.

The hooker dies via a Nessie. I like the Sams-kills-the-hooker angle but don't know if I possess sufficient amounts of bastardry to do it. We'll see what happens.

There's straight up wild mass guessing about your storyline.   

As a firm believer in break the hero, I think Sams should accidentally kill the hooker while trying to kill ECH's Nessie.   

EoC,
total bastard.

MUST NOT BE NAMED.  MUST NOT BE NAMED.

I don't have a clear idea for what to do with The Hessian.  Sams I figure I could pick back up when CPD finishes up her storyline, though that again I'm not sure where to go.

The asking price is actually a steal, because while I'm no expert, I'm pretty sure those are dragon's eggs.

Thanks.

I've been a disgruntled old man since 14.   

Really enjoying reading this thread, EoC!

Hah, glad to hear it.  I realized shortly after making it that the really fucked up things I can't put up here for legal reasons, as they're ongoing cases and such.  But the absurd and stupid shit that happens during regular jail operations I'm totally alright with posting.

[D. Only B.]

The great minds of my department hard at work.  This was an answer key to a Corrections Ethics question during this morning's training:

A.  Applies to men only.
B.  Applies to women only.
C.  Applies to both men and women.
D.  Only B.

More of an annoying adult that pain in the ass kid....   

I'm sorry you're whining and you're only 25.  I mean really.... 

Que?

What?

Well you apparently just called me an annoying adult, and seem to think that I'm whining about something.  So I thought I should see if that's accurate.

jesus christ dude nevermind.  I'm very sorry and I'm not even going to try anymore.

I feel like I'm missing something here.