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Random Reality; Private at the moment
Topic Started: Mar 30 2018, 11:13 PM (477 Views)
MurderWeasel
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You've been counting stars, now you're counting on me
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Alright alright alright, it was finally almost time, and Phillip Olivares could barely sit still he was so excited. This was great. This was actually happening. He'd thought, okay, he'd sort of thought it would be really hard to get a group together that was on board for this sort of thing, like actually willing to buy in, because it was pretty weird. A lot of the stuff Phillip did was the sort of stuff other people thought was pretty weird, but this was a thing even he was fully ready to admit was unusual. Quirky. He'd tried to explain it to his parents, and they'd smiled and nodded but there'd been that little glimmer of concern, so Phillip had turned up the spin to full blast.

"A game," he'd said, "like, sort of like Monopoly and Risk, you know, or charades, except more complicated. Full of improvisation."

That had gotten the parental eyes glazing right over.

Yeah, okay, they'd said, have fun with your clown charades with your friends. We're gonna go see a movie. Or two. And then have dinner. Here's fifteen dollars if you get hungry; that should buy you guys two pizzas from Little Caesar's. If you want anything else, use your own money.

Phillip had smiled and nodded and been all enthusiastic, and then when the time had actually come closer his mom had said they should probably not just eat pizza, said maybe his friends would like a healthier snack, so she'd cut up a bunch of apples and left the wedges on a platter with a big pool of peanut butter in the middle.

Are any of your friends allergic to peanut butter, Phillip? she'd asked. Phillip didn't have a damn clue if anyone was allergic to peanut butter. He didn't even exactly know who was coming. Lucas, and Michael, and then each of them was bringing someone, he thought, maybe a couple girls? Wait a second, they weren't using this as a date sort of thing, were they? That just crossed Phillip's mind. He really hoped they weren't, but if they were, it was their funeral.

Pretty sure nobody's allergic to peanut butter, he said, and then Mom and Dad were out the door to their evening of freedom and marital bonding, and Phillip was left to wait.

The house wasn't amazing or anything, but it was comfortable and more or less clean. Everything was always vacuumed because dust really did a number on Phillip, and he liked things being pretty orderly so he could find all his stuff. It had been a little cramped growing up, but now that both his siblings were out on their own he had a bedroom all to himself, plus there was a guest bedroom. The living room was where he was set up, though, with the platter of apple wedges right in the middle of a low coffee table. A sofa faced it, and a couple chairs were perpendicular to the sofa. He'd been snacking on the fruit while waiting for everyone, unconsciously grabbing from the same area of the tray, so if the platter was a clock the space between noon and two would've been empty.

Right as Phillip noticed that, the doorbell rang. Hurriedly, he reached over and rearranged some of the slices so it wouldn't be so totally obvious he'd already eaten a bunch. Then he sprung to his feet and made his way down the hall to the front door, barely holding down his excitement.

"Coming," he called.

This was gonna be great.
V7:
Juliette Sargent drawn by Mimi and Ryuki
Alton Gerow drawn by Mimi
Lavender Ripley drawn by Mimi
Phillip Olivares drawn by Ryuki
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A wave of anxiety came over him the second he heard Phillip's voice from inside the apartment. There was still time to turn tail and run, to grab Ophelia by the hand and decide that they could spend their time better somewhere else. The riverfront, his house, hell, even the goddamn luciferian ziggurat they called the mall might offer something more for the two of them than Phillip's house. It wasn't even necessarily that Phillip was a bad guy, per se, but seventeen different bells were jingle-jangling in Lucas' mind and none of them sounded remotely enough like an ice cream truck for him to feel altogether comfortable standing in front of the door.

He looked over at Ophelia and gave her a reassuring smile, hoping that it would work on himself too.

"This is gonna be great," he told her. He wished he was able to get himself to believe that, one hundred percent, too.

The name of the game was Morton's List. They'd get in some kind of circle, or seat themselves around a table, and take out a thirty sided die (he was already out of his depth) and a game-book. The book contained a bunch of different tasks to get the day going, ranging from playing board games to sneaking into somewhere at night to mock knife fight to finding the secret to immortality, or something. They'd all take an oath to pursue the goal for at least one hour, and, whatever they got, they'd try to accomplish it to the best of their ability for that amount of time. The longer this idea festered in his head, the worse he felt about it, and, specifically, the worse he felt about dragging Ophelia into it.

He just didn't have the heart to tell her that they should turn back around, though, nor did he want to be such a burden on everyone by raising dissent. Lucas knew he was a downer, and he knew that everybody absolutely hated him for it. Despised him, shit-talked him, slandered him, what-have-you. Backing out of something like this would only make that worse. He wanted to be with his friends, but he wasn't sure that this was the way to do it.

On the other hand, he had to admit that all the nervous energy building up inside of him felt really, really powerful. Once he took a nasal decongestant and a good handful of Tums in the morning, he managed to fight off his usual achy, groggy, ten-o'clock-is-too-early-to-wake-up-and-maybe-I-shouldn't-have-had-any-drinks-last-night-or-ever-again feelings and replace them with NOW feelings. His concerns had turned to the present, and that felt good. Real good. But, still, bad, because he was worried.

All of this is to say that Lucas felt very, very conflicted, awaiting the moment the door swung open and he crossed the point of no return. Even if they hadn't done anything for himself, he hoped his words had at least moved Ophelia's heart a little, were she feeling any doubt. It was a little hard to tell; he still didn't have the best read on her yet.
~~~~~ Creativity's Burning Pyre ~~~~~

NOW: V7

DEAD: V6

MAYBE: V?
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((Ophelia bought her dress and she was with Lucas.))

Was it bad if she didn't feel that be here? She would prefer being in her home, laying in bed with a pillow between her legs while she watched Sense8. It's not like she didn't enjoy being with Lucas, she wouldn't mind him sitting on the corner of her bed, but it was the fact she was in this apartment complex she never been going to meet a guy she didn't only know. A plan for disaster, really.

She didn't know much about the guy they were going to meet. She knew they would play a board game and would probably spent a couple of hours here. She hoped it didn't smell bad inside, she would hate spending in a place that smelled horrid for more than 30 minutes. She had gym class already, she didn't want to be near smelly people she didn't like.

Anyways, too late. Lucas rang the door and Ophelia didn't feel like running. She turned to the boy. He looked tired. She assumed it was normal, he looked nervous in general so maybe it was just a look or a chronic condition. She could ask him if they get closer. She bit her lips, they were basically on a play date. Last time she went out to see a friend was years ago, she was a wee child and it was a birthday party and she was invited like the rest of her class. She hated the cake.

Lucas tried to comfort her, but she didn't need it. It was more the boy that looked he needed some kind of help to chill. She could parrot what he said, but it wasn't a socially accepted thing and she didn't want to look weird in front of him. She just smiled but her eyes didn't follow. She remembered what Tyra said and smeyezed a couple of seconds after. She hoped she didn't look weird.

She relaxed her face again, her foot tapping on the ground. She turned to Lucas again and asked a question that was on her mind for a while. It was question she should have asked earlier, to be honest. She was gambling with her free time, the most valuable resource she had.

"So you know this guy?"
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Kermit
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[ *  *  *  *  * ]
Fun fact: Chattanooga's violent crime rate was 165% higher than the national average. Now take that, and combine it with the fact that Michael, a skinny-ass white boy who looked like he'd die if somebody punched him on the arm, was alone in a part of town that could be used as a filming location for The Wire.

Michael figured there was about a 80% chance he'd die during the next few hours.

Oh well...


((Michael Froese continued from hell))


The climb up the stairwell to Phillip's apartment felt like the worst thing Michael'd ever experienced. He was filled with this anxious, adrenaline-saturated sensation that made him want to barf, and jeez, he sure hated it.

Shit, why'd he even decide to do this? Like, pretty much the only thing Michael knew about Phillip was that he was the magic juggalo kid or whatever, and that didn't exactly fill Michael with hope; Phillip was not someone Michael wanted to know him on a first-name-basis. On the bright side, though, he'd managed to string Beryl along, so at least he'd have some backup if this ended up being some clown cult ritual sacrifice thing. Actually, never mind, Beryl'd probably join the clowns.

Boy, this sucked ass.

As he rounded the last flight of stairs and began moving into the hallway, Michael caught a glimpse of two people standing in front of a door, and oh fuck he recognized those people from school which meant they were here for Phillip's John Wayne Gacy party and were waiting to be let in and that meant that once Phillip opened the door for them, Michael'd either have to sprint across the hallway to Phillip or Phillip would have to hold the door open for like thirty seconds and BOTH OF THOSE OPTIONS WERE FUCKING AWFUL AND AWKWARD AND JUST THE WORST.


OhNoOhNoOhNoOhNo


Michael stopped for a second, internal screams ringing throughout his mind. He pulled out his phone, feigned looking at the time, adjusted his glasses, backtracked the fuck outta dodge and back into the stairwell and away from peering eyes, adjusted his glasses again, and turned his phone off. Then, because if anyone climbing up the stairs saw him standing there like an idiot would think he was a weird fuckin' dude, he turned the phone back on, unlocked it, and stared at whatever had been on his screen when he'd last actually used his phone (in this case, Wikipedia administrative incident reports from 2005), trying his best to look like he was supposed to be here and knew what he was doing and all that kind of stuff.

Okay, he figured out a plan. Sit here and stare at the phone for two minutes while Phillip let the other people in and hope there was nobody else in the stairwell who would give him judgy looks while they walked past.

Michael felt like diving out of a window.
"Kermit you are the guy in the horror movie that finds a book bound in human skin and decides to read out loud what is inside for fun" - some mean lady named Ruggahissy

i make art i think????


Sadly kermit looked at a mariavel. It was so sad... such a sad mariavel... like him... he only waned a normal life... was that too much to ask? was it?
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MurderWeasel
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[ *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
"Hey," Phillip said, opening the door, "Hey, Lucas."

There he was, Lucas Diaz in the flesh, and as promised there was someone with him, and that someone was indeed a girl. It was a little awkward, though, because Phillip was totally, absolutely sure this girl went to George Hunter, like he'd seen her around—it was sorta hard to miss the girl with the shaved head, you know—but he could could not for the life of him remember her name. For some reason he was thinking Shakespeare, but the only Shakespeare names that were coming right now were Juliet (definitely not her), Gertrude (probably not Gertrude and that seemed like a dangerous one to get wrong, and was Gertrude even actually a Shakespeare character or was he making that up?) and Lady Macbeth. Should he just go with Lady Macbeth? It'd be wrong, but maybe funny, but she probably wouldn't get the joke and while Phillip would normally be okay with taking that risk in this case she was still in a pretty good spot to turn around and walk away, maybe taking Lucas with her. Couldn't be having that happen. Better to play it safe.

"I'm Phillip," he said, smiling and giving a half-bow, more a sort of bob of the head and upper torso. The theory was that either she'd introduce herself now or Lucas would introduce her, but if that didn't happen he'd just wing it. Phillip was good at winging it.

He was dressed up kind of nice for the occasion. He had on khaki pants and this bright red button-down short-sleeved shirt covered in huge-ass images of macaws perched on some leafy floral shit. He also had on socks, just his normal white socks with the red and grey stripe at the end, because his feet had been getting a little cold. He had some slippers in his closet too, but they were these fluffy orange monstrosities and would've looked pretty stupid.

"Come in, come in," he continued, smiling and stepping to the side so the two at the doorstep could see down the hallway and see that the place was pretty clean, no piles of garbage or hordes of malnourished cats or anything like that. The place was pretty big, even, biggest unit in the building, plenty of space for everyone to make themselves comfortable.

"We've got some apples and peanut butter," he said, smile still wide.
V7:
Juliette Sargent drawn by Mimi and Ryuki
Alton Gerow drawn by Mimi
Lavender Ripley drawn by Mimi
Phillip Olivares drawn by Ryuki
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How did he come to know Phillip, anyways? He supposed it was due to a combination of circumstance and social gravitation. Outcasts sought out outcasts. Granted, in the presence of most of the losers and loners belonging to the menagerie of colorful characters and wacky personages that comprised the shadowy, unvisited-by-custodians corner of the George Hunter High peanut gallery, Lucas felt more than a little uncomfortable. They were either into hard drugs, had some kind of mental problem, or both. Most often, it was both. Phillip had neither of these things, it seemed.

"We're in the same homeroom," Lucas replied, "and we're in the same English class, too. We've shared quite a few classes over the years, yeah."

That didn't hurt, either. The more that Lucas got to observe someone in a natural setting, the better he felt about making their acquaintance. If he met them in a circumstance that he didn't recognize or was prepared for, it was a bit tougher.

Now that he thought about it, that hadn't really applied to when he had met Ophelia.

Maybe that meant something?

He had no more time to dwell on it, for the door popped open a few moments later and Phillip came out to greet the pair of them. Lucas felt a little under-dressed for the occasion, compared to Phillip's appropriately quirky and charming outfit—in all honesty, Lucas had been half counting on Phillip to be wearing some kind of clown makeup and parachute pants getup—wearing blue jeans and a gray long-sleeved Henley shirt. Though in any other circumstance this would have made Lucas cringe inwardly at himself, in this case it was a little reassuring. Slowly but surely, his earlier misgivings about the scenario evaporated, and were replaced by comfort. This was just an afternoon with friends. Nothing major. Breathe in, breathe out.

"This is Ophelia," Lucas said. He didn't know if she'd be socially proactive enough to introduce herself to Phillip, so he figured he'd go ahead and make the move for her. The last thing he wanted was for her to feel like a fly on the wall in a place that she didn't belong. Lucas felt like that, all the time, everywhere, at any given moment. It sucked.

Lucas hated apples and peanut butter but stepped inside anyways, taking one more hopefully-reassuring look at Ophelia before crossing the threshold into Phillip's house.
~~~~~ Creativity's Burning Pyre ~~~~~

NOW: V7

DEAD: V6

MAYBE: V?
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So it wasn't a random guy he met on the Internet, thank you Jesus. He went to their high school, she wondered if he talked shit about her. Ophelia eyed him, scanning his intentions. Apples and peanut butter? Good thing Oph wasn't allergic, or maybe it was a bad thing because she couldn't just run away at this instant.

She smiled, again, without her eyes then they followed. Ophelia struggled with this whole playdate concept, really. She could be at home or at a dinner and it would have the same result, really. She would be alone in a crowd and the growing emptiness inside of her would stay quiet instead of berating her for trying new things.

She looked at Lucas; he, once again, appeared to try to comfort Ophelia. She didn't understand why he did that other than he was really trying go calm himself. Oph didn't get to feel anxious or stress in this moment, it had to be the fact she felt restless. For once in her life, something that might be more interesting than overhearing people shit talking her while she was hidden in a cabinet eating her lunch. She didn't feel in control and it made her feel strangely good and interested.

It felt totally weird but at the same time, she hoped she would feel like this forever and ever. This feeling numbed her existential dread she was feeling since forever, the emptiness was recoiling while this excitation took over. She was loving this.

It came to her turn to speak. Lucas introduced her and it took her by surprise. This was real, it wasn't a daydream in the daylight. It was really happening right it front of her. She felt like smiling, this unknown feeling spread through this unreliable narrator and she felt so good.

"N-nice to meet you,"

And in that moment, she wanted to die.

Those were the thoughts she had. She stuttered. What kind of shit impression did that give? She ruined everything! The emptiness crawled back and clawed and rip apart that good strange feeling. She wanted to bite her tongue off and die. She messed up. She looked like this awkward girl who can't speak a sentence without stuttering.

The cold and calculative Ophelia lost her cool because of herself, 20/20 hindsight but it was hilarious, really. She was still angry at herself, considering running to the window and falling to her death a couple of floors down. She wondered what people think of her now, Lucas must be thinking:

"Gosh, I'm a loner and a weirdo, but she's so much worse."

The thought of that made her feel horrible. Would they pick on her? Oh no, Ophelia became a child again. Her anger to herself changed to a fear of the world, and she just dug her fingers in the flesh of her arm. She wanted a nice look from Lucas, just one last, please.
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Kermit
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[ *  *  *  *  * ]
The screen of Michael's phone
 
I was poking around some SNL pages and found MumuMcGoo has gotten into another Ashlee Simpson revert war on History of SNL:2000-2010. This breaks the Arbcom's parole conditions (no reverting of Ashlee). MarioBanana 03:02, 20 Feb 2005 (UTC)


0000I can revert just like anybody else on those articles. They aren't directly related to Ashlee. MumuMcGoo 03:07, 20 Feb 2005 (UTC)


00000000They are when what you're reverting is the paragraph on the Ashlee Simpson lip-syncing incident. --Juan 03:33, 20 Feb 2005 (UTC)


It's Ashlee Simpson-related, and since the nut of the issue in your ArbCom case was your over-the-top behavior of zealously vetting All Things Ashlee, it's arguably relevant, though up to the admins enforcing the ArbCom ruling to decide how relevant.

And as long as the admins are considering that one, I'll toss in October 24 for further consideration, where MumuMcGoo is also reverting mention of Ashlee Simpson lip-synching incident. A sense-of-the-adminstrators poll, guideline, or ruling as to what constitutes "Ashlee Simpson-related articles" would be appreciated for future reference, or will ArbCom have to clarify their ruling? --FreshPrince 03:36, 20 Feb 2005 (UTC)


Will you tell me I can't revert the article Earth because Ashlee is an earthling? I do not interpret the ruling that way. It referred to Ashlee Simpson-related articles, which I take to mean articles based fundamentally on something related to Ashlee. It doesn't refer to all Ashlee-related content within articles, such as a mention as a notable date on October 24. MumuMcGoo 03:51, 20 Feb 2005 (UTC)


My reading of that is that you are prohibited from reverting any article in which Ashlee Simpson is referred to. This means no reverts to History of SNL:2000-2010, no reverts to October 24, and for that matter, no reverts to Red Bull (there used to be a "trivia" section stating that Ashlee Simpson liked Red Bull). On the other hand, you can revert Earth to your heart's content (within the limits of the 3RR, of course). --Juan 04:16, 20 Feb 2005 (UTC)




Michael thought this whole argument was lame as fuck.

Still hearing voices from the hallway, he kept on reading, hoping nobody'd see him.
Edited by Kermit, Apr 20 2018, 12:31 PM.
"Kermit you are the guy in the horror movie that finds a book bound in human skin and decides to read out loud what is inside for fun" - some mean lady named Ruggahissy

i make art i think????


Sadly kermit looked at a mariavel. It was so sad... such a sad mariavel... like him... he only waned a normal life... was that too much to ask? was it?
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MurderWeasel
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[ *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
"Nice to meet you too," Phillip said.

Ophelia, that was indeed from Shakespeare, or at least it was used in Shakespeare. She died in Hamlet, he thought. Yeah, that was it, it was coming back to him now. Hamlet was into her, only then he either decided he wasn't anymore because of his mad pursuit of vengeance or he figured that to continue the aforementioned quest for revenge he'd have to pretend he not only didn't care about her but actively hated her. Then Ophelia went a little crazy and started talking about all these flowers, and Phillip had heard somewhere it was this really hilarious veiled communication that would've made total sense in the Eighteenth Century or something but was totally impenetrable now, and then Hamlet killed her dad and she threw herself into the river and drowned and then Hamlet killed her brother too. Or maybe she only went crazy after her father's death? He hadn't read Hamlet in a while, and tended to get a bit twisted up about what was actually in it and what came from Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead.

Actually, on the whole Phillip was pretty fond of Shakespeare. Shakespeare's stuff was crude, rude, and funny, just as long as you could get through the somewhat incomprehensible lingo from way back. That density was probably the only reason they got to read it in school, though, so he could cope with it. When they'd read Romeo and Juliet in freshman year, he'd been delighted to discover that the somewhat-nonsensical "Oh, that she were/An open etc." was actually an edit of the original "Oh, that she were/An open arse."

Really, he thought, Shakespeare would've probably been all about the sort of thing ICP was doing.

Phillip led the new arrivals back down the hall, dropping a quick, "You can close the door behind you," even though he was pretty sure Lucas and Ophelia had enough sense not to just leave the door open and it wasn't like anything would actually happen if they left the door open anyways except maybe a neighbor taking a look to make sure everything was okay.

"You can ditch your shoes or keep 'em on, nobody cares," he continued. "We're heading to the living room. I've got all the stuff there, but we'll want to wait until everyone's here. Food's there too, and my family left some money for pizza but we'll have to go out to get that or live with frozen."

He thought they had a few frozen pizzas, at least, and his family probably wouldn't mind if they ate them all, right? But Little Caesar's would likely be better and more desirable anyways.

"Bathroom's over there." He jerked his thumb towards the proper door. "Hold the handle down for a while or the toilet won't flush right. Kitchen's over there, if you want anything. Make yourselves at home."

And then there it was, the sofa, the platter of apples and peanut butter, the books and the Boulder. Phillip beamed and turned to nod encouragingly at his new accomplices.
V7:
Juliette Sargent drawn by Mimi and Ryuki
Alton Gerow drawn by Mimi
Lavender Ripley drawn by Mimi
Phillip Olivares drawn by Ryuki
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He had expected to hear her footsteps behind her, clacking on the floor, but instead heard nothing. He took another look back at Ophelia, and saw that she looked a little out of sorts. Lucas' own conflicted feelings about entering Phillip's house had been lifted somewhat, but it looked like Ophelia's doubts still remained. He wondered what he could do to alleviate these anxieties, if there were any magic words he could say to lift the veil of sorrow from her face. Perhaps a "You can do it!" or a "It'll be okay, trust me," would suffice, but both of those sounded stilted and inelegant to his mind's ear. Besides, this wasn't some kind of shitty romance novel that the library decided to fill itself with for no particular reason; this was just a few kids playing a game, and hoping it didn't cause the end of the world. In other words, it was the real world, and, in the real world, actions spoke louder than words.

So he took her hand, tired his face with a smile once more, and lead her inside.

It had been some time since Lucas had split with Charelle, and even more time since he was with Ji-Hyun, but he hadn't been entirely without any kind of "romantic" contact since then. Granted, a cuddle or two with a friend didn't really count for much, but at least it kept him warm in the cold, kept the long season from being entirely dry, and, most of all, kept him happy. The rush that came to him when he grabbed Ophelia's hand was not a surprise to him, but it was a little more intense than he had been expecting. It made his whole arm tingle with electricity, electricity that threatened to eventually come and spread to his brain if he wasn't careful. He was doing this for the sake of the outing, anyways, not necessarily because of attraction.

Though, in all fairness, he'd be lying if he said that wasn't playing a part.

At Phillip's instruction, Lucas kicked off his shoes, which, though tied, were loose enough that stepping out of them purposefully only required a little bit of extra effort. The sight of a normal house instead of some strange carnival tent alleviated Lucas' concerns a little more. Phillip nodded them towards the room where it was going to happen, and Lucas gladly stepped inside.

Even the game board seemed a little normal!

...but something about it still seemed a little off. Lucas was no believer in energy, but he was getting some strange vibes from the die (Phillip had called it some kind of rock over text) and the book. A psychological reaction to the unknown, sure, but there was some strange mojo coming from this weird juju. Lucas had seen enough soft reboots of Jumanji to know where this scenario might possibly lead. More than anything, though, he was glad that the game was real, and not just a pretense to invite Lucas and Ophelia and Michael and Beryl over to be nabbed by some strange jesters.

Plus, the price online was kind of astronomical. How had Phillip found an affordable copy?

"Woaaah," Lucas said, staring the game down, "I hope this wasn't too expensive when you bought it."

He let go of Oph's hand for a moment to go over and study the Boulder. It was bright, cherry red, around the size of a golf ball, with sides numbering all the way up to thirty. Lucas gave it a cursory roll and saw how naturally it carried itself across the table. Geometry wasn't Lucas' strong suit, but he knew enough to know that this thirty sided shape wasn't something you saw every day.

"Ophelia, take a look at this thing," he said, holding it up to the light, "It's a... a triacontagon, I think."
~~~~~ Creativity's Burning Pyre ~~~~~

NOW: V7

DEAD: V6

MAYBE: V?
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Her breath caught in her throat when he grabbed her wrist, she didn't expect him to touch her. A little "come here, Oph," would have done just fine. She would probably have smiled softly and tagged along with any opposition. Instead he touched, grabbed her wrist and softly pulled. Why did she suddenly feel like a child? Like when she used to get lost in toy store and suddenly her mom was there and it felt like the best thing in the world, as if she delivered from an evil greater than her.

It's been a while someone touched her. Not in an accidental way in the bus or a rough way in gym class, but in an intentional way. Her mom tried to hug her this morning but Oph just swerved and waved at her. She said she was going to meet some friends, her mom was surprised, she didn't think her daughter had friends to speak of. Ophelia, if she had to be honest, didn't think she had friends either. She mused about having friends but struggled at making and it was even harder to keep them.

She theorized it was because she was an angry kitten inside. When you picked up the angry kitten, it would bite and tear the skin. Anyone would just drop it and leave, leaving it to cry for its mama that would never come. However, what if someone one day grabbed the kitten softly and petted it. Even though it would bite them or claw them, the person would still love it and take care of it, and one day the kitten would just stop being angry. It would become sweet and kind, surprising everyone that once touched it. It would keep its natural habits, but since it learned how to love, it would live a much happier life.

She felt like that kitten. Maybe that was because she watched Cats the musical way too much, but she liked cats. Maybe she could get one in college and name it Presea. Yeah, cats are cool, she wanted ten of them on her right now. Pet pet pet the cat, meow meow meow the kitten. She could be the cat and the person, maybe she was the person teaching the cat how to love and be nice. She thought about it as she was dragged inside the apartement.

It looked better on the inside than on the outside. She was expecting a crummy place but instead she met a nice sight, it was pretty and well-decorated. She smiled. Lucas stopped holding her hand when they reached a table with the board game. Aw, she kinda wanted his hand on hers again, it felt warm and good. She looked at him, he picked up the dice and it was red. It looked great, really. Like a gem you'd find in a movie where an archeologist was trying to punch out Nazis, or one of the missing piece of a rare and really, really expensive necklace. In short, she looked at the dice and wondered what it would decide for them.

Then, Lucas said the magic word. Well, not the magic word but one of them, a word from geometry. She smiled, she liked math and geometry was really fun. It was shapes and she could calculate the area of a triangle by only knowing two sides. It was great, math is great. Triacontagon. She paused her thinking when she heard that word. Tri meaning three, a meaning like a connexion to the word she assumed and contagone like in a decagone. Mmmm, a 30 sided dice?

"That's... a lot of side," she said dryly, "I wonder which we will get."
Edited by Leaf, Apr 27 2018, 07:48 AM.
me by naft
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Kermit
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eEeEEEeEEEeeEeeeee
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Blah Blah Blah Ashlee Simpson Blah Blah Blah Arbcom Blah Blah Blah

Michael couldn't hear the voices any more, which meant that the people'd probably moved from the hallway and into the apartment, and that he had to move from the stairwell and into the hallway.

He hoped Beryl'd showed up already. That way he'd have someone to use as a social crutch.

God he didn't want to do this.


Michael poked his head around the corner. The hallway was clear. He tried to think of something, anything that would allow him to delay the inevitable. Maybe he could just flake on it, Say "Uh, sorry, I was dying from diabetes or whatever and I texted Beryl but I guess it didn't send haha whoops". Though, if he did do that, he'd have to go outside into scary murderland again.

Oh fuck it, whatever.

He dragged himself the rest of the way across the corner, and shuffled his way over to the door of Philip's apartment. He saw a doorbell. He also saw a door. Would it be better for him to knock on the door or for him to ring the doorbell? Knocking was like, kinda personal, but doorbells were loud and annoying and caused ceaseless dog barking. Shit, if he knocked, how many times should he knock? Once'd be weird, he'd sound like some heroin addict bashing his head into the wall. Twice would be okay, but Philip might assume it was just someone in the hall bumping into someth - oh fuck that noise, Michael decided. He pressed his finger against the doorbell and tried his best to look as normal as possible.
"Kermit you are the guy in the horror movie that finds a book bound in human skin and decides to read out loud what is inside for fun" - some mean lady named Ruggahissy

i make art i think????


Sadly kermit looked at a mariavel. It was so sad... such a sad mariavel... like him... he only waned a normal life... was that too much to ask? was it?
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"It wasn't too bad," Phillip said when Lucas asked about the game. That was vaguely true; it'd been pricey but not compared to what it went for on the secondary market most of the time. He'd been incredibly lucky to arrange a purchase by proxy from last year's Dark Carnival Games Con; while he hadn't been able to attend himself (because Michigan was a long way away, cool as the thing sounded), a friend of a friend had and had picked up a copy for Phillip and hipped it to him at cost.

He beamed as Lucas examined the boulder and showed it off to Ophelia, trying at the same time not to get too twisted up by the word "triacontagon"—Phillip wasn't stupid and especially when it came to words and vocabulary, but he couldn't count above dodecahedron and thought that a perfect reasonable level of geometrical literacy. It was cool if that was Lucas' thing, but that was far too much Latin root to fit in Phillip's mouth.

"That's the fun," he said, turning his grin to Ophelia now. "There's no telling, but whatever it lands on will be an adventure."

Oh, he was excited about the events son to unfold. It was actually surprisingly difficult to get together a group willing to put their fates in the hands of chance like this. Phillip had put out feelers before without much luck. He'd even alluded to the idea with his sister, who'd said it sounded incredibly dumb to let something so arbitrary decide how you spent your time, which Phillip thought was an odd stance to take for someone who needed to wait to see what malnourished Italians were wearing to decide whether or not epaulets were okay for jackets this year, but whatever.

"Feel free to poke around while we wait for the others," he continued. "You can roll it if you want. And have some apples and peanut butter, too. If—"

Then the doorbell was ringing, cutting him off.

"Right, someone's here, be right back," he said. "Make yourselves at home."

And like that, he was off, making his way down the hall at a reasonable pace that only picked up with enthusiasm once he was out of sight of the other two. He wondered who it would be. Michael? His guest, who Phillip still wasn't totally certain of the identity of? Both? Come to think of it, he really hoped it was both, because then they could start, or if not then just Michael, because if it was somebody Phillip didn't know well who only knew the one guy not already here that'd be awkward. Things were going so well, and it'd be a pity for that to change.

He opened the door. It was Michael.

"Hey, hey," Phillip said, smile still wide on his face. "Good to see you, man. Come in, come in."
V7:
Juliette Sargent drawn by Mimi and Ryuki
Alton Gerow drawn by Mimi
Lavender Ripley drawn by Mimi
Phillip Olivares drawn by Ryuki
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"A lot of side," Lucas echoed, an earnest smile spreading across his face, "indeed." He didn't really peg Ophelia as the kind to make little quips like that, turns of phrase that bordered on accidental, a punchline wrapped in a sentence wrapped in a conversation, easily missable without the right set of ears and a mind turned towards the spoken word. "A lot of shape, too," his reply came, smile growing wider. He readied another riff, then shut himself up as Phillip interjected. He enjoyed playing with words, but he wasn't about to interrupt someone just to get a point or joke across. If the opportunity passed out of sight to make a joke or bring something up, or if someone interjected with something more relevant or funny, the proper way to go about things was to drop it. Any more insistence on one's own worth was superfluous and vain. It was more proper to wait until the originally prepared line was relevant again and then re-employ it than to shunt it force-ably into a hole that it didn't fit.

An adventure, huh? The way Phillip chose to phrase it in his speech now was a lot more inviting and whimsical than the way he had phrased it when he recruited Lucas before. Staring the shape down, Lucas tossed the die from hand to hand as his host went off to collect the guest at the door.

"That'll be either Michael, or Beryl," Lucas said, "But my money's on it being B-"

The door opened.

"Good to see you, man."

"Neeevermind."

Taking Phillip's usage of the word 'Man' at face value, Lucas decided that Michael had showed up first, and that felt a little odd to him. Maybe Beryl had slept in? He had the feeling Michael would chicken out (understandable) and stay home, but was glad that he decided to come over in the end. Things were a lot dicier on paper than in practice, it seemed. He took Phillip's earlier permission to roll and did so once more, watching the tricontagon make its way across the table yet again, but this time with his eyes paying attention to the way it rolled and the number it came up on. The way it glided reminded him of a human size hamster ball that he had been inside as a child once, a big inflatable thing that tumbled down a hill and crashed on a rock and left a bruise on his arm that took a month to recede.

Eventually, the boulder stopped its trek across the table and landed on the number thirteen.

"You know Michael, Oph?" He asked, turning back around to face her as he spoke, leaving the die and the omen it carried facing up to the ceiling for all to see.
~~~~~ Creativity's Burning Pyre ~~~~~

NOW: V7

DEAD: V6

MAYBE: V?
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She realized the mistake she made after saying it, and Lucas twisting the knife in to the wound didn’t help Ophelia to make her feel better. If anything, she wanted to shove the ruby dice down his throat and headbutt him. She didn’t though because he continued to speak. She realized he was trying to make a joke, or something. She was supposed to laugh, she assumed but she didn’t find it funny or anything. Instead she just smile softly, again without her eyes. They followed after giving Oph’s face an impression it lit up. Lucas was walking on a tight rope and she didn’t know what she would do with him in the future. She stopped smiling when Phillip spoke. She cut Lucas’ bad joke, which she was glad for t, but he didn’t deserve her smile. She didn’t even how to smile at him, if she could smile in front of him. The two boys in this room were basically strangers to her- no, that was, they were at least friendly acquaintances.

Were they friends? Lucas was friendly but was that a friend? She eyed him as Phillip opened the door after the doorbell rang. Maybe he was his friend, or at least considered Ophelia to be his friend. He invited her to go to a friend’s place and hang out. That’s a thing friends do, does that mean Ophelia and Lucas were friends? She hoped it meant they were, she would feel much better but at the same, she’d be scared. Friends scared her, actually relationships scared her. It was the kind of thing she didn’t know how to handle, no matter how much TV-shows she watched, interacting with others was a mystery.

The code was right in front of her and the combination was in her mind, but combining the two of them together was an impossible task for her. She didn’t know how to interact without hurting others or without being hurt. It was like having to walk on a catwalk made of eggshells and every eggs contained a bag of firecrackers that went off, scaring her away.

She looked at him throwing the scarlet dice, rolling away and landing on the number 13. She liked that number, it was a prime number and when you added 1 and 3 together, it gave 4 and 4 times 4 was 16 and 16 was a pretty number. Lucas started speaking to him, and Ophelia turned her head to him. He asked her a simple question but Ophelia didn’t really have an answer to it. She answered as honestly as she could with a low tone without trying to sound bitchy.

“I barely know anyone’s name. He’s your friend?”
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