|
Post by Tout-Perd on Sept 9, 2016 9:25:11 GMT -5
MOOSE: Okay, I laughed out loud at the punchline, it was predictable but still a lot of cheesy fun. However, I have to question: Is this story canon? Definitely “Nanny” was, my entry in the last round, so since yours is about Silumas I assume you meant it to be. But this… does some weird things to ORP if it’s canon. The power-nullifying concoction is quite a thing to just drop in for the sake of a standoff, considering that it would pretty much completely upend the social landscape of the Archipelago for non-Powers to have a way to strip Powers of their abilities. But, even more than that, I’m hung up on the backstory here. Silumas fucked up the planet Earth and tried to enslave all humans? Less than two decades ago??? And people remember this event and Silumas himself so well that he could be recognized and surrounded within a few hours of making an appearance in public? ? You realize this means most of the people at Terminer were either alive when he committed these atrocities or have most certainly heard all about him since then. This makes it suddenly nonsense that no one knows who he is in the first few pages of (Dis)Orientation and everyone keeps calling him “the grumpy bald guy”. I’m sure that Silumas really did almost take over the world in an RP topic back in the day, but that was an era where continuity between different authors’ topics was not really a priority, and Tokyo got destroyed like every other week. In this current metagame, it’s asking a bit much to bring in a character responsible for such atrocities in the recent past that it becomes impossible for anyone not to know who he is. (You also have to get a lot more specific with the atrocities; I mean, “sundered its landmass”? What does that mean? Does that mean Australia isn’t a thing any more? Because I’ve been writing under the implicit assumption that Australia is still a thing.) Basically what I’m saying is we probably need to have a forum powwow about how to work Silumas’ backstory into the setting a little more deftly. Speaking as somebody who occasionally wrote opposing Silumas, the general conflicts were not in a newsworthy setting. Lots of fights that came out of the blue in civilized area and ended before the media could mobilize, fights in the wilderness (one of the most famous ones iirc was an underwater fight involving a nuclear sub?). Silumas did occasionally do newsworthy things, but I feel his villainy has largely been forgotten in the face of other more immediate threats. The authorities want to keep tabs on him, but it's likely they don't make as big of a deal out of him as the Summoners, because really, what can you do in the face of an immortal capricious being who can wreck cities at a whim? Instead the media focuses on the Summoners, a threat that less invokes the cosmic horror of a mad God from beyond our world that we are merely specks before. Not to mention, Silumas gave the world a roughly ten year reprieve, starting around when Salcester got nuked, so I think Summoners, the Kul'tathen, the Ansonia Incident, and the like have pulled public perception off of Moose. Which isn't to say people are unaware of him, but he is a less publicized issue, because it just begets a feeling of hopelessness.
|
|
|
Post by AngelicTragedy on Sept 9, 2016 13:44:53 GMT -5
I'd never been to a slumber party before. It's not like I wasn't ever invited to any, I was, but my mother would never allow me to go. I'd finally had enough and snuck out to attend this one. Mother wasn't going to keep me away from the fun again. The night started off as you'd expect with pizza and horror movies. Thomas and Felix kept everyone light hearted throughout the films with their jokes and banter about how absurd the plots were. I couldn't help but agree even though I was still on edge. Horror movies always gave me a sick feeling in my gut and I couldn't shake it. Once we'd had enough of the slasher films we moved on to a friendly tournament of Super Smash Brothers. John won, of course, because he's a master of Fox. No one could touch him. I swear he was cheating, but there is no way to prove that. I guess when you have as much free time as John does you can get super good at video games. By this time it was nearing eleven pm and the adults had gone to bed, so we decided it was time to quietly turn on HBO and catch what we could of a porno. We'd turned the volume down to nothing but that didn't make it any less exciting. The scene that came up first involved a man lightly choking a girl as they grinded against one another. I was excited by it, to be honest, but I wasn't about to let the other guys know. Luis popped a boner and everyone made fun of him for getting hard in a room full of other guys. Once the novelty of the skin flick wore off we all decided to go to bed. Everyone changed as privately as we could and then moved to our own little sections of the room. Thomas lorded over us from his bed, tossing wadded up napkins at everyone as we tried to get comfortable. Soon enough we settled into quiet conversation about the girls that we liked and what we were planning on doing over the summer as we began to drift off to sleep. I waited to hear everyone settle into the soft, even breaths of sleep before I got up and went to the bathroom. I was reveling in the experience of my first slumber party and couldn't hold my bladder, but I didn't want the others to know I was so excited. I quickly did my business and ran some cold water over my face before returning to the bedroom. I looked over the sleeping forms of my friends, peaceful and carefree, and I felt a happiness I'd not felt before swell in my chest. I'd finally experienced a real party with friends. Well, I called them my friends. They were about as close to me as one could expect a group of thirteen year old boys to be to a twenty-eight year old man. I crept back to my hiding spot in the closet and took up my hunting knife. I ran the blade over my thumb to test the edge. Sharp as a razor, good thing I sharpened it before leaving home. I turned back towards the room with the blade in hand and smiled down on my friends. I felt the same excitement as before, when we watched the porn, bring me to a level I'd never felt before. Not at the thought of sex, but the thought of thought of hurting someone. I neared Thomas on the bed, nested deep in his cream colored sheets, and raised the knife high above my head. "Great party, Tommy."
|
|
|
Post by ch00beh on Sept 9, 2016 19:42:27 GMT -5
reposting image because new page
|
|
|
Post by ch00beh on Oct 9, 2016 9:45:32 GMT -5
uh so I guess DL won by default. AngelicTragedy you have the next prompt
|
|
|
Post by AngelicTragedy on Oct 9, 2016 13:37:06 GMT -5
I win with no fanfare, just the way I like. Prompt to follow.
|
|
|
Post by AngelicTragedy on Oct 9, 2016 14:41:40 GMT -5
Here we are:
When you die, the karma you accumulated through good deeds (or bad) are the points you get to spend on your new character creation for your next life.
|
|
|
Post by ch00beh on Oct 13, 2016 1:38:11 GMT -5
Peter dreamt the dream of a dying man awaiting new life. He had been through the process a dozen times—maybe more?—and the darkness almost felt familiar, though no less strange. Feeling... that wasn't even the right concept. He could imagine his old, frail body—a spiderweb of wrinkles and loose skin and thinning hair—in the rejuvenation chamber, suspended in amniotic fluid while his mind and memories were teased out and moved into a younger body. What was 'feeling' without a body to feel? What brain was even hosting these thoughts? Was it his old self having his last reflections, or was it his new body mulling over a transplanted past? It didn't particularly matter. After a few days the rejuvenation process would be finished and Peter would be in a virile, twenty year old body. The new body—the new life—would be better than the one he had bought thirty years prior; it might not have been the best money could buy, but it was the best his money could buy. He would have a sharper mind, a stronger body, a more charming smile, and everything else he could think of than his previous life. Since rejuvenation had been invented, Peter had enjoyed the same cycle of continuous improvement: imagine a better life, seize the opportunities afforded by the new privilege, then use the proceeds for the next life. Rinse, repeat, relive. Every time Peter came back to the doctor, the technology had advanced to let him point out every new thing he wanted in his next life and every old thing he wanted to leave behind. Everything was better each time around, save for one thing: Peter had chosen to forgo a family in his last life, and after thirty or so years working hard and living life as a bachelor, loneliness had started to creep in. Memories of his life before the last crept through the back of his mind. The scent—or at least the memory of the scent—of his wife's freshly washed hair enveloped his senses, and he could almost feel her soft hands within his own. Her name was Miranda. In his purgatory dream, Peter relived the moments he had with her: hiking through the Icelandic wilderness, laying along Spanish beaches, wining and dining at France and Italy's best. Each morsel of a memory was better than the one last recalled. While his heart panged, Peter remembered that they both agreed to part ways before their last rejuvenation. They had been companions for two consecutive lives, but the human heart had not evolved for relationships so long. It was best to move on while still friends rather than force anything. To make sure there were no second thoughts, Miranda decided to start the rejuvenation a few days after Peter so they wouldn't emerge at the same time. Miranda's beautiful smile crossed Peter's mind again, and he settled into the memory. The morning light had shone through her unkempt her as they ate breakfast on a balcony overlooking the Riviera. The meal, Peter could not recall, but the way the sun seemed to give her a halo was perfectly etched in his mind. Peter smiled at Miranda as they finished their meal, and she smiled her wonderful, lip-biting smile back. He drank in her every movement, the simple act of picking up their plates and taking them to the kitchen enthralling him. The way she threw the plates at him and screamed at him in their studio apartment too small for a couple that loved each other, let alone one that didn't. How could she not understand that this was their ticket to a new life? It was a way to leave behind everything and start fresh; a way to live forever with the deck stacked in their favor. So rejuvenation was expensive, so the technology was only a few years old. This was immortality! Peter's head began to swim and suddenly blinding white light forced itself into his blinking eyes. Someone was holding him upright by the armpits while he sat in a bath of something wet and warm. "Welcome back, Peter," a voice said. As Peter's vision went from blurred blindness to something more focused, he made out a doctor in a paper mask and goggles looking squarely at him. "Thank you, doctor." Peter shut his eyes to force the fluid out and gently shook his head to gather his senses. He began to get up, and as he did so, a towel was brusquely wrapped around him. Peter tested his legs as he stepped out of the bath. Strong, like an athlete's. Limber, too. No lingering tightness anywhere. "If you'll follow me, I'll take you to the changing room," the doctor said. "Your personal effects will be waiting for you inside." Peter followed, bare feet dripping along the grated floor. As they passed the arrays of opaque rejuvenation tubes, Peter remembered his arrangement with Miranda. "I know my wife... er, former wife, won't be coming out for another few days, but when she does, can you please tell her that I wish her the best?" The doctor motioned Peter into the changing room. "Of course, Peter." whoops i wrote Pandora's Star fanfiction
|
|
|
Post by The Evil Biscuit on Oct 18, 2016 20:10:24 GMT -5
How many lifetimes?
John watched the data points cascade down the screen as the simulation reset itself. How many lifetimes had he cycled through now? He must be nearing a hundred. No doubt the system kept a count of his iterations, but he didn’t want to know, not really; he had no interest in stopping. What had begun as a simple construct, a balm for the yearning for days gone by had turned into a fascinating exploration of himself and the human condition, a grand experiment in the intangible bonds of love. This last cycle he had murdered her; this time he would apologize.
Who would he be this time, he wondered. Smith? Yeager? The thrill of taking a new face, a new life had long passed into the dusty ether of monotony – John marveled that he was actually running out of new ideas. Perhaps he had gone through more cycles than he realized. The true question, he knew, was Madelyn. Who would she be this time? That, he could never know. She was the rush that never subsided, the fire that never ceased to burn hot and wild in his breast. Through dozens of cycles, dozens of lives lived in all manner of ways, every desire fulfilled, every curiosity defined, the one constant through all the years was Madelyn. How would they meet? What would she look like? How would they, inevitably, fall in love?
The panel let out a low, solitary tone – the simulation had reset. John closed his eyes and let the warm darkness envelop him as the system began preparing to start a new cycle. He would be born again, his mind partitioned and painted over with new memories of a new life in a new place. The world of possibilities, open to him to experience free of doubt or hesitation. The road not traveled was a thing of the past – all opportunities could be experienced if desired. Perhaps an Astronaut again? That had been demanding; he had lost a great many years to the pursuit, but the reward had been so fulfilling that he took the Astronaut path three more times in a row. However, Alzheimer’s had taken him in his early sixties in all four cycles – too correlated to be a coincidence. He had watched from the distant rampart of his rotting mind as Madelyn suffered endlessly, tortured to her own end by his slow, sorrowful march into madness. No, not an Astronaut. Something she deserved, instead. A good life, a quiet retirement and passing away at home, in their sleep, wrapped in each other’s arms. He had punished her enough, he thought. Time to give back. But how?
To John, this was the ironclad proof of the soul; that Madelyn fell for him time and time again. She fell in love with Dwyer’s laugh, Winslow’s passion, Parker’s kindness; yet she also gave herself willingly to Stevenson’s rage, Wortham’s addictions - Lacey’s manipulations. In the thin air of the highest peak of her joy, she loved him unconditionally – and in the cold and damp of her rock bottom still she clung to him, seeking comfort in his broken and shattered body even as he pushed her away, scrabbling against the demons that ravaged his battered spirit. Dozens of lifetimes, thousands – millions - of choices, so many in favor of her and countless more against, but not once had she left his side. She couldn’t, he realized. Her soul was bound to his, and no matter the face he wore or the path he took, the soul within him could not be disguised. She inevitably found him and fell, tumbling wildly, into his wake.
How then, to pay her back for so many cycles of selfishness?
The answer, he knew, was to start over. As his body slowly relaxed and the simulation entered its first stages, he began to drift back through his previous cycles. There was Parker, he of the tousled brown hair who played guitar and lived by the misty Northwestern sea; here now was Jeude, with eyes of flame and a temper to match. Matheson, the doomed astronaut. Hatcher, the scientist. Davis, the drinker. Linzer, the killer. He scanned past all of them, so many more than dozens, hundreds, thousands even. Faster and faster they flew by until finally there was only one, the last one, the first one. The life that started it all. He had lived a thousand lives, and she had lived them with him, hopelessly tethered to his wayward spirit as he blindly explored the possibilities of his own experience without ever thinking of hers. He would make it right. Here was where it all began; he would be only John, and she would be Madelyn, the first Madelyn, the only Madelyn.
His last thought, as he drifted away into the black and the simulation began, was to wonder where she would take him.
Author's note: sheesh, I'm rusty.
|
|
|
Post by ch00beh on Oct 18, 2016 20:58:34 GMT -5
i think we wrote the same story
|
|
|
Post by Silumas on Oct 19, 2016 20:43:17 GMT -5
I can remember the exact moment in time when I became aware of my existence, the reality that indeed I had lived many lives before. The beings, most think of them as angels, say this knowledge is rare as most forget their previous attempts, forget their goal and simply live again, going through old experiences in an all new way. I, however, remember them all, especially when I woke up.
It was the moment I died in her arms.
Irish lasses were rare in this part of the world, the New World. The West Indies were still being established by the Spanish, the Dutch and France squabbled over scraps, and England, God save the King, was throwing her weight around the Caribbean. Long, curly red hair, gorgeous green eyes, and a figure that made the men on ship drool as She walked past, there was nothing to not enjoy about her visage. Her face was narrow, those emerald jewels set perfectly apart, lips the red of blood, and cheeks flushed with blush. She was the everything I had ever imagined a goddess would be, yet here She was on ship with a bunch of grumpy sailors. Primal as it was, it was not her beauty that drew me in. It was her laugh. It was like a gentle waterfall, it was so soothing, and a trumpet call to battle it inspired me so. The cook, a loud and boisterous man, always had a joke that no one laughed at more than he did, but whenever She deigned to eat with us She guffawed as loud as the rest of us. I loved those nights.
I was in my thirties, though the exact age eludes me now, and She was at the end of her teenage years I believe. I served as an officer in his Majesty's Navy. In this life, I was tall, stark and full of piss and vinegar. I was angry at the world for some slight or another, likely an abusive father or some such, but that is all irrelevant. The point was, I saw this wonder of the world and I decided She was going to be mine.
The journey from London to Nassau was a long one back then, and being the First Officer, it gave me many reasons to be close to her. I delivered her food (taking the task from the cabin boy required nothing more than a harsh glance), I escorted her around ship when She wanted to view the ocean. She was not a stupid woman, and in fact She never is, and knew exactly what I was up to. In a twist of fate that changed the course of my entire existence, She grew to enjoy my company. The journey was long and She grew lonely.
She was due to wed her fiancé, an old, gruff, disgusting English colonial magistrate. It was a step up for her family in Belfast socially, and would have never happened if not for her exceptional beauty. Over the two months of the voyage we foolish fell in love, finding times to sneak away and have a private moment on the stern of the ship, our hands brushing recklessly in view of the crew and more importantly the captain. Two days from port our private affair became very public when the captain burst into my quarters to find us in the midst of coitus.
She meant more than anything to me at this point, more than my career as an officer, more than my love of the sea, more than living. To protect us, I mutinied. With a promise of money, glory, and freedom more than half the crew rallied behind me and in a quick skirmish that must have lasted barely a minute, we had taken the ship. Most of the loyal crew were spared, given a pair of rowboats twenty miles from Nassau. And we sailed into the sunset.
For a time, we were the most hunted crew of pirates, which was fresh, new source of income in the Caribbean. The bounties on our heads grew as we sundered ships, captured crew, and stole supplies. It was entirely luck and my own passion to stay with her that kept us going. The crew obeyed, we grew rich and feared. My love even became competent with a blade of her own.
Then, we were caught. It was inevitable. I don't remember his name now, but a pirate hunter stumbled upon us celebrating our latest conquest beached upon one of the Florida keys. We were planning to repair the hull damage to our ship with captured lumber, but we were caught with far too much alcohol and far too few weapons. It was a bloody battle, quick and decisive. I took a musket to my chest. I bled out while She screamed for me to stay with her. I think She went on to kill him later that day, but I was not alive long enough to know.
I woke surrounded in white light.
The beings, angels or whatever they were, surrounded what I would come to refer as my soul. They chittered and chattered in a language both too beautiful and alien to understand for a being of my mere mortality. I stood, or sat, or laid it was hard to tell, there for what seemed days before I finally figured out how to move and glide about. That got the angels attention, as we mortal souls were not meant to be moving about on our own.
They spoke into my mind, my soul, and revealed to me the purpose of this place. My soul, what made me who I truly was in each life, waited here while a new body was being prepared. I would go back, live again, learn more, and repeat it all until I ascended to a higher state of being. I insisted to know what would become of my love, what they would do to her. They told me nothing, only that each mind had to find its own way to ascension, and love was something I would eventually outgrow. Then they posed the question.
"How would you like to return?" they said.
While the question seemed profound, enlightened even, in truth it was something they asked of all the mortal souls bound again for birth. How much you could ask for, and how much you were given, depended upon your actions in the previous life. Were you a kind hearted man that lived and died peacefully alone? Perhaps you could choose to go back a warrior, strong and brave, taking on all challengers. Were you a poor, begotten soul that was beaten and mistreated your entire life? Perhaps you could come back the abuser, instead of the abused. The more I saw this question answered, the less I understood the rules.
It seemed not to matter so much that one's deeds were good and pure, just that they made some kind of difference, that they inspired others to be better. Many lifetimes later I would come to realize the truth in that question. If we were going to live over and over and over, it really did not matter if I was good and holy in one life, as the next I may turn out to be hedonistic and violent. What mattered was that through our actions we inspired others to be wiser, become more enlightened, learn the greater truths about ourselves.
All I could think about then, however, was her.
"Give me a good life, one in which I could provide for every need of her. Make me rich, and powerful, so that I could convince her to be with me once again," I said, that first time, cocksure and full of hubris.
They smiled sadly, gave me a single nod, and once more I was surrounded by white light.
This life was a boring one. Born to noble parents in Victorian France, everything I did I was good at. I could ride with the greatest of riders, duel anyone with blade or pistol, matched wits with philosophers, and studied under brilliant mathematicians. Everything I did came easily to me, even her.
At first, I thought it perfect. Using my new found knowledge, I scoured the earth for where She might be born. Half my age, into a family much lower born than my own, it was not difficult to provide a dowry to her father enough to convince him to let me have her hand. Having known Her in a previous life, romancing her came simply. I provided for Her every need, she wanted for nothing. She had flowers, exotic and domestic, awaiting her every morning with a carefully written note detailing just how much I loved her. We would spend weeks at a time in the countryside riding to Paris where She would find the most expensive gowns that I would happily pay for. Our meals were cooked by the finest chefs, our palace kept by a hundred servants, our bodies intertwined nightly in passionate embrace. Without conflict, without struggle, however, we grew complacent and expectant.
The slightest misstep by our friends or family drew our darkest ire, loudest and harshest words. If our servants dared to make a mistake, we responded with physical abuse and cruel words. Even our children, whom we loved, when even slightly below perfection became ignored, unwanted, and cast out. We also grew apart.
She lost interest in me, and truthfully, I did her as well. The lack of excitement occurring organically in our lives led us to seek it in ever more dangerous and villainous ways. She would fox hunt with me, and at first we put the animal down swiftly and mercifully. Then, as the years dragged on, and we grew more and more restless, the two of us became crueler and more sadistic. We would make the kill last minutes, then hours. We grew bored of that and began to hunt larger game, cats and dogs. Finally, we began to hunt people.
August Miséricorde was our final victim.
He was a kindly porter, always did his job with never a complaint. He was built like an ox and as tall as a horse, She suggested he might be hung like one too, that excited Her then. We convinced him we were wanting to make him our valet, a promotion of sorts. He gladly went along that day, serving our meals clumsily, pouring drinks and spilling. He apologized again and again, but we waved it off, insisting he would learn with time.
Then, we took him hunting. At first, he walked along the horses at a good trot. We were wearing him down. Finally, we took a break for a mid-morning snack. After we ate, I drew my pistol on him and gave a wicked grin.
“Run,” I told him.
He looked to her, pleading for an escape or explanation, She gave him only a sinister glare. I cocked the hammer back and began a slow count down from ten and he took off running. It only took us two hours to catch him. He was a cowardly sort, no traps or attempts to fight for his life. He only begged for mercy in the end.
What we did not realize was that our primal, basest actions had been revealed to the world. The constable had been onto our evil deeds for some time, but needed to catch us in the act given our station. He had followed us that day. I did not go out like Mr. Miséricorde. I tried to fight. I drew my blade, and the constable took aim with his musket. I brought a knife to a gun fight, as they would say later on. She died by the guillotine a few days later.
The white light surrounded me.
The beings, the angels, grasped my shoulder lightly, and I felt more at peace than I had in a lifetime. I understood then that having everything at one’s fingertips is no solution. Material possessions, wanting for nothing, it leads one to a side of themselves, all of us, that is darker and more monstrous than anything we would ever admit. They smiled when the epiphany became apparent on my face.
I walked around the Courtyard for a while, reflecting on my previous lifetime of experience. The Courtyard was Heaven I suppose. Grassy fields, diverse and dense forests, fountains, and beauty everywhere. I saw other souls wandering about, though they were far less aware than myself. She was even in line, and though I loved her dearly, She had no recollection of me and simply stared at the smattering of flowers they lay in every direction.
I watched her for quite some time before the angels drew me back to the table. They laid me down, affectionately squeezed my shoulder. I began to feel the warmth and see white light of rebirth.
“How would you like to return?”
Before I could answer, a new beginning was upon me.
Idaho is a beautiful part of the United States. Growing up during the prohibition my new parents decided getting away from the big city with the gangsters and their speakeasies would be a good plan, keep their little boy safe. I was 26 when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. I was working the farm with my dad when we heard the news. The next morning I was in the nearest recruitment office. I was in Europe a year later, and fought for three more.
Because I remembered my previous lives I did not sign up for war out of some patriotic duty to my then country, as France and England had long been engaged by then and I had lived in both of them before. No, I signed up because I understood I needed to repent for my previous lives horrendous behavior. I felt like a hero during this lifetime. I fought those that needed to be fought. The evil of Nazi Germany was apparent, and the cowardly assault by Japan upon the United States made it easy to justify to myself the horrors I went through.
I saved many that needed saving, I fought back evils that needed to be fought, and I even fell in love with her again. She was in France, once more, part of the resistance and I met up with her shortly after D-Day. She was just as beautiful as before, but humbler, kinder. We fell in love, as we had before. Between the battles of Operation Dragoon and the Bulge, I was able to be as romantic as any soldier in that hellish place was able to be.
I took her to dinner, eating beans from a can. Despite my current life never spending a day in France or taking a single French class, I spoke to her fluently. It helped me stand out from the rest of the jarheads. I would make some silly pun or joke, She would laugh politely. She would talk about what her little brother had done yesterday, and I would laugh. I loved hearing her voice.
It was no fanciful feast like we had dined on together before, but it was perhaps the best can of beans, the best meal I had ever had. It was a short two months, followed by another long, hellish period of combat, but it was the best time I have ever had.
I spent the rest of the war hunting down and liberating concentration camps. The Jews had suffered greatly at the hands of Hitler, and it felt like some sort of karmic justice to be a part of freeing those people. I had reached the rank of Sargent through battlefield promotion after battlefield promotion. I lost many good friends during those years. I had no fear of death, because I knew what came after, and it made me daring and reckless.
It was the winter of ’44 and I had been re-stationed with a group heading into the Battle of Metz. It was the death throes of a defeated Germany and it was our job to slit the throat and end the conflict. Looking back now, I see how cliché my death actually was, and it is somewhat funny now. We were ordered to take that hill, and I took it along with a few pieces of lead from an MG42.
I lead the charge for my platoon, and I like to think I prevented the deaths of two of my compatriots, some with families at home. It was a relatively quick death, much better than I gave Mr. Miséricorde. I perished with a smile on my face, grinning to my men. I tried to tell them it was ok, that I would get to see her again, that She would be waiting for me again in the next life. All I could manage was to sputter blood and smile as my eyes slowly closed.
The white glow enveloped me in its now loving, familiar embrace.
This life was much more productive in my learning, in my enlightenment. The beings smiled when I came to on the table, much happier greeting me this time. I looked upon that last life and grinned myself, I had done well, I thought.
They let me out into the Courtyard to think again, pondering my own existence and how to get better at being. I wandered for a time, helping to guide souls from one point to another, even assisting the beings, the angels, in laying souls back on the table to return to the living. I still had much to learn, still had so much growth left to experience before I could understand whatever it was that the angels would have me know. That was my most recent discovery, that I had so much still left to discover.
It was not much longer before they brought me back to the table. They smiled at me, their faces aglow with expectation, as they asked me the same question again.
“How would you like to return?”
I paused expectantly, waiting on them to send me on without waiting for my answer as they had before, but they did not. I was a little shocked as they smiled at me expectantly, waiting for an answer with patience and kindness. It was then that I determined what the answer should be.
“Let me find happiness,” I said, nodding to myself as I thought it would be the best answer.
The beings agreed, once more squeezing my shoulder.
The white light surrounded me.
I wonder what She will be like this time. This time, I wonder what I’ll learn…
|
|
|
Post by Yoshimitsu on Nov 8, 2016 17:57:25 GMT -5
HAVE THIS TRASH BECAUSE I HAD A SPARE FIVE MINUTES "Alright, so what are we looking at here?" "You're, uh... You have... You've got twenty points." "Is that a lot?" "Uh... no, no that's not a lot." "What? Why not?" "Well, uh, sir... There's the ti-time that, uh, you abandoned-" "Right okay, highlight reel, let's skip that. What am I working with?" "There is a bonus here in your notes." "A bonus?" "Uh, yes, there are bonuses available, they're automati-matically assigned. No points necessary." "What's the bonus?" "According to your files, you get a constit-titution bonus for standing in the way of a car to protect an old- I mean, elderly lady." "A constitution bonus? So I wont get diseases?" "Ah, uh, no, constitution is your natural health. You will be generally healthier, but, uh, no, your poison resistance will be, er... Zero." "So... that bonus isn't really a bonus?" "You won't need to spend as many points in constitution, if that's any consolation, sir." "I guess I'll take what I can get. Any other bonuses?" "Ah, yes, sir, er... There's a strength bonus, for grappling with a wendigo to save an old- uh, an elderly lady. It... it might be the same elderly lady, the files aren't really clear..." "Oh, so is this the same normal bonus or what?" "Oh, no sir, it's more substantial than before. Oh, in fact... it's, uh, it's providing a bonus to your constitution as well. In fact, sir, yes, you were correct, the bonus would make you immune to diseases." "So do any of these bonuses actually help me? Like, what are they all in?" "Mostly, uh, mostly, sir, they are bonuses to your strength, willpower and constitution. There's a, er, a sub-bonus here that will let you take a hit and ignore it completely." "What about dexterity? Anything there? Something to make me a bit faster?" "Uh, no, sir, it doesn't appear so." "So... What you're saying is that my next life is making me a tank?" "It appears so, sir." "This must be karma. Only karma would turn the fastest man alive into a tank."
|
|
|
Post by AngelicTragedy on Nov 10, 2016 22:00:11 GMT -5
JUDGEMENT TIME!
I refuse to rate with numbers today, deal with it.
Choobs- Solid premise, sympathetic character even in such a short piece. Great job.
Biscuit- Great piece, I really enjoyed the detached take to the prompt. It made me feel like that was what you were going for as an undertone, nice choice.
Moose- Damn dude, that really struck a cord with me. In my opinion the closest piece to the prompt in concept but you took it to places that I hadn't thought of. Wonderful.
El- I didn't know that Yoshi died? What else have you been hiding from me?! The only piece that truly made me laugh. Nicely done.
This one was pretty tough, you all impressed me. I do have to say though that I have to give the win to Moose, he just hit me in a soft spot with that piece.
WINNER: Silumas!
Please post your prompt, sir.
|
|
|
Post by Silumas on Nov 11, 2016 7:01:30 GMT -5
Aww yis...prompt soon to follow!
Prompt:
"Salvation. Redemption. I knew they would come at a cost. Whatever the price is, I'm happy to pay it."
|
|
|
Post by Yoshimitsu on Nov 12, 2016 12:52:51 GMT -5
JUDGEMENT TIME! El- I didn't know that Yoshi died? What else have you been hiding from me?! The only piece that truly made me laugh. Nicely done. He didn't, but everyone else's seemed a bit bleak when I skim-read them so I figured I'd put a positive spin on things.
|
|
|
Post by ch00beh on Nov 30, 2016 11:19:37 GMT -5
this period has been extended to 12/21/16 as the judge will be out of town.
|
|
|
Post by ch00beh on Dec 3, 2016 18:26:59 GMT -5
"What do you mean you made a deal with Marchosias?" I was trying my best to keep from raising my voice at my nephew and his stupid friend, both caught standing over a pentagram of rabbit's blood and half melted candles. "I was gone for only an hour!"
"Aunt Veronica, please don't be mad," Martin said.
"I am so far beyond mad. Whose bright idea was this?"
John's jaw tightened, but he kept looking intently at the floor. He was a gangly boy, dressed in all black. Of course it was him.
"Johnathan Rose, what possessed you to think this was a good idea?"
The boy stuttered, then Martin stepped in. "Auntie, you're literally a witch. We were just reading some of your books and you know well..."
"Don't you dare put this on me, young man. I know I taught you better than to summon some godforsaken angel, let alone make a deal with one."
"This godforsaken angel," said a massive she-wolf pacing upside down on the ceiling, "is still here and would love to speak for herself.... or, boys, if you want some privacy, just put out the candles and I can leave in peace."
"Peace!" I scoffed and threw up my hands, but continued to stare daggers at Martin and John. I didn't want to look up as one only had one conversation to make a deal, and I didn't want to start that just yet. "Now, what did you trade?"
"I got, uh," Martin stuttered. "I asked for Cindy Haywood to say yes to the dance."
"Manipulating free will? Shame on you, Martin Greenfield. Shame on you." I turned to John. "And you?"
"I got $20."
I massaged my temples. "Okay. And what did you trade?"
Both boys were silent.
"You didn't trade your souls, did you?"
"Well, uh--"
"Answer the question."
"I mean not our souls..."
"Oh thank--"
"Just Martin's."
"For fu-- heaven's sake." I groaned. "Alright, Martin, have you talked to Cindy yet?"
"No..."
"John, give me that $20."
John hung his head and gave me a singed bill.
"Alright, Marchosias." I looked the she-wolf in the eye and held up the $20. "I'll trade you this $20 bill and Cindy Haywood's positive answer for my nephew's soul back."
"Oh, Veronica." Her voice was like rancid oil. "You know as well as I do that a soul is worth much much more than that."
"Don't play games with me. I'm just cancelling an arrangement that you haven't performed yet; I'm not bargaining over free will."
"Ah, of course. I'm just saying that your nephew's soul is worth more than $20."
"The hell his soul is worth more than that."
"Aunt Veronica?"
"Shut up, Martin." I didn't break eye contact with the demon. "The boy's only 13. That's the most useless age."
"Oh, but so so delicious." The she-wolf licked her lips.
I was vaguely aware of Marco recoiling. "$25."
"$100."
"$40."
"$75 and not a dollar less."
"Fuck you, he's definitely not worth a penny more than $50."
"... Fine."
Marchosias opened her toothy maw and belched. From the blackness that should have been her throat came a shining light that slowly coalesced into a misty, yellow ball. It floated from the she-wolf's mouth and wafted into Marco's chest. Once I was sure it wasn't leaving, I took $30 more from my purse and held it up. The bills burned to ashes in my hand.
"It was a pleasure doing--"
I kicked one of the candles at my feet over, and just as the flame puffed out with a tendril of smoke, so too did Marchosias, leaving scorched paw prints all over my damned ceiling and a smell of brimstone that I knew would settle into my couch.
"Well, young men, do you have anything to say for yourselves?"
"Um, thanks for my soul, Aunt Veronica," Martin said, eyes downcast.
John remained silent, only shivering.
"John?"
He blinked.
"Is there something you didn't tell me?"
"She, uh, also had my soul."
"You lying piece of--" I sighed. With a flick of my hand, a pair of toothbrushes apparated into my hand. I held them toward the boys and pointed up. "Get to work and I'll consider getting it back."
|
|
|
Post by Silumas on Dec 20, 2016 23:17:14 GMT -5
Choobs, despite you winning by default, I must say this was quite excellent. You took a serious, mature topic and deconstructed the hell out of it and made something awesome!
Thank you for the read, I thoroughly enjoyed it!
The floor is yours, good sir.
|
|
|
Post by AngelicTragedy on Dec 21, 2016 15:31:08 GMT -5
Yeah, I had about half of my post written and then life happened. Sorry all.
|
|
|
Post by ch00beh on Dec 21, 2016 16:06:24 GMT -5
PROMPT: write a scene (or the entirety) of the ORP/Exodus arbitrarily denominational winter holiday special
|
|
|
Post by ch00beh on Aug 10, 2017 18:55:38 GMT -5
|
|
SV
Friendliest Member of ALL TIME
The Friendliest Member Of ALL TIME
Posts: 2,250
|
Post by SV on Dec 31, 2017 18:04:21 GMT -5
“—And the car was going really, really fast, and there was a loud noise and—now I’m here.” The little girl kicked her feet back and forth as she spoke. One shoe was untied, the tips of its laces making tiny tik-tak noises on the stone floor with each pass.
The plume in Osiris’s cap dipped as He bent to set the heart upon the scale, opposite a feather. “I SEE,” He said, His voice reverberating through the mostly-empty holding room. The scale bobbed back and forth for a moment, then settled. The feather and the girl’s heart were evenly weighted. AS I SUSPECTED, he thought, a little sadly. This was often the case when a child left the realm of the living so young.
His ruminations were interrupted by a POP. He turned back toward the girl. “WHAT IS IT YOU HAVE THERE, LITTLE ONE?”
“Gum!” the girl exclaimed over her shoulder. “Do you want some?” Without waiting for a response, she jumped down from the swing and crossed the holding cell to where the God of the Afterlife stood. She stuck her tiny hand through the bars. “Here,” she insisted.
Osiris considered the girl for a moment, then reached out a great green hand and plucked the pink candy from her outstretched palm. He popped the bubble gum into his mouth. It had a curious, cloyingly sweet taste that was redeemed by its most unusual elasticity. “MY THANKS TO YOU,” He said to His young ward.
The girl had already clambered back onto the swing. “You’re welcome,” she said before continuing her earlier monologue: “Anyway, we were going to get dinner…”
Osiris turned back to his scale. This was a small predicament. The souls sent to him usually judged themselves – a majority of souls’ hearts outweighed the feather and would then be sent to be devoured. Those whose hearts were lighter than the feather were ushered into the green fields of the Afterlife.
For the scale to balance, the soul was almost always of a child, too innocent and young to have done good or evil in such a short life. But the fate of the soul was determined by the scale alone, and so the child would while away in this Limbo.
Not eternally – periodically their souls would be rounded up by Buddhist ushers who would lead them to be reincarnated. But even so, He hated to see so much life unlived.
The girl continued behind him: “…And my dad was gonna take us to Chipotle.” She scrunched up her face as she enunciated this last word. It was endearing. “And I was gonna get a burrito!”
The God of the Dead’s mouth quirked upward in a smile. Slowly, He pulled the bubblegum from His mouth and stuck it to the bottom of the scale holding the feather. Once again, the scale bobbed. “A BURRITO, CHILD?”
She nodded vigorously. “Yes! Burritos are my favorite.”
On the far side of the room, an archway opened up in the sandstone wall. Birdsong and the gentle rustle of reeds filled the previously quiet chamber, the stale musty air invigorated by a soft breeze and the smell of springtime, sweet and verdant and fresh. A dirt path lead from the archway, and further down the path, tiny with distance, were grand pavilions and other people.
The holding cell door creaked open. On the other side, the God of the Afterlife offered a guiding hand to the girl. “COME, LITTLE ONE. IT IS TIME FOR YOU TO PASS OVER.”
The girl grasped one of His fingers and looked up at Him.
“Will there be any burritos here?”
|
|
|
Post by ch00beh on Jan 7, 2018 18:28:26 GMT -5
SV if you would like to change the prompt to something else for the month of january, feel free, since this prompt has been up forever and thus you are the winner. also because that story was neato and therefore i declare you the winner of it
also, for the 10k challenge, I'm going to go ahead and say that you may do a response for any previous prompt, it just won't count for the judging. (unless the judge wants it to)
|
|
SV
Friendliest Member of ALL TIME
The Friendliest Member Of ALL TIME
Posts: 2,250
|
Post by SV on Jan 7, 2018 20:58:52 GMT -5
New Prompt:
Your very badass character comes up against a mundane activity/object/task. Things do not go well.
I had existing ORP characters in mind for this, but feel free to use your non-ORP characters or brand new shiny characters or whatever you'd like, really. =)
|
|