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Post by Santa Melty on Feb 3, 2007 0:00:19 GMT -5
Interesting topics, though I’m quite fine reusing the older ones. There seem to be a few. Ah, and you liked that Red Sky bit, did you? Probably my favorite line there. The Master needs more fan work. Just curious, but was someone else going to begin circulating topics officially since Griffin is gone now? Or will it remain a free-for-all? ... Or are there actually no plans whatsoever? Title: Watcher Subject: Rebirth Wordcount: 444 Pairing: Zilch. Rating: PG. Notes: None. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- “And you really think this is a good idea?” Teisel said uncertainly. Tuttle took a sip of tea. “... Absolutely.” He replied calmly. Teisel wished that he could be so calm, but he was having a difficult time reconciling such a state of mind with the likes of the frilly pink teahouse in which he was being forced to reconcile it. His bulky figure was drawing apprehensive glares from many of the other patrons, and it didn’t help that he was wearing his skull-themed shoulder guards that day. He felt thoroughly out of place. “Could I choose the meeting place next time? I’m sick of these strange restaurants you keep calling me to.” “Strange? Come now. Have you ever considered that in the infinite reaches of human consciousness and fault that the restaurants may be perfectly normal, and you the one who is strange?” “That old woman at the counter keeps staring at me.” “Then you just stare right back!” “Why,” Teisel went on, “don’t you come with us?” “Well, I have other matters to attend to! Besides, I trust you.” Tuttle then removed a small envelope from his coat, sliding it across their table furtively. The light filtering in from the shaded windows fell softly onto the Bonne family emblem upon the envelope’s seal. Teisel slipped it into his armor. “I’m sure they could benefit from having you around.” Teisel said. “Why would they care after so long? You ask me that every time, but it seems to me that it would be an unneeded source of stress. It’s a good thing Tron didn’t recognize me in... Hmm?” A muffled electronic beeping sound emanated from somewhere of Teisel’s armor. “Argh. They must all be ready to go. I’m going to have to cut this short, old man.” Teisel said, lifting himself from the table. Tuttle followed suit, and they headed towards the exit. “You know, if you want to be involved in this, now would be a good time to come. I think they’ve just about finished plans for a new rocket.” “Well, good for them!” The two men walked out of the shop into the bright mid-afternoon sunlight. “They’re going to get suspicious if they don’t know where I’m getting the money for our share of the expenses, and I can’t keep making up excuses.” “But you’ve been doing it for years! Lying was always your strong suit. You’ll do fine. I’ll call you when I come into a bit more money, but I’m sure you’ll all make due until then.” Teisel paused a moment before responding. “I thought fathers were supposed to discourage lying.” “Well, I guess you got lucky then.”
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Post by Aim on Feb 3, 2007 2:42:50 GMT -5
MARK SPOILERS MLT, MARK SPOILERS, FOR THE LOVE OF THE HOLY FATHER.
So yes, I've read them all. I generally promote the writing of any fanfiction in which Glyde wears a fake mustache, dresses in a tacky shirt, and sells somebody a giant airship.
Hrmm..... I must write something... Well, I'll just fish some topic randomly out of my huge list. Randomness compells me to write about Jail Life today. Not that I've actually experienced the "hard life" myself. >_>; Especially not on an account of stabbing. *peels a pear with an oversized knife*
Title: Another Poorly Crafted Deal Subject: Jail Time Wordcount: 744 Pairing: None. Rating: G. Notes: This one's not very good... but I'll settle back into this process, I assure you. XD
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Officer Denise Marmalade gulped audibly as she proceeded through the darkened halls of the police station holding area. As her eyes darted from side to side, she was startled by the faces of the many surly characters, each with a more villainous face than the previous. It could hardly be said that she was carrying out the routine inspection that was scheduled at the end of each day.
After hurrying past endless rows of scowling faces, she came upon the most startling visage she'd seen during her inspection. Although the majority of the man's image was distorted by darkness, his thick lips nearly stuck through the bars of his cell, stretching past the discomforting lined surface of his teeth. It was the kind of face that served as a tell-tale sign of botox gone wrong. Suddenly, sandwiched on both sides by blocky metallic hands that clenched tightly to the bars, his lips curled into an even less settling expression before. The convict was smiling deviously, as if he inspected the officer's lack of competence.
""Listen officer," his voice rasped out in a high tone with the viscosity of curdled milk. "There's been a terrible mistake. I am Lex Loathe, a fair and legitimate businessman!" His teeth almost sparkled as he finished the false statement.
"Oh! The big-time criminal that I captured, right?" Denise gasped. She nearly let it slip that she knew the she knew she was not his captor, but managed to hold it in.
"Oh come now, nobody believes that. I doubt you were piloting the Bonne girl's little toy that day," Loathe snarled, curling his upper lip in anger. "Now listen; a long time ago, I sold an extremely dangerous piece of equipment to a certain man."
"Huh?" Denise bumbled, pushing her glasses up further on her nose. "That's very interesting, but why are you telling me this?"
"I have a proposition for you, my dear," he whispered with a grin. "Let me out of this cell, and I'll tell you all the details. You'll be looking down at the Chief from the other side of the desk in no time, guaranteed!"
"Well, it sounds like important information... Alright, I'll... I'll hear it," the officer conceded, lending an ear to the man's words.
"You see, there was a man in need of a device with enough power to instantly render an entire ruin uninhabitable. Without any further check of his credibility or competency, Loathe Inc. sold him a bomb and detonator with enough power to bring down a city! I hear he's now a guild master in Ruminoa City!" Loathe explained. "Go there; take him in, and the position's all yours!"
"What? The guild master?" Denise laughed nervously, rubbing the sleeve of her police uniform. "You must be joking!"
"Not in the least. That's exactly where he is!" Loathe affirmed, grinning widely.
"Uh... so, you do realize that I don't have any jurisdiction over that kind of thing, right?" Denise asked, raising one eyebrow at her strange provider.
"It doesn't matter! You'll be a hero however things work out!" Loathe nodded vigorously, rubbing his hands together and producing the sound of creaking metal.
"Ha ha. Well, er, I'm sorry," she apologized, "but I'm rich enough for the reward from turning in you guys anyways! And I don't take bribes, for that matter!"
"Well hey, come on! We had a deal! Breaking a promise is wrong!" he growled through his teeth, slapping the metal bars with a loud reverberation.
Denise smiled back at him rather like his female nemesis would, twirling the keys on one finger. "Well, you should learn not to make deals when your opponent holds all the cards, right?" she giggled as she walked away. "I thought a businessman would know that!"
As Loathe gritted his teeth on the iron bars encaging him, a faint sobbing projected from the shadowed bed in the corner of the cell. "We're never getting out of here, are we sir?" the voice inquired woefully.
"Maybe we would if we could get your blasted robots to do something about it!" Loathe ranted, walking back over and hoisting himself onto the top bunk.
A muted creaking noise was all that was heard for several minutes...
"Can I at least have the top bunk... please?" the second convict pleaded fearfully. He shuddered as his inquiry was met with a loud snoring sound. The punishment part of the law process was coming far too quickly for him.
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Post by Santa Melty on Feb 4, 2007 0:00:51 GMT -5
Not a bad story... I like the imagery, though it felt as though the whole thing could have been done in fewer words. Yes, you heard me. Forget the fact that I have yet to write anything that’s fallen into the word limit, I said it.
Title: 1337 H4x0rZ Subject: Walls Wordcount: 245, baby. Pairing: Nil. Rating: PG. Notes: I’m sure the matter of Roll’s Diary has been played out ten thousand and two times before, but a classic never gets old, right?
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Megaman scrolled down the screen intently, sure that his target was just around the next curve. In the next folder. Somewhere.
Ever since Roll had made the decision to digitize all of her diary entries into their computer database rather than jot them down in an easily accessible notebook, Megaman had found himself unable to keep up with all of the latest nuances of her private life. He thought it quite insulting that she didn’t seem to trust him enough to keep on with the book, and that she could have at least given him the proper directory to search in.
Dumb smart girls.
His attention shifted to a sub-folder buried under some old family recipes utilizing steamed apricots or something of the like. “Diary Entries”, it said to him.
A grin flashed across his face as he selected the file to be opened.
A lot of other stuff flashed across his face as two gatling guns sprouted from the screen and proceeded to blast him across the room into a rather expensive stuffed animal on the couch.
Before Megaman was entirely aware of what had just happened to him, the door swung open, and Roll rushed into her room looking very much like she had heard an explosion of some sort.
Quickly examining the contents of the computer’s screen, followed by Megaman’s steaming figure on her couch, she allowed a slight grin of her own to flash across her face.
“Like my new firewall?”
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Post by mirak on Feb 4, 2007 19:52:50 GMT -5
Lol, this one is very fun to read.
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Post by Santa Melty on Feb 5, 2007 0:47:38 GMT -5
(Feb 5, 2007, 12:47am)
I'll just assume you mean mine and take that ego boost now, thanks.
Title: Age of Legends Subject: Rebirth Wordcount: 504 Pairing: N/A Rating: PG. Notes: None.
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This was a lovely day.
Too lovely.
Birds chirped harmoniously in the distance, and a gentle breeze blew across the field, through the trees, rocking them gently. The sun shone brightly amidst a cloudless sky, a cicada droned on somewhere nearby, and everything just felt way too chipper.
“I feel old, Bola.” Claymoor sighed, watching from the hills as the children prepared another rocket for launch.
“Come on, you aren’t that old.” Replied Bola earnestly, taking a seat next to him and handing him a canteen. “Now finish your prune juice.”
They paused.
“You’re mocking me.”
“Not at all. I think you could still qualify as pretty young.”
“Really?”
“Well, I have to. If I accept the fact that you’re old, then I’d have to accept the fact that I must be some kind of relic.” Bola went on with a slight chuckle.
“Really, how much longer do you think this can go on?” Claymoor replied. Bola looked him over for a moment, somewhat puzzled by the response.
“What do you mean?”
“You can be so immature for your age,” Claymoor said exasperatedly, turning back to watch the shuttle preparations. Bola had been a companion to Claymoor long enough that he could read him quite accurately, despite the lack of any visible organic parts. But today, beneath his helmet, there was a longing in his eyes that Bola could not quite place.
“How long have we been searching for the Mother Lode?” Claymoor asked quietly.
“Heh. How long? Well, since we were kids. You remember, right?” Bola responded reminiscently.
“And how many sacrifices have we had to make?”
“Oh, more than I can count, I’m sure.” Bola said, waving a hand dismissively.
“How much time have we put into it all?”
“Darn near our entire lives, I expect.”
“And what,” Claymoor went on purposefully, “do we have to show for it all?”
“... We have something to show for it!?” Bola said, feigning shock.
“I’m serious!” Claymoor said, jumping to his feet. “What do we have!? We’ve exhausted our lives searching for something we never had a chance of finding, we’ll probably be dead within a few years, and all we’ll leave behind when we die will be two more names to add to the list of fools who wasted their lives on this absurd dream! And look at these children!” Claymoor raged, pointing down the hill at the rocket launch site. “Not twenty years into their lives and they’re closer than we’ve ever gotten!”
“All true, I’m afraid.” Bola sighed calmly.
“THAN WHY?!?” Bellowed Claymoor, feeling that it was time to make his point. “Why did we go through with it all?! What was the purpose of everything we’ve done?!? WHAT WAS THE POINT!?!”
Claymoor’s voice echoed through the field, eventually drowned out by the roar of the rocket’s engines.
“Well...” Said Bola thoughtfully, staring into the sky. “... It was fun, wasn’t it?”
They both turned to watch as the shuttle exploded magnificently in mid-air.
“... Yeah, sure, I guess.” Claymoor grunted.
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(Feb 6, 2007, 12:35am)
Title: You Missed a Note Subject: Megaman’s Defeat Wordcount: 327 Pairing: N/A Rating: PG. Notes: I have a sneaking suspicion that this one is trash. Ah well.
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In the beginning, there was darkness.
Then, there was neon.
Hundreds of neon tubes, burning away in the backdrop in the form of a bright city skyline.
The spotlights flicked on, saturating the stage with light.
About one hundred Sharukurusu and Gorubeshu clad in black top hats and matching tuxedoes began sliding into view from either side of the stage, forming two rows. A ragtime tune began blaring from a concealed speaker.
Cane in hand, Megaman then followed in from the left, tap dancing his way to the center of the stage in his blue armor, throwing in an elaborate swinging motion occasionally to the rhythm of the music. Yuna then entered from the right and danced across the stage in a similar fashion. The reaverbots followed suit, performing an energetic shuffle in their respective lines.
Meeting in the center of the stage, Megaman and Yuna then tossed aside their canes and began a perfectly symmetrical cancan routine as the reaverbots continued to shuffle along the—
“Stop, stop, STOP!!!” Cried Sera.
The music shut off, the reaverbots nervously slowed their dancing to a halt, and Sera marched irritably onto the stage carrying a thick paperback copy of the planned routine.
“WHAT IN THE WORLD WAS THAT?!?”
“Oh, Trigger thought we’d try improvising!” Responded Yuna. “So, I figured that if Trigger and I were to come in at the third cue and time the step to 2/4 meters—”
“So, I suppose we wrote out the entire script for nothing then?” Sera fumed.
“Come on, all this mechanical repetition is making the reaverbots restless.” Megaman said, picking up his cane.
“Yes, yes. Just stop showboating and get into position. Let’s see if we can get this finished within the century.” Sera sighed, heading off the stage.
They paused.
“Yuna?” Megaman said dejectedly.
“Yes Trigger?”
“Is this really how you all passed the time up here?”
“Well, yes... The Master was a better dancer than you, though.” She smiled.
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nil (BRG)
Cannam
Hello Internets. Will you be my friend?
Posts: 326
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Post by nil (BRG) on Feb 12, 2007 22:35:30 GMT -5
Title: Red Car Subject: Hitchin' a Ride Wordcount: 84. .__.; Pairing (if applicable): none Rating: K by ff.net standards. G by movie ratings. Notes: HELLO AGAIN DRABBLE THREAD! I KNO I FAIL SO NO FLAMEZ PLZ. :B[/u][/b]
Everyone knows red cars go fastest.
The left jetskate broke when he hit a rock so he's really on foot now, huffing and puffing and trying to keep up because he's only human and that car's got a full tank of gas.
It's the end of the line now, so he jumps jumps jumps, grabbing onto the spoiler and pulling himself onto the roof to stand and bask in the glory with a triumphant but frazzled victory pose.
But blue boys go faster.
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