Katzaniel

OOC: Sorry about the wait. IC: When morning comes, Itchy's death is discovered. By now, there isn't very much excitement about it. The orderlies take away the body, shaking their heads sadly, and the patients feel just a little more secluded, like the room is closing in on them. There are fewer than before and so there should be more space, but in a way, it really is compressing. And, although no one sees it happen but the two patients directly involved, a conversation occurs that results in a virus being spread from one participant to the other. The newly diseased patient has not yet struck, but they are eager and waiting for the opportunity. OOC: You now have two wolves among you. Choose carefully! The suspects are still as listed in the last phase shift, as no new deaths have occurred. It is now day phase. I would like as many as possible to participate in the voting please.

I have buckled myself down and written some stuff in the Assembly room. I think that I am now sufficiently involved there to not feel guilty reapplying, plus Ayshela assures me that much of my writing is not that dissimilar from the sort on which this guild focusses. So, having an inspiration (incidentally, a background for the ring of a character I might not even be using) I decided it was good enough to serve as an application piece. It is somewhat shorter but, I feel, much better. This tale really began when a young woman met and fell in love with a very old man. Together they conceived a child, but less than a week after their first meeting the man had a heart attack and died. The girl bore the child, but mourned heavily throughout the pregnancy. When a boy was finally born, she named him Chronos after the entity that had caused her so much grief. She set him on her parent's doorstep with instructions to look after him but never to reveal the sad history of his birth. Then she killed herself. Chronos was never told the story behind his name, and as he aged he grew ever more obsessed with time. By the age of 22, he had decided he wanted to be immortal. He left home and spent the next 15 yeors of his life researching the subject, travelling the globe and collecting even the most arcane of knowledge. Much of it, he knew, was useless, but he persisted, and he soon decided that he knew everything he could learn from others. Now he had to experiment on his own. The determined man quickly narrowed his list down to about one useful fact for every ten things he had learned, but he was not discouraged. After mixing and testing rare materials for another ten years, Chronos actually succeeded in stopping time. He aged, though, while no one else moved, and though the progress spurned him to work harder and longer, he grew frustrated and uncertain. Time relentlessly tore at his health, and one of the last things Chronos did was forge a ring with elements of everything he had learned. It was a desperate act, and though the wearer of the ring could affect time in a multitude of ways, Chronos considered it a failure because it could not prevent aging or death. He wore the ring for many years, creating and testing new hypotheses at every waking moment. The ring aided in his using this time to its maximum. He was a very ancient man when the inspiration finally came. This one he knew, even without testing, would work. He was right, but no one ever knew it. The excitement killed him. Please consider it as you would a new application from a new member. Thank you.

The Cheque "Remember the cheque for the milkman," they told her, as they were packing up. "Don't forget to put the cheque out on thursday," they told her, as they waved goodbye from the front steps. It couldn't be done earlier, or it might blow away or be stolen. And so she repeated it to herself until it became an anthem, she put post-its over the house until it was spotted as a dalmation, she carefully counted down the days, and her normally forgetful brain triggered thursday night - she must put the cheque out for the milkman. There was a hitch, though. The cheque was not in any of the places she could think to look. Not by the microwave, not on the counter by the fridge, not on the table. She looked thrice through the concert tickets and other similar papers in the wine cupboard, where she was sure it should have been put. Two hours later she gave up. She knew she could write a new cheque from her own account, if only she knew how much it should be. Then she realized... the night might be saved after all... she picked up her mother's chequebook (first found during the panicked search of the house) and read over the record book. Written neatly in gold pen: $25 for milk, paid up until August. Ironic, then, that she somehow got distracted, let it slip her mind, and went to bed without writing it. Even more ironic that within fifteen minutes of waking up the next morning she found it, the original cheque, peeking out from under a coupon-book on the entranceway steps.

That was awesome, Gnarlitch. You used "matchmaker" differently than I had thought, but that's the point of the exercise, right? Creativity I mean. Anyway, did you want a figurine or the geld? "...cheetah-skin top supported by four hippopotomi for the base..."

Interested... but busy.... Will think on it more today. Although adding a third picture might not hurt. I can't speak for others, but these just don't seem to be inspiring me.

The colours are limited only by what I can mix, which basically means no. I work from a clay that is similar to plasticine. It comes in a box with the primary and secondary colours, as well as black and white, and I make all my greys, browns, pinks, skin tones, and shades from that. In fact very little of what I use is one single colour from the box. I guess I'm just worried 'cause now you're gonna test me but if you can describe a colour well enough (perhaps via the HTML codes? I've just added a colour table to my site, linked above) then I will do the best I can. PS. I don't think you'll need to bid very high

It was obvious that the hairless men staring back into the video feed were afraid. They did not run like the first man had, but a couple of them trembled. They spoke in harsh but whispered tones to each other, and looked with worried eyes at the rugged pod that had followed the first man halfway across the empire to this room. "They have tried to destroy it." "If only they would speak at it, we could learn their language." "They are dangerous! They have tried hard to destroy it." "Come, Lavar, you know they cannot succeed. Our technology is far superior to theirs." Afraid of the consequences of a wrong decision in this matter, the Council had decided that Allenua would first try to communicate with this species. Since the pod was unequipped with audio, they were using its mechanical limbs to attempt a visual message, but this was being largely ignored by the rough creatures, who had attempted to smash it with every hard object in the room. Far from being afraid, many of the Ministers believed that by travelling to the planet (Yramia 54, until they could discover what the locals called it) they could influence the creatures to be more gentle. Once that was done, they may even learn something from them. It was obvious beyond doubt that their technology was inferior, so there was very little danger. Only the concern of contamination of a near-perfect society, and that argument was echoed from many mouths. OOC: We are still looking for people interested in a sci-fi RP. Don't hesitate to check out the above link to the OOC! Thank you.

As Alric collapsed, Shanna felt her fear dissipate. Why had she been so afraid a moment ago to move? There had been assassins, although their numbers were dwindling. In fact, as the young barmaid looked around, she saw that the group had dealt with almost all of them. Oh yes, and the ones that were torn to shreds next to the prone Alric. That was something of which to be afraid. She hadn't seen what had happened, but he'd looked at her with fear in his eyes. As one of Sliver's arrows pierced the second last, the woman concluded that the attackers were no longer a real threat, and Alric was unconscious again. Finnius made short work of the last man, who was, too late, trying to escape, and the night fell silent again. They all looked at each other with something akin to a new respect. And Shanna saw the same fear in more than one pair of eyes when they glanced at her. "Erm, " she stuttered, keenly aware of the broken tranquility, the tangible syllable bouncing around off the trees in the stillness. All heads turned to her. "I, uh, missed part of that somehow... what did I do?"

PS. Any and all feedback to these is greatly appreciated. Thanks. Mistress Before that day, I was normal. I mean, my skin was a consistent, deep orange and I was well-shaped, almost exactly spherical. There was nothing for the other oranges to say to pick on me. Not like my cousin Geoffrey, who was closer to green, really, and kind of oval. They all called him Limeboy, and I must confess I teased him occasionally myself. I mean, he looked like a lime! Geez. I wasn't wonderful or anything, just a normal orange, living my life out in the bowl by the fridge, wondering when I would be chosen to move on to Fruitopia. It was hard not to believe that fruit heaven really did exist, I had heard even the humans talking about it and saying how good it was. I couldn't wait. The day finally came when a human purposefully came up to the bowl, scrutinized all of us who were there looking hopefully into his eyes, and picked me up. I was ecstatic! It was finally my day. I'd lived my whole as a good orange, saying my prayers every night, and had little doubt that Fruitopia would at long last be in my grasp. My grandmother, by brother, I'd get to see them again and... why was the human kneeling? The crazy man had gotten onto one knee and was cradling me in his hands, a look of awe upon his face. Awe? Awful! The whole scenario was horrible. He knelt there, and he started to recite a poem. A love poem! He praised me, my colour, my shape, even my smell. He said that I looked beautiful in the sun, and then he said that I was cheating on him with the apples and grapes. It didn't make any sense. First I'm perfect, then I'm perfectly indifferent? Couldn't he see how much I needed him to pick up a knife - the knife two feet behind him on the counter would have done the job wonderfully - and peel me? It wouldn't have been a hard job. Just end my long monotonous life, eat me like any good human would have done, and send me on my way. I was anything but indifferent. And then the jerk, the great big ugly evil b****** gave me a last glance and put me back down into the bowl. Since then, I've had it worse than Geoffrey ever did. A human actually picked me up, said a love poem, and rejected me. They called me Human-Lover, Mistress, even Apple-Feeler. And to this day I just cannot understand what went wrong. OOC: I'd sort of wanted to write a response to that "RP an orange" contest myself. Since there were so few entries, and the thing is long gone, I think I will. I didn't want to do my own poem, but in all the others the orange ends up dying... how sad... (well, not in Quincunx's, but that wouldn't have served my intentions for the fate of the orange either.) Link: The Original "Ode to Poem" Thread

I editted Ozy's death post to grant him a favour. There are now some words Lamont left scrawled on the wall. Enjoy...

The nurses feed the patients supper, and everyone is silent. The terrible mood was pervasive. Rena looks suspiciously at her food and pushes it away. Jammeez refrains from making snowballs out of the mashed potatoes, something she may have done some other day. Mike looks across the room at Itchy, wondering if he could really have done the murders. Eyremon and Napolean eat somberly while staring at each other like enemy captains who have no choice but to work together for a time. Itchy, who is still upset at himself for Aic’s death, is pushing the food around on his plate and is surprised to find three little pills inside his potatoes. Something inside him wonders whether the pills were put there to kill him, but part of him doesn’t care. He eats them. Hours later, after everyone has gone to sleep, Itchy begins to feel the paralysis. And the murderer grins at the irony of the violent one dying in such a slow, painful and irreversible process. OOC: Gnarlitch was innocent. I'm sorry, Gnarlitch. Everyone else, night phase. W/B, PMs. Good luck. Alive: Eyremon as Eyremon - is fighting some sort of war dragonqueen as Rena - thinks everyone's out to get her MTUFoolish as Mike - thinks he's Michael Jackson Dean as Napolean - not really Napolean Jammeez as Jammeez - big troublemaker Dead: Nave as Woof - Like a cornered wolf - except not. Vahktang as Milos / Aic - On the far side of crazy. Ozymandias as Lamont - I have Seen the answer to this mystery. I am innocent. Gnarlitch as Itchy - Murder/Suicide, werewolf style.

Blissful emotions: Love life and lie in the sun, All joy will be yours. BPO: If the prize is awarded too late, the winner won't be able to spend the geld. Unless, of course, the geld will stick around afterward? I think it would be cool if we kept it there, personally.

While Gnarlitch is waiting for his advice, Katzaniel wraps a piece of paper around a nickel and tosses it into the jar. The paper says: My Tip: Don't eat yellow snow. Appendum to Gryphon's Tip: And don't say "no" either. Say, "You never look fat, dear." And the 5 cents is whatever sort of tip you want it to be.

OOC: Money may become tight, Vigil. Are you sure you want to do those other two readings?

It must still be a rank thing. I most definitely see it, on almost everyone now. Everyone who's still having problems is Page or lower, so I bet that's the problem. Edit: Whoops, dragonqueen's a quillbearer now. Then what the hey?

No, no. Shelly is the author of "Ozymandias, King of Kings" and "mighty thy works" is a second reference to the poem. That's Ozy. I can't help with the last one, though.

You Touched My Life Do you remember me? You talked me through some tough times in seventh grade. It was the way you gave your advice, the way you always knew the right things to do, that made me decide I wanted to be a social worker - to give advice like yours. I don't know where you are now, but I am happier because of you. Do you remember me? We worked together at McDonald's back when we were both in grade eleven. I admired your bravery in facing our totalitarian boss, and it was remembering you that helped me leave my abusive boyfriend three years later. I didn't know you for long, but you may have saved my life. Do you remember me? You sat next to me in a first-year biology class, and we laughed at the professor's funny hair. I didn't have very many friends back then and although you never realized it, you helped to give me self esteem. I later switched faculties and made other friends, but I often wonder where you are. Do you remember me? We met at the gym every other week when you were still getting over your divorce. I respected your loss and we were never more than aquaintances, but you helped me to realize what I wanted in a spouse. When I met the man that is now my husband, it was your influence that led me to realize how much I appreciated him. Do you remember me? You passed me in the park the other day, and your cheerful greeting and smile made me realize that there are good people in the world after all. I had lost my job that week and just discovered that my husband was cheating on me with a good friend. I'm not sure if I was really going to commit suicide that day, but it was that random encounter that made me stop considering it. Do you remember me? We lived next to each other for many years. Every friday afternoon you walked by my house and if I was outside we would talk for hours about all sorts of things. I began to look forward to those days more than any other time, because so few people paid me any attention any more. You were young and I was old, but you gave me something to look forward to at a lonely time. Do you remember me? You touched my life.

Katzaniel steps up, and immediately begins aiming... with her spear. Lifting it horizontally and holding her left hand as an impromptu sighter, she shifts the spear back and forth a few times, squinting. Wyvern yelps and almost falls off of his perch, but Katzaniel, not even noticing his fear, keeping her eyes on the target and her sighter hand in position, sets down her spear and grabs a ball, heaving it at the target. It goes somewhere to the right of the target. "Darn. That didn't work so well as I thought. I can throw the spear accurately, you know." Teeth no longer chattering, Wyvern finally lets out a sort of frustrated gurgling scream. "You could have explained that you were just aiming!" he shouts, waving his fist emphatically and almost falling in again. "Oh, sorry. Well, let me try another method." Before she even finishes the sentence she picks up a ball and tosses it. This one isn't even close; in fact, it hits Stick in the leg. "Careful there!" he says, but Katzaniel just grins. "Weren't you supposed to be manning this booth, too?" she says. "Get up there!" Grudgingly, Stick dislogdes Wyvern, who cheerily taunts the man. Picking up the third ball, Katzaniel aims carefully, then closes her eyes before throwing the ball. It hits above the target, bouncing a couple of times before coming to a rest. "Hm," muses Katzaniel. "That was a little anticlimactic." Then she leaves.

There's also one by Salinye's posts in this thread, so you needn't find Orlan. (Although... is this why you wanted to track Orlan down in IRC last night?) Yay for Orlan!

Well, ever since you guys implemented the new process for application (which I applaud) I've been meaning to reapply under the new rules. But I never did like this story much, and whether it made it through or not I would be unhappy with it, always thinking it shouldn't have. Well, that should be easy - write a new one. But even that I just haven't been able to get around to doing, in all this time. So I think I should just accept the fact that single-authored stories aren't for me, support the guilds without being part of all of them, and withdraw my application altogether. I hope you guys don't mind... and there's always the possibility that I'll reapply in a year or so when I have more time for writing in general.

Hmm. Alright, I'll give it a shot. My muse is like chocolate. Dark, tantalizing, and definitely addicting. I enjoy it but am never quite satisfied. And it's much better when you share.

OOC: Huh. Most of that is more applicable than one might think. Good food for thought. Thanks.

Trent walks down the eerily silent corridors of the Mental Institution, hurrying to meet up with Lorinda. Hopefully she would not mind that he was a couple of minutes late for his shift, but at this time of the night, where could she need to go? He'd make it up to her another day. However, when he rounded the corner he came face to face with the bodies of Lorinda and the other two guards on duty, torn apart but neatly laid out in the centre of the hall. His gasp echoed down the corridor, and Trent was at a loss as for what to do. No time even to mourn for his friend, he must call for backup, figure out whether the killer was still around... so much to do. Should he check the locks before calling anyone? Doing so might prevent more murders, but Trent decided to call the office first. This was not a job for one person. Within an hour the hall was abuzz with activity. Trent and three others had searched the area and discovered a drop of blood deposited on the doorhandle of each of the isolation chambers. Each but one. Inside that chamber lay the body of Lamont, dissected like the other bodies. On the wall was hastily lettered the words "EVL LURKS IN H". Laid on his chest was a notebook, with the knife pierced through it to Lamont's flesh. The book was partially filled with the man's scrawl, but in some sort of code. Only the title was written in plain English; for some reason the words "Dream Visions" were written clearly on the cover. Inside each of the other stalls a patient slept. None of them seemed to have been disturbed at all, but the guards posted in other hallways had seen nothing, and so it seemed obvious that one of them must have convinced one of the guards to open the door. Perhaps a claim to need the washroom, or a request for medicine, once the door was open they must have singlehandedly murdered all three of the guards. When morning came the patients were again assembled in the dining hall. The police addressed them and told them everything they knew. They asked for cooperation, saying that any clue could be important to save the lives of the remaining patients. OOC: Day phase. Accusations may be made now. Oh, and your seer is dead. Alive: Gnarlitch as Itchy - general troublemaker Eyremon as Eyremon - is fighting some sort of war dragonqueen as Rena - thinks everyone's out to get her MTUFoolish as Mike - thinks he's Michael Jackson Dean as Napolean - not really Napolean Jammeez as Jammeez - big troublemaker Dead: Nave as Woof - Like a cornered wolf - except not. Vahktang as Milos / Aic - On the far side of crazy. Ozymandias as Lamont - I have Seen the answer to this mystery. I am innocent. Edit: To grant Ozy a favour.

I'm not sure if it's supposed to be working yet, so just ignore me if it's still in-progress... but I don't see this Geld in the profile anywhere. Perhaps it's there but requires a certain level to see it? Just thought I should let you know in case it appears to be working on your end. And also I ought to find out whether I'm just blind or something. Thanks.

Katzaniel, on a break from running her own booth, stops by. "I think I've got some Geld around here somewhere," she muses to herself, pulling out a fivepiece. The tigertaur drops it onto the counter. "Do your worst!"