Ozymandias

On his way through, Ozymandias makes a beeline for the birthday room, sweeping in, bestowing hugs, his regrets at being unable to stay, and a gift before he is off again. Looking down at the small thing in her hand, Tanuchan notices it seems to be just be a small, round, fluffily furry object no bigger than a golf ball, when suddenly it sings, in tiny, bell-like tones: Happy Birthday to You! Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday Dear Tannyyy! Happy Birthday to you! ...and manyyyy morrrrre! It burbles and chirps contentedly to soft laughter and applause for a few seconds before suddenly opening an eight-foot wide fanged, slavering maw, and messily devouring one of Tanuchan's candles. "*WHURRP*", it exhales happily.

I've actually got at least one friend I'd dearly love to smack upside the head more often than hug hello, but I do love her anyway, for all the good I see in her, and the bits of that I see her share with myself and others. On the flip side, how she puts up with someone as impatient as I truly am is beyond me. {:>)

friends stick by you, leave you, curse you. Friends will hug you, punch you, nurse you. friends are the ones who aren't exactly family and aren't exactly lovers Friends are with you your entire life, and leave after a painfully short weekend They pay the bill, make you ill, maybe steal your girlfriend. They'll be stupid, they'll be smart; They'll be sports nuts into art, No matter who, what, when, where or how they are, what is always true a real friend will, deep in their hearts always love you.

Tuesday, March 30 2004 Dear Diary, Today was thought-provoking, even by *my* standards. Hence, you exist, if only for this calendar day, and never again. I got fired today, and it felt good. I'm lazy, I know; with lazy ass-ness being only a step away at all times when I'm feeding the lazy monkey. This has lead me into nothing but trouble in the workplace. Go figure. But no, I can't let it be as cut-and-dried as my workplace performance issues. Mm-mm, nope. Peter MUST fit things into his little comfort zone. Sigh. The zone's much bigger than it used to be, but still. I'd dearly love to kick my own ass within seconds of ever finding a time machine sometimes. I mean it. I think beating myself bloody might do some good...sometimes. Anyway, I can't just call off my laziness at poor job performance. Nooo. I've hung onto a deadend, thankless job utnil the bitter end like a lamprey, what is it...four times now? Out of eight jobs? Lord, your servant is well versed in the art of stupid and will attend his other classes now. No, it's been five out of eight jobs. Note to self: Must stop habit of ripping eyelashes out in semi-futile attempt to improve appearance of eyes by removing unsightly eye booger. It's scarring, and ain't helping me look any prettier. Never did buy Mom's suggesttion of Baby oil being a useful remover; but it strikes me again that I should probably test it before I pooh-pooh the idea. Work. Back to work. Learning How was the king of the dung heap. Long story short, all the petty bickering, backbiting, backstabbing and horrific abuses of authority were beginning to change me, and not for the better. I was swiftly becoming (in the space of a year and a half, no less! ) the person who I had left behind...wow, about fifteen years ago now. My joy was being crushed. My faith in my part God's plan shaken as I took to viciousness, vindictiveness and selfishness all too easily (with the ideal in mind to fight fire *with* fire, of course). I don't like who I was then, and I don't want to be that way now. But despite all of that, compounded by anger at the pain and indignity I watched these people inflict on so many so very wonderful people who inexplicably worked or still work for them, I remained in the company, at that store. Why? Because I'd yet AGAIN convinced myself it was better here because I had a job, and wouldn't have to bother going out and applying elsewhere to only be rejected. Learning How was hellish, but the money still came. Spooky, eh? Stupid nervous habit. I need those eyelashes. Stupid eye booger. I got a second job early on, but that was only because I'd squandered all of my extra funds over the course of the year to the point of living paycheck to paycheck come Christmastime that year, and I had some friends at a local store who were willing to hire me on as Christmas help. The job just sort of stayed around afterward. I no longer remember why I thought it would bea *good* idea to hold down two jobs again. Now that I think on it some more, I *think* it was the co-workers. It's always wonderful to have co-workers who all get along. I slowly shifted more and more over to the good job side of my work hours without quitting even though I dropped below even the twenty-five hours a week mark ere long, now because of the perennial reasons, AND becasue I was too proud to let Roz win that easily. Pride goeth before the fall, neh? Thankfully, I wasn't given that lesson- this time. Finally, I shifted myself over into a full-time position at the good job, and kept working the pitiful work hours I was given at Learning How, since I didn't *have* to stay anymore. Bascially, refuse to quit and keep working there while dictating hours I pleased. A good idea, in theory. In actuality, I got my butt fired this morning. So, this leaves me with a full-time job that will barely pay my bills, incidentals be damned. Also, it's a store in a busy mall, and I'm getting a crash course in full training at last while we're about 50% understaffed. I hurt, I am exhausted, and for some reason my eyes aren't blurring anymore as I stare at this screen. I *still* feel like dancing. In a club, bar, living room, wherever. I just don't think I'd last as long as I would've right after I got the news, about fifteen hours ago. I don't even like dancing. Ach, you sneaky bastard, diary, you've goaded me into an episode two. By dint of it being 3:19 AM and I am more underslept than usual. Also, my beer seems to be empty. Goodnight. Bliss out.

A long, thin head turns, and out of the shadowy realms of his dramatically upswept eyebrows and somewhat sunken sockets, Morris fixes sharply focused eyes on the notable Nazi defector. "<Framer? Madam, you cut me to the quick! I apologize, of course.>", he said with a stately bow and a contrite tone. "<It was quite thuggish of me to speak such idle speculation, especially questioning a woman's merit within her hearing. You are quite astute, even amongst the glitterati of our military researchers and other goverment research programs. I know. I read up on you with some interest before attending this test at the president's request.>" "<What? The president invited you here?>", demanded Greta sarcastically, not quite believing her ears. "<Oh yes,>" He replied, smoothly offering her a seat before he himself took one and continued. He smiled and heaved a wistful sigh. "<We were old golf partners, he and I. These days, he just doesn't seem to have the time!>" Morris chortled a little at his joke. When Greta eyed him a bit less critically, but did not join in his merriment, he finished explaining himself. "<He knew I was always an afficionado of the horrors of nature and science, and well, to put it simply, the lad Timmy put it best: Mutants are cool.>" When Greta's eyes narrowed further at the mention of the "adorable" little boy, Pavlov immediately changed the subject. "I'm researching a role, you see. It's for a science fiction movie based around, well, the terrors of nuclear weapons. Not that I'm here to garner much in the way of your well-kept state secrets; no, I'm here to get an initimate feel of the atmosphere such a facility as this has. My movie has much more to do with fifty-foot tall insects ravaging mankind than particle physics, I fear.>"* *All translated from the German

Sudden incentive to finish stuff!!! *ZOOM* (for the record, L.E. Modesitt Jr. is one of the kindest men I have ever met. So no fear, Penners! I know *I'm* gonna try it!)

If they taught a lesson I feel I still haven't learned, then I mull over them a little, trying to translate the experience into any present parallels. From there, the road can, has, and will go many places. If I did learn from them, I give them emotional acknowledgement, then move on to the next thought. Sometimes the acknowledgement is interrupted by self recrimination, but it's happening less and less often for shorter and shorter times, the more time goes by.

Gladly leaving behind his culinary escapades in the Mess (as well as an enthusiastic, but no more kitchen-savy Captain to prepare the dinner...and enthusiastically remove Pavlov's 'creation' with a flamethrower), Morris glides quietly down the hallways, off to find the other "guests" to see if perhaps he can help calm them with his own unique brand of charm. The old gentleman smiled to himself, still glad to have heard that his faithful mule Reginald was safe in the motor pool, sleeping quietly. (OOC: Ozy eyes the patented 'Dartboard O' Dyin'' to no avail. The Werewolf players' names tacked all over it are still blurry. His eyes just won't focus. So, spinning around in his chair once, he lets fly with a dart over his shoulder. It finds a target. THUNK. A vote for Lady Celes it is!)

Morris Pavlov, world-renowned (well, in most states of the U.S., and several prefectures in Japan) actor of stage and screen, raises a bushy eyebrow, then a long, bony finger to his temple, massaging it gently as he looks at the strange thing before him in dark-eyed consternation. Why...oh why, did it have to be now? Where did I go wrong? Just remebering what the crew did...it all seemed so simple. I am Morris Pavlov, after all! Shouldn't this come easily to me? I can be ANYONE I so choose. He scratches his scalp with long, tapered fingernails as the reddish-black mass sitting on the table before him makes a burbling sound as another bubble of goop pops on his apron. So why can't I just simply be a cook? It's not that hard, surely! He looks again forlornly down at his first ever attempt at chicken soup. It hisses slightly as the last bit of steam escapes the dubious dish. Sighing, Morris draws once more upon his wellspring of acting talent and puts on a satisfied face as he hefts the now quiet pot out into the Mess hall proper. With all the considerable gentility he can muster, he announces, "The soup is ready!" The Captain gives the tall, gaunt, ghoulish old man in a grey suit under one of their cook's own 'Kiss the Kook' aprons an odd look before flinching away from the sight in the soup pot. Morris smiles encouragingly as he sets the "soup" on the table. Inwardly, he grinds his teeth. Cooking always looked so simple for the caterers on the movie sets, he groused silently. This is humiliating...

Merci beaucoup.

*LOL* Itchy, you had even more luck on your side than I did, but I don't begrudge you that. My hat is still off to you. As for "why Cooper?" well...here's a PM to Gnarlitch: The rest of the time I spent mostly running around like Speedy Gonzalez trying to follow every lead and all possible theories/targets, and get all my thoughts down in type and sent to Elwen, so she'd be prepared in case I died. Even by game end, eyerthing I was/had been certain of was a short, short list. I just looked at what seemed most likely from everyone's RPing and ran with it. Elwen'll tell you. I did that with *everything*. (until she croaked, of course) :>( Hmm. Oh, what the hey. Does anybody else want to know why they died? Everybody actually *did* die for a reason; but be forewarned, some of you were simple necessity (red herrings and the like). Back to the game's finish, though. To all my fellow players, a fond thanks. Veterans and fellow newbies (if there were any!), all of you made playing my first game awesome! To Tanny, Gnarlitch, Elwen, Lady Celes and Katzaniel, a thanks especially for putting up with my own unique form of mania in my roleplaying, incessant PMs, and odd requests so graciously the whole time. Domo arigato! *bows* Finally, Katzaniel...DAMN, girl! That was a final post to end all final posts!!! You took all my own RP strategies and 'dirty tricks', and hoist me right up on my petard with them. I humbly concede to the greater roleplayer. *bows deeply* Once again, EVERYBODY did an incredible job!!!! I was actually happy to have lost once I read all of the final posts. Evil NEEDED to lose! However, it has been a learning experience, and I won't make the same mistakes twice, my worthy opponents! *urp* Ow, quit lynching me!

I didn't want to clutter the thread, so I went here instead: Celes, good comeback! *bows to you* But I have to make one request: Would you please change the person Elisabeth is addressing from Marcus to Katharine? I know it seems nitpicky. But I think it would still have just as much impact with Elisabeth addressing Katharine again. The problem is that even though Marcus having left the room already in my post is such a small part, I'm really proud of *my* post as it is, and don't want to change it unless I have to.

On second thought, his name should be Morris Pavlov. (I got my source material backwards!) Now that I think on it, there's a house pet joke in there somewhere...;>)

Ira Legoosey, creepy actor cameo AND star! ...at your service.

...dude.

Marcus listens intently to Elisabeth's accusations. Then, he slowly sits in a chair, looking world-weary. "I won't call you accusations baseless Ms. Christie, becasue I too have had similar thoughts and words for others over the course of this damned week. As one who had room in his foolish heart to even contemplate his own mother's guilt, that none of us are fully above reproach. I would say, since yes, Wil spoke more than once of a man and a woman beign the culprits, and he was spot-on in his assessment of Lady Emily...however it was made..." on saying this, he looks no less troubled, but confused- for a moment. "So I would indeed be the most likely suspect; aside from Dr. Watson, Mr. Holmes, and Lord Richard, of course. Except that our foe has proven to be a canny one beyond my simple measure, and I daresay even a challenge for Sherlock Holmes himself, or why has he still not been caught? Would he be so unsubtle as to leave that clue open? I don't think so. I don't think it was a 'he' at all. And though it will likely yet mean my own death, I can not and will not accuse my own mother. No, I would dare say that you are our culprit, Ms. Christie. You are the only one of us who has been beyond suspicion and reproach in all these evil deeds, and I think that's precisely why you are she who we fear. And before you make your airy reply to reinforce your station above me, know this: It was a loose woman with too much money like you who seduced my brother and broke our home. " His face crimson with anger now, he stands up suddenly and turns with an effort, slowly to face an appraising Sherlock Holmes. "Mr. Holmes," he manages through his teeth, "if you would be so kind as to lock me in the room and with Sir Richard's aid, secure any and every key? I know I cannot protect my mother anymore, but I wish to give her some peace of mind, at least." Turning back to the now similarly red-faced Elisabeth and a white-faced Katharine, he stoops, and kisses his mother's hand gently. He spares her one last look, and it is not with his eyes, but that of a young boy's, and all the pain and sorrow only children can feel so accutely. He then mockingly bows to Elisabeth, straightens, and with a venomous look, spits on the ground at her feet. "That for your lofty station," he sneers. "Do with me as you will, but I swear, if my mother comes to any harm, I will move Heaven and Earth to destroy you." Turning on his heel, he leaves the room and proceeds upstairs at an enraged pace. (OOC: My vote is for... Hmm. Lesee...hmmm. Howabout Elisabeth? \;>) )

Katzaniel put much of what I would've said eloquently already, so I'll just say this: It's easier said thna done, true, but just remembering that other people's opinion of you only bother you as much as you let it. To wit: This past Saturday morning, I was feeling pretty badly about myself. Lazy, faithless, egotisitical, were a few of the not unrealistic adjectives I was giving to myself...again. So, knowing (logically) that it really wasn't as bad as all that, but still feeling about one inch tall, I decided to deal with it the same way an old friend of mine did one sunny, depressing day years ago. I put on a clown nose and went to work. Sure, there were those who mocked me. But as it turned out, even in a retail store, and on one trip to the bank, and one into the mall, they were still outnumbered. All that morning and afternoon: Made two young mother laugh and try to get their babies to laugh with them, three of my favorite tellers at the bank laughed, six teenage guys standing next to the enterance of the mall went dead silent as I passed right until I was walking through the door (then they started making some joke or another), one lady laughed with me politely liek she thought I was crazy, one just stared at me like I was crazy, and (my favorite!) one old gentleman wished me a happy new year. Not sure how to respond, I went with a smile and a "Thank you." After that he explained that day was the beginning of the Iranian and Indian new years. So, I told him no, I didn't know that, but I was gald he told me, and thanked him again (yes, and remembered to wish him a happy new year too. ) The mocking didn't hurt much, if it did at all, because I got to make all of those other people happy. It felt really good. As one of the bank tellers put it when I told him about the ladies I'd scared, he kind of snorted and said, "Oh, pay no attention to them. Some people just don't get it." The only downer was the nose really pinched my real one, so I had to take it off before evening hit. Signed, ~Yet another recovering hider-in-the-corner when there's people about~

Very real. Evocative and empathetic. And most of all, chilling. Well done.

friends will often come and go that will always stay the same but the more we love the more we know that they will always be back again Heh. I know my poetry's not quite as developed as yours , but it's the thought that counts, right? Anyway, I like you, and your poetry, and I know I'm not alone. Hurry back, and good luck!!!

After sequestering himself on the veranda with a hot cup of tea (which to his unfailing dismay, was easily done. Katharine, for her part, wished mostly to give him what space he would need in this trying time, but the only ones who even spoke to him otherwise were a polite but unreadable "Good day, Mr. Horton" from both a passing Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson. Elisabeth Christie stayed out of his sight, as he sat and thought, and Edwyn Cooper only reacted when Marcus turned to look him in the eye as the soldier watched him from indoors. Even then, it was only a curt nod before he too vanished from sight.) Marcus sat there by the window for nearly three hours, nursing that same cup of tea. Much had transpired in the past few days, and not much more was left to happen. He knew it in his bones. But one thing in particular stood out in his mind like a beacon. It was on this that he sat and thought for a long time, occasionally remembering to sip the fine green tea he had gotten permission to brew. Finally, after his tea was long gone, he stood up, a man resolute once more. Marcus immediately sought out his mother, and looked her sternly in the face when he found her. "Mother, I..." was as far as he got before he broke into tears and wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tight and lavishing kisses on her.

YOU SAVED IT!!! Snyp, ol' buddy, I could kiss you. ...but I'll stick with a straight two thumbs up. :pen: :woot:

Earlier... Upon hearing his mother's screams, Marcus is bolt upright and out his bedroom door in an instant; his heavy stride at such a mad pace served to alarm all in the house who had not yet heard his dear mother's terror. Arriving on the scence, and reflexively hiding from it behind a butcher's accustomed assessment, he then pushes that aside, and lets his feelings of concern for Katharine flood forth, hoping to soothe her anguish in a shower of love. After hours of haunting her steps and rebuff followed by rebuke (always gentle, but not always kind), Marcus finally admitted defeat in the matter of helping her grievously wounded heart and mind. Instead, he went immediately to Watson and Holmes, to inquire what news there was of the victims' and the survivors' families. He felt better by tiny measures as he heard of their sorrow, but physical safety until his patience finally rewarded him with the news from Holmes' own mouth on his family, among those who still waited for someone to return home. This relief was as fleeting as its death was brutal when, as they gathered in the afternoon to discuss matters as heavily as they may, his resolve felt its final blow when his own mother seemed to intimate she suspected him (though he still found it eerily easy to remember her accusations of the Lady Emily, while ultimately correct, spoke of proof and surety that she *could* not have, for they were before even Wil had spoken out- unless she had been hiding something. She had still offered no evidence of her own prior.). At that point, Marcus politely excused himself, strode quickly to the nearest door, and violently emptied the contents of his stomach on the lawn just outside. Cooper, rushing ever to the batte front, found the man doubled over and clutching his stomach, insisting he was fine. (OOC: I think shooting for the obvious *was* a mistake, as I read people's opinions. I think the obvious subtlety is a better call- a vote for Wetherby/MeThinksUFoolish)

A heavy hand comes to rest on Wil's shoulder. After the events of today especially, he twists violently, ready for anything. What he doesn't expect is for Marcus to be standign there calmly, carefully lowering his hand back to his side so Wil can the whole movement. "I just wanted...to say I'm sorry. I misjudged you, Wil. Badly. I have to apologize again, though," says he with a regretful frown. "Though I'm trusting your word more and more, I still need more proof of this 'second sight' you talk about." His voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. "And Mr. Cooper has proved himself unsafely strange indeed. He's been a little *too* prepared for all this. I still don't trust him." (OOC:A vote for Tam/James. My character feels better about you, Gnarly old salt, but not Cooper, for reasons six-chambered. ;>) )

"It would be a privelege, Ms. Christie, but I don't dare move for fear of being shot dead on grounds of being the 'Bogey-man' in Mr. Cooper's closet."

"A wee bit out of sorts, Wil? You were hysterical!" Marcus fairly shouts at the man. Still eyeing the now much more level gun being brandished in Edwyn Cooper's hand, however, he keeps his seat in a chair near Wil's couch. No less angrily, but more quietly, he continues. "Still, I fail to see the logic behind denying this affair could push anyone to the breaking point. I'll stick by your side, if not your argument, for now." "Logic, however," he says as he looks to Cooper more shrewdly now, "seems to have been a great motivator behind your actions, Sir. Cold and calculating, though Lord only knows what on. One thing's for certain, however. Calmly pointing a gun at *anyone* who is no more suspicious than the rest of us speaks of those thoughts being sinister. Unless, I suppose, you have a vampire friend who can back the claims of Mr. Wil's 'second sight' on this werewolf. Or wait!! Maybe those friendly goblins, who live under the staircase, what about them? How bloody stupid do you think we are, you cur?!? You've been up to something all along, and have dropped pretense now that you feel we're in your clutches. Any man worth his salt will break you in two at the first opportunity, sir, so I suggest you stay attentive with that gun, else such despicable things as you've done these days are met with justice before the law may mete it out. May God have mercy on your soul," Marcus spat. The sweat on his brow belied his outrage. (OOC: I am now entirely lost as to who means what in OOC, so I apologize if I'm going against the spirit of things! {:>\ But, to sally forth hopefully properly: I'm changing my vote to Cooper/Eyremon.)