Ozymandias

Normally I hate replying to my own work, but now that I look at it, I think this is a story, not a poem. What do you think?

Cherry blossoms in the dark as the police cars look on Even in the gloom they gleam and burst with color The bushes stand at rigid attention showing barest passive interest The houses stand, great artifacts that they are, wondrous and ancient mysteries to all but the few elder trees who preside over all with the same sober watchfulness as their brethren, though without the merriment of the children The flowers continue to pantomime, some shows lasting through the night Though most have closed up shop for a good night's rest The buildings of the ground have gone dark but the tenants can be heard through a greater hustle and bustle than any that happen in the day I drive through it slowly, taking it all in as my car slowly relaxes taking it all in through unfocused eyes simply enjoying the time of laziness The trees look at him and say nothing Though I swear that dogwood laughed We travel this way for a little while, we strangers in a strange land, just enjoying ourselves as everyone else, the joy of being Then the time comes to wave a fond farewell even my car seems to look at the receding city forlornly, but we both know that through too much moderation comes paralysis So we ride, back on our now black tracks across the wide, flat plains, pumping, racing for all we are worth; me, smiling in contentment, worries pushed aside and my car, favoring his hip every so often, but driving us on harder than I ever will for the sheer, ecstatic thrill of it.

The young man stares at her, tight-lipped. Upon finishing her speech, she barely hears, " Motives!" escape his lips. From the deepening of his frown, she guesses rightly that it was not meant to said aloud. On returning his stare, he looks away, and over to Gyrfalcon. No less tensely, either, Myth notes with some interest.

Bowl rolling around sedately on the peak of his royal noggin, Ozymandias fumes his way out the door after helping Canid from the presents. "Well, I lost that bet," he grumbles as he makes his way out the front door. "I should've know better than to bet against violence erupting, but nooooo... Gyrfalcon'll be laughing like a hyena." Safely outside, the slightly inebriated mage begins to prepare a fireball spell to simply burn the whole soggy, sticky mess he's coated with clean off. Ozymandias concentrates, and- FWOOM. Melba spies a bright light outside the window at that moment and thunders her way over to inspect. She sees a figure wreathed in flames running around in circles, saying only, "AAAAA! AAAAAA! AAAAAA! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!" Screwing up her face in distaste, she turns to the straggling party members. "I don't know who invited the fire elemental", says she, hotly, "but I know who'll end up cleaning the soot out of the ceiling! He is not coming in!"

Nope, still conserving it. Looks around wildly, realizing he hasn't seen Tzimfemme.<i> </i>

Ozymandias tosses flowers on the stage. He goes to do the same withis hotel room key, but Gwaihir grabs his arm in the nick of time. Gwaihir: No. Nononono. No. Noo. Waves enthusiastically as Tralla looks his way. WE LOVE YOU!!! A wave of groupies crashes against the stage. Throng: Traalllllaaaa!!!

Considering getting philosophic, then dismissing the idea. I'll just agree with Gyr.

Don't let this die off, Honored Druid! Having read what I've read of yours, I am ITCHING to roleplay in something you DM. If you need any other hints: Know thy system! That's how a DM can screw himself most easily. Know the rules of reality, society, and nature. Not inside and out, necessarily, but to begin with, you need at least an outline of the above. Know thy clever ideas! Even if they're not all yours (hey, do they *have* to be? Naaaah.), know/have an idea of what specific "tricks" you want to pull- plot twists, unique places, unique itmes, people, etc. Don't fret if you don't end up using everything you come up with. The name of the game is fun, non? A related tip- Stephen King designs his characters fully for every story he writes, covering literally every detail there is to know about them, even if he uses only the barest fraction of that whole person in his work. DM, you *don't* need to do that! But dropping yourself into your characters' POVs is bloody useful. Improvisation, if you will. But with consistence. Know thyself! Know all of the above, and don't worry if you A) Do a lot of plagiarising B)Use only your ideas you deem "second-rate" C)Have your story warped, twisted, bent and otherwise mangled by your players After all, one of the best judges of any artist's work is his audience. For artists tend to be woefully over-critical of their work. ;>) It all depnds on the voice you add, or how much things *can* mean, and well, how much everyone's enjoying it! Game! Game! Game! Game!

Keep 'em coming!

Ozymandias sits on a nearby bench, dinner in hand. He stops twirling his fork in the noodles as the story is begun yet again, and looks almost disappointed when it stops once more. Then, as if just remembering it, the angular man looked down at his dinner. Lost in thought, he plans out the rationing of his remaining food. Yes, he was ready. He would wait.

Later, Ozymandias finds himself swaying in tune to the music a bit . He doesn't recognize the style of music William and co. are playing one bit. He finds he doesn't care. Downing the last of the deep red liquid he was drinking (and was fairly sure was alcoholic), he set the cup down and approached Canid. Grinning wolfishly (deliberately) and bowing low, he asks, "May I have this dance?"

One of my jobs is at a video game store. A lady called the other day asking if we had any Playstation 2 memory cards. I replied no, no one does, really, but Sony will be shipping cards out in mid-April. Her response? "Well, how am I supposed to win my war??" Never would've pegged you as a Blitzer, Rez. ;>) Good stuff, as always.

Zeph & P: Scary pictures.

Zoschenko makes a strong case for my plans to learn Russian. I love these! Thanks.

Without waiting for invitation, Ozymandias the Blue pulled out another chair at Gyrfalcon's table and settled heavily into it. "The ambience begins to choke one with self-importance after awhile," he remarked casually. Taking a swig from an unsurprisingly brimming flagon, the old mage glanced over the demigod's shoulder and his eyes narrowed. Curious, Gyrfalcon turned and spotted Kendricke the White. Ah-Ha, he thought. He knew there was no direct ill will between the two men, but remembered well that the grimfaced Egyptian nursed some small, but old grudge. Ozymandias quickly looked back over to him. Setting down his drink, he leaned forward. "So what's this, Falcon? A new artifact? You've been all but entranced by it for the past twenty minutes." Edited by: Ozymandias the Elder at: 4/1/02 6:17:54 am

Today is Good Friday, when the death of Jesus Christ is celebrated. In honor of that, I make the motion for all of us to take the time to remember everyone who has died for us: soldiers, policemen, firemen, parents, siblings, friends, spouses, complete strangers and all others who have died a physical death that we might have our lives; and those who have died to themselves, given up something very important for us in order that we may have what we do. Let us remember them and live to be the best people we can be to honor them.

Ozymandias examines the words he reads a bit more closely. Ah. A spelunker of written purpose. Excellent.

/me hands Tzimfemme a Kinder Egg.

*applauds emphatically* I've yet to read a piece of your poetry that doesn't take me to some small portion at least, of the world you describe. Well done. Please don't stop anytime soon.

Very good. *Very* original. You see that so rarely these days...

(OOC: Okay, I'm uncontrollably picturing wolfish slam dancing. Must...keep...straight...face...while...drinking...) Next, in flies a keg of mammoth proportions being barely held above the floor by several teams of tiny, gasping Imps. They are shortly followed by Ozymandias, who strides in in a businesslike manner. "tired," says an Imp. "You don't need to breathe, eat or sleep," shoots back the Founder, conversationally. Eyeing the room critically, he points. "Put it over there, by that table." The Imps groan in unison and heave to. Stepping forward purposefully until he is in the middle of the room (hurdling Prospero in the nick of time), Ozymandias stops and throws his arms out, stiff as boards. The 1812 Overture begins to play. When the cannons come in he shouts, "BOOM!" and red, green, blue, white, and black fireworks fly from his outstretched fingers, pinwheeling out across the room, glittering and sparking. Ozymandias keeps this going through the entire song. Seeing Gyrfalcon raise an eyebrow at him the Founder mutters out of the side of his mouth, "I too, am about as arrythmic as a nervous cat's heartbeat." (OOC Again: Almost forgot- Hi Canid!!! *waves*)

The shadows were busy that day. An unknowable number of beings slipped quietly about the dark, flat world of shadow methodically fulfilling their urgent task. Yui Temae swore she saw something flicker at the edge of her perception several times, but whatever it was was always gone by the time she investigated. These were highly trained soldiers of a rare supernatural order, one that outfitted its troops with cloaks that allowed each and every one to "slip sideways" into the realm of the two-dimesioned evernight. G aMMa com mAn der REPORTINg. NothinG new, Sir, said a voice that was not quite in the shadow hunter lieutenant's ears or mind, but somehow only partially in each. Normal conversation was a sound out of nightmare here, but it unnerved him not at all. In the shadow hunters, you either got used to the warping of the senses your battlefield inflicted or you went mad and were lost to never be found in an alien dimension. The shadow hunters recruited only the strongest minds possible. gAAAAAAAAmmmumumumma, clar ify. Nu uu Th in g ?wen Yzzz SIR. The civilians have discovered certain items of unknown origin as well as a few stolen goods. But we [have] found nothing new. D o n't g et cute WWW WWith me, S...eRgeant. Sir! Unknown$items?**Out*with*it,*soldier. Sir! Th eunknown item {SAPPEAR} to B playing cards, Sir. Playing cards? Jokerz, Sir. Found by the ~vampire and the...nake done. Tucke dinto herwe apon an d wh ere the demon ch ild sle eps , resp ecti vely, sir What in Hell...? thought the Lieutenant as he adroitly dodged something that swept past him. It might have been one of his team, it might not have. He wasn't concerned; it was already gone. There are messages too, sir He snappe dou tof his reverie. Damn it, sergeant, don't make me play twenty questions with you! Sir! No Sir! I'm not in the mood. What are the messages? One word, on each card- HA. One written in black ink, one in red. Possibly blood, sir. I see. ...IsTHAT all, he barked in a voice robbed of emotion, tone and timbre and granted something unhearable. Sir yes sir Good. Keep men on those two, I have a feelign that's our best lead. Yes sir And have your men encountered anything, Sergeant? Sir? I had a-en encounter, Kappa level a few minutes ago. May be nothing, but stay on alert. I want quarterly updates from all companys, you hear me? Sir yes sir came a cacaphony of voices that made a devil sound human. And Gamma? Sir? Stow the sarcasm crap. It doesn't suit you. Sir, wouldn't dream of besmirching my character sir! That'll do, soldier. Sir! Rolling eyes he was not sure he technically had in here, the lieutenant made his way through the shadows in the Cabaret. He came to a wooden door that on careful scrutiny could be seen to harbor no shadows- even though the light did not touch this section of the room directly. And there was an odd little thing shaped like a three-inch long human skeleton protruding from the lock, buried up to its kneecaps in the keyhole. The door stood ajar the merest fraction of an inch. Pos Sible anomaly in the Dreamer's quarters, team. Will make sextant reports. Immediate upon any unbriefed activity. Sir! Request permission to maneuver backup! D enied, Beta. KeeeeaaaaaaaYYYYYYYAAEEeep your team in position. I want nothing missed and will holler like a goosed whoa man if there's trouble. Ser yehz S...i...r! The shadow hunter lieutenant eased the door open. It squeaked a little, as he had expected it to. As he peered round the door, his eyes widened in shock. "Well now, you're not the MAIN course, but you're still a juicy little morsel. Don't you agree, kids?" "mrrroow www......" Lieutenant Karset Carson, shadow hunter third degree, 457 time, three year field combat veteran, didn't even get the chance to scream.

*ROTFLMAO* EVIL!!

Thanks, all. :>) *grumbles* Ozyboo...sheesh! This was actually born in one part of Poe's "The Raven", another of a fever dream I had where I was being buried alive in my parents' upstairs hallway by Raphael (of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles fame) and the final part of a marathon redeye cram session I did for my junior year in high school's midterms. It's one of the oddest sensation in the world to quite literally be awake and dreaming. I swear, my mind had shut down and headed into REM sleep except for this one corner that was staring at my bedroom and feeling acutely aware of having stretched on my english textbook AT THE EXACT SAME TIME. Needless to say, I was *not* rested the next day.

ENCORE!