A protest.

[Xanthus]

I come to the Pen, just for a change,

To read the writings, though some are strange.

Wyvern, he tells me, to comment a lot,

But he should know, with this board, I cannot.

 

Oh let me bang cymbals!

Oh let me blow horns!

Oh let me look into your eyes with pure scorn!

 

You bar the gates, so I can’t get in,

Surely you know that it is a sin!

When there are good comments yet to be found,

From those who are not allowed to be around.

 

Why not just let everybody give back?

To make up for the fact that most people slack.

Let the little guy, the guest, give his piece.

Don’t make him jump through your hoops like a beast.

 

I’m tired of writing! I put my pen down!

I walk away wearing a misshapen frown!

I will not jump right through the hoops as you led.

I’ll merely write this in protest instead.

[Regel]

First of all let me welcome you to the pen. I found this application (or protest) rather interesting to say the least. Strange are the works found here at the pen and would include this one among them.

 

It reminds me of an old song titles "Signs". It too was a protestation of a kind.

 

"Signs" as recorded by Tesla

 

 

And the sign says "No long hair freaky people need not apply"
So I put my hair under my hat and I went in to ask him why
He said you look like a fine outstanding young man I think you'll do
So I took off my hat I said "Imagine that Huh Me working for you"
CHORUS:
Signs Signs Everywhere there's signs
Blocking up the scenery Breaking up my mind
Do this Don't do that Can't you read the sign
And the sign says "Anybody caught trespassing will be shot on sigh"
So I jumped the fence and I yelled at the house
What gives you the right To put up a fence And keep me out
Or to keep Mother Nature in
If God was here He'd tell it to your face Man You're some kind of sinner
CHORUS:
Oh Say now mister Can't you read
You got to have a shirt and tie to get a seat
You can't watch No You can't eat You ain't supposed to be here
And the sign says "You gotto have a membership card just to get inside" Huh
And the sign says "Everybody welcome Come in Kneel down and pray"
But then they passed around a plate at the end of it all
And I didn't have a penny to pay
So I got me a pen and paper And I made up my own little sign
I said Thank you Lord for thinking about me I'm alive and doing fine

 

You are probably too young to remember it but it seems to be what was old is new again when it comes to your application/protest.

[Ayshela]

interesting association, Regel, and not one i'd have thought of.

 

i think this is related to the fact that one has to register to post, though why such a commonplace requirement should be a problem - or the equally common fact that there are areas of the board reserved for those committed enough to the site to become full members - *shrug*

[Salinye]

Actually, I believe Xan's frustration was not being able to post on works where the authors requested all feedback be posted in the Critic's corner. :0)

 

But all that aside, I thought the poem whimsical and I think it shows Xan's good sense of humor. :0)

 

Welcome to the Pen, Xan. I've already found your feeback and critique valuable. I wish more people offered well thought feedback. :0)

 

~Salinye

[Ayshela]

as noted - "or the equally common fact that there are areas of the board reserved for those committed enough to the site to become full members"

[Salinye]

I wasn't disputing your thoughts or comments, Ayshela. :0) I just wanted to add my own 2 cents about his protest and poem along with everyone elses. My thoughts weren't in response to anyone elses.

 

~Salinye

Edited June 21, 2004 by Salinye

[Wyvern]

Xanthus sighs and drums his fingers on the armrest of his applicant easychair, brushing the gathering cobwebs off of his protest signs as he impatiently waits for the Elder of Initiates' arrival. It was one thing to be left waiting for a response to an application piece or to an innocent question, but to ignore an all-out protest seemed downright uncivil...

 

Xanthus grumbles at the lack of rebellious spirit in the Pen's younger members and reaches for his bugel horn when suddenly, the front door to the Recruiter's Office slams open and Wyvern marches in. The overgrown lizard hisses strings of curses under his breath as he storms towards his desk, and breezes through several lengthy documents as he practically collapsing into his favorite chair. Noticing Wyvern's aggravated look and excessive cursing, Xanthus smugly nods and says:

 

"I see that you've picked up on my-"

 

"It's ridiculous!" interrupts Wyvern.

 

"I-it is?" mutters Xanthus a bit nervously.

 

"Yes." growls Wyvern. "Absolutely ridiculous... I was turned down for a raise once again! How am I supposed to fund my schemes with the peanut-sized income they provide for this Recruiter job? Yeesh!"

 

Xanthus stares at Wyvern blankly.

 

"Ummm... did you read my recent poem yet? It starts 'I came to the Pen-'"

 

"The sorry excuse for an income that comes with this job." interrupts Wyvern bitterly, taking out the Decanter of Endless Booze and drawing a long swig from it. "They should at least provide me with a free massage or something... mmmm... Signe massage..."

 

"Errr, yyyeeah." mutters Xanthus, now a wee bit aggravated himself. "Listen, Wyvern, could you just hear my poe-"

 

"Absolutely not." says Wyvern, flashing Xanthus a grin of razor sharp teeth. "I'm going to protest throughout this application for a raise in wages, and won't read or respond to your poem."

 

Xanthus' jaw drops open.

 

"B-b-b-but, if you're, than how can I...?"

 

Wyvern kicks his scaly feet onto his desktop and shrugs.

 

"Y-you" stammers Xanthus. "Wyvern, you're the one who always tells me to respond to things. See, it's even written in my poem here!"

 

Wyvern raises a scaly hand to turn down the poem that Xanthus is pointing at, then hisses:

 

"Sorry Xan, it's gonna have to wait. I'll tell you what, though: if you can convince Ozymandias the Elder to raise my geld income, I'll consider responding to your application. I expect the demand for more geld on Wyvern's payroll to be written creatively of course, and with class at that! What do ya say?"

 

Xanthus fumes angrily, clenching his fists and growling:

 

"It... it wasn't an application."

 

OOC: To be continued. Over to you, Xanthus.

[Peredhil]

I sit inside the Pen's gate and sigh

Watching the ones who snarl and pass by

Admission is free, but they have to walk through the door

We just don't drag them in any more.

 

We blow our own horns!

We clash symbols!

We require accounts to avoid spamming porn!

 

We have a wall with a gate,

Just manuever on through

If you're even slightly Polite

We'll happily welcome you.

 

That which is given away which is free

Is quickly tossed away when obtained cheaply

A bit of work and sweat, a requirement to grow

Help avoid contention, lack of confidence and woe

 

I'll never tire of writing; I write because I must

And I sit here wondering why you've fussed.

Why you want everyone else to change to accommodate?

What's right? Shake the head; it's getting too late.

 

Such talent prowls in the cold outside

But it's warm inside where I abide

Hopeful that pride and stubborness will not collide

But your write to protest simply cannot be denied.

[Quincunx]

(At this point, the entire scene in the Recruitment Office draws back to simply be an image projected on a screen, projected by fiber optic mana impulses passing through the eye-piece of recording, cross-referencing, self-speculating binoculars. All of this is perched atop a lab table in the Pen's science tower, along with Dr. Tzimfemmestien in a push-up labcoat ((and not much else)).)

 

Now here we are seeing the Inverse formation of the poetries! It is of the same pattern as the poem about writer's block, or the poem about not wanting to sing! Very well established, it is!

 

(She thwacks the image of the application with a wooden pointer. Wind whooshes through the Recruiter's Office from the pointer's invisible passing, startling Xanthus, but not having much effect on scaly Wyvern.)

 

However! More established it is for Wyvern to extract gold by all means possible, also by multiple means which are not possible! We have not seen him be dissuaded by less than the Anti-Wyvern Mallet, most lately in the hands of Melba the secretary, of which negotiations for the using of the mallet are as hazardous as separating Wyvern from geld! Reverse the hyperoculars and we shall see!

 

(The image on the wall wavers, then flickers backwards in 8-mm film quality, replaying the hundreds of schemes Wyvern has deployed in the Recruiter's Office, and the hundreds of ways they've failed. . .with poor Xanthus still being displayed seated and bewildered in the chair as it blows up around him, disintegrates from underneath him, gets pawned for bail money, tagged as evidence, carted away by men in black coats while leaving him behind, carted away by men in white coats while leaving him behind. . .)

[Ozymandias]

Ozymandias sits at his desk, parchments waiting to be read, completed, or filled lie scattered about in vague piles, as well as an open inkwell, now dried quill pen, and a very, very cold cup of tea.

 

His distraction du moment came from the pair of cymbals he held in his hands and gazed out at intently from under his thick eyebrows.

 

Suddenly bringing his hands together with terrific speed, the two instruments collide with a CRASHHH!

 

Ozymandias sits quietly for several minutes after that, as though waiting for something.

 

When no reaction comes, he calmly sets them down next to his chair.

 

Running a hand yet again through thoroughly mussed gray hair, he returns his attention to the sheaf of writing directly in front of him, his frown ever so slightly deeper.

[Xanthus]

After many days sitting on the stairs clutching his protest sign, Xanthus finally rises and turns to greet the room. He opens his mouth very slightly, and then closes it again as if deciding against what he had previously chosen to say. Suddenly taken by the beauty of his new running shoes, his eyes escape to look at them instead.

 

A few minutes later, Xanthus’s eyes finally rise off his sneakers. He looks straight at Wyvern, an accepting grin on his face. Suddenly and completely without warning, he breaks into song.

 

You say you have need of some more gold,

For your liver to drink in and hold,

Stick with me if you choose,

You know you won’t loose,

But the drink will make sure you never grow old.

 

The strange man’s pockets suddenly begin filling, getting larger and larger until finally they begin to overflow. As you look to try to see what it is coming out of his pockets, he snaps his hands over them, and jams the unknown objects back in. Whatever it was in his pocket has stopped growing, for now, and he was too quick in his movements for you to see what it was. All you could make out was a sparkle, as if of metal. Regaining his composure, Xanthus clears his throat and begins to sing again.

 

Of all who come to this place, you insist,

That they suck up to you, to give the gist.

So suck up I will, and now you behold,

From my pockets, I pull handfuls of gold.

 

Xanthus reaches with both hands into his pockets, each hand coming out filled with gold coins, which he hurls at an unexpecting Wyvern. The charismatic stranger’s pockets begin filling again, and soon there’s gold spilling out of them.

 

Not only for you, will I fill the glass,

But also for all of those who would pass.

As much gold as any would need,

Can belong to all, if they move with greed.

 

With a burst, the singing stranger runs into the room, leaps upon a table, and begins throwing gold in all directions, throughout the room. All the people who had been sitting and watching the spectacle begin diving for coins, pushing and yelling at each other in the process. One of the greedier of the bunch even knocks over Wyvern’s chair to try to collect the fistfuls of coin already thrown at the old drunkard.

 

Suddenly, all the gold is gone, vanished into thin air. Everyone in the room looks up, the shock of sudden fortune wiped out by the shock of sudden loss. Wyvern gets up from where he had been thrown just in time to see Xanthus disappear through the door and into the many hidden chambers of the Pen.

[Wyvern]

Four of the Elder dwarves stop Xanthus on his way to disappearing into the Pen's hidden chambers, immediatly halting him and directing him back to the Recruiter's Office. Shoving the applicant back into Wyvern's abode and thinking little of it, the Elder dwarves continue on their merry way, completely oblivious to Wyvern's scheming.

 

"Well..." mutters Wyvern from his desk seat, casually pretending that he hadn't been flailing for handfuls of geld just a few minutes ago. "Listen Xanthus, are you going to write something up to help me get a pay raise from Ozymandias the Elder or not? I haven't got all day."

 

"What?!" blurts Xanthus, now clearly aggravated. "B-b-but, I just slaved to come up with that entire poem, that entire geld spell, and that entire dance routine! And let's not forget the people I hired to watch th-"

 

"Xanthus." interrupts Wyvern, raising a scaly claw to establish silence and yawning a little. "You understood my demands, right? I didn't ask for some geld, I asked for a pay raise from Ozymandias the Elder."

 

"B-b-but" stammers Xanthus, pointing left and right. "You saw it, didn't you?! You saw all the geld that I created in the blink of an eye, how my pockets overflowed, how I-"

 

"Yup." answers Wyvern, taking a short sip from the Decanter of Endless Booze and sighing. "But that's just geld, that's not a permenant pay raise. Besides, as colorful and vibrant as that display was, I didn't make a single copper off of it."

 

Xanthus' jaw goes agape and he stares at Wyvern for a long moment, slowly moving his mouth back to its rightful position as a hateful expression overcomes his visage. Pointing an accusational finger at Wyvern, the angered applicant shouts:

 

"They lied when they told me about the loopholes that the Elder of Initiates puts applicants through, he's far worse than that! He won't even accept Initiates when they comply to his demands. Well Mr. Wyvern, I'm leaving. Good day!"

 

"I can't let you do that..." hisses Wyvern, stamping a scaly foot on the ground and causing the door to shut.

 

Xanthus pauses for moment, as if unable to understand what Wyvern is saying.

 

"WHAT?!!!!"

 

"I can't let you leave." repeats Wyvern, lifting himself from his seat and grinning evilly. "I happen to be protesting for an increase in wages in this Office, and you're my applicant hostage. You're gonna have to live with it, bud."

 

Xanthus simply stares at Wyvern in rage, opening his mouth but unable to speak anything. Carefully observing Xanthus' discontent, Wyvern scratches his scaly chin and hisses:

 

"O.K, I'll tell ya what... since you're probably gonna be trapped in here for a very very very long time given the current status on raising my wages, I'll ACCEPT your application here in secret. But no telling anyone until my protest has succeeded, alright?"

 

Xanthus continues staring at Wyvern in rage, opening his mouth to speak and raising a finger as Wyvern stamps his application piece ACCEPTED.

 

"Say" hisses the lizard upon handing the ACCEPTED sheet back to Xanthus. "I don't suppose you have any snacks on you or anything? Haven't gone on my lunch break since I'm protesting, and I'm sorta hungry..."

 

;-)

 

OOC: An ACCEPTED application, Xanthus, welcome to the Mighty Pen. I look forward to reading more of your works, as well as participating with you in community events.