The inevitable introduction piece

[Feste]

Yes, just a plain white box. You are now confined within its walls, privy to all the strange projections; the bewildering thoughts; the restless worries. It is here that I dwell.

 

You may ask yourself who I am. And indeed I would hope you should. You think in abstracts, which is certainly what this is, but does answering who I am lead you to understand why you are here? Did you already forget? You're in my box. I'm quite curious, myself. How did you get here?

 

Well, no sense troubling ourselves over the trivial. You are here for a reason, though yet unknown, and we should still make the most of your visit! What is this place? Why, it is a box. You are rather unimaginative; talking down on a box. I mean, you must be if you're stuck inside of it. Somewhere in your realm of technicolor dreams, vivid landscapes, pastels, markers, finger paints, Crayolas; How did you end up inside a realm with four shades of gray?

 

Are you like me? Did you once sail the turquoise fields? Dance on the Crimson Skies? I've slinked through Tangerine Forests, and laughed among Sapphire Winds. I'm too proud to admit that those things left me. I'd rather believe I left them. The colors faded and fled; I was left with mere lines. A simple book to color. But no where was there an artist; accomplished or even budding. I once even begged for a pudgy-fingered child to molest my pages with abusive strokes, so that I may taste red or blue or even that sickly shade of green once more.

 

Before long, even the lines faded. The pages were blank. Nothing directed me. A field of off-white paper became paler and taller. A blinding white box. That is what it became.

 

I've only assumed that I'm trapped, of course. I couldn't see an escape, so here I sit. At least until now...

 

But wait, you had to have come from somewhere! From whence have you come?! Are the fields still brimming with turquoise?! Do my forests still stand?!

 

What?!

 

They don't?

 

I thank you for your honesty. It's painful, but the truth is nice when you've been lied to constantly by yourself.

 

So where did you come from? I've done nothing but talk; I've given you no chance to speak.

 

You're my what?

 

Eh-ma-jin-ay-shun?

 

oh...

 

oh?

 

OH!!!

 

WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?!

 

What is this? A pen? What am I to do with this? Create? How do I scribe my colors with a mere black ink?!

 

Wait! Where are you going?! What am I supposed to do with the pen?! COME BACK!

 

Don't go...

 

I guess... I guess... Yes. That is what I do. This pen is merely a key to the world.

[Venefyxatu]

A fascinating piece, both the concept and the one-sided dialogue you use to tell it.

 

Here's hoping you'll find some interesting colours with the black ink in your key ... welcome to the Pen!

[Wyvern]

Wyvern enters into Feste's white box carrying a clipboard with a checklist in one claw and a half-empty bottle of Bruteweiser in the other. The reptilian Elder scratches his chin as he observes the design of the rather plain quarters, then scribbles a few footnotes on his checklist and wanders from one wall to another, swooshing his scaly tail over the gray box floor.

 

"Could obvioussssly do with a bit of decor, but it'll work." Wyvern raps his claw on the wall closest to him and marks something on his checklist, then claps his claws together and lets out a high-pitched w-hiss-tle. Lizardman underlings immediately begin filing into the box, maneuvering around Venefyxatu as they pull out measuring tape and electric drills while others shove in oversized furniture. Wyvern raps his tail stinger on the floor, and checks another item from his list. "Good, niccce and sssturdy. Huh? Oh yeah, just put the ceramic brain statue over in the left corner there. Yeah, I think we'll ssstart with the turquoise paint."

 

Wyvern crosses his arms over his chest as he watches the lizardmen get to work, then pauses as the voice of Feste echoes through the room.

 

"Excuse me, but this is my box. What's going on here?"

 

"Ah, hello there Fessste. We're putting your box to the tessst, put your worries to rest. I'm Wyvern, one of the bessst." Wyvern raps, then marks another box off his checklist. "Anyway, I figured we'd rent out this box of yours as a guest room for Psimon's quarters since its cerebrally based n'stuff. Sssince your buddy Eh-ma-jin-ay-shun only visits for limited periods, and bewildering thoughts are tax-deductable, I figure it shouldn't be too much of a problem?"

 

 

OOC: Nice piece, Feste. Welcome to the Pen!