Guest Minta Rose Posted August 4, 2001 Report Posted August 4, 2001 The blackness was momentary. “What was that for?” Degenero remarked, rubbing the new wound on his head and blinking away the shinies which swam before his eyes. Rosemary looked down at Degenero, the peculiar staff still clutched in her hands. Behind her beatific smile, the voice no one else would ever hear again reformed, gloating, “Go in circles, caught in seeming, do what I am dreaming!” It drained away as the blackness receded into the halo, yet she half-closed her eyes against the mockery. She had stolen his power, true, but that should not have condemned her to be his audience every time she invoked it! She threw the unaccustomed weapon aside and stalked angrily out of the room. * The sugar-fed faerie dragon zipped through the forest, terror in its eyes, and Minta bounding behind it on her pogo stick. Over freshly dug werebear dens and under the needles of warlike pine treants they raced, Minta slowly gaining ground. As it ran short of mana, the faerie dragon exploded in a shower of rainbow-hued scales, and Minta giggled with glee. “Sparklydragon tickles!” she laughed, leaping off of her pogo stick and brushing its scales from her cheeks with her sleeves. When at last the sparkles stopped winking in the sunbeams, the child looked around at her new realm. Instead of zombie leather she wore a proper little dress of werebear felt, and little green ribbons in new pigtails. The stink of decay did not hang over this realm; the treants had cleared out all remains of the previous days’ battles. “I’m lonely,” she sniffled. “I want my zombies again! That meanie won’t let me have any zombies and sparklydragons just won’t stay alive and he says I gotta go back to school again and behave nicely and not cast any spells at ALL!” She wailed on for several minutes, her cries loud in the empty forest. All at once, her cries cut off. “I’ll run away! That’ll show him not to be a meanie! And I’ll go somewhere where I can have all the zombies I want!” In a twinkling of an eye, she was back on her pogo stick and hopping away faster than any treant could run. * Rydia awoke, feeling disjointed. In a few seconds, she recognized the bland, although comfortable, furnishings of the Tavern of the Morning Rose’s guest rooms. Reaching for a convenient twist of paper on the bedside table, she untwisted it, swallowed the powder inside, and recited the inscription upon the paper. The spell took hold, and Rydia groaned as bits of the previous evening’s conversations filtered back: “First rule: If you’re reading the Banquet Hall at all, take a drink—you deserve one!” “AHA! That’s the American spelling! Empty your glass!” “Already did.” “. . .you did that on purpose, didn’t you! That’s cheating!. . .” “He can’t say it four times in just one paragraph! Two sentences to go. . .one sentence to go—” “—‘Obviously’!” “Kid’s going to bankrupt me! . . .(gulp). . .Barkeep! Another round. . .(sigh). . .on me.” . . .ah, yes. That was when someone had carried her out of the Tavern, right after she had proposed, “Every time a moderator gets sick, take a drink,” then acted upon it. It wasn’t the first time she’d crashed at the Legion’s drinking contest, nor the first time she had awoken the next morning in their guest rooms with hazy recollections. Still, this time had been different. With a pleasant shiver, she remembered dissolving into the night sky, and a galaxy drifting softly over her cheek. “Strange dreams in that liquor,” Rydia mused, squinting her eyes shut against the fancies and rolling back over to the warmer side of the bed. . . * One hundred days had passed. The fever broke. . . “NEVER AGAIN!” snarled Tzimfemme, leaping up from her slumber and landing on all fours. Without a moment’s pause, her hand darted into a portal and retrieved the Lobotomy, drawing back for the strike. However, her target was gone. Her eyes darted around the octagonal crypt with suspicion, lighting upon the dismembered voodoo dolls, the bloody fragments of pottery, and the fractal patterns gouged into the stone walls. Snarling, she spun around and crouched, and looked over her handiwork—and the snarl dropped. “Why did I do all that?” she asked the spirals. They didn’t answer. Tzimfemme shrugged and jumped off of the slab of marble, trotting curiously around the room. Wavy grooves in the stone, like the tracks of careless fingers through mud, delineated the pattern. In a few points she had left impressions of her palms as though she had leaned on the wall in dismay. She assumed the position once more, and her forehead touched a six-armed spiral with a severe sine wave bisecting it. It discharged its message, and her fury redoubled. Tightlipped with rage, she marched to the door of the crypt and slammed into an astral barrier. She froze, then stepped backwards until she waited just to the side of the doorway. . .
The Portrait of Zool Posted August 4, 2001 Report Posted August 4, 2001 ~Zool~ Elder of Elders, The Pen is Mightier than the Sword. Bard of Terra, Patron Saint of Aspiring Bards. Elder than dirt, more foolish than a jester, able to trip over the smallest logic in a single step. It's... Oh, you know.
Wyvern Posted August 8, 2001 Report Posted August 8, 2001 They say: "A smile from Zool is a sign of good fortune" Never the less, I take it you'd prefer for me to wait till the rest of your story is finished before deciding? ------------------------------ Almost a Dragon... "I'll put it in lamer terms: If you came to learn how to make fire, COME I'LL MAKE YOU BURN!" -Big Pun, R.I.P Owner of the Decanter of Endless Booze.
Guest Minta Rose Posted March 7, 2002 Report Posted March 7, 2002 Later that morning, Rydia awoke again with a little cry. She struggled with the sheets for a moment before her head cleared. This time, she sat upright, drawing the coverlet with her. Blushing, her eyes flickered around wildly, sure that someone had been watching, and found her dress neatly folded on the bedside table. Shyly she dressed and straightened her hairdo with her fingers, squinting into the mirror and trying to remember. Something very important. . . She knew that feeding Tzimfemme wasn’t was bugging her—the mage was comatose and never noticed when she did pour out the blood—but Rydia pretended it was. With a mumbled apology to the first Legionnaire she encountered in the hallways (Starlight she thought it was, but the sobering spell didn’t help with names), Rydia fluttered back to Angels of Apocalypse territory, shedding pearlescent down feathers in her worry. Rosemary hadn’t forgotten the day, and when Rydia ducked inside the cool stone hallway to the crypt, the vampire was already there. Struggling with day-sleep, she bared her fangs and wrenched the neck of the sacrificial sheep upwards with one hand, then nipped at the base of the neck. Blood drained from the sheep into her mouth, and from her other wrist into a wooden bucket nearby. The feeding of vampire blood contradicted Tzimfemme’s wishes, but Rosemary owed the naked mage many sleepless days of terror, and knew that her contagion flowed as easily in blood as in thought. She lost her grip on the sheep’s carcass, stumbled backwards to her resting place, and fell into the daily nightmares. With a shudder, Rydia picked up the bucket. This was no place for an angel. She trudged down the hall, wings trailing over the cold floor, and began raising the bucket as she crossed the threshold, to slosh it onto Tzimfemme’s body and be done as quickly as possible. Tzimfemme struck! She had the flail twisted around her apprentice’s neck before Rydia had time to breathe. “LET ME OUT!” Tzimfemme screamed into Rydia’s ear, and slammed her through the barrier like a meat-shield, but was herself restrained in the ethereal webbing. Rydia stumbled forward on her knees, simultaneously tugging the Lobotomy away from her neck and twisting to face her attacker. “I—I—I don’t think I should,” blurted Rydia, “I’m scared!” Tzimfemme put her hands on her hips and leered at Rydia from the doorway. “What! Frightened of me! Why ever would you think that!”she spat. “Just because I’m going to crack quite a few heads open, including yours if you don’t—” In her day-sleep, Rosemary giggled, childlike, without changing her expression. “—let me out. . .of here. . .immediately. . .who’s laughing?” she ended, with disbelief. The naked mage reverted to puzzlement, leaning far to one side of the doorway, spying Rosemary, and letting out an aggrieved sigh. “How did I know, from the bottom of my twisty little soul, that she’d be involved. Why. Why why why.” Tzimfemme bumped her forehead against the wall with every repetition, totally drained of all malice, and Rydia ventured tentatively over the threshold. “You can’t ask her now, Tzimfemme, it’s daytime. Maybe. . .later. . .I can tell you what happened while you slept. Looks like you were busy,” added Rydia unnecessarily, twisting nervously on her heels and looking around at the carvings. Tzimfemme slowed to infrequent bumps, then rested her cheek carefully upon a clear patch of wall and eyed Rydia. “You could say that, yes,” Tzimfemme rolled her eyes, then assumed a mocking-innocent voice, “May I be let out, please?” They heard more giggling, not from Rosemary this time. Afraid, Rydia grasped Tzimfemme’s hand and led her out of the crypt, past Rosemary who was now rigid with suppressed terror, past the empty slaughter block, past the trail of blood, into the sunshine. Tzimfemme yelped with pain and shut her eyes. Rydia squinted into the daylight and saw the sheep, bloodless and grey, wobbling upon its hooves. It bleated weakly and stumbled away from the sun-blinded pair, following a chunk of pasty white meat suspended from a green ribbon. From atop the crypt, Minta waved cheekily down at Tzimfemme and Rydia. “Hi!” she chirped. “Wanna piece of brain? Zombie wants it all so you gotta take it quick!” Rydia smiled weakly, “Thank goodness it’s you, Minta! Finally something normal!” “Normal? Minta?” interjected Tzimfemme, opening her eyes with a wince. “I think you’ve been out in the sun too long.” “Me!” beamed Minta. “I got bored an’ lonely ‘cause you sent me away so I’d be safe but now I’m back here so it’s ok. Wow, you’re awake, didn’t you get bored sleeping all that time, but it was cool when you weren’t sleeping,” Rydia frantically shook her head at Minta and motioned for her to be quiet, “you were all crazy! An’ screaming an’ dancing an’ destroying stuff all over! Are we gonna do that again, that was fun! Look at what I got!” She hunted in the unfamiliar pockets of the dress for awhile, then took out a tiny shard, too small for her to use as a dagger, too big to fit in her fist. Tzimfemme looked blankly at the shard. “That’s not mine,” she said. “It’s not?” Minta looked disappointed, but chattered on, “Well, Rose talks ‘bout it going ‘round an’ ‘round but I don’t understand, an’ it’s not Rydia’s, and it wasn’t mine before but it is now. Can we wake her up an’ ask? Please?” Rydia replied, “Not yet, you know that. Come down from there,” she added, holding out her arms to catch Minta. “We have to write an excuse to the nice person who took you in, and you need to eat lunch—you too, Tzimfemme—you haven’t eaten in almost three months.”
Quincunx Posted April 7, 2003 Report Posted April 7, 2003 "What is this tripe?" Tzimfemme said, crinkling her nose at the forkful of vegetables. "I was going to cook the lamb, but Minta zombified it, and have you ever tried to eat zombie flesh?" Rydia waggled a wooden spoon at Minta and Tzimfemme, who looked equally appalled at their servings. Tzimfemme pushed her plate aside and picked up the shard again, then stuck the point into the table and gouged out a few splinters. "I can't remember the damned particulars," she muttered. "All I'm sure of is that I feel bloody violated. Not just 'someone interrupted my sleep cycle' either, though I'd like to see the idiot who thinks they can present me with a reflective surface first thing in the morning." "Actually it was almost afternoon," whispered Rydia, and Tzimfemme clicked the shard flat upon the table in lieu of a smile. Abandoning her plate, Minta squatted and leaped off of her chair, crawled under the table a few times, then clambered up the ladder-back of Tzimfemme's chair. "This mirror is broken. Look-look. Is fine with the reflections of the veggies but me an' you look the same." She pointed down from Tzimfemme's shoulder and showed the truth of it. The single reflection was mostly Tzimfemme, but there was something of Minta in the rapid motions of the figure. "So this is the game, is it!" Everyone cowered away from Tzimfemme's sudden berserker snarl, and Rydia twisted her side trying to dodge the shard which the naked mage snapped through the air. The fracture of fantasy and reality flashed between worlds until Rosemary, who'd thrust out her own mirror like an evil-eye charm to shield her from the rage, shattered it with that motion. Splinters of souls carved deeper tracks into the filligree already on the silver mirror's edge, and Rosemary fell into a rapture as she studied the enhanced patterns. Voice flat with rage, Tzimfemme scowled, "This must not be allowed to go unpunished--oh hell, I still don't remember what happened, but anything so bad as to crack open reality--ugh! Is there no place immune?!" She shivered, and challenged everyone's eyes. Minta nodded, baffled, and didn't contribute. Rydia's eyes strayed to Rosemary, whose gaze broke away from her reflection and pinned Rydia. "Eight," she snapped. "Barely involved, barely revolving! but they follow simply to sing, they are. . ." Rosemary faltered, then stopped with a dull glare. "They are equidistant. Neutral." She took out the heavily scratched mirror and pointed out the fresh outermost inscription, almost a circle as compared to the frenzy of spirals further in. "They are as far as it is possible to be." Rydia picked out the only useful phrase. "Who sings?" she asked the table. "Woods, or he attempts to. Joat does legitimately. Possibly some other bards. . .BARDS! Who are those people who are scooping up the bards? The Pen is Mightier than the Sword, right?" Tzimfemme whacked the table in triumph, then screwed up her face in pain as splinters sliced into her palm. "I remember now. Peredhil and Jechum cruising like genteel piranha, keeping everything proper--not like this. Being around them certainly can't hurt. Let's go." Minta squeaked as Tzimfemme picked her up under one arm, looking to the vampire for guidance. Rosemary held her mirror level to the ground and performed calculations with an arrowhead pendulum and a hand abacus, then exited the room walking swiftly. Tzimfemme and Rydia quieted Minta by each placing a hand over her mouth, then threaded after Rosemary. Words came back from the darkness: "I don't like it any more than you do, but it is not surrender. Neither forgetting nor forgiveness, just. . .time. We need time.". . . . . . .She stood in the opening doorway and glittered, expecting everyone's attention, and unfazed by the lack of inhabitants. Her overskirts and mantle glowed sunshine yellow, embroidered with constellations of glittering silver beads, and reflected the light painfully. Beneath that, the tunic was navy blue like a midnight sky, and her skin was deathly pale, suffocated lilac-pink on the lips. Beneath that, her eyes glazed and her mind celebrated the onslaught. The eyes blossomed from brown to gold as she rebuked someone intangible, then darkened again. With the darkening, she faded, leaving the shell as a four-foot-tall blonde woman who'd barely passed adolescence. With that mood broken, another one catapulted into the room, rebounding off of the walls twice before clinging to the top file of a filing cabinet and flipping herself upward into it. The little girl sported short, wavy-curly indigo hair and matching eyes in a round face. Durable child's research robes crafted out of zombified leather covered her from neck to toe. Stumpy fingers searched at least a dozen pockets before finding a slimy crayon of compressed zombie meat. Slurping absently on a strawberry pixystix, she tossed documents willy-nilly out of the filing cabinet, mumbling, "nope. . .nuh-uh. . .not this one. . .it's gotta be here someplace. . ." Yet another peeked in the doorway, then slipped inside, side-stepping flying pages. She was the tallest one by far, though not quite of average height, even with her mane of green hair flipped up and to one side. Sparkly makeup made her glitter, green eyes danced, light green sundress barely clung to her slender body. In her confusion, she tapped a little whip against the toe of her knee-high boots as she looked around the room. "Wyvern? . . ." she read off of a name-plate on the desk, then shrugged delicate archangel's wings. Sidestepping past the first one, she settled into one of the chairs, crossed her legs at the knee, took out a pouch of extra-shiny jacks and glittery bouncy ball, and settled in to play. "Don't make me pull rank on you, Wyv," announced the last one as she swept the first aside and entered, stark naked. She could have been a Minoan painting brought to life, with long brown hair braided into the proper style and an expression willing to vault over whatever bull got in the way. One set of knuckles rested on her hip, supporting a flail with a dagger-edged head, while her brown eyes scanned the room. Finding nothing new, she flicked the bell atop the desk with her index finger--ting!--while scooping up a pen from the blotter. The child handed down some papers, and the naked one slapped them down on the desk and stood, filling in the forms.
Gyrfalcon Posted April 7, 2003 Report Posted April 7, 2003 *Gyrfalcon applauds!* Wyvern, if you don't accept this, I'll be very unhappy.
Peredhil Posted April 7, 2003 Report Posted April 7, 2003 genteel piranha? He considered it with one raised brow, until the lurking smile surfaces as he considered JECHUM reading that. And we were so careful not to bite in public... He murmurs, then looks up, You know, there IS a reason I love you so! This is just a reflection of it... An echo... A Fouier Transformation? He carefully maintains his position outside the Spirals, observing.
Archaneus Posted April 7, 2003 Report Posted April 7, 2003 Um... I feel really stupid right now. I think I am suffering from sleep depervation because I didn't understand this at all. The whole thing just left me dumbfounded as far as what happened. Um... did I just completely snap?
Rune Posted April 7, 2003 Report Posted April 7, 2003 *swoons* So complex and multi faceted, so many different subjects and situations all jumbled into one. So many personalities that feel so lifelike and complete but also seem so connected and maintained. Gah, im in awe. @__@
Wyvern Posted April 12, 2003 Report Posted April 12, 2003 Tzimfemme lets out an irritated sigh as she begins filling out the numerous forms and questionnaires that lay on the desk before her, staring in disbelief at the audacity of some of the questions the reptilian Elder of Initiates dared to ask Pen applicants. A long drawn out math problem involving the calculation of a geld inheritence from a tax collector's death and the amount of time it would take for that geld to be illegaly transferred to Wyvern's bank account struck her as particularly irrelevent for those in search of creativity... In addition, it seemed that in every other question she had to decline another "free" Almost Dragonic product offer (she knew very well by this point that Wyvern's interpretation of the word "free" was a rather twisted one... and besides, his products always ended up causing more burdens than boons). Frowning at the lack of an "abstain" option for a multiple choice question concerning blood types, Tzimfemme snarls and scans the office for any sign of Wyvern, only to once again take note of the greedy lizard's absence... As the nekkid mage continues filling out Pen application forums, Minta Rose joyfully skips in circles around Wyvern's cluttered mess of a desk, slapping a palm upon the office bell and ringing it at the end of each of her cyclical rotations. Pulling out a pixy stick from one of her many back pockets, Minta skips and slaps the bell for the twentieth time only to be greeted by an unexpected triggered effect. As the bell rings for the twentieth time, a trap door in the ceiling opens directly above Wyvern's desk chair and what is obviously a decoy robotic Wyvern drops into out of it. Rydia, who had been carelessly doodling a picture of Starlight on scrap paper with a shiny magic marker, turns her head towards the form of the robotic lizard and eyes it curiously. Tzimfemme and Minta do likewise while Rosemary doesn't take note of the decoy's entrance, the latter being preoccupied with examining the strands of spiritual essence present within Wyvern's filing cabinet. Awkwardly turning it's head towards the applicants in an automated manner, the Wyvern-bot raises a metallic hand and manages to murmer "Greet-in-" before it starts to malfunction due to it's extremely cheap fabrication. A spring goes loose in the neck socket of the robot and it's head promptly flies off in a sudden explosion of metal and sparks (which Rydia admires in their shiny beauty). An automatic speech program suddenly starts up in the remains of the robot, and the phrase "all your geld are belong to me" begins repeating itself in a monotonous robotic tone. It's only a matter of minutes before this repetitive statement begins to become annoying, and Rydia quickly fishes through her garments in search of the anti-spam carp. The quill that Tzimfemme is writing with trembles on the page where she holds it and eventually snaps in two, the quick temper of the nekkid mage getting the best of her. Gritting her teeth and turning towards the office window, Tzimfemme angrily shouts: "Wyvern!!! Where the hell are you??!!!!" *** Standing near the center of the Forest of Wixiebear and completely unaware of the arrival of new applicants in his office, Wyvern proudly takes a large gulp from his Decanter of Endless Booze and an enormous whiff of the fresh air surrounding him... immediatly gagging and choking due to the distinctive smell of werebear manure present in said air. Quickly recovering from this nasty odor, Wyvern brushes the dust off of his khaki shirt and Summer shorts, feeling that he is one with his surroundings and in complete control of nature as a civilized being... Holding his binoculars up to his face in the wrong direction, the overgrown lizard tries to figure out why everything gets smaller rather than larger when he looks through them... "Blasted contraption!" curses Wyvern, tossing his binoculars to the ground and jumping up and down on them in a fit of rage. "Why do they have to make these things so damn complicated?!" After he's vented his anger, Wyvern turns to his forest guide, a troglyodyte that wears dark sunglasses and loads of cheap deoderant, and asks: "So Smii... have you found any of these mysterious tracks you informed me of yet?" The troglyodyte nods, adjusting his sunglasses and pointing towards a print in the ground that rests directly next to Wyvern's feet. Unknown to both Smii and Wyvern, the print had actually been made by Minta Rose when she had pogo-sticked through the area earlier... Grinning to Wyvern, the forest guide hisses: "Yessss indeeds Mr. Wyvsern, one of thems can be ssseen right at your feets. I've never ssseen anythings like'em... it MUSSST be a new breed of animal! The beassst ssseems to only have one leg to move on, and seemsss to leave a ssstrange trail of sugar behind it whenever it moves." Wyvern nods to this, noticing a trail of multicolored sugar appearing wherever the "animal" tracks are present. "If we discover this new breed of animal, I'll -errr- we'll become rich and famous!!!" exclaims Wyv while carefully loading his camera. "Any ideas on how we might be able to track this thing down?" Grinning, Smii nods and responds: "Yessss, I have one... most of the tracks I've found ssseem centered around faerie dragon nestsss... that must be the animal's prey! All we need to do is search around the nesssts until we find the beassst!" With that, Wyvern and Smii turn and grin to one another before excitedly heading off in the direction of the nearest faerie dragon nest... OOC: This is the first installment of the application response. To be continued soon... ;-)
Wyvern Posted April 15, 2003 Report Posted April 15, 2003 As Wyvern and Smii gleefully prance through the Forest of Wixiebear in search of faerie dragon nests, Rydia carps the mechanical Wyvern-bot one final time, dealing it it's death blow. There is a collective sigh of relief in the office as the repititive voice of the robot dims to nothing more than a low groan before fading out entirely... Rydia turns towards Tzimfemme and smiles cheerfully as Minta races to the remains of the decoy Wyvern, poking at it's mechanical tale and wondering if it would make a good skelly toy. At the filing cabinet in the corner of the office, Rosemary stops her skimmings at the profile of the member Heart like a Hole, sensing a strong spiritual essence from that particular sheet... Suddenly, there is a brief knock at the office door and it's opened by none other than the Almost Secretary of Initiates, Melba... Surely, if Peredhil and Jechum were the Pen's genteel pirahnas, and Wyvern it's greedy barracuda, then Melba was it's gargantuan, ill-tempered octopus. Tzimfemme, Rydia, and Minta all stop in their activities as Melba enters, uncertain of quite what to expect from the Almost-Secretary but having heard multiple horror stories about her from Wyvern... Much to the surprise of those present in the office, Melba's jaw drops open and her eyes widen as she notices Tzimfemme sitting in one of the chairs. Pointing a finger at the nekkid mage in awe, Melba quietly murmers: "Tz-Tzimfemme...?" Suddenly, the Almost Secretary's visage brightens considerably and she exclaims: "Tzimfemme! The legendary nekkid mage of Terra... here?! In this office?!" Tzim mutters a humble response of some sort but goes unheard as Melba continues: "Why, you're one of my biggest idols! You're the very symbol of femininity and Terrian independence! I've been a huge fan of nekkid mages since day one! See, I even have the logo written somewhere..." With that, Melba begins to undo her shirt to show just how much she's a fan of nekkid mages, but is fortunatly interrupted by Tzimfemme, who frantically waves her hands in front of her in a distraught manner to get her to stop. The Nekkid One sighs as Melba runs out of the office to get several things that she wanted to have signed, wondering how much more of this torture she'd have to endure before the overgrown lizard arrived... *** Bushes rustle and twigs crack violently as Wyvern and Smii run at full speed through the Forest of Wixiebear, the two adventurers covered in egg yolks and numerous scratches. Wyvern clenches his teeth and gasps for breath as he glances over his shoulder only to see that the enormous mother faerie dragon that had been angered by their snooping was still in hot pursuit... They had been chased for nearly 20 minutes now by this huge beast after having searched several nests for their mystery animal, to no avail... Smii swiftly dives behind a tree as Wyvern curses and slips on some werebear dung, falling into a werebear den that housed no fewer than 7 werebears while still being chased by the faerie dragon mother. Stuttering to himself and deciding that at least it couldn't get any worse, the lizard suddenly realizes that his camera casing is made of werebear hide and that he's sitting in a puddle of ice cold water. The werebears and faerie dragon mother growl simultaneously as Wyvern silently says his prayers... Suddenly, the growls and anger of the animals surrounding Wyvern are interrupted as the echo of a loud voice rings throughout the forest: "Wyvern!!! Where the hell are you??!!!!" Though the Forest of Wixiebear was located a considerable distance from the Pen, Tzimfemme's exclamation had travelled far and wide and had penetrated into it's depths... Upon hearing the angery tone of the echoing voice, the faerie dragon mother and the werebears immediatly run away from Wyvern's clearing in fear, leaving the overgrown lizard solitary in his puddle of water. The reptilian Elder lifts himself from his position, snickering to himself about his sudden streak of good fortune and deciding to head back towards the Pen before promptly falling into a nearby pit of scorpions... *** The Sun has begun setting below the hills of Terra by the time Wyvern finally arrives at his office, covered in slimy egg yolk and reeking of werebear dung. It takes several minutes before the lizard can manage to get into the office, as Melba at first refuses to allow him to enter in his current condition with the presence of her idol. Fortunatly, Wyvern's smell finally gets the best of the Almost Secretary, and she recedes to her desk in the corner of the office. Waving to Tzimfemme, Rydia, Minta, and Rosemary, the lizard stamps their application forms ACCEPTED before collapsing wearily into unconsciousness at his desk... OOC: Certainly ACCEPTED Quin'... though we've all accepted and appreciated your marvelously creative presence at the Pen for a long time now. I'll think of a little 'bonus' something to go along with this acceptance as soon as my tiredness wears off and my creative cogs get spinning again... Keep up the good writing, and rest assured that Melba is far from your only huge fan. ;p
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