What Is Care Tags Wearing

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What Is Care Tags Wearing

Postby bels » Tue Nov 19, 2013 5:56 pm

Post a WAYWT pic that speaks to you and crank out some prose.

ONLY post creative writing in this thread. All game talk can go into the writer's group thread.
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Last edited by bels on Sun May 08, 2016 9:05 am, edited 2 times in total.
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Re: What Is Care Tags Wearing

Postby schiaparelli » Sun Nov 24, 2013 2:43 pm

Bobbin.Threadbare wrote:Image


it's hard to tell where the trousers stop and the man begins. you know you're breaking the law standing so close to an unrepentant societal renegade, as he obviously is, but it was such a shock for you to see him. the disused garage you cut across to get to your rotating capsule (otherwise known as "home") usually houses only a few stray pigeons, fat from scraps of peruvian takeout. this time, you were swearing your way through a clump of spiderwebs when a shadow unfolded itself from the corner and came to you.

no one these days dares to wear anything but bonded layers around their hearts, protecting them from renegade emotions and urban grime. he's wearing...something woven? it's crazy, it's crazy to see a face framed by a beard. the UN unilaterally voted to ban facial hair a decade ago.

there's a slick moisture-wicking shell on your shoulders, but you're still sweating buckets. you've never met a sartorial renegade like this before. you see a stray thread unmoor itself from the hem of his shirt and feel physically faint. he probably eats raw celery instead of the centrifuged salad foams that the canteen issues to students once a week. he leans closer to you and says:

"did you know there were days where you could wear denim without a state-issued permit?"

his eyes are feverish. you feel this disloyal desire for indigo dye and woven textures well up within you. your throat suddenly unblocks and you scrape out a few words—

"w-what if it rains?"

he laughs. "you get wet. but you feel closer to the sky."

he's aglow with sartorial energy and your heart thumps against the hydrophobic coating of your shirt. the god of goretex has deserted you. you start to wonder if he has any jeans to spare.
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Re: What Is Care Tags Wearing

Postby odradek » Tue Nov 26, 2013 12:53 am

kewks wrote:Image

Spoiler:
Image



The young man paced around the office, agitated almost to the point of tears. Hammett looked up from the phone the kid had handed him and noticed with some annoyance that the sweat had already dripped down through the kid's shirt and was now getting on the carpet. It was ratty but it was his carpet and this kid was clearly a poor guest.

He looked back down at the phone. "So these are the last, uh, last pictures she sent you on this thing."

The kid couldn't stop moving even when he stood still. "YES! Yes! I haven't heard from her for DAYS and you're just sitting here! She's probably locked up in some cellar somewhere with some psycho who's gonna turn her skin into a coat!"

Hammett sighed and took a sip of cheap scotch. People these days were so melodramatic. "That kind of thing only happens in the movies." He looked at the photo again: the bottom half of a pretty face, the tell tale expression of another chick who thought she had the world figured out. This one, though, Hammett could tell she actually did have something figured out.

He slugged the last of his drink. "Look, we'll go find her. Don't worry, bodies don't move all that quick."

The kid looked like his heart had packed its bags and taken the next rocket out of his chest. "She...she's dead...?"

"Nah, kid. It ain't her body we're lookin' for."
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Re: What Is Care Tags Wearing

Postby maj » Sun Dec 01, 2013 11:15 am

Image


The radio crackled behind him as lay in a stained, torn hammock thinking he couldn't help but feel he shouldn't have got involved The constant pressure his family and those around them to 'step up a be a man' had worn him down. He'd not done much in his life until now, got average grades, had a nine to five job with a boss he hated he thought it could have been a chance to change this leaving a legacy people could be proud of. At least that's what the recruiter banged on about but after five months of crippling heat and humidity leaving the air as thick as wool these words were long forgotten.

What came tomorrow would tell the outcome of this man. The operation was his companys final push before they packed up and went home after the change over, a frontal assault into the heart of the enemies camp. Nestled in a mountain cave surrounded by natural barriers which they had to overcome before they even had any chance of coming out alive....

that's all i have, in order to not feel like a cop out i drew a picture

Spoiler:
Image
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Re: What Is Care Tags Wearing

Postby charybdis » Wed Dec 11, 2013 6:08 am

Sorry this is late, didn't realize it was me until earlier.

okayfruit wrote:I wore some stuff yesterday. It was super cold and I hated everything.

Image

Spoiler:
Image


Cassandra

When she was younger, she used to read a series of softbound books about a pair of kids who time traveled to different notable time periods or eras. They were the sort of books written to slip educational information to children in their entertainment, but she didn’t notice such naked intent until she was older and trying to recommend children’s books to her aunt.

Anyway, in these books they would always materialize in whatever age they were transported to perfectly attired in the garments of the day and immediately meet helpful people.

This is what she thought about as she sat crouched under a stone bridge listening to the wheels of carts clattering above her. It was starting to get darker, the voices above her slowly quieting down and she knew that she couldn’t hide forever. She brushed at the newly acquired layer of dust on her wedge boots, unsure of what to do next, trying to delay having to do anything.

Earlier, she had briefly considered trying to steal some laundry drying on the line, but knew that even if she dressed like she belonged there, the moment she spoke, her slangy mandarin would give her away anyway.

As it was, when she had opened her eyes, she had been standing in the middle of a busy street and, although she towered over many of the people there and was dressed head to toe in Rick and Anne D, everyone stared, but no one had tried to stop her. It was the bystander effect at its finest. Disbelief at her current situation had propelled her forward and into her current hiding place.

Now she was trying to figure out what to do, but all she could think of were a handful of period drama cliches. She stood, tugging her cropped jacket closer to her body and figured she would look for a shelter or a poorhouse.

She doubted she would actually meet a handsome general or traveling scholar who turned out to secretly be a prince.

Or meet CaoCao, because her life wasn’t a fucking educational kid’s show.

She didn't think the generals would be actually handsome.

Spoiler:
Wasn't sure what to write, but fruit and I share a mutual love for Chinese period dramas and she mentioned once that she really liked time travel stories. So that's sort of where my mind drifted when I composed this.

I kind of prefer this version of that fit though:

Image

But I feel like if it was looking at that one, I would have written a completely different sort of story.
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my mother is a kenzo fish sweater
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Re: What Is Care Tags Wearing

Postby ramseames » Thu Dec 26, 2013 5:09 am

Calc wrote:
Image

Spoiler:
Image





Image



Procuring the van was the easy part. Walk around the driver’s side, elbow through the window, touch a few wires together, yank the fuse connected to the alarm system, floor it. The rescue workers were too busy arguing over whose turn it was to pay for coffee to notice it being taken anyway, and it was all over in under a minute. Local news ran a front page story about the theft the next day. Because really, what else of note happens in a town of 1700? No one paid it much attention though, it was one week before Christmas and everyone’s minds were on other things.

But how does one find themselves robbing banks at all? And why of all places did they pick this sleepy little town in upstate New York to do it? It wasn’t a bad plan by any means; using an EMT van and uniforms meant no one would stop us, and there were dozens of routes that would take them directly away from the nearby cities and the swarms of well-trained police officers inhabiting them. Still, this wasn’t a career path any of us had planned for.

Game day. Three of us in an old civic with no plates, rifles out, ski masks on. Run inside; take the fat security guard’s pistol from him, smack some sucker across the face with your gun so no one thinks about being a hero. Teller does as she’s told and puts a little under 100k in a black duffle bag. Looks a lot smaller than you’d imagined when it’s all in hundred dollar bills. Driver rolls up in the stolen van, peels out of there as fast as something weighing 9000lbs possibly can. Get on the 253 going northwest, cross a couple interstates, take the long route around Johnstown, then there’s nothing of interest north of that for a hundred miles. We’d stashed another stolen civic in the bushes off the side of an old logging road. Coordinates were saved on our GPS so it wasn’t too hard to locate.

Nothing felt more cliché than torching the rescue van, but they do it in the movies for a reason. Poured gas over the whole thing and threw a match on it. Like it was fucking Superbad or something. Sat there and watched it burn for a while, made sure the fire didn’t go out. Drove away slowly in the middle of the night. 25k a head was a pretty sweet take, but somehow just seeing the whole thing come together was even sweeter.

fin.

My sincere apologies for how late this is. I nominate Soundclip to go next.
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Re: What Is Care Tags Wearing

Postby soundclip989 » Fri Jan 10, 2014 11:01 pm

gerogerigegege wrote:Image
All Lad Musician, Black Vans.




As I walked through the door, I stopped to examine myself. When I go out on nights like these, I would rather keep myself unseen. I stopped by the store to find something for my love, maybe some kind of perfume, or a fancy new scarf to match her radiant eyes. I have found nothing, and in the end, I stole a wilted orchid, still pink and beautiful. It was discounted anyway; they won’t mind me taking it. I will give it to her; let her know what I want. I have finally found my true love. I had better treat her right. I was satisfied with how I looked, and my mouth rose in the slightest smirk.
Upon my arrival, I found my sweet still in the same spot as before I left.
“You’re still in that tub? I’ve been gone for hours!” I asked her. She said nothing, and I winced slightly. “Look at you, you’re all pruny. Here, let me help you,” I laughed slightly, just trying to break up the silence.
I scooped her up out of the tub and held her head in my hand, gazing into her eyes, with the utmost finesse. I dried her off with the soft towel tonight, and laid the orchid on her stomach. Tonight would be the night. We had only been living together for several months, but I could tell that this connection was real. When I knew her before, she didn’t click with me as well, but we gave it a shot and now things are great. Most of the time. When I laid her down on the bed, I couldn’t help but think about how quiet she has been lately. I can hardly get a word out of her. I think she might be upset with me, although I don’t know for what reason. I can’t ever get her to say. We still made passionate love, and fell asleep in each other’s arms. When I woke up I noticed that she was already awake.
“Good morning, have you been up long?” I asked. She did not reply. “What is the matter with you? Do you have some kind of issue here? You have said almost nothing for the past month!” Nothing. “I think I’ve been treating you rather well don’t you? Seeing how you haven’t lifted a limb since you got here, and just lay around all day. What do you think I do at night when I go out? How do you think I get the meats? I have to work. And I’m just trying to keep you happy. I’m just trying to live our dream.” Still nothing. Now I could feel the resentment, but why? Is there no communication here? I looked at her hard, trying to decipher what she might be trying to do. Her head turned to the side and she refused to look at me.
“I don’t understand! You think you’re better than me? Just because you get to be in another place? You think I don’t want to be there with you? I’m just scared alright. I get lost in my thoughts and everything just sort of fades away, the lines get blurred beyond recognition, and for a moment I can feel peace. That’s why I can’t do it. These last few months have been absolutely amazing for me, and hopefully it has been for you too. I just wish you hadn’t gone and died back then.”


I nominate next: Smiles
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Re: What Is Care Tags Wearing

Postby smiles » Wed Jan 29, 2014 10:04 am

Image

might be grammatical mistakes :(

A slushy mixture of snow and mud squelch underfoot as you make your way through the small copse. Overhead, a few weak rays of morning sun pierce the clouds and reflect off patches of snow, sending out shimmering fragments of warmth. These are only a small comfort, and you can still see your breath coming out in little clouds of vapour. You shiver and stick your hands deeper into the pockets of your down jacket. As long as it's this cold, there could at least be enough snow to enjoy. Not far off, cars rush down a freeway, no doubt sending out more piles of salty boot-ruining slush. At least the copse is peaceful. From the corner of your eye, you see something that appears to glide through the tangled brambles that demarcate the edge of the woods. Something black with a flash of red and white. Must be a little bird you think, for you are both unimaginative and truly unsuspecting of the hidden magic of the world. Ahead of you on the path an overhanging branch trembles and releases little globes of water that, if you had the the necessary sharpness of eye to take in close up, would reveal a fisheye version of your own surprised and slightly uneasy mug. The noise of cars and rumbling semis has disappeared and has been replaced (or enveloped) by a muffled kind of silence like after a snowfall. The silence is broken (rather quickly and forcefully) when a bird warbles behind you. Turning your head you scan the bare branches for any fluttering wings but find none. As you turn back, a young woman has apparently materialised on the path in front of you. She wears a long black jacket that just brushes the top of a pair of well worn boots. Under the jacket she sports a long red checkered skirt and cropped white checkered top. "What a lovely day!" she says, flashing a brilliant set of teeth abutted by red lips. You stand there — stunned. "I always find," she continues, unaware or perhaps unaffected (or even unswayed) by your slacked jaw, "that when a few weak rays of sun pierce the clouds and reflect off patches of snow to send out shimmering fragments of warmth I feel quite refreshed and alive." As she speaks she spreads her arms out and up and tilts her head back as if welcoming the aforementioned rays of weak sun to abandon their futile mission of warming the earth and instead come to rest on her already sunny face. "There's a sense of crispness in the air! A direct realisation of the transience of the seasons, one could say. Well, I could say, I did in fact say it just now." She twirls in a circle, her skirt and jacket twisting in a swirl of colours. As she spins you could swear a few green shoots push out of the packed snow around her boots. "Again, It's a lovely day but I'm afraid I must get on. There's quite a lot of ground to cover between now and March the twentieth. Nice to meet you!" She raises her hand and with that, heads off the path in the direction of the freeway. "Hey," you call after her, "Aren't you cold?" She looks back and flashes a warm smile "Honey, cold is a state of mind." That makes absolutely no sense, you think, and open your mouth to reply but she's already gone and in her place remain a smattering of small flowers, each one nestled in the imprints left by her boot heels.
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Re: What Is Care Tags Wearing

Postby Stingray Sam » Tue Feb 11, 2014 11:22 pm

Sorry this is so late guys, hopefully this is adequate
UnwashedMolasses wrote:Image

Spoiler:
With shoes:

Image


I squeezed through the small hole in the rusted barricade. The concrete walls were scarred from years of acid rain and soot. The subterranean complex flung the sounds of my footsteps back to me. I gripped the nondescript duffel tightly, not fully aware that what it contained could potentially kill me, or even worse. You see they make it seem so and black and white. Like some sort of delusional moral obligation that goes against all common sense, but is so fatally irresistible. They make it seem like these people know what they’re doing, that before they get up in the morning they have already carefully considered the implications of their actions. Maybe they did. Maybe I’m going about it all wrong. The time for second thoughts never came. I had already haphazardly made contact, fumbled around the negotiations and now I have the bag.


As I reached the bottom of the stairs my throat began to constrict and my breathing quickened. A small sliver of artificial light illuminated the damp stair well. Water pooled in the uneven floor and moss had managed to find sustenance in this poisonous environment. Broken concrete, rusted steel and cement filled barrels had been used to barricade the hallway. To the right of me there was a ticket booth. Its door slightly agape, I approached it cautiously. The booth appeared to run the length of the hallway and had another door at the end of it, presumably past the barricade. I pulled on the door to slip through and the rusted hinges finally gave way with a reluctant sob.



I came out on the other side and found myself in a cavernous concrete room. Unfinished, it looked like it was some sort of pre-revolution (or military coup depending on who you ask) subway station. I saw a lone man at the end of the room. He was nothing like I expected, well I’m not sure what I really expected, but it wasn't this. Bandanna clad and sporting a rather worn bomber jacket with a hoodie underneath he looked like the sort of guy who’d be trying to break into the local art scene. His face was mild mannered and kind, and showed no indication of the internal fury and injustice that I assumed he carried.



I timidly stepped towards him, and then stopped. I was paralyzed with anxiety and indecision. Had I really come this far to not be conscious of what it meant? I looked at the bag in my hand; it was a free pass to secret prisons, unending torture and finally public trial, humiliation and execution. I wished I hadn't seen the documents, that I hadn't found the gruff man with the strange accent, that I hadn't followed his instructions, that I hadn't walked down these steps. I wished that I had ignored what I saw, just like everyone else did.



I looked at the bag again. There it was right in my hands the most incriminating thing one could possibly have. My palms burned and my fingers tingled, the weight of that bag was infinite. I tried to will myself forward, but my heart only sputtered and my breathing became shallower. I was locked mid-stride. I looked at the man. He smiled at me and waited patiently, slowly rocking back and forth in his trainers. I took a deep breath and plunged my feet ahead. I began to speed my pace, eager to be rid of this burden.



Then with an electric click the lights shut off. I stopped. All confidence I had regained in those strides was lost. I was stuck in absolute darkness. I then heard the sound of terrible black boots running down the stairs. Muffled yells and tactical commands reached my ears from the other side of the barricade. The horrors of government dissent became more and more apparent as each agonizing moment dragged on. Only yards in front of me was a chance to pass the blame, to be rid of any evidence. Then I felt a rubber hood being slipped over my face. It was ungainly with cumbersome appendages, the chemical smell of old rubber was overpowering. Everything was overpowering. I gave up. I let my self be led on by invisible hands to assured death.



Flash-bang lights and noxious hisses dazzled me. The air became thick with smoke. I kept walking, running, being dragged. It felt like an eternity. Footsteps became gunshots in the cavern. Gunshots became footsteps. Faceless agents of the government machine crept up and sprayed me with bits of concrete. They ricocheted off the walls and whizzed past my face. Then the leading hands came to an abrupt halt. Light and fresh air rushed into the tunnel. I was pulled through the door by an olive green arm.


Through a plastic window in the mask I saw that I was on the tracks next to one of the few working subway trains left at rest in a station. The man in the bandanna climbed through an emergency exit onto the train. He smiled at me as it pulled away. I pulled off the gas mask and looked at my hand to see that the duffel had been replaced with a wad of bills, a ticket and a passport cleared for international travel.


I nominate Molasses next
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Re: What Is Care Tags Wearing

Postby UnwashedMolasses » Wed Feb 12, 2014 2:10 pm

Hope this is acceptable for y'all, I only really know one method of writing.

Rosenrot wrote:Image

Yohji Yamamoto FW2006 cape/jacket hybrid, with Yohji skirt and Damir Doma boots
Spoiler:
Image




Who is she, some type of queen or something?
Why does she look so serene?

Before I could ask her name she stood up and walked away
With ethereal poise and balance
Her wardrobe flowed like water guarded like armour
And you’ve never seen such fabrics

With a flap of her half cape and eyes ages away
She made her way to the iron gate
Spoke a silent word

Someone somewhere must have heard cause
It opened up for her
For the first time in two hundred years
How could I not quash my fears and

Follow in her footsteps as she led right past the soldiers?
Tears streamed down their faces and their guns stayed in their holsters
She strode through the double doors and glided over spotless floors on
Soles thicker than the tension in the air; but she didn’t care

She flowed into the room where they met and I have no idea what was said
But that day everything changed yes that
Was the day the forest came back
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Re: What Is Care Tags Wearing

Postby germinal » Wed Feb 12, 2014 9:57 pm

I might have got a bit carried away with this (i also know only one method of writing)

Syeknom wrote:Image


FADE IN:

(political satire)

INT. YOUR DIMLY flaxy LIVING ROOM - NIGHT

(High art shall not ensue)

You turn on the telly

(Samsung)

KRISHNAN GURU-MURTHY: ...incredible suffering, thousands perish. And there's yet more controversy in the MEN'S LUGE DOUBLES event. We go to our MEN'S LUGE DOUBLES CORRESPONDENT live on the scene. Sounds like a luge-luge situation, eh MEN'S LUGE DOUBLES CORRESPONDENT har har.

MEN'S LUGE DOUBLES CORRESPONDENT: I'm sorry I didn't quite catch that KRISHNAN GURU-MURTHY

KRISHNAN GURU-MURTHY: I said it sounds like a luge-luge situation, har har.

MEN'S LUGE DOUBLES CORRESPONDENT: Har har yes very good KRISHNAN GURU-MURTHY. Yes it appears the BELGIAN TEAM, the current WORLD CHAMPIONS have accused the event organisers of far right policies. I have the BELGIUM TEAM here with me now. DRIES VAN NOTEN you say the course is designed with an inherent right-wing bias?

DRIES VAN NOTEN: lol yeah there are more right-hand turns than left which gives conservative-minded lugers a handling advantage lmao my passing interest in fashion design and excessive use of tumblr has rendered me hopelessly liberal XD lol

MEN'S LUGE DOUBLES CORRESPONDENT: And you say changes in uniform regulation has hindered your chances as well?

SYEKNOM: Yes the new rules mean that my aerodynamically efficient baggy YOHJI YAMAMOTO legtrews are banned! Lycra is not very WABI-SABI!

(YOHJI YAMAMOTO: I always design with THE LUGE in mind. THE LUGE is modest and arrogant at the same time. THE LUGE is lazy and easy - but mysterious. But above all THE LUGE says this: "I don’t bother you - don’t bother me")

SYEKNOM: And my high-traction MAISON MARTIN MARGIELA footshoes were siezed in customs! Customs is not very WABI-SABI!

(MAISON MARTIN MARGIELA: An absence, a presence, a mood, a mantle, THE LUGE.)

SYEKNOM: It's yet another example of far-right policies from THE RUSSIANS! And far-right policies are not very WABI-SABI!

MEN'S LUGE DOUBLES CORRESPONDENT: However TEAM GB aren't complaining.

MICHAEL "GOVEY" GOVE MP, SECRETARY OF STATE FOR EDUCATION: I don't see any problem with the course.

IAIN "SLAM" DUNCAN-SMITH MP, SECRETARY OF STATE FOR WORK AND PENSIONS: If anything it's just right! har har geddit just "right"

They high-five

SYEKNOM: The cunts have won, MEN'S LUGE DOUBLES CORRESPONDENT, the cunts have won.

DRIES VAN NOTEN: Forget it SYEKNOM it's Chinatown

MEN'S LUGE DOUBLES CORRESPONDENT: Back to you KRISHNAN GURU-MURTHY

KRISHNAN GURU-MURTHY necks a TYSKIE

KRISHNAN GURU-MURTHY: I nominate HUW EDWARDS

(topical)

KRISHNAN GURU-MURTHY: And now THE WEATHER, with THE WEATHERMAN

THE WEATHERMAN: The DROWNED GOD OF R'LYEH continues to wreak havoc on vast swathes of England with...

You turn off the telly

(Panasonic)

FADE OUT

Spoiler:
i nominate @rjbman
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Re: What Is Care Tags Wearing

Postby rjbman » Tue Feb 18, 2014 1:40 pm

smiles wrote:Image
Spoiler:
Image

Image

for @sknss
in the 4 seasons bathroom
Image


The rain came out of nowhere. Caught me and John by surprise. It quickly drenched us as we wandered around the city streets. We looked around for shelter from the downpour but couldn’t see around the throngs of people packed into the narrow street. I felt a tap on my shoulder; spun to see a man in a speckled cap gesture at me as he walked by.

“Follow me,” he whispered. Quietly, calmly. Then, without another word, he took off at a fast pace.

I grabbed John, pulled him with me as I chased after this man. He led us through the twisting narrow streets, stuffed with hastily set up shops and loud entrepreneurs advertising their goods even through the deluge. He moved smoothly, like water, flowing between pressed bodies and beneath raised umbrellas and newspapers. We tried to imitate but did a poor job of it, often brute shoving people to not lose sight of the odd man.

At once, he turned sharply left into an alleyway, so decrepit that not even the shoppers had taken refuge in it. A ratty door stood near the dead end at the back. Bright red, or at least it was originally. For the first time, he looked back to check on us. A smiles showed on his face. “Good,” he said. “You made it.”

He opened the red door with a key. Stepped inside. Me and John exchanged glances. I had heard stories about the locals robbing tourists. But I found it difficult to believe that this quirky, quiet man would rob us. Maybe that was his thing. But it wasn’t like we had much money to be stolen anyways.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to get out of this rain,” I said, aloud.

I walked inside. John followed without a word. Inside, the building was nothing like it looked on the outside. Pristine hardwood floors, clean white walls and mirrors aplenty. The room had plenty of chairs, couches, and all things in between scattered about. They looked comfy. Our host was over at the far wall, where a granite countertop jutted out.

“Coffee? Tea?” he offered. “You can put your coat on the rack.”

“I’ll take a cup of tea,” I said. Placed my coat on the rack, next to the man’s black shell. John shook his head.

“Excellent,” the man said. Poured two mugs, kept one for himself. “Miles,” he said, handing it.

“Rafael,” I said, “But you can call me Raf.”

We sat down, me and John on a maroon loveseat and Miles in a blue leather recliner, and talked. Talked about politics, about science. Talked about the future, the past. Talked about religion, love, morality. Miles was fluent in all subject matters. Deeply fluent. By the time I stood up to leave, the sky had darkened. The last fleeting photons of light barely pierced the horizon.

“Call me tomorrow,” Miles called in farewell as I departed. Waved at my back.

I had made a friend, it would seem, a friend in this foreign city so far from home.

John was nowhere to be seen.
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Re: What Is Care Tags Wearing

Postby bels » Thu Feb 20, 2014 10:03 am



How was that job interview?

What?

That job interview you had yesterday.

Oh, that. Did I tell you about that? I didn't think I told anyone. I really wasn't expecting much.

Yeah?

Yeah, I was expecting basically nothing. Such a lame position. Lame seeming company too. Geocities style website, you know? Really weak. Still have no idea what exactly they do. Amazing offices though. Very uh, geometric. Lots of straight lines. Like the secret society of octogons or something.

What was the interview like?

It was alright. Just one guy. Looked like the head of the secret society of octogons.

Was that his title?

No he was head of technical writing or something. Are you ready to order?

I'm not hungry.

Anyway, he sat me in front of his desk in this glossy white office and asked me a bunch of stuff about whether I liked working in teams or alone and whether I could I rock climb. He showed me a set square and asked me if I know what it was. No computer or anything on the desk, just a burst of violet orchids in a pot on the one side. The desk was huge though, not wood, something else, black. It had this deep reflective quality to it. It looked like, ah...

Like a pond at night?

Yeah, sure like a rectangular pond. I don't think there was a single curved line in the entire place. Anyway it was over pretty fast. I don't think I got it. I guess I'll wait and see.

Maybe you won't have to wait that long.

Well, like, how do you know?

We've been watching you for some time now.

Hold up, what? Oh...

Welcome.

Oh my god.

Welcome to The Secret Society Of Octogons.
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Re: What Is Care Tags Wearing

Postby inherently » Thu Feb 20, 2014 8:49 pm

blankinput wrote:
Image



On the third date, he asked if you’d like to go out to the countryside with him.

He was cute, and it had been a while since you had been able to get back to your roots. Your parents had traded their house in the countryside for a gated retirement community. All of your friends thrived in the city, bouncing from bars to concerts to cellar clubs.

The two of you took the train out to the countryside in the morning, bonding over coffee and pre-packaged breakfast muffins. He had inherited his childhood home in the countryside, and returned there every weekend.

“The life in the city gets to be too much for me sometimes, too,” you admit.

He smiled. Anyone else you knew would’ve looked at you like you had gone crazy.

“I’ve never fired a rifle before,” you mention, as you get to the state park. “My mom wouldn’t let Dad teach me, and I never really asked.” You can’t help but notice the well-worn marks on the patch of his jacket as the words stumble out of your mouth.

He doesn’t press the issue, and the two of you make your way through the forest, following the trails, with red and gold and brown leaves crunching beneath your feet. Rays of sunlight stream through where the branches are bare. He points out a few songbirds and a brilliant red cardinal as the two of you pass by. You marvel at how easily he seems to move through the forest, and you notice that the creases on his forehead have disappeared, how his smile seems to be fuller and happier. He catches you staring and laughs. He grasps your hand with his, and you walk on in contented silence.

It was approaching noon when you stepped into a clearing in the forest. He holds up his hand, and you come to a stop. He pointed across the clearing, and you see a majestic antlered deer grazing serenely at the other end. In a practiced motion, he raises the rifle. The stock rests firmly against the padded patch on his shoulder, and he trains his eye down the sight.

You want to say something, to stop him, but you can’t startle him. A good hunter could kill his quarry mercifully, in one shot. A poor shot could mean that the animal could get away, only to die a slow and painful death.

“Can I show you something?” he asks.

The buck raises its head to look at you across the clearing. You look it in the eyes, and you imagine the life that it lived. How it fought other bucks and emerged victorious. How it was in its prime, and how it could probably live healthily for another 10 years. Before you can say anything, he makes the decision.

You close your eyes, but you don’t hear the shot ringing across the forest.

Instead, he had lowered the rifle, and was beckoning to the deer. It approached slowly, regarding you with caution, finally getting close enough to nuzzle the outstretched hand. He smiles.

“Can you keep a secret?”

---

Go for it @FeministFatal! (Sister Ray hasn't visited in a while it seems).
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Re: What Is Care Tags Wearing

Postby FeministFatal » Fri Feb 21, 2014 3:47 am

@TheLouisVuittonPawn
Image
Glossy pink skin rippled furtively under the layer of hair, billowing as the knees snapped forward and drew back. A bit of spit and rapid pumps of air into the lungs generated a small quantity of foam from four separate, agitated, thick pink lips.

He watched the sallow flank ripple and felt with a controlled pleasure both the firm, calculated grip of the crop in his hand, and the shock and panic of leather meeting pink skin. His tongue collected the foam on his lips and swallowed it. He allowed the images of last night to play slowly, with attention to detail. The thick black hair in his palm, the pocked flesh of perfectly sculpted buttocks, his satisfied and unbroken silence in contrast with the low, carnal grunts.

"Stop!" He barked at the trainer, voice cracking to a dissonant chord. His knees snapped forward and drew back until his long fingers were stroking the specks of spit off of the thoroughbred's soft nose. He lost control of his breathing again, and overcompensated with short, shallow gasps. He admired the smooth, untroubled arcs he administered with his hands, his own placid expression, the relaxation of the animal.

It at once snorted and his throat convulsed, eyes trained on the snot decorating his jacket. It conveyed a sort of vague french-workwear aesthetic, the perfect symbolic mating of sophistication and pragmatism, practically a metaphor for his very existence.

Regardless, the swell of rage burst into perceptible realty in the form of an involuntary head-twitch.

"I won't be buying her." He declared curtly and turned on his heel.

The trip out to see the mare had been a complete waste of his time, and his driver wouldn't be back for another hour. Unfortunately, he knew well that the decisive power of pivots was negated by any sort of second attempt of about-face, and he resolved to stride off past the stables into the woods with a purpose he hoped looked more convincing to others than himself.

After some time, it became clear that to turn back now would be a disaster. His never-previously-seen combat boots were now caked with horse shit, black chinos grey with dust, and the collar he had berated Regina over was now sagging with sweat. He fingered the limp strands of hair that seemed obsessed with the planes of his temples. Everything clung needily in the Charleston heat.

He carefully removed his vintage matchbook and placed it on a stump. He gripped the thick rolled burning paper firmly in his pink mouth in order to shed his skin.

Pink flesh on his shoulders rippled as he casually stowed the bundle of clothes under his arm. Purpose no longer mysterious, he trotted with a severe expression back to where the driver was waiting for him, confident the others would understand his choice of Louis Vuitton boxer-briefs.

Spoiler:
Do nominations go in turns? Is bela next then?

Spoiler:
LVP if you read this I hope you know I liked the fit
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Re: What Is Care Tags Wearing

Postby SisterRayVU » Thu Mar 13, 2014 3:09 pm

SisterRayVU wrote:Just wanted to say that I'm ON IT and I'm doing this one in the spoiler. Getting breakfast with the grandma and then I'm posting it up!

Spoiler:
Image


Hmm, I can't edit after a little bit? Anywhere, here it goes.

Image

Maybe moshing will help.

I saw her three weeks ago. She liked the Clash. I think of her as a leopard. I think of myself as some small animal with eyes like snowglobes. I sit back down. I write a poem about the train where a leopard saunters through the cars. I think of leopards as big, large animals that are lithe and limber. I think of leopards as twenty hands tall, or the size of horses. I decide the poem is rubbish. I consider tearing out the paper and eating it. I think I drew a leopard in the margins.

My friends invited me to a warehouse for a show. They didn't know who was playing, only that there was free beer. I remembered a trailer for a movie that implored the main character to say "Yes" to everything. My psychologist said that if I exude positivity, I might be happier. I told her about the trailer. She said it was novel and to maybe try it if it would get me out more. I told her I go out plenty. She said that sitting on a curb by myself probably does not qualify as productive socialization. I told her I'm sorry. She said it was okay. I said I would try. She said good. I told her about the warehouse shows my friends invite me to. She said I should go. I told her I do, sometimes. She said good. I never told her about the beer. I haven't told her about the girl.

I don't think that I am bipolar because if I was bipolar, I would need to at some point be manic and I just can't remember a time when I had supreme motivation and joy because the closest I get is anxiety and fear that makes me want to vibrate like a small animal. My psychologist thinks I might be bipolar but I really don't think I am.

I told this to the girl who liked the Clash because after a few beers I thought she was nice and she nodded and seemed to listen. I apologized to her and tried to walk away but she said wait.

Michael texts me about the show. He says to be at his place by 9:00 and we'll walk over. I text back "Okay" and send three emoji snowflakes and an emoji chicken hatching from an egg.

She told me she likes coming to these shows because it helps her feel like she's a part of something, a part of a community. She feels free from judgment. I told her "That's nice." She nodded. I felt her hand brush against my side and I kind of held my breath and I don't know if she noticed but I told her that my favorite thing in the world is when it's kind of cold outside like really chilly but the sun is out and you can feel it on your face and you kind of melt a little bit and she said "Yes, I like that too" and I told her I am in the 10th grade and I kind of smiled inside and breathed a little easier when she said "Oh, I'm a junior."
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Re: What Is Care Tags Wearing

Postby odradek » Thu Apr 17, 2014 6:51 pm

YoungCanoeist wrote:Image

"What're you, a cop?"
"What? No, no. I was just walking past and saw you out here, thought I'd see what you were up to."
"I'm farming. See the garden? See the big rake? People gotta eat."
"Well, yeah, I saw that, I figured maybe you were a part of some group, had some food you were trying to sell, maybe?"
"No. No. Jesus. I'm not selling anything. This is our food - we eat this. We don't just give this out to guys walking past. 'Oh, yeah, I worked hard for this, maybe I'll give it to a stranger instead!'"
"Whoa, hey, you don't have to be rude, I mean, there's like, one other perso-"
"Him? He's busy. He's busy working. Like I am. Do people come up to you and ask you about your business all the time?"
"Not re-"
"Not really. Right. So why come up to me, when I'm working, and ask me stupid questions?"
"I just thought-"
"You thought that because I've got a hippie shirt and relaxed earth tones that I'll invite you up to eat my food, smoke my weed, fuck my sister? This is life or death, man, the earth won't cultivate itself. You think because I'm on a farm I'm a pushover?"
"Maybe I should go."
"Yeah, maybe you should. Keep walking. Prick."
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Re: What Is Care Tags Wearing

Postby bels » Fri May 09, 2014 8:04 am

@soundclip989wrote
Image


"Would you stop digging for a second?"
"I need to get these onions out before it rains."
"Just stop digging and listen. It's the last Redmond brother, he's back, he's back somehow. Some guys were waiting for Idaho Slim outside of The Rattler. Said they were friends of Billy Redmond. Said he wanted reparations for what he lost."
"Ah. Reparations. And what did Idaho say to that?"
"Well, he drew. What could he say? He drew but a six is called a six for a reason."
"That it is."
"There was seven of them."
"I can't say Idaho Slim was a good man but that is a shame."
"Idaho wasn't a good man but he was the best we had, after you. Who's going to protect us now? We need a leader."
"No sense in being worried. Maybe it'll end there. Maybe the Redmond boy will forgive us all."
"Forgive? After what we did to him and his brothers? After what you did? I saw you at Sodium Pass, people still talk about what you did at Placid Waters. The way you were those days, like there was a demon guiding your aim, showing you the way."
"It was a long time ago."
"Billy Redmond doesn't care how long ago it was, he's going to come for every one of us just like he came for Idaho. He'll come for you too. He's scared now but he won't be once he hears all you do now is plant seeds. You think the potatoes will rise out of the ground and save you from his knife? You think the Lord will command these flowers to protect you?"
"No god would have let the things I did happen."
"He'll come for all of us. He'll come looking for revenge."
"If he wants it, Young Billy Redmond deserves all the revenge he can get."
"And you'll just wait? Wait for him to come?"
"In a month or so the strawberries will be ripe."
"And then?"
"After that I have no plans."
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Re: What Is Care Tags Wearing

Postby exprof » Mon Jul 21, 2014 3:58 pm

Image

"Children! Children settle down... What's going on here? Emily, is that bubble gum in his hair?"
"..."
"I don't see how that's an excuse to put bubble gum in his hair. How would you feel if someone did that to you?"
"..."
"Well you should apologize first of all... and for the record putting gum in people's hair isn't a good way to get people to like you."
"..."
"It doesn't matter if it was strawberry flavoured and he said he liked strawberries."
"..."
"It doesn't matter if you think he looks better with shorter hair."
"..."
"It doesn't matter if you didn't have a scrap of paper to spit your gum into. Be honest, now."
"..."
"Oh my dear Emily, this is the first of many. I do commend you for not waiting at the window."
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Re: What Is Care Tags Wearing

Postby germinal » Mon Oct 13, 2014 10:40 pm

jrisk wrote:Image


My sister telling me when I drove her to band or to camp or to school in the old red pickup our father had so loved, polished, waxed every sunday, his forehead shiny as chrome, the radio playing... her hair in a braid or caught in wind drone or safe beneath my grey hat, the one I'd bought that summer, telling me about Mark and Lisa and Callum and Carmen, the radio filling silences and hummed along to and turned up and sung along to. The whip roar of trees, of suburban plots, of eggshell concrete basketball courts and of ancient trees again, my sister telling me of algebra or Mrs Jenkinson's dogs, my denim jacket and hers slung amongst grocery bags or alone, but always the radio, Bruce Springsteen, the commercials and the throbbing static. Yet that night the radio off. The road icy and the windscreen foggy. The noise suffocating, the silence endless.
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Re: What Is Care Tags Wearing

Postby bels » Wed Oct 15, 2014 10:49 am

pips wrote:@pips

Image



I'd been late coming in so the lift was nearly empty. I got into it alone. My only company was a pair of salarymen who got on at eight and off at ten. Once the doors closed on them I let my shoulders slump a little and put my briefcase on the floor. The lift in the Singapore office always popped my ears so I put my hands over them and thought about all the floors that I'd never stopped at. All the buttons on the lift control panel that I had never pressed. I thought about the fact that I'd never pressed the buttons for sixty three or twelve or nineteen or the emergency stop or the distress alarm. The lift was soundless and acellerated gently. There was no sensation of movement, only a feeling of pressure that started in my ears and spread out to my temples. I pressed my hands harder. I wondered what the carpet was like on forty three. Where did they go for lunch on thirty. The pressure continued to grow and I thought of all the other supertall buildings in the district that I had never even walked into. I thought about the buildings that I had never even walked past. I thought about the lift control panels I would never even see. I thought about everyone, everywhere in the world looking up and seeing the same moon in the sky and before my ears could pop I pressed the emergency stop. I remember it was the sixty fifth floor but when the doors opened there was nothing. It was a wall of unexpected, unfinished concrete until I looked up. Above the concrete there was a gap of a thirty centimeters before the top of the lift car. Late morning sunshine was breaking through and in the dead center of the gap I could see someone standing, facing towards me. But I could only see their shoes.
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Re: What Is Care Tags Wearing

Postby germinal » Mon Oct 20, 2014 5:52 pm

KLF wrote:Image


When the night finally came the process was instinctive. A quiet arpeggio of adrenaline crept into the mix; pulsing gently with the familiar drone of caffeine and the sodium hum of streetlights. The bag was already packed: enough calories for the week; the gear bought with cash, second-hand, rigorously customised and upgraded to the point where it'd be of great interest to several shadowy governmental bureaux, not that he'd ever allow their slick hands anywhere near. The burner had rattled caustically on the desk and the bright screen had left a lurid purple blotch in his eyes, like the FOV of a cyborg in some '90s sci-fi, assessing friend or foe. He knew the code on sight: the night had arrived.
They synchronised devices, then he slipped out into the darkness, his sneakers ghosting coolly across the tarmac, leaving only eddying litter in their wake.
He could feel her watching him as he slipped over the fence and under the shadowy trees towards the rendezvous point. She drew alongside him in the darkness. Suddenly a brief, distant bass vibration from the front pocket of his jacket broke the silence, sending his pulse racing.
"I thought we agreed no cells."
"I know, I forgot about this one.
"Well what does it say?"
"Uh, well..." He passed her the phone.
"'Hi honey, will you be back for dinner? I made your favourite! Love, Mom xx'"
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Re: What Is Care Tags Wearing

Postby bels » Wed Oct 22, 2014 6:56 am

birdman caw wrote:Image Image

Spoiler:
@birdman caw
Image

Image

blackmeansxboysoprano hoodie
nicholas k shirt
silent tank
acne jeans
vintage boots


We had gone too far into it. It was no longer possible to trace our path, backwards or forwards. The technicalities were overwhelming and there was no way of knowing what defects we had introduced and when they would manifest. They would make themselves known in hours, months or years or they might lay dormant until both of us were long dead. This was also something which we had to consider. We had entered a world of unknowns.

That night I walked into the close square box of my bathroom and shaved my head. The buzz of the clippers was insistent over the low throb of the engines. After I finished I realised that I did not want to look into the mirror. I did not want to meet the gaze of my own reflection. Instead I looked down into the sink. I stared at the dark mass of hair resting there. Another part of myself that I would never need again.
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Re: What Is Care Tags Wearing

Postby germinal » Wed Oct 22, 2014 8:27 am

smiles wrote:Image


The fairy lights orbit the room like a succession of moons, never waxing, never waning. You clutch the coffee to your sternum and let the heat radiate. You wonder how many christmases ago it was when she first hung them, the lights - you holding one end in place while she hammered in the hooks. Four? Five? That'd be, what, sixty-five months, sixty-five moons waxed and sixty-five moons waned. Countless tidal tugs unfelt by the body but understood quite clearly by the heart. The steam condenses on your glasses. You remove them and, as you dry the lenses, begin to count the blurry satellites. Sixty-four. Things never work out as neatly as you might like. You finish your coffee, pull on your boots, and remind yourself to pick some wildflowers on the way to the graveyard.

Spoiler:
Image
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Re: What Is Care Tags Wearing

Postby germinal » Wed Oct 22, 2014 1:08 pm

qalandar wrote:Image


"Yamamoto."
"I'm sorry?"
"Yamamoto. Fifteen across: One allowed to run backwards with race lacking medic or designer. Yamamoto."
I hadn't given him a second glance when he'd first sat next to me on the bench, but I'd become increasingly aware of him peering over my shoulder as I struggled with the cryptic crossword. I hadn't written anything. I could feel my neck flush red.
"Oh, thank you." But the biro refused to work. I scribbled roughly in the margin.
"Here, use mine," producing an ornate fountain pen from his bag.
"Thanks."
"I love crosswords. Good for the mind."
I shrugged. "I can never do them."
"The trick is to break the clue into parts. How about this one? Wanderer's line to join a country starts armed response. Eight letters."
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Re: What Is Care Tags Wearing

Postby inherently » Wed Oct 22, 2014 4:48 pm

gruff wrote:Image

Spoiler:
acronym/uniqlo/vtb/wrangler/y-3


Computer skills alone don't cut it anymore. You have to be deft, agile. Be able to disappear before the blockades come down. The code out there is vicious, malicious. If it detects you messing around, it will track you down and destroy you. Drain your accounts. Erase you from the system. Turn you into a ghost. That's why you've always got to be one step ahead. The AI may be smart, but it's still a system of mechanisms and linkages. If you understand how to leverage that, you'll stay out of trouble.

That's what the guy before me said, at least.
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Re: What Is Care Tags Wearing

Postby smiles » Sun Nov 16, 2014 12:32 am

Image


running thumbs over fingertips slightly damp with perspiration; i can feel each buried bone. look to the sky. the stars. they stream down in curling tendrils and penetrate my loose knit and t-shirt, seeking paths through warm skin, through the exposed whorls of my ankle, through layers of muscle and fat, coming to rest in tight coils around veins and arteries. with one careful constriction they stop my blood, sending rhythmic waves of pressure that throw the world into seas of spinning colour, which dissolve until only liminal whiteness remains. a warm prickling sensation coats me, tries to pull me down in a heap of weak knees and heavy shoulders. white light and white heat, but i am still standing, running thumbs over fingertips slightly damp with perspiration. and i can still feel each buried bone.
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Re: What Is Care Tags Wearing

Postby germinal » Sun Nov 16, 2014 9:46 am

exprof wrote:Image


Do you remember the great fallen tree in the woods? On its side the trunk was taller even than you. The pressure had warped a huge chunk of bark and timber from its underside into a graceful keel. On top, rainwater collected in pools. Do you remember? The branches were weathered smooth as driftwood by wind and sun and generations of scrambling feet. Elsewhere it was lichened and scrawled with a palimpsest of undying love.

Together we climbed through the embrace of boughs towards the grey sky. Leather slipping on bark. Higher up the wind stung my ears and I rubbed them with stiff hands. You said that I'd get chilblains if I wasn't careful. I laughed with the scuttling leaves.

When you jumped down you tore a great hole in your cardigan sleeve. Hooked by an unseen thorn or branch. The yarn unravelled like hot breath in the cold air and fell as slowly as the first snowfall. It lay straight as a grid on the mulchy floor, a forgotten ley line revealed to us. A vector of unknown magnitude. I laughed again, but this time the forest was silent.

I still wear it now, your cardigan, although the sleeves were unsalvageable. You never wanted it after that day, but I kept it. Do you remember?
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Re: What Is Care Tags Wearing

Postby germinal » Mon Nov 17, 2014 2:11 pm

ramdomthought wrote:Image


I rise, most days, with the sun, wake Joe and skitter impatiently around the kitchen. I have learnt to wait for him to finish his coffee. This is my favourite time of day, especially when the air is still and the light dilute and scents hang crisp. We walk the same route every day: behind where the lavender bush sprawls in summer we follow the path through the copse. On mornings after rain it is muddy and bacterial; one can feel the teeming of insects under logs and worms composting beneath piles of leaves, snowdrops or wild strawberries uncurling timorously and the smell of bark and sap and rabbit, vole, ferret and mouse. The path leads into the large field where sheep sometimes graze. I often run here, and Joe will give me a snack from one of his jacket pockets when he smokes a cigarette, pungent and intriguing. The field sits behind the vicarage and its grounds; it's here we have breakfast - Joe and the vicar, a tall man who smells of cheap soap, discussing poetry over more coffee. I usually stay quiet. On the way back Joe will pick up a stick, weigh it in his hand, and send it arcing through the azure sky.

"Go fetch!"
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Re: What Is Care Tags Wearing

Postby bels » Mon Nov 17, 2014 8:12 pm

Azurewrath wrote:hello, it's been a while

Image

Image


"Hello. It's been a while." I said as he opened the door. He didn't say anything; he was a professional. He went straight for whatever was inside his jacket but I caught the quick wrist and squeezed it before it could get hold of anything clever. The ulna snapped first, which I thought was kind of rare. He spoke plenty then but I couldn't understand any of it. He sounded far away. Recently everything had seemed so far away.

"Hello. It's been a while." I said again and when I finished he hit me in the side of the head with a glass tumbler from the sideboard. I was still holding onto his wrist so he used the other hand. A piece of glass went into my left eye but I didn't mind. I let go of his wrist and picked him up by the throat. I could hear the limiters in my shoulder kicking in as the servos over-torqued.

"Hello. It's been a while." I said.
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