{ m u s i c }[ around the world in eighty days ] Aaaaah ... Fatime hid herself beneath the covers, her hands shaking. What was she doing!! Yes, yes, it was true, she wanted something like this for a while. And the tantalizing barrier that the internet provided kept her safe as she typed up that incessantly silly message! Nonsense, nonsense, you continue to be a right fool, Fatime! She shivered as she read through the message. What an idiot she was! Fool, fool, fool! Who would listen to a quiet little rat like you?! Nobody would come, not even the Professor ... She shut her laptop after sending the message and slammed her head into her pillows. Her tablet still beeped occasionally, and her e-mails had not been checked. This was terrible, terrible ... but this was also one of her only chances to get to know everybody else beyond her own perceptions. Agh! She kicked away a few books lying on her bed. And then she realized. When was the last time she had spoken a word to anybody? No, no, not through computers, or messages, but at best she had only written notes and sent them to people. She tried clearing her throat and picked up a random book on her bed -- "Space Dandy", by Tom McSynkson -- quickly glancing through the pages. Ah! She would take one of these and her tablet in case they wanted her to speak there ... this was going to be painful. She placed the book on her bedside table and curled back into her blankets, slowly closing her eyes and drifting off to sleep.
Fatime let out a squeak of dismay as she hit her head on the bedstand, trying to wrench closer to the laptop. She rubbed her forehead and groggily submitted the last of her daily assignments. This was definitely a tough class, she mused, but at least finishing everything quickly meant she could get started with her little plan! She giggled to herself, almost mischievously. But her work wasn't finished yet! She had opened twenty word processor files on the laptop, each of which contained a different paragraph of introduction for her little group. She scanned through all of them with the eye of a hawk, reading them quietly, and finally collapsed into a ball of groaning as she realize she could not quite decide which one to choose. It felt as if she was imposing on everybody by doing this ... at the same time, it wasn't as if they hung out with each other together otherwise. I mean, it could be pleasant, couldn't it? There was a soft ring from her tablet. Ack! Was that Ayanna's email? Fatime quickly unplugged her laptop and flew under the covers like a worried prairie dog. No distractions!
What am I reading. The bread is where the party is.
Except for the fact that thirteen of you are probably trying to give us an arranged marriage regardless
Ah yes, "Three Reds and a Blue" is my favourite modernist piece by the artist A. Maury. I especially enjoy the darkened lighting that signifies the fast, fleeting pace of everyday life, similar to "Two Blues and Three Purples", yet the inclusion of the powerful reds denotes what may have been a streak of passion going through the artist at the time of the painting. I am looking forward to his exhibition at MoMA and the Tate, where he will unveil his newest avant-garde, art-redefining piece, "All The Staff Are Online".
I am just a man of few words, you see. *disappears into night*
PRAISE TO THE HEAVENS! I was hoping ever so dearly that there would come a day where we would understand the opinion of this place from simple faceless statistics or some other such data. It is reassuring to hear a voice, especially that of someone who dabbles in coding. I have not visited those particular sections of the forum for a while but I can safely say they have indeed been a backbone of the development and history of this forum, so I certainly hope you jive and waltz through that place and the entire forum whenever you may!
You have to accept that you are Spongebob and tumblr one day, James. No matter how long it takes.
Je souhaite que mon français sera comme votre anglais dans l'avenir. Parce que je suis un Canadien anglais qui essaie d'apprendre le français, c'est un peu difficile. Néanmoins, le français est l'une de mes langues préférées, même si je ne parle pas correctement! How embarrassing my rusty French must be, I can read it far better than I can write or speak it, but alas. Our French super moderator Forsaken is going to murder me for attempting that without his discretion. It is a pleasure to have you among us! Stay careful of the shark tanks we place around the forum, however. Those requins can get antsy if we do not feed them enough, it seems.
Yuno Gasai is an incompetent sickle-headed elephant.
You lotus-eaters. Cookiie, please help me ~break this illusion~
Jayn, go to sleep. You are drunk off your backside.
I wish I had access to these new Trauma Center video game screenshots as well.
The cuteness of this couple can be appropriately sumed up in this post.
{ 2 2 : 1 0 } With nothing much else to say, Torvald rose, bid adieu to the two comrades, and began to walk to whatever room Rainbow had set up for him before the other man quickly left and he was left alone with the brown haired woman. Torvald sighed and looked disgruntled as she tried her little tricks of attempting to pulll of some meagre sense of confidence. She threw blankets and pillows to the couch and attempted to act defiant, so Torvald simply plopped himself down on the couch and turned away to look back from her. << Pleasant dreams. >> He mumbled in reply, as he fell fast asleep. Eventually in his sleep, Torvald managed to fall off the couch and roll onto the carpet in a mess of pillows and blankets. Fatime returned into her room carrying bags of origami paper and a few snacks. It was late, but upon reading the reply Professor Julius had given her, she felt positively giddy! Fatime yawned and changed into her pajamas, taking a shower beforehand, before tucking herself into bed between a few piles of books, In here she continued to read and re-read the reply, and as thoughts of the processing began to formulate in her head, the mousey little girl slowly edges off into sleep.
{ 2 2 : 0 0 } Time had passed, and the three comrades spent their time failing to study and simply catching up. Food was shared, drinks drunk, and laughs were had -- rather, the Rainbow's glorious laughing while Torvald simply shook his head in disarray. He was not quite sure what the lady who so erratically changed her hair colour, of all things, wanted to feel through this. And so many an hour passed with barely a lick of homework getting finished. Torvald looked at the congregation of flippant individuals and absentmindedly slid a few fingers along the plastic vaulting of the mask on his lap. He brought his long legs closer and briefly narrowed his eyes at the two, as if a cornered fox unsure of what else to do. << ... On to other things. Do you know if our other comrades are safe enough with this virus? >> He turned to the lady, but addressed both of them blankly, taking a sip of his glass. << I pray there has not been a lack of contact ... the revolution exists when there is strength in numbers. >> He placed the glass back on the table. << ... And what of the victims of the deaths that struck our body from long ago? >> His voice felt a bit more hollow and distant as he said this. << It feels very well enough that we are fragmented, would you not agree. Aha ... I wouldn't call it the best of all situations, this fragmentation, in any situation ... >> He sighed to himself, closing his eyes and leaning back a bit. << That is as much indication if the ... lady can tolerate my presence here tonight. >> He yawned. << Perhaps we must try something. Where has the fun been in our lives recently? >> Torvald's eyes suddenly grew soft, yet stern and cold, unfocused on anything in particular. << Our lives, here -- we have the privilege to enjoy them even among the despair of this sickness, or whatever hammers and sickles may trip us up in our quest for infinite justice. It is a virtue, to enjoy what we can of life.>> He turned to Rainbow. << A man like you is the greatest revolutionary of this idea. The buses have been shutting down early due to the pandemic. Working class heroes do deserve the greatest protection from illnesses, after all. Would you object to my staying here the night? I shall make sure my cardboard box outside will be a far enough distance from the both of you. >>
YOU RIGHT FOOLS. THIS IS SOMETHING THAT MUST NOT BE BROUGHT BACK. THE VERY EXISTENCE OF THIS OPTION ON THIS POLL WILL INCITE A DRAMATIC DESTRUCTION OF THE UNIVERSE. AN ACCELERATION OF ITS ENTROPIC DEATH WITH A ZERO-ENERGY STATE. DO YOU WISH TO DOOM YOURSELF? THIS IS NOT DEMOCRACY. THIS IS NOT EVEN POPULISM. THIS IS INSANITY, PURE UNFILTERED INSANITY OF THE BASEST, MOST INCONGRUOUS LEVEL. THIS OPTION WILL RENDER YOU SPAGHETTIFIED INTO QUANTUM PARTICLES OF SUCH MINUTE BITS THAT YOUR VERY EXISTENCE IS ONLY HALFWAY ALONG THE PATH NO MATTER THE MATHEMATICAL FUNCTION OF YOUR LIFE ONCE YOU REALIZE ITS ABSURDITY. NONSENSE. RIDICULOUSNESS. MY ANIME MOUTH IS AGHAST IN SURPRISE AT THE PEANUT GALLERY. CEASE BEFORE THE ANNIHILATION OF YOUR CONSCIOUSNESS IS YOUR ULTIMATE FATE. YOU ARE ALL SO TWO-THOUSAND-AND-LATE.
Amaury's threads are adorable because whenever he posts a thread we have sixteen-and-three-quarters members dogpiling on top of him to give him cuddly hugs and other forms of Spam Zone Affection™. And yet they separate the coloured names. The staff and premiums even have their own sections. Separate but equal my backside, we need a Civil Rights movement going.
{ 1 4 : 0 0 } Torvald rubbed his mask. What kind of fools were running up and about in the midst of this deadly virus? His comrades, apparently. Could he consider them such, after all thus? Ah ... he leaned back on his chair and tapped his fingers on the desk. Did he want to go outside to meet the others? Rainbow seemed to throw him off like a misused revolution rag. He groaned. Whatever. He wished for anything in the world more than to finish this work. Torvald rose slowly like a careful colossus, and floated to his door to take apart the junk barricading it. He moved aside the tables with little effort, the chairs with a miserable attempt at grace that ended with him dropping them loudly and probably startling the entire floor, and carefully picked up the plants and bits of things to set aside where he would try not to forget them among the concert of other random objects. He rubbed his hands together and opened the door. Rainbow's home was not that far from the Candlewood core, and an uneventful bus ride away, where Torvald sat at the very back, brought him directly to the front door. He had rarely visited the houses of those supporting his revolutionary struggles, and as he stared down the home, he was unsure at first of what to do. He did not spot the doorbell. Was there even one? Torvald took no chances and decided to knock on the door instead. He raised a fist and banged on the door twice, before stopping himself and turning it into a gentle rap. << Oops, >> He said.
