#lights candles This is a very pretty song and the voice suits it.
I feel like my blood is on fire this is all the most energetic ever and it is glorious. EDIT: I spoke too soon and now Jojo is playing;
Rocks out in corner (I want to participate so badly in this but I have no microphone, alas.)
{ 1 4 : 3 0 } When Torvald had left the Bennett residence in the early morning, he had noticed it was eerily quiet. Even for such a large, disgusting waste of good working class capital and labour there, that was certain, but -- not a rustle, nor a chime, absolutely nothing. It was true, it was, that most of them had left by the time he remained, and he let himself stay to allow some conversation with the butler proletarian who served to be the only interesting component of the archaic Gothic relic, but not even his soothing voice was present. So Torvald emptied the deserted house without a word, and kept his dismay deep in his heart. The Girl in Watercolours still had its many performances ahead, and he had enough time to ready himself for a performance that would shatter the petticoats of Capitalist pigs as the boot straps of infinite workers marched on towards the sky! It would be glorious ... it would be a truly infinite revolution! Torvald got up from his seat and struck a pose. The bus lurched a bit forward and he almost stumbled, quickly catching himself. << What're you doing ... >> Torvald whipped his head back with a menacing gaze. A foolish young boy who dangled his legs from the seat like it was every day at the candy store! Dissent and revolution! Torvald gasped dramatically and shoved a palm to his chest, narrowing his eyes. << Young child of the future! Is it not to say that you have never had drama in your life? >> The boy curled his lower lip and averted his gaze. << Weirdo! >> He giggled. << I don't want no drama in my life-->> << ARE YOU A STANK CAPITALIST BOOT?! >> Torvald almost collapsed to the floor, continuing to peer at this intrepid and sinister devil of a young boy with his bright blue eyes. From the corner of his vision he thought he saw the bus driver gazing at him unexpectedly. Oh. Right. He cleared his throat, and adjusted his tie, before getting up from the floor and sitting back in his seat. Torvald leaned his head back and yawned. << Pardon me ... I was practicing for a musical. I am in theatre. >> He nonchalantly whipped out his phone to check the time. << No way! >> The boy's face flushed in amazement. << That's so cool! >> Huh? Torvald looked back at him suspiciously. The boy's legs dangled at an even faster rate. << Can you do impressions? >> Torvald raised his eyebrows and mouthed in silence. << Well, well I don't-- >> << Do a Snoop Dogg impression! >> Torvald gagged. His life was one never-ending impression of clowning and tomfoolery. << I'm busy, apologies to you kid. >> He turned back to his phone, rifling through the Fortissimo boards to see if anything was happening in the beginning of the semester. << Awwwwwww ... come on, come ooooooon! You were just dancin' 'round like a weirdo a minute ago! You're pretty good! >> Torvald looked back at the boy. << At being a weirdo! >> The boy gave off a wide toothy grin, pocketed with two or three gaps. Insolence! Torvald would not stand for this mockery! So he rose from his seat with a vicious expression, as the boy gazed at him with a mix of amusement slowly morphing into uncertainty. Torvald cleared his throat. << REVOLUTION >> << WHEN THE P-- >> << We have arrived at Belvedere Avenue and West Street. >> << // REVOLUTION >> Torvald deflated. Alas. He re-adjusted his tie and waved to the boy, offering a second-hand apology as he stepped out of the bus and tried to keep out the boy's disgruntled whines. What was that kid doing alone on the bus anyway? Ugh ... Torvald rubbed the back of his head and looked at his phone. Huh ... what's this? That man Oliver had posted something in the Student Portal. Torvald took a quick read through it as he walked forward upon the sidewalk. The early afternoon shone thick lights through a cloudy valley above, and common vagrants rushed to and fro, busy with their day to day lives even in the winter, lending a nutty warmth to the quaint atmosphere of the city's west end. The buildings were squat and stocky, angular and wet with fatigue, windows ornate and shop roofs crumbling, and everything set into a blank verdigris of European charm. The sidewalks by the main roads were mildly cobbled, and the streets were a shopping and food extravaganza. Torvald would have ordinarily disliked being among the disgusting bourgeois headquarters of the Belvedere neighbourhood, even if it was this close to Fortissimo to the point of being considered a "college hangout", as it were, but today he just wanted some freaking coffee. Torvald decided to send a quick e-mail to Oliver, confirming a suspicion of his. He walked forward a bit more a looked upward at a deep crimson sign reading "THE ROSE & JUNIPER". Ah, this would be good enough. He entered the blocky little building with the wide windows as the fresh smell of chamomile and rich coffee filled his nostrils. Torvald gruffly paid for some black coffee and took a seat by a boy who seemed to ... emanate fabulous radiance. He held his breath, closing his eyes for a moment. It was that man. He gently sat down in front of Evan, sipping his coffee by the window. << By Marx's beard! I have not seen you in a while. You have habitually disappeared on us, and I am surprised you did not lend your talents to a massive part in the musical. >>
{ m u s i c }[ divine comedy ] Eeeek! Did-- who was-- Fatime hid beneath her blankets and poked her head out at the direction of the voice. Julius! What was this dolt doing up like this? He was still in an extremely grave condition! Fatime's cheeks flushed crimson in a mix of annoyance and embarrassment. What if he was hurt? He could be hurt beyond reason! Fatime, you buffoon, you were making him worry ... She groaned, under the bed, and kicked the blanket off of her back. The room was chilly in the winter afternoon, and the light felt colder than it usually was. Julius was speaking to her, what-- what was she-- ack, this Professor ... She fumbled around with the origami book and flipped to a random page. << "私は右に鳥を折ると思います -- I think I fold the bird towards the right--" >> She stopped her tongue, that wasn't right! Fatime knocked herself on the head. She couldn't -- this book was useless for quoting things!! Fatime let out a deep sigh as she rushed around trying to think of another way to communicate. Her heart pounded quickly, and her head was throbbing. The medication left her a bit dizzy, even in the early morning. Wait, the paper! She grabbed a thin sheet of the black paper and -- ugh, she needed something to write with! She turned back on her side towards the nearby desk to find that crumpled up breakfast menu with the black pen, and upon grabbing it, she tore off a small slip from the menu itself. Deftly, she wrote: << I am fine, I worry more about your health. Are you feeling well? Noelle is very worried, but it does not seem everyone else is aware yet ... This is not turning out to be a pleasant New Year, is it, professor? If you may, do you have a non-black writing utensil on your person? >> She placed the note on the side and began folding the black sheet of origami paper into an airplane with her nimble fingers. Slipping the note into the slit between the wings, she curled herself backward and threw the plane towards Julius-- He was looking right at her with that curious, wise look, and even without his eyepatch, Fatime felt a great claw of judgment upon her shoulders. She tried to repress a shiver, but that may have just been from the chill, or maybe the medicine.
{ m u s i c }[ divine comedy ] << Wake up ya scrawny dolt. >> Fatime's eyes fluttered open and she saw Malgré's chalky, boyish face staring her down with an angry gaze. What an unpleasant nurse this boy was ... how and why did an institution such as this one decide to hire him? Fatime was quiet as she scowled menacingly while she met his gaze. The hospital air was still thick with the smell of stagnant medicine, and by now her eyes had etched the familiar image of this room into her mind. Malgré's face turned a splotchy red -- it was prone to doing that, and he was very much described as the blushy-blushy type as if he were perpetually anaphlyactic ... -- and narrowed his eyes. << Y--you're-- what even! I don't know what the bozo head honchos gotta be thinkin' to hole me up with such a squiddle-diddly mute-faced twerk like you--AIEE>> Malgré stuck a pose in mid-air as he dodged a pillow Fatime sent rocketing his way. It hit the wall behind him with a soft thud and slid down to the yellowing tiles. Fatime giggled. << G--gobshite! I ain't foolin! I-- I j--just a--and and the --the just I-- >> Malgré hunched himself and leered at the sour-faced girl sitting in her bed. << W--with the f--f--f--f-- god freaking pillows you crazy ol' rag! Fornication! >> He slapped his knee with a loud thwack like a banjo-playing Appalachian. Malgré sighed. << You imp. J-just-- breakfast. What do you want for it ... >> He scratched his head in disgruntlement like a quirky boorish chimp, quickly looking towards Julius' bed in order to leave as soon as possible. Fatime rolled off on her side and picked up a paper she had crumpled up next to Lucas' gift. Placing it on her lap and smoothing it out, she carefully pointed at the words "COURSE TWO" written neatly in black ink. Malgré rose his eyebrows and slowly nodded his head like an erudite dilettante. << Same as always. Got it, ya ol' spring. Aiight, I--I--I'm out. >> He lurched away, pointing two thumbs up at Fatime like he thought he was cool or something ridiculous. Fatime groaned under her breath. She laid back on her bed and looked at the big black present Lucas had left for her. Black was such a peculiar colour for him to choose ... it certainly wasn't her favourite, nor his, and she knew well enough that Lucas was very much for meanings. Fatime bit her lip. Whatever could this particular wrapping paper mean? In the light of the morning, Fatime held the present close to her as she unwrapped it carefully. And to her surprise, she gasped as she picked up the gifts: a new tablet, many sheets of black paper, and a thick tome on origami. Releasing Paper Cranes From the Cage of Your Heart; an Origami Guide by Murasaki Tori. Save for the white text, the book was entirely a deep, byzantine purple. What an appropriately mundane title ... this book seemed like an old translation. Fatime's face was flat, but her eyes were like stars; she had a new book to read ...
It is indeed.
The effects of a posting schedule, alas. Have you read through it yet?
Vaginas are much more flexible and resilient, be proud.
{ m u s i c }[ east of eden ] When Noelle entered, Fatime relegated herself back to her seat. A quick exchange of smiles led to Fatime desperately attempting to widen her crooked mouth, and she wasn't quite sure if it worked out as nicely as she wanted to. Alas. Lucas was quiet, and the presence of an unknown variable in the room returned the heavy weight to Fatime's throat. Even if she were able to quote something; even if she did have some reading material, she would nary say a peep in the exchange between these two. She set Julius' phone back on the bedside stand, and looked away from the older student wracked with well-contained worry looking over the sleeping lion. Her ears cleanly filtered in the contents of their conversation, and to Fatime's immediate surprise, Julius was able to struggle out a few replies in response. Fatime breathed a gentle sigh of relief, but otherwise, attempted to make sure she could not be seen or acknowledged in this little affair. There was at least someone who could make that man smile ... When the room was empty again, save for the sleeping Professor beyond the curtain, Fatime was again left alone in her bed. Without her tablet, she had no means of contacting the others; not like she really bothered getting most of their numbers, anyway. She tossed herself around on her bed and turned to look out at the window. The moonlight shimmered coldly; strings of icy light curled through the weak glass frame and shrouded her room in a ghostly tenebrae, keeping the corners far and the space low. The voicelessness of a winter night crept spiderlike into it, intertwining its fingers with the vivid mechanical hums of medical machinery and the rumbling growls of Julius' peaceful sleep beyond the veil. Fatime tugged the blankets closer to her and curled into a ball of tiring reticence, at last turning her gaze towards the black gift Lucas had given her before gently falling into a deep sleep. - - - - Torvald sort of hated breakfast because there was too much meat and not enough veggies. For the entirety of the day he tried looking around to figure out where in the world the butler went to tell him about the poor Professor until he eventually discovered he went to look for him in the hospital anyway. Alas. He would have to save the announcements for tomorrow ...Torvald sat back on the couch and fell asleep faster than you could say "Leninism" ten times fast.
<< I see you're still in one piece, Faye. >> Fatime immediately shut the phone. That voice! It-- it couldn't-- Fatime whipped her head towards the door, and she felt sturdy, bony claws curl into her chest. << I suppose you cannot keep a comet out of commission for long, but you really shouldn't be out of bed. Are you well? >> Fatime mumbled something incomprehensible beneath her breath, as her dim, mildly-sedated eyes scanned the figure at the door. As she processed and processed, her eyes widened, her mouth hung just slightly more agape, and a great, weighty stone relaxed its pin on her throat. << L--Lulu? >> { m u s i c }[ east of eden ] She tried to rocket out of her chair, but her unsteady arms make her fall back down with morose uncertainty. Her expressions were wide with shock, and they briefly glanced away in subdued anguish, before curling her lip and turning back to face Lucas with a sombre gaze of the eyes. Fatime tapped Julius' phone, placed precariously on the chair's arm rest, with her bare fingernails. << Lulu! You buffoon. It's far away from yourself to leave the Bennett household in the middle of an important function! That impetuous little succubus of a girl is too naive to handle-- handle everything by herself. Lulu, just go back to her, she doesn't-- what if your very appearance here makes the poor girl cry? You never think things out, Lulu! A comet like you that has its trajectory manipulated by the gravities in your life ... >> Fatime bit her tongue, her voice as unsteady as a boulder upon a massive cliff edge. Her fingers shook, and she turned back to the man sleeping peacefully on his hospital bed. << You should care more about Professor over here ... he has been in a grave state and took the brunt of the crash. I don't-- he-- if he's gone then-- >> She turned her gaze back to Lucas. << I don't care! Lulu, I'm staying well beyond my time here. He's going to be fine. I'm fine enough you don't have to waste your time coming uninvited. If the staff see you they'll bust a gasket in their collective cortex. We have to just keep the hope bright and burning, like a candle ... >> She felt as if she were convincing herself with this scurried diatribe more than speaking to her dear old brother. With an expressionless look, she briefly averted her eyes to the black package Lucas left on her bed. Fatime sighed. << Ayanna was going to give you my present tomorrow. You make me feel like a terribly incompetent little sister sometimes, Lulu. How can I dare compete ... >> Her voice trailed off and she tried to rise out of her chair again. She hobbled over between her professor's bed and Lucas' figure by the door, her expression fixed in a blaze of menacing, hollow ambivalence. The sleeping lion of a man, resting peacefully on his bed just moments before, began to stir. It was a brief storm, or a fleeting tornado, where his face grew cold and his bones locked like rusted machinery in the misery of unconscious mortification. Fatime jerked her head back like a startled little songbird. << ... Lulu. The others-- >> She whispered. << They must know more than anyone else. Do they know? Did you tell them? It would be terrible if none of them were aware ... >>
Spoiler: I-It's not like I /like/ Quentin o-or anything ... //////
You should keep this close to you heart for a good number of things in your life, anime or not. Also, there is a manga if you feel the need to begin there instead.
I agree. Clawtooth is the kindest hero we have on the forum.
Time to sell my soul to the devil again. 1. & 2. Marc Chagall ---> Constantin Brancusi. Long ago, the four sections of the forum lived together in harmony. Then everything changed when disorganization attacked. Only active moderators, masters of observing all four sections, could stop them. But when the forum needed them most, a bunch of them left back in 2010. A few years passed and Misty and RvR discovered a proper replacement, a returning member named Amaury. And though his observation skills are great, he has a lot to learn about the social aspect of the forum before he can save anyone. But I believe Amaury can save the forum's organization. 3. My favourite staff is a quarterstaff or a bo. My favourite object that is not a staff is my laptop. 4. Certainly not green, aha, not at all, indeed, nope sir. Favourite number is i. 5. Everything. 6. Books, books, books, and books. 7. Yes, because some of the contents of your posts certainly make me gape in awe ... from time to time. 8. No, because I am never in awe of any of my abilities since I am well enough aware of them. 9. Is it not possible to combine them? 10. That one night where we invaded Dieppe to fight the Nazis and we had to split off near the forest while Misty held off the onslaught with a giant tank bearing a machine gun. You parachuted off of the cliff and I had to hold onto your ankle like a generic damsel in distress despite my character being the one played by Sylvester Stallone! Bonjour bonjour to you! The anime life? You would make a much greater teacher than I, Dinny-sensei. The ability to answer these questions properly. I am not sure how I am. Well, I suppose I can attribute my very existence to the copulation between my parents, and my resulting personality growth through a combination of environmental and -- to a lesser extent -- genetic factors. However, how is how in showing how it was and how it will be, how shall I be how when I am not sure how I am myself? Henri Matisse ---> Henri Matisse + Takashi Murakami A pet Dinny. Roses and stars. #flies away Who? Gustav Klimt ---> Nujabes + Soulja Boy + Tetsuya Nomura Wonderfully! I hope your day is going exquisitely as well. My cards fell into a dark hole centuries ago. Youngster Joey. Perhaps if Amaury baked me that pizza cake from his question then yes perhaps I would. Oh! I own this strange golden little crown that I picked up in Scandinavia somewhere. Unfortunately, whenever I wear it, I simply do not remember what is going on at the moment. When I take it off and wake up, however, I find that my clothes have turned blue, there is a pound of whitened beard hair by my feet, and my room has ran down to three or four degrees above zero Kelvin. I am sorry, we are out of stock of that particular item! Please check the store again at a later period. Tienewma-- wait, I do not think it counts if I romance two large canines. Ocarina of Time Link ---> Link to the Past Link Walt Whitman ---> T. S. Eliot A Menger Sponge. Sora, because then I can easily transplant one of my seventeen hearts to the needy. In the scenario above, Kairi would be the heart donor, and Riku would the Christiaan Barnard. Yes! Many who are not particularly close, unfortunately. Joan Miro ---> Joan Miro Only if you get the right flags on my route, protagonist-chan. <3 But we must not! Aaah, how I blush. If the commoners hear of our affair, then the entire forum will implode! ////// But this implies I sleep. Catch-22. I actually have a few loose leaf shops I visit more often than not. My parents are rather big on Tetley however so when I have none of my tea I simply use those teabags. A very challenging question; I am afraid I cannot answer precisely! A bit like asking me my favourite cuisine. It depends more on the individual books. That being said my writing itself is partial to edging a combination of magical realism and science fiction from time to time, so take that as you will. Comment? Où? Quand? Pourquoi? Richard Dawkins ---> Nikola Tesla I know next to absolutely nothing about what you may have had for breakfast this morning. Oh no, oh no, this is a terribly challenging question. Last year I had a thirty or so minute voice clip that I posted answering this and I may as well simply link you to that if I can find it in the mess of audio files that is my music + audio folder. I-- I dream about it ... alas. Will tomorrow come? I have a definite FFIX bias because it was the first Final Fantasy game I completed outright, so most likely Steiner of all. Hello hello to you Heart! Georgia O'Keeffe Georgia O'Keeffe + Edouard Manet Octocat Octocat Octocat Thomas Edison If it did, then I would fade out of existence. I was frozen in time when the Assyrians conquered my tiny village until a handful of grapes brought me out of the earth and were about to use me as bricks for the next Misty monument until they defrosted me. The blood of my enemies coats my name to this day. I looked high and low through the foggy New England storm, until I found a small lighthouse just standing there, empty and derelict. When I reached it, I found Mephistopheles and he proceeded to take my soul in exchange for the ability to use the internet. My favourite amine is methylamine. Very much so! However, my favourite game changes more than the Prime Minister of Japan. Currently, my favourite video game is answering these questions. My friend wanted me to use a Game Shark cheat to answer all of these questions with the typing of one word but that would be dishonest. Alfred Sisley ---> Claude Monet The first game. That one dusk in a Kingdom Hearts II cutscene with Kairi and Axel who is meandering like a lanky flatworm closer and closer to the camera while thrusting its pelvis. Xehanort x Himself Mulan or the Lion King, and perhaps Scar or Mulan. When the children of my street found out I actually was a monster in real life. Diego Velazquez ---> Auguste Rodin Of the universe. violently vomits blood violently vomits blood I have too many to count! If you were an anime you would be one of them. Marx, or perhaps Trotsky. Lenin was alright, as well. At least, compared to some of the others. Krankenhaus. I have never tried Jägermeister before.
{ m u s i c }[ - - - ] She was drifting, and the light, it was weak. Where was she? Everything was dark, and she could not feel or see. She tried to look for her hands, but there was only dark. She glanced down at her feet, and there was only dark. And she was floating, floating, through an empty void that felt without end. A bleak ruin; a resonant wave through timeless space. The bottom of the ocean, where all was quiet and soulless, and time slithered by with no acknowledgement. So she pushed forward. There was no up, or down, or left or right or any sense of direction in this void. There was only forward, and forward was the only way one could move when lost in a clammy, stinging vacuum. One where not a sound nor smell dare existed, and thoughts were as tangible as space itself. And then, the darkness, it began to recede, like skin peeling away from a corpse. Slowly, dithered, where specks of light began to sparkle and guide a wayward voyage. Her legs dangled freely without rest or stop, but like reaching a shell of overbearing, an atmosphere of choking thickness that could stop one's heart, it became harder and harder to move out of this void. Forces fought against her body, the push of bricks or stone or mud or jetting deeper and deeper into a vast, cavernous lake without end. But it became brighter, and once again, she saw her hands, her feet. The scent of rosemary and tar tickled her nostrils, and from the little freckles of light, growing into lamps and bulbs and great stars around her, she heard croaks and chirps and wails that brightened the sombre, blurry void. Her feet gained weight, and she felt herself descending as winds strung their arms around her own, carrying her gently to the earth. It was here that the light was the brightest, and the void was all but a memory -- an intangible thought. She landed on a bed of grass, and bent down to touch the remains of downy white plumage among the forest of silver-green shimmering in the sunset light. She picked up a white feather emitting light, and rolled it between her fingers, stroking and caressing its cloudlike, cottony little feather-barbs. She looked in front of her, where a door stood silent in the sea of grass. She placed the feather gently among its kind, back on the ground, and wandered over to the door, each step of her feet allowing her to regain the weight of the earth and the fire of consciousness in her head. And so, upon reaching it, she touched the doorknob with her left hand, sending a frightening bolt of chill through her trembling fingers. Was this for the best? It was the first thought she had -- a question, a creation of her own among this world of sensation. Was this for the best? She considered it, and nodded. Fatime touched the doorknob, fought the chill, and turned it. { m u s i c }[ the name of the rose ] Fatime's eyes fluttered open, and for a brief moment, she was unsure if she was in her body. The light of an early December morning was cold, hard, and bright, and it tumbled callously through the enormous window nearby. She slowly lifted her left hand, and felt the tell-tale tug of plastic and metal. Turning her head, she found a catheter gently attached to an IV tube. Ah. Fatime turned her head back upwards, looking at the cracked white plaster above. She shifted her legs beneath the tightly-tuck sheets, and dropped her hand. There was -- there was something on her bed ... what was -- She tried to lift her head forward, to take a better look. It looked like a hat, with a note. Did some-- somebody come here already? Fatime shot up to try and get a better look. It was a fuzzball the colour of winter soil, like an animal napping peacefully on her belly. A white card laid carefully on top of it, precariously nearing the edge, ready to fall in calamitous thunder. Fatime stretched out her good hand and picked up the little bundle of items. Was this actually a hat? She quickly glanced at her side and noticed the IV machine was off, before carefully pulling the wire out of her hand. She had more important things to do, right now! Something Fatime hoped was confidence began rising in her chest. She raised the fuzzy hat above her head, holding it up to the light of the window. Two small arms dropped from its sides, dangling aimlessly in the hospital's stagnant air. This hat ... She placed it by her side and shifted her body to read the card. It was ... Her fingers began to tremble. Did she really remember? Ha! She-- she never remembered! Fatime bit her lip as she tried to hold back the sudden cascade of palpitations in her heart. It felt as if she had finished running three kilometers worth of distance, and-- and just-- What a fool! It wasn't even a book. Fatime huffed, placing the card on the edge of the bed. She picked up the hat and raised it with shaky hands, dropping it like a weight on her head. Even from that distance, it fit well. It was warm, too. The hat's little arms ended in paws with small pockets for her hands, and they curled up in little swirls by her side as she darted her head back and forth, looking at them like an eager, young child. Fatime stuffed her hands in them, and she closed her eyes. This warmth, it wasn't something she felt in her books, or her experiments. It wasn't simply from the hat, or the blanket, no. She couldn't! It wasn't a feeling she had felt in a while, but it washed over her, like a warm bath, or a soft embrace. Merry Chrstimas, Ayanna. She looked back at the card almost dizzily, but-- wait! Ah! Her eyes snapped back into focus. Professor ... Professor! Julius! Julius, where-- what-- was he alright? Was he okay? Ah ... Her hands shot out of their little pockets and she searched around like a cornered fox. On the other end of her bed was a faded blue tarp, with patches of inconsistent green-yellow and white from years of use. The familiar scent of pungent, sour medicine began to fill her nostrils, as her entire body slowly regained more and more feeling. Keeping the hat on her head, she pulled back the blankets and dangled her foot over the edge of the bed. Careful, careful ... Soreness plagued her veins, and occasionally sharp jolts of pain struck her joints. Whatever, whatever! She touched the cold tiled floor with her sock, and was about to lift her right leg out before she realized it felt heavier than her left. Startled, Fatime threw off the rest of the blanket, and found a small cast around her shin and ankle. Hellfire to the heavens! Fatime swore under her breath, a small chirpy, bird-like noise, but she'd be weak if this would stop her quest. She held onto the bed's railing, and lifted her cast leg out of the bed. For a moment, she sat on the bed, one leg touching the floor and the other dangling above it, before she leaped off, holding her cast leg a bit above in the air. Little by little, little by little. Her steps were small, like a newborn chick's, and she held desperately onto whatever she could get her hands on for support as she waddled over past the blue tarp. She nudged it away with her shoulder, and almost slipped onto the floor before catching herself on a cabinet handle. Ugh! But beyond the tarp, she saw the end of her little quest; the Professor was resting soundly in his bed, right next to her. She was about to call out his name, when she realized she had no books. Oh ... oh no. Oh no, oh no-- her heart turned to lead, and grew heavy in her chest. She had no books! How could-- how could she say anything to him right now! Where was her tablet? Ah -- pull it together, Fatime. Pull it together, you ninny. P--problem solving, it was your forte! There-- there was nothing in this world you couldn't achive!! Fatime's breaths grew weaker. She was tired enough just from moving that small distance, but she put in some more energy to sit herself on the chair by Julius' bed. She looked at the man's large, resting figure. He seemed peaceful, but how was it anybody could be peaceful after that entire incident? Fatime frowned. Did anybody come to visit him yet? She scrunched up her face trying to think of something to say. A quote ... a quote ... a memorized quote ... Right! There was that story. Ayanna, she would read it to her when she was younger, and had trouble sleeping ... << "You aren't alone," Cynthia s--said-- >> Fatime coughed loudly, her voice struggling. He probably could not even hear her! She was being a lillyhammer troglodyte, she was, and it would be a hundred times better if she went back to bed. But-- ah, how could he leave someone alone like this? She thought back to how Julius seemed so jovial, so diligent, with the others in the musical. And there she was, slipping out without notice like a right imbecile ... << -- as she knelt by the ca-- candlelight. >> Fatime continued, curling up on the chair. << "Nobody in this world is alone; people-- p-- people can stick together like glue, in times of need. " She-- she placed a hand on the thick book resting upon her lap. "That is what m--m--makes humans-- ah-- that is what makes humans so beautiful. Resilience, individuality, c--companionship. Like rewinding time from band knot ends. " >> Fatime frowned again, sighing. She looked around Julius' little space. His squat little phone rested by a thick pewter vase, and to her surprise, it gave off an unnaturally bright light. Did someone try calling? Fatime stood up, her arm shaking as she held onto the chair, as she picked up the phone. That's right ... A few of the students would be worried. Fatime pondered in bewilderment. It was on the news, but did any of them even get to see? Noelle ... Noelle, she was one of the pretty girls. The one that smoked. Most of the time Fatime would just feel sour and cathartic towards a trashy ... girl, like that. But it was strange. Today, she just felt apathetic, and none of the black bile stirred in her heart. As much, perhaps ... It was best if she knew, maybe. Fatime began typing away a text.
{ 1 0 : 0 0 } Ah-- aaaah--A dull pain in Torvald's head threw him off guard, and he fell off the couch onto the ground. He rolled onto his back and stood back up, gripping a palm to the side of his head. What happened! Goddamn! He drank too much, did he! He did, he did ... This was terrible! Unforgivable! He could not lead a revolution if his-- ack goddamn-- his-- his head was in so much paaaaaAAaaAAin--He groaned. It was like a drill bit piercing his skull. This-- this was a ploy by the bourgeoisie! Insolent imbeciles! The alcohol was too strong and they took advantage of his alliance with the working class to do this to him! They would be hearing his voice in defiance! Things would be thrown! People would be excommunicated from the revolution! Property would be destroyed and enemies eliminatAAAAaaAaack--Torvald shook and gripped the side of the sofa. This wasn't a mere hangover, it seemed more like a terrible headache.- - - - -Torvald burst through the kitchen door, threateningly holding a vase. A lamp shade was still on his head, from when he accidentally smashed into it in his stumbling down the stairs. The pain throbbed through his skull and the smell of food blocked out his senses. The servant was standing nearby, with Sophie and Freddie, cooking something that seemed much too gauche for his tastes.<< C--COMRADE WORKER OF THE HOUSEHOLD! >> He squinted in pain and held the vase close to his head. << THIS REVOLUTION WILL NOT CONTINUE, FOR MY HEAD-- UGH-- MY HEAD, IT IS BEING ASSAULTED ON ALL SIDES BY THE CAPITALISTIC TREACHERY THAT IS POST-ALCOHOLIC STUPOR! BUT WORSE! >> He walked forward, but the pain made him double over. He slid off of the side of one of the granite countertops, sending a pan flipping upwards and rocketing to the ceiling, as he cluched his heart in defiance. He closed his eyes in melodrama as the loud bang of the pan hitting the ceiling echoed through the rooms. << THE FIRES OF REVOLUTION! THEY WILL NEVER CEASE AS-- AS LONG AS YOU HAVE-- ugh-- my, my medical kit-- COMRADE WORKER, THIS HEADACHE ASSAULTS MY MIND. I REQUEST MY MED-- MEDICAL KIT. OR PAINKILLERS-- or honey and tea-- >>Torvald coughed and sat in pain by the side of the counter, the lamp shade hanging over his head. His nose was as red as a cherry.At least this would mean he could talk to the worker about the incident last night. << CEASE REVOLUTION >>
{ 0 2 : 4 0 } xxxxxx<< Ah ... >>Torvald's voice trailed off. The proletarian worker butler must have fallen asleep again ... how terrible. Such was his plan. Perhaps he should simply get some rest tonight, and everything would be fine enough in the morning ... if, of course, his head did not throb from all of this alcohol. He looked at his red hands and stared back at the radio. It may have been for the best if they learn tomorrow, of course. Ah, Torvald, Torvald ... let them have a pleasant night. He turned back to Tayes, and noticed her-- Oh? Familiar, teary stains ran down her cheeks, as she slept quietly, huddled on the couch, trying to keep away from the world. What a foolish child. Torvald glanced around, frustrated, for a blanket, or a few pillows. He walked off into the lounge a hallway away and grabbed a few cushions lounging by a neatly-folded shawl. He nodded understandingly. This proletarian butler comrade took his duties in this hellhole seriously. Torvald returned to the first room and placed the shawl over Sasha's huddled body. He gently lifted her head and placed a pillow below it. What idiots. They were going to all get themselves hurt in the end. Torvald slowly took the last pillow and walked back to the first room, where he fell asleep on the couch with the pillow. Of course, he did not realize, just yet, that he did not have his medical kit.
