{ 1 0 : 0 5 } xxxxxxTorvald slowed his pace so that Kline could catch up with him. This girl was certainly a riot. Why was she so intent on following him around like this? At the very least, she was helpful and had a bright mind, so Torvald could not object to that. Surprisingly enough, he was not very annoyed by her presence. It felt ... how you say, just mildly calming? Maybe. Everything turned three shades more grey in apathy to him after the events of January and February. << It seems Bentley has a bad rap, Tannhauser. >> Ack. There it was again. Huh. << The others were saying that the foolish police pawns began acting ... how you say, strange when the town was mentioned. It is unreasonable. Bentley is a useless hamlet in the boondocks, and not many people seem to know about it. Not many even wish to speak about it ... >> His voice trailed off, shaken with the small leaflets of fatigue. As they continued to walk through the fifth floor, Kline asked Torvald if he believed in the supernatural. << Hahaha! There is no scientific proof about all of the garbage everyone speaks of. >> He turned to Zoey Kline with a mildly menacing expression. << I hope you are not scared of this so-called curse. It is middling. Mincing. They all visited when they were impressionable children, and escaped without coming to logical conclusions about anything. >> He continued to walk, calling Kline along gently. << I refuse to believe in the paranormal. Myths and the unknown have no place in the eternal revolution, and serve only to satisfy us with lies and false-truths that obscure the mirror's complete reflection. When we visit Bentley, we will understand the truth behind the saccharine falsities it may provide. The paranormal, the superstition, it is, to say, a creation of those who accept mysteries unsolvable in their natural state. >> When he reached the other end of the bookshelves, he stopped. << That, you can say, is a glaring logical fallacy. >>Torvald looked up at the shelf. Most of them were more censuses and historical records, but these were focused on economic institutions and businesses. Mostly bank accounts, but accounting records were also out in the open. He held out a hand to some of the books on the shelf, tracing his thick finger along the hardcover spines. << The one thing they do offer is a reflection of social mores and actual events happening at the time. The Jenna proletarian worker is not in the wrong for directing us to the myths and legends, for if we find enough on Bentley there, we understand that these negative PR stories are based and grounded in reality. Murders. Executions. Rapes. Other events. >> His voice was flat as he spelled out these horrific incidents, without a tune of empathy or remorse. << But you certainly have a point. Along my finger are a few business records of Percival County. It is true -- we may perhaps find something about the candy shop in question here, if it may mean anything. >> Torvald bit his tongue and read through the titles, absentmindedly drawing his finger along the spines. << ... Tell me, Kline. You are a kind girl. This is a dangerous mission. We are among dangerous people, and death is a certainty. One of us will die again in the near future, and you will never see their living face again. >> He took out a few blue business collections from the shelf, and turned to Zoey Kline. << This is at advantage of discovering the truth. Do you have the courage to continue this investigation through fear of death, or through fear of loss? We just spoke to a ghost, and she was much a hollow shell as any of us. Do you wish to see what it means for a human to be supernatural in this world? >>
{ 1 0 : 0 0 } xxxxxxAs the clock struck 10, the entire library filled with a deep, resonating chime. << You got that little ditty right! Whittlerose is a pretty old place. I've been living here with mama for three years, and I like it. Nice, quiet, has some pleasant history. So many books, books and things to learn everywhere! >> Jenna touched her cheeks, swooning. Torvald looked at Miss Zoey Kline suspiciously, raising his eyebrows. What? What was she doing? What was she saying to the Jenna girl? He looked away, a bit disgruntled. << You are giving me far too much credit, Kline. My intelligence is as limited as the range of reading material that is around us. >> Jenna did not spout out a retort to this, but seemed to tap her nails on the table impatiently. Torvald gazed at the collection of censuses and newspaper scraps, looking away from the two girls. << I was just pulling legs, y'know. Don't think anything incredulously silly of it! The revolutionary and I are the best of buds. >> Torvald winced painfully, as if taking a boot to the head. He whipped around in a sharknado of violent flurry. << We are not anything but what you would call buds! >> Jenna smiled like a fox, sticking out her tongue. << You all seem to be so intent on Bentley. >> Torvald hit the table with a soft thud and sighed, resting his head upon his free hand. << Kline, do not mind her, she has enough work to do later. >> << Hold it! >> He turned in heaps of frustration. << What do you want? >> << I never answered her question. >> Jenna's face had grown blank, and she was playing around with her nails, pretending to pay no heed to the little discussion going around her. << Well? >> Jenna looked back up at Torvald, then back at her nails. She turned her head to look at Zoey Kline, and Torvald noticed that her mouth was in a fitful state of perturbed resignation. Her eyes seemed to have grown a bit more careful, and her ordinarily whip-like movements became much more careful and steady. Torvald's eyes widened. << ... You know something. >> << You're smarter than I thought. >> Her voice had suddenly grown a bit quiet. She turned back to Kline. << It-- I don't know why the population spike jumped like that in those years. But, well-- >> << Well? Get on with it! >> Jenna turned on Torvald in a huff, back to her visible, red-faced frustration. << Didn't Marx teach you how to wait? Ugh. >> There was something else in her voice, something he didn't quite notice before. It was sharp, it was sour, and it poked out like a spear. It was the sensation of mild pain her voice. This, Torvald gleaned, was a very delicate topic -- no, something else. Jenna inhaled very lightly, blinking. << Bentley has always been ... weird? It may explain the incident that happened. When I was a girl, maybe ... maybe seven or eight, I was-- We went to Bentley, the-- the camp. >> Torvald raised his eyebrows in curiosity. This was new. Jenna stared at Torvald, a deeply serious, melancholic mask painted upon her youthful face. In the soft library light, the shadows edged closer to her skin, and it felt as if she had aged many years. << The memories from that time are a blur. I-- I just can't-- maybe I don't want to? I don't really know. There was this one guy, really big and buff, who wouldn't leave me the fuck alone. Treated me like a kid. Made me so helpless, and drove away the Emalynn girl who never decided to return to Fortissimo after that incident too-- >> << You're trailing off, Jenna. >> Torvald's voice was surprisingly gentle and calm, but direct. << Yeah. Uh, everything smelled like baked goods, I don't know if it was always like that. I was just -- my mind was blocked by so many things and all of the worry and frustration. It wasn't pleasant. I wanted to get out. >> She tapped her fingers on the table and gazed at them distantly, tilting her head to the side. << There was a candy shop. Now that I'm older, it definitely is one of the largest in the county. And-- and the girl-- >> << She predicted your futures. >> Jenna's eyes jumped forward to meet Torvald's face. The creases of his mouth were lined in doubt. << You know? >> Her lip trembled, her mouth open and trying to look for words. << But, but you don't-- >> Torvald stood up and walked over to Miss Kline. Of course he would know. How many times had the others told the story? But he could not deny his surprise as well. Not once had any of them mentioned this girl with them, as if they just forgot she existed for whatever reason. Torvald's sides ached. << We are students of Fortissimo Academy. >> Jenna popped out of her chair like a jack-in-the-box, sending it flying backward. She stood as if she were ready to fight, every inch of her on suspect and defense, her hands wide and trembling, her stance low. She breathed calmly, and Torvald could have sworn she mouthed a curse, but he could barely tell in this light. << The others? Are they here? >> Torvald tilted his head back, gently pressing the tip of his index finger to his chin. << Mmmm. Yes, yes they are. >> Jenna was silent. Torvald looked at her calmly, adjusting his tie. << Do you want to see them? >> She walked over to her fallen chair and set it upright, sitting on it with her legs together and her hands in her lap. Jenna looked down, avoiding Torvald's gaze. Suddenly, her ego felt as if it had deflated completely, and it made Torvald feel very uncomfortable. << I-- I don't know yet. >> << ... Right, okay. >> Torvald began to strut off. << Thank you for your time, Jenna. I will keep this a secret for now, until you are strong enough to get out of your shell. Let us go, Kline, the revolution awaits-- >> << The fourth floor has more information. >> Torvald tilted his head back at Jenna, but kept his posture in its strutting position. << Do tell. >> << Local Myths and Legends. >> Her voice was ambivalent, confident yet speckled with seeds of regret.
{ 0 9 : 5 5 } << IGNITE REVOLUTION >> xxxxxxWhat? Did-- did someone call his name? His ... well, his last name?Torvald looked up from the strange discovery to see the face of this sudden informant upon his shores, and was surprised to find Zoey Kline, the girl with the eyepatch. She said she found something about that mayor guy and Torvald scrunched up his face.<< No more of that clown! I have seen his fat pudgy face in sixty of these damn censuses! Please sit down, Kline. >>He motioned towards a chair, looking back at her. She seemed ... what? Her fingers were moving anxiously, and her eyes avoiding contact with his. Oh.Tone it down, Torvald.He cleared his throat, and adjusted his tie.He lowered his voice to something softer.<< CEASE REVOLUTION >> xxxxxx<< Please take a seat, and pardon me. >> Torvald looked away.<< I am happy you were out trying to genuinely find something. At the very least, all of the towns of Percival County share some history, and I am getting the feeling as if this Doughman is an important figure. >> He looked back at her with suspicious, cold eyes. << When did he become the mayor, exactly? >>He tapped his finger on the shut blue census book. << This reminds me. I shall, by grace of the many revolutions of knowledge, be just enough to share with you that which I have acquired. >> He opened it back to the page on Bentley, and pointed at the sudden spike in population between 2009 and 2010.<< This is a cause of intrigue. Do you understand, Miss Kline? Nine hundred, ninety-one people entered the small town of Bentley in the year 2010. This is extremely unconventional, and no revolutions occurred to allow this. >> He fixated his eyes at Kline's. << Do you have a theory? >> His voice was pressing and assertive, but he tried his best to keep it calm.<< I'm hearing more noise, keep it down ... >><< Oh god no. >> Torvald whispered under his breath.Jenna popped out from the narrow alleys between the bookcases, carrying a few thick poetry anthologies with her. << How's it going, re-vo-lu-tion-ary? >>Immediately she turned her attention to Kline, widening her eyes and smiling. << Gosh, you're a cutie! Where'd you come from, and why are you with this idiot? >> She walked over to the table and plopped down on the chair between them. Her voice suddenly felt a bit exapserated << Don't tell me you're trying to find some information on Bentley too, are you? >>
{ 0 9 : 4 0 } << IGNITE REVOLUTION >> xxxxxxTo Torvald, everything felt dank. Putrid, incessant, bourgeois parrots! Fools and shoes that would be trampled by the revolution! Torvald was fuming at this entire town. Everything was such a terrible, tacky contrast! The buildings rose up like shimmering European capitalists trying to fly away from their imminent graves! It was all too Edwardian and ostentatious for him, just begging to be toppled. And oh no, it would be fine if they were all alone, these boisterous god-blasting stigmata on the very soul of the working class that these buildings were, but no! They had to be situated among the trees right near dilapidated, ruined buildings. Ruined buildings where the huddled, cold, and poor hung in masses. Tired, empty of eye and empty of soul ... alas, alas, Whittlerose was a product of the oppression of the working class! Torvald would see to it that they would get out of this ridiculous mockery of the facets of human existence as quickly as possible.But for now, he was busy. He was busy enough trying to get his mind off of the ridiculous insanity of this place and the patrician fools he had to bunk with tonight. Even if the library was huge, and gaudily decorated, it offered a good enough resource to look at things about Bentley.What kind of town was Bentley? Those peons of the bourgeois, they used to speak about Bentley in hush-hush from the incident of years ago involving the camp. Alas, alas, the poor deceased! Torvald clutched his heart and struck a pose, as a few of the readers nearby turned to look at him with frightened, suspicious expressions. He dropped his hand and began to think.Bentley was nearby at least, and it was a fairly large town, which meant that there should be something to know about it. But this felt pointless. They could just go straight to the damn place and get it over with. At least this place was filled with good, kind-hearted plebians. It helped him cope with the overly luxurious-yet-dilapidated nature of the town to some extent. How could such a place of contrasts exist? Everyone had long spread out by now, and Torvald decided to go to the library's third floor. It certainly was a very large place, and even Candlewood's library could not hold a candle to Whittlerose. More than anything, the only thing Torvald could appreciate about this putrescent locale was that Whittlerose was a centre of learning.When he reached the elevator, he pressed the small white button and waited, tapping his foot. He looked around at the readers, and--And--was ... was that. Was that the Communist Manifesto?Torvald gushed, his eyes widening, his face reddening, and his hands shaking ever so slightly. He-- he needed-- he needed ...He ran over to the small bespectacled man engrossed in the book and jumped onto his table with a slam that startled everyone else reading in the vicinity.<< YOU THERE, MAN. MAN OF THE GLASS INTELLECTUAL FACES.HEED TO YOU I WILL, MY CRIES, FOR THIS BOOK IN YOUR POSSESSION IS BUT A WONDERFU--FUCK >>Torvald felt an arrow strike him as the corner of a book hit him square in the back of the head. He twirled and collapsed off of the table, sending the small man in a flurry. He began to sweat, closing his book and rapidly scuttling off, as some of the others looked on in horror.No. No imbecile would get in the way with this. He would not stand for this!Torvald got up, holding up his fists and fuming.<< THE ENEMIES! SPIES! CAPITALISTS! THEY ARE AFTER ME! >> He looked around rapidly at the horrified faces. But off in the corner, by the open elevator, stood a tiny girl with the librarian uniform, missing its tag. Her expression was one of discontent, and her eyes narrowed in incredulousness from behind her small glasses. She held a cart piled upon with books next to her, and readied a large world atlas with surprising strength.<< YOU!IT WAS YOU, YOU PLEBIAN-- >>She threw another book at him and Torvald ducked, but with lightning speed she moved in front of the large man and pressed a notepad to his face.<< Can you shut your ignoramous trap, you psychotic dolt? What in the nine circles of all that is hellish are you doing here? >> She whispered. She took the notepad away from his mouth, and Torvald lowered his fists.<< Good. >><< What? Do you want me to call security? I thought you Whittlerose U drama geeks had their break on Wednesdays. I wanted some inhibitions, some peace. >><< Just listen to me. >>She scrunched up her nose.Torvald glared at her menacingly. << Can you help me find information on Bentley? >><< What? What are you-- >><< You're a librarian! A wonderful product of the working class. It is your job to help me. >>Torvald looked down at her. Every facet of her was extremely tiny. She only came up to his chest at most, and her lips were scrunched up in a pouty manner. Her rosy cheeks puffed out a bit in defiance, and her wide eyes seemed to carry a callous lustre to them. Her hair was neat and clean, in long, well-kept strands that became just slightly curly at the ends as they reached her shoulders. But every little nerve of this girl was set to a tune of apprehension. No, this little one didn't trust him one bit.<< You caused such a grandiose troubadourian bandstand just to call an attendant? >>Torvald coughed.The girl looked at him in shock, before walking back to her cart. << Just go. I'm a volunteer, I can't really-- >>Torvald followed. << Stop! You realize, yes, that it is rude to throw books at people. I do not want you to lose your volunteering position. >> That should do the trick.The girl stopped by her cart. For a moment, she stood still, debilitating, tapping her polished nails on the metal rail. She then walked over to the elevator, pressed the button, and with a ping the elevator doors opened.<< Get in, you incongruous philistine. Fifth floor. I'm taking you to where you can find some information on that place and that's that. Hmph. >> << CEASE REVOLUTION >> << Now, there are a bunch of places you can find some information. >> The two slowly walked through the enormous bookshelves of the fifth floor. These ones almost reached the ceiling, and the passageways were narrow enough to block out light. The fifth floor seemed dark, empty, and almost forgotten. Only the large man and the petite young lady pulling the cart of books made any semblance of noise here. The girl continued. << You have Resouces down below, then you have Local Area on the fourth floor, and a cacophony of other places. But personally? >> She stopped and looked sharply at Torvald, smiling like a little imp. << The fifth floor is my favourite. Nobody really comes here. Peace and quiet, y'know? It has newspaper clippings, censuses, and all kinds of juicy stuff on the entire county. You're bound to find something here. >> << Aaaaaand, it has all the juicy stuff too. Hehe. >> She winked and poked her tongue out of her mouth. Torvald turned slowly like a stone statue.<< Juicy stuff? >> << You knooooow. >> She whistled and continued to drive her cart. He followed. << What? Uh, like the juices of the oranges you say? >> The girl giggled. It was warm, like honey, but held a sharp sting to it. << You really are some kind of obnoxious dolt. I'm keeping you here so that the actual librarians don't find you and make a ruckus about disturbing the peace. Let's just hope that nobody reports you ... >> << Nonsense! >> Torvald said. << Nobody would report a true revolutionary. >> << Truuue revolutionary? >> << Yes! >> Torvald closed his eyes and ruffled the edge of his coat in a dignified manner. << A true revolutionary, one who shall rescue all of the tired and huddled masses from the terrifying claws of the world. >> For a moment, the girl paused for a second. Torvald could not see her face very well, standing behind her. But soon enough, she continued driving forward the cart. << Ah, rescue. Sure thing, Enjolras. >> Torvald and the girl eventually reached the edge of the fifth floor, filled with the censuses, newspaper clippings, and other goodies. He sat down by the round table, sighing as he flexed his fingers and closed his eyes. To his surprise, however, the girl sat down in front of him. Torvald opened his eyes and quickly narrowed them in suspicion. << ... Oh. Yes, thank you for your help. You will be going to work now, yes? >> The girl began to look away and play around with a curl of hair. << Say, why do you want to know about Bentley? >> She had small creases of uncertainty on her face. Was something going on? Torvald tipped his chair back and lounged on his arms. Without a second thought, as if preplanned in his head hundreds of times, he said: << County research, sociological data for a project. >> The girl turned back at him and extended her arms upon the table. << Sociology, yeah? >> Torvald nodded.His gaze met the girl's, and in it he felt he saw, for a split second, a speck of dust that did not belong. A fleeting thought, something that was out of place in everything going on within this volunteer's mind. Something that kept her in the midst of concern, and shook Torvald up. But a minute passed, and though they stared at each other, the rough-and-tumble upstart said nothing. She eventually rose and walked back to the cart. << I'm on this floor if you need me. >> << Wait. >> Torvald bounced from his chair. << What is your name. I need to know whom I am speaking to when looking for them. >> The girl stopped pushing the large cart, pausing to think. << Jenna. >> And with that, the nymph returned to the forest of bookshelves. Torvald did some looking through the large blue tomes containing the various sample clippings of everything in the country. After throwing away three books on the biography of some idiot capitalist politician named Dough L. Whatshisface that was apparently pretty important in this godforsaken town for sticking his loins in a cake in celebration of his mayorhood, he came across a certain piece of information that sparked his interest. It was a recent census, but the blue hardcover was already collecting dust. The words "PERCIVAL COUNTY CENSUS 2010" were scrawled across in faded silver marker, and Torvald opened it gently to a random page. Okay. Alphabetical, right? Tilapok. Lightbrooke. Candlewood. Bentley- here we go. Torvald looked at the jump between the years 2009 to 2010. 305 to 1296. That was ... 991 people? Immigrating to a boondock town? What was going on?
Xigbar with his spatial distortions and laser crystal crossbow weapon thingamajigs. They have a multitude of potentially reality-breaking uses if used properly. But also, that eyepatch is wonderful.
Someone get a Kickstarter up and running. $1,000,000 funded - make SJ an admin for a week.
Spoiler: source: Hauschka
6 ♥ << IGNITE REVOLUTION >> ♬ { whittlerose } xxxxxxTorvald could not sleep very much at all throughout the entire trip. He noticed that someone had come into the same room as him and went on about some weird detective work. To hell if he was going to focus on more detective work right now. Why was he even coming with this capitalistic simpletons again? He had gone through enough death in his life, and the tribulations surrounding everything. So Torvald sat alone in the back until the train came to a grinding halt.Avoiding the gaze of the Conductor, who continued to chew his wad of gum slowly and obnoxiously, Torvald stepped through the train's doorway, down the steps, and out by the station. The platform was clear and relatively empty. Red rust emboldened the creaky metal and the granite pillars holding up a decaying ceiling looked like broken bones. The Whittlerose station in its entirety seemed very much like a rotten carcass of metal and stone, but at least the smell of an early spring was pleasant enough. Blasted moneybags probably keeping the public works from getting any more funding ...He moved like a hunched shadow in his long coat, and saw a few of the others stepping out of the train cars as well. Bryan, whom Torvald had wanted to stay away from since such a vicious change in behaviour, growled that Whittlerose would be where they would be staying tonight.<< AH. AH. IT WOULD BE LAVISH INDEED IF WE EXPERIENCE THE SALT OF THE EARTH IN THE WORKING-CLASS MANUFACTURING TOWN THAT IS WHITTLEROSE. >> Torvald enunciated and pressed his hand to his chest, before returning his tone to something less ostentatious. << There is a map over there, by the station, that may help us find a place to stay. Alternatively, we may simply ask one of the wonderful working-class station workers. >> << CEASE REVOLUTION >>
You mean Xehanort?
Cam, are you slowly losing factors of the forum to base your latest revolution of the summer on? The list is whittling down quickly ... You must await the new changes that will come soon, I suppose.
I always knew Vivi and Claw were hiding some deep secrets.
If you all meet up under the guise of a convention or another big event it makes it easier to justify the travel of minors and the like. That is how I was able to meet Sabby in person some time ago, through Distant Worlds. And with something like a big event being the skeleton for the meet-up it also gives everyone another reason to attend and have fun. Now, there only needs to be such a big event, or a few big events possible to help instigate this.
What do you call a Venetian who likes to drop it like its hot. Spoiler Snoop Doge
<< IGNITE REVOLUTION >> The train chugged on and on and on, slithering across the tracks and taking forever to reach its destination. But Torvald didn't care. He was filled with enough frustration to snugly grasp his eyes and avert them from whatever rational thoughts he could have pondered upon today. Staying with those terrifying unearthly capitalist bourgeois peons was going to metastasize the painful throes of insanity already about to envelop his poor brain. So he paced around, holding his hands behind his back, his heavy boots rattling the wooden floor of the caboose in fearful intimidation. He cast his gaze towards the ceiling, and then occasionally back to the ground, muttering to himself words that were lost to the train's loud rumble. And after trembling his lip in deep consideration, he would stop with a loud stamp, pivot, and turn directly to his audience, ready to continue his spiel. << FINALIZE, FINALIZE! THE SHREDS OF CLOTH THAT BIND HUMANITY TO ITS MATERIAL POSSESSIONS WILL SOON ENOUGH BE BURNT AWAY BY THE LIGHT OF THE SUN AS IT RISES AMONG THE HORIZONS OF THE REDEEMED SOULS WHO SEE THE LIGHT OF REVOLUTION! THIS IS A WORLD OF THE WORKING CLASS! THOSE WHO CONTRIBUTE AND THOSE WHO DESERVE THE OWN FRUIT OF THEIR LABOUR, NOT TO BE SO MEASLY TOYED AND PLAYED AROUND WITH BY THOSE WHO TREAT SUCH MATERIAL POSSESSIONS WITH THE UTMOST DISRESPECT OF THEIR VERY EXISTENCE! THE LAYMAN MAY BE UNEDUCATED, THE LAYMAN MAY ONLY FEEL THE BREEZE UPON HIS BACK AS HIS ONLY TEACHER, AND THE TELL-TALE BREATHS OF THE SEASONAL SOILS AS HIS ONLY SCHOOL TEXT, BUT DEEP WITHIN THE LAYMAN'S HEART RESTS A FIRE. WHAT FIRE, DO YOU ASK? >> Torvald gesticulated violently as he moved closer and closer to his audience, his face red with passion, and a breathy, delicate smile of thinly-strung, provocative satisfaction lining the melancholic ridges of his cheeks. << IT IS A FIRE OF FREEDOM, OF JUSTICE, OF EQUALITY OF ALL PEOPLE! FOR WE ARE NOT TO BE DIVIDED BY THE ARTIFICIAL CONSTRUCTS THAT WE OURSELVES HAVE BOUND OURSELVES TO, OURSELVES! NO MORE WILL THE TATTERED BLACK CLOTHS HOLD US DOWN UPON THE BED OF DISCONTENT AND DISSATISFACTION WITH LIVES AND LIVELIHOOD! WE MUST TOPPLE THE ENEMIES! WE MUST FIGHT THEM ON THE SHORES, ON THE SEAS, IN THE BANKS, BOOKS, BAGGAGE CLAIMS, BARS, AND WHEREVER ELSE THEY MAY SHOW THEIR DISGUSTINGLY PUTRID FACES, GREEN WITH ENVY OVER OUR PASSIONATE STRUGGLE TO GIVE WHAT IS OUR OWN BACK TO OURSELVES! THE HISTORY OF HUMANITY IS THAT OF STRUGGLE, PASSIONATE STRUGGLE, AND REVOLUTIONS! REVOLUTIONS TO TOPPLE THE OLD AND BRING FORTH THE NEW, SO THAT HUMANITY'S HEART OF DISSENTING OPINION AND TECHNOLOGICAL PROGRESSION MAY LIVE ON! WE ARE ALL EQUALS THAT DESERVE TO LIVE IN PEACE AND HARMONY, NOT THE RESTRAINTS OF BLASÉ, DISCONCERTING ARTIFACTS OF BARBARIAN PHILISTINES LIKE "MONEY" AND "PRIVATE PROPERTY", THAT RUINS OUR NATURALLY NOBLE NATURES AND TURNS US INTO A HIVE OF SKINLESS SIMPLETONS! SO THIS IS WHY I CALL UPON REVOLUTION FROM THE STARS TO THE VERY ENDS OF THE EARTH THEMSELVES! MY VISION IS A VISION OF UTOPIA NOT SIMPLY FOR MYSELF, OR FOR YOU! >> Torvald pointed to his little guest. <<IT IS A SYMPHONY. MY REVOLUTION, IT IS A SYMPHONY! WHERE EVERYONE HAS A PART, AND THOUGH SOME, NAY, ALL MAY HAVE THEIR OWN INDIVIDUAL PARTS, THEY COME TOGETHER IN EQUALITY TO FORM HARMONY AND EGALITARIAN SPLENDOR!>> <<THINK, MY WISE ONE, WHO IS UNTAINTED BY THE OBNOXIOUS LAVISHNESS OF MODERN DAY SOCIETY! UNTAINTED BY THE BEHEMOTHS OF FRUGAL OBLIVION THAT SHALL LEAD US ALL PAST THE EVENT HORIZON WHEN THE WORKING CLASS MAY RECLAIM OURSELVES AND LIVE AS SAINTS IN THE UTOPIA OF HUMANITY! WE MAY ALL LIVE TOGETHER, BUT WE MUST TOPPLE AND CRUSH THE BOURGEOIS UNDERNEATH OUR RUBBER BOOTS, OUR CONSTRUCTION BOOTS, THE SHOES WE SHINED OURSELVES! WITH A REVOLUTION, ANYTHING WE PUT OUR MINDS TO IS POSSIBLE, AND I AM POSITIVE THAT MY REVOLUTION WILL LEAD NOT JUST HUMANITY TO VICTORY, BUT ALL LIFE FORMS THAT FOLLOW IN THE PATH OF THE GLORIOUS ETERNAL REVOLUTION! >> << CEASE REVOLUTION >> xxxxxxTorvald stood on the table, gasping violently for air, his eyes wide and crazy. His arms were frozen in mid-air; held out as if he were trying to give the entire world a hug, and by his boot lay a fallen glass of water, precariously rolling to and fro by the table's edge, taunting the air to fall to the ground with a clatter. The small black puppy cocked its head, its eyes wide with curiosity. It lounged calmly on the leather end seats of the train car, its small puffy tail wagging in excitement over the feverish blood-boiling speeches that raised the temperature of the room by five degrees. The puppy's face was briefly flat as its eyes scanned Torvald's eccentric starfish on the table, before lolling out its tongue and letting out an excited yelp. It tried to lift itself up from the seat, but it let out a whimper of pain before setting down its small delicate paws. Torvald immediately jumped from the table with a worried expression. He ran towards the puppy, his boots slamming hard against the wooden floor. << You stupid mutt, >> He grumbled, kneeling by the shivering animal. He adjusted his tie briefly and closed his eyes, letting out a soft sigh. Torvald stroked the puppy's soft black fur and gently untucked its front forepaw from below its body. It was so small that Torvald could only hold it with three fingers, but a large white bandage ran from the middle of the paw all the way down the puppy's arm. <<Just-- just hold on for a bit. Thank Marx I had my first aid kit. The uh-- the Conductor, he's coming to look for you soon-->> The door opened behind Torvald. He immediately let go of the puppy's paw and jumped up, turning around. The Conductor leaned by the car door, slick in his blue suit and peaked black cap. The gold buttons on his jacket glistened in the car's warm lounge light. << You've been causing a hunk of a commotion. >> Torvald narrowed his eyes. << I found the damn dog. Take care of your pets more responsibly, the thing's hurt bad. Some entertainment did the mutt good. >> He walked over to the Conductor and gazed down at him; Torvald had a good few inches over the mid-sized man. The Conductor calmly looked up, his moustache twitching as he chewed on some gum slowly. << Ain't my problem if we've got stray mutts on this train. 'Course, you of all people would be the one who'd want to sympathize with the mange-carrying fleabags. >> Torvald's eyes widened. He balled his fist tightly, but like a pop, he slowly deflated away, and looked away from the Conductor with frothing resentment. << You're a disgrace to the working class. >> << You're a disgrace to health workers, you're supposed to be with people, not animals. >> << Yeah? I'm looking at one right now. >> << Ha! >> The Conductor slapped his knee and walked towards the puppy. He gently it up, tickling its ears as the soft black form curled up in its arms. << I'll be giving, uh ... Jeremiah, yeah, a nice new home. Maybe. Thanks for your help, kid. >> Torvald watched as the Conductor began walking away. << What's the point of giving a homeless stray a name? >> << Didn't you have a name for the thing? >> Torvald bit his lip. << Yes, but I-- >> << Well there you go. >> The Conductor stopped by the door, but did not turn to look back at Torvald. << He has a new name now. What does a name matter to a street dog that the universe wouldn't give a matter of hell if it disappeared off the planet? >> Torvald's heart suddenly grew heavy. The Conductor opened the door. << Thanks for all the help. I'll see what I can do with this guy. Don't worry, I won't hurt him. >> With a snap, the Conductor shut the door, leaving Torvald alone in the large car, and carrying away another friend Torvald could have made but failed yet again to keep in his life.
Awkward moment when your parents take you to a completely different restaurant (???) At least this thread only received a few replies so all was not lost. And the duck confit poutine was gorgeous.
But you were once one of them!
We are at a beautiful hotel in a lovely city and my parents wish to eat at one of the nearby restaurants. Menu here. No restrictions, though slightly averse to steak because I eat steak all of the time. Thank you for the time you may give to post, my lovely Spamzonians.
Michael Bay's symphony of violent explosions keeps disintegrating the old skins.
Dang it Amaury, you are not supposed to foil our plan about encircling the poor defenseless members and descending upon them in a blitzkrieg of unjustified bannings I mean what no I did not say anything what
Hopes? Hopes. This is actually quite general. To be honest, and it may simply be nostalgia talking, but I hope that the plot written for KHIII is written well and nice enough that it serves to be a sufficient conclusion for the entire story (assuming it is, anyhow). Although there have been, in my opinion, games where the plot could have been threaded together a bit better, the original Kingdom Hearts and even Birth By Sleep at least give a good enough backbone to work off of, both in terms of the direct plot and how one may write it. At the same time I actually wonder how mature the lovely developers are willing to make the series' end. Taking Harry Potter as a literary example, Rowling started off with a simple first novel that was accessible to young kids and ended the series with mature, dark themes and much food for thought. Of course, it would be strange comparing Harry Potter to Kingdom Hearts, especially through different media, but Kingdom Hearts' plot has been growing metaphorically (and literally) darker. With the latest handheld games, we have situations which continue to provide uncertain and potentially dark futures for many of our characters, despite the generally optimistic message of "reconnection". But to be honest, this implication of something darker has always been a fundamental element of the Kingdom Hearts series, provided one looks deeper. In general however, my hopes rest on ... well, more maturity and a well written plot more than anything, I suppose. Though with this blanket statement I include the characters and other written elements, what have you. I feel the gameplay enough is nothing to even complain about because it has been marginally improving with each installation, from how I see it. As for theories, there are so many different loose plot points in a giant kudzu mess that anything I feel I could connect would, at this moment, sound just as unfounded as theories that may not connect plot threads at all. More, more information is needed. Or at least, more subtle shadowing towards things!
