Ookla the Maybe-Existent

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Ookla the Maybe-Existent last won the day on October 9 2019

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About Ookla the Maybe-Existent

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    I might be here.
  • Birthday April 10

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  1. “No weapons,” Rob replied bluntly. He followed Shana to the bus station and wondered if it would be a problem for his grades if he skipped classes. No, it probably wouldn’t. And it didn’t matter anyway; he was a Stoneward, he stuck with his friends and would have their back even if the entire world was against him. “I can make some knives out of stone, though, if you guys want that.”
  2. The walk downstairs is quiet and filled with unspoken words. One step after the other, I follow Raphael through the winding hallway and down the stairs. This place is quite nice, when I compare it to the other places I’ve seen in Sanctuary. If nothing else screams intelligence, it’s that simple fact. He’s managed to have a place like this, obviously has quite a bit of money, his own secret operations, all while staying anonymous. There was no hushed whispers about him I could hear with my tin, no fearful glances. I’ve never seen anything like it. Where I come from, the powerful ones are known. We pass an oil painting of a man smiling and I watch as Raphael walks past it without a second glance. I pause briefly, wonder who it could be that Raphael would have his painting without looking at it. His previous body? A brother or perhaps a father, if the painting is old? Either way, Raphael’s action show a tension between the painting. We come to a single door and Raphael turns to me, a hand already on the door. I burn tin. His posture is relaxed but I can sense a little excitement. Whatever this is, it’s big. Or is a trap? My paranoia flares up — but no, it couldn’t be. Unless... “So, this is the big moment, huh?” I say and lean against the wall. I cast a long look towards the door. I should leave, I know I should. I should have taken his deal. I know my personal rules when dealing with mobsters, and I’ve broken every single one tonight. All for this moment. For this door. And for whatever’s behind it. Fear is a wavering sensation that I can feel in my core. Images of dead detectives in the dark, damp streets of my city fill up my vision. Curiosity killed the cat. Am I cat? Have I finally, after all these years, dug too deep? But the pull of the door is alluring, magnetic and in my heart of hearts I know it doesn’t matter whether tonight will be my last. I’ve dealt with that risk all my life. I need to know. “I’m ready,” I say with an even and decisive voice. @Sorana
  3. Rob watched silently as Edwin took a cat out of his backpack. Suddenly, it seemed like all tensions had dropped. A cat. Right here. Rob remembered the countless searches of cat pictures he had done on his phone, only imagining how it would be if he ever got to hold a fluffy cat. And now, one was right before him. Don’t show your feelings, Rob. Don’t do it. But it was so hard with the fluffy cat. Rib felt his barriers begin to dissolve, but stood strong, made sure to keep the mask on and not reveal how he felt. Instead, just as Shana pet the cat Rob did too, the soft fur threatening to melt Rob’s heart. “I agree with keeping the cat,” Rob said and tried to keep the enthusiasm out of his voice. Work. Focus on work. He looked to Shana. “And I also agree with just ringing the doorbell. But we’ll need to be careful they don’t shoot lightning at us through the door or something else.“
  4. So, there was no one there. Rob tried to suppress his disappointment. Catching the spy would have been a great achievement. But maybe the lesson was that all of this Voidbringer-attacking-stuff was too much, to the point that they were getting into unhealthy paranoia. Of course it was too much. The Voidbringers had forced Rob, forced Shana and the rest of the group to murder. Teenagers were supposed to live normal lives. He looked to Shana with her sagged shoulders, closing her eyes briefly and he felt a dull sense of anger at the world, the whole situation of the Voidbringers. Shana had more guilt than anyone about murdering the Voidbringers. Voidbringers, who wouldn’t have thought twice to kill her and the rest of Rob’s friends which he held dear. She didn’t deserve this. No one deserves this, he thought and looked curiously at the piece of paper Shana held up. An address. We want to help the Voidbringers, they just want to kill us. They’re almost like animals, the way they hate us. Not people. “It seems she had some significance after all,” Rob said. Why would a normal citizen have a single address written down on a piece of paper.
  5. first verse

    “Alright,” Price said and nodded, imagining what the training would look like. He found himself more excited than he’d been in a long time and he took a deep breath, smiled. They were chasing gods, following gods and he was going to be trained! Quickly he made a gesture and another scribe went off, and a moment later they had arrived with a vest and a short sword. Price remembered when he had been one of those scribes, scrambling to fulfil orders from an intimidating superior. “This is amazing,” he said quietly, and hopped onto his horse. “That’s everything I think.” The equipment was packed and they would carry it with them, the horses were strong enough that the extra luggage was no problem. “We’re ready to go?”
  6. Amateur Poison-Mixing = 5 Tin Ferring = 30 Well within point limits . For character purposes though, are there any weaknesses?
  7. The silent offer is clear, and wordlessly I accept by standing up and stepping forwards for Raphael to lead the way. His coat is neat but open, something I would take as normal for anyone but Raphael, whenever everything seems to be exactly how he wants it, for a reason. Maybe the open coat means he’s comfortable for an air of casualness between us? Maybe he simply was feeling hot in front of the fireplace. “Have fun, I suppose,” I say, my mind back at home within the system we have there. People keep themselves occupied with the little games they play within the system, little skirmishes of cat and mouse, of detective and mobster and cop and politician. Playing roles to feel like they have a purpose in the perfect system of the world they live in. A shallow existence but a purposeful one. Is that why I left? Because I knew there was more to discover? A greater purpose? “But I agree, maybe perfection by human hand really is impossible. But you can’t dismiss the fact that the gods of our existence are capable of much of far more precise actions than we can even think about, and have vast arrays of power to shape things as they are. Perfection is possible, but maybe it’s beyond humans.”
  8. Thanks No, I don’t have a boat. Why?
  9. Thanks for the inspiration Sorana Raphael and Sloane talking by the fireplace:
  10. As my cigar reaches its end I tilt my head back, breathe out a column of smoke and watch it rise into the air, ever shifting in its form until it disperses into the air and I’m left with the stub of my cigar. I feel as I did when I entered the room, not a hint of intoxication, but the usual motions of smoking remind me of when I was addicted to this stuff. Now, it seems I’m just addicted to the concept, the aesthetic, maybe, of a hard-boiled detective smoking a Churchill. Like the rest of me, it’s an aspect that never changes. The words on perfection make sense, even if I don’t like the sound of change being inevitable. Will my home alley change, too? Will it one day be any different from how it’s always been, with it’s streetlights and late-night jazz clubs, with its thick midnight fog of criminal life rolling over police stations and courthouses alike? The thought it could be anything different irks me. I place my cigar stub down in the ashtray, and as I wait for it to extinguish I note Raphael’s deliberate gestures and movements. Does he believe even his delicate gestures and perfectly practised poses need improvement? Does he believe he will never achieve true perfection in his neatness and cleanliness? It must seem like torture. “If perfection is an illusion, then, why would anyone try?” I ask. “Why even play the game if you’ll never reach perfection?”
  11. I can relate to his words. They parallel my situation, following a man to his home for no reason other than curiosity, and maybe he refers to his point of view as well, risking allowing me in his home. But the reference to potential to destroy him completely intrigues me. If he refers to his current situation, what would destroy him? I guess it has something to do with what he wants to show me. “I find there’s always something to learn in those types of situations,” I say, and not for the first time I observe his precise movements. His coat is slightly open, unveiling a slightly more causal side. My coat’s been left with my hat, and it’s left me with a standard black shirt. Black is good. I have a handful of old bloodstains on the shirt I’m wearing, but people can hardly tell unless they’re looking for them. That’s my favourite thing about black. “And yes, but while you may need some factors under control, as you say, why even attempt a ‘step in the right direction’ at all if the current system works perfect?” My cigar’s almost finished and I breathe out in satisfaction at the quality of it. “Hypothetically, of course. I mean, the current system is the one that we live in, and it works just fine. Too much change, either way, and...” I tilt my head one way and then the other as I tap my cigar against my ashtray. “Upsetting the balance becomes easy.”
  12. Rob stopped, looked at Shana. He heard the slight quaver in her voice and new it wasn’t a good thing, but he still wasn’t sure what emotion it meant. But honesty was the best, Rob had decided long ago. And she’d asked him a question. “She could be anyone, couldn’t she?” Rob asked. “Did she have red eyes?”
  13. Rob looked at Shana as she left, wondered whether to follow or not. Were they even allowed to leave class? Idly Rob looked to the substitute teacher. He had no real work to do, and whatever task he’d been given he completed. Picking up his bag he glanced once more back at his tile before following Shana into the hallway. “What happened?” He asked.
  14. “Sure thing,” Rob said, and when the teacher left he found himself feeling a bit awkward. Did she think he wanted to be unimaginative on purpose? That he chose to not be normal because he wanted to? The dark sphere in his pocket pulsed and he turned sharply and walked towards the materials before holding himself in check. Why this sudden anger? He hadn’t been that close to his emotions in a while. This whole day had been filled with moments like those, he realised. Anger, at his debating partners, at the Voidbringers, at this teacher. But none of them deserved it, really. Maybe, except for the Voidbringers, but they were people too, it was wrong to compare them to bugs. He shook his head. His emotions had been weird all day and last night — since the Voidbringer house invasion, he realised. Still, he took comfort when the teacher said that being uncreative was its own form of creativity — which Rob supposed was a paradox, but that didn’t stop him from feeling a little better about his lack of artistic ability. He went to work. Fortunately, handling the clay was easy and came natural, especially since it was supposed to be in the shape of a tile, a clear geometric shape with set dimensions. Rob had experience with the clay from practise with his stone sculpting surges, and like with all practical work he found himself looking at an almost perfect tile. Picking up the etching tool, he now realised he had to do the hard part now. What to draw? What to write? He didn’t want to have a blank tile, but it was all his mind was giving to him. Even the theme ‘The Most Important Words a Person Can Say’ was proving challenging to think of a word or phrase to fit it. Looking from his tool to the tile and then back to the tool again Rob pressed down and etched a couple words with what he hoped would be enough: Boxes are fun. And he etched a few squares before placing it on the rack next to Shana’s.
  15. “I agree, at least in the basic sense,” I say. At his words of not rushing I draw out my next puff with the cigar, a silent show I listened to and understood his past words. But his present words are the ones that interest me the most. To jump and see what happens. You could say I jumped when I chose to follow this man, that my entire career is a risk when I’m dealing with mobsters, money and guns. “But, it should be done in moderation. No one wants too much change of the formula.” At least, not where I’m from. Sure, you can have a detective take a risk and gamble against a mob boss. Sure, you can have him win and lose. But, going too far? Gambling everything? Attacking people in a civilised space? That’s how you find yourself in the gutter. It’s a mutual understanding I share with the criminals, dames and other detectives of my alley. No one oversteps what they’re supposed to be. A detective is supposed to be prying and curious. A mobster, vicious and violent. There is no in-between, no shades of grey in the land of black and white. A perfect system.