TwiLyghtSansSparkles

I haven't read The Rithmatist, but I do know that the Rending doesn't turn people into Epics.

The Shipmistress finds this post pleasing to her eyes. Also, general question: when exactly will the day in The Dalles come to a close? I'm just wondering when I should post for Autumn visiting Vapor.

Glad that's over.

The adventures of redeemed!Deathwish continue…. The knock at Scribbler's door was sharp, but not insistent, and she opened it to the last person she expected—or wanted—to see. She had long since given up on threatening him with bodily harm—he always laughed that off. The City Guard, armed with sirens, were a much more credible threat. But something about the way he stood there, eyes downcast and a shapeless black hat clutched between his hands, gave her pause. Not that it made her happy to see him. "You have thirty seconds to explain what the hell you're doing here on my morning off before my parents call the City Guard." "I came to apologize." Scribbler studied him. No smirk, no malevolent twinkle in his eye. Those things ought to have accompanied his words, but they were absent. "For…." "For hitting on you. And putting my hand down your shirt. And saying that if you were old enough to work for the Guard, you were old enough to…you know." Her eyes narrowed. He hadn't broken into laughter yet, and if she wasn't mistaken…. Dear Calamity, was he crying? "What's with the hat?" "I, uh….Autumn told me I needed it." "Autumn told you that." "Well, she said I should come to you, hat in hand, and tell you everything, so…I got the hat." "You know that's just an expression." "I didn't know how to make you see what I do!" He really was crying, and not those crocodile tears he used whenever she turned him down. Big tears were rolling down his cheeks, and he wiped them away with the back of his hand. "I see everything, Scribbles—do you mind if I call you Scribbles?" "Yes." He drew a shaking breath. "Fine. Scribbler, then. I—I don't know what happened, but I see now. It's like for the first time ever, I'm seeing everything I did the way everyone else saw it, and it sucks. Everything I did sucked. I…I…I suck." Those last words were a whisper that hailed more tears. Scribbler watched him through narrowed eyes. He certainly seemed sincere, but this was Deathwish. He was cavalier about murder and serious about getting away with it. She didn't want to believe him. She wanted to believe that the man before her was lying as he sobbed and kneaded the hat into something unrecognizable so she could go on hating him. She needed a test. "I want that apology in writing." Deathwish perked up at that, nodded and turned puffy eyes on her. "Yeah. Sure. Bring me a pen—" "Not in pen. Use this instead." He accepted the pink paint with a nod. "Great. You got paper?" "Not on paper. And not here." "But…you said…." "I said I wanted it in writing. I didn't say where." "Okay…where then?" ----------------------------------------------- Arsenal slammed his radio onto the end table and raced to deal with the floating pair of feet outside his window. He knew those feet, and he knew their owner. "DEATHWISH!" He didn't need to shout, but he did anyway. "WHAT THE STORMS ARE YOU DOING TO MY HOUSE?" "Apologizing." "THIS IS NOT AN APOLOGY! AN APOLOGY—" "Scribbler said it was." A few drops of bright pink paint splattered on the ground. "YOU OWE ME AN APOLOGY FOR DESECRATING MY HOUSE!" "I told you, I'm not desecrating. I'm apologizing." "THIS IS DESECRATION OF THE WORST—" "Will you just read it?" Arsenal stepped off his porch and stormed toward the sidewalk. The walk allowed him to contemplate whether or not a nuke was too good a death for this scum, this miscreant, this vicious, vile hoodlum— —who had scrawled "DEATHWISH IS SORRY FOR TREATING SCRIBBLER LIKE…" "DEATHWISH! YOU WILL COME DOWN FROM THERE AND SUBMIT YOURSELF TO MY JUDGEMENT IMMEDIATELY FOR SCRAWLING SUCH AN IMMORAL WORD ON MY PERSONAL PROPERTY!" "I'm just doing what she told me to do." Arsenal fumbled for his radio, swore, and conjured a new one. "COMMANDER!" His voice cracked in a way it hadn't since he was fourteen. "CAN YOU SEE WHAT DEATHWISH IS DOING TO MY PROPERTY?" "Sure can, Daniel." His tone lacked the urgency it should have carried. "And I have to say, it's about time he wrote that." "ON MY HOUSE?" "I don't think it matters where." He cut off Arsenal's objection with a chuckle. "Honestly, Daniel, it's just paint." "PINK PAINT!" "I'll get you some brown to cover it up." "BUT—" "Over and out."

I'm not picky with my insanity. Current flavor: continuing the adventures of redeemed!Deathwish.

I think his powers should be nullified if the information on his graph is obvious.

If it's a graph called "Number of People who Hate Nighthound over Time," he wouldn't have to force anyone to look at it.

Just go to the little icon on the post toolbar that says "Special BB Code" when you hover over it (next to the font options bar). Click it, select Media, and copy and past the URL into the box. It should look like this when you're done: [media ] [ /media] And then you get this:

For awesome writing and an extensive flute collection.

For celebrating Pi Day year-round. And also Timeport.

Rarity = 8,000,000,000,000,000 times better than Lucentia. Even Rarity's whining is more bearable. Maybe if we ever do that musical episode….?

Okay, Rarity, we get it. That hat is awful. Now, about those dinosaurs eating people….

Oh. That video. Although I will say that does sound a lot like Portlanders rising up against the MoNA. Though if it was really them against the MoNA, they'd probably say something about a terrible hat.

My mom, to me, back when I told her my coworkers were bullying me and my boss treated me horribly: "I'm sure it's not as bad as you're saying, and if it is, then it's probably because of something you're doing. Stick it out. Work extra hard. Make sure you have another job lined up before you quit." My mom, to my younger sister, now that her boss is treating her horribly: "You should quit. Your babysitting job should hold you over. Don't let people treat you that way."

Though I suppose I'm not one to judge.

Yes. Tiny grenades are very important.

Not a bad concern, all told. But as long as you have internet, you can still enjoy this.

I remember she was described as blonde, curvy, and looking about 16, though she acted older.

Because I, like an honorspren, must be honest.

Saw this at Whole Foods today and this was my first thought:

Now all I have to do is find some Shardplate.

I've tried, but with six people in the house, there's always a lot of laundry that still needs to be done, so the only way to get my stuff washed is to wash it with the other clothes. I'd go to a laundromat, but the nearest one is twenty minutes away and if I started lugging home bags of my own laundry, my mom would almost certainly accuse me of being passive aggressive.

Have as much fun as you legally can?

I KNOW It's the weirdest thing to consider.

Just think: if there was no hateable Nighthound, there might not be any And Then They Died List! ...not sure how I feel about that... Though I will say that picturing Nighthound with basically Sightline's motivations is very odd. It's not impossible, but knowing him as the Creepy King of Creepersville makes giving him any sort of halfway altruistic or even self-loathing bent somewhat difficult.