TwiLyghtSansSparkles

Right, of course. "You can be all they want you to be/ You can march to the beat of conformity/ In the Empire (In the Empire)!" Wes, at least, is too intelligent to eat something that vile. He might tear it to bits and stomp on it with a savage growl, though.

I did enjoy that part, though not as much as I would have had you added "And then Nighthound died."

There are far more factions in this game than one would think. We have... The Corpsemakers Thoughttown The Empire Team Funacid The Jagerbombers (it just seemed to fit that peculiar sibling dynamic ) Vanilla Sabotage (my new personal favorite) Also, if you're going to write a DW fanfic about Sam and Revolution as companions, then I get to write a quirky road trip fanfic about Sam, Revolution, Nathan, and Remington starting a band and taking their act on the road. How many fandoms are there? I also found a song for the Empire of Light.

If your fan theories about Doctor Funtimes prove correct, she may find one sooner rather than later. She may also have to fly it on her own, and since only the Doctor and River know how to fly a TARDIS, this means one thing and one thing only. Yes please.

If you wish.

I vote we pick a random line or moment for each of our characters and choose to make it foreshadowing. (I've actually already done something like that with Quota. )

Also hindshadowing, as I had no idea at that point whether or not she would actually join an Empire at some time in the future.

My vision of Nighthound's afterlife involves him alternately plagued by the same atrocities he committed against others, and stuck in one if Professor Cardinal's lectures....without wifi, a book to doodle in, or even a window. And every time Nighthound makes a snide remark, the lecture starts from the beginning.

Nobody's karma is THAT bad. Except maybe Nighthound's.

Funtimes' has been foreshadowed already.

I'm still laughing over this last part.

That one suggestion was like holding a match to paper. "This. A thousand times this." She lowered her voice in a mocking imitation of Lightwards' voice, comically deep and only slightly more pompous than the genuine article. "Hello Warriors of Light. This is your esteemed leader Lightwards speaking. I'm busy being a self-righteous blowhard right now, so please escort all of Funtimes' servants to the city for me at your earliest opportunity." Nathan barely had time to clap his hand over his mouth before Revolution chimed in, her voice thick with restrained laughter. "We'd need a bug. I don't know where to get one." "Funtimes could make one, but I don't want her to get suspicious. Maybe...She said that Lightwards isn't allowed to hit us, and she even said we could kill him if he tried anything." "If she cares about our safety enough to go full supervillain for us, then she should listen to our concerns." It was like a ping-pong match. Nathan's gaze flicked from one girl to the other as suggestions were tossed back and forth, refined at the speed of thought. The moment he registered Sam's suggestion, Revolution added one of her own. How do they even keep up with each other? "We could spend some time around Lightwards without her around, while still letting her know where we are. Sure it won't be fun, but we could tell her that he's been casting subtle threats at us." "We probably won't even be lying." "We could let Funtimes know we're worried about our safety." Revolution's eyes were alight with an enthusiasm Nathan had never seen—not in Newcago, anyway. "We could tell her we'd feel safer if we could record what he says and contact her at any time." "We get ourselves all wired up, then we follow Lightwards around town till he gives the orders we need." Two pair of eyes turned hopefully toward him. "Think it'll work?" There was an eager smile on Sam's face, and she looked for all the world like his little sister had on Christmas morning, before Calamity put an end to that nonsense. "You know her best," Revolution added. "You're the one who's kissed her, after all." Nathan paused to swallow the only question he could think of: How have you survived this long? Epic-like as that question sounded, he didn't mean it that way. No Newcago Epic would let two girls with this level of intelligence, of stubbornness, of sheer gall live longer than it took to make an example of them. He suddenly wanted very badly to impress them. To add the coup de grace to the near-perfect plan they had outlined in less than five minutes. But what he said was: "I don't even know why she kissed me in the first place." Sparks. He may as well have thrown a gallon of ice water on their cinnamon rolls. "But I'm pretty sure she'd want to give all the zombies clown outfits, if she found out what we're doing. Conscript them into party duty or something like that." He smiled slightly, imagining it. Lightwards' massive coronary might finish him off for good, if he saw. "But if we tell her he's making threats, she'll probably want to hear everything. So we'll have to make sure he's actually threatening us, if we want her to believe that side of it." He drew a breath, pausing for time as he considered the implications of their plan. Thought of what Funtimes might do, to learn she'd been fooled. "We should try and get him to say something whimsical or cute. So if she finds out what we're doing, we can tell her we were trying to get them to throw a party for her, or decorate the town in streamers, or something like that." His smile lifted a bit. "Getting him to say anything halfway fun will be hard enough that she won't wonder why it's taken us so long."

No, no, it's totally fine. I already know how to work with that.

We have a goal…..? Oh. Right. Destroying Oregon. We'll get there. Eventually. After Lightwards has a few more strokes and eats an exploding cupcake.

Mailliw, I added Panacea's bit to the end of my last post. Tell me if Altermind sounds out of character and I'll edit. Also, Nighthound never gets sick because even germs find him repulsive.

Thanks! That really is high praise, for me. And I would give you an upvote to show my gratitude if Quota would release his stranglehold on this forum. Oh well. Hope to entertain you for many months to come, and if you're the sort that likes a few nightmares in October, we'll be running a month-long Halloween RP with the most terrifying Epics we can think of. Again, I'm glad you like it!

I'll get a Pan post up soon, then.

Thanks! His days are numbered. Once Funtimes learns of his tyranny, she shall lead the glorious opening salvo of the Fun Revolution, which will be fun for everyone except him. Yeah, that's a meta reason. And a darn good one. Fortunately, there are plenty of in-story reasons why it wouldn't work (at least not before Remington and Wes hit it off ) so we won't have to resort to the age-old excuse of "It would break the plot." Yep. Until the others get back, I see no reason why we shouldn't continue our little vanilla sabotage. (Is Vanilla Sabotage a better metal name or indie name? I can't decide. )

"Oh, I believe you. These psychotic slontzes are bad enough when they try to ignore you." Nathan smiled slightly, and opened his mouth to spill a litany of casino stories—one about Snakehands in particular—but Sam squinted into the distance, and he turned his head as much as the pain would allow to follow her gaze. Others had joined Lightwards and Funtimes. He could tell that much, even if foliage blocked most of his view, but it was the voices that made him wish his borrowed power had been his from the beginning. One in particular. Nighthound. And from his tone, he was in an especially good mood. A mood that would lift substantially when Lightwards inevitably spilled his secret. Nathan stopped looking and rested his aching head against the tree. Sam looked as though she would rather fling herself off the edge of the museum than spend one second in Nighthound's presence. He could hardly blame her: As he listened to the feral Epic proclaim his latest crimes against humanity, a free fall through the clouds without a parachute began to look substantially more attractive. Revolution came between them in that moment, pulling him toward herself and Sam with a gentle hug. "Shall we go lampoon us some Epics, or shall we seize upon this wonderfully Funtimes-free environment to plot our escape?" Her smile was so mischievous, the lift of her brows so defiant and her tone so mirthful, Nathan couldn't help a laugh. He wanted to cry. They were in a museum five thousand feet above the city. Within that museum were undead dinosaurs and living Epics, one of whom could send a starving raptor their way with a word. One of those Epics would threaten him out of it, but there was one who would not listen to her. One who would have crushed her throat had she not melted his side with acid. One who dressed his sidekick in a dog collar. Anything Funtimes did to him, any torture she threatened, would only slow him down and build his rage. And if by some miracle they did escape the museum, they would have Doctor Funtimes to contend with. Funtimes, who could melt skin with a wave of her hand, who turned clothes to acid and guns to hamsters with equal relish. Whose silliness seemed nothing more than a mask for her darker urges—the same urges Lightwards and Nighthound indulged on a daily basis. Strip away the smiles and the giggles and the childlike vocabulary, and she was every bit as monstrous as the man she'd trapped in tar. "They are friends. Friends are not for hurting." "You didn't see her back there," he told Revolution. "I mean, she was bad here, but back there?" He tried and failed to suppress a shudder. "Right now, she's on our side. If we run, we'd be better off with Lightwards." The name jogged his memory, reminded him of the plan he'd entertained before everything hit the fan. He threw another glance over his shoulder, saw the Epics had not moved any closer, and spoke in a low whisper. "I had an idea, though. To take care of Lightwards—well, his zombies, anyway." It sounded dumb, so dumb now that he was saying it, but he had already told them he had one and he had to forge ahead. "They only listen to him, right? Think they'd listen to just his voice?" ------------------------------------------ It was not the infirmary of a skilled physician, but more of a battlefield hospital Flashpoint led her to. All of the requisite supplies were there. IVs and gauze were stacked side-by-side on some shelves, while tourniquets and cotton swabs shared space on others. The only item that was organized to any extent was the burn cream, which had a shelf of its own. Tubes and canisters were organized by the severity of the burns they were designed to treat, and the only one that was there in any abundance was that used to treat mild burns. The staff was a handful of doctors and nurses, all of whom looked up when she entered, studying her with wary eyes. She gave them a smile and a small wave, tugging at a wrinkle in her sleeve. Why hadn't Altermind simply taken over a hospital? Thoughttown was a large bit of territory. Surely it had absorbed a hospital somewhere along the way; why hadn't he claimed it for his own? Surely it had better supplies than this. Unless, of course, he simply didn't care. Panacea was still working out a way to ask why Thoughttown had no proper hospital without sounding ungrateful when his mobile chimed. She was just close enough to hear Altermind's voice: "Scorch is dead." The announcement came without preamble. "CorpseMaker sent his head in a box. Don't see why he bothered, since it's more than that two-faced imbecile deserved. Did it for the shock value, I suppose." Panacea waited, frozen, but that was all. Scorch was dead, and Altermind thought a box for his head was too much. The bitterness in his tone was palpable, a force that chilled her where she stood. A moment of silence passed, and she turned to Flashpoint. "What now?"

At least everyone pictures Lightwards and Nighthound more or less the same way—as a wimpy Indiana Jones and a living trollface, respectively. Writing it up now, and I'm just about finished.

And it became so popular there, that it went on to win every literary prize there was to win, all on its lonesome. ….I reread your post and saw that. *facepalm* Awesome! Thank you! I'll change it soon.

Nighthound doesn't hear Calamity in his head because not even Calamity wants to talk to him. He met Fortuity once, and Fortuity said "Dude, tone it down a little. You're creeping me out." When he dies, there will be an epilogue stating how he was so foul, even the maggots refused to eat his corpse. (Also, when Edge posts Nighthound's death scene, I fully expect him to gain more upvotes than the average Sanderson post.) Sounds good. They're somewhat out of sight, aren't they? Hidden by the foliage, but not out of earshot?

If his life were a movie, my favorite part would be the ending. You know. When it ended. Quick Nathan response, or wait for Joe and Edge?

I didn't know Backtrack had met Nighthound already.

I like it. But the most important question here is: Has he met Chicago Joe?