TwiLyghtSansSparkles

Nathan had often wondered what a kitchen full of zombies would be like. It wasn't an idle line of questioning, the way it had been before Calamity, when he and his brother pondered the best places to wait out the zombie apocalypse. In Newcago, it had been a very real possibility that an Epic would walk through the casino doors, shoot a server, and spend his evening being waited on by an undead slave. Nathan could never determine the best course of action in such a scenario, so he preferred to think on it as little as possible. He had always imagined zombies as reanimated corpses, succumbing to decay and bearing the marks of whatever had killed them. He had wondered how best to avoid wrinkling his nose at the stench, the etiquette for looking into their blank eyes, whether or not their drying blood would leave a stain he would have to clean out of the carpet. He had tried not to wonder whether or not he would know the zombie, because chances were the answer was yes. Lightwards' zombies were surprisingly clean. The couple who had owned the home, Mary and Thomas Sadry, had changed from the clothes they had died in. Their clothes were neat, if a bit worn. Donald too had changed his shirt, abandoning the stained pocket for one fresh from the dryer. Only their eyes gave it away. Only Thomas' lack of smiles, Donald's slow nods, the methodical way Mary cleared the table and put the kettle on, told the truth. A rat had been brought from the dead to manage the sugar bowl. The vulture that had led them to this bizarre little wake waited beside the cream. Waiting for orders from its master. Doctor Funtimes sipped her tea, made a face, and tapped the cup with a single finger. The translucent green liquid turned opaque brown. She held out her mug to the rat, which poured sugar into the cocoa. It became whipped cream almost instantly. As little as Nathan wanted to provoke another fight, he trusted the tea even less. He gave his mug a small nudge toward his fake girlfriend, who transformed it into real cocoa. Warming his hands around the mug, he cleared his throat. "You said you're new in town. Where are you from, originally?" Funtimes swallowed her cocoa and coughed as the drink burned her throat. "Have you heard from the Great Noodly One who shines in the sky like a million jars of pasta sauce?" Nathan blinked. Great Noodly One…shines in the sky…."You mean Calamity?" She nodded eagerly. "He touched the world with his noodly appendage." He laughed. He didn't know what else to do. "Well. That's a new one."

I would rather eat bees. "I do like tea. What do you think, darling?" The word rested awkwardly on his tongue, but it sounded pleasant enough. Calling any Epic anything but 'sir,' 'ma'am,' or whatever other title they had adopted for themselves would take some getting used to. He took a step back from Donald, wondering what tea poured by a zombie would taste like. Sparks! What if that's how he turns them? Funtimes nodded, grinning. "Tea, tea, tea." "Tea would be wonderful," he told Lightwards. It was the biggest lie he could remember telling, but he told it with a smile.

A look of confusion crossed her face. "Bouncy...reside..." Confusion melted into laughter, long and loud. "We don't live there, silly! They're for playing and making Jeffrey mad." "Everyone knows that," Nathan added. Lightwards' attention was given mostly to the Doctor, so he took the chance to study him. The bullet hole attested to a wound only powerful Epics could survive. Words like "Warriors of Light" flitted through his head. And then it clicked. Ignoring his healthy sense of fear and prudent urge to take off, Nathan tapped Donald's forehead coolly, smirking. "Your friend doesn't seem terribly aware. And you think she's the idiot?"

Go to any sort of concert with loud noises and flashing lights. Burn tin. Scare everyone up to and including the paramedics.

Nathan hadn't eaten steak in….He counted back and was unable to recall the precise date. At least a year, he decided, probably longer. He would have preferred to savor the delicacy, but the thought of sharing it with a new Epic—or worse, handing it over—was almost unbearable. As the door opened, he took a few quick bites, polishing it off by the time they were joined by a sour-faced college professor. A sour faced college professor with a bullet hole in his shirt. He introduced himself as Lightwards and spoke at some length about being the savior of civilization and the slayer of a thousand fools. Nathan used the moment to wipe his fingers discreetly on his slacks. "What in Calamity did you do with my radio?" Lightwards demanded. Funtimes giggled. "You'll see it in an hour or so." "It was delicious, if that's any consolation," Nathan added. If she was flippant, he would be flippant. "Dry-rubbed with—nine spices, was it?" "Ten." "Yes. Ten spices. Good ones, too. She could fix you one, I'm sure, if you like that sort of thing."

Nathan glanced at Funtimes and saw his puzzled expression mirrored on hers. Her puzzlement soon became annoyance. She planted her hands on her hips and both feet on the sidewalk, giving one a little stomp. "How rude! We came here to see a face, and there's just a stupid radio!" "We're here for fun," Nathan said quickly. "That's our—" Funtimes pranced over to Donald, whose blank gaze Nathan had begun to avoid, and spoke directly into his shirt pocket. "I'm Doctor Funtimes. This is the Traveller. Come out and play!" The bulge in his pocket changed shape, but Donald didn't seem to notice. Nathan gingerly reached for what had been the radio—and plucked out a steaming hot sirloin steak. Encouraged by Funtimes' giggle, he took a bite. "Medium rare." He swallowed. "I like the spices on that one."

However, things could get bad when your computer gives you the blue screen of death and you decide to perform a little "percussive maintenance."

Sorry to hear that, Leftinch. You're welcome to come back at any point. They didn't run after the vulture so much as bound. Funtimes took Nathan's hand and ran on, giggling. Every few feet she teleported them ahead, spared a glance upward, and kept running. It was surprisingly easy to regain his balance and keep going as though they had never stopped. What sort of Epic kept a vulture for a pet, he wondered? It had to belong to some Epic or other. His knowledge of Oregon plants and animals was spotty, but he thought vultures belonged to the desert. Aside from that, the bird seemed too….deliberate. It didn't amble lazily through the sky, or sit on a telephone pole and watch for the dying. It had a path it struggled to follow through the rain. Mind control. The idea hit Nathan as his feet hit the ground after another one of Funtimes' leaps. Whoever owned the bird owned it body, mind, and soul, if a bird could have a soul. He felt sick. "Do you really think—" Another leap cut him off. "Do you really think whoever has a vulture is fun?" She giggled. "Dunno yet." And we're going to find out. She didn't say it, but he heard it anyway. If whoever they found wasn't fun, they would leave. And if they were…. The Traveller. That's who you are now. What does a traveller do, besides travel? The vulture led them to what had once been a suburb, circled once, and swooped in through a window. They were still some distance away, but Nathan thought he heard the crash of glass breaking. He winced, recalling the time he'd been pushed through a window. Cory and Will, a host and line cook, had spent half an hour plucking glass from his skin before a healing Epic decided she wanted him as her server for the evening. Whoever controlled the vulture did so with an iron grip, leaving no room for self-preservation. Strike that—what powers can I fake? "I'm still the Traveller, right?" he whispered. A gunshot tore through the air. She giggled and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, one foot on the ground, the other planted firmly in midair, toes pointed at the sky. Her eyes sparkled. "Doctor Awesomesauce." He felt a small stab of comfort, not enough to do away with the fear gnawing at him, but better than nothing. Funtimes would cover for him. For whatever strange reason she had found, she would protect him. "We're going inside, then?" Funtimes giggled again. Another shot rang out, and before he could blink, they stood on the sidewalk facing the vulture's house.

"Look! Look! A birdie!" "Isn't that a vulture?" To Nathan, birdie encompassed a broad yet very specific class of winged creature. A bluejay was a birdie. A sparrow was a birdie. A vulture trying to maintain its flight pattern through the raindrops was the opposite of a birdie. Doctor Funtimes jumped in place, clapping her hands. "I bet it's going somewhere fun! We should go somewhere fun with it!" Nathan wanted to argue with her—even considered it for a moment. Only Epics could argue with Epics. Did pretending to be one earn him that right? He didn't want to risk being wrong. "All right," he said, stifling a sigh. At this rate, it would be hours before they reached the comparative sanity of their Tillamook cottage. "Let's follow the birdie."

Awesomeness is implied.

I know two things about San Diego Comic Con. 1. It is socially acceptable—nay, encouraged—to dress in a manner that would earn you odd looks on the subway most of the time. 2. Random House is passing out the prologue and first three chapters of Firefight there this year. Those are the only two things I need to know.

Evening, I believe. Drizzling, with a little daylight left.

When you go to parties, spike the punch with steel and iron. Laugh as guests wonder why their drinks are attacking them.

"Oooohhhhhh no you don't! We at the Anti-CorpseMaker Decision Squad know all of your tricks!" "I'll do it! I'm from the CorpseMaker is Sexy Patrol and I—" *dies* "Huh. Fangirls."

We're going to have more alliances than the government has lobbyists. "Hi, I'm from the Coalition to Put CorpseMaker Six Feet Under, and I'm here to destroy you." "Well, I'M from the Coalition to Put CorpseMaker SEVEN Feet Under, and I'll destroy you first!" "Hey, guys! I'm from the Anti-CorpseMaker Decision Squad. Are we destroying each other yet?"

"The cat hair is strong with this one. Join me, Luke, and together we shall cover the galaxy in cats as father and son." "But…but what if the galaxy is allergic?" "Oh, don't be a baby. Why do you think I wear this respirator?" "I thought you had your arms and legs cut off." "Whaaat? No, I just really love cats." That's why I love pugs—they have so much personality, and yet they're so loving. Mollie will sit and snuggle for hours. And if Bruno is upset about something, she'll follow him and get right in his face, like she's studying what he's doing. "Okay, so this is how mad we're supposed to be, but why? What's my motivation?" ….I might like pugs too much.

Sometimes love and abject terror are closer than you think.

Cats love me, but sadly, I'm allergic. But when they start rubbing against my leg and purring….well, I can't resist. I'll usually pet them and chug allergy meds until I can breathe again.

I'm the GM, but there's not really a moderator. It's more of a free-for-all, write-as-you-go story, with the only caveat being that it has to make some semblance of sense. (And no god-modding, which is somewhat easier in these types of games, in my experience.) You join by making a character, PMing me his/her weakness (if they're an Epic) and bringing him/her to Portland somehow. And at this point there are several alliances, so you'll need to decide on which one your character will join. (Funtimes! Oh Funtimes! She's crazy but she's cool! Funtimes! Oh Funtimes! She's riding on a mule! Fuuunnnnntiiiiimmmmmes!)

I have two pugs, Bruno and Mollie. Bruno is almost twelve, but in a lot of ways he still acts like a younger dog. He cries whenever someone leaves the house, and he understands a lot of words. (If you say "car ride," he will expect one.) You know the pug head tilt? He does that a lot. Ask him if he wants someone to come home from work, and he'll tilt his head and probably run to the door to see where they are. He loves whipped cream. Mollie is just shy of a year old. She's small, as pugs go, and she always looks shocked. Like she's still wondering how she managed to find us. She loves coconut water and drinks it out of my hand. In the mornings, if she sees the toaster, she gets excited because she thinks I'm having a bagel. She also loves big dogs. She's already befriended a poodle and a Rottweiler.

There's always room.

Yes. Yes, we should.

It all depends on how much time you want to devote to it. If you feel like you have real-world responsibilities and this game is taking up too much time, you can always have your character take a step back from the action.

One of my pugs likes coconut water. The other one is fond of whipped cream, and when he was younger and we took him for walks, he'd drink from sprinklers by biting the water.

It's the same thing for me with pugs. They're so loyal, and they have so much personality. Most of the time, just feeding them a treat cheers me up. (No, they're not overweight. Why do you ask? Why would you even think that? Stop judging me.)