Mckeedee123

Right? Shiny Sparkle is basically anathema to him.

I'm going to be losing access to my laptop pretty soon for a few days, so I'll just post this one as-is.

It looked like it was going to be one of those nights. Er... or maybe mornings. It had to be around five, right? No sleep. Not a wink. They'd given him ample opportunity, sure, but there was no way Crush was going to lie defenseless on the ground while a guard or his potentially homicidal cellmate crept up from behind and stole his glasses. People stole sunglasses all the time, didn't they? And orange ones were a special novelty, so they were extra steal-able. He might as well have been wearing an irresistable, ice cold glass of chocolate milk on his head! Yep. Pulling an all-nighter was definitely preferable. Plus, he got to annoy the prison guards. "Are you gonna let me go to solitary confinement yet? Preferably a cell with an extremely squeaky door so that I'll wake up if someone comes in? I can do this all night. All night. Aaaaall night. I'm not tired. Your strategy isn't working. I'm not closing my eyes for a second. Nope." Crush's cellmate stirred. He was a middle-aged fellow with a patchy beard. In pre-Calamity times, Crush would probably have associated his dirty yellow T-shirt and ragged jeans with a homeless guy, but the calluses on his hands belonged to someone who did a lot of menial labor. Probably a farmer. "At least give me a harmonica or a tin can or something. I've got a rockin' prison tune I wanna share with you. Hey! Don't roll your eyes at me. When I finally meet the goober who runs this operation, I'm gonna report you! I'm gonna report you so hard you aren't gonna know what hit you! I'm gonna say, I'm gonna say... 'Hi. I won't join your empire unless... 'Gary' gets boiled in a cauldron of molten lava.' Guess who's more important. Me? Or You? Yeah, that's right." The guard, standing in uniform at the end of the hallway, ground his teeth. "Where do you even...?" He trailed off. "You do realize this town isn't even 'ruled,' right? There's no 'Epic in charge.' The Dalles is a free community under the protection of the United States Military. Epics don't get special treatment." Crush blinked. That was new. "Free community, huh?" He pointed to his cellmate. "Homeless Guy here doesn't look free." "He ran out in front of The Church and started screaming about how our soldiers didn't deserve to wear American uniforms when the town doesn't hold democratic elections." "Huh. I guess that sounds about right." The soldier's expression darkened further. "By keeping our government centralized and efficient, we serve our citizens far better than a pack of selfish politicians ever would. People who think otherwise... need to be contained." "Well, it's not as if I care. I basically kill people for fun, right?" The guard's fingers started to twitch towards his gun, but then he stopped and huffed. "I'm not even supposed to talk to you. Idiot." Crush laughed. "Ah! I like that insult. Real clever. You should do stand-up comedy. In fact, you should have your own sparking show! I'll make up a theme song if you'll lend me a harmonica! Whaddya say?" The guy clammed up and pointedly ignored him. Ah, well. Little victories. This was the first guard he had gotten to respond to him, even if all he had done was spout a cremload of rhetoric. So as he opened his mouth and started belting out a badly parodied version of "Meet the Flintstones," he felt even more full of himself than usual. Maybe it was lack of sleep, maybe it was the fact that no one had tried strip-searching him yet, but either way, Crush was pretty darn sure that today was going to be a pretty great day.

You probably shouldn't care so much about politics anyway. Political ideology and rhetoric create voters' opinions, not the other way around.

Actually, I would suggest reading Ender in Exile after the Shadow Series. One of the biggest things Exile does to differentiate itself from the epilogue of Ender's Game is to wrap up one of the subplots created by Shadow of the Giant.

9/10 Makes it clear what you're into: Sticks, Sprenmoticons, and MLP.

Yeah, that's what I thought, too. But then I double checked, and that's apparently where she woke up:

Well, anyway, I'll get right on that. EDIT: Unless Elsa's in the clinic, that is. Crem. Anyone else?

I think Crush would resent that image. He'd want to be pictured in one of those orange jumpsuits instead, obviously.

I'm planning to write the first section of a three-part flashback explaining how he and a few other characters got from Texas to Oregon. Writer's block is an issue. I'm pretty sure there's nothing for him to do right now anyway though. He's incarcerated till Autumn and/or Reader is available. Unless, that is, another imprisoned character wants to have an interaction, in which case I'll skip the flashback for now and go straight into the present.

Honorspren. It's hosted online, right? EDIT: Nevermind. Just realized this thread is about a year old.

Oh, you're just figuring this out now?

I was a Generation II kid, so I still maintain that Gold/Silver were awesome games. In fact, I'm of the opinion that Pokemon didn't really go bad until Generation 4. I didn't bother buying the Generation 5 games, but my older brother (who was really into the metagame at the time) got me back in during Generation 6, and they've actually turned out to be really good. They've focused on recycling the old 'Mons instead of creating an entire roster of a few hundred new ones, and new effects of the Destiny Knot and EV-enhancing items make competitive breeding way easier for older players.

Huh. We could do stuff with that. Epic Name: Kantaloupe Primary Power: Can, with physical contact, turn any inanimate object into a pile of cantaloupes. Secondary Power: Can telepathically convince people that a cantaloupe cannot be directly experienced, and that the perception of a cantaloupe's movement or consumption is integrally influenced by the concepts of space and time, and cause and effect, which are ultimately just constructions of the human mind.

Wow. She is... a scumbag. Forcing people to wear dog collars is an "evil" move, but killing an entire hospital full of people who you came to for help is a "scumbag" move. I'm glad MV isn't with her right now. And she's headed to The Dalles? Sparks. For a while there, I thought she was the Portlanders' problem again.

Sorry to bring this up, but...

I would just go for it, if I were you. It's not as if Twilyght is the only one who could conceivably do such a project.

Translate solebas, nonne? Nam id dolore magna! Id nos Latine scripto! Tunc posset esse "profunditas" subforum pro "insanus" subforum. Suus 'sunt foolproof! Et ... wow. Translated quod male

"Can you play that again, sir? I didn't catch why it ended like that." Soulcaster nodded, and the scene rewound. Mouldbreaker watched it all from the third person. Wounds closed together and blood flowed back into the corpses. After a few seconds of rolling around, the two fighters were thrown into the rafters and Alex's sword sliced Mouldbreaker's hand back onto his body. Mouldbreaker glanced away from the screen, at Soulcaster. The two of them were standing in a massive black room, illuminated by an astral projector screen set into the wall. Soulcaster was grinning. "It's ironic that you were saved by an extra, don't you think? You were so dismissive of them during the match." The video snapped back into real time, and Mouldbreaker fixated on Abdul. The Arab man bravely charged forward, and was just about to be stabbed when Mouldbreaker arrived and began shoving through the blue army, killing all but three of them. After Alex was tackled off the edge, Abdul surprised and killed two of the blues that had been knocked over, then got in a brutal fistfight with the third. He took heavy damage putting a dagger in the man's neck, but finished in time to grab a spear and leap off the edge, impaling his opponent and winning the match for his team. "The fight will be awarded to you, and I'm glad to say you've moved up in the rankings. You deserve a boon. Your Dreamstate is a practice dojo, is it not? How do you wish to improve it?" Mouldbreaker gulped. "Actually, sir, I was meaning to talk to you about the attack. Remember? The one I investigated at the bar during midday break? We still need to deal with the situation. I don't think that..." Soulcaster narrowed his eyes, and he faltered. "Well, Truthcharm attacked the guy without asking my permission, and all the stories I'm getting from the troopers are conflicting, so there's something suspicious going on. I don't think Truthcharm was actually in a situation where he was authorized to use lethal force like he says he was." Soulcaster sighed, and Mouldbreaker could sense an acute displeasure from him. "You know, I don't really care." "Uh... well sir, I think it's pretty important. If we just let Epics run wild, most of our contestants will end up dead in turf wars. That's bad, don't you think" Soulcaster just pointed at the screen. "Look at him." Abdul. The footage had rewound back to the crucial moment where he'd leaped off the rafter. "He's so... passionate. Engaged. It's as if his life depends on skewering this man. He needs it. The emotions are... beautiful. Nothing can compare" He turned back to face Mouldbreaker. "The Arena is what's important. All of these... emotions are important. The outside world is not." "So..." "Deal with it yourself. I don't want you to waste my time with this nonsense anymore. Just take Showstopper and beat the crem out of him... or kill him." Mouldbreaker smiled broadly. Was Soulcaster saying what Mouldbreaker thought he was saying? "Will do, sir. From now on, I'll stop asking permission before taking people out." "Thank you."

Part 2/2 of a collab between me and Maill: --- Jason's key fit neatly into the brown-red panel, and Mouldbreaker pulled it open easily with his enhanced strength. The panel turned out to be a box built into the side of the arena. Inside he found a crossbow (but no ammo,) some CB radios, a large box of Butterfinger's and a yo-yo. Not exactly what he had been expecting, but at least it wasn't a trap. He nervously looked up to the sphere's top, where the enemy team was hefting an assortment of scary-looking melee weapons. Yellow panel. Got it. "Okay, guys," He said, trying to locate his team's red-lined counterpart, "We're taking the scaffolding." He pointed to Marco, Gwen, and then "Jesse," the woman holding the yellow key. "Get that yellow panel open and bring the loot up. Everyone else, split up into pairs and head to the center. Take different routes. Soulcaster usually scatters equipment around the battlefield, and in this case, it's probably up there." He strapped the crossbow to his back and grabbed a radio, letting the mob of "soldiers" fight over the rest of the box's contents. Time to hunt some mooks. Mouldbreaker didn't really trust these people to be effective fighters. Untrained and undisciplined, they'd slow him down more than anything else. His only chance here was to go solo, forestalling equipment-gathering in an attempt to kill as many enemy soldiers as he could before his equally powerful rival showed up. He hopped onto a ladder and pulled himself up to the lowest level of rafters. The bottom of the network, an even level of platforms held together by rope bridges, was the only part that seemed to show any consistency. He noticed a cardboard refrigerator box mounted on an adjacent platform, and took a wild, flying, leap to reach it, counting on his extra strength to get him there. The gravity curved his jump awkwardly, but he managed to land safely. Smiling, he opened the box to find... a banana peel. Mouldbreaker sighed. How was he supposed to fight when Soulcaster refused to give him useful equipment? He glanced back at his yellow panel, which, thankfully, Jesse's team had managed to open. The three soldiers were already grabbing weapons and making their way to the arena's center. Taking the initiative, Mouldbreaker tore apart the box and twisted a length of cardboard into a tight cylinder. A rudimentary forearm shield that might be able to reduce the damage from one of those knives. It would have to do. He hopped up a flight of stairs, and the gravity lessened noticeably. Would he even be able to fight normally by the time he reached the top? He had coveted the high ground because it seemed like the only place to accurately launch projectiles from, but if it messed with his hand-to-hand, he'd probably just leave his soldiers up there and go back down by himself. His radio buzzed. "Uh... Mouldy?" Julia's voice. "A group of blues is coming at us from the rafters, and... we're still unarmed." Mouldbreaker didn't bother to respond. He just looked around, spotting each squad of blue soldiers in turn. The group in question looked to be about five strong, and was equipped with nothing but daggers. They were jogging single file across a piece of thin, metal scaffolding. Perfect. He scrambled halfway up a ladder and leaped again, grabbing a rope on the same level as the soldiers. One of them cried out, and the group started running for a suspended grate, not wanting to engage him on terrain where they were unable to surround him. Too late. He hopped onto the scaffolding, cutting them off. The soldier in front, "Rob," faltered for a moment, then neatly shifted his body weight and charged. Clearly, he knew how to use that knife. The jab came in on Mouldbreaker's left side, the one opposite of his makeshift shield. He was forced to catch it with his forearm, hoping that his added durability would let him sustain the injury. As he did, he swung his other hand around, collapsing the man's skull with a powerful blow. Superstrength was a fun power to have in close engagements like these. He pulled his bloodstained hand out of Rob's head, then ran up and jump-kicked the next soldier in line, shattering her ribcage and propelling her backwards into her comrades like a human cannonball. Two soldiers flew over the railing into the open air, and the remaining one was knocked onto the floor. Mouldbreaker calmly bent down and crushed her larynx, listening to the three thumps of bodies hitting the ground, sixty feet below. Out in the stands, the crowd was going crazy. Mouldbreaker couldn't hear them, but he could see them. They were standing, whooping, holding up signs... well, sparks, maybe fighting in the arena every once in a while could be fun. --- Alexio Maximus was furious. Mouldbreaker had just torn apart an entire squad of soldiers. He continued in his path, right behind Eva, heading for Mouldbreaker's side just as Squad E approached his other side and Squad A began climbing up and tearing into the rear of Mouldy's army. Seeing his opponent crush skulls had shown Alexio just how much strength he had been given. He snagged Eva's sword and launched himself over her head. The gravity pulled him in weird directions, but a few powerful leaps managed to land him right next to Mouldy. "I'm Marc, and I'm pissed," Alexio said, seething as he swung the sword with all his enhanced strength into Mouldbreaker's leg. Swing completed, he jumped away from the depowered Epic before he could get much of a return hit in. Alexio scrambled to the nearest members of Squad C, the item collectors. "This is going to be hard, but you need to act like you have super-strength. Mouldy won't know which of us to attack if we all seem as strong as he is. Hit harder than normal and swing stronger," Alexio Maximus commanded. He grabbed one of the radios the squad had collected and used it to communicate with the real Marc. He relayed the same set of instructions about feigning strength to throw off Mouldy. Alexio also took a couple of grenades that Squad C had, ignored a proffered chocolate bar, as well as took a rope and tied a couple of daggers and sharpened cardboard to the end of it. He coiled the rope and ran off to assist Squad A. Upon reaching the back end of Mouldbreaker's retreating army, Alexio Maximus threw the two grenades into two pairs of red soldiers. The first exploded, sending miscellaneous body parts flying. The second detonated as well, but the explosion never came. In its place, an odor the likes of which Alexio had never smelled before pervaded from the bomb. Caught unawares, the two Reds near the stink bomb gagged reflexively and covered their faces. Alexio seized the opportunity and swung his rope, the sharp edges slicing and stabbing the two enemies. Both fell over in pain. Alexio dabbed his fingers in their false blood and smeared it on his face. He shrugged off the blow to his shoulder and leapt up, pummeling his attacker off the scaffolding to his death below. Alexio Maximus told Squad A to rub the blood over their faces as well, disguising them further. --- Mouldbreaker did a quick inventory check. Two knives from the fallen soldiers and a stolen blue jacket. Rob had made a jagged cut in his left forearm, but the bleeding wasn't bad. His added durability had helped immensely. He looked down below, then grimaced. The fight wasn't going well. Large groups of blue soldiers were making their way up the rafters, hunting down pairs of reds that had fallen behind while navigating the labyrinth of stairs and ladders leading up to the center. As he watched, two of his soldiers were efficiently caught and gutted by the blue marauders. Idiots. Why can't they just follow simple orders? He noted that his army was spread crazily out along the rafters, some pairs still stuck on the first level while others climbed on floors even higher than the one he was at. Suddenly, an enemy popped out from beneath the rafter. "Hi. I'm Marc and I'm pissed." The man swung his sword, biting deeply into Mouldbreaker's right leg. Mouldbreaker screamed, falling to the ground. He aimed a dagger thrust at the man's head, but he had already dropped down, using the arena's gravity to evade Mouldbreaker's clumsy counterattack. Mouldbreaker took a deep breath, trying to control the pain, then rolled over to examine the man from above. What the sparks was that? Marc? No. That was the enemy Epic, Alex. Ordinary soldiers wouldn't have the power to pull off a manuever like that. I need real weapons. At the very least a sword like he has. This crossbow isn't going to cut it. Jesse's trio had started climbing later than any of his soldiers, but miraculously, she'd managed to meander through the scaffolding without losing time to dead ends. Good. He'd need those weapons if he was going to turn this battle around. Gritting his teeth, he assessed the damage to his leg. Heavy bleeding, but he still had a full range of motion. He could probably still walk, so long as he didn't keel over from blood loss first. He tore off the sleeves off of his extra jacket to make a loose tourniquet and bandage. No need to worry about infection right now. He'd be out of the arena within fifteen minutes anyway. Hopefully, this would give him enough time to kill his opponent. He started half-jumping, half-limping down to where Jesse's squad was scaling the scaffolding. In the meantime, Alex had grabbed a couple of grenades and started slaughtering reds. He caught up easily to two pairs and dismembered them with frightening efficiency. That makes eight... maybe ten dead from my faction, versus five from his. Not a good ratio either way. Jesse's squad looked relieved to see him. They probably assumed he'd come to help them carry the load of weapons, allowing them to continue on to the relative safety of the higher levels. Unfortunately, he had other plans. "The three of you are coming with me. We're going to engage the enemy Epic's squad directly. You distract the normals while I assassinate Alex. Got it?" He ignored the looks on their faces, which were outrightly mutinous. He had basically just ordered them to commit suicide without getting a single kill, theoretically ruining their chances of getting back in the arena again. He could inform them that obedience was probably going to get them a lot farther than kill/death ratio, as far as being reselected went... or he could just go. He pocketed an extra dagger and grabbed the sword from "Abdul," despite the fact that the man seemed to have grown attached to it. Signaling for the soldiers to follow, he began limping his way down. He met up with a pair of soldiers on the way, and gave them the same instructions. Jesse handed them two of his knives, and they resumed their descent, making their way to a defensible point in the rafters. Below them, Alex was opening a new box. The one Mouldbreaker's army had been standing on, initially. That bothered him. Wouldn't the box opposite of each army be the hardest to get to and therefore, have the best equipment? But surely Soulcaster wouldn't actually... The lid came off. Sparks. --- Alexio Maximus stood amidst blood-covered warriors with his rope-dagger in his hand. Weapons in his hands and comrades around, this was his domain. But now it was time for the best part: the ultimate prizes. Alexio handed his rope to another combatant and took the squad to the panel that had been right where Mouldbreaker stood. Squad C caught up to them and used a key to open the panel. Alexio saw a pile of rifles and couple shotguns. He grinned. This was about to be over. As he reached for a .22 rifle, the weapons disappeared, replaced with spears and one blue sword. Alexio cursed. Under his breath, he muttered, "Rusting Soulcaster. Entertainment, my chull, this is war." The other members of his army stood around in disappoint, but each grabbed a spear. Alexio Maximus took the blue sword which was obviously meant for him and turned to look at Mouldbreaker. The coward without his powers had limped to an alcove in the web above. This was about to get real good. Alexio ordered the two squads to form up around him, the eight remaining soldiers in a double layer square with him at the center. He ignored his other soldiers; they could take care of the red grunts, the more deaths they caused, the higher their stats would be. "Move out!" Alexio yelled. His new, larger squad began climbing up to Mouldbreaker. Two of the rear guards threw their spears and drew knives. --- Mouldbreaker ducked for cover. signalling for the soldiers to follow his lead. It would be pretty anticlimactic to be killed by a random javelin this late in the match. Soulcaster wouldn't like it. Spears were bad enough. An intelligent enemy could use their range to ward off shorter weapons like daggers. That blue sword, though... Mouldbreaker had seen its like before, and it cut through solid steel as if it were rice paper. He couldn't block it directly, which would be a problem. Still, it was better than facing an army equipped with sparking rifles. He was glad Soulcaster had decided not to upset the game balance like that. He risked a peek at the other army. To his surprise, they were actually ascending towards him. That was to his advantage. With both armies up here, Mouldbreaker stood a better chance of getting Alex alone. "Start jogging. I'll follow behind. Just ram yourselves into the enemy army and I'll finish them off." That got some incredulous looks. For once, Mouldbreaker felt compelled to respond. "Okay, guys. Death is painful, but it comes with the gig. I don't know if you noticed, but this is the kind of thing that arena extras actually do. You will be rewarded for it. Trust me." He waved again, and this time, they rose from the alcove they'd been hiding in and nervously began running. Alex's troops, faces smeared with blood, had already climbed up to his level, and were moving along a nearby walkway about two meters wide. As Mouldbreaker's army sped up and charged, one of his five soldiers was picked off by a thrown spear. The metal tip broke off as Mouldbreaker plucked it from the body. The armies met with screaming and the clash of metal. He could see immediately that his hadn't fared too well. Spear tips had driven clean through the backs of the three who had led the charge, and only Abdul hadn't been impaled immediately. Well, now or never, I guess. Mouldbreaker came in from behind his troops and rammed the spear's broken head straight through the neck of a soldier, the momentum of his attack disorienting the rest of them in the packed metal walkway. He pulled out his two daggers and began laying about himself in a series of attacks, focusing on shoving soldiers back to give himself space. Within a few seconds, four blues had been killed. He'd received several cuts through his arms, and a spearman in the back line had managed to stab him through the gut, but Mouldbreaker still felt as if the attack had been worth it. And then a blue sword came from behind the enemy line and sliced his arm off. Mouldbreaker howled and shoved through, knocking down a handful of soldiers and grabbing onto Alex's jacket with his good arm. A second, clumsier slice bit into his hip as Mouldbreaker tackled him off the edge. Both fighters grappled in mid-air, trying to use the other to break the fall. In the end, they landed together. Alex immediately rolled on top of him and grabbed his dagger. Swords would be useless at this range. Mouldbreaker yelled and smeared the stump of his left arm over Alex's eyes, blinding him, then rolled back on top and began punching him. Back and forth they went, neither managing to land a killing blow, until the pain became too much and Mouldbreaker collapsed, barely able to move. Groaning, Alex planted the dagger in his back and shakily rose to his feet, waiting for Mouldbreaker to die of blood loss. "Sic semper tyrannis," he spat. It was his catch phrase whenever he managed to slay an Epic in the Arena. He shot Mouldbreaker a bloody smirk, and at that moment, a man dropped from the rafters and drove a spear through his heart. Barely lucid, Mouldbreaker identified the assailant. Abdul. What the sparks? How did he manage to- He shivered, too weak to think, and let the darkness take him.

That would be a lovely piece of situational irony. How can we make this happen?

I wonder the same thing whenever I see someone watching the movie "Cars." Like, how could this world possibly function? How did the vehicles evolve? How did they discover agriculture? Where did early car civilizations get enough oil to support the population boom following the implementation of agriculture?

Well, the Epic wouldn't have to be "new."