Gancho Libre

It took Narrator Ganvcho a bit to get what was different between those two.

Such is the way of bad romance stories.

Sadness. Misery. Grief. Terrible! Terrible! Horrid! Frob wanted to cry, to pull out his eyes, to scream. Frob wasn't coughing! Fropb was drowning! Where were his friends? The thuds from above. He was being watched! Eyes, bigger, than his head! His friends weren't thudding! They would not do that! They wouldn't watch Fropb like that. They knew him. They wouldn't watch! Where was the dust? The flakes, coming into his flesh, his pores? Why wasn't he coughing? Where were Harj, and Kerl? Grom, Treb? Where were they? Treb wasn't pulling Frob's hair. Treb wouldn't watch like that. Harj would help Frob! Where was Harj? Where was Treb? Frob looked up, at the ceiling of the underground cavern. Would they be up there, hiding from the watchers? Were they watching? Nobody there. The eyes were behind. Frob was so visible! So much light! So much water still on him! And, just like that, the sadness, the misery, the grief, they all disappeared. Frob didn't know if he had screamed, but now he did cough. He... he coughed. Not really, but he knew the feeling. The wanting, the knowing he could. The knowing he should. The fog, the hiding fog! What was causing it? "Verk?" a gruff voice called out from a dark area of the cavern. "That you? Whoever you are, put them up," Frob giggled. He knew that voice! "I'm not Verk," he said between laughs. "Verk died," The voice from the dark corner paused. "Frob?" Frob jumped up and down with joy. He knew that voice! His friends were here! He wanted to cough, knowing what wasn't there. no grief. His friends were all right. "I am Frob," he said, giggling still. "Verk died," A large, muscled man stepped out from the darkness. Harj. Harj! Hark was a friend! Harj was here. Harj stepped forward, and they embraced. "I thought you were gone," Harj said, laughing. "What a surprise!" "Verk is dead," Frob said, smiling. "I am Frob. You must help me to not fail Vesuvius. Where are the others?" "Verk isn't dead," Harj said simply. "He's strong," Ah. Of course. Frob should have guessed. Verk had had big eyes. He could thud like no one else. "The others?" Frob asked. "You make us six," Harj replied. "Grom, Kerl, Treb, Verk, you, and me. We're all here," Frob nodded. "We can't fail Vesuvius," he said. "We must stay alive," ***** Kerl crept through the tunnels, ready to swing back to the base. He had thought he had heard some people up in the sewers. He heard more than saw, these days. His second eye couldn't see much, as it was now removed from his face and stuffed in a bag. And he had been using his Feelings at the time! It was terrible, but it was impossible to hate Harj. If you hated him, you died. Harj liked friends. He was Feeling right now, actually. The wound on his face had been so long ago, he no longer felt it. He Felt the very vibrations of the earth... Sadness. Misery. grief. The want... to just lie down... Kerl Felt these, and it was too much. He was not tough enough for this! Harj would be, but Kerl was different from Harj. In many ways. One of these was that Kerl was much, much louder than Harj. Kerl screamed in agony and grief, the Feelings ripping him up inside. The sound echoed all the way down the tunnels. @Sorana @I think I am here. @Everyone else

Fah'Loofah came out fo the corner of the cellar, towards where the woman was bashing a piece of wood against the ground. "Oh, hello," she said, smiling. "How's it going? Wanna play tag?" Ooooof. the woman was wounded. That wasn't good, right? Maybe it was one of those things you could walk off. Fah'Loofah tried to pick the woman up, but she immediately knew she wouldn't be able to do that. she wasn't the strong type. She needed some help to stand this person up. "Be right back!" she yelled, then dashed up the stairs to the outside. "GUYS!" She yelled. "WE GOT WOUNDED DOWN THERE! I NEED HELP-" She got distracted, forgot what she was saying, and wandered back down to the cellar, coincidentally right before she would have ordered the others to help her stand the wounded person up. Huh. As it was, her words could be interpreted as a simple call for help, without any specific urging of action that might get someone hurt. "Help will be on the way!" Fah'Loofah promised the wounded person. @Kidpen

Agreed. You guys are the best!

Frob scuttled down this tunnel-under-the-sewers, feeling more and more worried that his friends would not be there. They had to be. Vesuvius wanted them to be there. Grom, Harj, Kerl, Treb... They would be there. They would help Frob escape. They would know what Vesuvius said. They had too. But, then again... there were no bumps. There were always eyes, looking at him, searching him, feeling his bumps. Frob wasn't safe yet. Frob wasn't coughing. Frob laughed, though. For a second, he sensed his own insanity. Then, his lucidity was gone and he was scuttling again. He had to escape! He knew the eyes behind him. They were strong. They were close. They were coming! Frob had to be gone before they came! He would not fail his master. He fingered his stump arm gingerly, moving even faster with the memory. Where was Vesuvius? Where was Benson? Why did he know them? What were the voices that followed him? What drummed? Frob stopped abruptly. It was not his place to think. It was his place to act! He was not a man of thought. He was a guardian, a watcher! He could be bricked up and his job would not be hindered, but while he starved, he would not think. That was not his job. His job was to look down the telescope at the eye. That was his job. He could be blind and still see! He pulled out a flask of water and drank, feeling the stale, sewage-y taste. He had put something in the drink, hadn't he? Yes. There it was. That light-headedness, that euphoria, that wealth. He drank quickly, nearly choking before he went on his way. Frob did not think. He friends would think for him. Harj could think well. Harj had the best thinking Frob ever knew. The eyes behind him had better prepare to be poked! Harf knew how to poke eyes. He had poked out Kerl's eye almost a year ago. Kerl still kept the eye in a bag around his neck. Frob chuckled at the thought of the bumps being poked by Harj. Yes, Harj could poke very hard, very hard indeed... That was why Frob was going to them. They would not let Frob fail Vesuvius. They would be there because Vesuvius told them to be there. Frob almost chuckled at that thought before holding it in. Vesuvius. What a name. Frob and his friends, they valued speed. Not Vesuvius. Vesuvius only valued killing. Frob did chuckle at that, caressing his stump arm. Yes. Vesuvius only valued killing... That was why Frob would not fail. That was why Frob would live. And, with that thought, he turned a corner in the winding tunnels and entered his friends' hideout.

Narrator Ganvcho did as well. It was a good idea. Narrator Ganvcho slapped Lunamor on the back.

Oh my gosh that is SO TRUE!!!

Oof...

Which isn't a word.

Frob looked around, making sure no one was around. People were, but not close. Not with eyes. Little bumps, sometimes, but no eyes. Eyes were bumps. But bumps were not always eyes. There were no eyes. So, Frob knelt down, looking for a little trapdoor in the floor. Frob didn't like this part. He didn't want to touch the water, but there wasn't much left. It wasn't too wet He could hear the eyes coming. He had to hurry. His eyes were already compromised by now. He had to hurry. He lifted a section of the pipe, and water gushed down into a hole. He followed it down and replaced the pipe section. Frob was now underneath the Sewer System. His friends waited.

The most valuable currency there is.

"I call Bartholomew!" Butt yelled.

Ok. Thanks! That eases my conscience!

Vesuvius climbed out of one of the building's windows, carrying Fred over his shoulder. this would be a suspicious scene, but with the distraction being caused... Vesuvius was just another abnormality. He carried Fred to one of those grate things in the sidewalk. He ripped it up and dropped down, taking Fred with him into the sewers.

I'm fine with dying. Tis will be a worthy sacrifice.

Frob hurried down the street. He liked rain... he liked rain... he liked rain... He didn't like rain. He didn't really like water. Frob only like the dirty water, the water that carried the sewage. That couldn't be called water anymore, so Frob didn't like water. This was too much water. He was getting soaked. He didn't like rain... he didn't like rain... he didn't like rain... His friend's building was nearby. Frob was excited to get to it! He didn't like rain. It was too wet. Frob hurried, pulling his coat over his head. His coat was wet too. It didn't help. Frob turned abruptly, kneeling down to pick up a grate in the sidewalk. Nobody was watching. Frob had a feeling, those feelings he usually had. No bumps. No bumps and no eyes. That's how it worked. Frob ran his fingers over his own eyes, rubbing the surface. They were bumps. There were no other bumps, so no other eyes. Frob clicked the latch near the edge of the grate, and he pulled it up. Frob knew how to open the grates. He lived in the sewers, cared for them, tended them like they were a coral. Frob loved his network, his labyrinth, of sewage. He chuckled wetly as he imagined pitiful souls getting lost and dying down in his sewers. He enjoyed daydreaming about his enemies dying. Frob was sure that the next people to come down would be his enemies. Perhaps he would search for their bodies in a couple years. Frob jumped down the grate, pulling it closed as he fell a good ten feet. The grate would lock automatically, he knew. He had done this before. Frob was careful. Frob was careful he made only little splashes. Frob worked hard to keep his splashes little as he walked down the pipe towards his friend's house. He would be ready. He would not fail Vesuvius. His friends would help Frob, help him to not fail Vesuvius.

But most of them were already named off things, so...

Fah'Loofah sat next to the man and slapped him on the back. "This guy was a CANNIBAL!" She yelled, then she slowly backed away. @I think I am here.

However, everyone titled their entries with 'Dear diary', so everyone changed their names to Diary.

I mean, if you guys are looking for spam...

Uh oh... I didn't think crepes counted as pancakes... A pancake vs a waffle is no challenge, but a crepe... Uh...

Here. ... Right?

The safehouse wasn't in the sewer system. The man who had used the safe house was, not the house itself. Rather, the safe house, in question, was an abandoned sewer treatment plant, with full access to the sewers in the Alleycity. There was another man. Frob. Or, rather, that was what he called himself. Names should be nice and simple, they should. That's what he told himself as he straightened things up in the safehouse. To him, it was nothing more than his home. Vesuvius had said there might be people looking for him. That was why he was leaving. Frob was silly. Silly Frob. But Frob was never a man to ignore his superiors. And Vesuvius was surely his superior. Frob looked down at his stump arm. All he had done was question why the man Vesuvius had brought, Benson, was missing an arm. The wound had been bleeding. Frob had been forced- No. Frob had been given the nice opportunity to help heal Benson. Frob didn't know Benson's whereabouts now, but he had seemed nice. Like Frob. Surely, Frob was nice, for letting Vesuvius use his safe house? For holding in his scream while Vesuvius punished him for his curiosity? Frob could still remember the pain, the sudden loss. He needed to massage his left hand, he did. The fingers were too cramped. The thing was, his left hand no longer existed. Well, it didn't exist outside of the little grave he had dug for it. He could remember the screams. He couldn't remember what Vesuvius had done to Benson, because they had gone off into a side room while Frob patched himself. But Benson hadn't returned. Vesuvius did, but only to leave a minute later, telling Frob, in mock kindness, emphasized by his decking Frob in the face with that metal arm of his, to leave. Well, Frob wasn't going to ignore such a thing as that. so, Frob left. He didn't have much possessions. He had friends. They were loyal. They all chose small names for themselves as Frob had. Frob was lucky to have friends that understood. It was raining. Frob didn't care. He liked rain. He liked the excuse to leave his little house and splish-splash in the puddles. That's what Frob did now. He had time to tally-wagon. The people Vesuvius had promised would get him would never find him. He promised Vesuvius that. He wouldn't break his promise.