Silva

The Leg was only disguised at a leg.

Ballet was a well-known bane of hamsters.

The flamingo's butler had the unfortunate habit of jumping into dumpster fires and then spraying himself with rose scented perfume afterwards.

Did you make it? YKYASF when you've used social distancing a Sanderson-converting opportunity (and been succeeding finally! ). And when you've walked over to one of these friends' houses to talk to them about MB from about ten feet away.

Delicious. *disposes of it the moment Luna's back is turned* I've got the broken off tip of a pencil. Still plenty pointy.

I reject that universe. *wins*

Eve hesitated even longer than Alask. Survival instinct protested walking towards likely doom. To walk towards the looming being. Walk over to talk to him. The protector of the place they were going to pull a heist on. Nothing that could go wrong there. Good. Her sarcasm was returning. At least on this level of despair she knew she could move. Shoving her trembling hands in her pockets, she walked hastily to catch up to Lena and Alask. Or ran. She slowed to a brisk walk to keep up once she reached them. She swallowed. "Are you sure that's a good idea, Lena?" Thankfully, it didn't come out as a squeak. It wasn't confidence-inspiring though, either. Get yourself together, Tacet-Yin-Dove. she reprimanded herself. You'll all be fine. Not until a few moments later did Eve notice that shift in perspective. All. Eve bit her lip. Her carefully constructed shell had almost completely withered away. She knew she should've been frightened at the thought. But she wasn't. And that was what frightened her. Along with the Space Marine.

Years ago.

Bonk Bonk had misplaced it years ago.

"Non-issue," Freedom said. "There's a reason she only left notes for my siblings and me--she feared an outright attack against our house. After last time, Space Marines began to protect our family. They believed Crow had been their responsiblity that got loose. How accurate that is can be debated, but at the moment, they keep her away. If we can return the Wereds to Scadrial, we're good." She looked at the skull again. "Do you have any pertinent information to give us or should we get moving?" @Grey Knight @Chasmfiend#1 "She has friends?" Clove blurted out in a whisper. Semb shot him a sharp look. "Clove!" "She's not here anymore," he said sheepishly. Golda paced the length of the cell. Horizon and Moss scrambled out of her way before she plowed between them. Then she stopped. "Mr. Horneater? Would you be willing to toss the messenger in here with us? It's basically a death sentence anyways and it means you do less work. Besides, who'd be able to tell that there aren't actually just seventeen of us Wereds?" The messenger had a bewildered expression on his face. However, it was apparent that he did share the Wereds coloration, even if his features were starkly different.

The Wereds exchanged looks from one another. Viness focused particularly long on Golda, silently asking her to keep her mouth shut and stay still. Golda, completely oblivious to her gaze, walked up to the front of the cell. The others followed her, albeit a bit slower. --- The first thing the messenger noticed when he finally woke up was that he was no longer outside. Indoors. In a dungeon it seemed. He noticed a group of children in a cell, confirming the dungeon theory. He noticed the horneater was there too. "I can walk, you know," he said. He rubbed his neck gingerly. It felt bent out of shape from the rough treatment. Then he noticed the insane looking kneeling woman staring intently at him. "Ms. Crow, I presume? I've got an urgent letter for you from L. Acute." At least, he was pretty sure it was an L like he'd told the horneater earlier. He could've read it wrong. Might've just been a tilted C. Some people had pretty bad handwriting. The letter, at least, was in his pocket where he'd left it. He took it out and held it in her direction. --- Light? Golda thought. Why would she of all of them try to contact Crow? It seemed so out of character. She was the cousin who had ended up the most physically traumatized. To reach out to her former captor would take a strength Golda didn't think she held. But maybe she has reached it. Maybe she wants us to be spared at her expense. Golda strongly disliked people who went for the "noble sacrifice" option. She preferred to get her way without the sacrifice part. --- Compile Acute sat on the swing of a playground. She swayed a little back and forth, but didn't get to high. She wasn't pumping her legs. Her mind was elsewhere, busy thinking through possibilities of the future. Currently, none of them looked all that great.

I think they're apples spiked with sewing pins (not the fun type with a colorful ball on the end. The boring, easier-to-lose type). Image of the spikes is in the spoiler box because the sight of Hemalurgic tools might be discomforting for some people and this is a TUBAist thread: That kind of thing would be right up Voidus' alley. (No pun intended.)

Unfortunately, they were all equipped with force-fields and remained unaffected.

*belatedly appears*

Hey, Voidus! There's a pineapple a block a way that's shouting your name!

This was above his paygrade. He was hired to bother exes and childhood bullies, not people wired hired thugs protecting them. He would have to ask his client for a raise. The messenger finished playing the section he was on, which, thankfully, was close. Then he gulped and put on a brave face which looked like a guy trying to smile while wincing. "Didn't you hear?! Are you deaf?! I've got a message for a Ms. Crow, sir!" he mimicked the horneater's tone. "Judging by what I was told, she'll be wanting it pretty badly. Tell her it's from a..." He reached into his pocket and took out a crumpled envelope. He squinted at the writing on it. "L. Acute? That's a funky last name." He shoved it back away. "Well, anyways, if you could just fetch her please. I'm not supposed to give it to anyone else--it's gotta go straight to Ms. Crow. L. Acute was very specific. Please?" --- Golda stayed down on the floor, not wanting to get up. What was the point? She'd be struck down again. And again. And again. And again. Over and over. A thin hand touched her arm. "Hypocrite," a quiet voice said. Golda ignored it. It wasn't hypocrisy to change one's life views. The hand squeezed her. "You have no right to back down now. Not now." She turned her head. It was Fauna. Her forehead might have been scabbing and blistering and her dark hair was starting to resemble Crow's (Golda quickly purged that image from her head), but at that moment, all she saw was the hopeful face looking down at her saying the same thing over and over. If you can't keep going, none of us can. Pulling her arm free, she squeezed Fawn's arm back before sitting up. She ached and her cheek stung like fire, there was no denying that. But it was bearable, each pain now a symbol of a small victory. A victory of pure willpower never to back down. "Do you remember my counterpart, Pry?" she called out. "Same age as me? Tallish? Tan? Dark stick straight hair? Maybe not, though. She didn't spend as long by you. By that point, she'd already moved out of the house to Alleycity. Kind of like what Freedom's now doing. Did you know that? Freedom's in Alleycity." Without even looking, she knew all her siblings eyes were on her. Was she trying to get their cousin killed? She knew just as much as the rest of them how Crow felt about the Acutes. Did she have any idea what she doing? The answer was simple: Not in the least.

His singing band of minstrels bravely ran after him.

What is the least useful thing you did today? Why are potatoes brown? Why aren't all inchworms one inch long? What's your favorite color? Do you believe color should be spelled colour? Do you believe that grey is the proper spelling of the word? Theatre or theater? Are three-legged tables better than four-legged tables? How about one-legged tables? Seventeen? 17 or seventeen? Who, what, where, when, why, or how? Why? Did seven eat nine or did nine eat seven? Is the glass half full or half empty? Why? What is the glass halfway with anyways? Does this question exist solely to make there be sixteen questions?

Yes! I've always wanted one of those... I've got a pillow.

*wins even more stealthily* But I love being heretical about things that don't really matter because it's typed text!

The Ganderphlaphel empire decided it was the perfect opportunity for them to start rising.

Commodity. (It's really become one, but if people wish to protest that as a synonym, go ahead. )

A delicacy in the breadmunk homeland.

*waves nervously* It's been a while since I made a thread. I think the title is pretty self-explanatory. This is a place to just...talk. Whether it be a rant, tangent, well-wishing message, or crazy conspiracy theory, all is welcome. How's everyone doing? My life: