FatherTiempo

Noooooooooooooo! No! Nononononononononononononono! What is an Ookla anyway?

I am FT

*Warmly lowers eyebrows and smiles*I Thank you! I couldn't remember who anyone was!

"I highly recommend group therapy. " FT said. "And remember Sophie, it's okay to be scared, you should be. There's a lot in this world to be afraid of." FT paused, "What are you afraid of?"

"Yeah, they're better than last time." FT looked at Sophie through the shifting forcefield. He had to tread softly here. Gently. "Sophie, are you---happy?"

FT furiously scribbled notes while Sophie talked. He paused surveying his work and handed Sophie a cupcake. "Do you feel that TVG---cares about you as much as Ember or Star?"

FT tisked softly. "I'm sorry, but this is not a healthy mother-daughter relationship. I can recommend a good counselor." FT narrated a reclining couch. "Tell me about your childhood, Sophie."

I found some artwork of Trewee, and can I say that he would look---interesting with hair. I'm imagining an afro by the way.

That explains why I've been having so much trouble with my hair lately. The 'head' another name for his outdoor garden, was thus called for the strange shape of his house.

Technically it was clean, because of the conditioner...

Well played

"Come on Sophie." FT said, "You're reading to slow."

"That's rather confusing, would you mind explaining it in more detail?" FT said, replying to two different strands of Plot simultaneously. "Okay, Astral? There is such a thing as too much of a good thing. Maybe you should--uh--try and take some deep breaths or something."

"To understand the complex understanding of Character Theory," The book read. "One must first understand the understanding by which, and for which is understood throughout TLT, that, which is known, in some circles, though in other circles it is not (the distinction is where and where not they are used) one would use this, though those circles are small, that the understanding is not well known."

FT tried to laugh with her, but he didn't have the spirit for it. He tried anyway, the best positivity books said that laughing increased endorphins, making you happier, but he wasn't sure if Astral was doing it right.

FT sniffed back a tear. "Oh, Astral. That you? Did you hear about Jaywalk?"

This is a public service announcement. It has been brought to the attention 17th Shard's Department of Order Enforcement, that a rogue Elsecaller is on the loose. He, or she has been soulcasting servers into Ooklas. We advise extreme caution to all 17th Sharders. Stay in your safe forum areas, and avoid all topics located in the Forum Games and Random Stuff. A large amount of Elsecaller activity has been spotted in that area. Symptoms of self soulcasting include: intense paranoia, random switching of usernames and profile images, obsessive role-playing, and high usage of banana cream. If you display any of these symptoms, please contact your local 17th Shard Order Enforcement station. Remember: "You are not an Ookla. You are [insert appropriate nomenclature]." Thank you.

"Noooooooooooooooo!"

"How 'bout another round of thermonukes." FT pleaded. "At least have a farewell bunker party."

FT was Law. He was the embodiment of the Law, and the Law was him. He, the Law, was like the sunscreen. He applied himself onto himself, to keep himself from burning up in the bright heat of lawlessness. Yes, he was a little sticky, yes he got all over himself and he even stuck to his skin, and he had already lost the meaning of this overly complicated metaphor, but one fact was clear. He was the Law. He was the chief commander of the CoJ. Their job was to keep the order when others would see the world in chaos. Two factions threatened to rip The City apart, and it was his job to make sure that never happened. He would apply himself in liberal amounts to The City, and there would be order. The HOWL did stop the lawless ROAR, but their methods were disorderly, and FT could not allow disorder in The City. He was the Law, and The City was not going to be sunburned by well meaning societies. He would stop both the howling, and the roaring with lots of metaphorical sunscreen, 75 SPF. He would see both to the justice of the Law. But first, he had to stop the general lawlessness in the city, He raised a hand, and blew a silver whistle. The metaphorical Sword and Shield of the Law, it was the sound that stuck terror into the hearts of the lawless. "Oi You! Stop. Right. There... AHHH!"

Jasnah leaned close to the stick. There was an art to convincing plants to accept combustion. Stone was difficult, but in a different way. It was stubborn, but it could be tricked. Plants grew and adapted, but still stuck to their rigid perceptions. It was almost impossible, but Jasnah knew the secret: Blackmail. "Now listen to me Stick. I'm going to tell you a little story with all the reasons you are going to burst into flames on my command..."

In the plotless world, between The Plot, and the real world of TLT, FT popped through and handed Sophie a chicken. "Happy Stormsgiving!" He said cheerily. "However, " FT said, "Because this happened in-between The Plot, and the real world, it had no effect on the Plotting where you are going to a dark, cold mountain. Have a very happy Stormsgiving, I hope you don't die." FT disappeared into the land of TLT. He adjusted his silver spectacles, eyes aglow with warmth and charity. "I feel like the November Saint Nicholas." he manifested a sack of chickens and strode through TLT handing chickens to every person he met. "Happy Stormsgiving Truthless." "Happy Stormsgiving Ene." "Happy Stormsgiving Luna." "Happy Stormsgiving But, Butte, Butt, and Buute." "Happy Stormsgiving Worms that were in Sophie's ear from about a hundred pages back." "Happy Stormsgiving Astral." "Happy Stormsgiving Aquamarine Voice in The Sky." "Happy Stormsgiving mimes, and withergeists. Breadmunks, and breadm*nks. Mudkips, and Withy. HIm, and Hlm. Jasnah and Kelsior." "Happy Stormsgiving to all you lovely, crabby people at Hermitcraft." "Happy Stormsgiving Jaywalk, and A.C." "Happy Stormsgiving to all you Narrators. Um--I'm going to leave the chicken here if you don't mind. I'm sure you--er--pick it up, or something." "Happy Stormsgiving Xinohep. Hope you get out of there man. in the memantime, have a chicken." "Happy Stormsgiving to all of you who changed your name to some form of Ookla, and I've forgotten your real name." "Happy Stormsgiving--" FT looked into his everlasting bag of chickens. It was empty. "Oh, dear." FT thought for a moment, he was sure he had narrated an everlasting bag of chickens. He sat down next to his deflated bag, and thought, and thought, and thought. Then he slapped himself for thinking so much. He was the Shard of Narration. He had Narratorial power beyond the understanding of the Narrators themselves. He shot up from his seat, His long cream colored coat fanned behind him. He adjusted his silver spectacles, white hair tossed in a fabricated windstorm. He raised his hands and called upon the powers of Narration, drawing upon fortune for a little luck. Gritting his teeth through the immense pain of the raw Narration. He directed it to every citizen of TLT, beyond into the fanciful world of Plot. Every muscle in his body burned from the exertion, his face a mask of pain. FT pulled and yanked on the very soul of Narration. The pressure exploded, and FT rocketed backwards. he slammed into a Narrated tree, and blazing pain roared through his spine. Through the haze of red mist, he though he saw chickens falling from the sky. Then, all went dark. Hours later, FT opened his eyes to the most wondrous sight. Chickens adorned The Longest Thread, pumpkin pie wreaths hung from each door, and even a casserole or two had found their way to Sophie, and Xinohep. He had succeeded, his efforts had not been in vain. A smile crept over his face. No one in The Longest Thread would not experience the joys of Stormsgiving. For everyone in TLT had a chicken. FT lay his head back, using the last scrap of Narration to pull up a hammock. He rested from his work, gently swaying in the breeze. "Happy Stormsgiving, everyone." He opened his eyes, a thought occurring to him. "You aren't vegetarians, are you?" Happy Stormsgiving, from FatherTIempo, Shard of Narration.

Aerobic Elephants Trying to Harness Electric Rabbits HAPPYTHANKSGIVING

"But you could be spandex." FT said warmed by his success, of turning the thread into a topic.