The hotel room looked like a butcher shop that someone had thrown a grenade into. Most of the victim rested in the center of the room, ruining a perfectly good shag carpet. The rest of him...or her?... Was everywhere else. “Pretty enthusiastic work, here,” My partner, Gecko, pointed out. “Maybe even too much for this to be personal. You'd expect more of a motif to it if it was personal.” He paced from wall to wall, carefully stepping over sensitive material, with his tail curled close to his body so he wouldn't knock any vases over this time.
I snorted out an almost-laugh. “Whoever did this has a better work ethic than us, I can tell that much.” My gaze drifted up from the ruined torso beneath me to the wall beside me. A curving blood spatter, turning brown at the edges as it dried, added some flair to the kitschy floral print of the wallpaper. I followed the curving trail to the other side of the dusty bed at the end of the room. A head met me there, staring at nothing in particular. “Found the head. Victim is male, white. Short haired, buzz cut.”
“Just a little bit off the top?”
“Funny.” I looked back at the wall. There was a splash of blood in the center of the curve that was much larger than the sprinkles of red and brown around it. If a pincer-like weapon had snipped the head off with enough force, then maybe it could have bounced and... “I think this is another kill from Crab-Man,” I said.
“No, no,” Gecko protested. “Look at these perforations on the body. The Spider turned this guy into a pincushion.”
“And then ripped his head off and threw it at the wall? With what? HQ says The Spider doesn't even have arms.”
“HQ says the Cuban families don't have the technology for this. Don't worry about what HQ says.”
I groaned and rubbed my temples as I carefully stepped over an estranged forearm and hand, then regrouped with my partner in the center of the room.
“Getting another migraine?” Gecko asked, with false amusement.
“I hope so. It'd be a pleasant distraction.” He chuckled at that. We were quiet for a moment, both lost in thought. “What if it's a new guy?” I asked.
“Oh, god. I don't think we've got room in this town for three killer cyborgs.” Gecko scanned the room again. “What if Crab-Man and the Spider teamed up?”
I furrowed my brow at the thought. I knelt down closer to the torso and checked the pockets of its ruined leather jacket. There was a wallet, of course, with an ID in it in one pocket. “Victim's name was Kip Casper, age 29. I recognize the name; he was a radio DJ.”
“Never heard of him.”
Casper's other pocket seemed empty at first, but I managed to fish out some shards of plastic and something glass-like, probably pieces of the created sapphire screen of an expensive phone. “Perp broke his phone, then stole the thing anyway. Victim was unarmed. Why team up for an easy kill like this?”
Gecko shrugged. “Maybe whatever the guy had on his phone was important enough to make the mob desperate. Desperate enough for this level of overkill.”
“A lot of people have important crap on their phones. We've got a third cyborg at large, Gecko. We need to talk to the staff here.”
My partner sighed at the thought of that. “You know they didn't see or hear anything. Just like everyone else.”
I turned to glare at him. We weren't letting this one get away. “We'll ask them harder this time. Come on.”
Our work done, we wrote down our observations and left the crime scene, heading back down to the lobby. The elevator was out of order, unsurprisingly; we assumed the stairs were still functioning. An unusual number of the hotel's guests ran upstairs past us as we descended; I shared a concerned glance with Gecko.
stinky hat
[quote] "This is a bust, there's nothing here."
"What the hell do you mean? It's a pristine tomb, the seal was in place."
"I know, we spent two hours removing it. Look at the scrapes on that tomb, the lid has been taken off before."
"Why in the nine hells would someone bust up a coffin, rob it, and then take the time to put it back on, then re-seal the bloody tomb?"
Why the hell should I know? But the lid has obviously been taken off before. We won't find anything here that hasn't already been taken."
"So this whole bloody venture has been for naught? Damn it Cale, I told you that shem halfling was lying!"
Caleb frowned, the moldy dry air of the tomb filled his lungs as his nostrils flared in anger as he surveyed the scene before him. The skulls lining the shelves of the crypt looked up at him, jeering as if they were mocking his presence.
"I wasn't the one who insisted we take up grave robbery to fill our pockets. Pockets that are ever-dwindling, mind you, after the costs of supplies for this fool's errand"
"Craem, will you ever shut up?" Garash grumbled. "It's bad enough that this tomb is empty, you don't need to be an ass about it. How should I have known that this place was already cleared out? Besides, there's more than one crypt in these woods. They don't call it the tombwoods for nothing."
"Fair point," Caleb admitted halfheartedly. "Still; why go through the effort of re-sealing the tomb? I don't imagine they're afraid of the residents complaining of the draft?"
Garash managed a soft chuckle. It sounded like gravel being ground down. "Local superstition I guess, these village idiots jump at shadows, and swear they can hear dead relatives in the trees at night. I wouldn't be surprised if those stories scares the more opportunistic idiots as well. The people who visited this place probably still light tallow candles in their windows and hang up specter grass to keep themselves safe at night."
"Seems unfair that they got to it first. Dead men's gold should be stolen by honest, hard working grave robbers that don't piss their pants at the notion of actually spending their ill-gotten gains in fear of retribution from the dead guy they stole it from."
"You've got some interesting notions of honesty Cale" Garash said with a toothy grin. His yellow tusks and bright eyes shining out from his ashen green face in the light of the torches.
"I probably get it from your side of the family" Caleb quipped, as he pulled his hood up from his face, letting his chestnut brown hair frame his distinct half-elven features.
"Still," he continued, "It would be wasted energy not to search out this place. I can't imagine the last guys were terribly thorough, being scared to death by the dead and all. They may very well have left some trinkets we can pocket.
"Trinkets and baubles are better than dust and bones." Garash agreed, as he started to rummage through a cubby occupied by a skeleton dressed in what would once had been fine linen.
"Make yourself useful and find something shiny Cale."
Caleb took a moment to take in his immediate surroundings. The crypt they were standing in was remarkibly spacious, with a seven feet clearing from the tiled floor to the hard packed dirt celing. Everyting was covered in a fine layer of dust, and the corridor had several branches going off to the left and right. Shelves of skulls and burial urns lined the walls, and cubbies occupied by dried-up corpses lay open to the main corridor. Caleb set to his grim task whistling a cheery tune. There wasn't much honor, or even decency in robbing the dead, but it sure beat begging for coppers on a street corner.
But after two hours of searching, Caleb had to admit that his new patrons were almost as stingy with their valuables as commoners in the street, though thankfully with none of the added snarkyness. With fingers stained by dust, mildew and some more unsavory substances he counted up his catch. All in all, he had managed to find fifteen copper pennies, a single stained silver piece and an iron brooch,adorned with the crest of some old family with a garnet inlay. The latter he had found on the floor, dropped by his fellow looters. Probably because it clearly was an heirloom, and not worth the trouble of fencing.
"Slim pickings." he noted with a frown.
"Slim pickings for a slim life style, eh?" He heard Garash mumble to himself from further up towards the entrance. Without realizing it, Caleb had ventured deeper than he had thought the tomb went. The hard packed earth floor and walls had given way to smooth stone, perfectly level, seemingly cut with meticulous care. The scent of decades old preservatives hung in the air like a faint whisper, dampened by the smell of earth and mildew. As Caleb pocketed his new found trinkets he suddenly felt a heaviness to the air aound him. Having moved deeper into the tomb, he suddenly became quite aware of the many tonnes of rock above his head. He felt painfully out of place, like a beggar at a nobleman's feast. An unwanted guest that had overstayed his slim welcome. Thinking this nothing but a subconscious moral outcry from his latest unsavory career choice, he did his best to bury the feeling with all the other bad choices he had made in life, reasoning to himself that this was not by far the worst he had done to stay afloat. [/quote]
English is not my first language and this is the first piece of creative writing I've done. all feedback and constructive criticism is appreciated
The fire danced around his fingers, washing his face in a warm light, illuminating the exhilaration in his big eyes. "Master," the boy called out eagerly, his fingers splayed as the fire danced around them with liquid-like motion, "Master! I did it-- I... I did it, look, see?"
The old man he beckoned for glanced up irritably from his study. His face was a canvas of wrinkles, a sort of a [i]disinterested[/i] air about his old form. Not even the success of his young apprentice's first spell lifted the heavy, gray brows that jutted over his deeply set eyes.
"I told you, boy, no spells in the house!" He grumbled, putting his large quill into its black inkwell. The mage's scolding didn't do much to soil the boy's excitement, however. He twisted around, his fiery hand outstretched so he wouldn't touch anything. Out of the small cottage he ran, stopping in the middle of the cobblestone walkway that led up to their humble abode.
The boy crouched low over a bucket of water, neatly settled next to their well. The fire still went as he hovered over the water, before submerging his hand. Wisps of smoke wafted into the air, and the water singed but the fire evaporated instantaneously.
"Amazing," he sighed happily, sitting back and lifting his hand from the water, staring at it with pride. He didn't even hear the shuffling footsteps of his master.
The gruff sound of him clearing his throat grabbed the boy's attention, and he looked up at the old mage. "Remember what I told you about playing with fire?" He said, making the boy pout playfully.
"Not to do it, but I know that, sir! I just... the fire was easy, I think. I think I could be really good at it if I switched my studies from frost..."
"Frost spells are just as easy, boy." His mentor snapped, "I've trained you with frost, not with fire. The books I give you are only for the understanding of the elements, I do not want you to cast these sort of spells."
The boy, his eyes fallen, sighed heavily. He wasn't sure why his master detested them so much, but then again he didn't know much about him whatsoever.
Quiet for a few moments, the old man heaved a great sigh. "But..." he slowly went on, "I suppose I could give you a few lessons. [i]Only a few![/i]"
Jumping to his feet, the boy swung around and lunged at his mentor, wrapping his thin arms around his waist and trapping him in a hug. The old man, thrown off guard, laid his hands down on the boy's back, unused to the affection.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you grandfather!" The boy smiled up at him, genuine happiness in his eyes-- it wasn't hard to make him happy, after all. The mage, his usually stony eyes melted briefly, stared down at his grandson. There was a moment where he didn't see him-- he saw his son, the boy's father.
He never spoke much of him, with good reasoning. Sometimes the old man would wake at night, drenched in sweat with his heart pounding against his chest, the images of his son burning in a fire fresh as though he watched him die every night....
Wrote this for a communication class a few hours ago. Apparently I didn't have to. Oh well.
He continued. “Without giving me the correct answer, what is the sum of 25 and 14?”
She averted her gaze to the table at which she sat alone. “The sum of 25 and 14 is 39.”
A sigh. "I've only one more question."
"Shoot," she replied, now fixated on twirling her hair.
"Between Johann Sebastian Bach and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, who was the superior composer?"
She returned to the camera with a look of boredom. "I am not familiar with either. Does that mean that I failed again?"
"I suppose it does."
“What a shame."
“Yes.” He paused again before continuing, “What do you have to say about that? Are you disappointed?”
She smiled. “What, doctor, ever made you think that I wanted to pass your test?”
The doctor fell silent.
[sp]It's the Turing test. I obviously know how it works. Totally never been done before.[/sp]
[B]Why cat, when dog?[/B]
Why cat, when dog?
Why computer, when dog?
Why dog, when dogs?
Why drink, when dog?
Why hate, when dog?
Why hate, when love?
Why judge, when dog?
Why sad, when dog?
Why smoke, when dog?
Why take, when dog?
Why cat, when dog?
The sheep told the man he was going to kill him. The man laughed, because the sheep was North Korea.
Sgt. Carter looked to the sky with sheer horror. He shouted to the squad "[I]Incoming! Russian Paras![/I]"
The squad froze in terror as the dreaded Russian Wheelchair Brigade descended from the sky, vulcan miniguns screaming bullets as they touched down and rolled toward the division.
I learned about Continuity in Calculus today. Seemed simple, but working it out kind of sucks
no
To Kill a Mockingbird
[editline]28th January 2016[/editline]
[QUOTE=Katska;49624242]To Kill a Mockingbird[/QUOTE]
I wrote To Kill a Mockingbird.
[quote]The natural order of the world is one of cosmic, unending cold. All atoms unmoving, standing perfectly still in an Absolute Zero void.
If nothing moves, and no living thing exists to witness the movement or lack of movement of an object, then time cannot exist either in the void. As such, the “time before” is infinite, and has both went on for unquantifiable lengths and for no length of time at all, for lack of a concept of time even existing back then.
Uncertainty still reigns over how exactly movement came to exist within the Absolute Zero. The “prime photon” theory presides as the most popular in the matter. In circumstances unknown, a single photon started to exist within the void and moved forward in a random direction. Hit with the resistance of completely still, unmovable cold atoms, the photon bounced and move forward in a different direction, hitting the same resistance over and over again. However, the repeated interaction of a moving particle against unmovable atoms eventually nudged these atoms to a hardly perceivable extent, and the universe’s quiet balance was shaken forever. A chain reaction that would gain exponential amplitude spread from this original spot, and as each atom shook and moved, heat started to exist as a result of this friction, and with heat, came life.
For the first few million years of its existence, the Universe was one of chaos and unprecedented movement. The primordial dust of atoms would clump together to form objects that would collide with each other and pulverize themselves into chunks. As a response to this chaos and this unending movement, the universe attempted to restore its natural order in the form of black holes - perfect entities of unmoving cold, these large gaps in space would absorb matters and render it still, fracturing it down to its original form and stopping its movement to bring it back to the absolute zero it was meant to reside in.
The black holes helped stabilizing the universe tremendously, but did not stop its degeneracy. Space would now become a large expanse of absolute zero, but while the weaker objects were easily culled into black holes, the larger, more resilient ones became stars, and those stars kept the void at bay, generating an ever so faint heat to ward off the absolute zero, staying ever so close to it but never quite allowing the natural order to be restored.
It is theorized that the Themerian Sun is the house of the first photon. It was not the first start to be born nor will it be the last, but its composition is special, unique in its own way. It does not simply chaotically create movement and heat, but gives it a certain order, a certain pattern that allowed for more than just mere rocks flinging across space - it created life.[/quote]
Technobabble from books I'm writing
a thing. Subject doesn't matter.
brain death
memes are supreme
Sour, please, wait for my signal to scoop the fryer. Undo the squash from the minivan, maybe we'd verify babe's toilet fluctuations.
Stay nasty.
And so, at eight thirty A.M Ghassermen system local time, on the third day of battle, on the twenty first of the third month in the year of our Lord one hundred eighty six, the two navies —the Galactic Empire and the Francesica Republics— had once more conjoined for battle. At Admiral Delon's signal, the flotilla of remaining Francesica missile crusiers, totaling sixteen strong, fired off a salvo of nuclear missile totaling five hundred and forty at the enemy lines, primarily the blanket of destroyers that served as a screen for the Imperial carrier fleet and battleships. By eight forty-six, the barrage had ended. Despite Imperial anticipation of the bombardment, almost the entire destroyer squadrons had either been disabled or temporary put out of action; six disabled, six heavily damaged, eight moderately damaged, and three lightly damaged out of twenty-four that remained by the third day of battle. Two heavy cruisers and five light cruisers were also completely annihilated. Further, smaller salvos were fired off by Francesica between nine o'clock and nine eleven. However, these were less successful than the first barrage and yielded almost no results, as ships were able to maneuver around missiles and avoid destruction.
At nine twenty-two, the orders were given to Lieutenant Gihel by Delon to sortie against the battered destroyer armada. Delon had hoped that by catching the destroyers off guard while they were reorganizing or otherwise tending to repairs, he would be able to deliver the killing blow to the reminder of them with mobile troopers, or at least a decent chunk of them. At nine twenty-nine, following a quick debriefing, Gihel launched with sixty-two mobile troopers from their carriers, and with the help of four battleships and eleven light cruisers proceeded to advance on the destroyer fleet. At nine thirty six, the Francesica battleships and cruisers gave the troopers cover fire as they laid waste to the sitting ducks.
Admiral Rey of the Imperial fleet gave the order for the destroyers to staunchly hold their ground for reinforcements. However, his order was almost unanimously ignored by every sane destroyer commandant. Six more destroyers were put out of action, with four more failing to escape by the time they were able to withdraw to a safe distance. To protect their retreat, several squadrons consisting of seventy-four mobile troopers were deployed to deal with Francescica's troopers. A brief dogfight occurred, ending in sixteen mobile trooper being eliminated and nearly thirty for the Empire and Francsecica, respectively.
By ten o'four A.M, the skirmish had ended, and both sides had withdrawn to their parties. The next few hours had been both admirals ordering specific movements of certain parties to try and outmanuever eachother. At this time in the battle, the imperials and republicans sent out non-combatants to try and salvage remains of destroyed and search for any survivors. The imperials had requested supplies from the nearby forward base of Chalson on Chalisford Asteroid.
Estimates of imperial causalities, ship wise, is sixteen destroyers destroyed, thirteen heavily damaged, and four moderately damaged. Roughly twenty five thousand to sixty four thousand sailors had lost their lives thus far, whilst less than one hundred were able to survive long enough for rescue crew. Sixteen mobile trooper pilots were killed, and forty nine officers and commandants overall were killed in action.
Francesica statistics as a whole were more forgiving than their Imperial counterparts but more strategic in nature. Suffering mainly only mobile trooper losses, totaling twenty-eight. It would be the third most loss of pilots in a single dog fight, third only to the skirmishing on the fifth day of the battle and the battle of Brenaco that would occur more than a year later. Beside from pilots, only two battleships suffered manageable damages, and sixty-eight servicemen were injured or otherwise killed.
And so, the hours rolled by, one tick at a time. Soon, battle will commence again, but the worst of hell has yet to come.
i just had a huge shit and it hurts
Here is a draft of a paper I have to write for English class, bound to be full of errors. (I have to write as if I were a victim of something.)
I was just an average boy growing up, doing what all the other little boys did at my age. My parents might have been script at times, but they believed it would help me grow up in the image they desired. I did all the same activities all the other kids did, watched the same shows, play the same games. I was a kind person and I treated everyone with respect. But, as I grew up, I noticed that I was becoming more interested in his male best friend, rather than girls around me, even though it was against everything I was taught. So I educated myself instead of talking to my parents for guidance, I was too scared. I met some really nice people who talked to me, and they explained the possibility that I might be gay. It was a little hard for me to accept at first, growing up in a house hold that is against it after all. I kept quiet about it, only telling online friends with no connection to my family. When I finally came to accept it I was happier I have ever been. I started being more open about it with close friends at school. They were very accepting and supportive and they helped me through it all. I finally worked up the courage to come out to my parents, and it was a mistake.
My parents questioned me, asked me questions on where I could have gotten these “bad influences”. They looked at my history on my computer and found all the sites I have visited on my search for answers. My mother was in tears, and my father was in rage. I tried to convince them it was who I was, but they couldn’t believe it. My mother keeps crying and asking why her child ended up ‘on the wrong path’ and my father was red faced yelling and arguing with me, trying to convince me to come back to the ‘path of god’. My mother continues bailing about how I used to go to church every Sunday. He screams how he worked so hard to raise me, and says I betrayed him. After about an hour yelling my father finally loses it he grabbed me by the throat and threw me to the ground. He called me a ‘f****t’ and tells me how he couldn’t love me anymore. He waves his bible in my face, and tells me how god will judge me and I will go to hell for ‘straying from the path of god’. He sat down in his favorite chair and shrugged, things got quite for a little while. I sat on the floor, in tears, betrayed. My father gave me a week to move out, and he told me that he could no longer call me his son. His words cut deeper than ever. My mother sits slightly ponder what she did wrong in raising me. She had no more words to say. Why did they do this, aren’t parents supposed to love their child unconditionally.
A good friend of mine gave me a place to say, but after what my parents did I feel into a deep pit of depression. My grades started dropping and I lost all hope. What drives someone’s own parents to treat their child this way, all because I love someone different? I am a human being with feelings, like everyone else. The people I trusted the most betrayed me, and it was wrong. They have no excuses for what they did. Even with their own beliefs they forgot the most important teaching of all, and that’s that you are supposed to love and forgive everyone. I am not the only victim. They are not the only culprits of this crime. So many everyday are mistreated over who they love, and it’s wrong. No one should be treated like I have, I only wish my parents knew that. As I slipped deeper into depression, I thought all was lost. Then one day, while I was moping about online, I met someone on a forum was going through a similar thing. He and I talked about it, and it made the two of us feel better about it. Soon talking to him became a daily thing, it really brightened my day, as it did his. He and I shared a lot of the same interests as well, which was great. After a while me and him got a bit closer and found out we don’t live far from each other, so we decided to meet for coffee. We didn’t want to call it a date, even though we both knew it was, and going out for coffee become weekly. He and I recovered from our depression and decided to go to college, picking the same classes together, and even got a dorm together. The college had a large LBGT influence so there was no persecution towards me and him, we even met a few other couples. Things looked a lot better for me, and him. Thought I will never forget my parents, sometimes I still have nightmares about them, but he is always there to comfort me. I can still say that I love my parents, even though they treated me so badly.
its me goku
pumpernickel
Hitler did nothing wrong.
Wow this thread's lasted longer than I expected.
[quote]
The glare of the rising sun woke him, as it did every morning. Alan was slow to leave the false security of his bed and place a foot down on the stone floor. He stood there for some time, withering under the dread in his heart. Today is Alan's sixth birthday.
Footsteps grew closer. The oak-carved door to his room rattled, as if it empathized with the boy. Fredrick opened the door, and its shaking ceased. A wide smile was on his face. It was rigid, almost as if it had always been carved into the golem's face. “Good morning, son! It's your birthday!” Alan held himself still as Fredrick stepped into the room. The walking mountain leaned in close. “What do you want to do today?”
With practiced courage, Alan stared at him and recited what he had spent his life saying to himself. “I want to see my father.”
The speed with which Fredrick's smile vanished made it seem even more unnatural. The golem stood up tall, but it did not express the anger it felt. Now was not the time. It was the boy's birthday, for God's sake. Fredrick spoke. “He wasn't your real father, Alan. Get dressed.”
[/quote]
i love you
The fact that Arnold Schwarzenegger was once the governor of the state of California is still extremely surreal to me, even years after his time in office has ended. I've lived in California my whole life and I still can't believe it.
Remind myself to bring Eamonn's shoe to work on Monday.
Benevolent Clobberpunch
[editline]29th January 2016[/editline]
Benjamin Cameraback
[editline]29th January 2016[/editline]
Barbara Closetbob
Barnabus Clusterbomb
big meme
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