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The new and improved completely inoffensive BEA Novel thread

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#1 | Posted: 11/29/2013 21:28 | Post subject: The new and improved completely inoffensive BEA Novel thread Reply with quote
All credit to it's original conception still goes to Jhereko. Again, all add to novel, make your post as long or short as you want, just don't post twice consecutively. (You don't have to copy and paste previous entries)

Anyway here's what you may have missed

The original authors wrote:
The heavy rain always masked unpleasant sounds. A crying baby, a barking dog, The Joshua Tree – it was almost like the rain was protecting our ears. This night though the rain was covering over someone screaming. In the dilapidated house on the corner of Manic St there were constant screams – but you couldn’t hear them unless you were 2 feet away from the source. As it so happened a cloaked man with stringy dark hair coming out from under his hood, was.

“I don’t believe you” uttered the cloaked man whose face was still hidden.
“I’m telling you the truth bruv!” cried the pale man tied to the chair.
“No one could like James Blake” hissed the cloaked man
“M8, Why would I lie about this?” said the prisoner in a thick irish accent.
“There are these…people…who are dishonest about what they like, I know it I just know it. There was something there..now it’s gone and floated off into the ether”
“Do you have proof?”

The cloaked man cackled a sickening high pitched cackle.

“Proof? You only have to listen to the music. I don’t like James Blake therefore it is dishonest for you to like it.”
“Look M8 I’m not even that bothered…I just wanna go down to the pub and have a pint. Te-toy-te-tay.”
“Look, GeevyDallas or DLGGLD whatever your name is today…You’re not going anywhere until you admit that you only like James Blake to look cool”
“I won’t admit that because it’s not true. Look I’m actually an alien in this country I just want to go home.”
“Alien? You say?”
“Aye, I’m from Eyerrrrlandddd te-toy-te-tay.”
“Alien…what…what if we shoot an alien?”
“Now- what do you mean ‘we’?” Geevy asked
“’We’ ‘they’ that is all there is” the cloaked man stated while pulling out a pistol and aiming it
“Now steady on mate, it’s just an album chart” Geevy pleaded
“There is no such thing as ‘just a chart’ in BEAland Geevy, you know that.”
“Okay, just try not to get any blood on my sneakers M8” Geevy cried

Outside the rain masked the screams again. a wet newspaper flew by. it read: 'MANIC STREET KILLER strikes again'.


Meanwhile, in a place far away, the one only known as "The Dingo's worst nightmare" extinguished his last Pall Mall as he played the final note on his new synthesizer, unable to muster any new creative ideas due to the fatigue of today's... unpleasent... buisness. Packing it away for the night, he double-checked to make sure both the doors of his small farmhouse was locked before heading to bed. Right before he was able to finally fall into his much-deserved slumber, the phone rang with what seemed like a violent urgency, maybe the fact that it was early in the mourning along with nobody having called him on his landline in a long, long time that sounded his personal alarm bell. Picking it up a bit hesitantly, he held it up to his ear and said "yes, who's calling?". "It's me, motherbitch", said the barry white-like voice that was coming from the otherline, "and Im calling you because he's back again", and the very next instant he could hear the person, the one he knew all too well, hang up with a particular potency. The brevity of the call, however, said everything this man needed to know, and after a long silence where he just say wide-eyed in the dark, he went downstairs, terrified of knowing what he needed to do next.


Purple puts the phone down on the receiver. I raise an eyebrow.

We'd done dirty work before. Made our share of messes. But tonight we were cleaning up after someone else. A grey matter rorschach pattern had been painted on the far wall of the hotel room with a shotgun, and the artist was laying before us, sprawled upon the floor, skull blown off from the jaw up, gore seeped carpet beneath her holy head. The maker and the medium. In the bathroom a vague warning is smeared on the glass in white lipstick. "He has come back again".

"What about the man," I say, bringing a cigarette to my lips, "the one they said was staying here with her?"
Purple walks forward and lifts the girl's skirt with his cane, "I don't think we have to worry about him anymore".
I stare between the fetid legs of death, "good call" I nod.

After dissolving the body we leave, I squirt some purel on my hands and rinse, rinse like I'm not used to blood on my hands. Closing the door, Purple slips the sign reading "Pam" out of the tab at the front of the door so it reads "vacant". Tonight was going to be a very long night indeed.


Different day, different country. The cloaked man, reluctant to surrender the mystique created by his strange fashion choices, was burning under the hot Australian sun. He looked at his watch and sighed. His objective was late. Typical of these hypocrites. This one was special, though. His lies went deeper than only music - he also pretended to enjoy bad and weird movies.

The pale man was starting to sweat. He wouldn't take his cloak off, not ever. He saw something move out of the corner of his yellow, slitted eye. A young man was walking down the dry, hot street. He was wearing a white shirt with rhombuses on it.

"Rhombuses? That's wrong. That's bad taste. Why'd he wear that?" the man wondered.

He followed the unsuspecting man down a couple of blocks, using this thing humans called "newspapers" to conceal himself whenever the target looked around. He started getting apprehensive, he had had enough of this small town in the middle of nowhere. He was ready for his mission.

David opened the front door to his house. He saw a strange shadow move quickly, and then everything went black. When he opened his eyes, his head hurt. He was dangling by his wrists from a rope in the ceiling of his living room.

"Greetings, human." said the pale, robed man. "I've come to unravel your lies."
"What the foick, mate? What's the foick's happening?", said the hanging man as he struggled. "This isn't noice at all"

The alien unraveled a list, smirking. Tsk, tsk.

"Owen Pallett, The Books, Talk Shmalk. Tim Hecker. Why?" asked the man sitting in David's couch.
"What are you toilking about? Is this about last noight?"
"Why would you lie about the music you listen to? Is it just to seem cooler than everyone else?"
"What the fuck. I like those bands. Now would you please untiee me?"
"Don't. Lie. It won't help you. Admit your sin and you'll walk out of here alive. Why do you people insist on pretending about the music you enjoy? I don't understand it. William Basinski. Who could ever enjoy that? Nobody. You're all lying."
"Jesus Christ, mate. I really do like that kind of music! Music taste is subjective, after all."
"That word. It keeps coming up. My translator modules can't find the correct translation in my native language."

Suddenly, he reached an item in the list which made him cringe. He narrowed his eyes and hissed sharply.

"Joanna. Newsom. There's no forgiveness for you. Arty garbage for liberal chic students."

The pale man looked up and smiled. His mission wasn't over yet. He would get to the bottom of this.

He raised his gun and aimed carefully at the Australian's terrified face.


Somewhere, in a place in the far north, removed from civilization as most of us know it, a japanese schoolgirl and a muscle-shirt-and-shades spouting local were trading jokes and insults at an eskimo bar. "I do honestly have the Good Vibrations" the boy known as Nachesian said with a smirk, and his friend known only as Ritsu emphatically rolled her eyes, suggesting they put on some Kenny G. "Haha fuck no" said Nach, "Im rocking some XX" he said as he made his way over to the jukebox. "Fucking douche" muttured ritsu as she went back to her cocktail. "Oh they're all like that" chuckled the one nearest to her at the bar. Stopping for a second, Ritsu replied "I haven't seen you here before, who are you?". "Oh you may know who I am" said the stranger, and he pulled up his hand and formed a mouth with his thumb and index finger and changed his voice completely, and instantly Ritsu felt a flush of excitement. "Finnigan!" she exclaimed immediately. "Indeed, he's super bad ass" he replied instantly. "Holy shit, what are you doing here?" asked Ritsu with great curiosity. "Im actually here to see you two" he said with a sudden solemnity.

"we watch things on V-C-Rrrrrs" Nach hummed as he returned to the bar, after noticing a new stranger was talking to his friend he immediately got curious. "Who are you?" Nach echoed ritsu as he introduced himself to the stranger, noticing ritsu's countenance of trepidation. "Not to beat around the bush, Im here to see both of you. Something bad is happening, in a place far from here, but it's involving people you have known in the past, have worked for. Im only a messenger, but I know mentioning the words... (he looked over both his shoulders and dropped his voice to a quiet whisper)... Dingo's nightmare... will tell you all he need to know. Because someone is back, and that's only part of the story. There's more this time. All I want to give you is this". He handed Nach a piece of paper. Reading it slowly, all the good vibes he was feeling this evening dissipated immediately. "The one's responsible for delivering this message need you. Right away. That is all I can tell you at the moment, for I know nothing more. But is likely you will see me again. I wish you all the best of luck. You're going to need it" he said, never changing his tone of utter solemnity and clear sense of dread. "What's your name in case we need to contact you again?" asked Nach. Stopping for a second, the messenger responded with "My given name is unimportant, but you can call this number (he handed them a card), on a secure line, and ask only for "Junodog".


It was close to midnight as the cloaked man made his way back to a quiet and idyllic neighbourhood somewhere in the suburbs of West Midlands. He approached a modest but newly built house that, despite its average appearance, still gave away the feeling of being abandoned. That thought had crossed his mind, as he observed his untidy front lawn and watched the leaves rustle underneath his feet. Suddenly, as if he had heard a sound, he turned around and looked down the street. The light was on in the house at the end of the street, but apart from that, the world around him seemed asleep. Still, not being able to shake the feeling of being watched, he wasted no more moments before unlockinng the door and finally entering the house.

There was an uneasy emptiness to the living room. A smashed television with DVDs ripped apart laying in front of it on one side of the room, and only one piece of furniture - a rocking chair, turned towards the corner, where the only remaining object in the room stood. The sight of the Christmas tree, fully decorated for months, brought the cloaked man a smile on his face, and he slid into the chair, still fully dressed, to finally take a rest after what has been a long day. He joyfully observed the flickering lights on the tree, before being thrown out of his daze by a sound of a phone ringing. He slowly walked upstairs to the room where the sound was coming from. The phone, sitting on a night table was the only object in the room, but it has been used for other purposes before. The blood stains on white walls gave away that much. He picked up and waited for the person on the other side to speak.


They knew it was stupid. The long songs of voliatle rage clearly gave the impression (accurately, no doubt) that they we're playing Red House Painters. And what else would someone suspect when the words "FAAAAADEEE INTO UUUUUUUUU" we're uttered so slowly and dreamlike? Mazzy Star. An "unforgiveable" choice of music in these times. They saw the reports coming out of Manic Street, but they thought that just stayed on Manic Street. They were dead wrong. This was happening everywhere.

When Golden Walrus woke up, he noticed several things. First he noticed a heavy bag was covering his face, with only tiny slits giving them any sort of outside view. He noticed his friend, known only as Mr Toader, lying next to him. He noticed they we're chained to the ground they were laying on. If that wasn't alarming enough, it was becoming clear that the pitch black room they were currently inhabiting was moving, as they could hear the gravel being drove on beneath them. Instantly he wanted to communicate with Toader, but with that the most frightning discovery was made: his lips were sown shut.

It seemed like an eternity this drive for which they had no idea how it started nor where they were going. Eventually they heard some wheezes and then the vehicle that must've been transporting them came to a sudden halt. For a while (too long) there was nothing but silence. Then a pair of doors directly behind them swung open, and two pairs of hands violenty grabbed hold of them and pulled them outside. Being dragged along what seemed like a rough gravel walkway, Golden Walrus could vagely make out what was happening around him. Scarily Mr Toader looked lifeless behind him. Perhaps more hideous was the person dragging him down the road. His face seemed...carved... into a hideous grin, and he caught a glimpse of his forehead, where a dark tattoo was conspiciously blazing the logo OBJECTIVITY. Not knowing what to make of this, GW kept his head down, desperately thinking of a way he could get out of this. After about a block or so walk, they eventually arrived at what seemed like an almost medieval castle, something that had to be very, very old. They were a long way from their beloved Bay Area allright. As they were forced up to the front doors, Golden Walrus noticed the words JG on the giant handles.

After they were forced inside, their masks were removed and the doors swung close quickly behind him. Golden Walrus initially tried to make his way back to the doors, but hearing what sounded like a giant bolt being placed against them and remembering the steel handcuffs were still upon him, it made the attempt at a quick escape useless. His eyes veered wildly across the room. He noticed his friend was slowly stirring awake, but still looked pretty dazed and lifeless. The more striking thing he realized was how their was a bright light glaring above them, but at the other end of the room there was an almost force-field like sphere of total darkness. He had no idea what was happening other than he was scared out of his wits.

"So nice of you to join us here" a high male voice called out suddenly. Startled, GW noticed it was coming out of the sphere of darkness. Instinctively he wanted to call out for help, but of course that wasn't possible now. "Do you enjoy Hayden?" the stranger replied after a long, tense pause, and then paused again as if GW could respond. "Who? You may ask that. Well I think he's the world. luckily I have him right here. Hayden!" the man yelled and then snapped his fingers. An eerie blue light suddenly appeared to the right of the sphere, and Walrus noticed a boy, about his age of eighteen, was standing there with a giant saxophone and started to play, a composition so calm and perfect it was, under these circumstances, utterly terrifying. After he played for a minute, the shadow-hidden man replied "hmm, doesn't seem to be to your liking. I guess if it's not about hospices or computers that are OK, you people don't fawn over it. That's a shame. Well I guess enough of this nonsense, it's time for me to step out and explain what's going on before you're no longer able to hear it. Now I warn you, many people say I can be their very best nightmare. I prefer to say Im their sexiest" he said, exiting out of the darkness after he uttered that last word and finally revealing himself in the light. If GoldenWalrus could scream, he may have been able to shatter the walls, cause even after all this nothing prepared him for who he saw at this very second.


"Just one more?"
The bartender shook his head.
"Then I'll take my business elsewhere, thankyouverymuch" slurred Purple, as he span around, slipped off the barstool and proceeded to get violently acquainted with the particular texture and aroma of the establishment's piss-soaked floor.

He got to his feet and stared wildly around the room, searching for his partner. As it so happened, Jack was currently being assaulted by a gang of skinheaded twenty-somethings and involuntarily exiting the building via a shattering window. While Purple knew that based on prior outings this was probably entirely Jack's fault, he nevertheless felt obliged to permanently blind at least one of the assailants. He grabbed a pool cue and beat down two of the boys before being winded by an incoming fist. He too was thrown through the window, albeit with less shattering.

Purple landed on the pavement next to Jack.
"What the hell did you say to piss these guys off?"
"Nothing! I asked if any of them were fans of Coheed and Cambria and they just went nuts."
"I'm too fucking drunk to think of a witty response right now."

The skinheads piled out of the window and stood over them. One crouched down and whispered to Jack.
"This is just a warning. Don't let us catch you talking like that again, or we might be inclined to give you a tattoo."
The skinheads chuckled at Jack's confused expression. One by one they rolled up their sleeves, revealing the same identical tattoo:


The skinheads strolled back then into the pub, as Purple threw up all over Jack's face.


As usual, all the one simply known as "Lethal" wanted was a good dish of curry and a cheap pint. This place was remote enough, where surely he wouldn't be discovered. He's done a lifetime of troubling things to give himself a global reputation and a well-deserved monikor of "Lethal", but this tiny, quaint pub seemed innocous enough. Indeed the place had good food and the cheap pint was perfectly pleasent, so all seemed to work out. However, the music kept blaring, alternating between whatever generic fit of masculine rage, and the locals kept turning it up and making a constant racket. Calmly he tried to ask him if they would turn it down a bit, please. What, you don't like it? asked the one who seemed to be their, uh, leader of sorts, due to the fact he was banging his head the longest. I just want to enjoy my meal in peace, Lethal said with equal calmness. Haha, no way, this music is the greatest ever, objective fact. That line made him cringe, but he grinned and beared it for a little bit. Eventually one of them asked So what kind of music does the almighty enjoy?, clearly mocking him in the lamest way possible. Uh, I enjoy hip-hop the most but things like reggae, singer-songwriter and dub-step as well. They all snorted. Oh fucking hell, like Rappers have any talent, as they turned around and went back to their pool tables.

They dug their own shallow graves at that point.

He was taking shelter deep in the woods where he was sure nobody would find him, with the only person he knew in the world he could trust. He was being treated to a bottle of fine wine and many great ominiously soothing singer-songwriter records by this more courteous gentlemen. Given he did have to watch one-man plays where the one known as Namron Setab would alternate between his own clothes and that of his dead mother's, but I guess that was just inevitable in a safe house like this. All seemed to be going well until they heard a knock on the door late at night. Lethal jumped up with a fright, but Namron told him to be calm and wait up here while he checked it out. Peeking out from the door, Lethal saw Namron open the door and a short-statue visitor appeared at the doorstep. "Hello, I am here to partake a message to Lethal. It's okay, I come in peace, but Dingo's Nightmare needs him now. He (saying 'He' with particular emphasis) is back, but the problem is there seems to be a lot more this time. Lethal is needed badly, and were more than willing to protect him from his outside problems he's currently experiencing. Please give this to him, it's life and death now. That is all" and he disseapered in an instant.

Lethal sat stone faced in the doorway. Ramron came back up and after stopping at Lethal's door, he proclaimed "I guess the past will never truly stay buried. You're needed, as you must've heard. You know what to do".

Lethal went downstairs, knowing what he needed to bring to the meeting that was sure to take place and what he eventually needed to do. It wasn't going to be pleasent, but he's made his way in the world doing a lifetime of unpleasent things that needed to be done. After a long gulp, Lethal said goodbye and parted the safe house, on his way to meet the people he knew all too well.

Glistening from sweat, the heat exuding from his body drew comparisons to the sun, not even the Cumbrian breeze rushing through his car windows could cool him down. He could barely hear himself think, his head was swaying from side to side, he was half way between rage and fear, sickness and health. The words "objectivity" seemed to be whispered from all angles, drowning out the sound of Lostprophets hit single Last Train Home. Was it all connected? Was Ian Watkins all to blame? It seemed too easy to connect it all to him, didn't it? This was all running through The Sun's head as he abandoned his car, he aimlessly searched for someone to help him, bursting out of his now soaked rugby attire he resembled the incredible hulk, only sexier. Not knowing his surroundings he cascaded over a fence and was knocked out cold, he didn't know it yet, but this is where he was looking for. He opened his eyes and was greater with a "lel" from a local youngster, he didn't recognize where he was but felt safe, the young man brought him some food and drink and they got acquainted with each other

Last edited by GeevyDallas on 11/30/2013 15:36; edited 1 time in total
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#2 | Posted: 11/29/2013 21:55 | Post subject: Reply with quote
Drak let out a long sigh of boredom. This party was a total bust, everybody was making fun of her for showing up yet again in a pokemon costume. She didn't care. If they knew what she was capable of, they would have nothing but total sub-servient fear towards her. About to blow it off, her eyes happened to catch something that drew her, ahem, intrigue. It was a young girl in a totally inauthentic cat costume, looking a bit lonely as she sat in a dark corner of the room. Drak took another sip of her beer and quickly made her way over to that part of the room.

"Et que pourriez-vous faire ici, belle inconnue?" asked Drak to the cat-girl. All she got was a silent, somewhat flustered response. Drak grinned. "American, I see". The girl smiled, "Yes" she responded, sinking the word a bit as it came out. "No shame, people from all overz the world are here, this always seems to place to be, but it's always filled with a bunch of shallow connards, except maybe you. And who might you be?" she asked with a hammy fake innocence. The stranger said nothing for a bit, but then raised her hand like a paw and just said "MEOOWWWWW". Drak let out a long laugh and said "Oh you are just too preciossz" she responded. "You know this party is kind of dead, there's an all night cafe around the block, care for a latte?"

They sat into the wee hours of the morning, discussing seemily everything and anything. The one she could only call "Meow" talked about the boredom in her small southern US town and the need to get out to a place as exciting as this, and Drak talked about her life and past, albeit most judiciously cause there are some things she would only take to the grave. After their last bits of coffee were gone, Drak was about to propose something else, until her phone violently peeped by her side. Oh gawd, who could this be she thought. "Im terribly sawrry, do you mind?" she asked her new friend. Meow nodded and said no problem.

It turned out to be a text, but from a number that she didn't recognize and one that looked like it was intentionally manipulated when the the text was sent. Something was a bit off. She tentatively opened it and started to read "He's back. There's more. Geevy and Dave are dead. You're needed now, no questions asked. Please keep in touch only through this number. that is all. - DN". Those last two letters were all she needed to know. About to make an excuse to get out of there quickly, all that proved unneccessary when a body suddenly slammed through the cafe's front door. It looked like a teenager of about eighteen, only clearly the body had gone through hell. Scars were present everywhere. Most strikingly, however, was along the mouth. Half of it seemed to be almost sown shut, while the other was just covered in a dry crimson red. Although he remained mostly incomprehensible with his cries, Drak could pick "KAN SOMEVODY HALP ME PLZZZZZEEE! JG..... HE'S HERE!"

Last edited by Saoirse on 12/01/2013 04:42; edited 1 time in total
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#3 | Posted: 11/29/2013 22:34 | Post subject: Reply with quote
"Did you hear the news came across the air today? Someone has been found on the rocks down in the bay."

The TV screen told the same old story it had been reporting for the past few days. A corpse was found at the end of Rockist BEAY. The only item of clothing was a custom made cowboy hat, with an extendable white hood contained inside. Stranger still, was the corpse of a baboon close by. The police had no info, other than a cryptic message drawn in blood on the walls, "#Nezzled" As TELO moved towards the TV he paused for a second, and muttered contemptuously "Bet it was some dirty Nigga's", reflecting on how this wasn't a racist statement in the least. He turned on his DVD player, inserting disc 1 of series four of The Next Generation, and curled up with his Jeff Lynne body pillow.
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#4 | Posted: 11/30/2013 15:22 | Post subject: Reply with quote
Drak watched the sandy countryside flow across her rear view mirror, glowing hazy blue in the moonlight. The radio was turned off. It was safer that way. She turned to gaze at Meow curled up in the backseat, dozing peacefully. The girl's hair flickered upon her brow, caught by the wind that was gushing through the open window.

Was it so wrong to want some company? Meow wasn't stupid, and she'd agreed to help. But could she really understand? How could anyone possibly understand how dangerous this man was? The sea drifted into view, and the familiar smell tugged at Drak's memory. The midnight ferry awaited. She pulled up at the dock and gently woke her passenger.

"We're here. Are you absolutely sure you want to do this? I can't guarantee your safety."
"It's okay. I trust you."

This was somehow the last thing Drak wanted to hear. She forced a smile and they both got out of the car.

"Who the bollocks is she?"

Lethal stared at Meow distrustfully, puffing a foul-smelling cigarette. Nachesian rolled his eyes.

"If she's a friend of Drak she's clearly alright, eh?"
"Yeah, take a chill pill Lethal", Ritsu chimed in. "I've got a couple in my bag if you want one."

Ritsu smiled and winked at Meow. Drak felt inexplicably uncomfortable about this and put her arm around Meow.

"Well let's get on board", grumbled Lethal. "The island is roughly six hours away. That's if we're lucky. If we're unlucky, we capsize on the several miles of reef surrounding it. The dingo man will meet us there."

The five of them piled in and dismounted the ferry from the dock. In the shadows, a hideous grinning tattooed face watched them sail away. He licked the broken skin around his lips and pulled out an old mobile phone covered in scuffmarks, then dialed a number. In an abandoned house lit dimly with Christmas lights, a phone rang.
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#5 | Posted: 11/30/2013 17:38 | Post subject: Reply with quote
Taking an extra long swing of the remaining brew in his cracked bar glass, the one known as the Dingo's worst nightmare continued his impatient wait for Junodog's update. He was quite late, which worried DWN immensely, but he kept consoling himself that the strange setting must be disorienting the DN messenger. Indeed, it was always risky to have a visit in public, but he was nowhere near any safe houses and he didn't trust any forests or remote towns in the fear they may be monitored. Instead he choose a place with a weary barkeep who owed him everything, for whom they spoke different languages but were connected by the experience of witnessing things no decent human should see in their lifetime. He would be able to monitor who exactly was in the bar and the language barrier made it much more likely that a bystander wouldn't pick up on anything that was said between the guest and his messenger. Nothing was certain, but this seemed to be the only way. He had to meet Juno in person.

About to go back up to the bar after he un-discreetly slammed down his empty glass, he suddenly heard a familiar voice come from behind him "hello, Ricardo". That alias was only known to a few people in this world, so Ricardo turned around and immediately proclaimed quietly "Junodog, you crazy motherfucker, what the hell happened?". Carefully coming over to the booth they shared and then talking in a low whisper "it's best not to come at an expected time. If anybody outside knew something, they would be thrown off course." Ricardo nodded his head in agreement.

"And indeed I can deliver much good news today. Purple and Jack are still very much alive, despite Jack's eternal carelessness. Lethal, again, has gotten into much trouble, but he was staying with Namron so I was able to deliver your message. Ritsu and Nach were easy to contact as their remote location hasn't had any sign of being taken over, at least not yet. The Sun is taking refuge with lel. We have seen the boat Astral Projection sailing off the coast of Peru, so there is a very good chance Diago is still alive. Revolver and Borve are still at large but they were never the ones to be kept on a leash. Drak I wasn't able to conta.."

"Oh, that brings me to something. I was able to send her a message on a manipulated phone line, which can't be intercepted through any wireless recievers or telecommunications databases, which now I have a fear that they're not trustworthy one bit, so you may want to use it if you need to send a message to someone you can't meet in person" Ricardo interrupted, showing Junodog the phone. "You can take it, Im not going to need it once I meet up with everybody"

"Why thank you" Junodog replied, putting the phone away under his belt discreetly.

"Yeah, it was the last bit of wizardry Dave accomplished before he was killed, poor man" Ricardo said somberly. "Just couldn't resist putting that Fever Ray album on extra loud during his many projects, he should've known through all his experiences that it's a dangerous thing to do even when there is no sign of the Manic Street Killer, let alone those with actual power to monitor his every activity"

"Indeed" Junodog said graciously. "Ive got other good news that all our molls are alive and well. They can provide safe-house assistance and also report what's going on in the political scene. Indeed we thought it was scary enough to see MSK back again, but he's just one fire here as Im sure you now know. There are those with many connections and resources that are taking up this Objectivity cause. It looks like they are taking over both the EU and the US government. It's why of course many places can't be trusted, and why the information they can bring is invaluable. AM, MSS, Bthmbz, JoD are all active, and we got great news that the Spear is still very much alive"

"What?!!! Im thought for sure he was dead!" Ricardo burst out, shocked after Junodog's last statement

"I Know, I know, we thought for sure he was a gonner when he was lured into that madman's house with the promise of listening to Heuy Lewis, but remarkably he survived. Always a tough one, that Spear. He can't provide moll assistance but he does have a safe house way out in the American west, and will help monitor everything's that's going on over there. And I take it you're meeting everyone at the residency of the one you all call 'Bork'?"

"Shhhh, I donno if that's safe to say even here" Ricardo replied in his lowest possible voice.

"I apologize. Im a messenger, not an expert spy. I also have word that someone managed to escape the clutches of JG" Junodog started

"JG?" Ricardo asked.

"Yes. He's a powerful one, with many resources to further the mayhem, but he's also voliatle. Apparently he let his guard down for a minute after being stressed and a prisoner he was keeping managed to escape. Goes by the alias of Mr Toader. We haven't been able to come in contact with him, but we're looking. JG is another one to keep an eye on, but again we're sure he's not the only one in cahoots with MSK."

"That's good to know. Any other information that's vital at this time?"

"Well, yes. The farmhouse you currently live at is no longer safe. Some friends of mine down south were able to go there but they found this disturbing scene"

Junodog preceded to show him a photo of the broad side of Ricardo's house, where in a scarlett-colored paint were the words IM FEELING INTIMIDATED.

"Fuck" Ricardo replied, feeling deflated. "Well I guess that rules out a safe house in Australia. Any other possible places?"

"We have word of a Hark, who has a particularly personal vendetta against this movement, is willing to provide shelter at his place down on Fascination St. We don't know enough about him to trust him just yet, but when we do we'll let you know if it's safe to contact him" Junodog replied.

"That's good. Will that be all for now?" Ricardo asked

"For now. Though I have a feeling we'll need to talk again soon. I will use this phone, again thank that poor boy's soul, this will be invaluable" Junodog responded.

Ricardo nodded silently in response. Junodog got up to leave, and right before he left the booth Ricardo asked "again, I never asked, why are you becoming so commited to our plight? You've said you don't know anybody personally who's involved or has been taken down by MSK. Im not being accusatory, Im just, I donno, forever curious."

Junodog stopped for a moment with a blank expression, than said quietly "I hope I can tell you one day, in this life", tinging the statement with a deep sadness. After that he gingerly walked across the barflys and made his way back into the night.
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#6 | Posted: 11/30/2013 19:18 | Post subject: Reply with quote
The best thing about this place had to be the seclusion, reflected Poe as he looked on at the East China Sea.
No one lived on these islands, they never had, aside from him. This utter isolation was, to him, absolutely wonderful. Oh, the avant-drone-classical it inspired!

The postal plane hadn't come over yet, annoyingly. Every week, it dropped a crate full of the newest, most abstract Scaruffi-approved music. He hoped the whole debacle with China hadn't effected postage times, falling behind like this would make him look a fool in the eyes of his similarly isolated brethren. He could just picture that bloody Marxist now, his ridiculous beard muffling his hysterical laughter!

Suddenly, he heard a rustling amongst his hedgegrows. He looked towards his garden, and saw the outline of a man there. Creeping forwards, he slowly withdrew his katana from it's holster. As he got closer, he could see the man was... picking his mushrooms? Suddenly, the man jumped up and turned - he'd been spotted!

He went to pull a gun, but Poe was too fast. The blade severed the head from the body with ease. He crouched to examine the corpse, and noticed an insignia on the dead mans coat. The insignia showed a white cross on a read background - the Danish flag? - and the motto "I objektivitet vi tillid". As an extremely cultured man, Poe instantly understood. They were back. He instantly knew that he must contact the one only known as Yourself and, though it pained him so, the Marxist. For if "It" was back, only they could hope to stop him.
Romanelli wrote:
We're all fucked, lads.
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Gender: Male
Age: 26
Location: Lima

#7 | Posted: 11/30/2013 23:44 | Post subject: Reply with quote
A woman older than time itself sat in a small room with a TV. She watched the recent happenings, carried out by the people under her command, albeit unknowingly. Her minions thought they were working of their own accord, and most didn't even know her; she was always whispering in their ears as they slept, though. All of her effort throughout the long decades was finally about to give fruits. Her many connections, in the end, had given her enough power to be able to reshape the world into whatever she pleased. Smiling, she focused on the black and white screen.

In it, a pale cloaked man was looking at the pretty lights that adorned his room, while he scratched his arm in an almost maniacal way. She pressed a button on the remote in her hand, and the channel changed with a zap. There was now a small imp in the picture. He had been banished from the mortal realm many times before, by her annoying enemies. The imp in the picture was locked in a hanging cage, thrashing around. A plate on the door read "JOJ". Zap! The television now showed a room full of computers, surrounding a metallic coffin with cables protruding from it. The faint chorus from "The Village Green Preservation Society" could be heard from within. N4-PL35 would soon have finished regenerating, ready for assisting with her schemes. Zap. Zap. Zap. She switched channels until she found her dearest minion, created from her very own flesh and blood. Her loved, adored little JG. He was her most important piece in this game. He was, after all, the one God named & prophesied while she was studying the heart of God. She was AWED at his presence, and in due time, the whole human race would as well. He would be their messiah, their savior from incorrect opinions and sinful liberalism.

She started laughing loudly, then coughed into her handkerchief, and finally she prayed to God, without whom none of her plans would have come so far.
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#8 | Posted: 12/01/2013 03:50 | Post subject: Reply with quote
They knew now that most of their time would simply be just waiting, like standing in line at the Department of Licensing for hours on end and yet the only thing they would get in return is averted death. Still, these people were a particularly testy bunch, and when their patience was pushed to the breaking point any sense of stability in their situation was hopelessly gone.

Jack smoked the stub of a near-finished cigaratte and blurted out "it's so fucking cold out here, when is this guy ever going to get here", punctuating the sentence with a long sigh of nicotine dust and following with "and how do we even know someone is even coming to pick us up tonight?"

Getting annoyed by the wind's blowback of his own cigaratte's smoke, Purple quickly extinguished the cigaratte on his arm and replied with "we don't even know if he's coming. I didn't think Diago was still alive, but if the message is accurate he will be meeting us at this exact point according to the map. And apparently we have a couple of visitors meeting us here as well" purple added after a short pause.

"Who?" asked Jack

"Borve and Revolver, if they're still alive. I don't know who is still fucking breathing these days, given none of us should be after all the shit's that gone down in the past" Purple said plainly

"I heard Tekin is back out on a mission these days, is he meeting us?" Jack inquired

"No, I heard from a *reliable source* that he's going to some doctor's house. Apparently one who likes to scare the shit out of his patients by meeting them in his cellar, wearing a purple bunny costume and instilling fear in their minds through the sonic mind-control of Jandek. Sick fuck from what I hear. But apparently may have some useful information that Tekin hopes to worm out of him. And I mean worm quite literally. Just what ive heard, not from anywhere official mind you" Purple said with an emphatic point of the eyes that told Jack all she needed to know.

"Yeah, I know, Wildcard. Well if these assholes don't come soon Im just going to go out for some shots" Jack said, slurring every word

"Or how about we down some absinthe and listen to slint you're drunk lol" a voice said suddenly behind the two, even managing to rattle possibly the least jumpy people in the entire world.

"Borve, what. the. fuck. Do you really think a meeting out on a broken-down old dock in the middle of nowhere is the best time to sneak up on two motherfuckers like us? You think we're here unarmed?!" Purple asked rhetorically

"Since when did you become so discreet lol" Borve replied. "I donno you're literally right next to the ocean you think I turned into a dolphin or something just so I could meet you face-to-face lol."

"Gawd Borve I see the years have done nothing to change you. Are you going by Borve now or one of your bazillion aliases?"

"No now it's wily-waggle lol"

"I see. Im going to call you that from now on so yeah real sorry (he rolling his eyes) if that's a joke. AND JACK PUT THAT ANYWHERE NEAR YOUR FUCKING MOUTH AND YOU WON'T BE ABLE TO SPEAK FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE!" purple suddenly yelled to his left side, noticing Jack was trying to sneak something out of a small plastic tube.

"Jeesh, I just can't fucking wait here for forever and not do...something... to pass the time" Jack said slyly

"I ain't exactly all together myself but don't pull this now. This is incredibly serious, a word Im begging to doubt you even know"

"Seriously serious lol" Borve chimed in

"Yeah I forgot about Borve. Two peas without a pod"

A long silence followed as they continued to wait, with each taking a different corner of the dock to make sure they weren't vulnerable to a sneak attack. They knew it was pretty much live or die time now.

"By the way Borve why the hell isn't Revolver with you" Purple called suddenly, the notable abscence of one member dawning on him just now

"Oh he got arrested for swimming naked in a public fountain lol. Beat up a cop he thought was the sandmonster or something, I donno lol. Haven't heard from him since, he never was released" responded Borve.

"That's comforting" Purple replied with a weary sarcasm. "Probably not going to be released anytime soon if the situation is as bad as Ricardo seems to indicate that it is. But that guy can always get worked up over fuck all, so I don't believe everything he says- yet." Borve nodded, still a little unclear about Purple's hints of what was happening or not happening.

The wait seemed to last forever, but finally a dark shape was floating on the water's moonlight reflection. Tentatively, they had their hands above their holsters, as they were not so naive as to think the coast was suddenly clear. However when it got within a notical mile there was no mistaking the weird slant shape of the one and only Astral Projection sailboat. It looked very different, possibly intentional to mask itself from any curious eye, but they were one of the few people who could recognize the mighty mite of a sail-ship with whatever aesthetic changes happened to be made to it. And one of the few lucky souls who got to see the person who quickly popped his head over the dock.

"Diago, you salty bastard" Purple said with a rare giant grin. "Hey man, sorry gotta be real quick, everybody grab on to the rail (pointing to the thin metal bars on the port side of the ship) and push themselves over, I only got a minute" Diago said in a hurry, quickly helping to grab Jack over the rail. "I see someone dipped into her secret stash early" he said with a comical shake of his head as Jack awkwardly stumbled onto the dock of the ship. After helping Purple and Borve onto the ship he quickly directed them all to the latch from which he came and hurried them down the set of stairs leading to the bottom of the ship. After a rapid spin on the steering wheel he tucked away the sail and quickly joined them down below.

"So it's just you three?" Diago inquired, a little puzzled.

"Drak, Nach, Ritsu and Lethal met somewhere else. And a little birdie told me Drak's bringing along a friend" Purple responded, suddenly piquing the intrest of his sleepy fellow passengers.

"Young, shy and american I take it" Diago replied with a quiet laugh. "Well as long as he or, more likely, she is not a spy that should be okay"

"And The Sun is apparently being transported submarine-style by lel and his crew. Ricardo should already be on Bork's island."

"Aight. What about Revolver or Tekin?"

"Tekin is already on some mission or something. Revolver of course never met a blue pill he didn't love and fucked up royally, like prison-time royally. The only thing Borve knows apparently is that he never got released from jail. Sounds ominous."

"Okay, I guess that's all I need for now. I know what happened to Geevy and Dave, fucking martyrs man." said Diago, with the expected somber tone. "Don't know how we're going to fight if this whole thing is really as far-reaching as they say".

"Don't know deFAGGGO" Purple drawled, drawing a laugh then a punch on the shoulder from his old friend.

"You awful motherfucker. But many nostalgia points for that, my compadre. Well Im all rested up so Ill keep lookout and steer the ship tonight. You all can get some sleep"

"Jack's trying to fondle me again whenever I close my eyes lol" Borve called out suddenly from the ship's hull.

"Yeah for your own safety I wouldn't sleep next to that slu---sorry, I know, I mean the best sloot in the world" Purple called back as Jack started to yell "Shut up you Russian bastard". "Know it's crowded here and Jack's not dumb enough to sneak up on me when Im sleeping. So I guess Im the meat of the sandwhich tonight" Purple said with a wink as he made his way forward.

It was unexpectedly calm night. The waves lapped pleasently across the ship's brawny exterior, and even with all the crap on their minds the three peas in a very small pod all managed to finally drift off to a deep sleep as Diago serenly kept watch out of his little homemade periscope. The only alarming sound is when he heard a deep rumbling beneath him, consoling himself that it must be the Sun and lel crossing his path. Given these days a place as remote as the ocean over international waters couldn't shake the feeling that they were still, constantly and surreptiously, being watched.
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#9 | Posted: 12/01/2013 06:55 | Post subject: Reply with quote
Bork stared out to sea. The colossal reef leered at him as seagulls encircled the lighthouse, shrieking cruel warnings. The lighthouse had been long broken, but still provided refuge when the tide became violent. He sliced open a can of rations and downed its syrupy contents. The horizon remained empty.

Night came and went.

Bork dragged a can of gasoline along the island's border, baking in the sun's contemptful glare. The electric fence crackled buzzed. He reached the generator and poured gasoline into its hungry mouth. He turned and surveyed the chasm at the island's centre. He knew not how deep it went, nor what caused the foul winds that gushed from its bowels. The wooden scaffolding only reached so far; the rest of the way down was reserved for men with greater spelunking skills than he.

Night came and went.

Supplies were low. The monthly cargo dropship was now several weeks late, and Bork was beginning to worry. Again he gazed out to the ocean. Grey, deathly and undulating. It had been long since the ocean appeared to him a thing of beauty. Bork rubbed his eyes. A speck on the horizon? Possibly. A mirage? More likely than not. For several minutes he squinted before he made up his mind. A ship was approaching. All he could do now was watch as it navigated his treacherous coast.
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#10 | Posted: 12/01/2013 07:28 | Post subject: Reply with quote
"I see your Ipod. What if we lived a day as each other's Ipod?" the cloaked stranger asked his guest. The broken DVD's still lied on the ground, he didn't bother to pick them up. There were more important things to be hashed out today.

The stranger had a guest today. His taste was quite ecletic, but his choice in bands didn't match any of the typical red flag indicators. Who was Vanessa Carlton, Brokencyde, Electric Wizard? Hmm. He was a tough one to place, this fellow. Looking up with a cracked pair of specs and his thick dark hair wildly askew, the guest just started at him. The stranger didn't like him. He was smiling a most impish grin. It was both crooked and wide, and he just wouldn't change his expression for a second. Unlike some others he seen, there was no sign that this was done by someone else. It appeared to be all of his own accord. This made no sense. Usually his victims we're visibly unaware they would be encountering him and met him with pure befuddlement or fear. This guy... he seemed to be expecting it. Welcoming it. And he wouldn't stop. That. oh that. grin.

"You are a strange one indeed. A special one. I see your given name is Applen George. Is that correct?". Applen did nothing but continue his eerie grin. "I was compelled to come find you, but you don't fit any easy pigeonholing. What if I shot a pigeon? Oh well. For some reason I can't continue what I do until I find out more." The shutters were acting up again, startling the all of a sudden wiry cloaked gentlemen. He went back t othe window and made sure to tape the windows shut extra tight this time. He came back. His guest had the same expression. "WILL YOU STOP SMILING LIKE THAT!!!!!!!!!!!... YOU'RE MAKING ME FEEL INTIMIDATED!" The cloaked stranger yelled, shattering an already-cracked pea-green vase resting near the pale white fireplace. He raised a hand to strike him, but... he just couldn't. Something was wrong here. Very wrong. He went back to his seat. Continued to stare at his guest that was now his prisoner. Applen as usual did nothing. Except sport that same serene, hideous grin.
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