NATION

PASSWORD

Elfen High 2 (OOC 5, Closed)

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Erinkita
Postmaster-General
 
Posts: 14478
Founded: Sep 15, 2011
Ex-Nation

Postby Erinkita » Wed Mar 13, 2013 7:31 am

Done! Finally! New character one-shot.
I'm not all that happy with it, but I finished it.

1580 AD

The sea.
The sea is still and flat along the coastline, a dull grey plane in the pre-dawn light. The Persian Gulf, they call it now. Sisitu had been here before the Achaemenid Empire, before Parsis. Nobody today knows what they had called it back then and Sisitu doesn’t particularly feel like telling anyone. Just a gulf, not a real ocean. But it is salt water nonetheless.
The sea was humanity’s womb, it was said. Man had burst forth into the world when the salt water could no longer hold him. And so had things repeated for every birth since. Because blood is salt water, and inside every human there is an ocean.
Here, now, as the sun begins to creep over the flat, sandy horizon at Sisitu’s back, inside her there is a turning of the tide.
Here, now, blood flows. And she doubles over in pain, clutches her stomach and feels the sticky mess trickle down her thighs. She straightens up, wades into the gulf up to her waist. The grey water is dappled with orange now. She lets it wash her clean. Lets blood return to blood. And she returns to the coast, her long Arabic dress sodden and stained. Today she will find the mouth of the Euphrates. Follow it upstream for two days and she will find what’s left of Eridu.
Trudging along, dripping as the sun rises, Sisitu’s thoughts take her home.


3092 BC

When Sisitu remembers Eridu, she remembers barley. Field after field of green and golden barley, so wide there was no end of them. The marshy soil was so rich that every seed unfolded and thrust up its head. They had been surrounded by green and gold that scorching summer day. The barley stalks were flattened beneath her back, her white robe tossed aside. She had looked up into his liquid brown eyes, his jet black hair, with beautiful green and gold all around.
He had been sixteen, a year older than her.
Even the great ziggurat temple E-abzu smelled of barley. The stone was cool beneath her feel, even in the heat of a summer noon. When the guards came for her, they marched her through the fields in her spotless white robe with her hands bound. The gleaners stopped their work to watch. It was not often they got to see a priestess brought so low. She avoided their eyes. But the eyes of the Speaker-for-Gods held her so that she could not look away.
She knelt on the cool stone. The Speaker-for-Gods examined her like a beetle between his fingers. His face was unreadable, what she could see of it between his long beard and his golden headdress. Today people speak of the mystery of God. Back then, the gods were not mysterious. They crowded around, just on the edge of Sisitu’s sight. Anu. Enki. Inana. Enlil. Ninhursag. The great gods of Sumer.
“You are Sisitu,” the Speaker-for-Gods said “of whom the gods require both obedience and chastity.”
“Majesty, I am she.” Sisitu managed to keep the tremor out of her voice. “But I repent my sin and would find the gods’ favour again at any cost.”
“Indeed?” the Speaker-for-Gods’ voice was light and musical, not the booming heavy tones she would have expected from such an impressive man. “Then rejoice, Sisitu, for the gods will pardon you. Providing only that you take your life in the temple grounds.”
For a few seconds, she could say nothing. Her lips trembled as she forced the words out. “Majesty, I cannot. You know I cannot!”
“‘At any cost,’ you said.”
“Aye, any cost to me. But I am pregnant. I cannot kill my baby. If you would stay my sentence for just a few—”
The almost-visible forms of the gods crowded closer around her. She could feel their anger crackling through the air like a storm about to break. She knew their faces and names. She knew their domains. She knew their stories. She had devoted her life to them. The weight of their malice bent her spine. Her forehead touched the floor.
“Enough. The gods offered you death and you would not take it. Take their curse instead. You are an abomination heaved from their affronted sight. Death will not touch you now. When Eridu is dust, and the dust baked and built into cities still unthought-of, the sun will still look down upon your shame.”


1580 AD

Sisitu is awake before dawn in the old travellers’ inn where she spent the night. She stands naked by the window, watching for the first signs of the sun, holding a round-bottomed jar.
Her guts clench. The tide turns once again and runs down her legs. She is ready and fills the jar with her bright, fresh blood. After firmly corking the jar and fastening the top, she attends to her hygiene. Such things are important. She leaves most of the grisly payload on the floor. Let the innkeeper deal with it. She places the jar in her bag, along with her soiled clothes from the previous day, a skin of water, and the money she didn’t spend on this night in the inn, and unfolds her fresh, clean, white robe. The material is finer than any of the clothing they made back then, but otherwise it is exactly the same. She puts it on, smoothing it across her belly and thighs. Her robe was her armour, and her declaration of war. She wore it for the same reason she was returning to Eridu. It should end as it began. There was a rightness to this.
Sisitu takes a deep breath, girds herself for the day ahead, takes up her light luggage, and resumes her pilgrimage.


1067 AD

It was on a green hill they met. Unbelievably green. It was only a few miles west of Hastings, but untouched by the battle. Only months had passed since then, but it was agreed by all but the most foolish that William the Norman was king of England.
Sisitu dressed in the garb of a native peasant woman, but nothing could disguise her Mesopotamian features. She looked fifteen, as she had for more than four thousand years.
He was dressed simply as well, but it didn’t seem to be for the sake of inconspicuousness. She suspected he dressed in well-worn travelling clothes wherever he went. He looked old already, tired from the weight of the years, but strong. Unbelievably strong. She was glad of that.
“I understand what you want of me,” he said “and I came to see you out of respect for what you have already accomplished. But understand that I cannot kill you.”
Sisitu shook her head, refreshed by his bluntness. Too much of conversation was hiding what was really meant. It was the kind of thing that got tiring after a few millennia. “I wouldn’t ask that of you. Just removed the curse and let me live out the rest of my natural days.”
“That would be killing you,” the old man said, “and you misunderstand me. Your curse was placed on you by the Sumerian gods in all their power and wrath. I don’t have the power to undo it. I doubt anyone does. No one you could, or would want to, contact anyway. If you want death so badly, take it up with your gods.”
It was as if she had been slapped in the face. There was no malice in his words, but the death of her one hope hurt more than any insult could.
“Don’t you think I’ve done that?” she snapped, trying and failing to keep the anger out of her voice “For four thousand years I’ve called to them, prayed to them, sacrificed to them. They never respond.”
He looked out at the meadow below them. Green, so vibrant green. Greener than the barley fields of Sumer, Sisitu thought. And yet this was such an old land.
“Time distils most things down to their essence,” he said in careful, measured words “If it were me, I’d bargain from strength.”
“You mean I can force them to answer my call?”
“It can be done. A sorcerer can summon all kinds of supernatural entities if he knows the art. Gods too, although that’s more difficult.”
Sisitu’s stomach rose to meet her heart. She held her breath, barely daring to believe what was being suggested to her. She couldn’t ask him to do it for her. He would refuse, she knew. “Will you teach me?” she asked, hoping against four thousand years of desperation. The old man didn’t meet her eyes. He kept staring intently at the green English meadow. “Do you know how my immortality works?” she pressed “It is the recycling of a single day. Every dawn, my body remakes itself just as it was when the gods first cursed me. I’ve had the same miscarriage every day for four thousand, one hundred, and fifty-nine years.”
The old man turned to look at her, his face as implacable as the Speaker-for-Gods’ so long ago. “You’ll have to start small,” he said at last “Imps and sprites, things of that nature. Becoming powerful enough to call down the gods will take time.”
“Time, I have.” Sisitu found herself smiling. The expression seemed so alien. Had it really been that long? She didn’t cry, not even for joy. The salt water reminded her too much of blood. “Thank you, Fixban.”


1580 AD

It is dusk by the time she reaches Eridu. The city was once a mud-brick metropolis. They used to say it was the first city in the world. Whether or not that’s true, it was probably the largest in its day. It straddled the Euphrates where it flowed into the gulf. Paradise for farmers and fishers alike. The course of the river has changed since then. The coastline has moved too. The landscape is an inhospitable desert now. And Eridu is a few piles of crumbling stone. It’s still possible to make out the outline of the great ziggurat temple where the gods cursed Sisitu, once upon a time the marvel of Mesopotamia. She notes with some perverse pride that it is still the largest structure as far as the eye can see. Hot and thirsty, her waterskin empty, her white robe stained with sand, Sisitu climbs to the top of the ruin. The wind picks up, tugging playfully at her as if the land itself was welcoming her home. It has been a very long time.
Sisitu sets down her bag and takes out the jar of blood from this morning’s miscarriage. She uncorks it, dips her finger in, and draws a wide circle on the rough stone, careful to leave no gap. Candles, pentagrams and eldritch symbols are for amateurs and dilettantes. This is old magic. Simple, powerful, and pungent.
Sisitu spent over two centuries studying under Fixban until she had surpassed him in the art of summoning. Then she had sought out others to teach her what he could not. Some of them had been human. When there was nothing more she could learn from others, she taught herself. In the specific field of summoning and binding, Sisitu of Eridu is the most powerful practitioner in the world. She has no doubt that she is ready to bind gods to her will.
Stepping outside the circle, Sisitu anoints herself with her own blood and begins to chant in halting Sumerian. How many centuries, how many millennia have passed since she last used the mother tongue? No matter. It’s like riding a horse. She does not beg. She does not entreat. That is behind her. She reaches out with her power and forces them to manifest before her. And they appear. With the scent of barley and the whispering of the grain fields, they appear.
She almost laughs at the absurdity. The great gods of Sumer crowded into her summoning circle like so many geese in a pen. They look so small. She expected this to be the most difficult thing she had ever attempted. She had trained for almost five centuries to become strong enough for this. And their combined power turns out to be no more than a mid-level demon or a ghost with a thousand years to its name. This is insultingly easy.
Sisitu falls to her knees, forcing supplication where there is only anger. “Gods of Sumer, your servant speaks to you. Sisitu of Eridu asks your forgiveness. Please?”
Their thin, reedy voices are barely audible above the desert wind. “...but your sin... is great...”
“...and not yet expiated...”
“...it is sacrilege...”
“...for you... even to call on us...”

Sisitu’s mouth tightens. Her hands clench. “You cannot imagine how little I care about sacrilege now. I ask you again. Will you remove the curse, and let me die?”
“...not yet...”
“...in a thousand years...”
“...we will... consider...”
“...and you may... ask again...”

Sisitu bows her head so they will not see her face. Inside, she screams. She rages. She tears herself to pieces with her own hands. Her head splits open and all her fury and all her power wash over the world and destroy every living thing in it. Outwardly, she remains motionless and silent. And in her bottomless rage, she finds clarity. Bargain from strength... strength that time distils... Fixban’s words to her five centuries ago. How could she have been so blind? It was there with her all along. She hadn't needed to become the most powerful summoner alive for a few decepit gods. There was always a much greater summoning waiting in her future. This is what she had trained for.
She doesn’t chant this time. The thing doesn’t understand words. But she reaches out with her power and finds it where it has always been, had she eyes to see it. She calls it into the material world,
“...Sisitu... hold...”
“...you must not... do this...”
“...we do not... permit...”

“Are you frightened, small gods?!” she screams at them “Does death not strike or stay at your command? Give me what I ask!”
“...our power...”
“...is too much... decayed...”
“...what we said... in the fullness of... our strength...”
“...we cannot now... unsay...”
“...we entreat... your mercy...”

“My mercy.” Sisitu repeats. Laughing madly, she spreads her arms wide and finishes the summoning. Time at last to be born.
The spirit called into the circle is a swirling mass of horror. Perhaps Sisitu can make out the barest suggestion of hands and eyes. Perhaps not. The thing is practically mindless. It has never been allowed to live long enough to develop a mind. Called into flesh a million times and expelled from the warm dark. It was never truly a child. It is a beast turned out of its den. It is very old. And it is very powerful. And it has been with Sisitu long enough to understand rage.
It takes a long time. Even in decay, gods don’t die easily. When it is over, the angry cloud roils and swirls in the circle of blood. Pushes against the walls of its magic womb.
Her baby. The reason she originally refused what she had spent so long searching for. Her first and only reason for living. As the first light of dawn stretches over the desert, the thing in the summoning circle melts away. She feels a familiar knife twist in her abdomen and her white robe is stained with red. She pulls the garment over her head and throws it away. The tide has turned once again.
Loan me a dragon, I wanna see space.
Justice for Jane Doe

User avatar
Constaniana
Postmaster of the Fleet
 
Posts: 25040
Founded: Mar 10, 2012
Democratic Socialists

Postby Constaniana » Wed Mar 13, 2013 7:48 am

Erinkita wrote:Done! Finally! New character one-shot.
I'm not all that happy with it, but I finished it.

1580 AD

The sea.
The sea is still and flat along the coastline, a dull grey plane in the pre-dawn light. The Persian Gulf, they call it now. Sisitu had been here before the Achaemenid Empire, before Parsis. Nobody today knows what they had called it back then and Sisitu doesn’t particularly feel like telling anyone. Just a gulf, not a real ocean. But it is salt water nonetheless.
The sea was humanity’s womb, it was said. Man had burst forth into the world when the salt water could no longer hold him. And so had things repeated for every birth since. Because blood is salt water, and inside every human there is an ocean.
Here, now, as the sun begins to creep over the flat, sandy horizon at Sisitu’s back, inside her there is a turning of the tide.
Here, now, blood flows. And she doubles over in pain, clutches her stomach and feels the sticky mess trickle down her thighs. She straightens up, wades into the gulf up to her waist. The grey water is dappled with orange now. She lets it wash her clean. Lets blood return to blood. And she returns to the coast, her long Arabic dress sodden and stained. Today she will find the mouth of the Euphrates. Follow it upstream for two days and she will find what’s left of Eridu.
Trudging along, dripping as the sun rises, Sisitu’s thoughts take her home.


3092 BC

When Sisitu remembers Eridu, she remembers barley. Field after field of green and golden barley, so wide there was no end of them. The marshy soil was so rich that every seed unfolded and thrust up its head. They had been surrounded by green and gold that scorching summer day. The barley stalks were flattened beneath her back, her white robe tossed aside. She had looked up into his liquid brown eyes, his jet black hair, with beautiful green and gold all around.
He had been sixteen, a year older than her.
Even the great ziggurat temple E-abzu smelled of barley. The stone was cool beneath her feel, even in the heat of a summer noon. When the guards came for her, they marched her through the fields in her spotless white robe with her hands bound. The gleaners stopped their work to watch. It was not often they got to see a priestess brought so low. She avoided their eyes. But the eyes of the Speaker-for-Gods held her so that she could not look away.
She knelt on the cool stone. The Speaker-for-Gods examined her like a beetle between his fingers. His face was unreadable, what she could see of it between his long beard and his golden headdress. Today people speak of the mystery of God. Back then, the gods were not mysterious. They crowded around, just on the edge of Sisitu’s sight. Anu. Enki. Inana. Enlil. Ninhursag. The great gods of Sumer.
“You are Sisitu,” the Speaker-for-Gods said “of whom the gods require both obedience and chastity.”
“Majesty, I am she.” Sisitu managed to keep the tremor out of her voice. “But I repent my sin and would find the gods’ favour again at any cost.”
“Indeed?” the Speaker-for-Gods’ voice was light and musical, not the booming heavy tones she would have expected from such an impressive man. “Then rejoice, Sisitu, for the gods will pardon you. Providing only that you take your life in the temple grounds.”
For a few seconds, she could say nothing. Her lips trembled as she forced the words out. “Majesty, I cannot. You know I cannot!”
“‘At any cost,’ you said.”
“Aye, any cost to me. But I am pregnant. I cannot kill my baby. If you would stay my sentence for just a few—”
The almost-visible forms of the gods crowded closer around her. She could feel their anger crackling through the air like a storm about to break. She knew their faces and names. She knew their domains. She knew their stories. She had devoted her life to them. The weight of their malice bent her spine. Her forehead touched the floor.
“Enough. The gods offered you death and you would not take it. Take their curse instead. You are an abomination heaved from their affronted sight. Death will not touch you now. When Eridu is dust, and the dust baked and built into cities still unthought-of, the sun will still look down upon your shame.”


1580 AD

Sisitu is awake before dawn in the old travellers’ inn where she spent the night. She stands naked by the window, watching for the first signs of the sun, holding a round-bottomed jar.
Her guts clench. The tide turns once again and runs down her legs. She is ready and fills the jar with her bright, fresh blood. After firmly corking the jar and fastening the top, she attends to her hygiene. Such things are important. She leaves most of the grisly payload on the floor. Let the innkeeper deal with it. She places the jar in her bag, along with her soiled clothes from the previous day, a skin of water, and the money she didn’t spend on this night in the inn, and unfolds her fresh, clean, white robe. The material is finer than any of the clothing they made back then, but otherwise it is exactly the same. She puts it on, smoothing it across her belly and thighs. Her robe was her armour, and her declaration of war. She wore it for the same reason she was returning to Eridu. It should end as it began. There was a rightness to this.
Sisitu takes a deep breath, girds herself for the day ahead, takes up her light luggage, and resumes her pilgrimage.


1067 AD

It was on a green hill they met. Unbelievably green. It was only a few miles west of Hastings, but untouched by the battle. Only months had passed since then, but it was agreed by all but the most foolish that William the Norman was king of England.
Sisitu dressed in the garb of a native peasant woman, but nothing could disguise her Mesopotamian features. She looked fifteen, as she had for more than four thousand years.
He was dressed simply as well, but it didn’t seem to be for the sake of inconspicuousness. She suspected he dressed in well-worn travelling clothes wherever he went. He looked old already, tired from the weight of the years, but strong. Unbelievably strong. She was glad of that.
“I understand what you want of me,” he said “and I came to see you out of respect for what you have already accomplished. But understand that I cannot kill you.”
Sisitu shook her head, refreshed by his bluntness. Too much of conversation was hiding what was really meant. It was the kind of thing that got tiring after a few millennia. “I wouldn’t ask that of you. Just removed the curse and let me live out the rest of my natural days.”
“That would be killing you,” the old man said, “and you misunderstand me. Your curse was placed on you by the Sumerian gods in all their power and wrath. I don’t have the power to undo it. I doubt anyone does. No one you could, or would want to, contact anyway. If you want death so badly, take it up with your gods.”
It was as if she had been slapped in the face. There was no malice in his words, but the death of her one hope hurt more than any insult could.
“Don’t you think I’ve done that?” she snapped, trying and failing to keep the anger out of her voice “For four thousand years I’ve called to them, prayed to them, sacrificed to them. They never respond.”
He looked out at the meadow below them. Green, so vibrant green. Greener than the barley fields of Sumer, Sisitu thought. And yet this was such an old land.
“Time distils most things down to their essence,” he said in careful, measured words “If it were me, I’d bargain from strength.”
“You mean I can force them to answer my call?”
“It can be done. A sorcerer can summon all kinds of supernatural entities if he knows the art. Gods too, although that’s more difficult.”
Sisitu’s stomach rose to meet her heart. She held her breath, barely daring to believe what was being suggested to her. She couldn’t ask him to do it for her. He would refuse, she knew. “Will you teach me?” she asked, hoping against four thousand years of desperation. The old man didn’t meet her eyes. He kept staring intently at the green English meadow. “Do you know how my immortality works?” she pressed “It is the recycling of a single day. Every dawn, my body remakes itself just as it was when the gods first cursed me. I’ve had the same miscarriage every day for four thousand, one hundred, and fifty-nine years.”
The old man turned to look at her, his face as implacable as the Speaker-for-Gods’ so long ago. “You’ll have to start small,” he said at last “Imps and sprites, things of that nature. Becoming powerful enough to call down the gods will take time.”
“Time, I have.” Sisitu found herself smiling. The expression seemed so alien. Had it really been that long? She didn’t cry, not even for joy. The salt water reminded her too much of blood. “Thank you, Fixban.”


1580 AD

It is dusk by the time she reaches Eridu. The city was once a mud-brick metropolis. They used to say it was the first city in the world. Whether or not that’s true, it was probably the largest in its day. It straddled the Euphrates where it flowed into the gulf. Paradise for farmers and fishers alike. The course of the river has changed since then. The coastline has moved too. The landscape is an inhospitable desert now. And Eridu is a few piles of crumbling stone. It’s still possible to make out the outline of the great ziggurat temple where the gods cursed Sisitu, once upon a time the marvel of Mesopotamia. She notes with some perverse pride that it is still the largest structure as far as the eye can see. Hot and thirsty, her waterskin empty, her white robe stained with sand, Sisitu climbs to the top of the ruin. The wind picks up, tugging playfully at her as if the land itself was welcoming her home. It has been a very long time.
Sisitu sets down her bag and takes out the jar of blood from this morning’s miscarriage. She uncorks it, dips her finger in, and draws a wide circle on the rough stone, careful to leave no gap. Candles, pentagrams and eldritch symbols are for amateurs and dilettantes. This is old magic. Simple, powerful, and pungent.
Sisitu spent over two centuries studying under Fixban until she had surpassed him in the art of summoning. Then she had sought out others to teach her what he could not. Some of them had been human. When there was nothing more she could learn from others, she taught herself. In the specific field of summoning and binding, Sisitu of Eridu is the most powerful practitioner in the world. She has no doubt that she is ready to bind gods to her will.
Stepping outside the circle, Sisitu anoints herself with her own blood and begins to chant in halting Sumerian. How many centuries, how many millennia have passed since she last used the mother tongue? No matter. It’s like riding a horse. She does not beg. She does not entreat. That is behind her. She reaches out with her power and forces them to manifest before her. And they appear. With the scent of barley and the whispering of the grain fields, they appear.
She almost laughs at the absurdity. The great gods of Sumer crowded into her summoning circle like so many geese in a pen. They look so small. She expected this to be the most difficult thing she had ever attempted. She had trained for almost five centuries to become strong enough for this. And their combined power turns out to be no more than a mid-level demon or a ghost with a thousand years to its name. This is insultingly easy.
Sisitu falls to her knees, forcing supplication where there is only anger. “Gods of Sumer, your servant speaks to you. Sisitu of Eridu asks your forgiveness. Please?”
Their thin, reedy voices are barely audible above the desert wind. “...but your sin... is great...”
“...and not yet expiated...”
“...it is sacrilege...”
“...for you... even to call on us...”

Sisitu’s mouth tightens. Her hands clench. “You cannot imagine how little I care about sacrilege now. I ask you again. Will you remove the curse, and let me die?”
“...not yet...”
“...in a thousand years...”
“...we will... consider...”
“...and you may... ask again...”

Sisitu bows her head so they will not see her face. Inside, she screams. She rages. She tears herself to pieces with her own hands. Her head splits open and all her fury and all her power wash over the world and destroy every living thing in it. Outwardly, she remains motionless and silent. And in her bottomless rage, she finds clarity. Bargain from strength... strength that time distils... Fixban’s words to her five centuries ago. How could she have been so blind? It was there with her all along. She hadn't needed to become the most powerful summoner alive for a few decepit gods. There was always a much greater summoning waiting in her future. This is what she had trained for.
She doesn’t chant this time. The thing doesn’t understand words. But she reaches out with her power and finds it where it has always been, had she eyes to see it. She calls it into the material world,
“...Sisitu... hold...”
“...you must not... do this...”
“...we do not... permit...”

“Are you frightened, small gods?!” she screams at them “Does death not strike or stay at your command? Give me what I ask!”
“...our power...”
“...is too much... decayed...”
“...what we said... in the fullness of... our strength...”
“...we cannot now... unsay...”
“...we entreat... your mercy...”

“My mercy.” Sisitu repeats. Laughing madly, she spreads her arms wide and finishes the summoning. Time at last to be born.
The spirit called into the circle is a swirling mass of horror. Perhaps Sisitu can make out the barest suggestion of hands and eyes. Perhaps not. The thing is practically mindless. It has never been allowed to live long enough to develop a mind. Called into flesh a million times and expelled from the warm dark. It was never truly a child. It is a beast turned out of its den. It is very old. And it is very powerful. And it has been with Sisitu long enough to understand rage.
It takes a long time. Even in decay, gods don’t die easily. When it is over, the angry cloud roils and swirls in the circle of blood. Pushes against the walls of its magic womb.
Her baby. The reason she originally refused what she had spent so long searching for. Her first and only reason for living. As the first light of dawn stretches over the desert, the thing in the summoning circle melts away. She feels a familiar knife twist in her abdomen and her white robe is stained with red. She pulls the garment over her head and throws it away. The tide has turned once again.

I like it. :)
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User avatar
Erinkita
Postmaster-General
 
Posts: 14478
Founded: Sep 15, 2011
Ex-Nation

Postby Erinkita » Wed Mar 13, 2013 7:54 am

Constaniana wrote:
Erinkita wrote:Done! Finally! New character one-shot.
I'm not all that happy with it, but I finished it.

1580 AD

The sea.
The sea is still and flat along the coastline, a dull grey plane in the pre-dawn light. The Persian Gulf, they call it now. Sisitu had been here before the Achaemenid Empire, before Parsis. Nobody today knows what they had called it back then and Sisitu doesn’t particularly feel like telling anyone. Just a gulf, not a real ocean. But it is salt water nonetheless.
The sea was humanity’s womb, it was said. Man had burst forth into the world when the salt water could no longer hold him. And so had things repeated for every birth since. Because blood is salt water, and inside every human there is an ocean.
Here, now, as the sun begins to creep over the flat, sandy horizon at Sisitu’s back, inside her there is a turning of the tide.
Here, now, blood flows. And she doubles over in pain, clutches her stomach and feels the sticky mess trickle down her thighs. She straightens up, wades into the gulf up to her waist. The grey water is dappled with orange now. She lets it wash her clean. Lets blood return to blood. And she returns to the coast, her long Arabic dress sodden and stained. Today she will find the mouth of the Euphrates. Follow it upstream for two days and she will find what’s left of Eridu.
Trudging along, dripping as the sun rises, Sisitu’s thoughts take her home.


3092 BC

When Sisitu remembers Eridu, she remembers barley. Field after field of green and golden barley, so wide there was no end of them. The marshy soil was so rich that every seed unfolded and thrust up its head. They had been surrounded by green and gold that scorching summer day. The barley stalks were flattened beneath her back, her white robe tossed aside. She had looked up into his liquid brown eyes, his jet black hair, with beautiful green and gold all around.
He had been sixteen, a year older than her.
Even the great ziggurat temple E-abzu smelled of barley. The stone was cool beneath her feel, even in the heat of a summer noon. When the guards came for her, they marched her through the fields in her spotless white robe with her hands bound. The gleaners stopped their work to watch. It was not often they got to see a priestess brought so low. She avoided their eyes. But the eyes of the Speaker-for-Gods held her so that she could not look away.
She knelt on the cool stone. The Speaker-for-Gods examined her like a beetle between his fingers. His face was unreadable, what she could see of it between his long beard and his golden headdress. Today people speak of the mystery of God. Back then, the gods were not mysterious. They crowded around, just on the edge of Sisitu’s sight. Anu. Enki. Inana. Enlil. Ninhursag. The great gods of Sumer.
“You are Sisitu,” the Speaker-for-Gods said “of whom the gods require both obedience and chastity.”
“Majesty, I am she.” Sisitu managed to keep the tremor out of her voice. “But I repent my sin and would find the gods’ favour again at any cost.”
“Indeed?” the Speaker-for-Gods’ voice was light and musical, not the booming heavy tones she would have expected from such an impressive man. “Then rejoice, Sisitu, for the gods will pardon you. Providing only that you take your life in the temple grounds.”
For a few seconds, she could say nothing. Her lips trembled as she forced the words out. “Majesty, I cannot. You know I cannot!”
“‘At any cost,’ you said.”
“Aye, any cost to me. But I am pregnant. I cannot kill my baby. If you would stay my sentence for just a few—”
The almost-visible forms of the gods crowded closer around her. She could feel their anger crackling through the air like a storm about to break. She knew their faces and names. She knew their domains. She knew their stories. She had devoted her life to them. The weight of their malice bent her spine. Her forehead touched the floor.
“Enough. The gods offered you death and you would not take it. Take their curse instead. You are an abomination heaved from their affronted sight. Death will not touch you now. When Eridu is dust, and the dust baked and built into cities still unthought-of, the sun will still look down upon your shame.”


1580 AD

Sisitu is awake before dawn in the old travellers’ inn where she spent the night. She stands naked by the window, watching for the first signs of the sun, holding a round-bottomed jar.
Her guts clench. The tide turns once again and runs down her legs. She is ready and fills the jar with her bright, fresh blood. After firmly corking the jar and fastening the top, she attends to her hygiene. Such things are important. She leaves most of the grisly payload on the floor. Let the innkeeper deal with it. She places the jar in her bag, along with her soiled clothes from the previous day, a skin of water, and the money she didn’t spend on this night in the inn, and unfolds her fresh, clean, white robe. The material is finer than any of the clothing they made back then, but otherwise it is exactly the same. She puts it on, smoothing it across her belly and thighs. Her robe was her armour, and her declaration of war. She wore it for the same reason she was returning to Eridu. It should end as it began. There was a rightness to this.
Sisitu takes a deep breath, girds herself for the day ahead, takes up her light luggage, and resumes her pilgrimage.


1067 AD

It was on a green hill they met. Unbelievably green. It was only a few miles west of Hastings, but untouched by the battle. Only months had passed since then, but it was agreed by all but the most foolish that William the Norman was king of England.
Sisitu dressed in the garb of a native peasant woman, but nothing could disguise her Mesopotamian features. She looked fifteen, as she had for more than four thousand years.
He was dressed simply as well, but it didn’t seem to be for the sake of inconspicuousness. She suspected he dressed in well-worn travelling clothes wherever he went. He looked old already, tired from the weight of the years, but strong. Unbelievably strong. She was glad of that.
“I understand what you want of me,” he said “and I came to see you out of respect for what you have already accomplished. But understand that I cannot kill you.”
Sisitu shook her head, refreshed by his bluntness. Too much of conversation was hiding what was really meant. It was the kind of thing that got tiring after a few millennia. “I wouldn’t ask that of you. Just removed the curse and let me live out the rest of my natural days.”
“That would be killing you,” the old man said, “and you misunderstand me. Your curse was placed on you by the Sumerian gods in all their power and wrath. I don’t have the power to undo it. I doubt anyone does. No one you could, or would want to, contact anyway. If you want death so badly, take it up with your gods.”
It was as if she had been slapped in the face. There was no malice in his words, but the death of her one hope hurt more than any insult could.
“Don’t you think I’ve done that?” she snapped, trying and failing to keep the anger out of her voice “For four thousand years I’ve called to them, prayed to them, sacrificed to them. They never respond.”
He looked out at the meadow below them. Green, so vibrant green. Greener than the barley fields of Sumer, Sisitu thought. And yet this was such an old land.
“Time distils most things down to their essence,” he said in careful, measured words “If it were me, I’d bargain from strength.”
“You mean I can force them to answer my call?”
“It can be done. A sorcerer can summon all kinds of supernatural entities if he knows the art. Gods too, although that’s more difficult.”
Sisitu’s stomach rose to meet her heart. She held her breath, barely daring to believe what was being suggested to her. She couldn’t ask him to do it for her. He would refuse, she knew. “Will you teach me?” she asked, hoping against four thousand years of desperation. The old man didn’t meet her eyes. He kept staring intently at the green English meadow. “Do you know how my immortality works?” she pressed “It is the recycling of a single day. Every dawn, my body remakes itself just as it was when the gods first cursed me. I’ve had the same miscarriage every day for four thousand, one hundred, and fifty-nine years.”
The old man turned to look at her, his face as implacable as the Speaker-for-Gods’ so long ago. “You’ll have to start small,” he said at last “Imps and sprites, things of that nature. Becoming powerful enough to call down the gods will take time.”
“Time, I have.” Sisitu found herself smiling. The expression seemed so alien. Had it really been that long? She didn’t cry, not even for joy. The salt water reminded her too much of blood. “Thank you, Fixban.”


1580 AD

It is dusk by the time she reaches Eridu. The city was once a mud-brick metropolis. They used to say it was the first city in the world. Whether or not that’s true, it was probably the largest in its day. It straddled the Euphrates where it flowed into the gulf. Paradise for farmers and fishers alike. The course of the river has changed since then. The coastline has moved too. The landscape is an inhospitable desert now. And Eridu is a few piles of crumbling stone. It’s still possible to make out the outline of the great ziggurat temple where the gods cursed Sisitu, once upon a time the marvel of Mesopotamia. She notes with some perverse pride that it is still the largest structure as far as the eye can see. Hot and thirsty, her waterskin empty, her white robe stained with sand, Sisitu climbs to the top of the ruin. The wind picks up, tugging playfully at her as if the land itself was welcoming her home. It has been a very long time.
Sisitu sets down her bag and takes out the jar of blood from this morning’s miscarriage. She uncorks it, dips her finger in, and draws a wide circle on the rough stone, careful to leave no gap. Candles, pentagrams and eldritch symbols are for amateurs and dilettantes. This is old magic. Simple, powerful, and pungent.
Sisitu spent over two centuries studying under Fixban until she had surpassed him in the art of summoning. Then she had sought out others to teach her what he could not. Some of them had been human. When there was nothing more she could learn from others, she taught herself. In the specific field of summoning and binding, Sisitu of Eridu is the most powerful practitioner in the world. She has no doubt that she is ready to bind gods to her will.
Stepping outside the circle, Sisitu anoints herself with her own blood and begins to chant in halting Sumerian. How many centuries, how many millennia have passed since she last used the mother tongue? No matter. It’s like riding a horse. She does not beg. She does not entreat. That is behind her. She reaches out with her power and forces them to manifest before her. And they appear. With the scent of barley and the whispering of the grain fields, they appear.
She almost laughs at the absurdity. The great gods of Sumer crowded into her summoning circle like so many geese in a pen. They look so small. She expected this to be the most difficult thing she had ever attempted. She had trained for almost five centuries to become strong enough for this. And their combined power turns out to be no more than a mid-level demon or a ghost with a thousand years to its name. This is insultingly easy.
Sisitu falls to her knees, forcing supplication where there is only anger. “Gods of Sumer, your servant speaks to you. Sisitu of Eridu asks your forgiveness. Please?”
Their thin, reedy voices are barely audible above the desert wind. “...but your sin... is great...”
“...and not yet expiated...”
“...it is sacrilege...”
“...for you... even to call on us...”

Sisitu’s mouth tightens. Her hands clench. “You cannot imagine how little I care about sacrilege now. I ask you again. Will you remove the curse, and let me die?”
“...not yet...”
“...in a thousand years...”
“...we will... consider...”
“...and you may... ask again...”

Sisitu bows her head so they will not see her face. Inside, she screams. She rages. She tears herself to pieces with her own hands. Her head splits open and all her fury and all her power wash over the world and destroy every living thing in it. Outwardly, she remains motionless and silent. And in her bottomless rage, she finds clarity. Bargain from strength... strength that time distils... Fixban’s words to her five centuries ago. How could she have been so blind? It was there with her all along. She hadn't needed to become the most powerful summoner alive for a few decepit gods. There was always a much greater summoning waiting in her future. This is what she had trained for.
She doesn’t chant this time. The thing doesn’t understand words. But she reaches out with her power and finds it where it has always been, had she eyes to see it. She calls it into the material world,
“...Sisitu... hold...”
“...you must not... do this...”
“...we do not... permit...”

“Are you frightened, small gods?!” she screams at them “Does death not strike or stay at your command? Give me what I ask!”
“...our power...”
“...is too much... decayed...”
“...what we said... in the fullness of... our strength...”
“...we cannot now... unsay...”
“...we entreat... your mercy...”

“My mercy.” Sisitu repeats. Laughing madly, she spreads her arms wide and finishes the summoning. Time at last to be born.
The spirit called into the circle is a swirling mass of horror. Perhaps Sisitu can make out the barest suggestion of hands and eyes. Perhaps not. The thing is practically mindless. It has never been allowed to live long enough to develop a mind. Called into flesh a million times and expelled from the warm dark. It was never truly a child. It is a beast turned out of its den. It is very old. And it is very powerful. And it has been with Sisitu long enough to understand rage.
It takes a long time. Even in decay, gods don’t die easily. When it is over, the angry cloud roils and swirls in the circle of blood. Pushes against the walls of its magic womb.
Her baby. The reason she originally refused what she had spent so long searching for. Her first and only reason for living. As the first light of dawn stretches over the desert, the thing in the summoning circle melts away. She feels a familiar knife twist in her abdomen and her white robe is stained with red. She pulls the garment over her head and throws it away. The tide has turned once again.

I like it. :)

Thank you. :hug: I like this character. There are things I can do with her.
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Constaniana
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Postby Constaniana » Wed Mar 13, 2013 8:09 am

Erinkita wrote:
Constaniana wrote:I like it. :)

Thank you. :hug: I like this character. There are things I can do with her.

You're welcome. :hug: And your new flag is just too adorable.
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Liriena
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Postby Liriena » Wed Mar 13, 2013 8:10 am

Should I do a one-shot for Marowit?

Also...

Erin! :hug:
be gay do crime


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Erinkita
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Postby Erinkita » Wed Mar 13, 2013 8:14 am

Constaniana wrote:
Erinkita wrote:Thank you. :hug: I like this character. There are things I can do with her.

You're welcome. :hug: And your new flag is just too adorable.

The duck really looks like it's playing to the camera, doesn't it?

Liriena wrote:Should I do a one-shot for Marowit?

Also...

Erin! :hug:

:hug: Liri m'darlin'!

You should if you want to. I'd like to read one because judging by the twitter feed, Marowit is awesome. Don't do it just because everyone else is though. Do it because you want to establish the character or because you've got a story that won't fit into the RP proper.
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Liriena
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Postby Liriena » Wed Mar 13, 2013 8:23 am

Erinkita wrote:
Constaniana wrote:You're welcome. :hug: And your new flag is just too adorable.

The duck really looks like it's playing to the camera, doesn't it?

Liriena wrote:Should I do a one-shot for Marowit?

Also...

Erin! :hug:

:hug: Liri m'darlin'!

You should if you want to. I'd like to read one because judging by the twitter feed, Marowit is awesome. Don't do it just because everyone else is though. Do it because you want to establish the character or because you've got a story that won't fit into the RP proper.

:hug:
be gay do crime


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Erinkita
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Postby Erinkita » Wed Mar 13, 2013 8:31 am

Liriena wrote:
Erinkita wrote:The duck really looks like it's playing to the camera, doesn't it?


:hug: Liri m'darlin'!

You should if you want to. I'd like to read one because judging by the twitter feed, Marowit is awesome. Don't do it just because everyone else is though. Do it because you want to establish the character or because you've got a story that won't fit into the RP proper.

:hug:

How you?
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Postby Liriena » Wed Mar 13, 2013 8:36 am

Erinkita wrote:
Liriena wrote: :hug:

How you?


I'm good. Left my resume at the employment agency and, if everything goes well, I'll start studying journalism at TEA (a college that specializes in journalism).

And I've decided I'm writing a one-shot for Marowit...using lyrics from Sondheim's "Company". 8)

Et toi? :hug:
be gay do crime


I am:
A pansexual, pantheist, green socialist
An aspiring writer and journalist
Political compass stuff:
Economic Left/Right: -8.13
Social Libertarian/Authoritarian: -8.92
For: Grassroots democracy, workers' self-management, humanitarianism, pacifism, pluralism, environmentalism, interculturalism, indigenous rights, minority rights, LGBT+ rights, feminism, optimism
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cynicism


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Erinkita
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Postby Erinkita » Wed Mar 13, 2013 8:43 am

Liriena wrote:
Erinkita wrote:How you?


I'm good. Left my resume at the employment agency and, if everything goes well, I'll start studying journalism at TEA (a college that specializes in journalism).

And I've decided I'm writing a one-shot for Marowit...using lyrics from Sondheim's "Company". 8)

Et toi? :hug:

Eee! So excited for you. Pursuin' that dream all determined-like.

:lol: That is a beautiful idea.
As soon as I can, I'm buying the DVD of the Neil Patrick Harris version.

Moi, I work at a grocery store before it opens, which is great because it doesn't interfere with my university schedule. I'm studying nursing, which is hard but awesome. And when I can I volunteer at an animal shelter, which is equal parts fantastic and frustrating.
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Postby Liriena » Wed Mar 13, 2013 8:45 am

Erinkita wrote:
Liriena wrote:
I'm good. Left my resume at the employment agency and, if everything goes well, I'll start studying journalism at TEA (a college that specializes in journalism).

And I've decided I'm writing a one-shot for Marowit...using lyrics from Sondheim's "Company". 8)

Et toi? :hug:

Eee! So excited for you. Pursuin' that dream all determined-like.

:lol: That is a beautiful idea.
As soon as I can, I'm buying the DVD of the Neil Patrick Harris version.

Moi, I work at a grocery store before it opens, which is great because it doesn't interfere with my university schedule. I'm studying nursing, which is hard but awesome. And when I can I volunteer at an animal shelter, which is equal parts fantastic and frustrating.


Awww :hug:
My gradmother was a nurse...and everybody in my family loves animals to an insane degree. :P


I prefer the 2006 revival. Neil Patrick Harris and Stephen Colbert are great in the "Company" concert...but the revival had the actors playing the instruments themselves. You can't beat that. :P
be gay do crime


I am:
A pansexual, pantheist, green socialist
An aspiring writer and journalist
Political compass stuff:
Economic Left/Right: -8.13
Social Libertarian/Authoritarian: -8.92
For: Grassroots democracy, workers' self-management, humanitarianism, pacifism, pluralism, environmentalism, interculturalism, indigenous rights, minority rights, LGBT+ rights, feminism, optimism
Against: Nationalism, authoritarianism, fascism, conservatism, populism, violence, ethnocentrism, racism, sexism, religious bigotry, anti-LGBT+ bigotry, death penalty, neoliberalism, tribalism,
cynicism


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Postby Liriena » Wed Mar 13, 2013 8:47 am

Liriena wrote:
Erinkita wrote:Eee! So excited for you. Pursuin' that dream all determined-like.

:lol: That is a beautiful idea.
As soon as I can, I'm buying the DVD of the Neil Patrick Harris version.

Moi, I work at a grocery store before it opens, which is great because it doesn't interfere with my university schedule. I'm studying nursing, which is hard but awesome. And when I can I volunteer at an animal shelter, which is equal parts fantastic and frustrating.


Awww :hug:
My gradmother was a nurse...and everybody in my family loves animals to an insane degree. :P


I prefer the 2006 revival. Neil Patrick Harris and Stephen Colbert are great in the "Company" concert...but the revival had the actors playing the instruments themselves. You can't beat that. :P


Becoming a journalist is number 3 in my list of life dreams. Getting married and writing and publishing a novel are the top 2.
be gay do crime


I am:
A pansexual, pantheist, green socialist
An aspiring writer and journalist
Political compass stuff:
Economic Left/Right: -8.13
Social Libertarian/Authoritarian: -8.92
For: Grassroots democracy, workers' self-management, humanitarianism, pacifism, pluralism, environmentalism, interculturalism, indigenous rights, minority rights, LGBT+ rights, feminism, optimism
Against: Nationalism, authoritarianism, fascism, conservatism, populism, violence, ethnocentrism, racism, sexism, religious bigotry, anti-LGBT+ bigotry, death penalty, neoliberalism, tribalism,
cynicism


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Erinkita
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Postby Erinkita » Wed Mar 13, 2013 8:48 am

Liriena wrote:
Erinkita wrote:Eee! So excited for you. Pursuin' that dream all determined-like.

:lol: That is a beautiful idea.
As soon as I can, I'm buying the DVD of the Neil Patrick Harris version.

Moi, I work at a grocery store before it opens, which is great because it doesn't interfere with my university schedule. I'm studying nursing, which is hard but awesome. And when I can I volunteer at an animal shelter, which is equal parts fantastic and frustrating.


Awww :hug:
My gradmother was a nurse...and everybody in my family loves animals to an insane degree. :P


I prefer the 2006 revival. Neil Patrick Harris and Stephen Colbert are great in the "Company" concert...but the revival had the actors playing the instruments themselves. You can't beat that. :P

:hug:
I have no idea what my grandmother did, but her name was Siobhan and she looked nice in the photograph.

That was pretty incredible. Singer-actor-musicians. Must have been a hard production to cast. They pulled it off amazingly.
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Postby Liriena » Wed Mar 13, 2013 10:26 am

Ok, my oneshot is almost there.
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I am:
A pansexual, pantheist, green socialist
An aspiring writer and journalist
Political compass stuff:
Economic Left/Right: -8.13
Social Libertarian/Authoritarian: -8.92
For: Grassroots democracy, workers' self-management, humanitarianism, pacifism, pluralism, environmentalism, interculturalism, indigenous rights, minority rights, LGBT+ rights, feminism, optimism
Against: Nationalism, authoritarianism, fascism, conservatism, populism, violence, ethnocentrism, racism, sexism, religious bigotry, anti-LGBT+ bigotry, death penalty, neoliberalism, tribalism,
cynicism


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Liriena
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Postby Liriena » Wed Mar 13, 2013 11:13 am

Alright, this is my one-shot for Marowit :lol:

1770 AD

This had to be the most beautiful chapel in which Marowit had ever been married. A lonely medieval building standing in the middle of the English countryside. He probably could have afforded a far more grand and elegant venue, but Marowit had promised himself never to invest obscene amounts of money in a wedding ever again. Not after his second divorce.

Standing on the altar, dressed in a modest black jacket, Marowit trembled. Just like in the past four weddings, all his friends were here, staring up at him with reassuring smiles. Except Chernobog, of course. Chernobog was smirking, the cynical drunkard obviously relishing Marowit's fear.

After so many centuries together, they all still looked young and handsome. Not a single gray hair amongst those blonde, auburn and chestnut manes. Not even a lousy wrinkle in the Slavic faces of his fellow gods and goddesses.

The Wendish god of nightmares barely stiffled a scream as Sieba, bridesmaid in one of Marowit's weddings for the first time, appeared at the chapel's main door, which had been left fully open, showing the beauty of the green English fields and forests below a very cloudy sky. She began to sing a wedding tune, while Podaga played the organ that was beside the altar, fingers moving madly with a carefree grin on his face.

Oh, Yaweh...this is it! He cried inside his head, a shiver running up his spine as his hands turned into tight fists.

"Bless this day,
Pinnacle of life,
Husband joined to spouse.
The heart leaps up to behold
This golden day."


Sieba sang joyfully, walking down the aisle with...

Ugh...he looks so gorgeous... Marowit thought, squirming in his place beside the priest. Indeed, his soon-to-be husband, Lir, had never looked more unbelievably beauteous. Already he was one of the cutest creatures Marowit had ever laid eyes upon, but now? With his hair clean and perfectly combed, and wearing that simple yet beautiful robe/dress, he looked divine.

"Wow..." Marowit could hear Percunust, his best man, say with amusement. "That is truly the finest fiancé you've ever had, Mary."

"...shut up!" The groom hissed, eyes wide and fearful.

As Lir gracefully walked slowly but surely towards the altar, face filled with that relaxed exhilaration that was so typical of him, he began to sing to his soon-to-be husband, love and devotion oozing from every note. His singing voice had always been just as angelic as his form.

"Today is for Mary,
Mary, I give you the rest of my life,
To cherish and to keep you,
to honor you forever.
Today is for Mary,
My happily soon-to-be spouse
"

As he finished singing, Lir let out a feminine giggle, his smile only becoming wider and more overwhelming. Now Marowit truly felt his heart rate increase, and he was pretty sure he was going to have a heart attack soon.

"Mary...we're really doing this!" Lir whispered to him, only thirty feet away now.

That's it! I can't take it anymore! Marowit screamed in his mind, head slightly shaking from side to side as his thoughts carried on at an inhuman speed.

"Pardon me, is everybody here? Because if everybody's here, I
want to thank you all for coming to the wedding, I'd appreciate
your going even more, I mean you must have lots of better things
to do, and not a word of this to Lir, remember Lir, you know,
the man I'm gonna marry, but I'm not, because I wouldn't ruin
anyone as wonderful as he is--
Thank you all
For the gifts and the flowers,
Thank you all,
Now it's back to the showers,
Don't tell Lir,
But I'm not getting married today!
"

An awkward silence filled the entire chapel.

Shit...I sang it out loud, didn't I? Marowit could feel himself flushing, the knot in his stomach tightening as all eyes stared at him.

Finally, after a minute of excruciatingly quiet torture, Lir giggled once more, apparently not having even heard what his spouse-to-be had just rambled about. Sieba began to sing again, the procession down the aisle resumed.

"Bless this day,
Tragedy of life,
Husband joined to spouse.
The heart sinks down and feels dead
This dreadful day.
"

Wait...what? Oh, Yaweh...I'm starting to hear things. Now this was becoming increasingly serious. Either he was becoming delusional, or Sieba had seen right through him, and had decided to mock his suffering. No...that's what Chernobog would do...prick.

"Hey...umm...Mary...where are the wedding rings?" Percunust interrupted his nightmarish reverie with that hesitant whisper.

Marowit hesitated, before answering with a trembling voice.

"In my right pocket...along with my suicide note." The last part came off as a whine of pain, as he intertwined the fingers of both his hands in a tight hold, the pressure almost ripping the fabric of his gloves.

Apparently, the suicidal hyperbole went right over Percunust's head, since his only reaction was plunging a clumsy hand into Marowit's pocket, pulling a small velvet box from it.

Turning his attention back to his approaching soon-to-be spouse, Marowit felt another surge of dread. Twenty feet...he's twenty feet away now!

As realization dawned onto him, he proved to be, once more, utterly incapable of containing his panic.

"Listen, everybody, look, I don't know what you're waiting for,
a wedding, what's a wedding, it's a prehistoric ritual
where everybody promises fidelity forever, which is
maybe the most horrifying word I ever heard of, which is
followed by a honeymoon, where suddenly he'll realize he's
saddled with a nut, and wanna kill me, which he should--
Thanks a bunch,
But I'm not getting married--
Go have lunch,
'Cause I'm not getting married--
You've been grand,
But I'm not getting married--
Don't just stand there,
I'm not getting married--
And don't tell Lir,
But I'm not getting married today.
"

At this point, Marowit had just stopped caring about being heard or not. He was positively terrified and on the verge of a breakdown. Looking straight at his friends in the front row, he pressed his hands together, in the form typical of someone pleading for his life.

Evidently, Lir was either oblivious to his outburst, or was doing an outstanding job at pretending he had not heard a single word Marowit had just spewed.

"Go, can't you go?
Why is no-
Body listening?
Goodbye,
Go and cry
At another person's wake.
If you're quick,
For a kick,
You could pick
Up a christening,
But please,
On my knees,
There's a human life at stake!
"

Rather unconsciously, Marowit dropped to his knees, blue eyes wet with tears of true panic, before more verbal diarhea escaped from his rosy lips. His skin had never looked paler.

"Listen everybody, I'm afraid you didn't hear, or do you want to
see a crazy fella fall apart in front of you, it isn't only Liri
who may be ruining his life, you know we'll both of us be losing
our identities, I told my physician about it and he said to
see him Monday, but by Monday I'll be floating in the Thames with
the other garbage--
I'm not well,
So I'm not getting married--
You've been swell,
But I'm not getting married--
Clear the hall,
'Cause I'm not getting married--
Thank you all,
But I'm not getting married--
And don't tell Lir,
But I'm not getting married today.
"

This time, the awkward silence was surprisingly short, and this time Marowit actually released a frightened, girly cry as Sieba began to sing again.

"Bless this groom,
Totally insane,
Slipping down the drain.
And bless this day in our hearts
As it starts
To rain.
"

Indeed, it had started raining. Actually, it would have been more accurate to say it was pouring. It almost reminded him of the monsoons in India. Perfect...now it's officially my worst wedding ever.

Yet Lir continued sing with glee, obliviously taking the last few final steps towards the altar.

"Today is for Mary,
Mary, I give you the rest of my life,
To cherish and to keep you, to honor you forever.
Today is for Mary,
My happily soon-to-be spouse.
"

To hell with this shite! Marowit's mind declared as he began to plead to his friends again, hands flailing madly, walking back and forth in a small circle.

"Go, can't you go?
Look, you know I adore you all,
But why watch me die
Like Eliza on the ice?
Look, perhaps,
I'll collapse
In the apse
Right before you all,
So take back the cake,
Burn the shoes and boil the rice.
Look, I didn't wanna have to
tell you, but I may be coming
down with Hepatitis, and I
think I'm gonna faint, so if
you wanna see me faint, I'll
do it happily, but wouldn't
it be funnier to go and watch
a funeral, so thank you for the
twenty-seven dinner plates,
thirty-seven butter knives,
forty-seven paperweights,
fifty-seven candleholders--
"

"One more thing--" Lir continued.

"I am not getting married!" Marowit interrupted.

"Amen!" His friends shouted. What in Yaweh's name is going on?

"Softly said--" Said Lir, only five feet away. Please...no...

"But I'm not getting married!" The Wendish god of nightmares shouted, now having a real breakdown, his voice drowning the Irish god's loving words.

"Amen!" Again his friends praised.

"With this ring--" Lir said, as Percunust handed him the pretty, heavily ornamented white gold and sapphire wedding ring. Oh, no...

"Still I'm not getting married!" Marowit insisted, even while presenting his hand to his spouse-to-be, Lir gently sliding the ring onto his beloved's finger.

"Amen!" Even Chernobog was saying it now. Bastard...I'm never sharing my vodka with him again!

"I thee wed." Lir's smile had never been more tender as he finished exchanging rings with Marowit. Wait...why am I exchanging rings with him? I don't want to!

"Please, I'm not getting married!" Even while he shouted so, mostly to himself, he held Lir's hand as the priest wrapped the wedding up.

"Amen!" Amen my arse!

As the wedding came to an end, the priest gave the newlyweds permission to kiss, and Marowit and Lir began to sing simultaneously. Their faces grew closer as they did, lips ghosting over each other.

"Let us pray
That we are getting married
Today!
"

"Let us pray
That I'm not getting married
Today!
"

As Lir gently pressed his velvet-soft lips to Marowit's, the latter could hear his friends say "Amen!" one last time, before exploding into cheers, whistling and clapping with euphoria.

Dammit...I got married today.


2021 AD

It was midnight in Oxford, but inside a dark, yet very elegant pub in Oxford, a very intimate celebration was taking place. A small crowd of youthful-looking, yet extremely old Slavic deities were either sitting or standing around a small birthday cake, on a large circle of tables and couches, drinking and smoking with relaxed leisure as they waited for the "birthday boy" to blow out the candles.

Marowit lazily blew on the lit candles. Over one thousand and eight hundred of them. Was it really that hard for Sieba to buy four number-shaped candles? Yes, he was a god, but he was not the god of wind. By the time he had ran out of air, he had only blown out twenty of them.

"Well, our blessings, Mary." Said Sieba, always the first to highlight the bright side of disappointments such as this one.

"Don't tell your wish, Marowit, or it won't come true." Said Dziewonna, one of the only two female friends of his who were exceedingly kind towards him, without being grating. ...unlike Sieba.

Marowit blew on the candles again, this time getting only thirteen. Today was not his lucky day, it seemed.

"You just blew it." Pointed out Chernobog, always dressed elegantly, with a martini and a cigarette in each hand. Always the sardonic one.

"It was probably a wish you wouldn't have gotten anyway, Mary." Sieba again tried to reassure him. Very nice of her, but not really effective.

"Did you wish for another husband, Mary?" Radegast asked playfully, glass of champagne in hand. He just had to shove his lovely, millennia-long trophy wife and obscene wealth in Marowit's face every single birthday, didn't he?

"Don't! You're a lucky son of a gun, Marowit! Hang in there!" Said Swantewit with an equally mocking voice. That being said, he was probably the one fellow Wendish god that Marowit liked the most. A millennia-long closet case that pretended to be happily married to Hela, while constantly inviting Marowit to gay bars and competing to see who could seduce the most mortals in a single night.

"Stay exactly the same, Mary. You might be the only constant in this world of variables!" Stepped in Ziva, the least grating of all of Marowit's female friends.

"I don't know, Ziva...You can't stay in your eighteenth century forever." Interrupted Siebog, Ziva's extremely marriage-obsessed husband. Marowit liked him, but his insistence on Marowit getting a wife and having children had become annoying after eighteen centuries of hearing it over and over.

"You'll still get your wish, Mary." Dziewonna spoke again, rubbing his friend's shoulder tenderly.

"Won't." Countered Chernobog with a snort, drawing exasperated glances from his fellow gods. Marowit, however, was slightly amused. Chernobog could be a dick, but he was never ashamed to admit it. He embraced his bad attitude with cool dignity.

"I think he still gets his wish." Said Zaria, Radegast's wife, smiling warmly at their celebrated friend.

"I say he won't." Chernobog insisted, his expression being the very definition of deadpan.

"Cherny, honey, come on...!" Intervened Chernobog's husband, Karewit, his smile trying desperately to bring back some optimism and celebratory spirit to this party. "See...when Cherny and Mary get together..."

"Karewit, I am telling you...If you do not blow out all the candles on a cake, you do not get your wish." Chernobog interrupted, not even looking at his sweet, handsome husband. "I know all the rules for birthday candle-blowing. I've had enough for a wax museum."

Alright. Listening to Chernobog deliver his sardonic commentary was entertaining for Marowit, but he did not want this birthday party to become a snuff film.

"Actually, guys...I didn't wish for anything." He finally declared, before taking a sip of red wine. What could I possibly wish for?

All at once, he heard a dozen surprised voices speaking up.

"What do you mean you didn't wish for anything?"

"Come on! Everybody is so curious!"

"Tell us, Mary."

Marowit actually sighed as he stood up to face them all.

"Thank you for including me in your thoughts...your lives." He half-heartedly made a mock toast, glass of wine high and pointed at the group surrounding him.

"Stay exactly as you are, Mary." Pleaded Zislbog with a smile, his glass of bourbon colliding carefully with Marowit's.

"That's right, you sweet thing! Stay exactly as you are!" Ziva chirped with a wink, also toasting with Marowit.

"Everyone adores you! What an awful thing!" Chernobog stepped in, martini raised with a grin. "I'd kiss you goodnight, Mary, but Karewit gets jealous."

Karewit's confused look was priceless.

"Things happen for the best!" Sieba declared as her glass clinked with Marowit's.

There suddenly was an awkward silence, all eyes staring at Sieba, baffled. Even Marowit.

"...I don't even believe that myself." She finally confessed, cracking under the pressure, and everyone in that pub smirked, barely withholding their chuckles.

"I mean...when you have friends like mine." Marowit continued regardless, his fake grin slowly turning into a warm smile. "I mean...when you have friends like mine..."

Who was he fooling? He was fond of this bunch of idiots. So, he lifted his glass to them, biting on his lower lip to stop himself from smiling too much. Especially when Chernobog was watching. Marowit was snarky, but Chernobog was the god of snark himself. He did not want to hear any more scathing commentary from him.

As he began to talk again, he watched how Dziewonna started to play a tune on her bass. When had been the last time she had done that for his birthday? Oh, yes...last year. Well...I guess I must entertain them...

With that in mind, the Wendish god of nightmares began to sing tiredly, not really putting much passion or effort into it. His face was the very symbol of exasperated boredom.

"Isn't it warm?
Isn't it rosy?
Side by side by side.
"

"He's such a cutie! Isn't he a cutie?" Chirped Ziva, bumping shoulders with her husband as she laughed like a child in a playground. Marowit just grinned.

"Ports in a storm,
Comfy and cozy,
Side by side by side.
"

"He never loses his cool." Said Swantewit with wide eyes, apparently still oblivious, after all these centuries, to the millions of occasions in which Marowit had treated him with the most deprecating sarcasm, as a defense mechanism to stop himself from bashing Swantewit's head in. Marowit did lose his cool now and then, but he never turned that into a physical cataclysm. Just an implosion through snark.

"I envy that." Interjected Siebog with a lopsided grin.

"Everything shines,
How sweet!
"

"Side by side" Siebog and Ziva joined him.

"We're just so fond of him." Zaria said before pressing a light kiss to Marowit's cheek. Marowit blushed. Even after so many years of the same kisses on the cheek, he was still not used to Zaria's affection.

"..by side.
Parallel lines
Who meet.
"

Suddenly, all his friends were singing too.

"Love him!
Can't get enough of him!
"

"Everyone winks,
Nobody's nosy,
Side by side by side.
"

He continued walking his way through the pub as every single one of his friends picked up an instrument and joined the melody.

"He is just crazy about me." Boasted Chernobog as he produced a vast array of percussion instruments out of nowhere. Probably his divine arsehole.

"He's a very tender guy." Radegast praised him, patting him on the shoulder.

"You bring the drinks
And I'll bring the posy--
"

Marowit deadpanned.

"Side by side..."

The others carried on, forming a circle around their only unmarried friend.

"He's always there when you need him." Karewit smiled sweetly at him from behind Chernobog.

"...by side.
One is lonely and two is boring,
Think what you can keep ignoring
Side by side by side.
"

"He's my best friend..." Sieba declared with hesitant pride, but soon cracked under the stares of the others. "I mean, next to my husband."

"Never a father!
Seven times a godfather!

Year after year,
Older and older...
"

"It's amazing. We've gotten older every year and he seems to stay exactly the same." Karewit widened his eyes in an expression of faked outrage, leaning besides the others.

"Sharing a tear,
Lending a shoulder.
"

"You know what comes to my mind when I see him?" Radegast teased, winking at Chernobog. "Stonehenge. Isn't that funny?"

Marowit rolled his eyes as the two male gods laughed. Yeah, yeah...very funny, guys!

"Ain't we got fun?
No strain.
"

"Sometimes I catch him looking and looking--and I just look
right back." Chernobog mocked before toasting with Radegast.

"Permanent sun,
No rain.
We're so crazy, he's so sane.
Friendship forbids
Anything bitter.
"

Everybody sang to him, either with loving sincerity of thick sarcasm. To be honest, Marowit preferred the latter.

"You know, a person like Mary doesn't lack the good things and he doesn't have the bad things..." Radegast said, standing on one of the tables, grinning like the arrogant prick he was, holding onto his wife's waist. "...but he doesn't have the good things either."

"Being the kid
As well as the sitter--
"

"Let me make him a drink." Suddenly said Siebog, holding a glass and a bottle of the finest bourbon in his hand. "He's the only guy I know I feel should drink more."

As soon as it was poured, Marowit happily grabbed that drink and took a long gulp, instantly feeling slightly more happy to be there, listening to the same song for the one-thousand-and-eight-hundredth time. In fact, he felt far more enthusiastic about singing.

"One's impossible, two is dreary,
Three is company, safe and cheery.
Side...
By side...
By side.
"

As he caught all his friends getting in position in the corner of his eye, Marowit took his customary position, standing over the central table of the pub, barely suppressing the need to snort at the absurdity of all these antics as he continued singing.

"Here is the church,
Here is the steeple.
Open the doors
And see all the crazy married people.
"

And then, just as he finished singing, there was an explosion of music and singing in front of him. All his friends were standing in a column, not unlike the marching bands he had seen during his trips to the United States. Instruments in hand, singing this overly joyful song that Marowit had never really liked, his friends had disturbingly huge smiles on their faces as they danced awkwardly. Even Thor danced better while drunk.

"What would we do without you?
How would we ever get through?
Who would I complain to for hours?
Who'd bring me the flowers
When I have the flu?
Who'd finish yesterday's stew?
Who'd take the kids to the zoo?
Who is so dear, and who is so deep,
And who would keep her occupied when I want to sleep?
How would we ever get through?
What would we do without you?
"

Ah, yes...what would you lazy nitwits do without your childless, eight-times-divorced friend to clean up your messes? Marowit mused as he moved to join them. The crowd of Slavic deities began to dance around the pub, glasses flying through the are while limbs flailed frantically. It was a chaotic thing, a really shameful sight. But Marowit was slightly drunk, so he had a hard time feeling guilty about it. Besides, he only had to pander to them and their strange birthday ritual once a year.

"What would we do without you?
How would we ever get through?
Should there be a marital squabble,
Available Mary
Be there with the glue.
Who could we open up to,
Secrets we keep from guess who?
Who is so safe, and who is so sound?
You never need an analyst with Mary around!
How would we ever get through?
What would we do without you?
"

Without me? Darwin would be proven right, you bloody bunch of lucky microbes. You would be at the very bottom of the evolutionary ladder...right beneath the fungi under my kitchen sink and only barely above Scientologists. Snorted Marowit's mind while all his friends, obviously drunk, tried to do a purely instrumental section, and at the same time pretended to be a marching band. A cute little show, reminiscent of watching a Tyrannosaurus making the bed.

"What would we do without you?
How would we ever get through?
Who sends anniversary wishes?
Who helps with the dishes
And never says boo?
Who changes subjects on cue?
Who cheers us up when we're blue?
Who is a flirt, but never a threat,
Reminds us of our birthdays which we always forget?
How would we ever get through?
What would we do without you?
"

"Just what you usually do." He finally responded out loud, standing in the middle of the group with a big, insincere grin. No reason to destroy your lives by telling you just how helpless you'd be without me...You fellas actually having to take care of your children and your little marital affairs? Even the Titanic would be less tragic than that.

"You who sit with us,
You who share with us,
You who fit with us,
You who bear with us,
You-hoo, you-hoo,
You-hoo, you-hoo...
"

"Okay now! Everybody!" Shouted Chernobog, motioning for everyone to gather in line on the pub's small dance floor. He was obviously deriving much sadistic pleasure from this mediocre musical display.

Oh, great! Here comes my favorite part! Marowit sighed, defeated, as he prepared to start singing and dancing with the rest, holding hands like a bunch of brats in the kindergarden.

"Isn't it warm?
Isn't it rosy?
Side by side!
"

Siebog and Ziva interrupted the singing and dancing, playing each other a small solo. To be honest, Marowit thought it was quite a sweet to watch. Their eyes met in that instant when each of them played, and it seemed that there was something glorious in that look.

"Ports in a storm,
Comfy and cozy,
Side by side!
"

Now it was Radegast and Dziewonna's turn. Of all the couples, they had always looked the happiest when together. Never, in all the centuries they had been married, had Marowit seen them fight.

"Everything shines,
How sweet,
Side by side!
"

Chernobog and Karewit. Marowit had always thought that they made a terrible couple. Chernobog was too mean-spirited, at least from what Marowit could gather. Karewit, on the other hand, might as well have been proclaimed a saint. Still, as Karewit played the clarinet to his husband, who responded with a triangle...How typical of you, Cherny....they suddenly seemed just as perfect as Radegast and Dziewonna. Either Marowit was incredibly drunk, or there was a side to them that he was mostly unaware of.

Nevertheless, now it was Marowit's turn for a solo. Time to get my instrument... He thought as he produced a kazoo from his tight leather trousers and prepared to blow on it.

"Parallel lines
Who meet,
Side by side!
"

Yes, this was it. His turn to shine in this sorry little spectacle. With utmost confidence, Marowit blew on the kazoo, ignoring the snickering of the others, as well as the dreadful sound that the instrument made.

However, he could not ignore the very crushing reality that dawned on him as he finished playing the kazoo. Standing there, in front of the line of friends, he was alone. Just like last year, and the year before that, there was nobody there, no one was standing beside him to respond to his tune. Marowit was over one thousand and eight hundred years old, and he was the only one alone in his group right now.

"I...I..." Even someone as sardonic as him could not contain that sort of despair, and his face showed it. But his friends did not notice that small moment of weakness on his part. To them, Marowit's lack of a stable, life-long partner was just a fact of life, like earthquakes, rain or George Takei. Thus, they continued their song, a song that was supposed to be uplifting, to improve the mood of one of the most grumpy of them. Yet it had failed at that task, and miserably so.

"Year after year,
Older and older,
Side by side!
Sharing a tear
And lending a shoulder,
Side by side!
One's impossible, two is gloomy,
Give another number to me,
Side by side by side by side
By side by side by side by side
By side!
"


Music for the First celebration: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=maCRBsNpn-M
Music for the Second celebration: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AU5ZCCuvA8w
Last edited by Liriena on Wed Apr 03, 2013 6:07 pm, edited 20 times in total.
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Individuality-ness
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Posts: 37712
Founded: Mar 02, 2011
Ex-Nation

Postby Individuality-ness » Wed Mar 13, 2013 11:20 am

Liriena wrote:Alright, this is my one-shot for Marowit :lol:

1770 AD

This had to be the most beautiful chapel in which Marowit had ever been married. A lonely medieval building standing in the middle of the English countryside. He probably could have afforded a far more grand and elegant venue, but Marowit had promised himself never to invest obscene amounts of money on a wedding ever again. Not after his second divorce.

Standing on the altar, dressed in a modest black jacket, Marowit trembled. Just like in the past four weddings, all his friends were here, staring up at him with reassuring smiles. Except Chernobog, of course. Chernobog was smirking, the cynical drunkard obviously relishing Marowit's fear.

After so many centuries together, they all still looked young and handsome. Not a single gray hair amongst those blonde, auburn and chestnut manes. Not even a lousy wrinkle in the Slavic faces of his fellow gods and goddesses.

The Wendish god of nightmares barely stiffled a scream as Sieba, finally the bridesmaid for one of Marowit's weddings, appeared at the chapel's main door, which had been left fully open, showing the beauty of the green English fields and forests in a very cloudy day. She began to sing a wedding tune, while Podaga played the organ that was beside the altar, fingers moving madly with a carefree grin on his face.

Oh, Yaweh...this is it! He cried inside his head, a shiver running up his spine as his hands turned into tight fists.

"Bless this day,
Pinnacle of life,
Husband joined to wife.
The heart leaps up to behold
This golden day."


Sieba sang joyfully, walking down the aisle with...

Ugh...he looks so gorgeous... Marowit thought, squirming in his place beside the priest. Indeed, his soon-to-be husband, Lir, had never looked more unbelievably beauteous. Already he was one of the cutest creatures Marowit had ever laid eyes upon, but now? With his hair clean and perfectly combed, and wearing that simple yet beautiful robe/dress, he looked divine.

"Wow..." Marowit could hear Percunust, his best man, say with amusement. "That is truly the finest fiancé you've ever had, Mary."

"...shut up!" The groom hissed, eyes wide and fearful.

As Lir gracefully walked slowly but surely towards the altar, face filled with that relaxed exhilaration that was so typical of him, he began to sing to his soon-to-be husband, love and devotion oozing from every note. His singing voice had always been just as angelic as his form.

"Today is for Mary,
Mary, I give you the rest of my life,
To cherish and to keep you,
to honor you forever.
Today is for Mary,
My happily soon-to-be spouse
"

As he finished singing, Lir let out a feminine giggle, his smile only becoming wider and more overwhelming. Now Marowit truly felt his heart rate increase, and he was pretty sure he was going to have a heart attack soon.

"Mary...we're really doing this!" Lir whispered to him, only thirty feet away now.

That's it! I can't take it anymore! Marowit screamed in his mind, head slightly shaking from side to side as his thoughts carried on at an inhuman speed.

"Pardon me, is everybody here? Because if everybody's here, I
want to thank you all for coming to the wedding, I'd appreciate
your going even more, I mean you must have lots of better things
to do, and not a word of this to Lir, remember Lir, you know,
the man I'm gonna marry, but I'm not, because I wouldn't ruin
anyone as wonderful as he is--
Thank you all
For the gifts and the flowers,
Thank you all,
Now it's back to the showers,
Don't tell Lir,
But I'm not getting married today!
"

An awkward silence filled the entire chapel.

Shit...I sang it out loud, didn't I? Marowit could feel himself flushing, the knot in his stomach tightening as all eyes stared at him.

Finally, after a minute of excruciatingly quiet torture, Lir giggled once more, apparently not having even heard what his spouse-to-be had just rambled about. Sieba began to sing again, the procession down the aisle resumed.

"Bless this day,
Tragedy of life,
Husband joined to wife.
The heart sinks down and feels dead
This dreadful day.
"

Wait...what? Oh, Yaweh...I'm starting to hear things. Now this was becoming increasingly serious. Either he was becoming delusional, or Sieba had seen right through him, and had decided to mock his suffering. No...that's what Chernobog would do...prick.

"Hey...umm...Mary...where are the wedding rings?" Percunust interrupted his nightmarish reverie with that hesitant whisper.

Marowit hesitated, before answering with a trembling voice.

"In my right pocket...along with my suicide note." The last part came off as a whine of pain, as he intertwined the fingers of both his hands in a tight hold, the pressure almost ripping the fabric of his gloves.

Apparently, the suicidal hyperbole went right over Percunust's head, since his only reaction was plunging a clumsy hand into Marowit's pocket, pulling a small velvet box from it.

Turning his attention back to his approaching soon-to-be spouse, Marowit felt another surge of dread. Twenty feet...he's twenty feet away now!

As realization dawned onto him, he proved to be, once more, utterly incapable of containing his panic.

"Listen, everybody, look, I don't know what you're waiting for,
a wedding, what's a wedding, it's a prehistoric ritual
where everybody promises fidelity forever, which is
maybe the most horrifying word I ever heard of, which is
followed by a honeymoon, where suddenly he'll realize he's
saddled with a nut, and wanna kill me, which he should--
Thanks a bunch,
But I'm not getting married--
Go have lunch,
'Cause I'm not getting married--
You've been grand,
But I'm not getting married--
Don't just stand there,
I'm not getting married--
And don't tell Lir,
But I'm not getting married today.
"

At this point, Marowit had just stopped caring about being heard or not. He was positively terrified and on the verge of a breakdown. Looking straight at his friends in the front row, he pressed his hands together, in the form typical of someone pleading for his life.

Evidently, Lir was either oblivious to his outburst, or was doing an outstanding job at pretending he had not heard a single word Marowit had just spewed.

"Go, can't you go?
Why is no-
Body listening?
Goodbye,
Go and cry
At another person's wake.
If you're quick,
For a kick,
You could pick
Up a christening,
But please,
On my knees,
There's a human life at stake!
"

Rather unconsciously, Marowit dropped to his knees, blue eyes wet with tears of true panic, before more verbal diarhea escaped from his rosy lips. His skin had never look paler.

"Listen everybody, I'm afraid you didn't hear, or do you want to
see a crazy fella fall apart in front of you, it isn't only Liri
who may be ruining his life, you know we'll both of us be losing
our identities, I told my physician about it and he said to
see him Monday, but by Monday I'll be floating in the Thames with
the other garbage--
I'm not well,
So I'm not getting married--
You've been swell,
But I'm not getting married--
Clear the hall,
'Cause I'm not getting married--
Thank you all,
But I'm not getting married--
And don't tell Lir,
But I'm not getting married today.
"

This time, the awkward silence was surprisingly short, and this time Marowit actually released a frightened, girly cry as Sieba began to sing again.

"Bless this groom,
Totally insane,
Slipping down the drain.
And bless this day in our hearts
As it starts
To rain.
"

Indeed, it had started raining. Actually, it would have been more accurate to say it was pouring. It almost reminded him of the monsoons in India. Perfect...now it's officially my worst wedding ever.

Yet Lir continued sing with glee, obliviously taking the last few final steps towards the altar.

"Today is for Mary,
Mary, I give you the rest of my life,
To cherish and to keep you, to honor you forever.
Today is for Mary,
My happily soon-to-be spouse.
"

To hell with this shite! Marowit's mind declared as he began to plead to his friends again, hands flailing madly, walking back and forth in a small circle.

"Go, can't you go?
Look, you know I adore you all,
But why watch me die
Like Eliza on the ice?
Look, perhaps,
I'll collapse
In the apse
Right before you all,
So take back the cake,
Burn the shoes and boil the rice.
Look, I didn't wanna have to
tell you, but I may be coming
down with Hepatitis, and I
think I'm gonna faint, so if
you wanna see me faint, I'll
do it happily, but wouldn't
it be funnier to go and watch
a funeral, so thank you for the
twenty-seven dinner plates,
thirty-seven butter knives,
forty-seven paperweights,
fifty-seven candleholders--
"

"One more thing--" Lir continued.

"I am not getting married!" Marowit interrupted.

"Amen!" His friends shouted. What in Yaweh's name is going on?

"Softly said--" Said Lir, only five feet away. Please...no...

"But I'm not getting married!" The Wendish god of nightmare shouted, now having a real breakdown, his voice drowning the Irish sea god's loving words.

"Amen!" Again his friends praised.

"With this ring--" Lir said, as Percunust handed him the pretty, heavily ornamented white gold and sapphire wedding ring. Oh, no...

"Still I'm not getting married!" Marowit insisted, even while presenting his hand to his spouse-to-be, Lir gently sliding the ring onto his beloved's finger.

"Amen!" Even Chernobog was saying it now. Bastard...I'm never sharing my vodka with him again!

"I thee wed." Lir's smile had never been more tender as he finished exchanging rings with Marowit. Wait...why am I exchanging rings with him? I don't want to!

"Please, I'm not getting married!" Even as he shouted so, mostly to himself, he held Lir's hand as the priest wrapped the wedding up.

"Amen!" Amen my arse!

As the wedding came to an end, after the priest gave the newlyweds permission to kiss, Marowit and Lir began to sing simultaneously. Even as their faces grew closer, lips ghosting over each other.

"Let us pray
That we are getting married
Today!
"

"Let us pray
That I'm not getting married
Today!
"

As Lir gently pressed his velvet-soft lips to Marowit's, the latter could hear his friends say "Amen!" one last time, before exploding into cheers, whistling and clapping with euphoria.

Dammit...I got married today.


2018 AD

It was midnight in Oxford, but inside a dark, yet very elegant pub in Oxford, a very intimate celebration was taking place. A small crowd of youthful-looking, yet extremely old Slavic deities were either sitting or standing around a small birthday cake, on a large circle of tables and couches, drinking and smoking with relaxed leisure as they waited for the "birthday boy" to blow out the candles.

Marowit lazily blew on the lit candles. Over one thousand and eight hundred of them. Was it really that hard for Sieba to buy four number-shaped candles? Yes, he was a god, but he was not the god of wind. By the time he had ran out of air, he had only blown out twenty of them.

"Well, our blessings, Mary." Said Sieba, always the first to highlight the bright side of disappointments such as this one.

"Don't tell your wish, Marowit, or it won't come true." Said Dziewonna, one of the only two female friends of his who were exceedingly kind towards him, without being grating. ...unlike Sieba.

Marowit blew on the candles again, this time getting only thirteen. Today was not his lucky day, it seemed.

"You just blew it." Pointed out Chernobog, always dressed elegantly, with a martini and a cigarette in each hand. Always the sardonic one.

"It was probably a wish you wouldn't have gotten anyway, Mary." Sieba again tried to reassure him. Very nice of her, but not really effective.

"Did you wish for another husband, Mary?" Radegast asked playfully, glass of champagne in hand. He just had to shove his lovely, millennia-long trophy wife and obscene wealth in Marowit's face every single birthday, didn't he?

"Don't! You're a lucky son of a gun, Marowit! Hang in there!" Said Swantewit with an equally mocking voice. That being said, he was probably the one fellow Wendish god that Marowit liked the most. A millennia-long closet case that pretended to be happily married to Hela, while constantly inviting Marowit to gay bars and competing to see who could seduce the most mortals in a single night.

"Stay exactly the same, Mary. You might be the only constant in this world of variables!" Stepped in Ziva, the least grating of all of Marowit's female friends.

"I don't know, Ziva...You can't stay in your eighteenth century forever." Interrupted Siebog, Ziva's extremely marriage-obsessed husband. Marowit liked him, but his insistence on Marowit getting a wife and having children had become annoying after eighteen centuries of hearing it over and over.

"You'll still get your wish, Mary." Dziewonna spoke again, rubbing his friend's shoulder tenderly.

"Won't." Countered Chernobog with a snort, drawing exasperated glances from his fellow gods. Marowit, however, was slightly amused. Chernobog could be a dick, but he was never ashamed to admit it. He embraced his bad attitude with cool dignity.

"I think he still gets his wish." Said Zaria, Radegast's wife, smiling warmly at their celebrated friend.

"I say he won't." Chernobog insisted, his expression being the very definition of deadpan.

"Cherny, honey, come on...!" Intervened Chernobog's husband, Karewit, his smile trying desperately to bring back some optimism and celebratory spirit to this party. "See...when Cherny and Mary get together..."

"Karewit, I am telling you...If you do not blow out all the candles on a cake, you do not get your wish." Chernobog interrupted, not even looking at his sweet, handsome husband. "I know all the rules for birthday candle-blowing. I've had enough for a wax museum."

Alright. Listening to Chernobog deliver his sardonic commentary was entertaining for Marowit, but he did not want this birthday party to become a snuff film.

"Actually, guys...I didn't wish for anything." He finally declared, before taking a sip of red wine. What would I wish for?

All at once, he heard a dozen surprised voices speaking up.

"What do you mean you didn't wish for anything?"

"Come on! Everybody is so curious!"

"Tell us, Mary."

Marowit actually sighed as he stood up to face them all.

"Thank you for including me in your thoughts...your lives." He half-heartedly made a mock toast, glass of wine high and pointed at the group surrounding him.

"Stay exactly as you are, Mary." Pleaded Zislbog with a smile, his glass of bourbon colliding carefully with Marowit's.

"That's right, you sweet thing! Stay exactly as you are!" Ziva chirped with a wink, also toasting with Marowit.

"Everyone adores you! What an awful thing!" Chernobog stepped in, martini raised with a grin. "I'd kiss you goodnight, Mary, but Karewit gets jealous."

Karewit's confused look was priceless.

"Things happen for the best!" Sieba declared as her glass clinked with Marowit's.

There suddenly was an awkward silence, all eyes staring at Sieba, baffled. Even Marowit.

"...I don't even believe that myself." She finally confessed, cracking under the pressure, and everyone in that pub smirked, barely withholding their chuckles.


May continue it later on, adding the lyrics of Side by Side, so don't take it as the final draft yet. :P

Here's the music for the first part: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=maCRBsNpn-M

Have a title for this oneshot?
"I should have listened to her, so hard to keep control. We kept on eating but our bloated bellies still not full."
Poetry Thread | How to Not Rape | Aspergers v. Assburgers | You Might be an Altie If... | Factbook/Extension

User avatar
Liriena
Khan of Spam
 
Posts: 56651
Founded: Nov 19, 2010
Left-wing Utopia

Postby Liriena » Wed Mar 13, 2013 11:24 am

Individuality-ness wrote:
Liriena wrote:Alright, this is my one-shot for Marowit :lol:

1770 AD

This had to be the most beautiful chapel in which Marowit had ever been married. A lonely medieval building standing in the middle of the English countryside. He probably could have afforded a far more grand and elegant venue, but Marowit had promised himself never to invest obscene amounts of money on a wedding ever again. Not after his second divorce.

Standing on the altar, dressed in a modest black jacket, Marowit trembled. Just like in the past four weddings, all his friends were here, staring up at him with reassuring smiles. Except Chernobog, of course. Chernobog was smirking, the cynical drunkard obviously relishing Marowit's fear.

After so many centuries together, they all still looked young and handsome. Not a single gray hair amongst those blonde, auburn and chestnut manes. Not even a lousy wrinkle in the Slavic faces of his fellow gods and goddesses.

The Wendish god of nightmares barely stiffled a scream as Sieba, finally the bridesmaid for one of Marowit's weddings, appeared at the chapel's main door, which had been left fully open, showing the beauty of the green English fields and forests in a very cloudy day. She began to sing a wedding tune, while Podaga played the organ that was beside the altar, fingers moving madly with a carefree grin on his face.

Oh, Yaweh...this is it! He cried inside his head, a shiver running up his spine as his hands turned into tight fists.

"Bless this day,
Pinnacle of life,
Husband joined to wife.
The heart leaps up to behold
This golden day."


Sieba sang joyfully, walking down the aisle with...

Ugh...he looks so gorgeous... Marowit thought, squirming in his place beside the priest. Indeed, his soon-to-be husband, Lir, had never looked more unbelievably beauteous. Already he was one of the cutest creatures Marowit had ever laid eyes upon, but now? With his hair clean and perfectly combed, and wearing that simple yet beautiful robe/dress, he looked divine.

"Wow..." Marowit could hear Percunust, his best man, say with amusement. "That is truly the finest fiancé you've ever had, Mary."

"...shut up!" The groom hissed, eyes wide and fearful.

As Lir gracefully walked slowly but surely towards the altar, face filled with that relaxed exhilaration that was so typical of him, he began to sing to his soon-to-be husband, love and devotion oozing from every note. His singing voice had always been just as angelic as his form.

"Today is for Mary,
Mary, I give you the rest of my life,
To cherish and to keep you,
to honor you forever.
Today is for Mary,
My happily soon-to-be spouse
"

As he finished singing, Lir let out a feminine giggle, his smile only becoming wider and more overwhelming. Now Marowit truly felt his heart rate increase, and he was pretty sure he was going to have a heart attack soon.

"Mary...we're really doing this!" Lir whispered to him, only thirty feet away now.

That's it! I can't take it anymore! Marowit screamed in his mind, head slightly shaking from side to side as his thoughts carried on at an inhuman speed.

"Pardon me, is everybody here? Because if everybody's here, I
want to thank you all for coming to the wedding, I'd appreciate
your going even more, I mean you must have lots of better things
to do, and not a word of this to Lir, remember Lir, you know,
the man I'm gonna marry, but I'm not, because I wouldn't ruin
anyone as wonderful as he is--
Thank you all
For the gifts and the flowers,
Thank you all,
Now it's back to the showers,
Don't tell Lir,
But I'm not getting married today!
"

An awkward silence filled the entire chapel.

Shit...I sang it out loud, didn't I? Marowit could feel himself flushing, the knot in his stomach tightening as all eyes stared at him.

Finally, after a minute of excruciatingly quiet torture, Lir giggled once more, apparently not having even heard what his spouse-to-be had just rambled about. Sieba began to sing again, the procession down the aisle resumed.

"Bless this day,
Tragedy of life,
Husband joined to wife.
The heart sinks down and feels dead
This dreadful day.
"

Wait...what? Oh, Yaweh...I'm starting to hear things. Now this was becoming increasingly serious. Either he was becoming delusional, or Sieba had seen right through him, and had decided to mock his suffering. No...that's what Chernobog would do...prick.

"Hey...umm...Mary...where are the wedding rings?" Percunust interrupted his nightmarish reverie with that hesitant whisper.

Marowit hesitated, before answering with a trembling voice.

"In my right pocket...along with my suicide note." The last part came off as a whine of pain, as he intertwined the fingers of both his hands in a tight hold, the pressure almost ripping the fabric of his gloves.

Apparently, the suicidal hyperbole went right over Percunust's head, since his only reaction was plunging a clumsy hand into Marowit's pocket, pulling a small velvet box from it.

Turning his attention back to his approaching soon-to-be spouse, Marowit felt another surge of dread. Twenty feet...he's twenty feet away now!

As realization dawned onto him, he proved to be, once more, utterly incapable of containing his panic.

"Listen, everybody, look, I don't know what you're waiting for,
a wedding, what's a wedding, it's a prehistoric ritual
where everybody promises fidelity forever, which is
maybe the most horrifying word I ever heard of, which is
followed by a honeymoon, where suddenly he'll realize he's
saddled with a nut, and wanna kill me, which he should--
Thanks a bunch,
But I'm not getting married--
Go have lunch,
'Cause I'm not getting married--
You've been grand,
But I'm not getting married--
Don't just stand there,
I'm not getting married--
And don't tell Lir,
But I'm not getting married today.
"

At this point, Marowit had just stopped caring about being heard or not. He was positively terrified and on the verge of a breakdown. Looking straight at his friends in the front row, he pressed his hands together, in the form typical of someone pleading for his life.

Evidently, Lir was either oblivious to his outburst, or was doing an outstanding job at pretending he had not heard a single word Marowit had just spewed.

"Go, can't you go?
Why is no-
Body listening?
Goodbye,
Go and cry
At another person's wake.
If you're quick,
For a kick,
You could pick
Up a christening,
But please,
On my knees,
There's a human life at stake!
"

Rather unconsciously, Marowit dropped to his knees, blue eyes wet with tears of true panic, before more verbal diarhea escaped from his rosy lips. His skin had never look paler.

"Listen everybody, I'm afraid you didn't hear, or do you want to
see a crazy fella fall apart in front of you, it isn't only Liri
who may be ruining his life, you know we'll both of us be losing
our identities, I told my physician about it and he said to
see him Monday, but by Monday I'll be floating in the Thames with
the other garbage--
I'm not well,
So I'm not getting married--
You've been swell,
But I'm not getting married--
Clear the hall,
'Cause I'm not getting married--
Thank you all,
But I'm not getting married--
And don't tell Lir,
But I'm not getting married today.
"

This time, the awkward silence was surprisingly short, and this time Marowit actually released a frightened, girly cry as Sieba began to sing again.

"Bless this groom,
Totally insane,
Slipping down the drain.
And bless this day in our hearts
As it starts
To rain.
"

Indeed, it had started raining. Actually, it would have been more accurate to say it was pouring. It almost reminded him of the monsoons in India. Perfect...now it's officially my worst wedding ever.

Yet Lir continued sing with glee, obliviously taking the last few final steps towards the altar.

"Today is for Mary,
Mary, I give you the rest of my life,
To cherish and to keep you, to honor you forever.
Today is for Mary,
My happily soon-to-be spouse.
"

To hell with this shite! Marowit's mind declared as he began to plead to his friends again, hands flailing madly, walking back and forth in a small circle.

"Go, can't you go?
Look, you know I adore you all,
But why watch me die
Like Eliza on the ice?
Look, perhaps,
I'll collapse
In the apse
Right before you all,
So take back the cake,
Burn the shoes and boil the rice.
Look, I didn't wanna have to
tell you, but I may be coming
down with Hepatitis, and I
think I'm gonna faint, so if
you wanna see me faint, I'll
do it happily, but wouldn't
it be funnier to go and watch
a funeral, so thank you for the
twenty-seven dinner plates,
thirty-seven butter knives,
forty-seven paperweights,
fifty-seven candleholders--
"

"One more thing--" Lir continued.

"I am not getting married!" Marowit interrupted.

"Amen!" His friends shouted. What in Yaweh's name is going on?

"Softly said--" Said Lir, only five feet away. Please...no...

"But I'm not getting married!" The Wendish god of nightmare shouted, now having a real breakdown, his voice drowning the Irish sea god's loving words.

"Amen!" Again his friends praised.

"With this ring--" Lir said, as Percunust handed him the pretty, heavily ornamented white gold and sapphire wedding ring. Oh, no...

"Still I'm not getting married!" Marowit insisted, even while presenting his hand to his spouse-to-be, Lir gently sliding the ring onto his beloved's finger.

"Amen!" Even Chernobog was saying it now. Bastard...I'm never sharing my vodka with him again!

"I thee wed." Lir's smile had never been more tender as he finished exchanging rings with Marowit. Wait...why am I exchanging rings with him? I don't want to!

"Please, I'm not getting married!" Even as he shouted so, mostly to himself, he held Lir's hand as the priest wrapped the wedding up.

"Amen!" Amen my arse!

As the wedding came to an end, after the priest gave the newlyweds permission to kiss, Marowit and Lir began to sing simultaneously. Even as their faces grew closer, lips ghosting over each other.

"Let us pray
That we are getting married
Today!
"

"Let us pray
That I'm not getting married
Today!
"

As Lir gently pressed his velvet-soft lips to Marowit's, the latter could hear his friends say "Amen!" one last time, before exploding into cheers, whistling and clapping with euphoria.

Dammit...I got married today.


2018 AD

It was midnight in Oxford, but inside a dark, yet very elegant pub in Oxford, a very intimate celebration was taking place. A small crowd of youthful-looking, yet extremely old Slavic deities were either sitting or standing around a small birthday cake, on a large circle of tables and couches, drinking and smoking with relaxed leisure as they waited for the "birthday boy" to blow out the candles.

Marowit lazily blew on the lit candles. Over one thousand and eight hundred of them. Was it really that hard for Sieba to buy four number-shaped candles? Yes, he was a god, but he was not the god of wind. By the time he had ran out of air, he had only blown out twenty of them.

"Well, our blessings, Mary." Said Sieba, always the first to highlight the bright side of disappointments such as this one.

"Don't tell your wish, Marowit, or it won't come true." Said Dziewonna, one of the only two female friends of his who were exceedingly kind towards him, without being grating. ...unlike Sieba.

Marowit blew on the candles again, this time getting only thirteen. Today was not his lucky day, it seemed.

"You just blew it." Pointed out Chernobog, always dressed elegantly, with a martini and a cigarette in each hand. Always the sardonic one.

"It was probably a wish you wouldn't have gotten anyway, Mary." Sieba again tried to reassure him. Very nice of her, but not really effective.

"Did you wish for another husband, Mary?" Radegast asked playfully, glass of champagne in hand. He just had to shove his lovely, millennia-long trophy wife and obscene wealth in Marowit's face every single birthday, didn't he?

"Don't! You're a lucky son of a gun, Marowit! Hang in there!" Said Swantewit with an equally mocking voice. That being said, he was probably the one fellow Wendish god that Marowit liked the most. A millennia-long closet case that pretended to be happily married to Hela, while constantly inviting Marowit to gay bars and competing to see who could seduce the most mortals in a single night.

"Stay exactly the same, Mary. You might be the only constant in this world of variables!" Stepped in Ziva, the least grating of all of Marowit's female friends.

"I don't know, Ziva...You can't stay in your eighteenth century forever." Interrupted Siebog, Ziva's extremely marriage-obsessed husband. Marowit liked him, but his insistence on Marowit getting a wife and having children had become annoying after eighteen centuries of hearing it over and over.

"You'll still get your wish, Mary." Dziewonna spoke again, rubbing his friend's shoulder tenderly.

"Won't." Countered Chernobog with a snort, drawing exasperated glances from his fellow gods. Marowit, however, was slightly amused. Chernobog could be a dick, but he was never ashamed to admit it. He embraced his bad attitude with cool dignity.

"I think he still gets his wish." Said Zaria, Radegast's wife, smiling warmly at their celebrated friend.

"I say he won't." Chernobog insisted, his expression being the very definition of deadpan.

"Cherny, honey, come on...!" Intervened Chernobog's husband, Karewit, his smile trying desperately to bring back some optimism and celebratory spirit to this party. "See...when Cherny and Mary get together..."

"Karewit, I am telling you...If you do not blow out all the candles on a cake, you do not get your wish." Chernobog interrupted, not even looking at his sweet, handsome husband. "I know all the rules for birthday candle-blowing. I've had enough for a wax museum."

Alright. Listening to Chernobog deliver his sardonic commentary was entertaining for Marowit, but he did not want this birthday party to become a snuff film.

"Actually, guys...I didn't wish for anything." He finally declared, before taking a sip of red wine. What would I wish for?

All at once, he heard a dozen surprised voices speaking up.

"What do you mean you didn't wish for anything?"

"Come on! Everybody is so curious!"

"Tell us, Mary."

Marowit actually sighed as he stood up to face them all.

"Thank you for including me in your thoughts...your lives." He half-heartedly made a mock toast, glass of wine high and pointed at the group surrounding him.

"Stay exactly as you are, Mary." Pleaded Zislbog with a smile, his glass of bourbon colliding carefully with Marowit's.

"That's right, you sweet thing! Stay exactly as you are!" Ziva chirped with a wink, also toasting with Marowit.

"Everyone adores you! What an awful thing!" Chernobog stepped in, martini raised with a grin. "I'd kiss you goodnight, Mary, but Karewit gets jealous."

Karewit's confused look was priceless.

"Things happen for the best!" Sieba declared as her glass clinked with Marowit's.

There suddenly was an awkward silence, all eyes staring at Sieba, baffled. Even Marowit.

"...I don't even believe that myself." She finally confessed, cracking under the pressure, and everyone in that pub smirked, barely withholding their chuckles.


May continue it later on, adding the lyrics of Side by Side, so don't take it as the final draft yet. :P

Here's the music for the first part: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=maCRBsNpn-M

Have a title for this oneshot?


I'm calling it "Company". No use calling it otherwise. :P
be gay do crime


I am:
A pansexual, pantheist, green socialist
An aspiring writer and journalist
Political compass stuff:
Economic Left/Right: -8.13
Social Libertarian/Authoritarian: -8.92
For: Grassroots democracy, workers' self-management, humanitarianism, pacifism, pluralism, environmentalism, interculturalism, indigenous rights, minority rights, LGBT+ rights, feminism, optimism
Against: Nationalism, authoritarianism, fascism, conservatism, populism, violence, ethnocentrism, racism, sexism, religious bigotry, anti-LGBT+ bigotry, death penalty, neoliberalism, tribalism,
cynicism


⚧Copy and paste this in your sig
if you passed biology and know
gender and sex aren't the same thing.⚧

I disown most of my previous posts

User avatar
Individuality-ness
Post Czar
 
Posts: 37712
Founded: Mar 02, 2011
Ex-Nation

Postby Individuality-ness » Wed Mar 13, 2013 11:25 am

Liriena wrote:
Individuality-ness wrote:Have a title for this oneshot?

I'm calling it "Company". No use calling it otherwise. :P

Okay. :)
"I should have listened to her, so hard to keep control. We kept on eating but our bloated bellies still not full."
Poetry Thread | How to Not Rape | Aspergers v. Assburgers | You Might be an Altie If... | Factbook/Extension

User avatar
Liriena
Khan of Spam
 
Posts: 56651
Founded: Nov 19, 2010
Left-wing Utopia

Postby Liriena » Wed Mar 13, 2013 11:25 am

Individuality-ness wrote:
Liriena wrote:I'm calling it "Company". No use calling it otherwise. :P

Okay. :)


:) :hug:

Thoughts?
be gay do crime


I am:
A pansexual, pantheist, green socialist
An aspiring writer and journalist
Political compass stuff:
Economic Left/Right: -8.13
Social Libertarian/Authoritarian: -8.92
For: Grassroots democracy, workers' self-management, humanitarianism, pacifism, pluralism, environmentalism, interculturalism, indigenous rights, minority rights, LGBT+ rights, feminism, optimism
Against: Nationalism, authoritarianism, fascism, conservatism, populism, violence, ethnocentrism, racism, sexism, religious bigotry, anti-LGBT+ bigotry, death penalty, neoliberalism, tribalism,
cynicism


⚧Copy and paste this in your sig
if you passed biology and know
gender and sex aren't the same thing.⚧

I disown most of my previous posts

User avatar
Individuality-ness
Post Czar
 
Posts: 37712
Founded: Mar 02, 2011
Ex-Nation

Postby Individuality-ness » Wed Mar 13, 2013 11:34 am

Liriena wrote:
Individuality-ness wrote:Okay. :)

:) :hug:

Thoughts?

I took a glance over it (because I need to beat over someone's head that rape is rape, and whether one intends to rape or not is irrelevant), and what I read so far is pretty good. :)
"I should have listened to her, so hard to keep control. We kept on eating but our bloated bellies still not full."
Poetry Thread | How to Not Rape | Aspergers v. Assburgers | You Might be an Altie If... | Factbook/Extension

User avatar
Liriena
Khan of Spam
 
Posts: 56651
Founded: Nov 19, 2010
Left-wing Utopia

Postby Liriena » Wed Mar 13, 2013 11:35 am

Individuality-ness wrote:
Liriena wrote: :) :hug:

Thoughts?

I took a glance over it (because I need to beat over someone's head that rape is rape, and whether one intends to rape or not is irrelevant), and what I read so far is pretty good. :)

:lol: I don't know if I should go back into that thread. Stupidity hurts.
be gay do crime


I am:
A pansexual, pantheist, green socialist
An aspiring writer and journalist
Political compass stuff:
Economic Left/Right: -8.13
Social Libertarian/Authoritarian: -8.92
For: Grassroots democracy, workers' self-management, humanitarianism, pacifism, pluralism, environmentalism, interculturalism, indigenous rights, minority rights, LGBT+ rights, feminism, optimism
Against: Nationalism, authoritarianism, fascism, conservatism, populism, violence, ethnocentrism, racism, sexism, religious bigotry, anti-LGBT+ bigotry, death penalty, neoliberalism, tribalism,
cynicism


⚧Copy and paste this in your sig
if you passed biology and know
gender and sex aren't the same thing.⚧

I disown most of my previous posts

User avatar
Individuality-ness
Post Czar
 
Posts: 37712
Founded: Mar 02, 2011
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Postby Individuality-ness » Wed Mar 13, 2013 11:42 am

Liriena wrote:
Individuality-ness wrote:I took a glance over it (because I need to beat over someone's head that rape is rape, and whether one intends to rape or not is irrelevant), and what I read so far is pretty good. :)

:lol: I don't know if I should go back into that thread. Stupidity hurts.

That it does. But the guy's STILL continuing. :palm:
"I should have listened to her, so hard to keep control. We kept on eating but our bloated bellies still not full."
Poetry Thread | How to Not Rape | Aspergers v. Assburgers | You Might be an Altie If... | Factbook/Extension

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Ende
Negotiator
 
Posts: 7475
Founded: Jan 23, 2012
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Postby Ende » Wed Mar 13, 2013 12:02 pm

The fuck, James?

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Nationstatelandsville
Khan of Spam
 
Posts: 70969
Founded: Apr 27, 2011
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Postby Nationstatelandsville » Wed Mar 13, 2013 12:17 pm

Ende wrote:The fuck, James?

Wait, you guys didn't know that?

I thought... I mean, duh?
"Then I was fertilized and grew wise;
From a word to a word I was led to a word,
From a work to a work I was led to a work."
- Odin, Hávamál 138-141, the Poetic Edda, as translated by Dan McCoy.

I enjoy meta-humor and self-deprecation. Annoying, right?

Goodbye.

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Mavorpen
Khan of Spam
 
Posts: 63266
Founded: Dec 20, 2011
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Postby Mavorpen » Wed Mar 13, 2013 12:19 pm

Nationstatelandsville wrote:
Ende wrote:The fuck, James?

Wait, you guys didn't know that?

I thought... I mean, duh?

I have no idea what's going on or why it's surprising.
"The Nixon campaign in 1968, and the Nixon White House after that, had two enemies: the antiwar left and black people. You understand what I'm saying? We knew we couldn't make it illegal to be either against the war or black, but by getting the public to associate the hippies with marijuana and blacks with heroin, and then criminalizing both heavily, we could disrupt those communities. We could arrest their leaders. raid their homes, break up their meetings, and vilify them night after night on the evening news. Did we know we were lying about the drugs? Of course we did."—former Nixon domestic policy chief John Ehrlichman

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