Elfen High 2 (OOC 5, Closed)

[Olthar]

Of course. I'm not arguing that at all, and I never have been. In fact, I willingly admit that they are very likely even richer than Jojo.

D is the richest man alive.

He wisely spends this money on Maxwell House coffee and updates for HAL.

D doesn't even possess blood anymore. He just has coffee in his veins.

[Nationstatelandsville]

D is the richest man alive.

He wisely spends this money on Maxwell House coffee and updates for HAL.

D doesn't even possess blood anymore. He just has coffee in his veins.

D regularly coughs up blood due to the many, many medical conditions he's developed over the years of being a freak of nature that broke the laws of Death.

So, probably, yeah.

[Olthar]

D doesn't even possess blood anymore. He just has coffee in his veins.

D regularly coughs up blood due to the many, many medical conditions he's developed over the years of being a freak of nature that broke the laws of Death.

So, probably, yeah.

You know, Jojo could probably cure him of those problems.

[Nationstatelandsville]

D regularly coughs up blood due to the many, many medical conditions he's developed over the years of being a freak of nature that broke the laws of Death.

So, probably, yeah.

You know, Jojo could probably cure him of those problems.

D could probably cure him of his obsession with his sister, too.

(dodges Optimus Prime)

[Erinkita]

kay.

Sisitu’s Los Angeles apartment was state of the art. It might have once had a nice view, but the effect was spoiled by the levitating roads stacked on top of each other like so many pancakes piled high above street level. It didn’t matter a great deal, as Sisitu’s window was a high-resolution LCD scrying pool. She could change the view to anything she wanted, delivered to her in real-time with zero delay. Magitech. Everything was magitech now. She could order groceries online and have them teleported to her apartment in an instant. Travel by teleportation was already becoming more and more widespread. The levitating roads would soon be obsolete, barely a decade after they’d been built. State of the art. The phrase didn’t mean much anymore. Who could say what state the art would be in tomorrow? Sisitu’s mind briefly flashed back to an enjoyable night spent with a soldier, so many years ago. “Forged steel,” he’d said proudly as he showed her his new sword “It cuts right through the old bronze weapons and stays sharp for weeks. It’s like we’re living in the future.” State of the art.

Sisitu turned away from her window, currently showing the view from some five-star hotel in Trinidad. She had lived in LA for seventeen years now, and the US for ninety-two. She had been in Nepal, avoiding both world wars, when she had heard the old man had died. Some sort of accident in that school he’d started back in the 1880s. His protégé, who was calling himself Aleister Crowley now, had been vague on the detail and she hadn’t pressed him. She arrived in England in time for his funeral. Just a face among the throng of teachers and students there to mourn the headmaster. It had been startling to see so many of them. People like her, strange people, people who weren’t people at all. So many all in one place. She had never visited the school before, and she hadn’t seen the old man since the 13th century. There was always time to reconnect later, until one day there wasn’t. After that, Nepal lost its flavour. China had invaded Tibet and India tried to counterbalance the perceived threat by making Nepal its puppet. Seeing the decades of government wrangling ahead, Sisitu packed up and left. Besides, Nepal was an old country. She no longer wished to be around old, dead things.

The United States had been new and exciting in the 1950s. The atomic age had begun. Innovation and prosperity mingled with paranoia and the prospect of total annihilation. Something about the atmosphere attracted Sisitu. Things had changed completely by the 60s, and again in the 70s. Perhaps that’s why Sisitu had stayed in the States so long. It was hard to get bored in a country that was constantly reinventing itself. And then Armageddon had come. Not the one the Americans of the 1950s had feared. No, this was much worse. But then it was over. Aleister Crowley and his Elfen High compatriots had saved them all. Once again the details were nebulous, but it was clear to everyone that the world would never be the same again. And since then, the United States had been reinventing itself every week.

Sisitu felt old. Innovation and prosperity were leaving a sour taste on her tongue. Perhaps it was time to return to something old. Something solid. She thought of the old man’s words to her almost a thousand years ago, the ones that had reunited her with her baby after so many years. Time distils most things down to their essence, he had said. What had time made of Sisitu? A bitter old woman rotting away in an expensive apartment, scowling at a world she never made? It was time for a change. Time to follow in the old man’s footsteps. Time to write the future herself. He had been a teacher. So would she.

[Hardened Pyrokinetics]

Is the award for being the first to guess one free God murder?

[Nationstatelandsville]

Is the award for being the first to guess one free God murder?

No, it's one hour with Mr. Fluffypaws.

[Hardened Pyrokinetics]

Is the award for being the first to guess one free God murder?

No, it's one hour with Mr. Fluffypaws.

Nuuuuuuu

[Individuality-ness]

kay.

Sisitu’s Los Angeles apartment was state of the art. It might have once had a nice view, but the effect was spoiled by the levitating roads stacked on top of each other like so many pancakes piled high above street level. It didn’t matter a great deal, as Sisitu’s window was a high-resolution LCD scrying pool. She could change the view to anything she wanted, delivered to her in real-time with zero delay. Magitech. Everything was magitech now. She could order groceries online and have them teleported to her apartment in an instant. Travel by teleportation was already becoming more and more widespread. The levitating roads would soon be obsolete, barely a decade after they’d been built. State of the art. The phrase didn’t mean much anymore. Who could say what state the art would be in tomorrow? Sisitu’s mind briefly flashed back to an enjoyable night spent with a soldier, so many years ago. “Forged steel,” he’d said proudly as he showed her his new sword “It cuts right through the old bronze weapons and stays sharp for weeks. It’s like we’re living in the future.” State of the art.

Sisitu turned away from her window, currently showing the view from some five-star hotel in Trinidad. She had spent seventeen years in Los Angeles, and ninety-two in the United States. Before that, it had been Nepal. She hid away in the mountains while the world went to war with itself twice. It was 1952 when word reached her that the old man had died. Some sort of accident in that school he’d started back in the 1880s. His protégé, who was calling himself Aleister Crowley now, had been vague on the detail and she hadn’t pressed him. She hadn't spoken at his funeral. She sat in the back, just a face among the throng of teachers and students there to mourn the headmaster. It had been startling to see so many of them. People like her, strange people, people who weren’t people at all. So many all in one place. She had never visited the school before, and she hadn’t seen the old man since the 13th century. There was always time to reconnect later. After that, Nepal lost its flavour. China had invaded Tibet and India tried to counterbalance the perceived threat by making Nepal its puppet. Sisitu had no wish to suffer the decades of government wrangling and infighting that were ahead. Besides, Nepal was an old country. She no longer wished to be around old, dead things.

The United States had been new and exciting in the 1950s. The atomic age had begun. Innovation and prosperity mingled with paranoia and the prospect of total annihilation. Something about the atmosphere attracted Sisitu. Things had changed completely by the 60s, and again in the 70s. Perhaps that’s why Sisitu had stayed in the States so long. It was hard to get bored in a country that was constantly reinventing itself. And then Armageddon had come. Not the one the Americans of the 1950s had feared. No, this was much worse. But then it was over. Aleister Crowley and his Elfen High compatriots had saved them all. Once again the details were nebulous, but it was clear to everyone that the world would never be the same again. And since then, the United States had been reinventing itself every week.

Sisitu felt old. Innovation and prosperity were leaving a sour taste on her tongue. Perhaps it was time to return to something old. Something solid. She thought of the old man’s words to her almost a thousand years ago, the ones that had reunited her with her baby after so many years. Time distils most things down to their essence, he had said. It was time for a change.

Have a title?

[Erinkita]

kay.

Sisitu’s Los Angeles apartment was state of the art. It might have once had a nice view, but the effect was spoiled by the levitating roads stacked on top of each other like so many pancakes piled high above street level. It didn’t matter a great deal, as Sisitu’s window was a high-resolution LCD scrying pool. She could change the view to anything she wanted, delivered to her in real-time with zero delay. Magitech. Everything was magitech now. She could order groceries online and have them teleported to her apartment in an instant. Travel by teleportation was already becoming more and more widespread. The levitating roads would soon be obsolete, barely a decade after they’d been built. State of the art. The phrase didn’t mean much anymore. Who could say what state the art would be in tomorrow? Sisitu’s mind briefly flashed back to an enjoyable night spent with a soldier, so many years ago. “Forged steel,” he’d said proudly as he showed her his new sword “It cuts right through the old bronze weapons and stays sharp for weeks. It’s like we’re living in the future.” State of the art.

Sisitu turned away from her window, currently showing the view from some five-star hotel in Trinidad. She had spent seventeen years in Los Angeles, and ninety-two in the United States. Before that, it had been Nepal. She hid away in the mountains while the world went to war with itself twice. It was 1952 when word reached her that the old man had died. Some sort of accident in that school he’d started back in the 1880s. His protégé, who was calling himself Aleister Crowley now, had been vague on the detail and she hadn’t pressed him. She hadn't spoken at his funeral. She sat in the back, just a face among the throng of teachers and students there to mourn the headmaster. It had been startling to see so many of them. People like her, strange people, people who weren’t people at all. So many all in one place. She had never visited the school before, and she hadn’t seen the old man since the 13th century. There was always time to reconnect later. After that, Nepal lost its flavour. China had invaded Tibet and India tried to counterbalance the perceived threat by making Nepal its puppet. Sisitu had no wish to suffer the decades of government wrangling and infighting that were ahead. Besides, Nepal was an old country. She no longer wished to be around old, dead things.

The United States had been new and exciting in the 1950s. The atomic age had begun. Innovation and prosperity mingled with paranoia and the prospect of total annihilation. Something about the atmosphere attracted Sisitu. Things had changed completely by the 60s, and again in the 70s. Perhaps that’s why Sisitu had stayed in the States so long. It was hard to get bored in a country that was constantly reinventing itself. And then Armageddon had come. Not the one the Americans of the 1950s had feared. No, this was much worse. But then it was over. Aleister Crowley and his Elfen High compatriots had saved them all. Once again the details were nebulous, but it was clear to everyone that the world would never be the same again. And since then, the United States had been reinventing itself every week.

Sisitu felt old. Innovation and prosperity were leaving a sour taste on her tongue. Perhaps it was time to return to something old. Something solid. She thought of the old man’s words to her almost a thousand years ago, the ones that had reunited her with her baby after so many years. Time distils most things down to their essence, he had said. It was time for a change.

Have a title?

Time for Change. Fits both Sisitu's situation and the state of the world.

EDIT: Shit, that's a previous version. Hang on. Some minor edits to make. Just phrasing a couple things better.

[Nationstatelandsville]

No, it's one hour with Mr. Fluffypaws.

Nuuuuuuu

Mr. Fluffypaws is the furry reincarnation of Mr. Rogers.

[Mavorpen]

Have a title?

Time for Change. Fits both Sisitu's situation and the state of the world.

This is oddly appropriate for my latest one shot as well.

[Individuality-ness]

Have a title?

Time for Change. Fits both Sisitu's situation and the state of the world.

EDIT: Shit, that's a previous version. Hang on. Some minor edits to make. Just phrasing a couple things better.

That's cool.

[Hardened Pyrokinetics]

So, what is the new Powergrid and how many points do I have to use on James?

[Olthar]

You know, Jojo could probably cure him of those problems.

D could probably cure him of his obsession with his sister, too.

(dodges Optimus Prime)

Well, at least Jojo was competent enough to figure out how to bring a dead family member back.

[Olthar]

So, what is the new Powergrid and how many points do I have to use on James?

23 general, 14 magic.

EDIT: Actually, it would be 24 and 15 because James is a returning character.

[Liriena]

So, what is the new Powergrid and how many points do I have to use on James?

23 general, 14 magic.

EDIT: Actually, it would be 24 and 15 because James is a returning character.

Is that for students or staff?

[Mavorpen]

23 general, 14 magic.

EDIT: Actually, it would be 24 and 15 because James is a returning character.

Is that for students or staff?

Staff I think.

[Olthar]

23 general, 14 magic.

EDIT: Actually, it would be 24 and 15 because James is a returning character.

Is that for students or staff?

That's staff. Students get 20 and 10.

[Erinkita]

Time for Change. Fits both Sisitu's situation and the state of the world.

This is oddly appropriate for my latest one shot as well.

*is intrigued* When do I get to read it?

Time for Change. Fits both Sisitu's situation and the state of the world.

EDIT: Shit, that's a previous version. Hang on. Some minor edits to make. Just phrasing a couple things better.

That's cool.

Just trying to curb my awkward prose.

[Mavorpen]

This is oddly appropriate for my latest one shot as well.

*is intrigued* When do I get to read it?

Few hours ago.

[Nightkill the Emperor]

Seriously though, I have no fucking idea how Olthar guessed that stuff. She is a witch.

[Mavorpen]

Seriously though, I have no fucking idea how Olthar guessed that stuff. She is a witch.

I actually haven't been surprised at all so far because of it. Like, while everyone else has been thinking, "Olthar, that's stupid," I've thought, "Well, I'm prepared to see that happen."

[Nightkill the Emperor]

In any case, I wrapped this up at a good time. Tuesday through Saturday I will be vacationing in Goa. You lot won't particularly need my presence, since the first few days of EH arcs are just the characters talking and meeting each other.

So don't kill each other in that time frame.

When I return, I'll likely throw up RU as well.

For now, I work on starting EH Arc 3.

[Olthar]

Seriously though, I have no fucking idea how Olthar guessed that stuff. She is a witch.

It was this post that made it click.