Thread: Saga of Dreamviews

I'll try to write some tonight.

Oh yeah. This thing.

You write, my steely fellow. I'm having extreme troubles at the moment.

Like, extreme as magic tigers.

Originally Posted by Kiza

I'm having extreme troubles at the moment.

Like, extreme as magic tigers.

Oh shit.

So, this isn't going to be updated anymore.



Oh wait, yes it is.

(This is what happens when I get writers block. I'm so, so sorry.)

Pop

'Why are we here?' said Seismosaur, hurrying after the King.

'I'd say none of your business,' said the King, 'but it would all be a ridiculous farce. As bad as watching slapstick. We're here to meet an insider of Wikipedia. He's going to help us in.'

'In? In?' said Seismosaur. 'But Wikipedia is a heavily guarded fortress! They've got guards everywhere, swarming around the place. At least, according to Wikipedia.'

'And they would like you to think that, wouldn't they?' said the King. 'I mean, if they said that it was a small, unguarded little house filled with gold, they'd have people knocking on the doors all the time! They'd never get any sleep!' The King laughed, as if he had said something immensely funny. Seismosaur did not consider this the case.

'But they have pictures!' he said. 'Of a big fortress and lots of guards and a big statue of a question mark.'

'I expect they do,' said the King. 'I expect they have pictures of a two-legged teapot, too.'

'What?' said Seismosaur bluntly.

The King sighed and blew a raspberry. 'My poor dear retarded Seismosaur,' he said. 'Do you not know the wonders of photo editing? I'm sure you do. I'm sure you've used it multiple times, in order to make it look like you have a penis the size of a whale. Everyone on the Internet has. It's practically a requirement.' He stopped.

'This is the place.'

It was a low, run down building, clinging to the ground like a tic. It's windows would have been boarded up, if the window boarders hadn't been so shit at window boarding, and there was a ragged little fence around the place, made of ragged little boards. It was ragged and shit and ugly, like Daniel Danciu's face. Seismosaur looked at it in disdain. As far as a building can look embarrassed, it did. Anything that could be looked at in disdain by Seismosaur was practically obligated to do so.

'Looks funny,' said Seismosaur. 'Smells funny.'

'I expect you'll be right at home,' said the King. 'Though I must agree that it is rather dilapidated. But the dreadful man said this was where we had to meet. He said anywhere else would be too obvious.'

'But this is obvious!' said Seismosaur. 'Everyone meets in the old building or the mill or the abandoned old mansion!'

'Yes,' said the King, 'so who would be so stupid as to meet in such a place? You have to think about expectations, boy.'

'Hpmh,' said Seismosaur.

'Hmph*,' said the King, neatly inserting Internet slang into his sentence. 'Let's go in. This man isn't one to be kept waiting. Don't say anything stupid.' The King walked up to the door of the place, neatly jumping over the fence on the way. He didn't bother to knock, and walked on in. Somewhat cautiously, Seismosaur followed him in. It was dark and dank and smelled slightly of old water inside, probably because of all the old water all over the place. There was a man seated at a card table in the corner of the room, fingers tented. He looked quite strong, and so did his two bodyguards.

Well, thought Seismosaur, at least the King won't kill anyone.

The King drew up another seat, and grinned cheekily at the man across the table, gesturing for Seismosaur to follow. Seismosaur drew up behind his chair, and tried to take up a dignified position, making himself look terribly undignified. The man across the table looked Seismosaur up and down, and grinned like a tiger.

'This your hired?' he said to the King. 'I've got a feeling mine might be a bit more accomplished.'

'I've got a feeling you're a big poohead!' said the King, and immediately raised his hand for a high-five. Seismosaur obliged reluctantly.

'Yeah!' said the King, throwing his arms around wildly. 'Fucking yes fucking hell yes fucking fuddfjnhellfuckffffffffffffffff . . .' He trailed off in a stream of obscenities, then sat up again.

'We have business,' he said gravely to the man, suddenly serious again.

The man shifted uncomfortably in his seat. 'Just so you know, I am entirely uncomfortable with this, as evidenced by my uncomfortably shifting just then. I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing this for Wikipedia. Have you seen some of those articles. Go ahead, go to this URL: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tennis_...parison_(women),' he said, neatly copy-pasting the website into his dialogue. 'Look at all that detail! All those words wasted! They could have made them into a best-selling novel about a sad persons runtish blabberings about his Internet friends, or something! But instead we've got useless statistics about people with vaginas! Although I don't consider them people,' he added darkly.

The King opened his mouth to interrupt, but the man ranted on.

'Here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Line_of...British_Throne,' he said. 'Another one. Lines of succession, for fucks sake! Wikipedia should be about detailed description of labia, not some English cunts killing some other English cunts with some olden age cunt weapons!' He slammed his fist on the table, snapping it in two.

'Fuck you!' he said to the King. 'I hate you so much! But you can fix this. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of..._United_States. Look at this! Fucking nicknames! Nobody cares about nicknames, unless they're nicknames of labia! And nobody cares about fucking cities or the United States. I just want more labia, damnit!'

'Uh,' said the King, taken back for once in his life, which even caused him to drop his bold.

'Unicode!!' screamed the man. 'Nobody cares about Unicode! But look at this! http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_Unicode_characters. Fucking fucking Unicode! There's nothing at all about vaginas in there! Just lots of Unicode! I'm pretty sure that thing is as long as a damn book! You could publish it and call it: Unicode: Why I Wasted My Life Making A Stupid List of Unicode Because I'm A Dumbass Who Likes Boys.' He went into a wild rage, screaming about Hannah Montana and Transformers and boy-lovers and 400 and 400 boy-loving Hannah Montana Transformers, tearing down the walls. He accidentally knocked out the two of his bodyguards, threw himself at the King and then laughed manically. Then his eyes popped out, and blood came spurting out of the empty sockets, followed by his brain, snaking out of the squirting, horrid eye-socket, and landing on the floor with an entirely inappropriate boing.

'Well well well,' said the King, regaining his bold with style. 'You are not getting a lollipop.'

'Gnhn,' said Seismosaur. 'Gnngh.' The King opened the Wikipedia URL's the man had left hanging in the air like a noose. A hologram of the articles opened. The King inspected them carefully.

'Interesting,' he said. 'I've always quite liked Unicode. Well, that was easy.' He reached down and into the man's pocket, and withdrew a tiny little silver key.

'What's that?' said Seismosaur.

'The very key to Wikipedia,' said the King. 'I was just planning on asking him for it. He didn't need to go needlessly dying like that,' he added in an accusing tone.

'How selfish of him,' said Seismosaur. 'How terribly horrible.'

'Yes,' said the King. 'Well, off we go.' He walked to the doorway, then paused there. He turned back around, and urinated on the guards a bit.

'Got to be sure,' he said, 'in case any jellyfish sting them while we're gone.'

'Jellyfish?' said Seismosaur wearily. 'Jellyfish?'

And they left, leaving only the quiet drip of urine.

This is awesome. Am I in it? I didn't get a chance to read the whole thing so far. But for what I have read, this is hilarious.

Gorgeous, as usual.

'Yeah!' said the King, throwing his arms around wildly. 'Fucking yes fucking hell yes fucking fuddfjnhellfuckffffffffffffffff . . .' He trailed off in a stream of obscenities, then sat up again.

'We have business,' he said gravely to the man, suddenly serious again.

<3

Amazing

Nicely done.

For sake of originality, it was amazing.

amazing

The Final Chapter EVER

So then everyone died.

THE END

Originally Posted by Kiza

The Final Chapter EVER

So then everyone died.

THE END

But you said that some might not even die!

I hate you.

That's messed up Kiza. Fix it. >_> Or hand it over to Danger and let him Finish it.

Note the date.

The Real Final Chapter EVER

Everyone died but Vira, who lay comatose in a corner, forgotten and lonely, fed by magical mice and house wrens for several lustrum before being discovered by a passing used vacuum salesman named Quentin. Later the vacuum salesman became a Hollywood movie director and made a series of films roughly based on Vira's life, only not really, with Uma Thurman and that guy from the TV show "Kung Fu".

THE END (FOR REAL)

You forgot to add the bit where she became a stripper, MoS.

Haha

The story's over and I wasn't even in it? I call "LAME" x a kagillion!

Wait, it's the 2nd now... Hmm...

(And the guy installing our new washing machine is kind of cute... I think I'll sit here until he's gone...)

I knew I should have gotten that job installing washing machines...

Spoiler for The Truth:

The story is not really over.

Oh snayup. Moar.

Originally Posted by Man of Steel

I knew I should have gotten that job installing washing machines...

Spoiler for The Truth:

The story is not really over.

Freaking spoilers.

I'm just going to write and post straight in here, Kiza, since I'm going to focus on other characters for a bit. When I get that other written I'll send it to you, eh?

That okay?

Sure. That's fine. It's not like I'm getting anything done.

Non Sequitur In the Desert (Or, Another Way to Skin a Cat) [Part I]

It was a dark and stormy night. Or it would have been if it had been dark, or stormy. As it was, the moon was full, there wasn't a cloud to be seen, and the stars were shining brightly. It was driving Pastro crazy. How the hell was he supposed to slip through the trees unseen, trailing Oneironaut (whom he had lost track of three times already in the last five minutes) and not letting himself be seen or heard, with all this blasted light! It was night, for crying out loud! Nights are meant to be dark. In Pastro's mind, that was pretty much the whole point of night.

To a casual observer, the sight would be quite amusing; a young man, seemingly of approximate college age, dressed in all black, wearing a towel wrapped round his face and trying to look small. At least the latter wasn't hard, both of which he'd heard from ex-girlfriends. Not that he'd had many. Under the towel, the boy; for really, he could only be called a boy upon closer inspection, due to a lack of facial hair growth of any kind — was a bit green. One might assume this was due perhaps to a bad burrito, or milk a bit too far past the sell by date, but one would be wrong. This was Pastro's normal complexion.

The same casual observer might also notice the rather conspicuously inconspicuous way in which he moved from tree to tree, as if following some shadow in the night. Of course, there was nothing there to follow. Nothing that the casual observer could see, at least. In truth, Pastro was having some difficulty locating what he was following. The last glimpse he'd gotten had consisted of an inch of matte black cloth vanishing behind a hedge in the barest of fractions of a second, and that was three minutes ago now.

Damn, if I lose him now I'm su-

Pastro didn't finish the thought, because he was recently unconscious.

*~*~*~*~*

Camels do not stop like most other four-legged creatures do. It is a much more involved process. When a camel stops from full gallop, it first locks its front legs, which sends up a spray of sand, then leans back, digging in its heels. Its neck whiplashes back, then dips low to counter the hump's tendency to drop too far behind. The whole body convulses, rippling like a wave, or a ride at Six Flags Over Georgia. This may sound simple enough, but the hump and high center of gravity make it a tricky game of balancing. Only expert riders can stay astride their mount in such a situation. Luckily, HyperNova was an expert rider.

As his camel, who was named Clyde, thanks to a completely irrelevant and obscure song by the American comedy artist Ray Stevens, skidded to a halt, HyperNova was already airborne, performing a smooth and perfect forward flip and landing impeccably upright. The first thought that might enter an onlooker's mind could be: Wow, that guy's smooth! The second thought would be: Why is he wearing an Armani suit in the Sahara?

This thought would be remarkably similar to Shift's first thought. She was pretty sure the man was a mirage, until he caught her in surprisingly muscular arms and whisked her off her feet, producing a glass of ice water from a wet-bar that folded out from his watch and touching the rim to her parched lips. Shift wasn't sure exactly how that worked, but she wanted one of those watches.

"I'm here to rescue you."

His accent was impeccably English, oozing charm and suave confidence. If Shift hadn't already effectively swooned, she probably would have when he spoke. Strange, she thought, she wasn't usually this susceptible to charming strangers. She couldn't think of anything to say in response to his confidently heroic statement, so she settled on, "I just can't wait to be king!"

It must be the heat, she decided, before swallowing the rest of the water and letting her eyes drift closed as she released her grasp on consciousness, somewhere between incredibly thankful and unbearably embarrassed.

*~*~*~*~*

Meanwhile, in a sizable village just south of the Saharan desert, there was unrest. The name of the village was Ubuntu, and it was in an uproar. But we'll get to that later . . .

*~*~*~*~*

Slayer was having trouble remembering where he was. He had the vague notion that things were not all as they should be, but he couldn't actually see anything, or even really tell if he had eyes. This was disconcerting, but not as much as it might be to someone who did not live with hundreds of cats. He blinked what he thought might be his eyes, and felt his toes wiggle. Probably not a good sign, but at least he had toes.

Suddenly slayer felt what amounted to a rushing sensation, which might have been science's way of telling him this was a bad time to reminisce, or may have been the feeling of his necroplasm racing through space-time. Then again, it could have just been that Snickers Bar metabolizing and creating a sugar rush. In any event, the rushing ended, and in a flash slayer knew he had eyes, because they were burning.

The thing to do with burning eyes, is to not rub them. Slayer did not know this. As he opened his stinging lids and looked around blearily, something clicked in his slightly unusual little brain. He was not, as Dorothy would say, in Kansas anymore. Or rather the opposite: he was back in Kansas, in the house in which he was raised, he was five years old, and his first cat, Bobo, was laying on his chest, glaring stolidly into his face, waiting for him to wake up.

The thing you should know about Bobo, is that he was not a nice cat. In fact, he was about as mean and ornery a cat as ever was. At five years old, though, slayer was completely oblivious to this fact, and mistook the death glare Bobo was busily shooting him with, wishing he would just die on the spot so that he could have still-warm human liver for breakfast, instead of canned tuna, for loving adoration, in that especially innocent, naive manner that all five-year-old children have.

Slayer was, at the moment, merely a passenger inside his five-year-old self's head. He was reliving this memory, and as bad memories are apt to do, it was determined to repeat in pretty much the same way as every other time he'd remembered it. When Bobo saw that he was good and awake, he jumped off of the boy's chest and purposefully walked to the door. There he waited for slayer to get up and let him out. This slayer did with great enthusiasm, as he really needed to go to the toilet anyway. Bobo had other ideas, though. He too needed to go to toilet, and he did not use a litter box. Litter boxes were for domesticated cats, thought Bobo, and that was something he was not. Bobo was, in his devious but not altogether up-to-date cat thoughts, a cunning and rebellious hunter, living off of humans because they were stupid and slow and easy to train.

So slayer let Bobo out onto the lawn to do his business as bears do, only considerably more civilized, because whatever else Bobo was, he was not a wild animal. In fact, that squirrel about to jump into the road was a wild animal, and probably needed to be put out of its misery before it went and had fun, which was something Bobo despised. So the thirty-pound gray cat with the tattered ear pounced. In the final stages of his pounce, Bobo learned something new. Coincidentally, this was the last thing he learned in his relatively short life.

What Bobo learned was that while humans may be slow, their large metal boxes on wheels that conveyed them to faraway places were not. In fact, those metal boxes were really quite fast, and on the heavy side, and would probably hurt quite a bit if they hit an unsuspecting cat with one of their large wheels. Which this one did. If Bobo had lived long enough to think it through, he would have understood that it really wouldn't hurt, because before any pain could be processed, he would be dead. Unfortunately, this happened to him before he could think of it.

Poor five-year-old slayer was heartbroken, and wracked with guilt. If only he had insisted that Bobo use a litter-box and stay inside, this would never have happened. If only he had done things differently, if only he had given his poor, deceased cat more love, perhaps things would have turned out for the better . . .

Slayer never forgot that day, the day that Bobo died.

Poor, poor Bobo. :[

Good to see we are still alive.

Just to point out the obvious, this chapter has no relevance to any of the previous arcs.

EDIT: also, lack of footnotes makes me sad

New arc, silly.

New arcs all over the place, and magical rainbows.