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I get bored very easily

And ther's only so many times I can convert a Post-It into a Möbius strip. So I came up with this. It's roughly related to some shit. Add some of your own, a collaborative RatF as it were.

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Somewhere, in a darkened server room, a pile of RUMPLED CLOTHING
stirs. This resolves into STEW.

STEW: ...whuh? Whuzzas?

STEW'S HAND gropes around for CIGARETTES and a ZIPPO LIGHTER. They
knock over an empty WINE BOTTLE. The HAND brings a CIGARETTE to STEW's
mouth.

STEW: Somethting in the air.

In the recesses of the server room, a sensor trips. The alarm it plays
is the unmistakeable sound of Guns'n'Roses. The ZIPPO clings as it's
opened.

STEW: Smells like....

AXL: Welcome to the Jungle!

STEW: Piss off. I'm trying to build atmosphere.

The LIT ZIPPO lights a CIG and STEW takes a drag.

STEW: Stupidity.

On the wall above a rack of TAPE DRIVES hangs MR. HAPPY THE CROWBAR.
It flies to STEW'S outstretched hand. It's cool like that. STEW speaks
into a bright RED CELLPHONE.

STEW: Light the Bastard-signal. Summon the others. Same Bat--err, just
get it done.

TO BE CONTINUED. OR IS IT?

Comments

( 6 informants — We want information! )
baronsamedi
Apr. 30th, 2004 04:26 pm (UTC)
amusing
coaldustcanary
May. 1st, 2004 12:32 am (UTC)
Somewhere, in a dim bedroom, a matching CELLPHONE rings. In the center of the expansive, room, a messy bed contains a PILE OF BEDDING, product of some violent battle, mind-blowing sex, or both.

A slowly-moving HAND slips out from beneath a huge PILE OF BEDDING. HAND and CELLPHONE both disappear beneath the PILE OF BEDDING before eventually resolving into KRIS, who sits up, wrapped in a sheet. KRIS glances at the face of the CELLPHONE while reaching to flip a LIGHTSWITCH. Her hand brushes against a pair of bent and twisted HANDCUFFS and a well-used RIDING CROP before fumbling a CIGARETTE from a nearby pack, and striking a MATCH off of the cheap side table. Dragging off of the LIT CIG, KRIS answers the ringing CELLPHONE.

KRIS: You owe me a new headboard, you...

KRIS falls silent, listening, a smile stretching her face from a pout to a look of cruel amusement.

KRIS: Mmm. I rather do love you, sometimes.

KRIS hangs up the CELLPHONE, tossing it aside and reaching to the far side of the bed to take up SWEETIE THE FIVE IRON with a reverent smile. Cradling the FIVE IRON lovingly, KRIS kisses the clean-scrubbed slanted head of the CLUB.

KRIS: Mummy promises some idiot heads to cave in, darling, yes she does!

Still wrapped in a sheet, KRIS bounds from bed with SWEETIE in hand, and ambles to a softly humming COMPUTER and begins to type out a short message.

THE BASTARD CALLS. STUPIDITY LIVES. DAMAGE TO BE DONE. -K

KRIS clicks on a small ICON flashing on the screen, of a stylized raven's head, sending her message on, smiling a sickly smile around a breath of smoke.

BETTER DAMN WELL BE CONTINUED.
dj_rabid_angel
May. 1st, 2004 07:24 am (UTC)
It is late. The room is dark, save for a faint white light coming from a COMPUTER. SOULSONG sits before the machine, rapidly putting the internet through its paces searching TWINK PORN PAGES and talking to the digital images as if they should be submissive. He is playing with his WANGULAR ASSEMBLAGE, which he believes should be spoken of in a larger font due to his fixation on it at the moment.

The moment is intense. The WANGULAR ASSEMBLAGE has been pushed nearly to its limit. The scene is fraught with power, energy and an unbridled passion, even in spite of the CENSORED FUZZY BLUR that the monitors have slapped over the WANGULAR ASSEMBLAGE for this production. SOULSONG is about to peak.

COMPUTER [Loudly, as the volume was left at APOPTYGMA BERZERK LEVEL from earlier in the evening]: MAILTRUCK!

SOULSONG jumps out of his skin. The WANGULAR ASSEMBLAGE beams brilliantly red in the faint light coming from the COMPUTER.

SOULSONG: God. Dammit. [Reads message from KRIS.] Jesus! Freakin' stupid people! Can't they just not be stupid long enough for me to sully the images of a few random twinks?! Gah!

[Wipes hands on a conveniently near sock; responds to KRIS]: I hear ya. I'm coming, I'm coming. [Chuckles at his own double entendre.]

[Petulantly turns off the COMPUTER, with one last longing look at the TWINK staring seductively at him from the screen.] Tomorrow night, baby. Oh yeah. You'll be mine again. And again. And again.

[Quickly puts on CLOTHES, waits for the WANGULAR ASSEMBLAGE to no longer be a walking impediment.]

[Grabs RAPIER, the .50 CAL, the RiVeThEaD SCOURGE and several KNIVES.]

[Programs the MATTER/DISTANCE EXTRAPOLATOR for the proper time/space/co-ordinates and beams self to the LORD BASTARD'S ABODE, just outside the TEMPORAL SHIELDS that prevent direct beaming in.]

SOULSONG [knocks on door]: Um...Stew? It's me. Open up and put on the damned coffee!
daedalus668
May. 1st, 2004 11:16 am (UTC)
Cut to a darkened bedroom- the time is roughly half past early. The pale white light of a laptop monitor illuminates a face- this is SIMON. He is sat on a bed, with a LAPTOP beside him and a KEYBOARD in his lap. A stack of CHANGELING, WEREWOLF and ORPHEUS books are open beside him.

SIMON is rapidly switching between chat windows like a thing possessed, occasionally typing into one or another, and listening to some anime soundtrack or another through his cheap headphones. He winces as the harsh blat of a new AIM message interrupts his sojourn, and opens this latest window. After reading a couple of times, he picks up a mobile phone to dial a number.

Cut to an LED clock display:

02:59:56 *beep*
02:59:57 *beep*
02:59:58 *beep*
02:59:59 *beep*
03:00:00

CUT TO BLACK

BLOODY WELL BETTER BE CONTINUED
(Deleted comment)
ninja_jay
May. 2nd, 2004 04:43 am (UTC)
A TINY ROOM lit only by the street-light right outside the window glaring through the blinds. The incessant beeping of a MOBILE PHONE makes a large CONSTRUCT OF BEDCLOTHES shift slightly as if startled. The figure at the computer ignores the semi-alive CONSTRUCT OF BEDCLOTHES and continues to hammer on his KEYBOARD, hoping that the smart-ass on the other side of the world can feel the blows landing.
Having destroyed the KEYBOARD, JAY idly picks up A SWORD and gently prods the CONSTRUCT OF BEDCLOTHES into the corner before lifting up the mattress and sticking his hand through the BED FRAME and pulling out the still bleating MOBILE PHONE.

JAY: How did you get this number and where are my hair-clips?

The sound of the following tongue lashing is unfortunately not audible, but JAY switches ear half way through when one of them starts bleeding internally.

JAY: I see. Okay, give me a moment to stop the bleeding then i'll be there, no i didn't see the signal, if i open my blinds someone will put a brick through my window.

With a beep, the MOBILE PHONE is once again relegated to the depths of UNDER THE BED. JAY hesitates for a second then turns the light on and waits for the sound of the darkness clawing at the rooms interior to go away. Selecting RANDOM BLACK CLOTHS from his CLOTHING SHELVES. After a moment to consider Hull, JAY loops a SHIV, THROWING KNIVES and HIP-FLASK to his belt picks up ADVIL and throwing his LEATHER COAT to stave off the inevitable petrol bomb that will get thrown as soon as he leaves the house JAY departs his room.
( 6 informants — We want information! )

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