if the woman wasn't over a head beneath Akane, even in heeled boots
Akane (human form) is pretty small, maybe 165 cm. That makes Fukushi really really short. Like dwarfish.
Crimson Raven
Member
*Rolls a Nat 1*
STATUS: 'tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. 4 yrs ago
- Last Seen: 4 yrs ago
- Joined: 10 yrs ago
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Danyel
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4 yrs ago
Current
'tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.
4 yrs ago
I say the words that I wish someone would tell me in vain hope that they might be returned to me.
2
likes
4 yrs ago
Existence continues.
4 yrs ago
So much I want to do, so little time...
1
like
4 yrs ago
“I’ve met some pricks in my time. But you, sir...” He said to the offending cactus.
7
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Bio
“NO ADMITTANCE.
NOT EVEN TO AUTHORISED PERSONNEL.
YOU ARE WASTING YOUR TIME HERE.
GO AWAY.”
― Douglas Adams, Mostly Harmless
NOT EVEN TO AUTHORISED PERSONNEL.
YOU ARE WASTING YOUR TIME HERE.
GO AWAY.”
― Douglas Adams, Mostly Harmless
NOTICE
Thank you for Noticing This Notice.
Your Noting it has been Noted.
And it has been Reported to the proper Authority.
Hello lurker/ My old friend/ I've come to talk to you again/ Because a shadow softly creeping/ Lurking in the chat while I was sleeping/ And the roleplay that was forming in my brain/ Still remains with the sound of lurking.
In dead roleplays I walked alone/ Narrow pathways of casual zone...
Need mor ༼ つ ◕_◕ ༽つ
(Made in collaboration with @hatakekuro)
It is known that there are an infinite number of worlds, simply because there is an infinite amount of space for them to be in. However, not every one of them is inhabited. Therefore, there must be a finite number of inhabited worlds. Any finite number divided by infinity is as near to nothing as makes no odds, so the average population of all the planets in the Universe can be said to be zero. From this it follows that the population of the whole Universe is also zero, and that any people you may meet from time to time are merely the products of a deranged imagination.
--Douglass Adams
All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages.
At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms.
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school.
And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress’ eyebrow.
Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon’s mouth.
And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part.
The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound.
Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages.
At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms.
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school.
And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress’ eyebrow.
Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon’s mouth.
And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part.
The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound.
Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
~~As You Like It, Shakespear
"Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing."
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing."
~~ Macbeth, Shakespear
“All stories told have been told before. We tell them to ourselves, as did all men who ever were. And all men who ever will be. The only things new are the names.”
“The purpose of a storyteller is not to tell you how to think, but to give you questions to think upon.”
“What do you know?”
“Almost everything. That almost part can be a real kick in the teeth sometimes.”
“What do you want, then?”
“What I can’t have.” Wit turned to him, eyes solemn. “Same as everyone else, Kaladin Stormblessed.”
"Two blind men waited at the end of an era, contemplating beauty. They sat atop the world’s highest cliff, overlooking the land and seeing nothing.
'Can beauty be taken from a man?' the first asked the second.
'It was taken from me,' the second replied. 'For I cannot remember it.' This man was blinded in a childhood accident. 'I pray to the God Beyond each night to restore my sight, so that I can find beauty again.'
'Is beauty something one must see then?' the first asked.
'Of course. That is it’s nature. How can you appreciate a work of art without seeing it?'
'I can hear a work of music,' the first said.
'Very well, you can hear some kinds of beauty - but you cannot know full beauty without sight. You can know only a small portion of beauty.'
'A sculpture,' the first said. 'Can I not feel its curves and slopes, the touch of the chisel that transformed common rock into uncommon wonder?'
'I suppose,' said the second, 'that you can know the beauty of a sculpture.'
'And what of the beauty of food? Is it not a work of art when a chef crafts a masterpiece to delight the tastes?'
'I suppose,' said the second, 'that you can know the beauty of a chef’s art.'
'And what of the beauty of a woman,' the first said. 'Can I not know her beauty in the softness of her caress, the kindness of her voice, the keenness of her mind as she reads philosophy to me? Can I not know this beauty? Can I not know most kinds of beauty, even without seeing it?'
'Very well,' said the second. 'But what if your ears were removed, your hearing taken away? Your tongue taken out, your mouth forced shut, your sense of smell destroyed? What if your skin were burned so that you could no longer feel? What if all that remained to you was pain? You could not know beauty then. It can be taken from a man.'"
The messenger stopped, cocking his head to Shallan.
"What?" she asked.
"What think you? Can beauty be taken from a man? If he could not touch, taste, smell, hear, see, what if all he knew was pain? Has that man had beauty taken away from him?"
"I…" What did this have to do with anything? "Does the pain change day by day?"
"Let us say it does," the messenger said.
"Then beauty, to that person, would be the times when the pain lessens. Why are you telling me this story?"
The messenger smiled. "To be human is to seek beauty, Shallan. Do not despair, do not end the hunt because thorns grow in your way. Tell me, what is the most beautiful thing you can imagine?"
...
“In this,” Wit said, “as in all things, our actions give us away. If an artist creates a work of powerful beauty – using new and innovative techniques – she will be lauded as a master, and will launch a new movement in aesthetics. Yet what if another, working independently with that exact level of skill, were to make the same accomplishments the very next month? Would she find similar acclaim? No. She’d be called derivative.
“So it’s not beauty itself we admire. It’s not the force of intellect. It’s not the invention, aesthetics, or capacity itself. The greatest talent we think a man can have?” He plucked a final string. “Seems to me that it must be nothing more than novelty.”
"A blind man awaited the era of endings," Wit said, "contemplating the beauty of nature."
Silence
"That man is me," Wit noted. "I'm not physically blind, just spiritually. And that other statement was actually very clever, if you think about it."
"What is it to be witty, then?”
“To say clever things.”
“And what is cleverness?”
“I…” Why was he having this conversation? “I guess it’s the ability to say and do the right things at the right time.”
The King’s Wit cocked his head, then smiled.
“Expectation. That is the true soul of art. If you can give a man more than he expects, then he will laud you his entire life. If you can create an air of anticipation and feed it properly, you will succeed.
“Conversely, if you gain a reputation for being too good, too skilled . . . beware. The better art will be in their heads, and if you give them an ounce less than they imagined, suddenly you have failed. Suddenly you are useless. A man will find a single coin in the mud and talk about it for days, but when his inheritance comes and is accounted one percent less than he expected, then he will declare himself cheated.”
Wit shook his head, standing up and dusting off his coat. “Give me an audience who have come to be entertained, but who expect nothing special. To them, I will be a god. That is the best truth I know.”
~~ Stromlight Archive, Brandon Sanderson
"You see, whether you can draw like this or not, being able to think up this kind of design, it depends on whether or not you can say to yourself, ‘Oh, yeah, girls like this exist in real life. If you don’t spend time watching real people, you can’t do this, because you’ve never seen it. Some people spend their lives interested only in themselves. Almost all Japanese animation is produced with hardly any basis taken from observing real people, you know. It’s produced by humans who can’t stand looking at other humans. And that’s why the industry is full of otaku!"
-Hayao Miyazaki
"In culture an analogous situation leads to the emergence of enclaves shut up in ghettos, where intellectual production likewise stagnates because of inbreeding in the form of incessant repetition of the selfsame creative patterns and techniques. The internal dynamics of the ghetto may appear to be intense, but with the passage of years it becomes evident that this is only a semblance of motion, since it leads nowhere, since it neither feeds into nor is fed by the open domain of culture, since it does not generate new patterns or trends, and since finally it nurses the falsest of notions about itself, for lack of any honest evaluation of its activities from outside."
~Stanislaw Lem, author of Solaris
Some heartfelt music while you lurk
Or U liSTEN TO tem MOOSIC!
I just don't want you to have a Bad Time...
What do I live for?
"I think I've seen this movie before." -@Guess Who
I LOVE TVTROPES!
Most Recent Posts
Akane (human form) is pretty small, maybe 165 cm. That makes Fukushi really really short. Like dwarfish.
After the initial surprise wore off, Akane composed a professional smile and nodded along to the woman's babbling. Yikes, the suits were after Yashiro again. This wasn't the first time they'd tried to replaced her. Won't be the last either. She was just too good at her job, and she kept her nose clean with pristine disinterest. Actually, that last reason was probably the real reason. Nobody had figured out a way to bribe, blackmail, or seduce the Commander yet. Not even Akane herself. This pink bit of fluff on the other hand...
"...A credit to the forces in the field, your self included."
"Oh, my. Thank you, but, I'm nothing specials, really. Just a paper tiger. Good with a pen and little else." She said, blushing.
"I think I shall greatly enjoy my time here, Akane-chan, though don't let my personal gratification hinder you from your business. I imagine you wanted to give a report? I will have proper furnishings soon, but till then, my personal troops are an acceptable substitute. Now please, regail me with your report."
Soldiers were not furniture. But in this woman's mind they might as well be. It was immediately clear she was dealing with a tyrant, and a petty one. It would be best to play along.
She reacted the appropriate levels of confusion, realization, and slight disgust to the display, but added in a bit of apathy. She shrugged, "Oh, how kind of you, Mrs. McNair. I've been on my feet aaall day." She regarded the "chair", as she walked over and memorized his appearance.
The unfortunate soldier heard a very quiet whisper in his ear, "My apologies.", before-- "Oof!" --a surprising amount of weight for such a small woman was placed on his back. He let out a grunt of effort. The crushing pressure lessened a bit as she used her legs to subtly take some of her weight.
To all appearances, the commander had sat on the soldier without hesitation, crossing her legs in a very lady-like manner. "O.K.!~ Now, where should I begin...? Oh, wait!" She plopped her fist into her palm and leaned forward. "Tea! I've got some lovely matcha tea back in my room, why don't we have a cup while we talk! My throat can get all dry and itchy during these long reports. Would you care for some? No? All right then." And she gave the report, clean and short, passing off the conflicting orders as 'a minor miscommunication'. She summarized with a quick report of casualties and damages. By the end of it, the arms of her 'seat' were shaking.
Akane watched as Yeshua's bound form was lowered into the ground. Tired from the battle, and nursing a headache, she leaned on her weapon like a cane as she watched the MFF celebrate. She didn't feel like celebrating. It wasn't as simple as feeling bad for capturing one of her own, to await and unknown fate at the hands of humans who hated them. This was one step in a great many that might someday lead to peace. Her lack of celebratory cheer was from the knowledge that the work wasn't done yet. It had only begun.
Her concerns weighed on her as she turned away and began to make her way back to the main MFF convoy. The invaders that interfered with the battle today, just who were they? Akane prided herself on being in the know, but this had caught even her off-guard. Their technology was advanced enough to hide in plain sight, suggesting massive funding, their training was top notch, suggesting organization. From the reports, they shot carefully so casualties were surprisingly low. This, too brought up more questions. And finally, it seemed that, somehow, they were working with kaiju. Had Yeshua always been in contact with them? Hourai too--the one the MFF had labeled 'Diva'. Akane knew of her, though their paths hadn't crossed yet. She'd been meaning to get into contact with her, but hadn't found the time. Akane suspected a third too. That powerful voice telling everyone to shut up could only belong to another GMG. Finally, but most pressing, she was worried about Yashiro. The two of them had been friends for years, and Akane had known she harbored strong feelings against GMGs. But to endanger the lives of everyone there to fight a losing battle...? It was a miracle, and a testament to the sheer grit of their soldiers, that the battle went as well as it did.
She mused on these thoughts as the vehicle brought her back to MFF HQ. Back to work, despite the sun nearly gone beneath the horizon. She stepped out and stretched, fixing her mask off to the side. First order of business was to find the commander, second was Yeshua. She put a hand on her weapon and sought Yashiro out.
Akane Yurei
Things were not going well.
No not at all.
A fair distance from the conflict, the MFF had set up a temporary command of several vehicles, and it was from here that Akane Yurei was observing the battle and giving orders.
"Estimated evacuation at 65%."
"Divert more manpower from fighting. Our weapons are doing little out there."
Too slow.
"Casualties at 5%, but many are struggling to free comrades trapped by Goomie's body, slowing the evac."
"Cementaion less than 1% coverage. Air strike on the way."
As a certain jet screamed across the sky, carrying it's payload, a squadron of old crop-duster styles planes passed between Goomie and the water, scattering a powdered mix of concrete and desiccant.
I hope your plan works, commander, because if it doesn't, we might have to resort to more drastic measures. Akane thought.
An alarm suddenly blared, making everyone jump. The nearest operator checked their screen and gasped. "What?! Bogy inbound! It's...Terrorkeet!"
Akane was too tired to be surprised. "Of course it is." She sighed. "Gat me a visual."
She watched with interest as Yeshua faced down Goomie. What others heard as squawks and bubbly rumblings, Akane understood as the GMGs conversing. Clearly, Goomie was, as their records indicated, not very bright. Reasoning with her would be difficult unless they could really get her attention with something. Unfortunately, all she wanted was the one thing they couldn't give her, and that was people.
"Evac at 70...2%."
"Goo inbound!"
Eyes flicked to the windows as a wall of goo was pushing down the street they were on.
"Activate countermeasures." Akane said, distractedly. From the sides, four parked cement trucks suddenly popped open, spilling their loads. MFF members armed with flamethrowers stepped forward and created a wall of flame, burning away the goo and quickly drying the cement. Meanwhile, wheels screeched as the convoy jumped into motion, putting more distance between them and the goo monster. The tide temporarily stemmed, the flames cut off and their holders hopped into cars to follow the command.
"Evac at 76%."
Another alarm. "We have...another GMG." The MFF agent said in a small voice. "Name...unknown...abilites...unknown...threat level...unknown."
The air grew cold. A display popped up in screen. Akane studied her. She was some form of mermaid? A siren, perhaps.
"W-what should we do, ma'am?" Akane looked to her subordinate, who seemed on the edge of terror, then to the rest of the room, all silently watching her.
With the coms broadcasting her words, she spoke. "Nothing has changed, ladies and gentlemen. Our jobs do not change based on number or size or feasibility. But a few decades ago, taking on one of these GMGs was considered impossible. Now, we, the MFF do the impossible regularly. What is one more impossibility? The commander and I had planned our way out of situations far worse than this. Relax, and have faith in us." She smiled at those present.
Some of them looked cheered, others skeptical, more simply reigned. But the fear gripping their hearts lifted and people returned to their jobs.
She returned her attention to the three GMGs displayed on the screen. The two newcomers didn't seem hostile to the MFF, short of self-defense. Yeshua, Akane knew for certain, wasn't. She even admired the girl's self-control after being pelted with missiles. She seemed to have been trying to reason with Goomie, could she be convinced to fight the goo-girl? The other's declaration upon joining the fray also stuck Akane as being against the gooy GMG. Could the pair actually be fighting for humanity? What had gotten through to them?
She opened comms. "All MFF troops, this is Field Commander Yurei. For the time being, unless acting in self-defense, do not attack the GMG known as 'Terrorkeet', nor the new aqueous GMG. Focus your efforts on keeping yourselves safe, evacuating the human population, and retarding the movement and actions of GMG Goomie. In that order."
This was risky, but if it worked, everything could change.
"Evac at 82%."
Apologies for the delay. I'm still around and interested.
Just busy irl. I don't mind you starting without me, I'll hop in later.
Just busy irl. I don't mind you starting without me, I'll hop in later.
>eggbeater
"...well. You don't look like much. But you'll have to do."
Name: Izana
Age:
Personality: (The dazzling array of traits, quirks, affinities, and so forth that make your character unique. Make someone compelling, someone that you'd like to play and will have fun doing so)
Background: (Your character's history. Doesn't have to be exhaustive, but be sure to touch on formative events)
Motivation: (Why your character is at the scenario event. This will be what drives your character forward through it)
Assets: (Where your character shines, in terms of physical ability, skills, and personality traits)
Flaws: (Where your character falls short, in terms of physical ability, skills, and personality traits. You must have at least as many as you have Assets)
Epithet: Highfalutin
(A list of capabilities conferred by your character's epithet. The first will probably be its 'base use', the first and most fundamental application of the epithet stemming from your character's original conception of it, but other spells/techniques, including special tricks and even secret/ultimate moves, can follow. Feel free to name them! Not every character will be highly capable with his or her epithet, but those who are often expand to other meanings of the word.
I'll probably wait on everyone else before working on my CS. And not cause I STILL haven't found a faceclaim that suits Cepheid.
Same
just
same
I have gone waaaaay too deep down the rabbit hole
Guns but no Lazers.
gotcha
gotcha
Quick question, what's the setting/level of technology like? Modern? Futuristic? Syfy? Steampunk?
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