Flowerflips

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Doran Cooney
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Thu Apr 26, 2018 6:09 am

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On the X trial of X during the 718th arc...
The thing that lay half-bent on its side in a foetid pool of greenish-yellow ichor and tarry stickiness was almost nine feet tall, and the dog had torn off all the clothing and some of the skin. It was not quite dead, but twitched silently and spasmodically while its chest heaved in monstrous unison with the mad piping of the expectant whippoorwills outside. Bits of shoe-leather and fragments of apparel were scattered about the room, and just inside the window an empty canvas sack lay where it had evidently been thrown. - H.P. Lovecraft, “The Dunwich Horror”

"Whippoorwills"
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Last edited by Doran Cooney on Mon Jun 18, 2018 11:45 am, edited 7 times in total.
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Doran Cooney
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Posts: 459
Joined: Wed Oct 26, 2016 8:10 am
Race: Human
Profession: Performer
Renown: +40
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Fri Apr 27, 2018 4:38 am

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When the captives were first thrown into their cubicles, the long sheet was heavy with water. The warders had soaked the material so thoroughly that in the folds the water had gathered into lakes. The warders then issued their instructions. The captives were to wring the sheet dry. It would not do to wring the sheet to what we would normally call a ‘dry’ state – as of clothes ready for airing. On the contrary – this sheet must be purged of every moisture. It must be wrung as dry as a bone. This, the warders concluded, might take a long time. It might even take months of hard work. In fact, they had taken special care to treat the linen so that it would be durable over a lengthy period. But when the task was finally completed, then the men and women would be granted their freedom. They would be released. - William Sansom, “The Long Sheet”

"Warders"
Last edited by Doran Cooney on Mon Jun 18, 2018 11:46 am, edited 6 times in total.
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Doran Cooney
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Joined: Wed Oct 26, 2016 8:10 am
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Renown: +40
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Sat Apr 28, 2018 9:10 am

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She found the first grub. It was fat and deep red with his blood – both inside and out. It had already eaten its own egg case but apparently had not yet begun to eat its host. At this stage, it would eat any flesh except its mother’s. Let alone, it would have gone on excreting the poisons that had both sickened and alerted Lomas. Eventually it would have begun to eat. By the time it ate its way out of Lomas’s flesh, Lomas would be dead or dying – and unable to take revenge on the thing that was killing him. There was always a grace period between the time the host sickened and the time the grubs began to eat him. - Octavia E. Butler, “Bloodchild”

"Excreting"




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Last edited by Doran Cooney on Mon Jun 18, 2018 11:49 am, edited 3 times in total.
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Doran Cooney
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Posts: 459
Joined: Wed Oct 26, 2016 8:10 am
Race: Human
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Renown: +40
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Sat Apr 28, 2018 9:14 am

From the brambles of a murderer’s eyes the gaze of the genius of assassins falls on you: a sooty-winged owl with a blanched, dead mask of livid unfeathered skin. The eyes are sacs of blood that glow with a cold red flame, with a dagger in between – it wants to share its savage idiocy with you. It’s small; it hides itself easily in those brambles, and stares. Small though it is, when it draws near, the shade of its outspread wings, shedding their heavy dust, is broad enough to blot out a mind completely, and all too briefly. Wide-eyed unblinking it descends out of darkness on silent pinions, and snatches away its quarry with a movement too swift to follow. A face turns into a livid mask and a body is galvanically transformed. With an inconsequential-looking gesture the knife makes a little opening somewhere and the appalled life gushes out; the mask shifts from the murderer’s softening features to the victim’s stiffening face. The victim’s body undergoes its own transformation: it cools, darkens, sours, stinks, by turns slack and rigid. The murderer is gone; the genius is hidden; a raw new person flees in panic, flees his gory hands. - Michael Cisco, “The Genius of Assassins”

"Transformation"
Last edited by Doran Cooney on Mon Jun 18, 2018 11:56 am, edited 5 times in total.
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Doran Cooney
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Fri May 04, 2018 6:12 am

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In the lower branches of the willow tree, the lone willow that feeds upon a hidden spring beside the sloping lawn, there is a boy. His eyes are green and lucent as tourmaline, and silvery moths are drawn to them. His hands clutch the slender willow-wands: strong hands, so pale that I trace the blood beneath, and see the muscles strung like young strong vines. As I watch he bends so that his head dips beneath a branch, new leaves tangling fair hair, and then slowly he uncurls one hand and, smiling, beckons my brother toward him. The wind rises. Beneath his bare feet the dewy grass darkens as Aidan runs faster and faster, until he seems almost to be skimming across the lawn. And there, where the willow starts to shadow the starlit slope and the boy in the tree leans to take his hand, I tackle my brother and bring him crashing and swearing to earth. - Elizabeth Hand, “The Boy in the Tree”

"Tourmaline"
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Last edited by Doran Cooney on Mon Jun 18, 2018 11:51 am, edited 10 times in total.
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Doran Cooney
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Wed May 16, 2018 4:18 am

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Then, from somewhere within the house, came a shattering, ear-piercing scream, and then another, and another. It was impossible to tell whether the din came from near or far; still less whether it was female or male. Maybury had not known that the human organism could make so loud a noise, even in the bitterest distress. It was shattering to listen to; especially in the enclosed, hot, total darkness. And this was nothing momentary: the screaming went on and on, a paroxysm, until Maybury had to clutch at himself not to scream in response. - Robert Aickman, “The Hospice”

"Paroxysm"
Last edited by Doran Cooney on Tue Jun 19, 2018 7:41 am, edited 5 times in total.
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Doran Cooney
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Posts: 459
Joined: Wed Oct 26, 2016 8:10 am
Race: Human
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Renown: +40
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Sat May 26, 2018 7:36 pm

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The Dead game has three rules. One. Numbers are significant. The twins keep a list of important numbers in a green address book that belonged to their mother. Mr. Coeslak’s tour has been a good source of significant amounts and tallies: they are writing a tragical history of numbers. Two. The twins don’t play the Dead game in front of grownups. They have been summing up the babysitter, and have decided that she doesn’t count. They tell her the rules. Three is the best and most important rule. When you are Dead, you don’t have to be afraid of anything. Samantha and Claire aren’t sure who the Specialist is, but they aren’t afraid of him. To become Dead, they hold their breath while counting to thirty-five, which is as high as their mother got, not counting a few days. - Kelly Link, “The Specialist’s Hat”

"Tragical"
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Last edited by Doran Cooney on Mon Jun 18, 2018 11:54 am, edited 8 times in total.
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Doran Cooney
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Posts: 459
Joined: Wed Oct 26, 2016 8:10 am
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Renown: +40
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Mon May 28, 2018 6:10 am

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It’s dawn and the boy has woken early when the friend appears. It unfurls from under the bed. Its features have not quite coalesced. Its skin rises up like a blush. The mouth, full of rapid shadows, comes painfully. As the boy watches, its teeth emerge and its eyes take on their hues. It’s both gawky and graceful and the boy is touched by the tentativeness of its existence. Its limbs fold out with small tremblings. The boy moves over in the bed and the friend huddles gratefully into the warm depression he leaves. The boy knows not to touch the friend as it is born. Shyly, the boy indicates that the friend is welcome. - Micaela Morrissette, “The Familiars”

"Gawky"
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Last edited by Doran Cooney on Mon Jun 18, 2018 11:57 am, edited 9 times in total.
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Doran Cooney
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Posts: 459
Joined: Wed Oct 26, 2016 8:10 am
Race: Human
Profession: Performer
Renown: +40
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Tue May 29, 2018 2:31 am

Within every living thing is a starlike piece. Those within human beings are bright, and those within children are the brightest of all. As people age, the starlike parts grow dim as though with distance, except in the cases of certain geniuses and halfwits. At first I didn’t understand how children can be so cruel and their starlike parts so bright, but the White Ma’at, who told me these things when she gave me the Wine of Smoke, said that she knew nothing of stars being kind, only of their being powerful. - K.J. Bishop, “Saving the Gleeful Horse”

"Starlike"
Last edited by Doran Cooney on Mon Jun 18, 2018 11:56 am, edited 9 times in total.
User avatar
Doran Cooney
Approved Character
Posts: 459
Joined: Wed Oct 26, 2016 8:10 am
Race: Human
Profession: Performer
Renown: +40
Character Sheet
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Tue May 29, 2018 5:06 am

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Last edited by Doran Cooney on Sun Jun 03, 2018 6:35 am, edited 10 times in total.
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