by Verdana » Wed Sep 28, 2011 5:19 pm
Thanks very much.
Hey there, .imagination. and Kites!
My favourite post would probably be either one of my Val ones (so, the one in my form, for example) or one from Aurmata. I loved one particular thread to bits. Here's one of those posts:
This... Is not looking good for me. The kid is not buying my skilled and eloquent line of argument. Then again, I'm uncertain if he even realises what I'm telling him. He's such a ridiculous individual, I doubt if he would know a good deal if it came up and kissed him on the nose. And what I'm offering is not a bad compromise. He doesn't know that (unless he's done excessive research into my background since I last saw him, which due to his apparent nature I somewhat doubt) and, right now, I am not really in an adequate mental state to explain in a crafty and Shaygrinesque manner.
His face is dark and brooding, and continues to be so while he debates my fate. I am not often in a situation where I am relying so much on someone's good will (because most people have very little 'good will' and thus it is very unwise to rely on it) and I don't like it. Nuh uh. Not one bit. It's like I'm being led to the guillotine for slaughter, especially with the boy looking as worryingly withdrawn as he is. But his eyes sort of... Look, maybe I'm delusional and desperate (true in most cases, but maybe it's more pronounced now) but it seems like he is starting to think about my proposition. I've appealed, you see, to his selfish desires. I have...
The clomp of heavy boots shakes the ground. I tense, alarmed. No no no no no, they're coming and if they see me here... Horrible visions assail me, of being dragged through dark, cold, wet dungeons, of whips and barbed hooks and (it may sound strange to someone ignorant of this brand of torture) small porcelain teacups. I begin to gather what I have left of my strength, eyes becoming steely with determination. If I have to go out, at least I'll go out with a bang. Give these neanderthals something to remember me by.
They're shaking the door now, requesting entrance. However, I refuse to believe that I've lost this. I don't lose. Something's going to happen. Either the guards will lose interest, or some unknown brand of power will come to me, or, unlikely as this is, the kid will come to my rescue. I don't lose. I refuse to lose. It just doesn't happen to me. The boy faces the door with a testy growl, and my understanding of how my... Proposition, was accepted, begins to alter. Because the boy hesitates. He doesn't open the door and immediately make my presence known. He's thinking about it. He's considering this.
And then I knows there's hope for him, and therefore myself, yet.
No, don't think too soon. He goes to the door, ready to wrench it open and reveal me to his burly bodyguards. Then he stops. I watch him warily, fron under suspicious lids. I wish he'd just make up his mind. This indecision thing is getting tedious. Make up your mind, boy, I will him. Be done with it.
I am getting tired by now. Losing the clarity. When I feel the Cloak wrap around me, I don't resist. My whole body sort of sags inwardly in relief. He'll hear me out. That gives me time. I'm not doomed yet. For all I know, his plans for me could be more dreadful than anything that his enthusiastic but numb-skulled guards could come up with. But I have time.
And with time, I can do almost anything.
I stay still, watching the play unfold before me. For all his faults, the kid is a passable actor. He doesn't make any rookie mistakes, like glancing towards me or tilting his shoulders in my direction. He's tetchy, commanding and generally princely. The guards never suspect a thing. They must feel like me, I muse, and not want to get too close to that inferno on little Ray's head. What is it about fire that makes me want to hide in a corner? I really must get over my fire aversion. Maybe later.
The door slams shut. I am undiscovered. The Cloak lifts off of me. I make sure to keep my posture strong, even though the corners of my vision are starting to fog a little. Just a little. Aww, bless the little fellow, he's trying to be professional. We both know he's insanely curious about my proposition. He sits at his desk, eyes averted, and asks me to elaborate. I'd be delighted. But, while I do... That almost-encounter with the thugs was far too close. Stupid of me. I need to fix that.
As I start to speak, I sling my pack (delicately) off of my shoulder, and begin to root around in it.
[color=008ee0]See, in theory, I could do pretty much whatever you want,[/color] I begin, withdrawing various vials and tinctures from the depths of my bag.
[color=008EE0]Jobs? I could be the most successful bodyguard you've ever had. I could be your eyes and ears, I could dispose of any obstacles in your way. I could even be your chef, but I wouldn't recommend that. I'm a terrible cook,[/color] I advise. After much careful selection, I choose a bottle with a strand of blonde hair wrapped around the neck. I open it, sniff it, grimace, and continue:
[color=008EE0]But that's not what you want. You don't need a servant. You have lots of those, but none as good as me. See, what sets me apart, is experience.[/color]
I shake the bottle until a thick grey mixture falls onto my fingers. I examine it critically, shrug, place a blob on each of my fingers and run them through my hair.
[color=008EE0]I've been in action for a long time. Longer than most. I have seen empires rise and fall, and played small but vital parts in those cycles. I have watched many leaders. I know what an effective leader needs to be.[/color]
I don't know if the kid is listening or not. It would be stupid for him not to, but he hasn't proven to be very attentive. Anyway, I am in full-on persuasion mode. Which means I talk a lot. And fast. My scalp is starting to itch, so I grab my waterskin and pour the right amount (It's not magic, I've just had a lot of practice) through my hair. Nothing sloshes out, and suddenly, as if by some miracle, I am a honey blonde. I toss my newly-gilded locks around experimentally, before finishing off with:
[color=008EE0]What I think you need is a teacher. And by the blade, I could teach you whatever you wanted to learn. Morehowever, I could give you the skills you need to push yourself into the throne. Toss me to the authorities if you will. But personally, I think it'd be an awful waste.[/color]
Aaand... Scene.
@Clowesia: Oh, I can, easily. If I'm given a bit of time (about an hour) and someone museful to work with, I write pages and pages.
Seeking missing bunnies! 09 Easter
