Message 231 of 251 | Previous | Next [ Up Thread ] From: teredd@u... Date: Tue Oct 1, 2002 8:28 pm Subject: nothing.. *There is a sudden rush of sound, like wind pushing through a sheet of paper that just gave way that immeadiatly stops and you may think you've gone deaf. *the static darkness starts changing colors and breaking apart, like shattered glass as if looked through a kaleidascope, shades of grey, white, black, darkness, light.. A Camille Saint-Saens piece called Danse Macabre begins playing in the background. *from behind the nowhere in particular.. a quiet young, itallian-accented whisper filters through: "This is nothing. it is nothing. it says nothing. it holds. nothing. it remembers nothing. the things that spin in my head. i don't remember either. there's these lines down the side. i can't listen or speak or hide. it comes to me in flashes a microscope of incest and lies a breaking of skulls long, crooked and old fashioned get me another beer i fear the hate it brings inside i hate the nothing it brings take away my life take away my earnings don't i deserve to have it taken? the truth unspoken ringing in my ears i don't listen i don't need him i won't call him i don't listen i speak the uncertain death the unwilling release the painful tribute to life not the end nothing. without debt without gratitude towards life's little flaws little claws scrape across my back my shoulders bleed and crack and break underneathe its a lesson i'll learn that's what i'm told but i don't listen and it comes back again. my ribs are broken and i can't breathe the truths he gives are only lies and illusions, nothing. i don't see through i don't hear it i didn't listen. spoken speaking biggots of laughter dancing lights float on my skin covering up the bruises making it all go to nothing meaningless drool on my sleeve it seeps from the hole in my head the break in the layer leaks out slowly but i don't see it it doesn't matter, the truth isn't gushing out there is nothing in the truth there is nothing in the wound there is nothing in my veins there is nothing to make it flow." Message 232 of 251 | Previous | Next [ Up Thread ] From: teredd@u... Date: Wed Oct 2, 2002 4:53 pm Subject: a time for expulsion.. *you catch a glimpse of a small, black-cloaked figure moving through the static darkness.. *a piano key is pressed, a A-flat.. the key held down until the tone fades away.. *There is a sudden rush of sound, like wind pushing through a sheet of paper that just gave way that immeadiatly stops and you may think you've gone deaf. *the scene of a hillside comes into view, a large magnolia tree on its crest, a limb hanging low with Dayetha sitting on a branch, a small, black-cloaked figure wielding a large axe and a blank face sitting below her swinging feet as she hums softly into the wind.. *from behind the nowhere in particular.. a young, quiet itallian-accented whisper: "Oh, me! When the winter creeps over a shadow's dale. The wind is blossomed by the night. And to what I think? Doesn't matter... The grass still grows, but will grow again. The moon shall pass. I do not grow older, the moon grows younger. We are time is time is time." *the scene starts changing colors and breaking apart, like shattered glass as if looked through a kaleidascope, shades of green, white, black, darkness, light.. the same quiet whisper: "Oh, my! When the jaws of a crouching lion clench down on its prey. The blood is freed in the cold, waving grass. And what to the prey? Freed like the blood, warm under the moon. The lion will live another night, and will hunt again. The elk shall return. The wind shall blow over. Time is not time, and does not move forward. I am older is old is old." *a piano begins to play along with Dayetha's quiet humming in the background, soft, slow and fluid.. the same quiet whisper: "To the wind, I am older. To the wolf, I am wind. And time creeps, and creaks like the open door. My gust pushing it softly. My heart beating beneath the whistling screen." *the tree crumbles to dust, along with the grass and the leaves and the flowers around it.. Dayetha hovers in the air, the small, black-cloaked figure looking up at her from the dust-covered hillside.. the same quiet whisper: "Oh, me! When the winter falls over a mountain trail. The wolf is hunted in the light. And to what I began? Would've mattered... The grass is covered, and will be again. The day shall come. I do not grow wearier, the day grows more alive. They are sand is sand is sand." *There is a sudden rush of sound, like wind pushing through a sheet of paper that just gave way that immeadiatly stops and you may think you've gone deaf. [ooc:9910120-us20010230120310230123... i forgot] Message 233 of 251 | Previous | Next [ Up Thread ] From: Barbara Mertz Date: Thu Oct 3, 2002 3:38 am Subject: [Fwd: [Malkavian] - Nature of our Curse] > ::In the white room, decorated with 50's style avant garde furniture. > The beatnik--a large woman in pants, a mock turtleneck, beret, and > shades--strolls casually through the room. She smiles, and bows. "I > seek the Malkavian Primogen of the Internet, to seek Acknowledgement > from the Prince." Her lips don't move with the words, but curl up in a > wry smile. "May he reign longer than most Princes. Now..." > > She sits down, sips a steaming hot coffee, and gestures in the air. "I > have seen a Wassail. Some of us here have. I'll try to give you the > tamed version." She gestures, and from under the floor impossibly > somehow comes a flood of blood, reminiscent of Kubrick's version of The > Shining. It floods towards her, and she casually lifts her feet. It > covers the floor. Looking at it more closely, you see floating in it a > set of 1's and 0's. They attach to each other to create a web, which > rears up like a tentacle. The beatnik swats it away, > but her fact shows no emotion. Another rears up, and another, and while > she fights them off she doesn't seem particularly concerned. They > absorb her into the floor, chair and all, and as she goes down you see > her hand rise above it, making the Sign for 'past', and J-A-N-X:: > > morinon@u... wrote: > > > The voice from the darkness chuckles. "I didn't say good and bad. I meant there is a subtle difference between 'obvious' insanity, what all others see, and where our 'insanity' stems from. That we skip steps that others consider indeed essential to logical thought. In my actions, many consider me insane. I've declared myself Prince of the Internet to prove that it's unenforceable, and that the internet is no one's domain. I've questioned a Justicar's actions. And yet, I've done it to aid the Camarilla. For this, many question my sanity." > > Wassail is a terrible > > > thing, my friends... and my eyes are very keen." > > > > The voice in the darkness is now devoid of humor. "Wassail is indeed a terrible thing. It is something I would avoid at all costs, even the costs of my studies. My studies mean nothing if I am mindless." -- Barbara Mertz US2002021791 (was 2000-01-106) ----------------and Clarice to Anthony's Hannibal IC: Cheri Eva Quinn-Maroon, Malkavian Dancing Mary, Brujah CreepShow, Toreador Anti Message 234 of 251 | Previous | Next [ Up Thread ] From: teredd@u... Date: Wed Oct 9, 2002 4:49 pm Subject: a dream from this morning.. *you hear the sounds of a violin playing downstairs.. or distant.. outside.. the room.. padded walls.. quiet, you turn the page, listen to the violin.. *from behind the nowhere in particular.. a quiet, italian-accented whisper, "Tonality in western stylistic composition..." *She heard it, was there, but didn't learn, but found him, who is her, who is creation.. and when she became anew the movement was dying.. atonality was constrewed from what they thought they were supposed to do, but not talented enought to see they were screwing it all up, but Debussy showed them, he made the chaos fit.. the same quiet whisper, "a chromatic, homophonic style that would retain tonic hegemony.. *you turn the page, it's colored pictures and diagrams and drawings of staves and notes and excerpts.. *He rejected outright all suggestions of classical directness and symmetry in matters of form. Using unpredictable phrasing, free flowing rhythm and metrical accentuations of secondary importance, Debussy desired a spontaneous music to express the impalpable, transient essence of things. "my dear," dayetha calls from the window, "it is time." *you scribble down the last few notes, and the title, and the publisher, and the journal number, and the volume number, but, looking at the blood coming from the quill's tip onto the starched and blue-lined paper, you forget to write down the writer's name.. [ooc: 9910120-us2002022326] Message 235 of 251 | Previous | Next [ Up Thread ] From: "Muse" Date: Sun Oct 13, 2002 10:41 pm Subject: The Death of a Muse [Long Death Post] Words, images flutter through your mind. It is like a trail of bread crumbs, leading you away from the dark, demon infested forest, and homeÉ Whether to safety or not is irrelevantÉ You feel, somehow, that you are going home finally. Beneath all, is a sense of peace and contentment. ~~ This is the way the world ends This is the way the world ends This is the way the world ends Not with a bang, but a whimper. ~~ Is there a purpose? A reason? Is there cowardice in giving in? Is it suicide to acknowledge and understand a greater truthÉ That being, a truth which is far greater than the self? PerhapsÉ. Perhaps indeed butÉ This is the way the world endsÉ ~~ If I had words, to make a day for youÉ. I'd sing you a morning, golden and trueÉ I'd make this day last for ALL timeÉ And sing you a night, deep in MoonshineÉ ~~ She walks alone, down a darkened path. A basket under one arm. A red cloak wrapped around her shoulders. She hums softly under her breath as she walks. The first stopÉ Is the Hot Spot. She smiles as she pushes open the door, wandering inside. The place is empty, dead. Debris scattered across the floor. She smiles and wanders to the bar, dropping a package onto its surface. The package is addressed, of course, to Ellen Reid. She looks around, frowning slightly, then nods. She pulls out a purple glittery pen and scribbles a note across the wrappings. "Keep it, toss it, or pass it onto whoever takes Clan Head nextÉ Or somethingÉ Its irrelevant. Inside this box you will find the fangs of every Malkavian I have killed, as well as those which were gifted to me by others who knew of my collection. The ones I took are labeled, as are some of the ones that were given to me. The rest are jumbled together, unfortunately." She seems to ponder a moment, then smirks. "If Simon Monk lives, he may want his sire's fangs as some memento of herÉ Elizabeth Jensen is very clearly labeledÉ Unfortunately I cannot imbue them with the satisfaction I gained in her destruction. She was the beginning, not the firstÉ The first was her other childeÉ what WAS his nameÉ Richard or something, who knowsÉ Its irrelevantÉ He was a tool. I promised to release him from the blood bond she forced on him, and kept my word. Death does break the bondsÉ Unfortunately, Simon went flying off into astral nothingness, and I couldn't get to his body before it was taken away by the ghoulsÉ Or I'd have made sure he was finished properly, put the whole damn family to rest. C'est Lavie or whatever it is, I never did get around to learning French. Anyhow. The fangs are yoursÉ If Simon is around, he might want Jensen's. And a pair of my own fangs are here as well." She chews on her lip for a moment, then shrugs. "I really do wish I could remember what proof I thought I had, why I was so convinced that you had Betrayed Corvus, butÉ Ah wellÉ" She smirks, drawing a cross on the side of the package. Though in life she has no real talent for art, in dream she doesÉ and the man on the crucifix is familiar, obviously he is Corvus. "Any rate. Regards or somesuch." She leaves no signature, knowing that he receiver will recognize her words. ~~ Next she steps into La Rave. She watches the party for several moments, seeming sad and wistful. The crowd, as always, ignores her. "Someone watch over them." She says softly. "Seth's childrenÉ" She sighs and slips away again. ~~ She wanders aimlessly through the dreams, peeking in on people occasionally, but saying nothing. ~~ She stops near a fountain full of purple flowers and looks around hopefully. She looks toward the trees, then the path, even to the sky, but the one she looks for doesn't come. Of courseÉ There wasn't time for an invitation. É She calls a large fluffy white cat, kissing it on the nose as she kneels beside it. "BastlingÉ Dear fuzzballÉ Watch over Doris for meÉ Tell her that I love herÉ That I'm sorry I couldn't stay, that I'm sorry we couldn't go backÉ" Some of the flowers turn into pink and yellow roses. ~~ She moves through the forest to a stream, black and shimmery. She kneels beside it, dipping her fingers into the water and smiles. "Never second best, loveÉ" She wipes a tear from her cheek then smiles. "Never forget me, LetheÉ PleaseÉ RememberÉ" ~~ She climbs the highest tree she finds, staring out over the world. Angels fly above, and she smiles, seeking one specific. She has a scroll tucked into her cleavage. An angel comes, eventually, settling on a branch near her. She smiles, handing over the scroll, and kisses it on the cheek. "Take this to him for meÉ and tell himÉ" She seems, almost to blush for a moment. "Tell Jean-Baptiste Mahieu D'Avignon that CelesteÉ That I regret that we could not meet. The scroll contains Corvus's memoirs." ~~ She jumps down, rolling with the impact and popping back to her feet, as she wanders toward an arch, into the graveyard. She walks among the stones and monuments that she has erected over the years for those she has known, loved and lost. She pauses by Paloma's monument and smiles softly. As she turns away, hundreds of butterflies scatter into the wind. ~~ She wanders past a bank of TV's and smiles. "MaÉ" She carefully and methodically presses her lips against each of the TV screens, leaving purple lip prints. "Thank you for everything, MaÉ" ~~ She wanders onward until she realizes, that she is drawing out the moment. She turns down a dark path, walking quietly. She hums softly under her breath. "Daisy, daisy give me your answer doÉ I'm halfÉ crazyÉ All for the love of youÉ" ~~ Darkness comes. Sensation begins. The sweet erotic sensation of taking blood. The words spoken. You drop to your knees, smiling slightly, and pull your hair aside, baring your throat. Your eyes drift closed as the blood is taken, giving yourself into the euphoria. Words come again, soft words. "I understand." You dig into your pocket, handing over the device you have used. "Take the fangs, so they will knowÉ It is a kind of justice." A muffled voice can be heard, it seems to be arguing. "I know you don't careÉ But I do. Please?" Your lips quirk in a smile as you settle back again, leaning into the touch as lips press against the wound in your throat. "Do it." You whisper, saving the last of your strength to project an image to your savior, and to the others who are listening. Two images come. ~~ Kanji. Vengeance. It smolders constantly, occasionally flaring up into a blaze that melts away the being of the possessor. You take a number, glad that it's the next in line, and smile as you pass on your message. "I found it, my friend, my beloved friendÉ The static is gone, the voices are faint and soonÉ" You smile, wanting to say more but your focus shifts away. ~~ A girl sits in a garden. She is wearing a shift of a soft purple color. Her eyes are a vivid shade of violet. Her hair is long, red curls that fall around her hips. She holds a flower between her fingers, then tucks it behind her hair. She watches the water go by for a few moments, then glances off toward the orchard. A man in white stands, watching her. There is something possessive in his attitude yet, for some reason he cannot come near her. He is forced to watch from the distance. She smirks, waves, then turns her back on him. She perches on the edge of her rock, hands shaking with anticipation. She tries to steady her beating heart, folds her hands together tightly to calm herself. A dark figure steps up behind her, dropping to his knees beside her. She smiles, holding out her arms as he sweeps her into his lap. The language they speak is ancient. They whisper words of love, pressing kisses on each other's lips and cheeks. She wraps her arms tightly around his neck as he stands, holding her close against his chest. She glances over his shoulder to the man in white, smirking again. Very clearly she says. "This cycle it will be right, yes? We will be together now?" He murmurs a response, holding her tighter, and she laughs. "Yes yes, of course I want thisÉ I've never wanted anything but to be with you. Forever, Haquim, you promised." He chuckles, brushing lips across her cheek, and steps into darkness. ~~ The static fades, the voices fade. The darkness sweeps in, and with it comes silence. You smile, knowing that this is right. You have found peace, found silence again. All is right in the world again. ~~ This is the way the world ends This is the way the world ends This is the way the world ends Not with a bang, but a whimper. ~~ ~Finis~ OOC Thanks guys, it has been more fun than I can explainÉ I've never played a character this intense and dynamicÉ I doubt I'll ever be able to recreate any aspect of the level of RP I've been lucky to find with Muse, but damn sure I'll try *smirks* I may eventually write up a new malk, but not for a while. After almost three years in play, I can say that I'm happy with the way things have gone. From beginning to end, it was a story, and an experience. The way she died was, to tell the truth, the absolute BEST way to end her storyÉ I've been toying off and on with the idea of writing a book, but I was always afraid that if she ended badly I'd lose the inspirationÉ the muse, if you will *Grins* But, with this, I can say it's a definite temptation. AnyhowÉ See ya! Shanon Smith US2002021971 Message 236 of 251 | Previous | Next [ Up Thread ] From: teredd@u... Date: Sun Oct 13, 2002 10:58 pm Subject: last wishes.. *from within the static darkness you notice a shadow move, a cloaked figure, fast, wielding a large black axe and a blank mask, blood pouring from it's eyes.. *from nowhere in particular.. a deep and distorted voice, "Iason, you will meet your second death. it is coming. you died for green, who died for you. now you will die again, so that this shit you call yourself to be false is gone from my mind." *a violin string being tuned breaks suddenly, the string stinging her hand as she patiently turns the key.. *from behind the nowhere in particular.. a quiet, italian accented whisper, "she is gone. and so i have been and shall be. they will forget, but i will not forget and have not." Message 237 of 251 | Previous | Next [ Up Thread ] From: teredd@u... Date: Sun Oct 13, 2002 11:51 pm Subject: Re: [MMNsub] The Death of a Muse [Long Death Post] *a violin is heard playing softly in the static background.. ~~ This is the way the world ends This is the way the world ends This is the way the world ends Not with a bang, but a whimper. ~~ Silence. *as the violin stops suddenly, you see a short figure wearing a black cloak and a blank face, he looks to be screaming through the mask but no sound breaks from it, and blood streams from it's open eyes.. Message 238 of 251 | Previous | Next [ Up Thread ] From: Barbara Mertz Date: Mon Oct 14, 2002 3:58 am Subject: Death of a partner in crime ::A song plays in your head, one verse, over and over... "I am so high, I can hear heaven I am so high, I can hear heaven but heaven no heaven don't hear me And they say that a hero can save us, I'm not going to stand here and wait I hold onto the wings of an eagle Watch as they all fly away..." Your head floods, floods with saltwater. Tears. That horrible sensation of grief, painful in a way that transcends the (long dead) physical. It is a tidepool flood, moving in circles, pooling, ebbing, flowing. In the distance you hear a wave, thundering like it must be a tsunami. You can only hope it isn't coming your way. You can't do a thing about it, except what you've already done. Given instructions that when you are in this state you are to be left be, carried to bed if need be like you were this morning. And he will, because he does, and the others bend to his fragile and compromised will. You feel like a child who has just learned that the spider/horse/hero dies at the end of the book. Hide, just hide, bury your head in your pillow...:: -- Barbara Mertz US2002021791 (was 2000-01-106) ----------------and Clarice to Anthony's Hannibal IC: Cheri Eva Quinn-Maroon, Malkavian Dancing Mary, Brujah CreepShow, Toreador Anti Message 239 of 251 | Previous | Next [ Up Thread ] From: Barbara Mertz Date: Mon Oct 14, 2002 5:56 am Subject: Snippet ::A mind reaches up like a hand out of a grave, out of quicksand, out of a riptide. A dentist reaching deep into gums with a tool, shattering the teeth within to powder. "It is a sonic drill" he says in German. "It removes the rot." A set of crests slips by, their features indistinct but you get a feeling you know who they represent. Malkavian. Daughters of Cacophany. Ravnos. LaVoisier. Nipple. Chival. Diamond. Shrek. Gunn. And then an anarchy symbol. They spin by without context.:: -- Barbara Mertz US2002021791 (was 2000-01-106) ----------------and Clarice to Anthony's Hannibal IC: Cheri Eva Quinn-Maroon, Malkavian Dancing Mary, Brujah CreepShow, Toreador Anti Message 240 of 251 | Previous | Next [ Up Thread ] From: teredd@u... Date: Mon Oct 14, 2002 5:10 pm Subject: Re: Death of a partner in crime *You feel like a child who has just learned that the spider/horse/hero dies at the end of the book. Hide, just hide, bury your head in your pillow...:: *you suddenly realize that the pillow she gave you is filled with blood and wake up choking as she tells you, "and, uh.. KILL.." *but she's dead.. and the violin softly fades away in the static darkness, though did you notice it was even playing? [ooc: 9910120-us2002022326] Message 241 of 251 | Previous | Next [ Up Thread ] From: Barbara Mertz Date: Wed Oct 16, 2002 6:03 am Subject: Re: [Malkavian] - Re: Death of a partner in crime ::The violin plays, softly, sadly, Russian style seeming strangely out of place. The pillow is made of blood, red blood on pink satin sheets. You bury your head in it, submerge yourself in the comforting vampiric womb of it. Still you drink, and cry blood tears. It is all you know, and for the moment all you want to know. Behind the sound of the violin, rain. And behind the rain, discordant, a distant train.:: teredd@u... wrote: > *You feel like a child who has just learned that the spider/horse/hero > dies at the end of the book. Hide, just hide, bury your head in your > pillow...:: > > *you suddenly realize that the pillow she gave you is filled with blood > and wake up choking as she tells you, "and, uh.. KILL.." > > *but she's dead.. and the violin softly fades away in the static > darkness, though did you notice it was even playing? > > [ooc: 9910120-us2002022326] -- Barbara Mertz US2002021791 (was 2000-01-106) ----------------and Clarice to Anthony's Hannibal IC: Cheri Eva Quinn-Maroon, Malkavian Dancing Mary, Brujah CreepShow, Toreador Anti Message 242 of 251 | Previous | Next [ Up Thread ] From: Barbara Mertz Date: Thu Oct 17, 2002 2:53 am Subject: Coffee House of the mind ::Dark, hints of amber, a red design rug. The music is loud, so loud it chases away deep thoughts and drowns out conversations. It shifts from folk to blues to classic rock to psychadelia without interruption. A picture forms--people sitting in a coffeehouse, warm wooden tables centered with candles like some chi-chi bayou restaurant. In one corner is a pay phone with a steady progression of customers. It has a dial, not pushbuttons. You walk through it, plentiful hips swaying to the music. Your eyes are open and unfocused, exhausted but relaxed. You go to a chalkboard and draw a little island on it with a palm tree. The chalk glows neon on the backlit board. Your mind spirals into it--our nation, nation of vampires, starving, cannibalizing, better with people, only one vampire, maybe two or three no more, it wasn't powerful but it was safe, if you were careful. You decorate the drawing with torches, a beach, palm frond huts, a white house. You let your eyes unfocus again, fatigued at the effort. The world is dark, not amber so much as red-brown. You scratch at your forehead and your hand comes back wet. It drips, seemingly upward, dark thick fluid. The world turns over. You are lying in a pool of blood, and the world sits at an odd angle. Your eyelids fall upwards. The blood is thick and unappetizing, contradicting the gnawing hunger.:: -- Barbara Mertz US2002021791 (was 2000-01-106) ----------------and Clarice to Anthony's Hannibal IC: Cheri Eva Quinn-Maroon, Malkavian Dancing Mary, Brujah CreepShow, Toreador Anti Message 243 of 251 | Previous | Next [ Up Thread ] From: "WW Malkavian List Moderator" Date: Thu Oct 17, 2002 12:34 pm Subject: OOC: From the Malkavian List Moderator Hello, Those of you that do not know me, I am David Whaley. I am the Moderator for the Official White Wolf Malkavian list, as well as the Sabbat-MMN Yahoo group and the MMNsub Yahoo group. I wanted to keep everyone up to speed on a few things. First, the Official Sabbat MMN should be up and running hopefully within the next month or so. I will keep you all informed on that as more information becomes available. Secondly, and I think more immediately important, the MMNsub Yahoo Group will be deleted in about a week. If you are on that list, but not on the Official White Wolf list, please contact me PRIVATELY. I will make this transition as painless as possible for all of you. If you are a member of The Camarilla, it will be a simple matter for me to sub you to the White Wolf list. The only real information I need is your Camarilla number and Chapter and ST info. The MMNsub Yahoo Group will be deleted on Sunday, October 27, 2002 whenever I get up and get around to it. ;) But, rest assured, it will be deleted by midnight that night. Lastly, for now: If your PC has died and you have not requested to be removed from the Malkavian List, please do so at your earliest convenience. If your PC has been retired, for whatever reason, please also request to be removed. I am not sure if you will be able to unsub yourselves or if I will have to do it. Try doing it yourself, and if that doesn't work contact me. Any questions or complaints about anything mentioned in this email, or about anything to do with the lists, please contact me at malkavianmod@e.... Please, DO NOT respond to this email directly. I do not wish to clog the lists anymore than necessary with this subject. OOC: David Whaley NPO# 9911-063 WW Cam# US2002021388 ACC Eternal Charade (WWFL-008) Malkavian IC List Moderator malkavianmod@e...