Current Residence: Switchblade Cafe
Shell of choice: Emotional
Personal Quote: But where there's a monster, there's a miracle-Ogden Nash
New Houston: The Morning StarNew Houston is a broken city in its soul; it gives the indistinct sensation of past disaster. A visitor has the itching notion that if they could shut out the noise and neon, look past the walls, they would see evidence of cataclysmic ruin. As if they could see the streets from far enough away, from enough height, they would see the bowl of a volcanic caldera in the geography. Or perhaps that the flagstones of the shops, crowded so tight the walls scream, conceal the bones of a city razed to dust. It's geography doesn't do the tourist industry any favors, a few too many bayous that run black, too little foliage of the non-plastic variety.New Houston: The Morning Star by Isengim
The port-side half of the city was every bad dream Vegas had ever had, and everything Revolutionary Paris proved to be. Daylight there is a rumor, a cultural myth alongside mermaids and the Chupacabra. Vietnamese is the lingua franca, shot through with fragments of pure Texan. Xuống y'all.
The dockside visitor has much to contend with: the stenc
Phoenicia I It wasn't that violence made him itchy, but his muscles did ache afterwards. Adrenaline crash, someone had once told him, a grinding of chemical gears. No issue, but he did feel odd, rubbing a kink out of his neck while pointing the pistol with the other. He certainly felt he was losing traction with the hostages, and that annoyed him. He hadn't counted on the local police dragging their heels, or certain federal agencies pecking over the situation like competitive vultures.Phoenicia I by Isengim
All that was left for him was the wait, and the furtive glares of hostages. In truth, he regretted much of what was happening. The last few years had been good ones. He'd had a good job, and dependable friends. But if all went well, Mickey Kincaid would be another dead alias, obsolete. Mickey, who had recently come over from Ireland with certain connections and a reputation in small circles. Mickey, with the shy smile, who popped his knuckles compulsively, and could sing the Irish nation
The WallIt was when we lost contact with Voyager 1 that it began. We lost Voyager 2 and the Pioneers sometime later. They’d been streaming anemic flows of data for decades, barely above background solar radiation. Then they just stopped. We had ways of tracking what happened, of course, a legion of eyes, parabolic dishes to point towards the heavens. They had quite literally, just stopped. As if they’d hit something, the satellites had rebounded in pieces from their paths. We were of course, aghast. Decades of work, and mankind’s farthest flung achievements had become bugs on a windscreen, solar dust. There was despair at legacies crushed, rage at imagined incompetence, and above all else: wonder. What had happened? How could this be explained, multiple satellites on different courses all being destroyed? What in God’s name could have happened?The Wall by Isengim
We had our first clue when some brilliant number-cruncher proved that all the satellites had stopped, crashed, at the same rang
The Little Apartment Building: The Faulty ShoggothThe Little Apartment Building Of (mainly) Lovecraftian Crossovers, Crack, Meta-references And Other Assorted HorrorsThe Little Apartment Building: The Faulty Shoggoth by dark-precipice
Chapter 8: The Faulty Shoggoth
May 26, 1934 06:03
Khaa'r spent the short trip from Arkham to Innsmouth in the back seat of Julius Marsh's car, not bothering to strike up a conversation with his driver. The young man did not seem to mind, so he prattled on about his father's latest calculations and how they only needed twenty more years before everyone in Innsmouth had enough of the Deep Ones' blood inside their veins to be capable of 'taking to the water', as they called it.
In other words - twenty more years worth of gold, fish and endless patience, that was what old Barnabas Marsh wanted, most likely in order to set aside some money for the runts to inherit after their town was finally abandoned for good. Khaa'r glared at the back of the boy's head - had these greedy little humans ever stopped to consider the efforts his people made to provide for them? And for