Current Residence: Switchblade Cafe
Shell of choice: Emotional
Personal Quote: But where there's a monster, there's a miracle-Ogden Nash
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 Seraphim of Cobwebbed HallsSilently I heard her whispering,The Seraphim of Cobwebbed Halls by Somnolent-Droid
pallid ivory lips soft lisping,
Paper drifting slowly shifting,
from the bedroom's mildewed walls.
In these halls stirs vaguest chanting,
whippoorwills their cries decanting;
psycopomps in midnight sighing,
just outside these mildewed walls.
Huddled forms sprawl stealthily creeping,
countless spiders surging sweeping,
toward the bed where she lies sleeping,
the maiden of these mildewed walls.
Trapped within that pall's mass trembling,
writhes the one I stayed here tending,
all those bleak nights never-ending,
within these wretched mildewed walls.
Blasphemous birds fall shrieking mocking,
through the window thickly flocking,
to snatch the soul of that thing rotting,
my sweet seraphim of cobwebbed halls.