Leevee (colin_chaotic) wrote,
Leevee
colin_chaotic

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Friends collage, and story bits.


~colin_chaotic~



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LJ friendsCollage.

Brought to you by pratibha75 and teemus.


Wow. A surprising lot of my friends are either lists or people I actually know IRL. Kuh-razy. (A K? I need to quit reading TWoP's recaps of Firefly; the KRZY radio thing is getting to me.) Everyone else? From RPGs. And Andy. Who I knew before I dragged him over to HHP. Shocking, isn't it?

Oh, folks! I just dug up a rather bad story I wrote for Creative Writing last semester. The story itself is rushed and anvilicious, so I may fix it up and post it all later, but for now, I leave thee with some of the good parts. The story is titled 'The Name of the Game is Mau', which is possibly just a thing that SHHS theatre/band/chorus/artsy folks'll get, but who knows? Could be a universal game. Quick run-down: Mau (possibly spelled wrong, as I've never seen it written and so guessed) is a card game that you're not really supposed to give the rules to - you learn as you play. There's a bunch of crazy ass rules, and even two versions just for Smoky Hill High alone. Band rules means that you're allowed to call 'P of O' ('Point of Order') and explain things - theatre rules mean you're screwed. You can be given a card if you say anything that you're not supposed to when it's not your turn, or if you touch your cards during a P of O.

Snippets:

And lo, on the fourth day, He created football. And no one cared about the other days, 'cos hey, football, thought Taylor Collins in annoyance as he switched off the television. The screen flashed white for a moment and then died with a buzz. The buzz probably wasn't a good thing, but he didn't exactly have the money to fix the TV. As for fixing it himself... he had a sudden flashback to how he electrocuted his first Sim and shuddered. Better not.


Taylor woke up to a dingy room lit only by a single flickering 50 watt bulb. That and the glow of four Apple iBooks. They were obviously going for a noir-style hideout and failing miserably, but you had to admire their determination.

He leaned forward to get a glimpse of one of the computer scream and yelped when he fell over. From his position on the ground with his face smashed into the floor, he made an important mental note: Trying to walk forward while strapped around your waist to a chair, not a good idea.

"Well, it seems Special Agent Cavanaugh has awoken," a sinister-sounding voice echoed through the room. Taylor lifted his head off the ground and looked around, attempting to find the source.

"Really? Good for him," he said, just to have something to say.

"Don't be an ass, he meant you," snapped another voice, less echo-y and sinister, and more annoyed.

Taylor raised an eyebrow. "Uh-huh. Are you crazy or something?"

"No, we are not 'crazy'! Crazy people kill people, or blow up buildings, or don't pay their taxes!"

There was a sudden silence in which you could have heard a pin drop, had there been a pin in the room. But there wasn't, so you ended up hearing nothing.

"Moving on," said the sinister voice. "We're sure you know why you're here, Agent Cavanaugh."

"Not... really, no," Taylor said, his voice more than a little muffled by the carpet which, in the tradition of motel carpets everywhere, smelled vaguely of bleach and cat urine. "Why don't you set my chair up and tell me why you keep calling me Agent Cavanaugh?"

"Very funny." Someone sat his chair up though, so he wasn't too concerned. "Now look, we've got the FBI on the phone, they need to make sure you're alive and all that, so talk." An ear piece was shoved into his ear and Taylor winced, wondering what sort of damage that possibly did.

There was a bit of the crackling universal to cell phones, and then someone spoke. "I'm Agent Dan McGrew-"

"Congratulations," Taylor said sarcastically. "I hope you know that I'm not Agent Cavanaugh."

"Oh, we know. He came into work this morning and is understandably upset about being reported kidnapped. Now look, the important thing here is to stay calm, and not to do anything that would incite them to violence. We're tracing the phone now-"

There was some sort of commotion in the background, and Taylor waited patiently.

"What do you mean, 'untraceable'?" a voice hissed. Taylor rolled his eyes.

"Way to inspire confidence, jackass."



It was about an hour later when the FBI bust down the door with cries of "Nobody move!" Nobody did move, although they did give rather odd looks to the agents before them over the tops of their cards.

"And I was just about to win, too," Taylor said with a sigh, setting down his hand.

The sinister kidnapper took a card off the top of the deck and placed it on Taylor's card. "You didn't call P of O," he explained.

"Somehow, I doubt that matters."

Agent Danielle McGrew pulled off her helmut. "You're playing cards with them," she snapped at Taylor. "They're kidnappers!"

"So?" he asked defensively. "They're very nice people, once you get past the insane, psychotic part of their personalities!"

She stared at him. "You're crazy. We just rescued a crazy person from a group of crazy people."

"I am not crazy! Crazy people don't pay ta-" He paused. "Never mind."


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