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Short Shorts: The GardenerThe Gardener
The first thing the Gardener makes is the Swiss Army knife. It makes sense when you think about it.
The second thing is the tree. The tree is smack in the middle, and some people will call it Yggdrasil, and others the Tree of the Knowledge, or of Good and Evil. It's a heck of a tree, but at first its trunk only separates up from down.
It waters the tree, but it hasn't created hydroponics yet. It needs something else. It invents words, and flips open the Swiss Army knife.
EARTH + SKY, it writes, then carves a heart around them.
Short Shorts: RamRAM
With a sputtering gasp, Ram pulls his head from the basin of frigid water. Words are hard to put together with lips that are trembling like seismograph needles, so he sits for a little bit to warm up and calm down before attempting speech-or, to be specific, complaint.
"How in the h-h-heck am I supp-p-posed to make it as a m-magician if I can-n-n't even do M-Man on the Rocks?" He glares pointedly at Zeek, his gaze as cold as his goosebumped skin.
Zeek sits next to Ram with another towel. "The trick is," he says, "to forget to breathe."
Short Shorts: Akari, p4AKARI, P4
Hungry, it thinks to itself in the mental version of a deep voice. It roils without shape, chaos and horror incarnate. It has slept for a long time, and now it walks, or, rather, crawls, once more.
As the unholy mass explores its long since forgotten stomping grounds, a new thought crosses its mind. Why, it thinks, am I awake? Who awoke me? Uh-oh. It knows that something-or, rather, someone-woke it. Its bubbling flesh rises to a boil.
The orb sits along with Akari's keys and phone in a little dish by the door. It shifts on its own.
Short Shorts: Terpsichore, p3TERPSICHORE, P3
Thoth nervously straightens his tie. It's an ugly paisley, all azures and crimsons, and clearly doesn't go with his shirt. He glances at his pocketwatch, willing the little hands to forsake their gears and springs and move a little faster. They don't.
Thoth knows why she's meeting with him, here, today, now. What he's not as sure about is why he agreed. Isn't there some other hole in the wall on some other bridge in Tenebrous where she can find a good phylactery? He snickers. He's a wanted man again.
Well, he thinks, at least it's publicity. At least it's money.
Short Shorts: Daramulan, p3DARAMULAN, PIII
The police are still looking for him. As if they have a chance of finding him.
What they don't know is that he cannot be caught-he sees their every move, and the closer they get to catching him, the easier it is for him to escape. His shadow flits across rooftops, his footsteps make less than a sound, and his bullets always hit their mark. He defies existence; where other people are, he isn't. He is but a glimpse, a hunch, a memory. Effervescent and intangible. And he lusts for only two things: blood and money.
His name is Daramulan.
Short Shorts: OsbourneOSBOURNE
"This is a dumb idea, Thane. A dumb idea," whines Osbourne from his harness. He gently swings from side to side fifty feet above the podium, hoisted by a long rope, in turn going through a pulley and returning to the hands of Thane, who is busy getting the cleat hitch wrong again. Eight time's the charm.
"Oh, shut up, Oz," clucks Thane. "The magister will love it. Do you have the paint?"
Four eyes look down to fix on a large can of pea-green paint sitting on the stone floor. Thane looks up at Osbourne, then the paint. He sighs.
Short Shorts: QuigleyQUIGLEY
What was eight minutes ago a zeppelin is now a husk. It burns, a silent colossus over Zurich, slowly freefalling into the skyline. Quigley stares from the womb of his ball turret, pumping more rounds into a creature that he knows is already mortally wounded. His goggles are steaming up, but he doesn't care. He holds the trigger down, feeling the recoil shake his body like great wracking sobs as orange stripes of tracers slash lines in the sky. The gunship lumbers away and Quigley finally inhales as he relea-ses the gun. Flying home, still a newborn, Quigley cries and cries.
Short Shorts: Akari, p2AKARI, PART II
They hold hands inside the pocket of Akari's longcoat for warmth. Splitting the foggy clouds of their own exhales, they stroll, not-quite-briskly, down the sidewalk. They look at the sky, at each other, and listen to their boots crunch.
Cosette's right foot hits a hidden patch of ice, and she stumbles, her glasses skittering off. Genu-flecting, she pats about in vain on the concrete. Akari sees them in the gutter.
When he bends to grab them, a glint in the storm drain catches his eye. A little gold orb. He picks that up, too.
In a chthonic abyss, something horrible awakens.
Short Shorts: EbenEBEN
A labyrinth, by definition, must have an exit and an entrance. A way out. Burkhardt House, then, is no labyrinth, for all who have gone in have never been seen again; as for heard of, one can point to the inhuman howls that emanate from its boarded windows in the middle of the night, although most dismiss the noise as the wind itself getting lost in the twisting halls and hidden passages.
"I dare you to throw a rock at it," says Eben from the sidewalk. Jakob balks, looking at one of the panes of glass.
He picks up a stone.
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Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More