Search Results

I kingdom hearts forum.

I kingdom hearts forum.

Soccer on ice? Now his headbutts can gain even higher velocities.

I left my key back when I was on vacation in the Pacific and it decided to choose some brown-haired blue-eyed buffoon named after the sky instead.

And the academic lessons are known to be eggceptional.

I wish I went to school on a chicken farm.

((Formatting later tonight))

The Darjeeling was delicious on this fine evening.

Olivia had not strayed from her room for the past few hours. She dared not make herself active on the internet, or contact the others, or do any of these sorts of things. Anything that would clue her off to the authorities was an extreme falsetto. Ah. But it was time. The hour struck a warm note. How long had it been? How long had it been since the philistine had walked the chambers of her room? She wondered if her roommate would ever appear. It was nice, having a room to one's self, as she had for much of her time here.

But enough would be enough. After their little meeting, she would come out of her hiding. Olivia gently sipped her tea as she waited the arrival of Elliot on their little appointment.

Righty. Let me go retrieve KHII Atlantica, then.

Harsh and critical reply to poster's statement while including derogatory comments on the necessary usage of an image macro in place of a proper argument while inaccurately insinuating poster's inferiority of argument and opinion

I believe it is risky paying for the loans tangentially before the signs of compound interest in the red catch up to you.

The chloroform did not work in the end? No wonder the Spam Zone has had a childish temper recently.

There is a specific reason why only a few people are chosen through those "staff interviews", you see.

Shame on you, Plums, for having pornography as an avatar. We are not supposed to let the commoners know about the staff's raunchy, carnal secrets.

Well excuse me, princess.

I may be a failure but at least I tried. Goodness gracious young'uns these days.

​

​

◤ tumblr ▣ logic ▣ debate ▣ mood: grumpy ▣ interaction: ▣ ooc: ◢​

​

​

Cherno ambled, almost like a dim bear, to his darkened room. Without a second thought, or rather -- without even wanting to let thoughts and ideas process through his very head, he took off his jacket and slumped down on his bed, slowly succumbing to the dreary clouds of a deep sleep. As he closed his eyes, he felt his world collapsing in on him, slowly, slowly, almost unnoticed, but still just there.

​

​

◤ tumblr ▣ logic ▣ debate ▣ mood: grumpy ▣ interaction: ▣ ooc: ◢​

​

[/url]

◤♩◢​

cherryleaf | boolean symphonic |||​

​

Cherno cast a grey stare at the girl in front of him. It was true. He had generally forgotten her name, but her face had changed just as much. Not simply from the fact that his sudden perception of colour turned much more grey, and her skin was cast in a monochromatic sheen, but from the stains of tears on her cheeks -- the delicate cresses of melancholy that lined her soft yet pained face. A mask of sorrow and despair, with her eyes, sunken very slightly like the eyes of wise men who had seen and experienced too much of the world. She was a young girl who had gone through very much.

And she stepped away, unable to respond. That definitely settled it. Cherno looked to the flowers and noticed the note on the door she seemed to have been indicating. A note on John's door? What-- what was going on?

He looked back at the girl. She seemed trapped by her grief -- a thick, metal case that she had been frozen in vectors of time with. Cherno's mouth opened slightly, in an effort to help; to understand; but what good was understanding a world that he slowly felt to alien to him? These colours were not his. These memories were not his. It was all so tedious -- so tedious and gruelling.

Cherno sighed and gazed at the letter. It was set in grey tones.

...

◤♩◢ vector of memory |||​

Did he--
Did he read that right?

John.
John, this was his room.

Cherno looked back at the greyed flowers.

int logic ( ) {
There were flowers here, right?
A bouquet.
And a notice by the police department.
The deceased occupant.
It was all too clear what happened here.
}

His eyes tightened.
His fingers stiffened. Oh. What was this feeling. This feeling in the depths of his heart? It seemed to surpass his mere lack of memory. But the cage around him seem to grow larger and more isolating. The spikes of the cold metal slowly and surely punctured his heart as he continued to read the letter on the door over and over again.

And over and over

And over and over

And over and over and over and over and over. And the pain was too much. The air grasped his lungs in a choke. He fell to the floor, his legs shaking, right in front of the door. Why? Why did he-- why was he having to feel like this? Why did he have to feel anything? Fucking hell. Fucking emotions. Demons clawed at his heart. And yet, he felt hollow. He was a shell. He was not Cherno Plume. Why was he feeling so ... not sad. He was not sad. He was empty. As if he had not lost a friend, but a very fragment of his soul. Torn off without a single regret, like a gentle leaf from a tree.

He didn't want to believe it.
He couldn't believe it.

"John!"
"Dammit! John! Stop this! Stop this stop this stop this!"
He was a little kid. His teeth were grit. Why? John, why did you have to do this? Why did you have to die?
Why did this have to happen now? When Cherno was barely trying to get to know you?
"John!"
"John! I--" Cherno's voice cracked, and as he slumped on the floor in front of the door, a choke to his lungs and his heart sent his mouth open and a tear slowly wandering down his cheek.
"John! Fucking hell! Open the door! Please! Please, I'm begging you!"
"J-- John!"
"This isn't the time for jokes! John! John!" He banged the door. He knocked on it. His balled his fists in anger. Was this true? It couldn't be true, could it? It-- it couldn't--

Cherno's wavering voice began to echo through the hallway, completely empty save for the girl standing behind him.
He sent his bandaged fist flying towards the wooden door and gave it a hard punch.
"John!"
Pain shot through his entire left arm.
"You weren't supposed to leave me, like this, John!"
But it was nothing compared to the abyss of welling sorrow that was slowly attacking him from the inside.
"We were supposed to get through this together! All of it! Together!"
"And-- and you just-- just leave me here! Fucking John!"
He punched.
And punched.
And punched.
A redness started to well up by his knuckles. The pain was unbearable. But Cherno? Cherno thought it was from his heart, not his hands. The sorrows wracked his body with uncontrollable shivering. His mind was going in loops. He could not understand anything about this world. Why was he here? Why did he continue to live in a world that hated him turn by turn?
"Why. Why. Why. Why. Why did you do this! You reckless bastard! You fucking--"
He punched.
"--reckless--"
And punched.
"--asshat!"

Spoiler

Bang.

Spoiler

◤♩◢equation of friendship |||

"You idiot."
"Why did you have to protect me like that? Just because I'm new to Coy City?"
"I can manage my own fights, brother! I'm from Brookridge. We live off the streets, you dig."
"Pssh. I can take-- take these things--"
"Damn. Your hand looks mighty busted. Ugh."
"... Look, let me get some medicine. Stay put."
"Just. Stay put, 'kay?"
"... and thanks, brother."

///

"You're going to attend church again, after all these years?"
"That's a fucking stupid idea. You and I both are acutely gosh-damned aware that you can't tell a communion from a community."
"Huh?"
"Ahahahaha, jesus, brother, this isn't no time for jokes!"
"You'd probably be better as a comedian than a confession father. Why'd you wanna start up that funkshow anyhow?"

"Sins! Atone for sins in your past!"
"Ahahahahahahaha!"
"You've gotta be pulling my upside flip limb, there, brother. You? Atone for your past?"
"Ridiculous. It's a waste of your time."
"D--don't give me that look, dammit!"

"O--okay. Fine."
"I believe you. But don't come whining to me when the life's too much for you. I still see your shorty little smoke packin'."
"But you know what."
"I-- I believe you can do it."
"I ... guess."
"You're a smart one, anyway. And we're too much alike."
"We both want to help people. But the difference is that, you're too selfish! Ah!"
"... And I--I'll stick my tongue out at you when I want to! Damn, brother!"

///

"Yo."
"You're-- you're looking a bit cold there."
"I've never been to Coy City before. I'm a new lad."
"But you don't even have an umbrella in this rain? Sheesh, a guy would expect the locals to know their own weather."
"Take mine. I've had to wander the streets for a bit, and this was a gift from the daughter of the police chief that was on my trail."
"You need it more than I do, though."

"What are you talking about?"
"Oh, no. I'm going to be enrolling in Bellhurst High soon."
"You too, huh? ..."
"My home?"

"Oh."
"Well, I guess I don't have one."
"I haven't for a while. I've been a bit of a street rat. I used to live with the girl who gave me the umbrella for a bit, but she took little notice of me because of her own problems."
"I used to have a place I could call home."
"But it's gone now."

"... Your place?"
"Well, I guess."
"Empty houses nearby? Apparently someone's still sending me money. If I could get into legal ownership on their notice--"

"Oh, my name?"
"Tell me yours, first."

"John Quincy, huh ..."
"That's a fly name you've got there, brother."
"And stop trying to hand me back the umbrella, you asshat. It's yours now."
"I don't want

a new friend

to
get

drenched

"

◤♩◢​

vector of memory |||​

Cherno slid his hand slowly down the door. It had a few cracks and dents in the polished wood, now stained with patches of his blood. As he slid his hand down the door, one of his fingers traced a small line of the blood from his fist down the wood. Cherno-- Cherno was-- well, he wasn't anything. He wasn't sure what he was. And he felt like yelling. He felt like yelling, so that his voice could reach his lamentations for his ... friend, for a million miles away. But he tried. He honestly did. Yet the amount of appalling sorrow, the amount of despair, that welled up in his heart, emitted itself not with a bang, but a meek, insignificant whimper, almost silent, almost non-existent, as if the transience of life passed through his shaken bones with winds of mocking dismay.

Cherno stood up.

The-- the girl.
She had to see all of this ridiculousness on his behalf. Fucking emotions. None of them were good. He didn't want to feel anything anymore. He couldn't handle it in this state.

But the girl.
John's friend. One of John's only other friends.
And he could say he was her only friend.

Cherno picked up the bouquet of flowers, cast in a grey monochrome tone -- some were darker, some were lighter, and they were filled with all sorts of different potential species. It was a true shame he was unable to appreciate this serene beauty.

The girl deserved to live life.
He did not want she, too, to end up like her former friend, especially at regards to this terrible, terrible world of the e-mail.
He picked the purest, blankest flower -- a white rose, pristine, unbiased, and serene, and walked over to the girl. With a gentle gesture, hiding his tearful face, he handed it to the young girl, Hyperborea.

And without another word, he walked off, back to his dorm.
There would be no party today.

Cherno found it incredibly fitting that his world had suddenly turned grey.