The Smoke Cigar and the Crystal Tear A Crestatia Fanfiction Spoiler Crestatia bit her lip as she looked in the mirror. These pajamas ... he-- he'd like them. Right? She had never let someone see her in her pink pajamas before. Let alone him. But-- but if it was for him, she didn't mind ...She sighed gently, with her softly angelic, Saxima-like voice, holding a closed hand to her chest and lowering her head in the most kawaii desu way possible. She blushed. Her eyes were extra sparkly today. She batted her eyelashes in the mirror. Oh ... Oh Crestatia ... you were voted the most kawaii girl in Bellhurst High. And yet, you felt your sweet aura was simply not enough for him! Oh the first world kawaii problems you had! It made your sparkly purple eyes tear up. She shivered. She was cold. Where was he? He would be here any minute, right? Crestatia opened her eyes again. These pajamas ... they fit her form perfectly. It could only be described as loliesque. Her features were doll-like, and she exhibited all the grace of a gentle lady. Ah! She let out a sweet gasp. But she knew why he truly loved her! It was true! Her personality. And her kawaiiness. And how she looked like a loli but was actually 600 years old because of a freak accident involving Tyler in Biology class! And her cooking. Her milkshakes brought all the boys to the yard. She brought her hands together in a kawaii anime prayer motion that John would have love. Oh ... oh John ... that bishounen, with his luscious locks of blonde hair ... and those gorgeous chiselled abs-- Crestatia yelped. Was she drooling? Shoot. She had a thing for ... religious men. Mmm. But she musn't forsake her beloved! John was her ex anyway. She-- she musn't have anymore feelings for him! Her hands returned to the kawaii hand-clasping-near-chest position. A convenient anime wind blew in through her room and made her hair flow like the kawaii Sea of Japan. She shivered. Oh, if only she was in his arms right now ... Suddenly, the door behind Crestatia was kicked open. A plump, pear-shaped old man stepped in, a cigar in his mouth. He wore thick-rimmed glasses and suspenders over his charming striped ensemble. His eyebrows were a thick field of white hair, and his nose and ear hair were Amazonian in their intensity. He was balding in all but the furthest reaches of his head, and his luscious, liver spotted, wrinkled jowls of cheeks hung low past his lips, giving him the impression of a walrus whose mouth was filled with golf balls. Nixon would be proud. Crestatia let out another soft gasp. It was him. He let out a gruff roar. “Cressy-chan! I'm here for you!” The anime wind tried blowing through his lack of hair but kind of stopped since he barely had any and sort of slowly inched away because this was the weirdest scenario it had experienced yet. The winds shut the door behind them. Crestatia turned around and blushed so hard that someone could mistake her for a kawaii Japanese firetruck. “...D-Damn Old Man-kun! I— I— didn't s-see you there y-you baka! Hmph!” She looked away, crossing her arms in the manner of a loli voiced by Rie Kugimiya, tsundere-ing up the room so hard that anime wind fainted in how cute Crestatia was. It fainted and her beautiful hair fell to her anime shoulders in dramatic sparkles. Damn Old Man strutted his stuff up to her with defiance. His hips shook with evangelical fire. He spoke in an accent that made his cheeks vibrate in rapid happiness. His cigar filled the room with moe smoke. “Cressy-chan! You look so kawaii desu desu moe with your cute pajamas!” He cried out, spitting in many directions. He took out a newspaper from his pants and began waving it in Crestatia's face as if trying to shoo away a fly. “UGUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!” He yelled with a cry that rivalled a billion yandere dragons in the sky that were designed by Key and KyoAni while drunk. Crestatia let out an adorable chuckle. “O-oh Damn Old Man-kun ... y-you're such a baka! Let me treat you like a dog so I can fulfil this ridiculous stereotype! Baka! Urusai!” She blushed heavily. Her knees were shaking. Could this be it? Would she finally get to spend a night with Damn Old Man-kun? She almost fainted at the prospect. But Damn Old Man had different ideas. “No!” He yelled in her kawaii face. Kawaiily. “WE MUST EMBRACE!” Crestatia gasped. “Urusai urusai urusai! Y-you baka! Good for nothing! D-dog!” She stumbled. “I-it's not like I w-wanted to cuddle with you t-tonight, or anything ...” She played with her fingers and looked down at her toes. Stupid kawaii baka. “It-it's forbidden, Damn Old Man-kun!” He jumped on the table. Sakura petals launched into the air around him like a cheap stage trick. “But why! Why must it be forbidden dear Cressy-chan!” “Because!” Crestatia started, batting her eyelids and shining her enormous sparkly eyes in Damn Old Man-kun's face as great droplets of pure liquid 99.99% kawaii tears grew. She shook. “Y-you are my onii-chan ... It's-- it's not right!” “But Cressy-chan ...” Damn Old Man-kun said, looking extra bishounen today. He took off his shirt as jazzy music played in the background. His white tufts of chest hair complimented his folds of wrinkly fat nicely. He took off his glasses. “My Little Sister Can't Be This Cute.” Crestatia spun around dramatically, holding a delicate hand to her head as she cried “ooooh” in happiness and despair. Damn Old Man-kun launched himself at Crestatia, and immediately they were locked in a passionate kawaii kiss. Suddenly, the door was kicked open again. Crestatia yelped and turned around. Oh no! Who could this OTP breaker be?!?! A young man with nice white hair stood before them, breathing heavily, and enraged to the point that it looked like he was a Dragonball Z character. His gaze was locked on Damn Old Man-kun. “Oh no...” Crestatia started, her eyes extra kawaii. “This can't be ... a yaoi?! Can it?!” It couldn't be! Not with the things Madeline and Quin had done at their sleepover! “No ...” Damn Old Man-kun replied, removing himself from the embrace of his beloved. He turned to the young man by the door, and chuckled in an extra trollish way. “You ... damn ... troll ...” The boy puffed out, hunched over his knees with a shortness of breath. “Hello Altair,” Damn Old Man-kun started, waving his newspaper in his face. “I was just here,” “Having a girlfriend when you can't because she'll kill you if you try any romance.” Altair snapped. His eyes grew wide and he lifted himself upward, inhaling deeply. Finally, he let out a yell that could only be described as the yells that Jayn yells whenever someone does something ridiculous in the RP. “YOU DAMN OLD MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN” the end
Greetings greetings! I apologize for having to prompt this right now but it appears your signature .gif is a bit too large on the filesize. It...
I tried making some galactic credits. It turns out that the Hutt slave trade is not profitable anymore.
I always knew Plums was built like Michaelangelo's David. We have all seen the nude photography that was leaked from the Staff Porn section, Plums.
No matter really! You had fun at least, I hope? You know, for a Canadian such as myself it is an absolute travesty that I have yet to go...
Angle of incidence. Angle of incidence.
Do not worry, sir. If life consisted solely of around 80% of North American public high school experiences then we would have no need for Orwell or Huxley because we would already be living in a terrible, unrealistic dystopia.
Hello hello! Oh psh, it is quite fine. Everyone falls on their first try. Consider it a life lesson. To be amazing at something you will go...
◤ tumblr ▣ logic ▣ mood: tired ▣ interaction: ▣ ooc: ◢ ... She-- She made it."Sie ist gerettet". Cherno closed his eyes and exhaled deeply. Among the torrential deluge and the rush of his own thoughts, he was too tired and dizzy to reply. But he was happy. Stuck in the worst part of his week so far -- among all of these deaths and emotions and visits to Lacey's -- here he was, floating on a broken sign, painkiller bottles everywhere, his limbs injured, in the middle of an enormous storm, wet beyond all measure, and unable to organize his thoughts. And despite-- despite all this, the simple feeling of Temperance being alive, of holding onto him, made him happy enough. She was not alone anymore. By god did he mean he was going to help tie these people together. He silently accepted Temperance's gift, but he placed it around both of them in such a way that they could share it. Temperance kept thanking him and thanking him.But bluh, he-- he was still nervous. Was he coming back to his senses? He blushed. And shivered. And didn't -- no, he couldn't say anything. Not in these conditions. He stayed silent. He was never good at comforting people, was he? So instead, he gently placed his free hand on the girl's arms around his waist, a bit shaky from the cold and the feeling of Temperance being this close. Ack, he really was a bit-- nervous, with this proximity. But this wasn't the time. The raft drifted away from the gas station. Empty painkiller bottles floated off behind them, as if giving away a trail. Cherno was so tired. So tired. He wanted to go home. He said nothing. The rain continued its mocking, senseless downpour. The raft was at the mercy of nature's unpredictable attitude. Just like Cherno's life, and the lives of the others, had been thus far. It was as if this very storm represented what was to come and what had already happened, at the same time. Each raindrop, a second, ticking and ticking away. Lightning struck. And time continued her continual, never-ending threnody to a once-normal life. Was Cherno dreaming? The raft seemed stuck in a state of riding the waves of the zeitgeist. Uprooted saplings, dirt, rocks, wheels, metal pieces, boxes, knick-knacks, toys, kitchen supplies, devices, gardening equipment, wood, everything that made up a city and more passed them -- the very world itself, what made up all Cherno knew, floated around him in a senseless mess. And he was too dazed to react. He could not even feel the pain in his hand right now. And it seemed like an eternity. One thousand years? One million months, maybe. One hundred days. At least he was not alone. ...In the distance-- were those lifeboats? Thank god. They were filled with a few police officers. What is more, they were heading towards them. It looks like they had a chance to live after all. It looks like he was right for once. He didn't forsake someone. This time.Cherno probably looked terrible. But right now? Right now he needed to rest a bit. The last words he heard before he dozed off were the calls of the officers as they reached the makeshift raft. He hoped Temperance would do okay talking to them, and get herself home.
◤ tumblr ▣ logic ▣ mood: rushed ▣ interaction: ▣ ooc: this post is ridiculously nonsensical, warning◢ ◤ ♪◢02 | infinite asymptote ... Spoiler Please make it on time please make it on time please make it on time please make it on time please make it on time jesus hell four feet of water. Cherno you are a fucking idiot. Four feet of water on the street in the lowest part of the city. He wished he was at Bellhurst where the ground was high enough from the water to not completely flood the ground. The levees had broken and had flooded the streets too. Fuck. Fuck. He wasn't a very good swimmer anyway. This was terrible. But he made a fucking promise and he would stick with it. Cherno, by this time, had lost almost all of his stamina. The current could take him any minute as the winds roared on around him. But a long time ago he learned the fine art of screwing all the world around him as he concentrated. And concentrated. And there he laid on his belly, a metal pipe in his hand, his legs unable to move, floating on the makeshift pieces of the large Bitter Point Pharmacy sign, four feet of water on the street, towards the frayed glass of the building. His hand bled profusely and he held it close to him. Empty painkiller bottles floated around his small little raft, some still half-filled with pills, as a collection of them were snugly and tightly tied to his long black coat. Everything was wet. His hair was a mess. His cheeks were stained with tears. His teeth were locked in a perpetual state of gritting and angered grimace. His coat was more a formless towel by now, ripped in many places and missing buttons in others. But he needed to keep going. Right. The Pharmacy had flooded. Four feet turned to five feet. People were evacuated, but he had little chance to escape with the water level there. The quickest way would have to be to ride the makeshift currents. And thankfully, the winds were moving the water southeast in this part of the city. But he never expected everything to turn into-- into this. Not in his lifetime. Inching closer and closer. The rain never stopped. It struck at him with the force of an infinite asymptote, never ending. A constant among this wet deluge of hell. He was going to die soon. Every minute he felt his vision fading and blurry. His left arm, with the bleeding, stinging hand, was limp. His legs were numb from the cold. All he could feel was the icy darts of rain that pelted his body, the lapping fingers of the cold water, and the fiery, evangelical passion in his heart to not give up on his promises. And ... ... There! He brought his arm back behind him, and let out a loud yell. Thunder cracked, as if acknowledging his plea to the heavens. And finally, he launched forward the metal pipe at the remaining glass of the gas station. Smash. The area was briefly blinded in lightning, and another snap of thunder struck the area. Cherno let out a chilling laugh. And he called into the gas station, coughing up blood. "TEMPERANCE! GODDAMNIT! I'M THROWING YOU MY COAT! GRAB IT! I TOLD YOU I'M NOT FUCKING LEAVING YOU ALONE!" Cherno was never the type for dramatics. In fact. Cherno hated dramatics. He hated how he was stuck on this fucking floating pharmacy sign. Hated how he had his coat wet. Hated so, so much, how dirty everything must be. But sometimes? Sometimes his solutions were crazy enough to fit his solutions. Sometimes, he was able to overpower his own being.
I apologize. India is terrible with the internet and DNS connections. And it ended up with me ragefully staying up all night with nothing to do but try and crack the code at the time. Oh well.
This, generally. I hold grammar to the standard of being able to communicate a message in most contexts, per my own opinions. What this means is that you can throw leetspeak in OSV form at me or some such and I would not really mind -- I would find it odd, but not mind, in a casual setting (though I may probably point out how strange it would be). Generally however, prescriptivism exists, as Patman said earlier, to standardize the language to the point where it is generally accessible to its speakers. If everything is descriptively based, we would have what I call the German-Dutch Dialect Continuum problem (to put it simply, some northern German dialects are actually much more mutually intelligible with some Dutch dialects in comparison to southern German dialects even though it is all German). The standardization of prescriptivism allows all speakers to be able to understand each other on a general basis, and thus it in important to learn -- much more so in written language. Prescriptivism, really, can enhance various aspects of a modern day society. It would also help if your orthography made sense so you do not end up like Burmese. But what about descriptivism? Descriptivism is definitely a good thing -- it helps evolve the language and adds variations to it. If prescriptivism is the plain pound cake, then descriptivism would be the icing or fondant or whatever other elegant decorations you place on the cake to make it special and unique. Descriptivism is appropriate enough to communicate -- especially orally, and this is generally why dialects and variations exist. Descriptivism can really be considered the engine and true heart to a language. If humans communicate primarily through speech, then descriptivism in the form of idiomatic expressions and the like is quite important when learning any language. Of course, it becomes a bit unnecessary when delving into formal use, but it is a good way of showcasing the nuances of a language. But they both have their drawbacks. Excessive prescriptivism curtails a language's natural development at times. Or, alternatively, you get stuck with dated linguistic characteristics that can be troublesome. I would use French orthography as an example but I think of it as very pretty, though many a French-as-a-Second-Language student has shouted to the heavens in frustration over its spelling. Languages are like living things, and they slowly evolve as times change. Prescriptivism serves as a general skeleton. On the other hand, excessive descriptivism can be considered even worse because, as Patman stated above, the entire point of a language is communication, and with too much descriptivism things can become mutually unintelligible, especially without a standardized, prescriptive system. In general, I hold to it that any language should have focuses on both prescriptivism and descriptivism. A lovely way to allow a language to grow is to not only have one but both of these aspects, and to nurture both of them. Often they may get into conflict, but they can also work together, as prescriptivism standardizes and descriptivism creates -- a bit, you could say, like a musician and the musician's agent. I generally prefer to see prescriptivism in written work (excluding fiction and the like where either can be used for effect), and for prescriptivism to focus on writing in general in regards to languages, because writing is already a good enough standard set to paper. Colloquial/casual writing, like conversations on the internet, or conversations in person, can be as descriptive as necessary, really. Really, the preponderance of prescriptivist attitude in a colloquial setting could perhaps be attributed to just general language purism which has existed as long as standardized language regulations have. People can get picky about languages because they may feel that the entire point of a language is to allow easy communication, and bringing descriptive factors into it can be troublesome in conveying a message. Alternatively, they are just nitpicky. It is interesting to note, however, that English is one of the few major international languages that does not have a regulation committee, unlike a huge amount of other languages. Prescriptivism is more easily carried out through language regulation committees -- it is no wonder we have such odd differences in spelling/orthography/even grammar from time to time!
◤ tumblr ▣ logic ▣ mood: this is ridiculous and doubleposting ▣ interaction: ▣ ooc: filler◢ OOC FILLER 1: Cherno does stuff with the city dawgsalso known as "you can use these for creative reference in the future for the RP" Cherno, being the analytical sort who loved to make observations and gather data, found that the mishmash mix-ups and overlaps of his hometown Coy City was much too disorganized and chaotic for him. Ugh, chaos. Anarchy. No no no. So Cherno, being a loner who snuggles with Rubik's cubes, disinfectant mops, and poetry in his sleep, decided to collect information on some of the locations in Coy City and group them into his own neighbourhoods, complete with mini descriptions. As of everything, it was all his perspective and opinion -- as horribly biased as it could be, and as fiery as it could be, but his opinion nonetheless. He generally used the map of Coy City on his phone as a reference. UPDATED MAP ∩(︶▽︶)∩ Spoiler: None of this is canon by the way I am just bored Bellhurst Lake ♪ 01 | limit of the lake Found smack dab in the centre of Northern Coy City. A calm, serene lake connecting the neighbourhoods of South Bellhurst and North Beach. One can typically find people young and old in states of idyllic bliss along the many parks lining the lake. Motorboats, sailed watergliders, and even small yachts are commonly found throughout many different parts of the lake. Fishing is a favourite pastime for nearby residents. There is a levee system around the sides of the lake, in the case of excessive rain raising the water levels immensely, which is not uncommon. However, in the past, these levees have been breached and parts of both North Beach and South Bellhurst have flooded. Coy City's Industrial Light and Power Corporation has been kept in charge of repairing the levees. Points of Interest: Lake Bellhurst North Beach ♪ 02 | mutually exclusive series A posh neighbourhood in the northwest corners of Northern Coy City, it gains its namesake from the fabulous and immensely popular North Beach, the most popular beach in this part of the state. Throngs of people flock to North Beach for its excellent sands, perfect water conditions, and mild weather, and it is typical to catch upwards of five or more beach volleyball games among many sunbathers in summer. In winter, when the nights grow longer, the beach's boardwalk lights up Vegas-style, with many casinos and bars offering their services. Past the beach, houses from normal sizes to posh mansions dominate. North Beach is easily one of the richer residential areas of Coy City, and its nightlife is equally thrilling. In the past, there have been incidences involving strange disappearances by North Beach. These have turned into legend and campfire stories. The police are looking into an investigation to see if the beach is also a popular dumping ground for bodies from criminal organizations, but there is little progress. Points of Interest: North Beach North Beach Boardwalk Bitter Point Hospital Abigail Rider's House South Bellhurst ♪ 03 | sunset data outlier A busy, rushing neighbourhood filled with a large amount of restaurants, shops, and services. South Bellhurst is one of the fastest-growing neighbourhoods in Coy City, and one where you are prone to finding the largest concentration of diverse, worldly cuisines due to the influx of immigration. Considered one of the city's artistic neighbourhoods, the world of the mind and art dominate -- here you may find studios, libraries, bookstores, hairstylists, coffeeshops, sushi bars, and all sorts of restaurants. A small red-light district is building up by the coastline, right where the North Beach boardwalk ends. There is also a developing LGBT community around this part of the city. Though it may not be the richest, South Bellhurst is by far the most cosmopolitan and diverse neighbourhood in Northern Coy City, and is quickly becoming an economic center of its own. Criminal activity has been on the rise near South Bellhurst's coastline, where the North Beach boardwalk ends. Some may attribute this to the rise of casinos and the burgeoning red-light district. In the past, South Bellhurst did have a reputation for lawlessness before a crackdown on crime fifteen years ago, but there are rumours that city gangs still have influence. Points of Interest: South Bellhurst Library Oishii Tabemono Sushi Bar Aileen's Ballet Studio Aileen Li's House Brian James Hemmsworth's House Sealand ♪ 04 | reflection of relativity One of the oldest neighbourhoods in the city, and the oldest neighbourhood in Northern Coy City. Sealand grew out of trading posts back in the 19th century, and an influx of Western European immigrants gave Sealand a timeless charm. Inspired by the tastes of Paris and Madrid, small European-style shops and streets dominate the neighbourhood. Sealand has for years been one of the closest and well-kept communities in the city, but its growth seems immensely slow compared to other neighbourhoods. Sealand is known for its music scene, and it appears to be an outlier of religious attitude in the otherwise relatively secular and non-religious Coy City. In terms of population, it is one of the smaller neighbourhoods. It is also one of the greenest neighbourhoods. Symphonia University dominates the southern section of Sealand, leading across the strait into Southern Coy City. This, combined with Sealand's European architectural and cultural style, has given the neighbourhood the reputation of a classy yet antiquated learning town. Sealand's Golgotha Cemetary is the oldest cemetary in Coy City. In the past, there have been tales of inexplicable disappearances from this cemetary -- not simply of people, but of entire gravestones and graves. There have also been reports of seeing colourful lights and apparitions rise out of the cemetary at night. Though the police have often been contacted, much of it is attributed to superstition. The charming neighbourhood of Sealand has been the primary setting of 100 DAYS thus far. Points of Interest: Lacey's Diner Bellhurst High Symphonia University Golgotha Cemetary Johnathan's Church Elizabeth and Anthony Evans' House Temperance Spike's House Chase Kelsey's House Kallisti Q. Lein's House Tyler Ashes' House Sealand Park* Sealand Park ♪ 05 | special and general Formerly the principal trading site in the region, it has developed into an elegant and beautiful park. Much of it is forest, however it is lined with cobbled pathways, Hamburg-style gas lamps, and large fountains. The park looks out onto the bay, with large cliffs that have been the subject of many artists in the past. The park is also host to a musical stage, where concerts are held -- in fact, Sealand has become famous for its park concerts. Sealand Park is the clearest place from where one can see the stars, with the exception of the far northern and southern highlands, which hold a better view. The architecture of the park's pristine white pavillions greatly reflects Ancient Greek ionic architecture and Neoclassicism. There have been past reports of dangerous coywolf activity past midnight. Police are investigating the forests of the park for the assumed deaths and disappearances of a few individuals by these coywolves. Industrial Light & Power ♪ 06 | bright lights and feynman's thunder Coy City's Industrial Light & Power Corporation is the largest corporate entity in the city, and has been one of the major reasons for the city's post-World War II growth. Founded in the city at the turn of the 20th Century as an electric lightning company, it has grown beyond its roots, focusing on electronics, telecommunications, automobiles, internet and mobile service, logging, landscaping, civil engineering and urban planning, minimalist furniture, lighting, clothing, accessories, jewellery, and various supplies. It is also the major energy provider of the state and neighbouring states, powering the entire grid for Coy City. It owns the department store chain ILP, whose flagship store can be found just north of the corporate headquarters, in Commerce Square. More and more, especially recently, Industrial Light & Power has been called in to help and take on city engineering projects. Coy City's opinion on the corporation is divided. Some consider them excellent and magnanimous nurturers of the city's growth. Others think of them as a shadowy corporate entity that pulls the strings behind the city and controls every aspect of it. The Industrial Light & Power building in South Coy City's downtown is one of the largest and tallest buildings in the city. Its Art Deco architecture and enormous spire is nearly unmistakeable to any resident. Industrial Light & Power is known for their extreme corporate secrecy. In the past, they have been in conflict with government authorities for refusing to make their corporate structure more transparent. This has given them a shadowy reputation outside of Coy City. Industrial District ♪ 07 | furnace of hephaestus Found far south in Coy City, the Industrial District seems much like another world. There is no real vegetation to speak of, as everything is paved over or built in concrete, resembling a totalitarian city square or Brutalist pavillion. The skies here are generally shrouded in a curtain of smog, and on cloudy days appear completely grey. It is host primarily to factories and refineries, and is littered with construction equipment, pipes, dirt, cranes, smokestacks, and imposing metal factory buildings. Giant gears turn in the ground and in the air, held by concrete pillars. It is the principal source of pollution in the otherwise clean Coy City, but the prevailing winds seem to blow the pollution south and away from the city. The structures suffer from urban decay and graffiti adorns the concrete and metal walls. It is very dangerous for most ordinary civilians, and is generally off limits without employment proof or a permit. Many of the industries here are owned by Industrial Light & Power, especially the largest factories, situated on and completely comprising the artificial island of Factory Row. There are talks of completely renovating the district and replacing it with an environmentally friendly habitat. Points of Interest: Industrial District Factory Row Coy City Metro ♪ 08 | pyriphlegethon's algorithm A developing city subway-surface rail system, it is by far the fastest and most hassle-free way to reach almost anywhere in North and South Coy City, from North Beach to just north of the Industrial District. A recent development, it is primarily funded by the investments of Industrial Light & Power, who provide the rail cars, among other technologies. The subway lines are shaped a bit like large tubes, resembling the London Underground, and the stations are famous for their unique artwork which easily defines their associate neighbourhoods. The subway currently has two major hubs. Northern Rail Junction provides connections between North and South Coy City. Babylon Central connects the rest of Coy City, and is the central train junction of the city. It also has connections to the transcontinental railway, with Babylon Central being Coy City's oldest and largest general locomotive station. There are talks of expanding northward past Bitter Point Hospital, and southward past The Rails -- the enormous trainyard just north of the Industrial District. A number of spelunkers have discovered abandoned train passageways and entire unmarked stations, completely forgotten, that ceased construction for unknown reasons. Points of Interest: Northern Rail Junction Babylon Central The Rails Coy City Harbour ♪ | poseidon's inverse f(x) Bordering downtown Coy City's hip and trendy Babylon District of skyscrapers and restaurants, the Coy City Harbour is an enormous port jointly owned by the city and the naval transportation branch of Industrial Light & Power. The harbour is also known as "Babylon Port" by some of the locals. The name "Babylon" was given to this part of the city in reflection on its immense, almost paradise-like growth and the large amount of exotic investment from the efforts of Industrial Light & Power, raging from the Middle Eastern oil powers to China, Japan, and South Korea. Many of the piers are made of concrete, and all sorts of ships, from large cruisers to small tugboats, can be found docked in the harbour. Huge cargo ships, carrying goods to and from Coy City, are a common sight. The streets, walkways, and piers are extremely busy, and festivals are held close by. Firework displays in the pristine night are considered one of the most beautiful things to see in Coy City. One of the docked boats, a rusting shell of a World War I-era ship named the SS Lady Jayne Grey, was once a popular tourist attraction as a haunted ship. However, a number of inexplicable deaths resulted in the closing down of the ship as an attraction. It currently waits silently in the harbour, inaccessible to any civilian, awaiting its potential fate of being made into scrap. Points of Interest: Pier 32 Coy City Seaside Market Coy City Harbour SS Lady Jayne Grey
So a pure cut-and-dry Death Note fanfiction. Good luck, sir.
I think this is where another demerit of the bipartisan political culture of the United States comes into play. Jill Stein seems a close enough representative of these views but the aforementioned political culture gets in the way of any other third party actually having a proper chance in this day and age, it seems. Then again, I cannot even think of a Canadian counterpart fitting the bottom left quadrant, even if Canada is considered a bit more liberal! Not to mention shifting times cause shifting positions on the static grid. Not (just) because people (may) change their opinions in the future but simply because the younglings typically have more socially liberal views, even if the older ones had views that were considered a bit more socially liberal in the past. This is not always the case however, of course, and environment probably comes into play as a big factor. /tl;dr What drones on and on about obvious political analyses
Goodness, as if the yuri with Quin was not enough.
My quadrant corresponds to my text colour. This is true for much of the western world's political standpoints if I recall correctly. "Centrist" and "Left" parties are still generally concentrated in the top right, at least for the majority parties. One could attribute it to generational factors. Not to say you would not agree to vote for them in certain cases, I would suppose. And honestly, when large parties need to appeal to huge amounts of voters it would seem to follow that they moderate their viewpoints. But it is a bunch of different factors which can include things such as political culture, economic factors, etc. No, actually! Compared to previous generations and considering the demographics of the website, being below the authoritarian line is generally expected, especially considering how open minded a majority of us can be in regards to social and economic issues. The biggest difference, really, is where one would stand on the bottom left or bottom right quadrants, which typically depends on your economic view. Lefty libertarians are the majority because we are a bunch of young liberal upstarts. Which I believe is a good thing for the future.
◤ tumblr ▣ logic ▣ mood: contemplative ▣ interaction: ▣ ooc: ◢◤ ♪◢01 | bittersweet wave equation Power's out. Just great. Cherno stood outside his house, clad in one of his larger coats, as the pitter-patter of the rain drenched his hair. Great droplets shook away from his strands of hair and collapsed to the puddle-riddled ground, ending in lifeless splashes that held no acknowledgement. How poetic. He stared up at the sky, dimly. His eyes were bloodshot, and he hid his hands in his pockets. Cloudy sky. Grey, grey, grey. The streets were eerily silent, and it was only he who stood among the torrent that mocked his lonely existence on the street side. With the power out in his house, he couldn't finish his conversation with Temperance right now. So here he stood, outside of that ramshackle, dilapidated ruin of a house, taking a shower in the misty sprays of Coy City. What a bother. He did get a bit apprehensive and wide-eyed when she informed him of some distressing information. She was getting worse, was she? He tried to analyze it, but he still felt too dead. He needed some more information. He couldn't work reliably on just blank estimations. A car drove by quickly, splashing water onto the sidewalk. Cherno swiftly moved back as the waves of the dirty liquid cascaded upon the virgin pavement. His shoes became a bit muddy. No bother. The car drove away, headlights piercing through the fog, engine roaring. People had places to go. Everything was in motion. Even in the cold, bitter rain of this storm, it was the lifeless things that showed life, and the ones filled with life, like Cherno, simply stood stagnant, watching and observing as if carried by the flow of time. He wondered if he would be able to get a few of the others to arrive today. He wasn't even sure if Jonathan told them all. But he couldn't really contact them right now. Fuck. It still hurt. Maybe he should walk to the pharmacy. His arm moved very slowly as he began to retrieve his phone from his left pocket. Ugh, the pain. It was better than it was before. But it could grow worse any second. He brought his phone close to his deadened eyes, held carefully by his delicately bandaged hand, stained with dried blood. It was a really strange wound -- the sort that continued to sting after the hundreds of applications Cherno tried. Could it be a product of Crestatia's magic? He could barely remember anything after the loud honk of the truck that would eventually smash into Lacey's ... and ... and ... ... Fuck Lacey's. Did he tear up just then? Did-- did he really? No. No, he couldn't have. It must have been the raindrops reaching his soft eyes. He squeezed his phone with his bandaged hand. Ack! Pain shot through his entire arm. The painkillers must have died off by now. He checked his phone. No connection, but he thankfully had a map downloaded. Bitter Point Hospital's pharmacy was not too far. He needed the exercise anyway. He looked dimly back at the lively, lifeless sky, and he stood there, unmoving, as if channelling its attempts to stare back into him. And through all of this, there were no cars -- no people -- nothing, nothing but the rasping calls of the rain and the loud gunshots of thunder that seemed to reflect on how unforgiving this world could be. And with a sigh, he placed his phone back in his pocket, hiding his hands so that none could see his injury. The rain made the makeshift paper bandage wet. He would probably need something better. And thus, as his footfalls turned into splashes by the many puddles on the sidewalk, he started off for the pharmacy, a shadowy figure in the monochrome backdrop of relentless fatigue and sorrow that nature poured out today. A product of the middleground, and only a small part of the whole artistic composition.
I would love to hear Barack Odama on stage. +1 album sale from myself.
