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littlemanpoet · 11-11-2006, 02:36 PM

Anakron chuckled to himself. He was really feeling pretty good. He'd finally gotten Skittle with a good one. And what an act he'd put on. He was surprised some kind of dweomerlike shepherd's hook hadn't appeared out of nowhere and hooked him around the middle and dragged him off stage, wherever that might be.

A shepherd's hook suddenly appeared around his waist and dragged him off stage. He hadn't realized that he had been on stage. And really he wasn't, but it sounded good and fit the description if not the reality. Dragged by a hook with an unknown dragger on the other end of it, Anakron watched the world go by, with all of its SchISMatic orcs, trolls, humans, and dwarves. Lûndûn's black taxis never looked so .... black. Not to mention beyond reach.

There went Lola sauntering down the sidewalk, Dracomir and another fascinated boy positively drooling, vying for her attention. Beyond reach. Anakron suddenly knew that he was being dragged somewhere .... beyond reach! Horrors! Where would he be taken to? He could do nothing but get dragged on his ..... but maybe he could do something to stop it! Call down a konveyance! Raise his staff and twirl it like a baton! Hiss at it! Bite Sylvester in the tail! He was beginning to feel a little pained in the ..... as the plot would have it, he suddenly came to a stop. The hook came away from his waist. He never did see who it had been, dragging him all the way from nowhere to herewhere. Wherever here was! Lûndûn somewhere, he presumed. Funny. That sounded positively English. He practiced it. "Lûndûn, I presume?" He grinned stupidly. A passing student sniggered at him. He rounded on her and yelled, "Konvay!" She turned into a PrISM. He grinned. How interesting.

"ImprISMed in your own PrISM, my dear. Do you like it in there?"

She was silent. Of course. She could not move. Could not breathe. PrISMs don't breathe, they just reflect light and scatter it in all colors of the rainbow. Except that there was no rainbow because it was constantly overcast in Lûndûn.

"I daresay I'm becoming evil," Anakron said in a sudden moment of interior navel-gazing. "It rather becomes you, my dear fellow. As does this city."

He started walking, leaving the new PrISM behind, lifeless. When (and I do mean when) anyone looked at him wrong he konveyed, causing all manner of uncomfortable ISMs: sollipsism; fanaticism; fetishism ... the list was endless in content and variety. What fun.

11-11-2006, 02:36 PM	#273
littlemanpoet Itinerant Songster Join Date: Jan 2002 Location: The Edge of Faerie Posts: 7,072	Anakron chuckled to himself. He was really feeling pretty good. He'd finally gotten Skittle with a good one. And what an act he'd put on. He was surprised some kind of dweomerlike shepherd's hook hadn't appeared out of nowhere and hooked him around the middle and dragged him off stage, wherever that might be. A shepherd's hook suddenly appeared around his waist and dragged him off stage. He hadn't realized that he had been on stage. And really he wasn't, but it sounded good and fit the description if not the reality. Dragged by a hook with an unknown dragger on the other end of it, Anakron watched the world go by, with all of its SchISMatic orcs, trolls, humans, and dwarves. Lûndûn's black taxis never looked so .... black. Not to mention beyond reach. There went Lola sauntering down the sidewalk, Dracomir and another fascinated boy positively drooling, vying for her attention. Beyond reach. Anakron suddenly knew that he was being dragged somewhere .... beyond reach! Horrors! Where would he be taken to? He could do nothing but get dragged on his ..... but maybe he could do something to stop it! Call down a konveyance! Raise his staff and twirl it like a baton! Hiss at it! Bite Sylvester in the tail! He was beginning to feel a little pained in the ..... as the plot would have it, he suddenly came to a stop. The hook came away from his waist. He never did see who it had been, dragging him all the way from nowhere to herewhere. Wherever here was! Lûndûn somewhere, he presumed. Funny. That sounded positively English. He practiced it. "Lûndûn, I presume?" He grinned stupidly. A passing student sniggered at him. He rounded on her and yelled, "Konvay!" She turned into a PrISM. He grinned. How interesting. "ImprISMed in your own PrISM, my dear. Do you like it in there?" She was silent. Of course. She could not move. Could not breathe. PrISMs don't breathe, they just reflect light and scatter it in all colors of the rainbow. Except that there was no rainbow because it was constantly overcast in Lûndûn. "I daresay I'm becoming evil," Anakron said in a sudden moment of interior navel-gazing. "It rather becomes you, my dear fellow. As does this city." He started walking, leaving the new PrISM behind, lifeless. When (and I do mean when) anyone looked at him wrong he konveyed, causing all manner of uncomfortable ISMs: sollipsism; fanaticism; fetishism ... the list was endless in content and variety. What fun.