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Der Pestdoktor

PostPosted: Sun Jan 30, 2011 6:02 pm
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This journal is for Anyong Kim and his Plague, Edwin-- please do not post here without his permission!
PostPosted: Wed Feb 02, 2011 2:04 am
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CODINGBELONGSTOMEANYONGKIMGAYGAITYTITTITSitable of content.................................one
CODINGBELONGSTOMEANYONGKIMGAYGAYTITTITITSiart gallery.......................................eight
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Anyong Kim

Quotable Voter

Anyong Kim

Quotable Voter

PostPosted: Wed Feb 02, 2011 2:05 am
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CODINGSTOEYo2/o1/11: Layout started.
CODINGSTOEYo1/28/12: Edwin evolved.
CODINGSTOEYo1/28/12: New layout.


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PostPosted: Wed Feb 02, 2011 2:06 am
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    name: prince edwin.
    nicknames: PRINCE EDWIN. or edwin.
    item: nutcracker prince
    appearance: frilly prince magical girl.
    five traits: energetic, romantic, brave, gullible


personality: in sharp contrast to elly, edwin is
as the prince in Avery's story (see below): kind, honest
and brave. he is relentlessly dedicated to very traditional
moral and principle, believing that one should always act
as princely as can be. always.

he is ESPECIALLY princely to his beloveds, though those
change as often as the wind. it's not to say edwin is a
WANTON SPIRIT by any means: he just falls in and out
of love at RIDICULOUS rates.

brave and kind do not lend themselves to intelligence,
nor good memory, after all. edwin is rather simplistic,
to the brink of stupidity-- LAFFS. LAFFS SO HARD.

INGSTOLfdfKSJDThe context of this dialogue is that Ellison (our dear keeper) has secretly bought Avery (our dear keeper's girlfriend) a nutcracker from a
INGSTOLfdfKSJDmarketplace during their last visit out West. In celebration of the coming winter, he finally presents her the gift.


  • "Oh, Elly! I think... I think such a beautiful gift as this deserves some sort of story... or a name, at the very least!"

    "A story? A name? But don't only children name their things, honeybun. You didn't name that eggbeater I got for you last y--"

    "Ssshh... This is quite different! Extraordinarily different! So he's getting a story, all right?"


    "Good." Avery began plopping down onto the mattress. The nutcracker lay at the crux of her arm and about her face was a look of feigned seriousness. "Once upon a time, in a kingdom very far away, there lived a very kind, very gentle and brave prince named El... Elw... Edwin!"

    Elly took the seat next to her, placing his arms around her waist. His gaze was upon her profile, though hers was on the black-eyed, lacquered thing-- a storyteller's trance. Smiling faintly, he humoured her and mumbled, "Was he very handsome?"

    "Yes," She answered, the shadow of his expression now present, "The handsomest. And, he was terribly, terribly romantic."

    "A Casanova?"

    "No, not like that. For the love he felt was always very true, and blindly, heartbreaking-ly passionate. Always, he would think 'Ah, yes that is the one! My soulmate...' but, never, ever it seemed did the other feel the same way. It was almost as if had had been cursed by Fate herself! So, one day, when he found that his 42nd love had foresaken him for a glossy-haired shepherdess and taken his coin purse and good coat, he decided to venture out and ask the very best doctorwitch in all the land for help!"


    "Doctorwitch! I'll explain the difference another day, Elly dear-- but, we mustn't interrupt a story once it's started."


    "He found the good sir in an old shack at the very edge of the woods. His eyes were reflective, dark and round and hollow, while his nose was long and white and crooked as a crow's beak. There was a black brim cap atop his head and his mouth did not move as he took Edwin's palm, felt the bumps and lines, and told him in a sad, deep-throated sort of tone, 'Yes, my dear prince, you will never find love, not as you are, anyways!'

    'I am? Whatever could you mean!' Edwin pleaded.

    'There are many that fall for your titles and lands, but not for you! Therefore, you must become not-a-prince! Take off your crown!'

    Edwin did just this, but felt himself still quite princely. He told the Doctorwitch this, who told him to go into the broomcloset and change.

    But, though he was now in rags, Edwin still thought of himself a prince (for though he was very kind, and very gentle, and very brave and handsome and romantic, but not particularly renowned for his cleverness or imagination)."

    (Elly coughed.)

    "'Surely, dear Doctorwitch, there must be some potion to make me an un-prince!' His eyes glittered with sorrow! And anticipation!

    'The only potion of that nature I possess is that of a nutcracker potion! You will turn into a nutcracker! If you drink it! Might I suggest you simply wait for me to brew something new, instead?'

    'There isn't very much time, Doctorwitch! I am growing older each day and soon I shall be dead. If a nutcracker potion is the only way to make me an un-prince, then so be it!'

    'Very well!'

    So then he drank the nutcracker potion! And now we have Edwin the prince who is now a nutcracker because he wants find true love and then when he does that, they'll find the doctorwitch for the antidote! The end!!"

    "But, what happens next?"

    Avery shrugged, and held Edwin close to her heart, "I don't know, he's still a nutcracker!"

Anyong Kim

Quotable Voter

Anyong Kim

Quotable Voter

PostPosted: Wed Feb 02, 2011 2:07 am
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lskhalkhlkwejlkmglkwhlkwjegmlKSejfgfffgfhffgpress play
  • name: ellison dean west.
    nicknames: elly. or west.
    age: 20
    birthday: october 4th (for zodiac fagging, scroll down)
    nationality: imisese
    alliance: imperial guard
    five traits: charismatic, borderline-hedonistic, rude, self-
    centered, stubborn

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  • eye colour: warm grey.
    hair colour: grey brown. it seems to take on an almost dust rose colour in intense light.
    height: 5'11. very straight posture, so he may seem taller.
    build: mid-build, in way, way better-shape than the average man due to constant traveling.
    gait: he takes great, big strides even when intoxicated or tired.
    speaking style:
    wwHe prefers acting to speaking, but when he speaks he tends not to have a good indoor voice. He's generally very expressive as well, always
    wwsaying anything that comes to mind as soon as it does. His voice tone is similar to that of DAVID TENNANT'S BECAUSE I AM A WHORE.
    clothing style:
    wwElly makes a habit of dressing well, and has the tendency to come off as richer than he actually is. It's not so much that he cares about
    wwimpressing others; rather, he simply enjoys looking good. (...in the most masculine manner possible, of course).
    wwAs a slave to impulse, Elly often finds himself involved a great variety of accidents and fights. Often, he is seen with some sort of nasty
    wwbruise or injury...

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  • personality:
    Carpe diem to the infinite power-- "Let's live for forever, my dear!"

    wwTo begin, Ellison Dean West-- or, Elly, as he prefers-- swears that he is allergic to
    ww negative emotion and responsibility-- that is anything that he deems "Not-Fun."
    wwHe prefers to avoid rather than face (skipping town, or simply running from problems
    wwshould they come), and possesses a near-borderline hedonistic nature. Proudly, he
    wwproclaims that he seeks nothing but happiness in his life, and is completely willing to
    wwforget the consequences to achieve it (though, whether or not the happiness is ephe-
    wwmeral, or lasting is never a question he almost never asks!).

    Empathetically-stunted-- "Rude? Why, I haven't a clue what you are talking about...
    Nor do I really care, so-- excuse you."

    wwThus, beyond their immediate value, most people and things are of absolutely no con-
    wwcern to Elly West. Should he see a body strewn on the pavement, he would have ab-
    wwsolutely no qualms stepping on its back, wiping his feet, and continuing on his merry
    wwway to the next pub. It's fantastically frustrating persuading him to look beyond him-
    wwself because he lives at the present and, always here but never "there."

    Selectively clingy-- "You and I are all that matter in this world."

    wwBut, for all his drifting,-- from bar to bar, coast to coast-- and as openly closed-off as
    wwhe is, Elly however does possess a few (and, I mean very, very few) anchors of which
    wwhe is stupidly attached and/or loyal to. Those are: (in order from least to greatest), his
    wwalcohol, souvenirs from his travels and his soulmate Avery. Should he feel the least bit
    wwupset, he entrusts in these anchors to keep himself sane. Should these anchors how-
    wwever become compromised, he becomes anxious at best, depressive at worst.

    wwYou see, once something has entered his world, his seemingly iron-cased heart, he
    wwholds on and never, ever, ever, ever wants to let go....!!! (Though, having him admit this,
    wwis another matter completely.)

    Childishly stubborn; stubbornly childish-- "Nobody understands, okay?!"

    wwReally, Elly is self-centered in the way a child is. He makes a habit of adventure, but
    wwhis world is still pathetically small, flat; he is energetic and engaging, but aggressively
    wwand destructively so; he is 20, but he is still a teenager...

    wwHe's got a long way to go. Perhaps during this time of hardship, this era of pestilence
    wwhe will learn to become a better person with a bigger world...

other cool things
  • zodiac fagging
    wwLMAO AS I mentioned above, I kinda make a habit of giving my characters (pseudo)
    wwmeaningful b-days. Ellies is born October 4th, making him a Libra (at least in our
    wwworld, IDK if PD's stars are different from our own). His rising sign is Aries. His moon
    wwsign is Leo. This means that, at his core, Ellies is charismatic, charming, and idealistic.
    wwHowever, due to his rising sign (the sign other people see you as) and his moon sign
    ww(the sign you intimately see yourself as), a lot of the charm is offset by pride, and self-


    favourite things/TOO MUCH INFO

    wwHis favourite colour is pink, and he is not afraid to admit it. He doesn't like animals,
    wwbut if he had to choose one, he'd choose cows because they taste good. He enjoys
    wwthe sound of people talking, though not to him. He likes the taste of meat. Whisky
    wwis his favourite drink, though he likes most alcohol. His favourite position is sitting/
    wwcowgirl, and then missionary. He likes the smell of fresh cut flowers.

    wwSometimes when he is bored, he cracks his knuckles really loudly.

    ww...And, he has never worked a day in his life.
PostPosted: Wed Feb 02, 2011 2:07 am
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User ImageUser Image - Blocked by "Display Image" Settings. Click to show.A story told in three acts! Because showing is more fun
than telling...!!!


Born to a pair of hard-working Imisese parents, Elly
(objectively speaking) spent the first 15 years of his
life very well-off. They were not rich, but they owned
a nice respectable house, in a nice, respectable
neighborhood and it is a very good thing, as you
know, to be regarded as nice and respectable.

However, Elly's parents, as I've mentioned, worked very,
very, very hard to pamper and to spoil. And, although
they gave Elly (and his angst-ridden older brother) all
they could ask for, Elly still lead a lonely childhood.

Until, that is he met the love of his life at the age of nine.



  • It all started one Monday afternoon when a certain Ellison Dean West noticed that it was wet outside.

    Home was a long ways from here. And not only was he without any means of transportation, but an umbrella as well.

    Those were his first thoughts.

    His next was less practical, a subjective assessment of his objective observations.

    He would be lonely— lonelier than usual because, somehow, the falling water amplified the pathetic nature of his situation, the indescribable sense of gloominess right at the pit of his stomach.

    The fact that he would be wet and therefore susceptible to pneumonia was the metaphorical icing of this cake of misery and woe. He fingered the frayed edges of his workbook, allowing a more visible frown to strike his face. Sadness was a waste of time, and it was such a messy emotion. He shouldn’t be allowed to feel this way because he had better things to do than to be sad.

    Some things felt, however, were uncontrollable.

    "Ellison? Ellison, our lessons are done today, please pack your things, I've another appointment very soon. Do you hear me, boy?"

    "Yeah I heard you, Missus Potts. It'll be a minute."

    The building's clock rang three times and his stomach growled twice before, gingerly, he straightened his back and stepped into the falling water. Two blocks down, and he swore he had swum more than he had walked.

    Another, and he swore he had already drowned...

    And then, suddenly, like a mermaid siren he heard someone shout from across the avenue this:

    “You! Yes, you! Why are you without an umbrella, good sir?”

    "What's it to you, lady?" he called back.

    "My name is Avery Day, good sir! And, you have not answered my question." Girls were so strange, Elly thought (though, he supposed they couldn't help it.) He stood tall though the rain pelted his face so hard, it hurt.

    “I don’t have one.”

    “Have you money for a cabbie then?”

    “Look, lady, it's okay, I got it. So, why don't you just sod--…” She was crossing the street then with a foreign look about her face that he wasn’t so sure he liked. If he had been a few years older, or perhaps raised differently, he would've known that it was an expression of concern. Elly lowered his voice and edited his statement accordingly when she was but inches away from his shivering body, ”No. No money. Not with me, anyways.”

    “What about your family, don’t they worry about you?”

    “…No. At least, not really,” he shrugged.

    “Well then,” she answered, moving uncomfortably closer.


    “…” There was a reproachful pause, and in that expanse of time, the girl simply stared at him. It was if she were puzzling out something from within him, probing the inner-workings of his very brain. He’d call it creepy, if she wasn’t also rather pretty . “Well, erm. Why don’t you have dinner with me, at my house? It isn't very far from here. Or, er. At the very least stay awhile until
    the rain stops!”


    She stepped back. “Y-you heard me!”

    It was his turn to initiate silence. The sudden promise of company was far too convenient, almost too easy and too well-timed. Had he summoned her with just his thoughts? Was there some kind of mystic quality to the girl herself?

    His stomach growled again.

    ...There was only one way to find out.

    “A-alright then,” The answer sputtered out from his lips much too uneasily for his liking.

    She kicked a puddle in victory and took his clammy, white-knuckled hand in her own. “Grand!”

    The remainder of that afternoon passed by in a blur of warmth—so much more than he could take in at once. In vague, almost dream-like flashes, Elly remembers how he and Avery huddle close under one umbrella, braving the rest storm together. He remembers her mother, fussing over the both of them when they had arrived at the doorway, how Avery and her father lead him
    around the house and back again all the while relating to him the history and story of this place,
    their family.

    And then, of course, came dinner. It was delicious and, not only that, but it was with people— real people Elly would have liked to take for his own.

    He pretended that they were his; and in pretending, he was happy.

    He wanted to stay here forever.

    A few hours later, he was home again, and it was dark. The dream had ended and he was conscious again. Avery had bid him adieu, and though he had grasped her fingers for longer than he would have admitted, none of that warmth seemed to stay with him.

    He felt sadder than he had ever felt before.

    It was Tuesday afternoon now, and he on his way from his tutor's again. The skies were a vivid, vivid hue of blue. Perhaps, he thought dismally, all the clouds of yesterday had taken refuge in his own heart. Perhaps, he would never feel warm ever again.

    And then, he heard a call from across the street.

    "Good sir! Would you come by to have lunch again?"

    And at that, he smiled—he smiled so hard and so shamelessly that his face could've split in two and he was glad that she couldn’t see it.

    “It's Elly, lady. And, of course!”

INGSTOLfdfKSJDINGSTOLfdfKSJDINGSffffsdfsdfffThey grow up together, and become best friends. And then...


  • Those hazy, too-warm, too-wonderful days of afternoon tea and lunches and sometime suppers soon became months which became years, until Elly had grown to be a whole half foot taller than Avery and they no longer needed to ask the other to come over.

    And then, the first of a series of ‘it’ happened.

    For only two letters and one syllable, ‘it,’ you see, is an ominous slip of a word. The little thing hides in the corners of our eyes hatchet of surprise and just as you settle and drift into your sheets at night, lower your guard, and enjoy the pleasant lull of the routine and everyday, it strikes—dead center, right between the eyes.

    He was 15 and she was 14, and they were walking together in the rain like they had when they first met as children (or, at least, when they considered themselves children). Together, with vividly cold, red-knuckled fingers tangled over a single wooden handle, they kept a black cloth tent of an umbrella upright and over their lightly-dewed heads.

    The city was very wet and very dark and smelled something like old smoke and rust-caked iron and grave dirt— but they held each other and they held this umbrella, and it was such a familiarly comforting sensation of dryness and closeness, that Elly almost didn’t hear her when she mumbled something sad.

    Perhaps he didn’t because since he had met her, he swore so hard to never feel that silly emotion again that his ears simply stopped working when bad things came their way. She repeated herself though and urged a little hole to form right through the fabric roof and allow the falling dark-water and filth to piddle on them both.

    “Elly… Did you hear me?”

    He nodded for he had to listen. “Yeah. I’ve seen.”

    “And it’s gotten worse, you know”

    “But, your father is very strong…” He smiled, and looked away. Smiled to convince himself that he was right and things would be alright, and that if he just continued smiling, he could fix this goddamned slit. Looked away though because he knew she knew better. “It’s nothing a spot of rest won’t fix, right?”

    The silence that followed took the place of an answer.

    He felt soaked.


    The next time they met, he saw the submerged ghosts in her eyes and understood. He let her collapse into his arms and cry; she cried and cried and shook so much that Elly thought that she had been possessed by a typhoon.

    And all the boy could manage to do was hold her as the sun set gold and purple on their dandelion covered hill, and whisper into her hair all sorts of pretty, charming words that would at any other time make her better.

    Drowned in the waters of despair, it was her turn not to hear anything said.


    When Mr. Montgomery left his (still-curved and slightly creaky) seat at the Day table for a fresh one in heaven, the boy reasoned dismally, he must’ve taken with him all the pink cheeks and tumbling warmth of his household… because, for the first time in a long time, Elly sat at a silent table and had a silent supper.

    …The weeks that followed were more of the same— Avery didn’t speak much about anything (though, she often came to him all raw-eyed and drippy-nosed), and Elly tried to be sympathizing. (though, he was mostly only sad because she was sad, not because her father was dead).

    Things were more of the same, that is until It decided to come back a second time to slam the silence with a foreboding cough and an ominous shiver from Mrs. Day and an open, choking sob from her daughter.

    The eye of the storm had passed, and now he and Avery were to face the wind and noise again.

    “So, you’re leaving?”

    The girl had turned her face southward and downcast, as she gently closed the door to her mother’s bedroom.

    “Yes, Elly. This Friday, for my aunt’s. And not the one that called you handsome.” The edges of her mouth moved a little upward. The task was very painful, for her lips were lead-laden and heavier than perhaps 30 elephants, but it had to be done. “Promise you’ll write?”

    Elly, however, did not possess the near inhumane, 30-elephant lifting strength that Avery did, and couldn’t help but bend under the pressure of everything happening all in rapid succession.

    He couldn’t suffice even a smile to match her own.

    A terrible, unpoetic “Yes” and “I will” slipped from his lips without him knowing it.


    That day had been her last he saw her.

    After this particular It happened, and after the next morning and day at Mrs. Pott's, he drifted alone to his own household. Upon reaching the doorstep and stepping onto the dark oak floors and into the echoing expanse Elly suddenly felt he should cry. He did not because he could not because he didn’t know how.

    Still, the bubbling, suppressed feeling of loss and misery had to go somewhere—and, if not his eyes, then his stomach. The tear water seared into the lining of his gut, and he felt the bitter acid-bile saturate his blood as he plopped onto bed.

    Sickened, the boy urged himself to think of pleasant things to dull the ache

    And so Elly’s mind wandered, composing images of broad-leafed trees and golden summer suns half from memory and half from imagination. There were yellow dirt pathways, of course, and stone bridges and a metal bench. Birds and hares, too. A lake, maybe?

    Then, Avery and himself came into being and focus. The image of them lingered, as the back-drop continued to morph and change from park to cafe to theatre to countryside.

    They held hands, and ran and jumped and sometimes they simply sat and talked until it was dark about how they liked all the same things—little and big—-, and the universe, and the future. They were best friends, simultaneously lost and suspended in time. No, things had been more
    than that, Elly thought. He was just stupid not to have realized before.

    The boy gathered himself up and together and knew what he had to do (and it didn’t involve feeling sorry for himself, or any more thinking at all).


    Thursday evening soon came and Elly found himself beneath her window with a suitcase and a wad of paper in one hand, and a fist full of rocks in another.

    The moon was half-full, but he thought it would do, for the skies were studded with enough stars to light the way into her heart and out of this place.

    He took one final breath before throwing the first stone.

    It took five tries—two of which missed and broke a lawn statuette—for him to finally urge Avery to push open the glass panels and ask,

    “Elly, whatever are you doing here?”

    Dropping the stones, he called back quite plainly, “Avery, I love you! I really, really love you so!”

    “A-and now I’m going to serenade to you, that’ll convince you that you should elope with me and then…” A pause for the very best part. “I will show you all over this country and beyond!” He unfurled the ball, “So, here goes... I--!"

    Elly stopped before he began when he heard her laughter which was like a twinkling bell. “Oh, Elly, you (really, really, really) don’t have to sing for me because…” He could feel her blush and bit his lip. In the darkness, they both waited for her answer.

    “Because,” Her voice was firm now, unwavering. “Each day, every day, I want to be with you— by your side forever and ever.

    …I love you too.”

    He met her at her front door, hat atop her head and with three bags that were no longer meant for It, but for them.

    And then wordlessly, they ran into the night, and away from the rain—not knowing for sure what the future would hold for them.

    But, as long as they had each other, they thought in their own way, things would be hazy and warm and wonderful again.

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Upon running away, Elly and Avery took to exploring and traveling all across Panymium, until, at last, they
returned to Ismisus (mostly) settled into an abandoned building in the middle of Gadu. It is informally described
as thus:

The building is about 4 stories and on a rather seedy side of town and is dilapidated on the outside. A lot of the win-
dows are broken or bricked over, and it is leaking and the floorboards creak! They don't know why the building is
abandoned nor do they ever find out, though they like pretending it is haunted and that the old tenants were much
too cowardly to stay.

The area of the building they are squatting in is at the very top floor near the ladder to the attic and next to a stove
which serves as their fireplace. In the attic, are their travelling bags (and basically Avery's own personal dressing room.)

For furniture, they have some old couches (that were already there) and a few cushions piled up on top of each other
to form two makeshift beds with a headboard on each. They have a bunch of odd assorted "souvenirs" from their
adventures across Panymium, like statuettes and dolls and a stuffed bear and paintings and books and a globe and
all that what.. Their curtains are made out of outgrown/ruined clothing.

There are clothes lines hanging here and there, and alcohol bottles that Elly is trying to hide from Avery. Mostly, they
live off of the monies they had taken from their parents, the charm of their youth, and when things become absolutely
dire, stealing.

They live like this for a good four years. And then, when they are both 19, It catches up to the both of them once


  • They are 19 and Elly believes that they have seen and done more in their lives than any other in all of Panymium.

    Their home is testament to this; there are about half a dozen lamplights from every part of the country—Shyregoedian, Imisese, Auvinian, Mishkanite, and Helian, oblong, round, metal, paper, and glass—, a stuffed bear all teeth and dead eyes by the corner of Elly’s bed, and a brown moose’s head over Avery’s. For every square foot of this space, there is something to trip over, to block the incoming sunlight, or to pick-up and hold and examine and reminisce.

    One day, Avery does exactly this— pick up, hold, examine, and reminisce.

    They are 19 when she holds up a conch shell, holds it to his ear and asks,

    “Elly, darling, when did we get this?”

    He stares at her and listens to the captured ocean echoes and siren calls, but he doesn’t remember. The fog that comes might as well have been an opaque wall of wood (and he suspects that even if he knocks, there wouldn’t have been any answer anyways). So, in place of that specific memory he steps away and looks away and tries his very best to form a patchwork story from the threads of others, “During our rendezvous on the coasts of Mishkan…”

    “Avery, darling! I do believe that no life is without living without first experiencing the liberating thrill of skinny dipping!”

    “But, honeycakes!” Mock-thoughtfully, she moved from her place on the hot white-yellow sands and upon his stomach. Little bits of grit fell into his face and dirtied his shirt but with this breath-taking sort of view (literally), he supposed he couldn’t complain. “You said that same exact thing last week before we hitched a ride on that cattle cart! And, before that, when we camped out under the stars. And before that when you had me try that firewhisky of yours!”

    He paused. She paused. But, before he could protest, she rolled off him and onto their tattered blankets and added, “But, you are absolutely right. Skinny-dipping is something extra super, duper important!”

    In that instant, when the poppy-red sun began to die over the coast line he pulled off his shoes and undid his belt and she began to untie the bow about her neck and unfasten the buttons of her shirt and…

    “Actually, Mr. Pudding-pie, the conch was a gift from that very nice inn lady a year before that!”

    “Oh. Right.” The image of a wet, near-naked Avery dissipates, and in its place a woman with skin like leather, and hair like burnt twine. She shoves the shell into Elly’s hands and tells him the thing is cursed. He frowns, though Avery beams and fails to notice.

    “Well, you hafta remember when we got this, darling!” This time, she dangles a rusted silver chain in her fingers, the end of which is attached to a tick-ticking pocket watch. The circle swings like a hynotist’s pedulum, half-orbitting about his nose like a flattened moon.

    “On our way back from Helios! Just three months ago!”
    Overhead the still and yellow sun beat mercilessly on their crowns, and it seemed as if for a moment time had stopped. The only sound to be heard was that of their breathing, the wind in the grass, and that of the tick-tick-ticking.


    “Hmmm…. I do have a family to feed, son.” Through the bristles of his salt and pepper brows, the peddling man leered hard at the two. Elly could feel the curve of Avery’s nose now against his forearm as he straightened his back— a man’s stance.

    “So, are you going to do it?”

    “You drive a hard bargain… Hmmm… But, I suppose….”

    “You suppose?”

    “Since you really, really want it…

    …. I’ll sell it to ya.” A sharp change in mood. The girl gave an excited yelp, swung herself onto her boy and kissed him on the mouth. He felt her lips crashing into his teeth and her tongue against his, and in the background, he heard the peddling man mutter something like “ahhh” and “youth.”


    “No, that was the other pocket watch! The bronze one with the little cats on it! We got this one from that Colwe shop!”

    “Oh…” Colwe. The warmth of Avery’s face melts away to metal cold frost against his face, and a dripping nose.

    The next few hours pass exactly like this, for Avery’s memory is something prodigious and Elly’s… Elly’s is not. It is dark now, and, slowly Elly realizes that in spite of those four years of travel, he doesn’t remember, doesn’t know as much as he boasts. (and, he feels truly, very upset)

    The wax of the last candle becomes but a stub and the white birds of Avery’s hands flutter and rest on one last object before it blows out for forever.

    “How about this?” Her voice is unassuming in spite of the obvious defeat that hung heavy in the air.

    “The nutcracker pri— Edwin. Edwin, I got for you last week.”

    “That’s correct, good sir! And I’m very, very glad that you remember” In the darkness he feels her smile and he knows it’s the most beautiful in all the world. He makes to tell her this, and then pull her close against his body but she continues. The tone is still soft, yet serious and if he hadn’t known any better, her words could be taken as a goodbye rather than a goodnight, “Maybe you’ll learn to remember everything about everything in this room, Elly— and not just Edwin. I do hope one day you will. Anyways, sweet dreams darling. I love you. I love you so very, very much, okay?”

    She doesn’t even touch him.

    He wants to understand, but he doesn’t. He spends half of the night mouthing Avery’s words to himself, over and over and over, and the other half refining and reliving all their memories— every single one.


    The next morning, he awakes and with his mind clear, and sharpened he announces to Avery’s still-sleeping form that he is ready for her to quiz him again.


    He calls her name once more. Twice more. But, she doesn’t move, not even to groan and tell him it’s far too early to be up. He gets up and shakes her a little, tells her that they are having brunch next Sunday, and a picnic this afternoon, and that it wasn’t far too early, it was already noon.

    User Image - Blocked by "Display Image" Settings. Click to show.He is 19 when he chokes, and when he realizes.


    (And, in her limp, grey arms, the nutcracker prince began to reek of hidden disease, of kept secrets, and of….

    He makes to rip it from her grasp and snap its neck. He makes to burn this place and then himself.

    But, for her sake, and his own, and their collective memories decides no.

    He will not.)

Anyong Kim

Quotable Voter

Anyong Kim

Quotable Voter

PostPosted: Wed Feb 02, 2011 2:09 am
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To say the least, Elly is... not a very friendly person!
He makes a clear dichotomy between "us"-- or, since
Avery died "me" versus "them." As such, he's not
particularly TOLERANT of those different from himself,
thinking that his way is the ONLY WAY. At most, he
likes people AS I'VE MENTIONED if they are of use
(ie FUN) to him.

Edwin on the other hand automatically likes everyone
and needs to be thoroughly convinced to dislike ANY-
THING. Unless that thing is a dragon. Or witch. Yes.
He has a particular THING for pretty, chaste girls.
and maybe boys. omg it's totally edwin's fault
for looking like a pretty princess himself sobs.


Unfortunately, Elly is still incredibly raw about Avery's
death. Edwin reminds Elly of Avery's death, so often,
Elly locks the poor plague out, or verbally lashes out at
him.Mostly, Edwin wants to find love, and cheer up his
SIRE and KING...! (Edwin thinks Elly is the victim of the

wwwwwwwwwwwUser Image - Blocked by "Display Image" Settings. Click to show.


User Image - Blocked by "Display Image" Settings. Click to show.ELLISON'S THOUGHTS

w| |tand you are?
w| |ta familiar name, hm.
w| |tan acquaintance.
w| |tan ally, for now.
w| |ta friend (GOOD LUCK GETTING HERE)
w| |ti-it's not like i like you or anything, baka
w| |tavery, is that you?


w| |tgood morrow new friend!
w| |ti've heard tell of your feats!
w| |tah yes, a faithful companion!
w| |tdear friend!
w| |tdearer friend, still!
w| |tDEAREST AND TRUEST friend...
w| |tdarling, we can rule together



in otherwords ill get on it LAFFS WhAT ARE FRIENDS.
PostPosted: Wed Feb 02, 2011 2:10 am
CODINGBELONGSTOMEHEYHEYHEYUser Image - Blocked by "Display Image" Settings. Click to show.User Image - Blocked by "Display Image" Settings. Click to show.
CODINGSDUser Image - Blocked by "Display Image" Settings. Click to show.
DICKFLIPSDICKSet up journal ☒
DICKFLIPSDICK2 solos ☒ ☒ ☒ ☒



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Anyong Kim

Quotable Voter

Anyong Kim

Quotable Voter

PostPosted: Wed Feb 02, 2011 2:11 am
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User Image
by mayamei!

gotta update w/ stunteds crey.
PostPosted: Wed Feb 02, 2011 2:12 am
User Image - Blocked by "Display Image" Settings. Click to show. User Image - Blocked by "Display Image" Settings. Click to show.

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AT THE KEYBOARD ALL THE TIME.SO YES. otherwise, i love talking to new ppl, i live
on msn!

attack me @atomicmegatron[at]hotmail.com.

otherwise, if you just wanna rp but you don't wanna DEAL with me, PMs are baller.

Anyong Kim

Quotable Voter

Anyong Kim

Quotable Voter

PostPosted: Wed Feb 02, 2011 2:13 am
User Image
PostPosted: Wed Feb 02, 2011 2:14 am
Tchaikovsky - Sleeping Beauty - Waltz

Anyong Kim

Quotable Voter

Anyong Kim

Quotable Voter

PostPosted: Wed Feb 02, 2011 2:16 am
Saint Saens - Fossils - Animal's Carnival
PostPosted: Wed Feb 02, 2011 2:17 am
The Best Song

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also because i wanted this here.

Anyong Kim

Quotable Voter

Anyong Kim

Quotable Voter

PostPosted: Wed Feb 02, 2011 2:18 am
Plague Concept © zanaroo
Story Concept © staff
Art © The people who drew... the art!
Characters © The people who created... the characters...!!!

Coding etc © ME.
COOL FLOWERPICS © masterjinn@DA!
Music © idk click the yt links.
KEEPER JOURNALS ❧ plague archives

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