Here's something of mine that I whipped up quickly while on the bus home.

The radio blared the newest episode of “The Shadow” as detective Ken Brown groaned and raised his head from his desk. He took a swig of his coffee, and as the warm liquid trickled down his throat, he grimaced at its bitter flavor. It wasn’t something he enjoyed, but it was sobering him up real quick. He shuffled through the monstrous pile of papers littering his desk as a sharp rap on his glass door brought him out of his stupor. “C…Come in.” As the door squeaked open, Ken’s eyes widened as he stared in bewilderment at the fine specimen that sauntered through the door. Her ruby red dress hugged her body and left nothing to the imagination. The dress brought out the paleness of her skin which was all but covered by the giant mess of curls that adorned her head. He looked into her deep blue eyes and…contact. “Detective Brown? My name is Cassandra Chase and I’m here to enlist your services.” She remarked his unshaven face and the plethora of whiskey bottles scattered around his office. “Although it seems like you’ve been having a rough night.” Ken practically stumbled out of his chair and over his desk as he took her hand in his. He tried his best to put on his tough guy routine. “Rougher than most, but not the worst. Now, how can I be of service to you Ms. Chase?” Sitting down across from Ken, Cassandra reached into her purse and pulled out a frayed yellow photograph of a man in suit. She handed it to Ken and proceeded to break down into hysterics. “*sob* This is my husband James. He was brutally murdered three days ago. I went to the police, but they have no leads. I was hoping a Private Eye like you could help me. My husband was in the textile business and we were quite well off. But then, we hit some rough times, especially after the market crashed. We lost most of our money then, and James made a deal with the Mafia. He didn’t tell me about it, but I found out one night while he was yelling over the phone with someone. Apparently he couldn’t pay his debts and the Mafia was coming after him. I begged him to leave town, but he wouldn’t. He insisted that we’d be safe. Then three days ago, I came back home from a neighbor’s only to find him lying on the floor. After calling the police, they determined that he had been poisoned. I was sure that someone in the Mafia had done it, but there was no proof. No one was home with James when it happened. The police declared it a closed case and that was it. But, I want to find out who murdered my husband and bring them to justice.”

She continued sobbing for a few minutes as Ken went over her story in his head. Her hands were shaking as he began to hand back the photo. As she reached for it, she knocked over his cup of coffee. It spilled over all of his papers and began staining the mahogany desk. “Oh…I’m so sorry detective.” Clumsy girl…"That’s all right, and please call me Ken."

“Alright Ken, but at least let me poor you another cup.” Without letting him answer, she grabbed his mug and walked up to the kettle near the window. Ken couldn’t help but stare as she walked. He shook himself out of his trance and began trying to get more information out of her. “Well Ms. Chase…” “Please, if we’re dispensing with formalities, call me Cassandra.” “Cassandra then. It seems to me like your suspicion about the Mafia is warranted, and you’ve come to the right place. I’ve been trying to bring them down for months now. I’ve gathered a lot of information and I’m very close. If I can prove that an agent from the Mafia killed your husband, I’ll have enough to put most of the high ranking member’s away for good. They have many talented assassins, most of which almost never leave any conspicuous clues behind. But I think that with a little luck, I can nab this guy.” Flashes of him receiving a medal from the mayor after bringing down the entire Mafia raced through Ken’s head as he accepted Cassandra’s case with enthusiasm. “I’ll take your case, and with your help I might be able to bring down the entire crime ring.” Cassandra absolutely beamed as she brought Ken another steaming mug of coffee, which he immediately accepted and sipped. “Thank you so much Ken, you have no idea how much this means to me and my late husband,” she practically purred. Ken swallowed, hard, as she walked even closer to him. He felt a tightness in his throat as she bent down to whisper something in his ear, something barely audible. “Unfortunately Detective, your dreams will be short lived.” Ken had a puzzled look on his face as Cassandra walked his desk to retrieve her purse. The tightness in his throat however, did not go away. He tried to get up, but couldn’t. He began gasping for lungfuls of air. “The poison works quickly doesn’t it Ken? You were getting a little too close for comfort and in a matter of minutes you’ll be dead.” Ken couldn’t move or talk and his lungs were burning. Cassandra dumped the rest of the coffee into his sink and began walking out. Before exiting the room, she turned up the radio’s volume and said, with a final look back, “no conspicuous clues.” Ken slumped against his desk as he lost consciousness. "Who knows what lurks in the hearts of men? The Shadow knows…"

The Newest God

I remember it just as if it'd happened last week...

A man, clothed in nothing save a pair of billowing pants, stands alone at the top of a small hill, head hanging low. His feet are planted shoulder-width apart, one foot raised upon a rock behind him and the other stepping downwards and forwards on the slope.

I was all alone that day, after my unit was wiped out...

His waist-length hair flows in a great wind, casting a silhouette against the bright fires burning behind him on the other side of the hill. His fists are clenched at his sides, trembling from the tempest of pure anger and rage kindling within him.

They were my friends. They were my family.

A fierce red glow lights in his eyes as he raises his head, revealing his clenched jaw and bared teeth. A shiver runs down the spines of the soldiers below him, a thousand strong and armed to the teeth, as they watch this man seem to almost transform subconsciously into some form of demon, a god of immense power who's now turned the full sum of his rage against them. The few brave soldiers at the head raise their arms and sound a battle cry, charging forth with their weapons raised high and proud.

I felt a surge of something familiar, and powerful. The touch of magic being granted by the fallen dragon-man at my feet...I recall repeating his last words to them...

"The god that was, and the god that is, replaced by the god that will be. Go, and carry on the legacy, Blessed One."

My voice was deeper than a thousand earthquakes, and I'm certain that it shook them to their very cores. Even the bravest warriors at the front faltered in their steps and shivered, for they knew their new god of war was upon them."

His eyes glow a deeper red, now casting a trail of red smoke behind them. In a few moments the charge is complete and the men are at his feet, preparing to launch an assault that will never be. In a blinding flash of motion, he removes his sword from its sheath and screams a terrible war cry that rattles the very ground itself and causes the strongest of men to collapse and weep in terror. In seconds, he's slaughtered the most powerful mages and fighters, moving faster than anything imaginable.

Thirty men standing together in a group try to huddle up and summon a collective spell, but a great horizontal slash of magic sweeps through them and cleaves them in two, scattering blood and guts into the air. A few more intersecting sickles of magic fly forth from his blade, cutting X-shaped paths of destruction in their wakes.

In less than six minutes, the entire battalion is dead...and none dying. A great pall of smoke hangs over the battlefield where five thousand men and women once stood, billowing upwards from the flames below. A figure crests the tallest hill and stands, looking around at the carnage with his hair again flowing in the breeze. His silhouette gains a new look then, with wings sprouting from his back and horns emerging from the sides of his head. A devilish grin of pure delight crosses his face and he breathes in the air deeply, reveling in the scent of searing death.

He stretches his arms out to his sides, holding them palm-up almost as if he were presenting himself as a gift to something. His head then throws backwards to the sky and he lifts off, flapping his wings gracefully and gaining altitude quickly. Thunder claps and rain begins to fall, drenching everything under the black sky with its refreshing aroma and soaking through. Water drops roll from his face and arms, falling to the ground below while he grins wider and shuts his eyes, the new god now enjoying his victory and his new place in the world.

That day I became the god Akira.

I think I got it right this time
 

Fen gazed up at the sky. It had been a while since it had been blue - since the black had taken over. A gentle breeze blew as he walked through the city, and he noticed that the bars were empty now. I’m out later than the boozers, he thought to himself. His mind began to wander into the realms of the previous day. He thought about how his love had left him for his brother; how his boss had fired him for being incessantly late; how his best friend had stood him up without letting him know for a party in the rich part of town, which Fen was not invited to.

The city was quiet at night. The curtains of the diner he meandered by whispered in the wind like ghosts of some different dimension. The TV ads playing silently in the square beckoned to him with a false reality. As he walked, a tear began to run down his cheek. The swishing of his clothes and the pattering of his feet were the only noises to be heard as he picked up his pace. The tears began to flow more freely, and he picked up into a run.

That’s when he noticed the flag on the front of the courthouse. He found a ladder by a building in the middle of renovation. It looked like it was going to be a library. He placed the ladder next to the flag, and climbed up to the pole. He tested it; it would surely hold his weight. The rope attached to the flag was easily undone, and Fen made a perfect knot with it, and slipped it around his neck. He then stood on the pole, kicked the ladder away, and jumped. He barely struggled; soon his body just swayed slightly in the wind.

Well... I finally decided to do one. I was bored as hell and found myself using this as an excuse to write a short story type thing. No, there's no fighting... I didn't feel like doing fighting, and some parts of Jeffrey's character are purposely left up to the imagination. Anyway, here it is.
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"I'm going out now," his wife said as she left the house. Jeffrey knew what that really meant, however. He knew that she was going to be with him again. There wasn't any reason left to hold onto the relationship, and Jeffrey knew that. It would have to end soon. Someday she'd come through that door after going out and tell him it was over, and he didn't know why he bothered lying to himself--why he bothered trying to believe that she was just going out with friends. He had the pictures that P.I. had gotten him. He knew the truth.

A hand reached up to scratch the irritating stubble on his chin, and then a bottle of beer moved up to his mouth. 'Beer... stubble? ...When did I fall so low?' he thought to himself as he sank further in the recliner and his fingers mechanically changed the channel because 'the game' was coming on. 'I never used to drink... or watch these games. What happened to me? ...it's because of her...' at least, that's what he thought to comfort himself, but he knew it wasn't true. He and his wife had been in love once. Deeply in love, or at least they thought. They did everything couples normally did together: danced, talked, ate... fucked. 'God how I miss the sex... and now...' he dismissed the thought before it could complete itself, not only because it was about her with him, but because it confirmed what he already knew. It was his fault.

Jeffrey took another swig of beer and then the memories came, but this time he couldn't stop the truth. He remembered how he used to be athletic, and how he used to play 'the game,' instead of watching it. Jessica was a cheerleader for his highschool team, and she was beautiful. All the men wanted to be with her, but she went out with him, the star player.

Back then he was strong and fast and charming. He was what every girl wanted, just like she was what every man wanted. Their romance was like something out of one of those cheap novels that she would read after they got married--carnal, lustful, beautiful, 'perfect,' but love based on such things couldn't last. At the time he didn't think these thoughts. At the time he didn't think much of anything other than how he was going to win the next game or what new positions they could try. Then they got married.

The marriage was wonderful. It was everything Jessica had dreamed, and Jeffrey was able to bare it. The cake was ok, and the preacher didn't talk for too long. They said their vows, and the doves were released. 'The doves...' The old ex-jock couldn't help but laugh as he remembered how one had gotten caught in his mother's hair as it tried to escape. Everyone had laughed, and everything had been perfect then. They all ate the cake, and Jeffrey played a little bit with all the other men who had been on the team, reliving old victories... and old defeats.

Everything seemed to be starting so well, and they both shrugged off their parents' warnings about marrying their highschool sweetheart, at least until after the honeymoon. That's when it all started to go awry, and, as Jeffrey remembered, he realized that he was the only one to blame. It all started when they got home. Jessica... she wanted to spend some more time with him, but his friends wanted to go drinking, so he went out. And then the next night too... and the night after that... and the night after that. Almost every night he went out and got drunk, and then came home. His boss didn't approve of his coming to work hung over nearly everyday, and so he was fired from his construction job, and Jessica was forced to get a job waitressing. They barely made ends meet, but Jeffrey didn't even try to get a job. He just sat in that chair and drank. Drank and watched 'the game.'

The TV blared static as white snow scattered over the screen, snapping Jeffrey out of his reverie. It had been hours, and he'd accidently dropped his bottle. The beer was running out onto the floor, and there was no way to salvage it. As he stared at the amber fluid pooling by the side of his chair he realized that he'd dropped his life too. He'd dropped it and now all the happiness had run out, leaving him with nothing but an empty bottle.

He didn't bother to shut off the TV. He just picked up the bottle of beer and threw it away before taking his gun and walking outside. The streets were dark, and there was no one on them. It was already late. Jeffrey stumbled away from the house and down the street. 'This is the last, and only, thing I can do for her now,' he thought as he stumbled into a dark alley, and pressed the gun against his temple. "I'm sorry... It was all my fault... forgive me," Jeffrey confessed to the darkness as he squeezed the trigger.

Finally, something from you or Demon... wonder when we'll be able to get him to post something here...

Wow, Zephir... That was really good.

I can't believe I have to compete with that.

I didn't really "read" these, so...

Batgirl - A
Zephir - A
Minor - B
Krylo - D, as in Die. I would give you an F, but then I can't say it stands for Die. Completely unrelated note, I hate your new avatar.

I love you too, IHMN.

Ok, now I read them, so I will give actual scores.

Batgirl - A (Though you do need to use paragraphs more)
Zephir - A
Minor - B+
krylo - You would recieve an A, but I can't bring myself to giving you one.


Also,


You can't really see how one RPs with one post they did themselves. All you can judge is their creativity, ability to write, grammar, stupidity, use of Dues Ex Machina, and imagination.

Edit - And I've never based anything I've scored because of no story and such. The closest was with the person who said a lady walked away when they never mentioned a lady being there before at all.

I haven't been paying much attention to this thread (I have more than enough books sitting around at home I'm trying to read, thank you very much), but I have looked over remarks every once in a while, an anything that gets that kind of reaction out of IHMN of all people (Nothing short of an idiot n00b invokes that response normally...) deserves a look.

Depressing. Not that sort of enlightning depressing, just plain ole' fashion, 'kicked in the gut' depressing. I sense much anger, angst, and goth in this, yeeesssss...