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Insomniacs Anonymous
Topic Started: Oct 21 2010, 04:33 AM (802 Views)
zippy_zippy_no
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Zipp-hopopotamus
[ * ]
Sockface shifted uncomfortably. He could feel the stuffing in his middle slowly being squashed into other parts of his body as he lay, folded double, to hide in the port racks. He had been hiding camouflaged there for some time, in his pursuit of the ever elusive Len.

He had been unable to watch proceedings at the carnival due to an ill-timed 'win' at the stall he had been hanging above, and had subsequently found himself palmed off to a small child who promptly stuffed him into a bag. In any case, not two days later he had spied her – the gangly green girl. It had been early morning, the time that Sockface liked the school, because there were no students in it (although he did occasionally run into Lance, which was always a disaster, and sometimes he caught a whiff of Alexander, which was almost as bad as meeting Lance). She had been ponderously strolling with an uneven gait through the semi-darkened halls. Occasionally the strange girl would mutter something to herself in a voice that seemed insubstantial in some way.

Sockface had begun to doggedly persue her through the halls, following those unsteady footsteps wherever they went. In the morning he had watched, in the middle of the day he had watched (and been unaware that someone else was stalking him, stalking her) and in the afternoon he was still watching, although he was starting to loose his drive (he had also lost his stalker who had gotten bored and left for classes).

Hence he was forced to realise, from his uncomfortable position, that she probably wasn't a kishin-egg. She had passed several students well known to have soul perception, and although they seemed a little surprised, they hadn't leapt to the attack. Not only that but Sockface had missed all of his classes that day. It might have been more of a worry if he didn't get marked as absent half the time anyway, or if the classes actually contained information that he should learn, or that he didn't already know.

The living doll heaved a sigh (which was extra difficult when he was folded in half) and began to clamber out of the bag rack. Dusting himself off, the minuscule doll-like being looked up to find Len had spotted him and was giving him a strange look (although it was doubtful that she had any looks that weren't strange). Cautiously, Sockface waved one of his hand-like appendages in a time worn greeting.
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Not knowing one's way around a large building can be disastrous if say, the entire thing were to erupt into flames. Len made that error once in her life- never again.

There were but a few turns, a handful of corridors and a smattering of doors that Len didn't know her way around within the school grounds. Granted, adding currently restricted areas and books to that total made a hell of a lot more unexplored territory. Piss poor security measures was probably the only valid excuse when, and if, it ever came time to answer to the fact that any given teacher in the school could be a witch. Yet, even with said piss poor security measures, they seemed to focus more effort on coddling the children from the truth instead of filtering out definitely dangerous individuals from their employ. The end result, Len was finding herself with less and less things with which to occupy her time, of which she had plenty. There was a brief period in which the staff attempted to put her to work, mostly with copying copious amounts of written student records. She copied them word for word, all in one fell swoop sure enough, but she lacked the lateral thinking to organise the records as she went. A mess of papers that had next to no order to them had no place in any set of backup records.

Mentally mapping out the last of the halls took most of the day, progress was slow due to wavering footsteps. Apparently, whilst trying to plan what to do with her next few days, Len didn't put all that much focus on walking in a straight line. It did go some ways into helping a doll with stubby legs keep pace, though at that point still an unknown doll. Not unknown for much longer, as the scuffling and shuffling of rough fabric and stuffing as he squirmed out of his latest hiding place gave away his position. Len spun on one heel, overshooting the mark and rotating fully in a 540 degree pirouette, which meant facing in the correct direction in the end.

To most, Sockface would trigger immediate confused reactions. Who was the puppet master for this strange toy? Is this witchcraft? Is it friendly? Why does it smell like that silly washing powder that only mothers trying too hard to be cool, buy? Lenore was perfectly content with accepting the idea and plausibility of a living doll, though. It wasn't so much understanding 'why' that bothered her, but understanding 'what' was almost always her main concern. And clear as crystal, exactly what it says on the tin, Sockface was an animated stuffed toy.

"It'ssth.. a moving d-doll. I'm. I'm o-kay withh it."

Evidently, she was okay with it.

She noticed Sockface's limb making a motion in her general direction, one which she had quickly associated with friendly greetings. She learned pretty fast, covering twelve years of missed education and then some within a one year span took some real brainpower. A pale green hand was brought up to match the doll's, making jerky movements instead of a smooth waving motion. In contrast, the steps she began to take towards Sockface were long in stride and smooth in execution. She eventually dropped to the floor in her trademark sudden-drop-then-psychically-decelerate-to-prevent-serious-injury fashion, crossed legged and reaching out towards the doll. At something that more closely resembled eye-level, she felt much more comfortable interacting with it. Other comforts included the non-human nature and stitching that definitely resembled her own (hidden).

Touching was out of the question, if at all possible it would remain that way. Perceiving a stuffed teddy bear, it came to reason that lifting the doll telekinetically would have been a piece of cake. The hand she held outstretched towards Sockface became tense, and began shuddering violently as she attempted to lift him. That little venture was soon abandoned, despite having a soul and being made of generally lightweight material, Sockface was still some kind of unnaturally heavy.

"You are, heavy. And your sssth-kin.. isth jussst like..."

She retracted the hand that had failed to lift the doll, and used the hand to roll up one of her sleeves slightly further. It didn't take much rolling at all to reveal the part of her skin she referred to. It was just as pale and smooth as the rest, except bisected by stitching that circled the entire circumference of her arm, just above the elbow. There was more than that, a lot more, but the one stitch proved her point nonetheless. After examining the stitching, and comparing it with that of Sockface, Len confirmed her initial suspicion and completed her previous thought.

"Mine."

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Edited by Sega, Oct 23 2010, 09:18 AM.
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[ * ]
Sockface's wave barely paused as he watched the strange spectacle of Len moving. Yes he had watched her from afar for most of the day, but up close he could fully appreciate how unnatural some of the actions were. Her hand wave was jerky at best, giving off the impression of naive enthusiasm, much like when a child has learnt how to copy the letters of their name but do not yet fully understand the meaning of the symbols.

The living doll was so entranced by the oddness of Len that his hand sank slowly, no longer waving, to his side. At that point, the girl lunged forward. Sockface was instantly on guard, but managed only one small step back before Len's giant strides carried her toward and almost onto the anxious weapon. Sockface raised his hands defensively, expecting the ungainly girl to crash down on top of him, instinctively piling on weight to make him less likely to be picked up and toyed with. After a moment or two, with no collision, the living doll lowered his hands to see a face looking down on him that no person should ever see looming on their horizons, let alone taking up the entire sky. Large green eyes peered down, managing to give off an aura of curiosity, while the rest of the face screamed that there was a smell only Len could sense, and it wasn't the pleasant kind. One pallid, spindly hand reached out toward the woven weapon, stopping short of his actual body.

Sockface glanced down at the hand, then back up at the face, not quite sure where to settle his gaze, considering there was just so much to settle it on. There was an odd feeling in the doll's stuffing, like he was being held by an invisible, yet firm grasp. There was no physical sign of the grasp, but he had a feeling of lightness, as though someone or something was attempting to lift him. Looking at the girl's shuddering limb, it was an easy conclusion to jump to that it was Len's doing... after all, everyone at Shibusen seemed to have crazy powers these days. Back in Ahab's day things had been different. Oh ho, back in the good ol' days students survived on strength, and wit, and courage alone... none of this soul perception, menace, voodoo nonsense... no SIR. The tiny doll straightened his back a little at the thought of the good old days, but was quickly brought back to earth (metaphorically) when the girl spoke up,

"You are, heavy. And your sssth-kin.. isth jussst like..."

with unhurried motions she raised the hem of her sleeve to reveal a familiar brand. As though she had forgotten that she was with company, or what her original plan had been, the girl stared intently at her own stitching, then back to Sockface before bringing her sentence to a conclusion,

“... mine.”

Sockface stretched out a non threatening digit toward Len to initiate some sort of verbal communication on his part, but the girl drew back slightly. Always sensitive to the notion that some people had large bubbles of personal space, the woven weapon withdrew his digit from Len's general area. Clearly she, like Sockface, wasn't a touchy feely kind of person. The doll was puzzled for a moment or two on the matter of speaking, before he remembered that in his weapon form he was able to speak audibly from weapon space.

There was a shimmer of light that briefly illuminated the hallway and bag rack, until with little overall difference to physical height, Sockface's soft stuffing body turned into a weighty looking anchor, made of cast iron. Quickly the upper half of Sockface's human body – that is to say Ahab's body – appeared in the thickest part of the anchor (the bottom). Looking up at Len, Sockface spoke so that she could hear what he was saying.

“Sorry about the transformation... Ahy Cannae talk without … touching... when Ah'm in my normal body.”

Ahab tried to simplify his speech, not sure how much English Len spoke, or if she was a little bit special or something. The only trouble was that in simplifying his talk of touching, or prodding, or poking... well the message took on questionable aspects, and he wouldn't want the … person... to get the wrong idea. Sockface still wasn't sure if it was a boy or a girl. He suspected a girl, but she was rather flat chested if that was the case, and he knew that a lot of the boys (these days) looked like girls (and acted like girls, and dressed like girls and happily went out with other boys, much to the living doll's dismay. It was so difficult to figure out societal norms these days, let alone accepting them). So the question of gender was often left unanswered when it came to most of his new classmates. The only sure sign of a female were giant tits, which were happily in large (DD) supply - hence people without said appendages were often labelled 'unknown' if they went noticed at all. Sockface quickly considered the person in front of him. Of all the people he had met so far, Len was the one who best deserved the title 'unknown'.

Name: Unknown
Gender: Unknown
Age: Unknown
Powers: … Mostly Unknown
Personality: Unknowable

Well... Sockface reasoned he could work on at least one of those fields. With careful enunciation, the mid section man carefully outlined his query.

“So, I'm... My name is Sockface. What is your name?”
Edited by zippy_zippy_no, Oct 22 2010, 02:41 PM.
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Children, let us take a moment to assess the absurdity of the situation, shall we? A largely disproportionate, green 'female' with a lisp and crazy eyes looking down at the floor, conversing with a doll that just transformed into a Scottish anchor. The mind boggles. And yet the situation had snuggled into bed and made itself comfortable within the covers of Shibusen's walls, which seemed to accommodate all sorts of bizarre occurrences.

The idea of touching hadn't quite settled with the lime psionic girl, and Sockface seemed to gather as much, partly because she drew back a smidgen but also audibly muttered something about being uncomfortable with touching. At the very least she was honest with her 'thoughts', though it was beginning to get her into trouble elsewhere. The truth about Alexander in passing slipping out, for example, didn't sit all too well with him.

That was when Ahab appeared in the weapon's matte surface, somehow with a reflective effect. Seeing this echo of what Sockface used to be startled Len at first, she was entirely more comfortable with live dolls and anchors than live human beings, unless satisfying her morbid curiosity. Originally, she had accepted the nameless speechless animated toy that was Sockface, but now there was an extra layer of things to consider. For starters, Ahab was arguably more human in his weapon form that he was otherwise.

“Sorry about the transformation... Ahy Cannae talk without … touching... when Ah'm in my normal body.”

Len didn't notice the suppression of dialect or accent, nor did the simplified sentence bring any more meaning than what she took at face value. No reply came from the girl, which was more indicative of something being off if one were to know about all of her quirks. If she couldn't think of what to say, she would think of what to say and end up saying that, but not speaking at all was a sign of her being truly speechless.

“So, I'm... My name is Sockface. What is your name?”

Instead of answering the question straight away, Len's fingers twitched, eventually ending up in a configuration in which all her fingers were curled towards the palm, save for an index finger and thumb on each hand.

"You are, the th...sssthec. Second. Sth-econd person to ask-...ku. For me. My name. People jusssst... say 'Green'. Th-... academy off-ish-al recordsth... caw-hall me Len, or, Lenore."

She looked off to the side for a moment, and began muttering some things to herself. It sounded very much like she was putting herself on trial, for the crime of having a ridiculous biology and upbringing that severely handicapped the basic communication method of speech. Apparently, the irony of that was lost on her as she turned back to face Sockface.

"Doesth he have anymore... questions? I hope ss-tho... I cannot lead."

An odd thing, she tended to slur her speech and stutter a whole lot more when constructing an active response to a question or making conversation, but her vocalised thoughts came out largely de-fragmented. She anxiously awaited the Sockface's reply, mostly just to find out what name for her would be associated with his voice. Names catalogued in the deep catacombs of Len's mind that were a sign that someone was calling out to her included: Len, Lenore, Emmerich, Emma, Green, Goggles, and Jack Skellington.
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Len ponderously outlined several suggestions for what her name may be. She certainly did look green, although Sockface was only too keenly aware that sometimes nicknames based on the most obvious aspect of an appearance were not always welcome. The other two options were Len, or Lenore.

'the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore, Nameless here forevermore.'

Sockface thought privately as his soft gaze watched the strange subject before him. He then had to resist the urge to groan with horror, glad that no one could hear that particular thought – he would die of shame if they thought he was breaking out into verse... like some kind of posturing professor, keen to show off their knowledge of classical poetry.

“Doesth he have anymore... questions? I hope ss-tho... I cannot lead”

Sockface broke out of his reverie of self recrimination. He was wary of being presented with a number of names, but not having heard Len pose any preference towards one or another, especially knowing how unfortunate nicknames tended to stick.

“what name do you like being called the most?”

Asked Ahab quizzically, feeling a little like he was Alice in wonderland (without being a primary school -aged girl of course). Even though he had been at Shibusen for a long time, and had seen a lot of strange people... Len really had to take the cake. Something about talking to Len was just surreal – it may have been the way she was seated, tilted slightly so that she loomed in a way that suggested a defyance of gravity. It may have been the strange speech patterns she employed, seemingly without conscious effort. There were a lot of things it might have been. Feeling a little off balance, the 'in weapon-space' form of Sockface smiled awkwardly at the girl rubbing at a stitched scar that ran diagonally along his arm. As with all of the scars that appeared on him, it was sympathetically placed on his human body roughly where it appeared on his cloth one.

“Well ah... OKAY! Did you – were you going anywhere? I mean, we don' have teh sit oot here en the hall all day?”

Ahab waited, wondering what Len would choose to do next. Obviously he would have to change back to his mobile body to walk with her, but that also meant that he wouldn't be able to communicate.

“We culd go te the library – et's always nice an' quiet in there.”

To be honest it was the library that Sockface wanted to go. Soon the bell would ring and students would be ejected from classes, and he really hated crowds. The library was one place that was almost always sure of being quiet, however, and he was keen to flee to its safety.
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“What name do you like being called the most?”

"Lenore... I think, I like it. It's-th.. what the papers-th pre-fer."

“Well ah... OKAY! Did you – were you going anywhere? I mean, we don' have teh sit oot here en the hall all day?”



There was some thumb twiddling, as Lenore incoherently mumbled to herself for the umpteenth time. During the rambling, she unrolled her sleeve back down (with her MIND, naturally) to cover her stitches once more. Nothing in particular came to mind, not even the hours spent planning what to do over the next few days came to any fruition in terms of ideas of where to go or what to do with herself. With the Sockface variable thrown into the mix, it seemed like some kind of ambiguous, unsolvable problem that was way too big for her to handle. It was a cliché of the outcast type of Shibusen, but she wasn't sure if she could handle it. She didn't have time to let that thought slip through her lips, as the anchor pulled her out of that rut.


“We culd go te the library – et's always nice an' quiet in there.”

Lenore's eyes made a firm lock on Sockface, or at least, his human echo. Her facial muscles relaxed ever so slightly, by and large her expression was the same, but the subtle difference altered how it would be perceived. Rather than outright disgust with a hint of anxiousness, it had changed to nervous with only the faintest negative connotations remaining in her face. She was still strange by all means, but now a sad, woobie kind of strange as opposed to a madness induced kind of strange. It was this odd combination, of black rings in her eyes surrounded by generally childlike features attached to an all too slender frame that invoked two main reactions in people. Either sympathy for someone who should probably have never come to exist, or fear and avoidance of the unknown.

"B-but... doeth..doesss, that mean that-- that I can-not talk to you.. while you walk?"

The girl rose to her feet, rising a considerable distance above the weapon. Her methods of getting up were just as strange as every other movement, it seemed like falling in reverse, as she didn't place a hand on the floor, bend her knees or do anything an ordinary person would do to pick themselves up.

"I.. like? Like, the talk-ing. But if Sthock-fasthe.. Sock. Face..th. He needsth to touch... I've never needed to-- to touch things."

It was really no surprise that a person with telekinesis would not be used to lifting things physically, and slightly more of a surprise, yet not too much of one, that the person hadn't any experience with physical contact whatsoever. Potentially problematic with a being such as Sockface when what Len avoided was what he required, and whether a workaround could ever be found was up in the air. All in all, it was just something to think about as the tall psychic returned to the crux of the plot.

"S-tho.. the libraaa-rary."

Len reverted to "follow" mode, wherein she could allow Sockface to navigate and think for her, which would be a potential load off her mind. He seemed to become hasty, too, as the distinct clop sound of horse hooves began approaching.
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Sockface tried not to let his phantom facial muscles betray him. He was very near the floor as things stood (metaphorically), but more importantly he was very near the floor when Lenore stood, Lenore who wore a short skirt. Well it looked like her could cross off a few of the 'unknown' fields now at least.

Name: Green, Len, Lenore
Gender: Female
Age: Unknown
Powers: Unknown
Personality: … NA?

Looking up at Lenore, Sockface had to keep a firm concentration on his gaze to stop it wandering where curiosity dictated – and it was just curiosity, he reassured himself, because anyone faced with the same view would share his perspective on the matter. It wasn't like he was wanting to perve on a girl who was probably young enough to be his daughter (although it would probably be an illegitimate, ill-conceived daughter, of the kind you read about in the tabloids) it was more like when someone had a distracting mole on their face or food in their teeth – the eyes were drawn to things that they should not look at. A deep hued blush had already covered Ahab's cheeks and was starting to mottle his neck as well, as he strained to keep his eyes on Lenore's face. Clearly she wasn't aware that she was showing off quite so much, and he'd be damned to hell if he was going to point it out.

The living doll was concentrating grimly on Lenore's speech, but even a stern grasp of the conversation didn't prepare him to hear that she both realised they wouldn't be able to talk when he changed, and that she liked to talk. Come to think of it... was her face, perhaps, less screwed up than usual? The anchor-man thought back to the panties rest of the day, mentally comparing her current expression to the one she had worn for most of the day. It was... difficult to tell. She looked merely deeply unhappy now, rather than unnaturally despondent, disgusted, and anxious. Ahab cautiously approached the conclusion that she was happy...er. The conclusion was difficult to come to, and Sockface prodded at it with the mental equivalent of a ten foot stick, not wanting to get any closer in case he was horribly mistaken. Feeling a little guilty that he had followed her so doggedly for the entire day, along with the fact that she seemed to be a nice enough panties girl, even if she was a little odd, the demon anchor sighed. It wasn't her fault, he guessed, that she looked so odd, and … acted so strangely.

If anything it was a little comforting that she was so consistently strange. She wasn't one of those people who seemed all normal and then suddenly went WEIRD or anything. If anything Ahab felt sorry for her. She hadn't exactly been wandering around in a huge group of friends after all, even though she seemed a nice enough person. In any case, there had been enough thinking – it was time to go to the library.

“We can chatter when we get the the library if yeh like”

smiled Ahab sheepishly, not looking up at Lenore's panties face as he spoke to avoid other sights. The image of Ahab faded and the anchor shone with a blinding brightness, until it reformed itself into the shape of a stuffed toy. Sockface hadn't heard the 'clip clop' of horse shoes consciously, as he was busy, but his subconscious was screaming at him to hurry the fuck up. Feeling anxious and hurried, the living doll gestured to Lenore to follow him and had no sooner turned on his heel to head in the direction of the library when trouble with a capital L flew around the corner and into the hallway.

Sockface didn't even have time to think of an appropriate curse word before Lance was bearing down on the two students.

“HALT! You rapscallions! You Ne’er-do-wells! You BATTLESHIPS! The bell has not yet tolled, and the wee piglets are still to be locked in their pens. What do two rouges such as yourselves think you are doing out in the HALL WITHOUT A PASS... -but, you're not animals, are you?”

Lance looked from Lenore to Sockface, clearly somewhat confused, although that seemed his natural state of being. He rode his horse in a small circle, one hand on hip, and the other raised thoughtfully to his chin. As he began to speak again, his horse continued to circle, and the hand at his chin began attacking his face, plucking at his bushy eyebrows. Lance was forced to fend it off while continuing his conversation.

“HAA! You thought you had caught me napping?! Scoundrels! I shall not let you pass. TAKE THAT. You must first speak the name of the most beautiful woman in all the land! AND BE DONE WITH YOU!”

The crazed knight had managed to stop his hand and his horse but he was facing the wrong way (perhaps because the horse felt the desire to stare plaintively out of a window, which it was doing in any case, whether it wished to or not). It had also been rather difficult to figure out what part of the speech had been meant for Len and Sockface, and what he had directed at his traitorous appendage. Sockface looked up at Len, who was the only person who could currently speak. He wondered if they could sneak off, or if their encounter with Lance was going to be the kind that lasted a long time. Quietly the living doll began to wonder if Shibusen wasn't wonderland after all.
Edited by zippy_zippy_no, Oct 25 2010, 03:17 AM.
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In response to Lance and his one man fanfare of polished armour clattering against itself, Lenore swept a hand down in front of her face, and her goggles slid down over her eyes. She usually didn't favour wearing them indoors, especially not in Shibusen (which was somehow constantly a stone's throw away from being spotless). Lance was that other flavour of strange, wherein you could not predict anything he did nor who or what he spoke to at any given moment, and whether or not his horse's legs would betray him. It would always be threatening to a certain degree, though from what most people gathered he usually meant well. Insanity has a way of twisting how accurately good will is received. Len's goggles were a sure sign of her becoming passive-defensive at this oddball display of rule enforcement. That, plus his armour was really shiny. Anyone wondering how Lance got his nickname was clearly too stupid to live.

"It'sth... ith. Uhm. We. Sssth-urely a ssstaff member k-knows how, about, us, with excepth--"

"EXCEPTIONS? Back in the day all the peons and all the masters toed the line without need for a fangled system in WHICH-- MY EYEBROWS ARE BEAUTIFUL-- rules were bent for those too idle to do so. I KNOW OF A STORY, AS A MATTER OF FACT! "


Things looked to be taking a turn for the worse, Lance didn't give either of them time to think or speak, let alone make a beeline for the library as the clocks ticked ever closer to the time of release for the mobs. Neither of them could explain their wandering of the halls, one had his nubs tied when it came to voicing his excuse and the other was struggling enough with her speech impediments without a heap of crazy on horseback instilling fear into her. It seemed like curtains, or at least the automatic blinds of having to walk through a sea of judgemental eyes and the newest craze of whispering 'WHAT IS THAT *colour* THING' just loud enough for the THINGS in question to hear it. Lady luck however, had other ideas, and bestowed a heavenly gift upon the students in the form of a cackling drunk lady.

"OHHHAAAA. FLAIR, AT IT AGAIN I SEE?"

The Chuckler, as she was known, was making her way to the mission board. It became pretty chaotic down there at times, and her extremely unheavy handed method of restoring order (letting any student take up dangerous tasks) would be needed to prevent a disaster. Her current intoxication was such that she identified the plight of Sockface and Lenore in passing. Fighting fire with fire and crazy with crazy, she locked into conversation with Lance. The two quickly bonded over their ability to communicate about vast amounts of incoherent nothing at the speed of light, broken up by occasional arguments with hands and swigs from paper-covered flasks. Soon, the Chuckler had to take a leave, so she could attend to the mission board. Lance had no place interfering with the jobs of other staff members, so he reluctantly let her go.

"She is barmy. What? IMPUDENT, YOU INSIST THAT I CANNOT TALK OF SUCH? It is a rotten time for you to bear an OPPOSING OPINION, as my allies shall WEIGH IN-- .. my allies?"

Lance had struck up another argument with his rebellious appendages, and was ready to call up the witnesses Lenore and Sockface to put the delinquent hands in their place. However the two had covertly, in his words, "skedaddled". Their path of escape had been carefully selected to put as many twists and turns between them and Lance as possible, in case he decided to pursue them on his arguably faster mode of transport. As it stood though, they had escaped the knight's hold.


the chuckler ruse.......
was a DISTACTION



"The ss-staff members are... peculiar."

Now further from Lance and closer to the library, Len could finally let her thoughts flow. And her thoughts were not flawed either, everyone running the place seemed to have their own brand of crazy. It seemed that any staff member that wasn't crazy was probably a spy of some sort, so perhaps it was a clever filtration of staff that nobody was aware of. One thing was for sure, whenever a normally bubbly staff member became serious, heads rolled. The only place where serious staff members fitted in lay just beyond a nearby door, but even then was occasionally subject to staff shooting students with paint-ball rifles.
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[ * ]
Sockface was glad that the Chuckler had come along when she did. She was almost as formidable a foe as Lance was, and hence they were engaging in battle. Not bothering to stick around and see who won, Sockface and Lenore scampered away... or rather Sockface scampered, and Lenore kind of wobbled. It was not the most natural walk ever, but it was an effective one. Being paranoid, the living doll made sure they took many twists, and turns, and occasionally doubled back on their path, just in case, but luckily the sounds of clanking armour and clopping hooves did not penetrate the still of the pre-bell hallways.

“The ss-staff members are... peculiar.”

Whispered Len's somewhat shy voice, like fingers running across dry paper.

'look who's talking...'

thought Sockface. It was more than the saying 'pot calling the kettle black' could handle, but luckily Sockface was his own cast iron object, so the saying could easily be modified to 'anchor calling the pot calling the kettle black'... but sadly the main course of semantics with the after-taste of racism did not occur to the anchor-man, and hence a profound understanding of the situation escaped him.

Soon the library edged into view around a particularly nondescript corner of the school. The sprinklers had been on while the children were in class and were unlikely to meddle with them, creating a moat around the Library. If Sockface had been in the possession of vocal chords he would have employed them in the use of moaning. He did not relish his feet getting wet. He wouldn't be allowed into the library if he walked through the mud, but if he didn't walk through the mud he couldn't get to the library – catch 22. The living doll turned to look back at the school anxiously, and as if some cruel god of fate had been waiting for just this moment, the bell rang with its familiar deathly tolls.

The small being looked up at Len who seemed not to be overly troubled by the water. At least she could flee to the safety of the library? How would he explain that he merely didn't wish to soak up a load of water, rather than making it look like he wanted to ditch her and flee or something? Rubbing at his temples in a futile gesture of concentration, the living doll glanced back down, then up again, pointing to the water on the ground, and frowning as fiercely as his stitches permitted. Hopefully she'd get the message? If not Sockface could always turn into his weapon form and explain matters, or lead them both somewhere else to talk.
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Sega
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Lenore herself was, as of late, no stranger to particularly nasty stretches of water. The one before her happened to be a touch less deep, diseased and soul-ridden than the last one she dealt with. However, relativistically scaled, it was something much bigger to Sockface, and she wasn't initially aware of that until she noticed that he was no longer advancing with her. Looking back over her shoulder with an impossible-looking twist of her neck and body, it took a precious few seconds (longer than might have been expected at least) to piece together the puzzle.

Maybe it was alleviated fears of the unknown for both parties, perhaps it was Sockface's concious effort to reduce his weight, or potentially some other reason. Whatever the excuse was, when she reached out for the living doll and began applying her thoughts to the environment around her, as her main ability allowed her to do, it didn't feel like trying to lift a small car. Rather, it felt like trying to lift a large stuffed toy (gasp).

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(Artist's impression of what the lifting effect would look like to someone with soul perception)


With no complaints, Lenore lifted Sockface much like anyone else could when he wasn't anchoring himself down, besides the whole telekinesis thing.

"Ar-are... are you okay with this-th?"

Lenore wasn't entirely certain whether to continue onwards, in case the living doll had any objections to being carried. When other people were around it made sense that a doll being carried looked arguably less weird than a walking one, but when the method of carrying happened to be telekinesis it rather defeated the objective of not looking out of the ordinary. She awaited his response, probably in gesture form, since he couldn't relay his thoughts or speech to her.

... or could he?
Edited by Sega, Oct 26 2010, 11:32 PM.
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