mayfield_rpg | (no subject)

[phone]
Oh, marvelous, it's August again. My favorite time of the year.

Students, I hope you've been working on your summer assignments. Adult men, I hope you're prepared to be perfect gentlemen when we all find ourselves floundering in that ghastly hotel. Anything else to expect this month? No? On to business, then.

I'm sure we're all very distracted by talking pony parties and pool parties and platter parties and inpourings of perpetually perplexed new populations, but has anyone made any effort whatsoever to sort out that business from last month or are we still playing the game where we ignore all interesting information in favor of smashing random objects we find in the dairy? I don't mind that game; of course, quite invigorating, good for the vasculature, but it might be worth trying a different approach at some point in time. I venture to suggest today, if no one's too busy holding competitions to see who looks the most absurd absent their clothing.

[action, 726 Anderson Lane]
[Susan can be found hanging up black cloaks and other assorted clothing in uniform crepuscular shades around the house where garish green was all there was formerly to see. A welcome change, in her opinion; she'd missed her wardrobe from home, even if everything looked exactly the same as the black cloak she had commissioned here in Mayfield.

Still, she pauses for a moment as she handles an emerald-green cloak, never worn, hanging in the hall closet since the previous Christmas. ...It goes back on the rack after a bit. And she'll only push it back behind the others an inch or two.]

[action, park]
[A rather unusual sight in the park later on that week. Somehow, Miss Susan the English teacher has been cajoled into reading a nice story for a small group of drones.]

And so, adding conspiracy and first-degree murder to their trespass and property damage charges, Hansel and Gretel pushed the old woman into the oven and ignored her anguished screams as they left the house of gingerbread, naturally taking all of her valuables with them as they went. With these illicit goods, they reunited with their criminally negligent father, but not, surprisingly, their 'wicked' stepmother, who had mysteriously vanished in the space of the two nights in which the children were gone, leaving the father sole keeper of his property and remaining funds and raising suspicion as to who it was had devised the plan to leave the children in the forest in the first place.

But it doesn't matter, because they all lived happily ever after.

The End.

[The drones seem quite pleased with her recitation, at any rate.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Alright, then. Describe to me a Chiropteran in as much detail as you care to, and I'll see if I can surpass the morons.

You already have, so there's no reason to try, but I'll certainly give you the abridged version. We're a species whose systems are built around blood as a source of nutrition rather than proteins, sugars and fats, and if you subscribe to the theory that humans are tied to primates through DNA, you could consider us similar in that we share basic DNA with bats. I can't turn into a bat, though, and throwing a handful of rice at my feet won't stop me from moving in the same way that sunlight quite obviously has no effect on me. Any abilities I possess can be broken down in scientific terms, but explaining that would take a day and a half and leave you quite bored.

I don't think that's biologically possible, but neither is walking through walls, so I suppose I'll have to accept it.

What abilities do you have? Non-scientifically.

Concessions in the field of logic is a slippery slope that one must unfortunately travel down at times, especially in a place like this.

But for that, there's increased speed, strength, senses, the ability to screech uselessly on a hypersonic level at mutated versions of the Chiroptera order even though they never listen, excellent healing... [looks skyward for a moment, counting some things off on his fingers] My sub-species doesn't require food, nor can we sleep, and of course the limited shape-shifting. There are some other odds and ends, but that's about the gist of it.

And here I thought screeching uselessly was a natural gregarious trait of yours.

One last question, then - What sort of role are you meant to fill in your world? Hunters?

Remind me to bring a container along the next time I speak to you so that I'll be able to gracefully collect the shattered pieces of my self-esteem when I leave.

[a shrug] As far as I've come to learn, that's mostly correct. One could say that if the humans prey on nearly every other living species, we're the ones they fall prey to.

Try a thimble.

The explanation is appreciated - but I notice you're not particularly keen on the human-hunting yourself?

You always have the best suggestions, Miss Carrot Sticks.

That said, there isn't any point in making a meal of something that will just be back the next day with vague notions of revenge, you know? I'd prefer a drone-only diet to dealing with a handful of morons breaking down my door every other day.

I suppose it would get tedious after a while. I know I certainly had enough trouble with only three arch-enemies; you'd better stick to the strawberry cake.

Three, hm? With a sharp tongue like yours, I'd have guessed a higher number. It is tiresome to keep track of any amount, though. I would take cake over that hassle any day.

Those are normal enemies. Being an arch-enemy requires filling out more forms.

[Susan responds snootily before turning away a bit.]

Well, then. Would you like to hear another story or shall I be going now?

It takes a lot of work to be considered an arch-enemy of yours, doesn't it?

[the question is met with a dismissive handwave as he leans back on his heels.] As much as I would love to hear your rendition of every Grimm tale, I suppose I've taken up enough of your time for now.

Perhaps we can swap after you're done writing your Chiropteran tales.

[Susan sweeps away in a toss of a black cloak.]