Sketchtober Masterpost!10/27/2020
If I haven't mentioned it already, I am not what you might call a traditional artist. I've worked at it my whole life, tried every medium I can afford, but have never been able to get any better at drawing, in any way. Due to this, I am a massive fan of people who CAN do art like that, and I feel like I have a greater appreciation for the fine arts.
Traditionally, October is "Inktober" month, where artists from around the world challenge themselves to "a drawing a day," usually on pre-planned themes. Unfortunately, an artist I won't name here had a massive miscommunication with his legal representation after last year, and his lawyer tried to copyright the term Inktober for ONLY this artist to use. Needless to say, this put a bad taste in most of the art community's mouths, and most participants of the traditional Inktober are either sitting this year out, or calling it by something else. This year, I am participating in the Meghan Hetrick Patreon "Sketchtober," as she's calling it. It includes 24 dateless themes to draw or writer about, on your own schedule. I will be writing, of course, and hope to be able to stretch my creative fingers as I go about the theme challenges. Continue Reading to see my progress on the written Sketchtober!
JUMP TO:
(each challenge becomes a link as it is completed)
#1: Restrain
By the time the paramedics arrived on the scene, Martha had fallen into shock from blood loss, and Gavin was having a fit of pain and rage on the floor of the kitchen where she fell. When they first saw him, his eye were wide open, staring at her, hands pressed to the side of his head as he screamed. There was a kitchen knife next to him on the floor, and Martha had a long gash across her abdomen. As soon as he became aware of their presence, Gavin scrambled back, breaking the unseen connection between him and his mother. He slipped and slid away backwards on his hands an knees, the blood on the floor adding an element of the grotesque to his panicked withdraw. As he slipped around on the floor, his unearthly screams were replaced by animalistic growling, and his demeanor took on a more defensive look. They'd only been in the kitchen a few seconds before Gavin's retreat made him back into the cabinets behind him with a wooden thud, and his growls were joined by angry, confused tears. Martha was priority. To get to her safely, the police on the scene handcuffed Gavin, an easier task than they had expected. But as soon as the paramedics got his mother on a gurney and started rolling her away, a change came over him. The ugly sobbing suddenly stopped, and the officers would later describe his reaction to be as if he had a moment of clarity, and decided he couldn't handle the repercussions of what he'd done. Gavin lashed out, screaming bloody murder as he clawed at the officers' gear with bloodied hands. Within moments, he'd been further restrained, as they hauled his squirming body out of the house. From her perch at the back of the ambulance, one of the paramedics looked up from her work to see the commotion. As her partner closed the doors of the truck, she knew she would never forget the sight of the crazed man, twisting and contorting like a work to be free of his restraints, his manic, unholy cries echoing through the neighborhood. Later in life, she'd tell the story to her children as a warning, saying she'd seen the devil in him that day.
#2: Nebulous
It had been three days, Earth time, since their interstellar ship had passed anything that wasn’t a black blanket of stars, and the crew was getting restless. Expedition Commander Thompson could hardly bring herself to look out into the endless night anymore, the sight made her almost physically ill. But whenever the other members of the crew were around, she made sure to put on a good face, swallow back the bile, and be a shining example for her crewmates. Then, suddenly, it appeared. The crewman on watch didn’t tell the others at first, he thought he was imagining seeing anything at all. But as the shape loomed ever closer, he had to admit it wasn’t a trick of his brain. The Commander was trying to meditate when the comms alarm went off. Meditation, she found, was the only way to truly trick your brain into thinking it was back on Earth for a few moments, which she desperately needed. But with news of a nameless object out in space, she was out of her dorm, pulling on her coat as she headed for the viewing bay as fast as she could. The crew gathered around the doorway, crowding her from getting through. Whatever was outside the window, everyone wanted to see. When the Commander made it through and saw what was on the other side, she felt her mouth open. It wasn’t anything she’d ever seen in her life of extensive scientific education, which was saying a lot. Her first thought was, marshmallows. Fluffy, multi-colored marshmallows out in space. No, she thought, more like a brilliant, over-stuffed comforter that was crumpled up and made out of every color you can dream of. It glowed from every angle and pulsated rhythmically. As their ship came closer, the crew could tell the object was writhing, almost, showing off more fantastic colors with each tuck, fold, bend, and nebulous rotation. Dark purples, intense pinks, bright golds, clear blues, and everything in between shined out of the form, bubbling and billowing with constant motion. In the back of their minds, the crew wondered if it was safe to get close to such an object. It was impossibly large, far larger than their ship, but not a single instrument gave reading that anything was out there. They continued puttering closer, edging towards what they hoped would be the discovery that brings them home at last, not knowing it would be their doom.
#3 SPELL
The last hope of the ancient, crumbling empire came as an offer from an equally ancient and crumbling crone. As the ground shook and the castle walls began to break apart, she made her way through the great hall, her gnarled, branching cane loudly announcing each further step. She told the Emperor and his court what she could do for their dying dreams, and what it could cost. “All men fear losing their power, but for your Kingdom to survive, you must be willing to lose everything you ever earned.” The great Emperor adjusted in his grand oaken throne, stroking his long, peppered beard. The scattering of courtesans, Lords, and Ladies muttered to one another in hushed tones, equally desperate to leave the shuddering court, yet intent on finding out what the old woman had to say. At last, the aging monarch leaned forward in his chair, and nodded silently to the old woman. At once, the room stopped breaking apart. The clattering is stones were silenced, as if the time suddenly stood still. From her robe, the witch withdrew a ball made of intertwined vines and branches, several inches across, and filled with all manner of magical herbs. In a startling jump of motion, she threw the ball into the air above her with one wrinkled hand, snapping the fingers of the other. At once, the ball of flora burst into flames, causing the onlookers to step back in alarm. There it hovered, above the witch, as she began her spell. “Kingdom old, world anew Fire burn where trees once grew. End one story to start another, This call for help, oh sacred Mother! The pages turn, rewrite what was, Bless us with with grace from above!” As the crone finished her spell, the empire began to shake and shutter more violently than ever. The ball fire started to expand, too fast to see, setting the whole world on fire with burning white light. Then, silence. Once upon a time, there was a fresh, shining, baby Kingdom...
#4 KISS
(a poem meant to be performed as spoken word, inspired by a famous tweet or something) Cat owners know There are a few things You will never change About owning a cat Shedding their hair All over your clothes Bipolar temperaments At the drop of a hat. But one thing people forget Is the kiss. They do it on your couch On your floor On your desk The stinky kiss Of every cat’s asshole That touches down On every surface Every time they sit. You have a cat, Think about it-- Have you ever gone a day Without seeing your cats anus? They sit on the counter. Kiss. They sit on a pillow. Kiss. They sit on your baby’s head. KISS. Just like the loose hair The claws The yelling and The the getting in the way, The cat’s kiss is quietly accepted And further proof We love them
#5 ENCHANTED
One of Jane's abilities was that she could get any man she wanted, whenever she wanted. She could take the most prideful, patriarchal, or happily monogamous man off the street any given day and turn him into a slobbering, lovesick puppy in her hands. She never cared for any of them particularly, just that they would do the things she wanted for her, or to her, and she liked having that power. She also never cared for the trail of destruction she left behind; the failed marriages, broken engagements, and women jealous to no end gave Jane no bother. Its not like they dared confront her about her supposed misdeeds, anyway. She held such sway over the town, no one dared question her. And that was just the way it was, and the way it would always be, until Jane decided otherwise. Knowing these things, it is't a surprise to learn that Jane had a touch of witchiness about her. It was never even enough for Jane herself to know, fully, but her mother had taught her some herbal tricks that her mother had taught her, and so on for generations. The magic in Jane's blood had been watered down by mankind through the ages, but the spark of it remained. And it was this spark that Jane decided to let fly again, one fall evening. She'd seen a newcomer at the market that morning, and needed him to want her. But to get him as she had gotten the others, Jane needed to perform the ritual. Her mother had called it that, and for all Jane knew, that was all it was. But the results were always the same, exactly as she wanted, so Jane prepared for another ritual. The forest outside her family home was thick and wild, but filled with all manner of wildlife and natural growing herbs, which Jane and her ancestors had been pulling from for centuries. Jane knew exactly where to go for what she needed, and exactly what to do with it after.As she worked, Jane felt a sense of peace overcome her. She may live a life of flitting from man to man, without much company otherwise, but whenever she performed her mother's ritual, she felt the love of her maternal ancestors with her, engulfing her in love and warmth. Jane woke in the morning feeling refreshed and new, as she always did after the ritual. Smiling, she stretched, and started her day. At a coffee shop in the small town, the newcomer sat at a table alone, reading the morning paper and enjoying the smell of his too-hot coffee. It'd been a long week getting settled in to this new place, which he could already tell was extremely set in their ways. They didn't seem to get many new people of any kind, and his presence had been clearly noted and spread around to all the townspeople. Yesterday, an old man in filthy overalls and a train engineer's hat cornered him at the hardware store, shoving a wrinkled business card in his hand and announcing that he was the man to see with any car trouble. Sure, the newcomer thought, I'm sure you can fix any issues I come across with my Cadillac. Today, a trio of women cluster together on the other side of the coffee shop, pretending not to notice him, and hoping he didn't hear the barista ask why they are all so dolled up for coffee. Their whispering came to a halt when the shop's front door opened, welcoming Jane into the room. Jane had worn her favorite dress that morning, a lovely flowing thing that wrapped around her torso before loosely draping her shins. The colors complemented her skin tone perfectly, as did the over-sized floppy had perched on top of her long, loose hair. The day's breeze danced through the fabric of her clothes, wafting her scent into the room before her. The newcomer's head snapped up from his paper, locking eyes on Jane's figure as she stood in the doorway. As soon as she spotted him, her mark, she smiled. Across the room, the trio of women set down their coffees in defeat, knowing what was about to happen. Jane could get any man she wanted, whenever she wanted. They had all witnessed it, all experienced pain from it. But they had also learned it was unstoppable, and that meant conceding to Jane what she wanted. They watched her approach the newcomer, who already couldn't look away, and one of the women had a curious thought. Every time they'd seen Jane take a new man, they'd all have the same look on their face-- dumbfounded, entranced, enchanted. It was as if Jane had some actual power over the men, forcing them to forget everything in life but her, and what she wants. But how could she be so enchanting, every time? By the time the woman had internally laughed off the thought of magical influence, the newcomer had left with Jane, arm in arm before ever exchanging a word.
#6 MACABRE
Ever since she was a little girl, Halloween had always been Kim’s favorite holiday. She looked forward to it all year long, and even had one of those witch-themed calendars to count down the days til the big event. Halloween was Kim’s happy place, and this year, she was planning something a little bit different. The house she rented had a large tree out front, a weeping willow with a gnarled base and long, whispy limbs. In years past, Kim had merely used the tree as a background prop, decorating it with toilet paper and fake spiderwebs. Following some particularly inspired brainstorming, Kim believed she had the best new idea for her Halloween display. After an expensive trip to the craft store and a risky night on a ladder in the dark, Kim’s front yard was the most macabre on the street. Having finished her creepy project a few days before Halloween, by the time the night came, kids across town were asking their parents to come see Kim’s murder tree. For those who gave in, what they saw was well worth the drive. Kim had taken dozens of life-size, decorative skeletons, disconnected the bones from one another, and intertwined them among the branches of the willow tree, as if they had been ripped apart. She added plenty of fake dried up gore, and even gave a few of the bodies ripped bits of clothing. The ground around the tree was sprinkled with more bones, and if you made it to the candy dish on the front porch, a hand-made zombie would pop out to scream—bleeding from it’s face, bones breaking through it’s skin—as one final test. As many of the adults would point out, it was over-dramatic and unrealistic, to say the least. But watching from her window as the town’s children ran by, screaming with half-horror, half-delight, Kim was reminded why she goes through such effort year after year.
#7 SATISFY
Ever since she was a girl The world at her fingertips Nothing ahead but options Nothing would satisfy Nora She ate cuisine from every country Breakfast, lunch, and dinner Cakes, soups, oven roasted meats But nothing would satisfy Nora She collected art from all the best artists Paintings, statues, decoupage, and stained glass Popping with color, eye catching, one of a kind Yet nothing would satisfy Nora She had more sex than anyone could Vibrators, nipple clamps, both sides of BDSM Men, women, group sex and self love Still nothing would satisfy Nora She read every book in the world Became the best in each field Her wealth of knowledge to match her wallet And nothing would satisfy Nora But when she died, Nora looked back on her life Of chasing satisfaction And at last, saw her own journey After decades of searching for fulfillment Nora felt her full life drift away Took a last breath into her old body And exhaled with a satisfied smile
#8 ZEALOUS
Benji had been waiting for his mom to come home for all of eternity. At least, that's what it felt like. She'd left early that morning for work, and said she'd be back later that evening. Was it possible it had been longer than a day? Benji liked to watch the sunrise and sunset, but he was known to nap through them occasionally. Even so, Benji was practically convinced that it had been far longer than mom had said it would be. Now, the sky was dark, and the apartment dark along with it. Mom had left some lights on in key areas of the house to comfort Benji after the sun went down, and he pretended not to appreciate it. With a deep sigh, Benji heaved himself onto his feet, leaped off the couch, and proceeded to check on his supplies. Mom always made sure to leave enough food and water out, and if she was feeling particularly guilty about leaving him that day, he'd get some extra snacks left behind, too. Today had been one of those days, but he had already eaten his snacks. Looking at what was left in the kitchen, Benji felt no interest in taking a bite or a sip of what had been provided. So he moved along from the kitchen, into the bathroom. His toilet was....messy, but mom would fix that when she comes home. She always does. In the laundry room, Benji checked his favorite hiding spot--but that's his secret to tell--then sauntered towards the bedroom. Mom had left the bedroom window cracked just a little, and Benji ran to it, pressing his face into the crack. The air outside felt fresh and cool, with a night breeze blowing around scents from all over the neighborhood. Benji almost wished he could go outside, before remembering the comfort of mom's indoor furnishings. He hopped into her bed, now, and found a spot to lay where he could hear for anyone outside. He laid his head down to rest on the bed for just a moment, and before he knew it, had fallen fast asleep. Mary stomped up the steps at just after six o'clock, far later than she would have liked. The winter sun had long-since set, and she knew Benji would be waiting. She hated leaving him all day, but it wasn't like she could just hire a sitter for him. She unlocked their apartment door, and immediately heard Benji bounding her direction from the bedroom. With a series of piercing mews, paired with his tail straight up in the air, Benji the cat gleefully greeted his mom. This was his favorite moment of the day, and Mary laughed. He'd always come running up, eyes wide and excited, already chatting to her about his day in his tiny cat language, rubbing his fluffy body on her legs until she petted him. Today was no different, and Mary happily welcomed his zealous behavior. Setting down her keys and closing the door behind her, Mary then picked up her small, furry child. His little purr engine was going strong, and was a comfort to her after a long work day. He nuzzled her chin with his face, marking her with his affection. She loved his enthusiastic welcomes, like she was the center of his world. Little did she know, in truth, that she was.
#9 PARCHED
The old garden must have been beautiful once, but not anymore. It was surrounded by a tall wooden fence, closed off with an iron gate. Now, the wood panels were crumbling, and the gate lay broken on the dusty ground. The old grape vines that used to trail along the fence line seemed to be all that was holding it together, although it had been years since the plant had shown signs of life. There wasn’t much of a path left through the garden, whatever had been there before was long since overgrown with all manner of weed and vine. But like the former patches of vegetable growth, those plants too had seen their final season. All that was left was dry, crusty twigs, wrapped around the foot stones like ancient bones. On the far wall of the garden was evidence of a climbing bramble berry bush, too parched to bear a single fruit. Everywhere you looked, there was evidence of the garden’s former glory. What fruitful seasons it must have had, before it was lost to time and memory. Before the sun burned away all moisture, and bleached the defiant plants below. In another time, another era, maybe the garden could have survived longer on its own. But this dry world of dusty skies instead of rain, the dried up garden remains, a decomposing graveyard for someone’s long lost hopes.
#10 Secret
When Super Heroes started making their appearance in the real world, we all expected it to be like it was in fiction stories, like it was in the comics. No, expected isn't the right word. We hoped things would be as good as they were in those stories. But hope doesn't stop man from growing greedy and cruel, so it didn't take long for things to start going wrong. The first Super to make the news in a negative sense was Plasma Man, able to turn water into blood. He spent his time volunteering at various children's hospitals, saving the lives of countless kids with his gifts. Until...the death of young Jimmy Novopalis was a tragic way for a hero to learn his powers can work in the reverse, and of course the parents didn't press charges on what was an obvious accident, but he never made a public appearance again. Shortly after, the public started getting wary of Super Heroes. At the same time, more accidents started happening, and before anyone realized it, a Super showing up was a bad omen. None so bad, though, as Secret Man. Secret Man was another Super who couldn't help his powers. He didn't wake up in the morning hoping to ruin lives and make babies cry all day, but it tended to happen, just due to his existence. As his name suggests, Secret Man deals in secrets. You know that moment when you learn something you weren't supposed to know, or a friend asks you, "Can you keep a secret?" Secret Man hears every one of those, and is compelled to let the weight of them go by informing those involved. For a long time, Secret Man thought he could hear people's thoughts, until he discovered all the thoughts he was hearing were secrets. He tried to keep them to himself, but they wanted to get out, to the point that he became so ill, he was hospitalized with violent, apparently inexplicable convulsions. Secret Man learned how to make the sickness go away almost on accident. The secrets had piled up inside him, so loud they were all he could hear, all he could focus on. He had been sedated, but when one of the attending Doctors came to his bedside, one secret broke through the rest, screaming itself in his mind. He was half drugged when he told the doctor of his wife's secret abortion, but somehow the physician knew the man wasn't lying. As for Secret Man, the immediate relief he felt on speaking the secret to the victim was profound and unmistakable. So Secret Man started his terrible journey of secret telling, wandering the world to tell the biggest secrets demanding to be told. He doesn't like doing it, but in time, he learns to accept it as the only solution to being otherwise chronically and potentially fatally ill. His arrival means nothing but discord to anyone nearby, and often times his subjects find themselves running away from his approach. After a while, he started telling secrets only at night, to avoid detection. His words destroyed relationships, spotlighted traitors, highlighted liars, and outed the silent or closeted. For some, the after effects of Secret Man's words brought a light sense of relief or clarity, but most found his news tragic to their lives. Many wealthy men have tried to pay him off, with no success. The metaphor, Secret Man realized one hazy morning, was obvious. Secrets often eat the people who hold them alive, gnawing away at their subconscious with guilt. By some cruel twist of fate, when the secrets of this world are born, it is Secret Man who they eat alive, bit by bit, until he gives them away.
#11 Tawdry
When her grandma wasn’t home, Katie loved to play dress up. Grandma Joan’s closet was filled with fashion from every decade she’d lived, and to Katie, it was a treasure trove of fancy garments and accessories. On this occasion, Grandma had just popped down to the grocery store for some extras, so Katie shuffled down the carpeted hallway with extra verve. She cracked the slatted closet doors like she was opening an ancient chest, and her tiny mouth gaped at what was inside. Grandma Joan may have kept almost all of the wardrobes she’d ever warn, but she was a meticulously organized old lady. The double racks of hanging clothes were displayed by color, Roy G Biv style. Katie reached a tiny hand out and ran it across the many colors of fabrics. She loved feeling how some were soft like animal fur, some rough with sewn in beadwork or sequins, and all so different from one another. Taking her eyes from the transcendent rainbow of hanging clothes, Katie moved to the closet’s built in dresser. On top, Grandma Joan had set up metal screens of hanging earrings and other jewelry, glittering in the dim light like seductive little water droplets. Katie gasped as she took them all in, every color and shape she could thing of. Her favorite, easily, was an oversized theater piece Joan had kept as a flirty reminder of a long ago weekend trip to Vegas, which she’d never explicitly told the father of her children about. It was ridiculous, with large, multicolored glass stones wrapped in glitzy, chipping false gold. But to Katie, it looked like the necklace of an Empress. She picked out from the rack a 1980’s-era dress that would have been quite short on an adult, but dragged around Katie’s feet. The shoulder pads stood out ridiculously on her small shoulders, and she draped the oversized necklace over them dramatically. The finishing touch had to be shoes, she knew, so she headed to the line of the along the floor. Immediately, the miniature fashionista grabbed her favorite: red pumps, in all their alligator pleather glory. Katie wedged her little toes deeply into them, trying to get some grip to walk. Waddling out of the closet, she took a proud look at herself in the old stand up mirror in Grandmas room, just in time for her to burst in from the store. When she saw what her granddaughter had done in her absence, she couldn’t help but laugh. The girl looked like a bad ad for children’s fashion from some mashup of decades, and was grinning from ear to ear like an absolute lunatic. Grandma Joan continued to chuckle as she found one more item in her closet for Katie to wear, and gently rested it on her head. In reality, she looked completely tawdry and ludicrous. But as she looked at her new favorite outfit in Grandma’s mirror, Katie thought she felt like the fanciest lady in the world.
#12 Robust
Harriet’s mouth watered as she waited for her coffee order. It was Sunday, and she needed some time to herself. She’d planned her day out all week, laying clothes out the previous night and everything. Having gotten up early and done some sunrise yoga, Harriet was determined to make the most of her day. It was barely 9am, and she had just placed her order at the coffee shop. Being a Sunday, it was a little early for the shop to start bustling, but signs of hours worth of business were all over. Complimentary copies of the morning paper were already unwrapped and refilled messily on a long table, dishes clanked in the back washroom. In a gap between customers, an attendant wiped the condiment counter, staring wistfully out the nearby window. She was snapped from her reverie when the door chimes open with a new set of customers, who she greeted with a soft, warm, “good morning.” But what Harriet loved most about today’s coffee run was the smell. She LOVED the smell of coffee houses. Everyone does, but Harriet saw it a little different. The robust smell of the roasted beans were always the first thing you notice when entering, the scent wafting out the doors like a cloud of warmth. The smell made her think of comfort, like being wrapped in a cozy blanket in front of a fire. She even swore just the smell of coffee woke up her senses, just a bit, before getting a sip of the real thing. Her eyes soaked up the imaginary coffee fumes, filling her head with serotonin. When her order was finally called, she took the paper cup in her cold hands, letting the warmth flood into her. Without a lid yet, steam drifted off the top layer of liquid, steam that she breathes in with her eyes closed. This smell was heaven, giving her chills all down her body, and she had to smile. The anticipation of the coffee— the smell, the warmth, the sight— Harriet thought it was just as good as the cup itself.
#13 Tasty
An Acrostic: "Tasty" Tantalizing, titillating, exciting to wait Already the anticipation is torture Shivering, shuddering, drooling with desire The need is primal, instinctual, endless Yearning for satisfaction deep inside and a follow-up Haiku: Is it about food or being super horny? Translate as desired Another Haiku: Have your food or sex Both forms of satisfaction Filling a deep hole
#14 Raining
Dreary of day, weathered of stone Moisture gath’ring ‘cross their faces Solemn monuments to life alone In this, a holiest of places Air that burns with copper’s sharpness, the Earth embracing gifts above Tears of the heavens fall to our losses Monuments of those we love Names are old and some are young Tragedies and natural They stand for what we all become However sad, it’s factual The rains fall so far to the ground Landing on graves equally They hardly make a single sound, Just water the ghost peacefully
#15 Spill
Poem? Grandpa took a spill from a step on the front porch While feeding the local bird Broke his left hip on the ground. Jessie spilled his juice All over mom’s clean floors. She’d told him use both hands She’d never trust him now. Scott spilled his deep feelings To Jean on that summer day. It almost broke her heart To turn down his earnest plea. The contents of her bag spilled out-- He spilled out of the car drunkenly-- Hot blood spilled from the deep wound-- Spill the ideas on what to say about spill. Acrostic Spending my days yearning Planning our lives together idly I’ve learned what needs to be done. Love isn’t always a natural inclination Leaving me to try brainwashing, next. Haiku To spill a secret Is to break a sacred trust Forever broken
#16 Moaning
It was Jordan’s freshman year in college, and she was living away from home for the first time. The campus had a variety of forms for students, but she’d managed to snag a room in one of the best ones, designed like apartments with full kitchens and everything. It was basically a beginners apartment, but Jordan loved it. Her roommates were agreeable for the most part, too. There were four of them in total, sharing the dorm’s two bedrooms. Jordan was grateful her own roomie, Tally, was a more introverted type than the other two, who tended to pair up and join late night parties in the City. It worked out well—one or another of the other girls would often bring home boyfriends late at night by surprise, causing the other the (drunkenly, usually) pass out on the couch for the night. But for Jordan and Tally, they preferred a quiet night in, and appreciated one another’s mutual understanding. Late into the second semester, when the girls had really gotten to know one another, Tally’s out of town boyfriend came by for the weekend. She’s been thoughtful enough to bring it up with all the roommates several weeks in advance, and had actually asked Jordan for permission beforehand. They talked it out, and decided he’d sleep on the couch while he was there. It was only two nights, and he’d offered, anyway. When Kyle arrived, the general consensus was that he was nice enough. He joked with the girls well into the correct side of flirtation (the “non” side), and even cooked pancakes one morning. But during his visit, things almost went entirely different. On the second night of Kyle’s stay, Jordan spent the evening in the living room, handling class work. She worked with headphones on, and by some miracle, decided to take them off before stopping in at her room to get her laptop charger. She walked up to the door, which was closed. It didn’t strike her as off in any way, because Tally and Kyle had gone out earlier. As she approached, she thought nothing of what might be inside. Jordan reaches out and out her hand on the door handle, and paused—just for the tiniest moment. Inside, beyond the door, her ears picked up the faintest sound of muffled moaning. Stiffly rocking stock furniture. Oh. She breathed in sharply. Tally and her boyfriend must have come back while she was studying, with her headphone on. She pulled her hand back like the knob was hot. In her mind, there was nothing about this situation that was remotely hot. Just...so very nearly uncomfortable. She backed away from the door slowly, making sure to not make a sound on the carpet. Weeks later, she’d share this story drunkenly on a rare night out with one of the other roommates, who’d share a similar story of her own roomie, but without stopping at the door. While Jordan would never understand why Tally just didn’t say anything (or mark the door with a sock), she would be perpetually glad that she didn’t open the door that evening.
#16 Persuade
Tonight was the night. The High Priestess had planned out every last detail, and would make her move on the Emperor that evening. She’d arranged for a private meeting under the guise of finally bending to the Emperor’s attractions, when in reality she was about to plead for the survival of her entire people. The long whispered rumors of betrayal from inside the court had finally revealed themselves to her scryibg pool, and she had to enact changes quickly to save the kingdom. If the Emperor refuses to act on his own accord, well, she had a contingency ready for that, too. The meeting was in the Emperor’s private dining chambers, one of the most decadently decorated rooms of the palace. A golden gilded table ran down the center of the room, it’s shine made even brighter by the massive, burning torch pits on either end of the room. The table was overflowing with fruit of all color, dried meats, oysters and crystal flagons of wine. The clear glass sparkled in the firelight, reflecting rainbow tones across the spread. The room was entirely open to the outdoors on one side, letting the cool evening breeze blow through the multi-colored silks and scarves that littered the breezeway. Dressed for work, the Priestess almost matched those billowing curtains in a lightweight, flowing gown. This fabric, and the heavy, layered teardrop earrings that went with it, was a shade of gold as beautiful as the table, highlighting the smooth darkness of her skin. It was part of why the Emperor held her in such high regard; he believed her to be a creature of exotic origin. While this was something she often privately laughed about, but tonight needed to use to her advantage. The Emperor was waiting for her like someone out of a smutty pirate romance novel, leaning, open shirt, against a pillar and pretending not to notice her arrival. When she gently cleared her throat and suggested they begin their meal, he skin around dramatically, letting his curly mane hang loose in the wind. He was known for his self obsession. Dinner was as remarkable as a palace meal should be, so nothing new or unusual for either of them. The Priestess picked at her figs and pears sadly, waiting for her Emperor to take the bait. Even he wasn’t so thick, and caught on before long, asking what had such a divine creature so down. Trying to hide her agenda, the Priestess put on her best wistful face and told him the tragic tale of personal heartbreak and fate. The point—someone in the palace was haunting her, emotionally, and she needed them gone. Her performance was excellent, complete with rising to her feet, only to fall to her knees by the seated Emperor. She took his hands and held them to her chest, pleading for mercy on her poor heart. Her lips trembled, her eyes looked up at him, wide and helpless, begging him to take the bait. The Priestess was pleased to discover the Emperor even more malleable in her hands than she expected, and didn’t have to take a single tear to get what she wanted. The rumored betrayer would be put to execution at dawn, never to trifle with her again. The Emperor, as expected, did take her sudden display of needy emotion as an offer to her bed. The Priestess simply continued her game, explaining to her Emperor how she couldn’t possibly give herself to him after such turmoil. As the Emperor called his servants to help her to her quarters to rest away the emotional exhaustion, the Priestess couldn’t help but feel delight at her successful manipulation. It had been so easy, far easier than she expected. Maybe there was more to be attained through this method of playing weak and innocent...
#17 Verdant
When looking at it in terms of pure, emotionless, logic, what Poison Ivy did makes sense. At least, that’s what she told herself. In reality, it was just as much an emotional as it was logical a solution. It was never one single event that set her off, more of a serious string of unpleasant details and decisions made by those who’d rather fill their pockets than protect our world for future generations. This wasn’t new, and certainly not new to Ivy. But things eventually got to a point where the world of options she once felt had withered away, leaving nothing behind but a desperate radicalism. By then, the Pamela Isley that once lived had long since perished, and Poison Ivy, with her control of the Green, was all who remained. And in the end, her takeover was easier than anyone expected. Ivy had taken a step back from the main villain world of Gotham some time ago, and had therefore been mostly written off as “no longer a threat” by both heroes and villains alike. Little did they know, she’d spent much of that time growing. In a remote rooftop garden of an abandoned Gotham hotel, Poison Ivy took resident quietly. There, she settled in, meditating and slowly acclimating the local flora to her presence. The vines and branches that reached her secret garden spoke to her, acted like connections to all corners of Gotham, the entire state, and beyond. She waited patiently in silence, letting herself connect deeply to as much plant life in the planet as she could. This part was easy, too, in that it seemed most the world’s wildlife was more than willing to add themselves to her network. In time, she was ready, and the world changed abruptly one beautiful Fall morning. Ivy had done cruel things in her past, but this was on another level. She’d seen enough from the worlds media to make her judgements, and she found the world wanting. Linking with the plants of the world, Ivy struck. She ripped apart corrupt world leaders, senators who led by lies, anyone in power who had ever breathed a word against the conservancy of her precious Green. Her children were ruthless, leaving nothing behind but the flowers that burst through their corpses. In the cities, her Greenery worked quickly, disabling electricity, phone lines, even every car on the streets was dismantled effortlessly. When some humans tried to fight back, Ivy stepped up her game, fully branching her system of roots and vines out to form biped bodies to return the violence in kind. National defense systems, local militias, and armed police were all handled without breaking a sweat. It took less than five minutes for Poison Ivy to completely destabilize the entire world, far faster than any of the heroes were able to catch up to. With the system of plant life across the globe she’d gained complete control over, Ivy was ultimately invincible, and they were at her mercy. In the end, Ivy attained the Eden she hoped for. Gotham, for instance, was left totally unrecognizable. Once a city of drudgery and despair, Gotham had been reimagined in Ivy’s image. The once smog-stained windows of the city’s many skyscrapers had been smashed out, now braided with intertwined brambles and vines. Lush leaves and grasses burst from immobile vehicles, rusting in the streets. Multi-colored flowers peppered the walls of the once proud buildings, covering absolutely every surface to be seen. There were plenty of survivors in Ivy’s paradise, human ones and animal alike. Trouble was low, as her plant-soldiers would emerge from the ground vines covering the world if anyone ever called for help. Ivy might have destroyed modern society, but she ruled her remaining world with empathy and dignity. No one starved, as she provided more than enough produce to her subjects around the globe. The heroes didn’t have a whole lot to fight, since her soldiers kept the peace. No one ever found where Ivy hid herself, and this new status quo was...oddly acceptable, to pretty much everyone left alive. Poison Ivy turned the Earth into Eden, for no one to corrupt ever again.
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