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Wk00.3 @thFloor brought to you by SAMSUNG &TH CIA
Date: 2017/03/08 00:47 By: tqr Status: Admin  
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[Rorschalk comes down, aye, rolls like hubcab dislodged at the corner of a screeching then and burning rubber now, with bits of red splatter and some more meaty insinuations of tattered flesh and pulverized bone, when he finishes rolling, he comes up on his feet like a master gymnast executing a stunning high-flying tumbling run ... arms held high as if for the olympic crowd's immolation ... er, emulation? jubilation, excavation? discombobulation, no satisfactuation?
shun shun shun shun, yeah. well, fuck it]

Lo! What scrawny skinny tied lout is scrambling toward the tent? It is the east! Boligard! Nay. Put down that thirsty knife, for blood is its only intent. Just as you have thought your quest a just one, how do you know that you have not killed an innocent man?

[But it is too late, the fanatic has disappeared into the geodesic nylon structure wherein the sounds of screams turn to gurgling and then silence as a young girl pulls back the flap and runs away from the turgid, squalid scene, perhaps again to live for at least another span of days in this insufferable maze of concrete, steel and dismay. Rorschalk stays where he is, not wishing to bear witness to the deed, that may well be actionable in a court of low should any law be brazen enough to brave the jungle.]

Boligard! Please. Your point is proved!

[He reaches back and draws his gun, firing a banging bullet into the sky, surprised at the joy the heavy recoil brings]

Come back to us, I pray you!
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Re:Wk00.3 @thFloor brought to you by SAMSUNG &TH CIA
Date: 2017/03/10 14:10 By: deplancher Status: Admin  
Karma: 14  
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Yes, come back to us Barbara Lewis, Pancho Cisco, Boligard.

We are scaling walls. And the walls are falling to pieces. Peace upon you...hey, Jesus, shake my hand. We are sailing on a boat toward the sea and need full company. Mais oui mais oui mais three plus zero est still three.

The less you work the more trouble you do. Trouble is what happens when you pursue troubled mind.

It's so warm in here. Somebody. Please. Just bring me some water. ...the kind without debris floating in the glass. Life must go on and I...you too...we're in it. Salut.

[DeP looks up and around. She realizes she's been uttering aloud the words that belong only in her journal of existential potential.]

Sometimes, a person loses awareness of the space around her. But not really. Not really. Imagination is our only sanctuary. Climb in. Bounce like a loose limbed dummy on the Rebounder. Juggle awhile. Write, if you have something bold to say or draw, upon the walls with this paint. Try on Macklemore's grandfather's clothes. You might feel like dancing, who knows? You can do whatever you please here so long as you stay in your own head.

Careful with that axe, Theodore. We need you and every other one here against their assigned posts on the stable Floor.

DeP
A Bluelight Dancer/Not a Pocketbook Romancer
of The Floor
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Re:Wk00.3 @thFloor brought to you by SAMSUNG &TH CIA
Date: 2017/03/10 23:20 By: Jesus Status: Admin  
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[Jesus steps out from behind the sheilding cherrywood, his combat shades tucked tight to his eyeballs. He walks over to DePlancher, a tumbler of water held in one hand. The maid outfit has gone a couple shades of grey since last he ventured beyond the desk. He steps up to the front edge of DePlancher's desk and extends his free hand to shake]

Ms. DePlancher. These are times, aren't they, like a dream, like a sad era, an epoch, a week back in history eons ago. But it's now. Here, I brought you a glass of water.

[He hands her the tumbler of water, shakes her hand. And then he turns]

Mr. Rorschalk. You're back. You did not find Boligard. Crapola granola.

[Jesus goes back to the cherrywood, sits in the pilot's chair, places his iPhone on the desktop downstage left, and he grabs up some fresh capital from the cornered pile]

Examining George Garnet's Emergency Call currently. But, all watching should be aware of the fact that I am worried about our hero Boligard. So that might effect my weighing of the current capital. Might.

[Jesus eyes the iPhone]

But anyway.

[He starts examining Emergency Call. He eyes his iPhone. He examines. He eyes his iPhone. He examines
]
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Re:Wk00.3 @thFloor brought to you by SAMSUNG &TH CIA
Date: 2017/03/11 01:52 By: tqr Status: Admin  
Karma: -1999976  
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[Rorschalk falls through a glitch in the matrix, or maybe it's just a hole in the floor, and lands hard on the Floor's floor, crunching some of those mythical and legendary glass tiles beneath his velocitized weight ... then, after a moment of stillness and silence, he peels himself from the cracked impression, rolling over onto his stomach and forcing himself to his hands and knees, he cries...]

They're voting "MAYBE" in the Terminal! What is this place turing into? "Maybe!" Noooo-ho-ho-ho-ho-ho...ach

[Tears and snots form a viscid suspension bridge of sorts from his chin to the tiles, which have now started to blink as they once did in days of yore when Soul Train was a thing and Barry and the Brothers Gibb were top of the pops and more]
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Re:Wk00.3 @thFloor brought to you by SAMSUNG &TH CIA
Date: 2017/03/12 00:10 By: deplancher Status: Admin  
Karma: 14  
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[DeP is standing on a chair sticking a poster of some guy nobody knows on the wall with fun tack. She gets down, stands back. It must be straight or at least to her liking because she drags the chair back to the wall under the window and goes back over to her desk where she glugs the rest of the water from the glass that Jesus filled.]

And I do thank you for that, friend Jesus. I get so thirsty sometimes..must be something in the paper. Oui, I know I can read the caps onscreen but I like the hard copy. I like reading while pacing around on these glass tiles, muttering the content aloud sometimes if I feel like it...you know, for emphasis. Oh, does that bother you, Jesus? Is it distracting? I didn't think it would be distracting because Doomey never complains and we listen to music all the time. And dance when the feeling moves us. We do a lot of things to give it our best, you know? Know what I mean, Jesus? Reading isn't just...mere reading is it? Not really.

You can't just live in your head.

So, I've been in the Liberty Compound and I have visited the Freedom Compound. I have seen the brutality of humans who cannot seem to learn either from history, herstory, or the prophetic future. You know what? Most humans suck. I mean, they have potential...some of them even know it and still thwart it for immediate gratification. For a spot on Reality TV or some tanned guy's yacht. Or a thirty second rubdown from a black bottom girl.

Off track. Sorry. This VC weaves words quite well. Obviously going somewhere with it. But not this time. VC Cusumano's The Change has been forwarded to the deluge and, I believe, is being used for kindling in the Rattletown March Campfire right now. Free hotdogs on 21st Street!

DeP
A Bluelight Dancer/Not a Pocketbook Romancer
of The Floor
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Re:Wk00.3 @thFloor brought to you by SAMSUNG &TH CIA
Date: 2017/03/12 15:12 By: deplancher Status: Admin  
Karma: 14  
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[DeP is at her desk handwriting a letter. She writes it with a fountain pen, a leaky one by the look of the paper which definitely has legible words on it but also several not quite dried ink blotches. She might be crying a little but it's hard to tell. It's hard to tell.]

This might be more dangerous than when you had your arms pulled off and part of your larynx shredded, I am not sure. Your calls to Jesus are the calls of desperation, of a haunted man, or a hunted one. Doomey! Anything could happen to you out there, on the other side of the needle. Near those docks and stinky fish boats. You of all people...oh, yes yes, mon cher, experienced and worldly and smart and wiley and...ready, but a saviour?

And Sunday's are lonesome. We miss you. Where are you where are you where are you? [she puts her head in her hands. Ink drips from the pen. Ink marks her fingers, her forehead, her nose. The words of her letter are lost under a spreading miniature lake of black ink.]

We might have to hire Investigator Ivinka if we don't hear from him soon. And she's expensive.

DeP
A Bluelight Dancer/Not a Pocketbook Romancer
of The Floor
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Re:Wk00.3 @thFloor brought to you by SAMSUNG &TH CIA
Date: 2017/03/14 01:00 By: Jesus Status: Admin  
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[Jesus wets his thumb with his tongue, and he flips a page. He looks over at DePlancher, he raises his bushy, branchy thorned eyebrows and he tilts his head slightly]

You can not possibly miss that horrible man.

[Jesus examines the capital, and he pulls a yellow highlighter from inside his maid costume, and he highlights a particular oddness, a trip hazard. And we, being ghosts, get to see what the christ doesn't like. He'd highlighted the lines "Larsen pauses as Jerry drops a wrench they have used earlier. Jerry curses and picks it up again raising it as if to throw it." And we all know that's some pretty damn ugly crafting, but Lord knows what Jesus makes of it. Jesus slams the capital down on the cherrywood's desktop. He leans forward]

I mean, seriously. You miss that horrible man?

[He grabs up the current capital. He balls it up and tosses it into the rafters]

George Garnet did not come to the party wearing a well dressed suit, ladies. I am pretty sure that English is not his first and fav words, right? One thing I've learned since joining these crazy peoples that populate TQR is that you must at least try to maintain a good looking smile while walking down the deluged street, and you must smoke your cigars with grace, and you must inform folks when they try to craft but don't do it well, and you can not allow your eyebrows to overgrow, right? George Garnet's Emergency Call just got thrown into the rafters, don't know if you saw that, but, yeah.
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