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One may see how this world goes with no eyes. Hawke walked through the seedy streets of Lowtown, making her way back to her home. The dusk painted the parchment-coloured walls rich reds and golds, and by the time they reached her mansion, the noble stones would be swathed in blue-black night.
Isabela walked at Hawke's right, her long fingers nestling Hawke's elbow, as was her custom. Hawke looked to her lover with a half-grin. Her body was made for sin, from her face, tanned red and bathed in redder light, her arms strong with a life spent pulling herself back to her feet, her legs well-formed and powerful from her favourite pursuits.
Her eyes, too, caught the light, and Hawke's deep blue eyes were drawn to the other woman's gold. There was more to those eyes than what appeared in them readily. More than their beauty, their twinkling mischief, and even the way they misted when her smile was too happy.
Yet they weren't the eyes Hawke really wanted. Hawke had memorized a face that would never look at her with the adorati
Nothing untowardEvelyn set down the cloth she had been using to polish her name plate. She looked at the desk ornament again with pride, feeling the weight of the duty her title set on her strong shoulders.
Evelyn Fallon Chief of Police
She sat down at her desk, straightening the burnt orange epaulets on her shoulders. She deposited the cloth in her chest of drawers and fetched a pen and stationary emblazoned with the NYPD insignia at the header.
"To Sen. Kirk Orson-"
A soft knock at the door roused her from her train of thought. Through the frosted glass with her name painted on, Evelyn saw an outline that brought a little half-smile to the corner of her mouth.
"Come in, Donna," she said in a businesslike tone, her thick Southie Boston accent belying without a doubt that she was not from the metropolis she proudly served.
Donna opened the door slowly, and walked in with her cap under one arm. Though her posture was perfect, almost military, her smile was mischievous.
Evelyn looked into Donna's
Dr. Chakwas and Commander Shepard RomanceDr. Chakwas finished bandaging Shepard's arm, her skillful fingers and light touch avoiding causing undue pain. She peeled off her gloves and threw them away.
"You're lucky, commander," Chakwas said with a hint of reprimand. "The shot passed clean through the arm. Shouldn't be any permanent damage. It might not even scar."
She turned back to the cot and typed a simple command into the robotic scanning wand, which made a pass over the bed, disinfecting the area.
"Do you need anything else, commander?"
Shepard looked away, a thousand thoughts running through her mind. She took a deep, steadying breath that shuddered at the end with a subtle sob. Shepard ignored the tears that sat around her middle. They wouldn't reach her eyes, but they tinged her voice as she spoke to the aged doctor.
"Maybe I do, Doc," she said, her eyes trained on the wall.
Chakwas heard the uncharacteristic uncertainty in Shepard's voice. She walked over to Shepard's right, and laid a gentle hand on Shepar
Newest Form of Faceless Creature
These newly discovered beasts have been identified as a more evolved hybrid of the Faceless Creature. They have finally adapted with eye sockets and teeth, yet they still have not developed eye balls or actual mouths with a throat. This species has grown even skinnier and taller. This one that was the first finding of its kind is a young adult and is currently 15.79 feet tall. The species of all Faceless Creature never develop a gender so the only way they can reproduce and create other versions of their species is that about one in every fifteen of them will develop a tumor-like mass somewhere on their bodies which later grows and 'births' a new creature. With this creature in particular demonstrates how in some cases the newly birthed creatures will develop abnormally depending on the area of the 'tumor'. Usually when the 'baby' will combine with the 'parent' like so, is caused from the 'tumor' forming on the head. With this species (and the one just before) also is usually de
Walls of Glass and DataThe first thing everyone notices is the walls. Not the fact the people on the front desk are comprised of foglets or that the engineer who passed them has carbon blades for legs or that Dr. Saraswati in Cryomedical is an uplifted octopus. No, its always the walls. Its not that they aren't interesting, more just not the first thing you would think people would pickup on.
You can see what I mean right? The walls in every one of TransTech's main corridors are glass, coated with a film like layer of optical circuits. Which I suppose is our fancy, high tech equivalent of whiteboards, but did you really expect any different from us? We have the added advantage though of being able to see through them to what the research team on the other side is working on. And often as not, their writing on the walls too because your not exactly going to scrabble for your tablet or, if your old school, pen & paper if you can just reach up and scribble down your eureka moment for all the rest of the tea
Dialogue“Hey, we got one over here.”
“Is that... Is that what they look like?”
“You never seen one before?”
“Well, pictures, magazines, television, but not in front of me.”
“Is it different that what you imagined?”
“I didn’t think that they would look so... human.”
“What? They don’t to you?”
“Nope, it looks like what it is.”
“It looks like my cousin.”
“Have you seen your cousin for a whi-”
“Well, you can count yourself lucky I guess.”
“What do you mean lucky? This thing is squirming around, trying to get onto the dock, falling to pieces in the process. If lucky is feeling like you’re about to throw up, then yeah, I’m ‘real lucky’.”
“Not that many rookies get a chance to do such a thing, putting one down. Especially on their first day.”
ConversionAlong the corridors we walk.
Bare-footed I pad silently ahead, faintly aware of the coldness in the steel floor. I need no guidance, for everyone knows this path. We are all born knowing that, for many, these are the final steps we are witnessed taking. It is an unspoken thing.
His footsteps behind me are quieter than expected, much like the rest of his demeanor. There is no threat; there is no point. My body can be broken from a simple blow, my flesh ripped and limbs torn without any effort. Drunken tales of heroism and valiancy from the Old World are passed down and exacerbated around bonfires.
We enter the Conversion Chamber, and momentarily I am stunned by the sudden drop in temperature. Cold air rushes into my lungs, causing me to cough involuntarily. I pause and drop my eyes to the floor, my right hand raised to my mouth instinctively to stifle another cough.
My feet begin to ache from the chill in the floor, a throb slowly rising through my shins threatening to cramp my calves.
Let It Burn“C’mon, Ren. You can do this,” Ren told himself.
He had been kneeling on the dojo floor by himself for close to 18 hours, his fingers steepled, thumbs and index fingers locked together in circles. His knees ache ached. His back ached. His core ached. His patience was worn thin. On the floor in front of him sat a little altar, a bare fluorescent bulb the only offering. For almost twenty days he had been channeling his qi into the bulb, willing it to light up from a spark channeled from deep within. But there was nothing. And his frustration boiled.
He forced himself to choke that frustration down, like an entire bottle of bitter pills. He imagined how his father did this, channeling his intensity of focus and manipulating his internal energy into lightning. Lawin was a physical Prime who mastered the element of Air, a bonafide legend. While Ren had impressive martial arts prowess in his own right, he needed to make one more giant push to start crawling out from u
SilenceIt was so quiet in space. That was the worst part. Even when the comet struck the ship there'd been no sound. No rending crash, no screeching of metal. Nothing. He'd always heard that sound couldn't travel in a vacuum, but he'd never really believed it till now.
He'd been outside, performing routine maintenance on the hull when a large shadow had fallen over him. Looking up, he'd seen a massive chunk of rock, billowing steam. In a moment of panic he'd pushed off the hull with his feet and triggered his maneuvering jets to get as far from the ship as possible.
In the stone age of space exploration, special hose-like tethering lines were used to keep astronauts from floating too far from the ship when they performed maintenance tasks. These had long ago been abandoned in favor of newer, better equipment: magnetized footwear, maneuvering jets by which a person could thrust their way from one spot to another on the hull of any space vessel, even fly tight circles around it if they were so
Ninth World Vignette - SlethraRage...
A buzzing in your cranial implant wakes you. You sit for a few minutes hearing nothing but the chirping of night insects and some prairie beast rooting around in the dirt. You begin contemplating the greenish hue of the moon and nearly forget the reason for your restlessness before you hear the sound again. Or, more accurately, feel it. There's an almost imperceptible rumbling permeating the earth.
"Rage," it says.
"Kill," it commands, urging you north toward the Cloudcrystal Skyfields.
Its source is miles away, your instincts tell you; better measured in leagues even. The immense distance is a cold comfort considering the creature responsible for the tremors. You know what it is; you read about it during your research regarding jiraskar at the Tichronus Estate: Slethra they call her--"nuisance" in the Gaian tongue; a tongue-in-cheek understatement, if ever there was one. According to the stories, she's as black as night and as big as the sky.
The pilgrims and wayfarers
In the End - 235 words"Look at them, Marcus. Take away their pain and they'll do anything! Father always said it wasn't human, but after all what's good about human nature? That's why I'm talking to a severed head." The mad man paused, glancing at the vacant stare and limp skin mounted on the wall. "Well, he's not here now, so it doesn't matter anyway."
A knock came at the door.
"What?" he snapped.
The door opened and a man bowed his way into the sterile white room, holding a silver platter in his hands.
"Idiot!" The mad man dashed the platter out of his hands, spilling everything. "I want alcohol."
Smiling and nodding without a word, the man left.
The mad man snarled at the closing door, then paused. A shudder crossed his face, contorting his features. Clutching at the back of a green armchair, the only piece of furniture in the room, as pain shot through his abdomen, he looked at the part of the wall where a faded outline was all that remained of a mirror. He frowned, collapsing into the chair.
Bridge Talk<LeadHeart787>The bridge was quiet this day. The cosmos were bright with the birth of stars across its gape, illustrating the ship's frontal view with splashes of purple and deep hues of blue/green. The head engineer found his head upright; ears alert, crooked brow raised and eyes showing an odd emotion for the Brawnirin; fear. Sun-dipped irises jittered as Nogen eyed each star that lay before them, staff and the likes down below taking their well-needed rest. Don't lose hope, Nogen would think to himself, a lump in his throat. Soon.
<pixiemoth>Anya was peeking around when she came across the bridge. The young sahkqueetzu slowly peeked inside from the observation deck, noticing that one guy who usually explains the mission goals before they begin, "Ey! What'cha doing?" she asked, a cheeky, toothless grin on her face as she slowly approached the old guy.
<LeadHeart787>Ears twiddling with every syllable Anya produced, he would lower his brow before looking over his shou
Dr. Chakwas and Commander Shepard - ScarsShepard sighed contentedly, nudging Chakwas' shoulder with her nose. In response to the nuzzle, Dr. Chakwas flipped onto her side. She caressed Shepard's face, her thumb gently stroking the younger woman's cheek.
She leaned close, her hot breath sending Shepard into shivers as Chakwas slowly planted a soft peck on her lips.
Shepard kissed her more deeply, with sweet, lingering kisses. They were gentle kisses, good morning kisses.
"Hello," murmured Dr. Chakwas with a wry smile.
She fixed a tender kiss on the tip of Shepard's nose. Shepard made a little sigh and flopped on her back. Chakwas eased her torso over Shepard's, her left hand brushing the stray hair from Shepard's face, her right stroking Shepard's arm.
"Thanks, Chakwas," Shepard muttered.
"Of course," Chakwas said in a soft, chuckling voice. She gave Shepard another light kiss. "I've wanted to be with you for years."
A look of consternation crossed Shepard's face.
"The scars didn't faze you?"
The old doctor appeared confused.
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More