sputtering green glow and showers of sparks as the Scientist argues with himself, sprained ligament and tools clattering to the floor in a string of curses
My apologies, my friends.
androids fumbling with emergency power sources, dodging tentacles as a planet's core chimes mournfully towards critical mass
black and red tail arcing from rooftop to rooftop, jungle instincts and borrowed dreams lead crimson eyes over polluted sprawl
I'm just tired. Tired of second-guessing myself over what to disclose. Tired of wondering how long the Stalemate will last. Tired of fretting over what to write and who it's going to piss off. Too much time, not enough energy. A cast of characters arguing over the script, but the spotlight's broken and the costumes are shredded and the theater's roof is leaking.
a school of fish surround the clouded orb, then scatter as a pale hand slams against its inner wall
Another epic, thy want. Grittier and more gruesome than the last with no shark-jumping. All while supposedly hiding in the shadows and Invitation Only.
red wings soar from dream to dream, whispering warning to old allies
Let me get the financials under control first. Then I might shine the flashlight into that corners where the Masons have been hiding.
a glass of bloodwyne poured under a pale mountain moon, ageless hands idly unrolling watchmaker's tools
"All in good time, mein Herr. All in good time..."