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| Xeogaming Forums - - Posts by Cairoi |
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Cairoi This isn't about you and your loud mouth, This is about me and my fucking beard.         Since: 08-29-04 From: PA Since last post: 4860 days Last activity: 4484 days |
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| Benjamin bent down and pushed off the ground, flying forward, inches above the steps, before landing in a roll. Without a second thought, he continued the momentum of his roll with a job that cleared the oncoming fireball. He hit the ground in a stiff stance, exhaling.
"These old bones can deal with one little fireball." |
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Cairoi This isn't about you and your loud mouth, This is about me and my fucking beard. Since: 08-29-04 From: PA Since last post: 4860 days Last activity: 4484 days |
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| John dashed up a grassy hill, his mind leaking of cognitive functioning. At the top of the hill he leaped over the steel railing of the road and kept moving, his eyes locked on the thick forest ahead. Seconds before he touched the end of the pavement, the blaring screech of a car horn filled the air, accompanied with a blinding light. He turned like an animal at the oncoming car seconds before being struck. He flipped up in the air and landed squarely on his leg, howling in pain. The car skidded to a stop, and the worried driver clambored out to look at his victim. Besides a small pool of blood, he was nowhere to be found.
Deep in the woods, by a quiet riverside, John cupped water into his hands and poured it onto his wounds. He was curled up like a hound, grimacing at the pain of his leg and shoulders. Night was falling. |
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Cairoi This isn't about you and your loud mouth, This is about me and my fucking beard. Since: 08-29-04 From: PA Since last post: 4860 days Last activity: 4484 days |
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| John's head snapped back, and he stared at Evan with the eyes of a monster. He quickly caught himself, and fighting against every fiber in his body, he spoke.
"...Evan, right?" |
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Cairoi This isn't about you and your loud mouth, This is about me and my fucking beard. Since: 08-29-04 From: PA Since last post: 4860 days Last activity: 4484 days |
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| John groaned as he turned around, stretching his leg out. His voice was gruff, but it calmed down the more he spoke.
"I'll be fine. I was just going for a walk and I fell off a little cliff a ways back. The leg hurts, but it's not broken. I'm just a little banged up, is all." |
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Cairoi This isn't about you and your loud mouth, This is about me and my fucking beard. Since: 08-29-04 From: PA Since last post: 4860 days Last activity: 4484 days |
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| John reached for Evan's hand and took it, rising to his feet in a pained manner. He made eye contact with Evan, reading his intentions as best as the lessening light would allow. He was immersed in figuring out this new friend until he heard Kate's voice. He felt a pulse inside him.
"She can't see me like this. I'm not risking that. I'll see you again, Evan. Thanks." He turned and crunched his teeth together before making an impassioned leap. He cleared half of the river before falling in completely. He rose up, cleared the rest of the distance, and limped into the shadows of the trees, disappearing from sight. |
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Cairoi This isn't about you and your loud mouth, This is about me and my fucking beard. Since: 08-29-04 From: PA Since last post: 4860 days Last activity: 4484 days |
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| I’ve always been known for my sense of smell. It’s not that it’s necessarily stronger than the average person, or that it is more refined. What makes my sense of smell so unique is its power of selection. Since childhood, my knack of sensing important aromas has gained me the nickname of “Rover” amongst my family. From smelling the slight accidental addition of detergent in my mother’s spaghetti dinner at the age of 6, to the hidden pet droppings stashed away in the living room at 13, it’s almost like fate guides me by the nose and says “Here is the key. Unlock the door.”
This is the story I try to tell before explaining how I found Dad. Sometimes, it’s hard to have a sense of humor about this, but I know this is how he would’ve wanted the story told. I knew from the first moment I walked in the house something was wrong. I smelt the absence of life. For the rest of the day, in between tears, I tried to think back, and it just seems like I had sensed the truth the moment I woke up. It just took a few hours for my eyes to catch up with my nose. Acting by his will, we handled his affairs as quietly as possible. A simple obituary was posted, short notice before his funeral would arrive. We found a cheap funeral home in Crestwood Funeral Services. It was a large, ancient-looking building, more like a castle than any funeral home you’d see today. The director, Thomas Crestwood, informed us of his years of expertise and sympathy with our family’s financial plight. Mom and I looked over the bill a few times, desperate for some hidden catch. There wasn’t any. The days before the funeral were a blur. Amidst all the affairs that had to be settled, I had little time to ponder anything. Mr. Crestwood was a huge help for Mom and me. When one of us would become overwhelmed, he would swoop in and draw us in his bony arms, pulling apart our woes like they were mere cloth. He even talked out Mom’s guilt over being on vacation when Dad passed on, something I thought impossible. He was an angel when we needed him. Our angel cloaked in a flared tuxedo. With the ring of brass shattering the overcast morning, the day of the funeral had come. I entered the home and quickly realized this was not my time to grieve. I was forced to siphon the masses from parlor door to the viewing floor, fighting the rapid currents of woe they brought with them. This was no easy battle, and soon I found my self stripped of jacket and tie, now informally dressed among the newcomers, sweat on the small of my back. I had no time to find them, as the procession began. Mr. Crestwood started the ceremony with a surprisingly moving speech based on Mother and my own recollections we’d shared with him. His high, powerful voice, slightly scratchy, moved many of the viewers to tears. Had I not smelled blood that very moment, it is likely I would have cried as well. Mom was up next. She pulled out a wrinkled piece of printer paper, stained with tears. She tried to read about our trip to Disney World nine years ago and how my dad had packed me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for every day we explored the amusement park, and how he used to cut the grass before the sun would come out. She couldn’t. Everyone understood. Now it was my turn to speak. I hadn’t really been given the time to think of what to say before, so I scanned the crowd now, looking for inspiration. When my eyes passed Mr. Crestwood, I felt the pools of blackness he called eyes boring into me. I saw in his face the words I could’ve said, but now seemed unable to access. I allowed myself to tear up, blamed my lack of speech on emotion, and sat down. Everyone understood. As I helped carry the casket to the grave, I smelled it again. Blood. I couldn’t understand it then, but the smell of dried blood filled my senses, and occupied my thoughts. I watched my father lowered into the ground and the shadowy mass of mourners disperse. I stood, immobile, in the rain, until the smell of blood was masked with mud. As I turned the ignition of my car, I realized I had forgotten my jacket and tie at the funeral home. I quickly returned, planning simply to jump in, fetch my belongings, and parting. I hopped up the steps, pushed open the doors, and made my way to the viewing section. Unsurprisingly, the jacket was curled up on the floor, wrapped around a seat. I pulled it loose and made my way for the door. Before I could make it to the parlor, I felt my body freeze up. The smell of blood had crept before me again. This time, I was going to get to the bottom of it. Off to the right was a quiet hallway, illuminated by candlelight. Following it down into the building, a growing fear filled me. Soon enough, I found a door, slightly ajar, filling the dark hallway with a harsh light. As I debated my choices, I felt Fate seize hold of me. It had given me the key. I must unlock the door. I stepped forward and immersed myself in the blinding light of the truth. “Oh, young man.” Mr. Crestwood lamented as he finished squeezing the human heart in his hands dry of a glowing, silver fluid. “Why did you do this to yourself?” I saw in his face the words I could’ve said once, but now seemed unable to access. “Yes, I know this isn’t embalming. I assume you’ll want a full explanation of what you’ve just seen.” I nodded slightly, only to show I was still alive. “You see, in a man’s life, he is faced with dilemmas. He must decide where his heart lies, and must follow it until the bitter end. I, like all men, was faced with such a dilemma. For me, however, it has been some time since I made it. Five hundred years, to be more precise.” I should’ve shown more disbelief, more astonishment and fear, but my features were frozen, and his words seemed far more commanding than I remembered. “It’s not so wrong, really. I just collect the life force the freshly dead no longer use, consume it, and extend my life. As a funeral director, I enjoy the unique power of being paid to remain immortal. However, the freshly dead only give me so much, so I must settle with bargain prices to ensure a constant stream.” I took a step forward, truly impassioned. “Did you really do this to my father?” He looked at me with dumbfounded curiousity. “Why wouldn’t I?” I grew furious. “Who chose you to live forever?! What do you think gives you the right to feast upon the dead?!” He looked at me again with those unbelieving eyes. “Fate. I did not seek these rituals, spells, or immortal life. It chose me. It fed me the method, and the meat. It has guided me by these age old hands and unlocked the door for me.” His words hit too close to home. “This ends here, you monster!” He laughs. “So here we are, two men of Fate’s design at a crossroads. Only she can decide who is right.” I lift the rusty surgical saw to my left. He clenches his scalpel. We both move forward. I smell blood. ---------------------------------------- Got the idea from a story idea generator: The story starts when the protagonist smells something strange. Another character is a mortician who claims that s/he has been alive since the 1500s. I've just noticed that I have a habit of including villains in my stories that prey upon humans for some form of satisfaction (Mulligan, as well.) They tend to be manipulative, skillful with social interaction, and adept at pulling off personas. Maybe this is just my send off to Mulligan after putting so much work into it. Better to get it out of my system now before I start working on my next script. Really not happy with this story, but better to post it and get criticism then do nothing at all. Anyway, enjoy and feel free to leave comments! |
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Cairoi This isn't about you and your loud mouth, This is about me and my fucking beard. Since: 08-29-04 From: PA Since last post: 4860 days Last activity: 4484 days |
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| My entry into my high school's annual film fest. It placed second, and I won Best Actor for my role as Nathan. Watch, critique, comment, and/or enjoy. This is, all things considered, the first film I've ever completed.
(Last edited by Cairoi on 04-14-09 03:29 AM) |
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Cairoi This isn't about you and your loud mouth, This is about me and my fucking beard. Since: 08-29-04 From: PA Since last post: 4860 days Last activity: 4484 days |
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Originally posted by Ryan I'd say I'm around there. I'd say my favorite games are Chrono Cross and Grim Fandango, but I'll be fine if they don't make another Chrono game. I enjoy the artists of the genre, like Tim Schafer, and the things they do, but I can also appreciate casual games, like Left 4 Dead. Lately, the two games I've been playing the hell out of are Bioshock (finally lent from a friend, LOVE this), and the original Megaman series. Beat III a few days ago, looking at IV as next. |
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Cairoi This isn't about you and your loud mouth, This is about me and my fucking beard. Since: 08-29-04 From: PA Since last post: 4860 days Last activity: 4484 days |
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Originally posted by RyanOriginally posted by Raoh No More Heroes is AWESOME. Originally posted by RyanOriginally posted by Cairoi I don't care what anyone says, Left 4 Dead is a casual game. It's amazing, but it's a game casuals have adopted into their collection. All the bros I know play it, as well as hardcore gamers. |
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Cairoi This isn't about you and your loud mouth, This is about me and my fucking beard. Since: 08-29-04 From: PA Since last post: 4860 days Last activity: 4484 days |
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Originally posted by Rogue Ugh, it really bothers me when people complain about this. I'm sorry, I'm not trying to target you, but I've heard this incessentently since Monday night, and it irks me. With a cut budget and limited time to focus on the actual battle, the more they would've shown, the cheesier and unawesome it could really be. I'm more a fan of leaving it in my imagination than having some half-baked crapfest churned out with a less than able cash flow. |
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Cairoi This isn't about you and your loud mouth, This is about me and my fucking beard. Since: 08-29-04 From: PA Since last post: 4860 days Last activity: 4484 days |
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Originally posted by Rogue I'm sorry, but that would suck. I mean, he should go back to his family because he wants to, but I don't think Sylar is going to kill them. Basically, from interviews and shit I've been gathering, here's what is going to happen: The longer Nathan's conciousness is 'dominant' in Sylar, the more of a foothold it's getting. It's not "really" Nathan at first, but with the memories and the DNA shifting, he is truly becoming Nathan. What's going to happen is Sylar and Nathan are going to have a battle for dominance of the soul. This is the truest defeat Sylar has ever been handed in the show, as if he loses this battle, his existence could be gone forever. Anyone else feel really upset about Sylar's mindwipe when they showed him as a kid in the flashbacks? That kid was an amazing actor. |
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Cairoi This isn't about you and your loud mouth, This is about me and my fucking beard. Since: 08-29-04 From: PA Since last post: 4860 days Last activity: 4484 days |
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Originally posted by RogueOriginally posted by Cairoi "I Am Sylar" = Psycho + superpowers. Anyway, yeah. Sylar has begun to lose his identity, making him prime for the shift of power in him caused by Matt's dirty deed. Will Sylar be strong enough to be gain control, or will Nathan 2.0 gain dominance and finally bury the demon? Either way, expect some amazing shit. |
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Cairoi This isn't about you and your loud mouth, This is about me and my fucking beard. Since: 08-29-04 From: PA Since last post: 4860 days Last activity: 4484 days |
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| Happy extremely belated birthday, and wow, talk about an awesome birthday.
I love Greek mythology and philosophy, but also Roman literature and history. |
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Cairoi This isn't about you and your loud mouth, This is about me and my fucking beard. Since: 08-29-04 From: PA Since last post: 4860 days Last activity: 4484 days |
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| If I was him, I would cut off her balls in her sleep and sell them.
Oh wait, chicks don't have balls. I would exact appropriate justice upon her. Also, this kind of thing really is an indicator of the health of the relationship. |
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Cairoi This isn't about you and your loud mouth, This is about me and my fucking beard. Since: 08-29-04 From: PA Since last post: 4860 days Last activity: 4484 days |
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Happy birthday, man. Enjoy all the terrible vices associated with your becoming an adult!
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Cairoi This isn't about you and your loud mouth, This is about me and my fucking beard. Since: 08-29-04 From: PA Since last post: 4860 days Last activity: 4484 days |
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| I am a fan of not listening to the radio. However, people manage to infiltrate their shit music into my ear recepticles.
1. No, T-Pain, I will not blame it on the a-ah-ah-ah-ah-alcohol. (on a side note: I used to enjoy that you were on a boat until the bros noticed. Now, you're kind of telling me too much.) 2. The disgusting seven headed neo-country beheamoth crawling out of Nashville. Look, I don't care that you're wearing a cowboy hat and injecting your "meaningful", cockslappingly basic lyrics with a tinge of Southern drawl, you are overproduced pop. You are all the same thing. You all sound the same. You all sing about the same shit. Johnny Cash, as our once and future king, I humbly ask you to rise once more and judge your inbred descendants. 3. Bands that escape universal hatred only because they fornicate in the shadows of bigger bands that attract more hate for less evil. Case in point? Metro Station. I despise Metro Station. However, most people don't care to hate them because they are obsessed with hatred for Hannah Montana and the Jonas Brothers. While I'm certainly not a fan of either, they each actually have some inkling of talent. Nickelback and Good Charlotte, I'm watching you as well. 4. First and foremost, no matter what bands I hate, the majority of bands have some musical skill or reason they are popular, albeit I may disagree. Some people, however, dereft of talent or a work ethic to achieve skill, still manage to get CDs produced and sold. These are normally celebrities who's fame purchases them a "One Free Album" ticket. Paris Hilton, Hayden Panettiere, Lindsay Lohan, etc. cannot sing or play instruments. Stop making music. All this said, I still should reiterate I don't listen to the radio anymore. I find music I like, torrent it, and keep my earphones close at hand in case of danger. |
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Cairoi This isn't about you and your loud mouth, This is about me and my fucking beard. Since: 08-29-04 From: PA Since last post: 4860 days Last activity: 4484 days |
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| "Happy New Years, Max." As 2nd Lt. Zachary Murdoch spoke these words, he slowly cleaned off his dirt-coated flask and poured the sparkling contents into the glass before him.
"Already?" Corporal Maxwell Gacy replied, clearing his throat of its parched gruffness. "I know, it's very surprising. Can barely tell when it's night or day with the weather we've been having." He passed a now filled glass to his friend across the bar table. The slide of the glass disrupted the dust resting on the table, and particles began floating into the still air of the bar the two men sat in. "Well," began Max, his voice clear thanks to the splash of vodka, "at least we get to start the New Year's off right: out of the woods and out of combat." "Don't jinx us, Max. Just drink up quick so we can get back to the troops. We'll bring them back some rum to keep them warm." Max began rubbing his hands. "Think there's any left in here?" Zachary rose and walked over to the bar. With a grunt, he lifted himself over the counter and began rummaging. Max turned at the sound of clinks to see Zach dropping newly discovered alcohol on the bar. Max rose, leaving his cracked cup on the table. When Zachary rose, he found Max waiting for him, three bottles already in hand. Zachary grabbed the remaining two after one final heave over the bar. "This'll certainly do." After Zachary was situated, they made their way towards the exit. Climbing over the rubble of the left side of the bar, they made their way into the snow-packed street. "Max, I forgot to ask. What's your score?" Zachary said, stopping where he stood. He slowly put down the bottles and began unholstering his gun. "Well, I'm pretty sure it was about fourty five." "Damn. Well, congratulations. You beat me. To celebrate the new year, I nominate we institute a clean wipe of the tally." Zachary was hard at work adjusting his gun, ensuring the magazine was inserted properly and other tiny calibrations. Max looked around and chuckled slightly. "Proposal accepted. Enjoy the head start." Suddenly, the sound of glass broke the silence. Far above them, a hulk of flesh hurtled out of a skyscraper and plummeted towards them, howling the while. Without a second's thought, Zachary raised his automatic and blasted away. He peppered the mutant with thirty bullets or so before it slammed into the ground. With his gun still raised in the ready, he slowly made his way to the body of the humongous beast. With each step, Zachary savored the crunch of the snow beneath his feet, the whistling of the glass as it rained slowly around them, and the labored, guttural wheeze of the mutant. Zachary stopped moving. As the mutant slowly lifted its head and met eyes with its enemy, it made a low moan, fueled by a predatory wrath. Shortly after, Max sneezed behind them. "God bless you," Zachary joked before firing again, leaving little face behind. Zach holstered his gun and made his way to the alcohol he'd laid down. "At least it wasn't a cognitive. Fuckers are never alone." "Yeah, yeah," Max said, " well, one mutant's not necessarily the biggest lead, and we've got 365 days ahead. The game's only just begun." The two soldiers laughed shortly before beginning the quiet march back to base, five miles down. The rest of their unit, or what still remained, waited for them there. In the three years since the world ended, the 59th Battalion had become a very close knit group. Most weren't even really soldiers, but they all fought together to preserve sanity in the wreckage of a planet they were left to fix. |
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Cairoi This isn't about you and your loud mouth, This is about me and my fucking beard. Since: 08-29-04 From: PA Since last post: 4860 days Last activity: 4484 days |
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R.I.P. David Carradine. |
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Cairoi This isn't about you and your loud mouth, This is about me and my fucking beard. Since: 08-29-04 From: PA Since last post: 4860 days Last activity: 4484 days |
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Originally posted by Rogue Wolverine and Terminator were not good. Watchmen and Star Trek were both amazing. Star Trek was the better film. Case closed. |
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Cairoi This isn't about you and your loud mouth, This is about me and my fucking beard. Since: 08-29-04 From: PA Since last post: 4860 days Last activity: 4484 days |
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| Death Race 2000 (the original) was the bee's knees. |
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| Xeogaming Forums - - Posts by Cairoi |
