This is a genuine question I have since there are a lot of high school and college bands that don’t have majorettes.
I live in an area where all but one of the schools in the conference have majorettes in their marching bands. I am also a majorette for my school and I compete in solos and teams for a baton twirling team from my area. I often see some of the other girls from the different schools in the conference at these competitions. I have been working basically my whole life to become a feature twirler in college (I’m a high school sophomore at the moment) so I am curious to know what people’s experiences and opinions are on majorettes/baton twirlers :)
Also don’t be afraid of you’ll offend me, or upset me, or anything like that. Trust me, as someone who has been twirling for basically their whole life, you meet some pretty weird people and have and/or heasee some weird and unbelievable things

No, not THAT "baton"!! Here's the definition of "Sticky Baton" syndrome:

All the more significant in our survey of some 154 owners, leaders and top executives of mid to large U.S. family businesses from across industries, is that merely 27 percent of respondents possess a robust succession plan for transitioning senior roles at their companies. This leads to what I call the “sticky baton syndrome,” where the older generation hands off management of the firm in theory, while in practice they remain in control of what really matters. from here
March 16, 1958—The Passing of the Baton World Tribune
On March 16, 1958, second Soka Gakkai President Josei Toda entrusted the mission of kosen-rufu to the youth. World Tribune

Nothing got "passed", though, we can all see that - if Toda had, indeed, passed any "baton" to Icky, he wouldn't have had to wait over 2 YEARS to take the office of President of the Soka Gakkai, would he? But now Dickeda has embellished the account to make it all about HIMSELF (per usual):

And President Toda had in turn passed the baton to his disciple, a young Daisaku Ikeda, who later became the third president, “If I cannot do this during my lifetime, I ask you to do it in yours.” Source

Ikeda DIDN'T. Ikeda FAILED. Toda was obviously shit for picking "disciples".
Ikeda kept repeating that this whole "passing the baton" was GOING to happen - and it never did!
HOW many times did Icky tell everyone he was "turning the reins over to the youth"? Let's look at a few!
From 1966, Ikeda's self-glorifying fanfic of his own GREATNESS:

“I am determined to continue striving and opening the way for you. I will chant to the Gohonzon that I live long enough to see all of you develop into outstanding adults and take your places in society, at which time I will pass the baton of our movement to you. Everything I do is for you and for no one else. I will fight courageously for you. I will open the way for you. I will give my life for you! Source

Barf. Dickeata clung to that "baton" with every ounce of energy he could channel into those doughy plump hands of his. Are his "disciples" really so disappointing and incompetent? Then doesn't that mean he's a ROTTEN "Sensei"??
Here's some more:

"We must entrust everything to the youth." - Ikeda, 2007
This was slightly modified for 2009: "The future must be entrusted to the youth." Ikeda
...and recycled entirely for March 16, 2010, March 16, 2011, March 16, 2012, March 16, 2013, and March 16, 2014
Expect to see it repeated on March 16, 2015! (from here - it was written before March 16, 2015)
And for March 16, 2016; and for March 16, 2017; and for March 16, 2018... Source

Did anything get "turned over to the youth"? NO!

But you can't have "creative mimesis" where there is a narcissistic egomaniacal dictator like Ikeda making all the decisions. For all the decades of Ikedaspeak about "turning the reins over to the youth division", the SGI youth still have no power, no control, and no authority. It's been at least 50 years that Ikeda's been saying that, BTW. It's just noise. Source
Besides, if Scamsei REALLY wants "the youth" to "lead", WHY O WHY has he NEVER turned any power or control or money over to "the youth", despite saying for decades that he's "turning the reins over to the youth"?? Source
But even as we are all told by Ikeda that he is "turning the reins over to the youth", the youth NEVER have any decision-making power within SGI. Source

How many times could you hear that before you realized it was just manipulative LIES??

For over four decades I've been hearing the tired old yarn about how youth will be the successors of Soka, and about how youth will be leading the organization, blah blah blah. Well then, where are they? All those youth pioneers I practiced with would be somewhere between 60 and 75 now. Not only did they not lead as youth, but they never led period - not the cult.org or kosen rufu. Besides, the vast majority left das org long ago. Did anyone young or old ever succeed Ikeda? No! And they're still stuck with Ikeda, despite the fact that Ikeda repeatedly stated that he intended to hand the reigns of leadership over to the entire youth division. Riiight... when was that supposed to happen, just after he moved to the USA (as promised)? What a pack of lies! Source
Ikeda will never "turn the reins over to the youth division", despite promising to do exactly that for over 40 years. And if anyone ever tries to call SGI on it, they'll be told, "Oh, that's because we aren't ready! Sensei is protecting us by keeping all the power and control unto himself! We need to prove ourselves worthy to Sensei!!"

Barf.

And then they change the meaning of "successors" so it no longer means "running things"! Source

And HERE's how Die-suckin'a Dick-eata clarified - he never really meant actual YOUTH!

The real meaning of youth has nothing to do with physical age. In Buddhist terms, youth means to consistently maintain an open, flexible and tolerant mind. Ikeda

Discussing the theme for this year, the Year of Developing Youth in the New Era of Worldwide Kosen-rufu, SGI President Ikeda says: “‘Developing youth’ is nothing other than revitalizing and developing our own youthful life state and limitlessly expanding the number of fellow Bodhisattvas of the Earth into the future” (November 18, 2016, World Tribune, p. 7).

Oh 😶

It really is. I didn't realize that "the youth" didn't actually mean the Youth Division until I ran across that source.
And then it all clicked. THAT's why Ikeda has been saying he's preparing to "turn the reins over to the youth" for 50 or 60 years now - he has no intention to EVER cede any control to any young person or group of young people. He and his fellow oldsters will tightly hold all the power, all the while patting themselves on the back for how "youthful" they are.
Just think how often SGI members or SGI articles describe Ikeda as "youthful"... Source
So when Ikeda says he's going to "turn the reins over to the youth" - like he's been saying for the past FIFTY YEARS AT LEAST - he simply means "We old Japanese men are going to stay in control until we die." Source

And isn't Crypt Keeper Harada youthful???

This is officially part 3 of the Exchange Program Shenanigans final arc.
I bet none of you saw that last twist coming (except for that one guy who did). I bet nobody's gonna see this one coming, either. Let me cook, people.
CW: really religious name brand batman, properly resolved cliffhanger, chekhov's firing squad, Prestige Exterminator Vrapic
Memory Transcription Subject: Kalkey, Vigilante
Date (standardized human time): September 21, 2136
This was it. Today, I was going to finish the job. Cerso was dealt with, I made sure of that a while ago, but I couldn't rest knowing his successors had taken up the torch.
A fool hunts the predators. A wise man sets up traps. A sage burns the nest.
I was going to burn the nest. Just under a kilometer away, there was a shuttle hangar. If my sources were correct, and they usually were, that hangar was filled with Predator Guard goons and a massive weapon stash. If they'd had the good sense to actually put a shuttle in it, I had no idea.
Probably not, though. I didn't see how they could afford one.
Either way, I had heard it was being used for something important. And, with how good the Dayside City authorities were at burning out their terrorist cells, they were really going to need this hangar pretty soon.
That was why I was here. One man against an army, which I was, couldn't do much of anything to be much more than a nuisance. But surgical strikes, on key parts of the Predator Guard operation, were enough to bring them ten times more trouble than I could ever do otherwise.
I could see the hangar by now, but they couldn't see me. I was concealed in the foliage.
I advanced cautiously, up until the moment I determined that there weren't even any guards at the hangar. And the door was open. These people really are sloppy, huh? My old District 12 unit would've made this place like a fortress. After that point, I just walked on in.
Nobody was inside, either. That was weird.
I mean, there was a shuttle in the hangar and they had working equipment there, so it was definitely the place where the Predator Guard would make its final stand, but they had absolutely no one whose job it was to stand guard over the thing.
Yeah, this place is deserted. Let's roll.
I took out my stun baton, walked over to the hangar controls, and bashed the computer screen in five times with an electrified steel rod. Try opening the hangar now, huh? Yeah, that's right.
After that, I figured that my work was more or less done. Cerso was in shackles, standing trial in a far away district under a very strict judge, and his few remaining allies were never going to harm anyone again.
Jack, Jelim, and the like had wrapped things up nicely in my absence, may God bless all of their souls, and all that was left for me to do is to eliminate the Predator Guard's last avenue of escape so that the law of man could pass its judgment. The law of God didn't need my help on that end. It got everybody at some point.
So, with everything done but the mop-up work, I figured it would be time to turn myself in. What kind of man would I be if I punished others for their crimes but refused to accept justice myself?
I didn't know, and I didn't want to find out. Simple as that. I started trudging along the dirt road, step by step, cherishing the feeling of the muck and mud under my talons. It would probably be the last time I could ever walk freely.
Freedom. The ability to go where I wanted, do what I wanted, and live how I wanted. I had lost that privilege, but I figured it was right for me to enjoy what little I had left while it lasted.
The flowers smelled great today. They usually did. The grass was nice, as grass went, and the trees had a lot of leaves on them. That was pretty typical for trees, really.
I really didn't like nature. I wasn't even sure why I was even appreciating it. Oh, yeah, I'm going to prison. I forgot about that. Well, at any rate, I wouldn't be seeing much nature after this anyway. Federation-made prisons weren't exactly all sunshine and rainbows.
I mean, I could also go to a Predator Disease facility. There was a very real chance that the judge might decide I had Predator Disease. My blood ran cold at the thought of what they'd do. I stopped in my tracks.
A moment's hesitation. Then I started again. One foot in front of the other, Kalkey. You deserve this. I had done my duty, and I was forgiven by the law of God. Now, it was time to face judgment from the law of man.
It didn't take long for me to notice the war zone. Three destroyed exterminator vehicles, with bodies scattered around them. Thankfully, none wore silver. Not exterminators. Predator Guard, then? Sevros' men?
Either way, I had work to do. I started booking it down the dirt path to the convoy. Even if I couldn't fly in this gravity, I could still run pretty fast. I flipped out my stun baton, just in case. It paid to be prepared in my line of work.
A burst of gunfire, like a rifle, pierced the air. I dropped and rolled to the side, hiding from view and continuing my approach by crawling.
I saw a vehicle, an extermination van, driving toward the derelict convoy. I was close to the trucks now, maybe fifty meters away from the lead vehicle. The van stopped just behind the rear truck and someone got out. Just one. I heard another gunshot.
Yeah, I'd better hustle. I want to be here for this.
I scrambled to the side of the front vehicle before creeping forward along the convoy's edge. I heard voices before long. Jelim. I recognize her. Well, that settled things. I was going to walk into the open, totally unarmed, and turn myself in.
She probably knows I'm here already. I looked over her bodycam footage from the Grays' last raid. That woman does not play.
Then I heard three gunshots, and I reconsidered my options. Jesus! That woman really does not play. I drew out my stun baton again, crackling it to life, and tried to eavesdrop on the conversation a bit.
Oh. Huh. Yep. That certainly sounds enlightening. "You're an exterminator," said an unfamiliar voice to who I assumed was Jelim. "Think of this as justice." Well, that's gotta be good. I love justice.
"No witnesses." Oh. Never mind.
I moved. I stepped into the line of fire, swinging my baton in an arc. The woman, I think her name was Isola, stepped back and raised her pistol. I swatted it aside with another blow from my baton, making her arm convulse and drop the weapon. I realized after the fact that it could just as easily have made her fire it.
Oh Lord Jesus Christ in Heaven, son of God, I thank you today for this mercy.
Isola unclipped her own baton from her belt, backing up to a more open space beside the convoy. I followed her. Now, this was a fight.
I stepped to the left. She stepped to the right. I stepped again. She stepped again. Our batons sparked and crackled, the only sound in the tense silence. "What do you want?" I asked.
"You're a terrorist." She stepped to the right. I stepped to the left. "You deserve to die more than her."
"You don't have to bear the burden of killing us." I stepped to the left. She stepped to the right. I crossed my legs this time, feigning inexperience. It worked well, judging by how her eyes flicked to my stance.
"It's not a burden if you know it's right." Isola's baton made a lazy arc in the air as she adjusted to a more aggressive stance. I matched it. She stepped to the right. I stepped to the left.
"Killing is never right. No sinner is beyond saving." I stepped forward. She stepped back. "Surrender to me, and we can avoid further bloodshed."
"Oh, just swing, you idiot!" Jelim's voice broke the stalemate. Isola advanced on me. "She won't-" She swung. I blocked it. An electric crackle silenced our one spectator.
"You know what they'll do to me!" Isola swung again. I blocked, stepped to the side, and clawed at her face with my free claw. Missed. "I can't go to a facility!" She stepped back, causing a brief lull in the fight between us before I stepped forward and brought my baton hard at her shoulder.
"In Jesus' name, I'll bring you in if it's the last thing I do!"
Our batons contacted again, electrical arcs crackling on and between them. Isola turned her power up, hoping to catch my claw with an arc thanks to the electrical surge. It didn't work. I kicked her in the chest and we backed up to part ways. "You don't understand," she said. "I have to walk free. They want to torture me. They tortured my brother." I recognized the tone in that voice.
"Who are you really trying to convince?" She swung again. I countered, swung back, was blocked. She stepped to the left. I stepped to the right.
"Remember your training, Kalkey!" Jelim squawked. Well, that's not very helpful. It's not like I forgot. "High, mid, low, all in groupings!" Oh. I knew that.
"She thinks I'm too stupid to know that," Isola growled. "Just another primitive to her." Oh, I know that's a lie. Does she really believe that?
"Oh, you can kiss the deepest and darkest part of my blue-"
I swung. Isola blocked it. Nobody really heard what Jelim was about to say. Isola swung on me. I blocked, stepped back, and she struck again. This time, it came straight down, and I dodged by stepping to the side.
Then it was time for me to try something new. I blocked her next strike, this time not bothering to disconnect and attack some other angle. This time, I grabbed her baton by the handle. Now, I had control of it.
She let go of the weapon like it was on fire.
"I can't go back!" The sound she made was terrifying. A scream of desperation, fear, and rage. Oh dear God, please help her soul. She took a stumbling step backward. Then another. "I can't go back!" Her eyes flicked down, just to her right. Mine did, too. No.
There was a gun on the ground.
I lunged forward. She dove for the weapon. I caught her halfway there, hitting her straight in the chest and knocking her to the ground. Electricity from my baton coursed through us both. I upped the voltage. I could afford to lose here. She could not.
"Please!" Isola begged. I couldn't save her even if I wanted to.
The baton slipped from my claw. My muscles went inert. I went quietly into the black, knowing that I had done all I could.
Memory Transcription Subject: Jelim, Extermination Commander
Date (standardized human time): September 21, 2136
I tried moving my claw. Not much, not my whole wing or my whole arm, but just my claw. Nothing.
Oh, brahk this brahking bitch-ass coward-ass drug in my veins! If Isola was a real brahking woman, she'd have had the guts to just up and shoot me!
Well, maybe that wouldn't be such a good thing. I still hated her, though. She sold me out. I trusted her, I took her in, I spared her from the treatment, and this is how I was repaid? Bullshit! When I figured out how to move again, the first thing I was going to do was beat the absolute hell out of that pathetic sack of flesh Isola.
Come ON, it can't be that hard! Just focus, Jelim. Focus. Feel your wing. Not the whole body, just your wing. Feel the feathers, the bones, the muscles, all of it. Now will it to move!
I did. All my energy, all my strength, everything I had been since before I pecked away the shell of my egg was focused into just lifting one fragile wing. I may as well have tried to lift a skyscraper.
Come on, it's not that hard. Just do it. Do it! Move!
I focused hard, harder than I had done last time. I was a brahking commander in the Extermination Guild, god damn it! I had trained years for this! I had fought and bled and cried and burned and killed, and now I couldn't even lift my own wing?
The drug's not long-lasting. It has to be gone. It has to be gone by now.
I tried, again, just in case. It was like I was encased in solid metal. Please. Please, you've got to work with me, here. You can't die here, Jelim. You can't die here!
I tried to move. I tried everything. Everything! I put every fiber of my being, every last scrap of who I am and who I was and who I had yet to be into powering through that drug and getting to my feet.
I couldn't even make one of my claws twitch.
I finally gave up. Surrendered to despair. I gave some horrid, lamenting moan like a specter from beyond the grave. I supposed it was probably good practice, given the circumstances. I'm going to die here.
Oh god. I'm going to die here.
I began to cry. All the exterminator bravado I had earlier disappeared, and I was left to face the facts. I was a lone, hundred-pound Krakotl woman with no backup or defense I could think of, and I was probably going to die here, and the last image my lover and my friends and my city would have of me was of a cowardly, pissy little bitch crying out of fear while she waited to die in the mud.
Was this it? All I did, all I worked for, all I struggled through, was it really just going to end in this? Alone, helpless, useless, and waiting to die. Was this how it was about to end?
Isola staggered into view, pistol in paw. Not like this. It can't be like this. Not now! "You..." she snarled, hatred as fresh and cruel as any Arxur I'd ever seen. "You bitch." She took a staggering step toward me. I can't die here. I can't die now, I have so much I need to do! This can't be how it ends!
She stepped over my legs and raised her gun at my head. This can't be it! I can't afford to die! "This is how it ends."
I felt something. My claw twitched. "No, it's not."
I twisted her legs, tripping her to the ground just as she fired. The bullet whizzed past my ear, but I was already moving. A second shot ripped through my wing, blowing through feathers but leaving flesh intact, and I was on her before she could fire a third.
The action was swift, brutal, and one-sided. I was experienced and lethal, and Isola hadn't been in a real fight in years. I severed her jugular, controlled her gun arm, and kept her from shooting me while she bled out and died. God, that sound is horrible. Definitely not something I want to hear again. Her body went slack. She dropped the gun. Her eyes glazed over.
You had so much left to live for, Isola. Why'd you have to die like this?
I stood up and brushed off the dust from my back. I stretched a bit, too, since being forcibly paralyzed tended to mess with one's body a little. I pocketed Isola's gun, even though I didn't have pockets, and I walked back to her car to leave.
I saw Kalkey laying motionless as I went to start it. Not dead, of course, just unconscious. Isola had seemed damn near knocked out, too. I almost considered leaving Kalkey where he was.
Oh, HELL no. That man is a wanted terrorist. I'm bringing him in to stand trial.
I scooped up Kalkey into an exterminator's carry and loaded him into the back of Isola's van. I got in the front, sat in the seat, and set the autopilot to the District 12 office. Yep, I'm alive. I'm alive! I'm not dead!
The car started driving all on its own. I loved those things sometimes. Almost as much as I loved not dying. Hell, almost as much as I love Jack Kern. He's half the reason I love not dying. Yeah, I'd have to find him when I got back home. Near-death experiences had a way of setting one's priorities straight.
It took a few hours to get back to the district. To me, it felt like no time at all. "Sir!" The officer at the front desk practically beamed with joy when he saw me. "You're back!" Then his face got all scrunched up. "And, uh, no offense, but you look like speh."
"I feel like speh." That was a lie. I felt great. "There's a prisoner in my car, in the back, bring him in, please." He nearly fell over himself to obey me. "Thank you, officer," I saluted him, remembering Isola. "You're making me proud." I should've been closer to her. I should've been kinder. Maybe then things could have ended better than they did.
My debriefing went by in a haze. I told the officers everything I knew, and we both left before they could bother me with senseless small talk.
I found my way to Jack's house quickly enough. This really does say a lot about my priorities. First, I do my civic duty. Then, I go and find my other half. Really, as priorities go, I am doing pretty great.
I climbed up the stairs to Jack's apartment like I had places to be, which I actually really did. I knocked three times, then three times more because I simply couldn't wait.
I was about to knock another three times when the door opened. Jack stood there, battered and bruised, probably just out of a hospital bed, but still every bit the man I loved. I stepped in, closed the door behind me, and threw myself into his arms. "Holy shit, you look like shit." Yeah, I can tell.
"I feel wonderful, Jack," I trilled. "I feel alive." I was alive. Probably why I felt that way. "It's over, my love. I won."
"You're an angel."
"I'm an exterminator." Just then, Jack kissed me. Slowly, carefully, but still a kiss. My heart ached because I couldn't kiss back.
"You're an angel."
That moment could've lasted forever.
Well, at least it could have if someone hadn't banged hard on the door just then. "This is the Dayside City Extermination Guild, open the brahk up!" More banging. "You have five seconds!"
"What the hell do they want? I quit the fucking Guild an hour ago!" Jack exclaimed, moving to go open the door. I started after him, but he opened it before I could get there. I noticed he had one hand on what was probably a concealed firearm.
He took the hand off when he saw who it was. Salvek walked in the room, saw Jack's uninvited guests, and stood there in silence with a loaf of strayu stuffed in his mouth. He mumbled something about it being a bad time. Gee, you think?
Karelim, dressed in flameproof silver and flanked by a huge Venlil in full kit, stalked into the room. Only his head was not covered by the suit. His bodyguard stood by the door, cradling an impressive flamethrower. That model shoots napalm. Why the hell do they need a flamer with napalm?
Karelim sat down. Jack and I did the same. The shitbird was the first to speak. "Well, you'll notice I've taken the liberty of releasing Vrapic."
"Why the hell would you do that?" I exclaimed. "He assaulted a superior officer!" Karelim held up a talon to shush me. Ex-cuse me?
"I'm sorry, Jelim, you must be confused here." He took out a datapad, sliding it over the coffee table to me. "I am not the one who needs to do the explaining."
I looked at the screen. On it, there was security footage. A nightclub. The nightclub the Predator Guard first attacked, too, if memory served. The camera seemed to be focused on yours truly.
"I took the liberty of checking security footage in the half-claw you were gone," said Karelim. I played the file. I saw exactly what I had been too foolish to hide.
"What is this supposed to mean?" I asked, pointing at the datapad and feigning confidence. Jack looked over at me, rightfully worried.
"Please," Karelim scoffed, "I'm not a fool." He gestured for Vrapic to focus up, and to get ready for action. He tapped the datapad, pausing it on a frame of myself twirling in my lover's arms. "I know a human's courtship dance when I see it, Jelim."
First Previous "no officer of mine is going to be seen dating a prigger" -karelim, probably

Okay, I know the obvious answer to my question is that Sam was just being a jerk. But why did he seem so hung up on / make so many comments about Ainsley being hot??? The disparaging comment about baton twirling, the Republican sex kitten line ... it seemed like he literally thought less of her for some reason because she was attractive. Was he like, angry that hot Reublicans use their attractiveness to manipulate people or something?? Sorry again if this is a ridiculous question. But he seemed so contemptuous of her, not just bc she was a Republican. It literally seemed like her attractiveness compounded his contempt.

Platform(s):
PC
Genre:
2D. Survival.
Estimated year of release:
2010-2018.
Graphics/art style:
Graphics are cartoonish, vibrant, and simple (similar like Animal Crossing). Characters in this game come with varieties. The most memorable ones are the heroes since they are drawn bigger and have exclusive appearances.
It is also pretty gory because killing zombies would splatter their brain, flesh, and blood around. Killed boss would leave their mutilated corpse on the map.
Notable characters:
There are heroes in this game (stronger characters). One of them is a dark-skinned large man with coiled hair who uses a large, high-tech bluish hammer to smash and kill zombies in area of effect (AoE). Another one is a samurai but that is the only thing I can remember about it.
There are also smaller unique characters aside from the heroes. I remember that they are two chefs (one inferior and the other superior in producing food), delivery man (gives random supply in decreased amount), and nurse (heals a limited number of people as time progresses).
Notable gameplay mechanics:
The only factor that results in guaranteed game-over is food, so it would not be a game over as long as food supply is enough. Also, there is no stamina system.
This game has a night/day system. During daytime, most zombies do not run and most are relatively weak. But during nighttime, all zombies become stronger and faster. Zombies can respawn if you are far enough from where they originally spawned and not on your screen.
For every week, there will be a boss to fight. From what I can remember, they are 2 types of boss available: a hulk and a zombie spawner. What they could do is exactly as their name suggests.
During playthrough, you need to collect food to survive because relative to the number of people following you, the food supply decreases for a number of times in a single day before reaching negative. A prolonged negative food supply will result in an instantaneous game-over. There are also weapons, ammos, people (no limitation and either unique or normal), medicines and heroes (rare but also with no limitation) available to get.
You can switch between melee and ranged attacks (applied to you and all of your followers) to save ammo because ammo is also exhaustible in this game. However, all weapons can't break.
There are many accessible buildings in this game where most items and people are placed. They act as a safe waiting place during the night (zombies can't enter).
If the main character dies, the game will simply switch to non-unique characters as a replacement.
Other details:
From what I can remember, the weapons are a spiked wooden bat, metal bar, police baton, assault rifle, pistol, hockey stick and frying pan.
I think there are a total of 6 maps to go (at least more than 3). And at the endgame stage, countless zombies (i think even a boss can appear) would appear.
There are unique zombies but I can only remember a muscular zombie.

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Synopsis:
Juliette Contzen is a lazy, good-for-nothing princess. Overshadowed by her siblings, she's left with little to do but nap, read … and occasionally cut the falling raindrops with her sword. Spotted one day by an astonished adventurer, he insists on grading Juliette's swordsmanship, then promptly has a mental breakdown at the result.
Soon after, Juliette is given the news that her kingdom is on the brink of bankruptcy. At threat of being married off, the lazy princess vows to do whatever it takes to maintain her current lifestyle, and taking matters into her own hands, escapes in the middle of the night in order to restore her kingdom's finances.
Tags: Comedy, Adventure, Action, Fantasy, Copious Ohohohohos.
Chapter 237: A Reverie For The Soul
Words failed me.
As a princess, pitchforks symbolised the weapon of the peasantry.
They were instruments more lethal than any blade or knife in the dark. For they represented the final curtain. The ending act of my kingdom, lifted as the banner and weapon of revolt amidst a fanfare of blood and flames.
As great as the shadows cast by the lances of our enemies, none were as black a void as ordinary tools cast by a mob rallying to the cry of revolution.
That’s why–
As I watched a literal farmer bend his knees, not to reach the ground in prostration, but to leap towards me like a warrior with a trident, all I could do was tremble with horror.
It was the most gruesome of sights.
Neither a battlefield strewn with the corpses of the deceased, nor a tarte aux pommes baked without a generous layer of pecan nuts could instil in me the trepidation I felt, touching my very bones.
Indeed … to be attacked by a farmer with a pitchfork was one thing, but to be attacked by only a single one was an utter humiliation!
In all my darkest dreams, no sight of my family’s throne being emptied involved anything less than the entire populace of my kingdom’s peasantry rising against us!
And yet … all I saw before me was a single dishevelled farmer, wielding a pitchfork blunted by soil, barely fit to ward away the foxes which trespassed upon his land!
Where was the raucous shouting?
The complaints heard high into the heavens?
The frenzied bloodlust of an uncontrollable crowd?
There was no legion of witnesses to my end! No loyalists turning away in fright! No servants stealing away with the last of our ornamental cutlery!
This! This was a disgrace!
I was Juliette Contzen, 3rd Princess to the Kingdom of Tirea … and I refused to contemplate being struck by anything less than an entire mob!
That’s why–
“Absolutely not!!”
Starlight Grace burned with righteous ire as it met a pitchfork swung to meet the side of my head.
Insults upon insults. Not only did this man deem it appropriate to attack me without a riot in the backdrop, but he didn’t even have the heart to impale me!
A lazy and slovenly swing. The very image of a farmer chewing a sprig of wheat while batting insects from the leaves. Did he not know the fate of all those who failed to murder us at the first attempt? When it came to attacking royalty, the rules were clear!
One chance only! No practice rounds!
Thus, the hazy eyes of the farmer widened against the sight of Starlight Grace’s burning light.
“How–”
He mouthed a word of surprise. But there could be no complaints. Especially as every error made was a lesson. And the mistake of offering anything half-heartedly to royalty was the greatest he’ll ever learn. Whether it was their tears or their ire, I expected to ignore nothing but the best.
Sensing his peril, the drunkard twisted his pitchfork, seeking to catch my sword within the metal prongs. I opted to strike at the feeble wooden shaft instead.
Indeed, a pitchfork was no weapon of war!
It was a farming tool. And against the ruthless edge of my sword, it could do nothing but shatter the moment my sword … hmmmmm?
I blinked.
As expected, Starlight Grace burned bright in my hand as it struck the wooden shaft.
Less expected, however, was the lack of any splintering.
Instead of two pieces of a broken pitchfork dropping to the ground, I was met by the feeling of a thousand condensed pillows where the sword had struck … followed by the sight of ripples.
The wooden shaft shook like a tiny pond barely reacting to the skimming of a falling leaf.
And then–
Tendrils of smoke began to creep from it, twisting as it clawed at my sword’s blade.
I removed Starlight Grace at once, horrified by the sight.
How … How dare this man!
Nothing was allowed to touch my sword! Not even when I stabbed it!
Paying no heed to my distaste, the side of those prongs went to make a bump upon my delicate head. A clumsy challenge matching his proficiency. Unable to envisage himself as more than the untrained farmer he was, he allowed his dawdling sweep to pass over my ducking head.
But that did not make him undangerous.
With the grace of a brick, he wrenched his pitchfork overhead before crudely bringing it down. As I hopped away to shield my hair, the pitchfork swiped down with enough vigour to send a plume of dust around us. A moment later, he was several paces away, facing me with a poise filled with caution.
No longer assuming the stance of a farmer holding a pitchfork in anger for the first time, he narrowed his cloudy eyes, doing what he could to see through the haze.
The casual disregard vanished, replaced with his knees lowered and ready, his hands clutching the shaft much like a soldier guarding with a spear.
It wasn’t enough.
After all–
This man … had clearly been utterly duped!
I was aghast.
Why, not only did he manage to allow his soul to be slowly drained by a random devil … but he didn’t even gain any power from it!
Far from being empowered by the hells themselves, he was fighting like … yes, a farmer!
Even with my lack of training, I could tell he knew as much about fighting techniques as I did!
What did he hope to do by blithely swinging his pitchfork? Accidentally whack someone who knew what they were doing into his foes?
I despaired for the lost potential. To be sucked into some bizarre inner world clearly had some novelty value … but only if he used it correctly!
Why, if he learned how to shape the corridors of the Royal Villa, it’d be positively lovely!
Not for me, of course. But for those who didn’t have access to the real thing. I was certain commoners and nobility alike would pay even for a mock experience. We would earn the income without needing to clean after their soles.
The possibilities were endless!
“The young baroness never warned me you were a swordswoman,” he said, his eyes narrowed. “In fact, from the way she spoke about you, I figured you were just a regular princess.”
“There are no such things as regular princesses. We all have our talents. Mine happens to be all of them.”
The drunkard gave a smile.
It’d lost its lazy edge, instead becoming as hard as the grip around his pitchfork. The sudden seriousness and accompanying ignorance regarding his own strength only caused me to groan inside.
“Gotta admit. Wasn’t expecting this. Amidst all my travels, I never once heard about a Contzen being skilled for anything other than vileness.”
My mouth widened at the only attack he’d successfully struck.
“H-How dare you … ! What is this slander?! Who would dare speak ill of my family?! I … I will have them deported! Regardless of which country they’re in!”
“You’ll need to deport a lot of folk, then. All the streets, bars and alleys across the continent know the wickedness of royalty. Your family is no exception, I’m afraid. It’s said the halls of your castles are paved with the tears of those who serve you, such is their misery.”
I was horrified.
That … That was clearly a lie!
Why, if I could use the tears of my servants as paving material, this entire kingdom would be fully urbanised by now! That clearly wasn’t the case!
“I ask that you not listen to the deceit of those who envy my kingdom. Indeed, you need only listen to the sounds of joy coming from those who reside in it. Although I suppose that’s difficult while flailing a pitchfork like a feather duster. Is the reason you grow crops here and not outside because you’ve forgotten how to use it?”
The man chuckled. And for a moment, it seemed that a hint of genuine amusement managed to find its way back into his voice.
“I might not use it as intended, but I use it well. That you can strike back is impressive. I’ve downed foes wreathed in flames, the likes of which would never even enter your nightmares. And most of them fell before their claws were even raised.”
Oh, I had no doubt he had.
Wielding a pitchfork as he did, I expect even fiends from the abyss were easy to dispatch while laughing on the floor.
He would not receive such joviality from me.
Indeed … I recognised him for what he was. A truly devastating foe. Perhaps not to the majority of people with functional eyes. But certainly to a princess.
I had the most to lose.
Why, to be defeated by a wayward swing of a pitchfork was the most humiliating way to go! My ghost would be shunned by my family!
No, I could afford no complacency. Especially when even victory wouldn’t come without loss.
To have it noted that a drunkard with a pitchfork counted amongst my victories was appalling. Such an entry would be the thickest blot in a page already speckled with far too many lowly foes.
… Fortunately, I was more than a beautiful princess!
I was a beautiful princess with retainers!
And this meant … I could simply have Coppelia defeat him instead!
“Ohohoho …” I stood up straight, barely covering my lips as I smiled. “Is that so? Then allow me to repay the thought. I, too, am impressed.”
“I’ll take that as a fine compliment.”
“Don’t. I wasn’t referring to your skills with a pitchfork. But by your lack of awareness.”
The drunkard blinked at me.
Then, he swiftly changed his footing, turning to glance at the barn where he’d allowed his back to turn.
Ohhohoho! Too late!
Because behind him, my loyal handmaiden was already–
“This. Is. So. Amazing!”
Yes!
She was already watching from a gap in the barn door, not at all striking the man’s unprotected back!
To my grief, Coppelia was busy shaking the shoulders of the maid beside her, whose wide eyes were either derived from my handmaiden’s excitement or from her failure to rush to my assistance.
“Isn’t this great?! Look! We get threatened and now the princess is the one to protect us! It never happens this way! Doesn’t sitting back feel amazing?”
The drunkard closely studied the two retainers squeezed in the barn doorway.
And then–
He completely turned away from them, his focus on me once more.
“O-Ohoho … oho … i-indeed, notice now the futility of your actions! Why, despite there now being two of them, none of my retinue feels the need to immediately throw themselves at you as a distrac–”
Suddenly, the drunkard threw his pitchfork.
My horror was complete.
Leaving any semblance of civility to die a swift and ignominious death, he offered no warning before sending his farming instrument towards me.
It was all I could do to judge each muddy prong with the wide eyes it deserved as the thing swept past the side of my face. There was no bump awaiting the end of that throw. Only a hole as large as the crater which promptly appeared behind me, sending a small explosion of corn and soil into the sky.
My mouth widened in disbelief.
“E-Excuse me?! What was that?! You do not attack me in the middle of my sentences! That … That is a cardinal sin!”
The drunkard paused for a moment, his body still in the completed motion of a throw.
“Yeah, sorry about that.”
“As … As you very well should be! I do not meticulously comb my hair in the small hours of the night while kept up by the sounds of dancing mice just so that my only joy is destroyed by a drunkard’s lack of chivalry! How dare you! That throw was clearly meant to murder me! … Do you not have orders to capture me like the princess I am?!”
“Sure I do. But you’re not a princess waiting to be captured. Least not while you’re still standing.”
The drunkard leaned over the cart beside him, before promptly retrieving his next weapon.
It was … a shovel.
“No,” I declared at once. “Absolutely no.”
He held the shovel much like he held the pitchfork–without any intention of using it to farm.
I was aghast.
Was I truly supposed to defeat a farmer with a shovel?!
“If it makes you feel better, I rate myself more with a shovel than a pitchfork.”
“Wonderful. Then I suggest you impress me by digging an exit. That is a farming tool, not a weapon. I expressly forbid you from throwing it, utilising it as a spear or otherwise adopting it for any purpose other than its intended function.”
The man offered a shrug.
“You asked for it.”
He slightly raised the shovel … before striking it into the soil.
For a moment, nothing happened.
And then–
Crack.
A fracture appeared in the shape of a lightning bolt.
It lasted just as long.
Crraaaaaaccccccck.
All of a sudden, the very ground broke.
A groan filled the stale air. The weeping of a broken soul as a thin layer of dirt and weeds abruptly gave way to swaths of endless void where neither light nor warmth could reach … including beneath the feet of a stunned princess.
A chasm began to open like a leviathan’s maw to swallow me whole.
Why … I was delighted!
So this man could alter his little dream world, after all!
How wonderful!
This alone increased his worth significantly over every other farmer to have inadvertently signed away his soul to an infernal contract!
If he could split the ground asunder, then I saw no reason why he couldn’t also remove all of it as well!
Naturally, interior redecoration was never a fast process. Especially so given that the ground was only parting at the pace of two divorcing snails. But I was patient … and so was everyone who would shortly be visiting a purpose designed version of the Royal Villa where no matter where the dignitaries vomited, the carpets would always remain clean!
Indeed, there was much to consider. Ticket prices being one of them. But also skipping away from the hole opening up beneath me.
“Apologies for this,” said the drunkard as he leaped towards me, shovel outstretched. “But trust me, this will hurt me more than–”
“[Spring Breeze].”
Poomph.
Faced with the man’s nauseous breath, I sent a delicate puff of wind directly into his face, propelling both him and myself away. A moment later, I ended up skipping as my feet landed amidst the waist-high corn, performing a perfect hopscotch as I came to a stop.
Somewhere, I heard the sound of applause.
Just as pertinently, I heard the gasping of a drunkard who’d experienced the odour of his own breath sent back towards him. He’d landed far less neatly. Sitting up from the ground, he wore an expression of shock as he peered over the chasm which had failed to consume me.
He gingerly touched his stubble. And then he gulped.
“You … You shouldn’t have been able to do that,” he said, his disbelief carrying clearly over the gap. “That technique … everything, everything should be limited here …”
I gave a flick of my hair, indulging in the cheering of my watching retainers. Yes, even if it was just Coppelia. I hoped Renise was learning.
“Hm? And why is that, exactly?”
“Girl … this is my soul. You should have no power here. My [Soulscape] does more than empower me. It enfeebles all who I draw into it. This … This isn’t right.”
In response, I offered the most cursory of smiles.
“Oh? … Is that what you think?”
“What?”
“What meaning does your soul have to me? It doesn’t matter how deep into the depths of your, frankly, subpar quasi-plane of existence you invite me. Nor does it matter how high you cloud its edges. I still sense my kingdom all around me, just as I do a countryside farmstead overtaken by a baroness soon to repair it with her own hands. And here in my kingdom, I do not recognise any jurisdiction other than my own. My authority is absolute.”
The man blinked at me, as though wishing the haze away.
He could have been wearing a blindfold. I had little doubt he could see the natural radiance from my silhouette as clearly as I could the beads of sweat rolling past his brow.
Slowly, the man rose to his feet.
The shovel he left alone, discarded by his side. And then he did something I could not have expected.
“Heh …”
He laughed.
“Hah … hahah …”
A hollow laugh devoid of feeling. Like something expelled by instinct. A spasming of the diaphragm.
But a laugh nonetheless.
“My instincts were right,” he said, his lazy smile returning with abandon. “You … You’re dangerous. You might just be able to defeat me. Even here.”
Suddenly, he took a deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut. The wrinkles on his forehead quivered with the force of putting his mind to work on something while hindered by a cloud of drunkenness.
A moment later–
Fwoooof.
He decided to meet my earlier request.
Breaking out into a heavy sweat, he raised his palms as a … yes, an ominous dark orb of ultimate power appeared between them, burning darker than a thousand blackened hearthfires squeezed together.
“Not wholly sure if this is right,” he said, his eyes wincing even as he opened them again. “But just for you, I’ll do this. May as well take this seriously. A big part of me hopes you defeat me. But I don’t think you can, even if you struck me with that sword again and again. Whatever you might think, this is more than my soul. This is my battlefield. And only I choose when I fall.”
I blinked.
The orb shuddered as it grew, licking its surroundings with lashes of undiluted power.
Despite its black colouring, it was the most beautiful thing here. A spot of imagination in a world of faded bleakness.
And so–I nodded in satisfaction.
Naturally, I doubted its effects. I trusted more in the lethality of his farming tools than whatever he thought advanced magic was. But that didn’t matter.
After all, to outside appearances, it seemed very much like a spawn of destruction in his hands.
And that … was wonderful!
A drunkard with a pitchfork/shovel?
Beneath me.
But laughter followed by suspect orbs of doom?
Why, that was a megalomaniac at the height of his power!
Indeed … I could work with that!
My smile blossomed on my face. The only source of colour amidst a backdrop of monochrome memories.
But that could be changed.
“A shame you’ve prepared a truly dull battlefield, then,” I said, lifting Starlight Grace … but not towards my invigorated foe. “Let us amend that, shall we?”
“What?”
I offered an angelic smile.
And then I peered around myself. At a canvas without an easel. Most would deem it unsalvageable.
But most were not me.
Thus … I flicked at a nearby leaf with the tip of my sword.
It twisted. A swirl of watercolour which sought to return to its dull shape. I didn’t allow it.
Instead, I flicked at it again.
And again. And again. And again.
“Your soul may be wounded,” I said, idly taking a few steps into the field. “But no more than mine at the sight of such amateurism. So rejoice. I shall reward your first steps into the world of creativity with a reference to take with you long into the future.”
A moment later, I allowed my sword to sweep around me … just as I would if I were in the corner of my atelier, surrounded by a dozen palettes and a thousand more possibilities.
And then–
I began to paint.
“May you use it in your days of bleakness, when inspiration is as dry as the schemes of my kingdom’s nobility. By the palette's grace, let shadows and light be cast into permanence. Painting Form, 5th Stance … [Revision Reverie]!”
My arm brushed aside entire swathes of colours.
I pirouetted upon my heels, the sword in my hand twirling as much like a brush in my hand as it was a baton held by a conductor.
All the colours followed like ribbons in my wake, forming a palette in every direction.
A shade of leafy green here. A blot of barren soil there. A touch of a pale sky hanging overhead.
And then–
I swept around … and around … and around …
Trails of different shades merged as I spun, dancing from spot to spot as I directed the colours to my heart’s desire … until the very landscape of a broken soul began to change.
“Ohhohohhhohoohoohohohooohoho!!”
Here it was!
Nurtured through Father’s insufferability when he refused to burn or throw away all my works I deemed below standard, here were the results of my labour!
[Revision Reverie]!
The ability to repair any work, no matter how much I wished to do otherwise!
For when the alternative was to have a bad piece forever kept upon the walls to be ruthlessly judged, to make it serviceable before the eyes of high society was a matter of life and death!
A field of faded colours and lack of detail?
Pedestrian.
Because if I could fix a wobbly chin … then I could fix anything!
“Ohhohohohoohohohooohohohhhoohohohohohoho!!”
Thus–I went to work!
Shrubs rose from the dull grass, teeming with matched couplets of yellow lilies and white gardenias!
Barren soil lifted to become the warming trunks of deciduous trees!
Dashes of pale colour flourished to become a spring blue dotted with clouds as fluffy as the coats of jumping lambs!
I danced without pause, willing the entire world to change around me, until what was an endless expanse of lifeless crops became a garden filled with movement, and a uniform backdrop of faded colours became sharp and distinct, brimming with motion and vigour.
But I didn’t stop there.
With a smile in search of perfection, I gracefully skipped towards the barn, life and song trailing behind me as nightingales in my wake.
And there, I used its red to its fullest.
Peonies growing as bouquets amidst the fresh grass.
Ladybugs fluttering against snow white petals.
Red currants dotting the hedges.
And … the pièce de résistance …
Apples for the trees!
I took in a deep breath as I finally ceased, the last swirl of paint dribbling into a bundle of carnations.
And then–I nodded.
It wasn’t my orchard, of course. But it was certainly a garden. And by my design was grander than any which could be found under the sun, real or otherwise.
“Ah … ah … ahhh …”
I turned around.
There, fallen upon the ground, was a drunkard on his knees.
The haze had cleared from his eyes.
Suddenly, they were bright and blue, boasting memories as vivid as the garden now blooming around him. Gone were the lines of self-reproach on his face. The dirt caked into his skin fell as tears washed them away, and what remained was a man in the prime of his life.
Not a single blemish could be seen.
“Ohohohoho … welcome to my garden,” I said, gesturing as I spun around, my bright smile the light to lift the colours even more anew. “Would you like a brief tour?”
The man looked up at me.
And then he blinked, his eyes taking me in for the very first time.
“That’s … fine … I think … I think I can see everything … from here …”
He let out a youthful smile, devoid of the mistakes of the past.
The next moment–
A white light filled my eyes.
Even then, the apples from the trees continued to brightly shine … all the way until they were replaced by a sweeter sight instead.
A baroness peering at me in utter shock, sitting across from me at a tea table.
“Aahhahahahhahahahaaahhahahahahahaaaha~”
And also Coppelia rolling on the hard, muddy ground in raucous laughter, smacking the ground as she did so.
Yes, that I could do without.
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" Humanity is a parade of fools, and I am at the front of it, twirling a baton." - Odd Thomas
I've been listening to the Odd Thomas series by Dean Koontz lately (read by David Aaron Baker). I heard my new favorite book quote yesterday, I believe in Brother Odd.

One more time for good luck!
Hello! My name is J, 26 and F. I am 18+ so I require all my partners and characters to be 18+ also!
I started roleplaying way back in 2010 on good ol’ Quizilla (miss you, boo.) and eventually moved over to email and then platforms like discord etc.
So the idea is why you’re here right? Well, me too!
I watched Moulin Rouge for the first time in years a couple months back and I’ve been on a hyper fixation ever since. Ewan McGregor is to blame.
I am basically looking to roleplay this with my oc playing against Christian! I am absolutely happy to make this a double and play Satine against your character or any character or even oc of your choice!
To be honest; this is quite a niche fandom, I guess. So if someone is willing to do this then I am happy to play any fandom of your choice even if I have to do some research on it. I know how frustrating it is when you are dying to rp something but not enough people know it!
I don’t have much of a plot per se for this yet, (All I ask is Christian has me lying on my belly, kickin’ my feet in the air, twirling my hair like Ewan McGregor do be. Lol.) So we could go in any direction here whether it’s playing along to the sort of canon timeline/storyline with our own tweaks or our own brand new story! So I would love to talk world building and plotting with you for this, so please feel free to bring your ideas!
I am also pretty easy going with replying times and such, we all have lives and work outside of RP! The only thing I would ask is that replies are at least 200+ words to give us something both to work with! That being said, if you are the type of person who prefers long novella replies, I LOVE to do these too!
I think that’s everything for now, so hopefully this catches someone’s attention, I am DYING to do something with this so please don’t be scared to reach out with your ideas! :)

Hello! My name is J, 26 and F.
I started roleplaying way back in 2010 on good ol’ Quizilla (miss you, boo.) and eventually moved over to email and then platforms like discord etc.
So the idea is why you’re here right? Well, me too!
I watched Moulin Rouge for the first time in years a couple months back and I’ve been on a hyper fixation ever since. Ewan McGregor is to blame.
I am basically looking to roleplay this with my oc playing against Christian! I am absolutely happy to make this a double and play Satine against your character or any character or even oc of your choice!
I don’t have much of a plot per se for this, (All I ask is Christian has me lying on my belly, kickin’ my feet in the air, twirling my hair like Ewan McGregor do be. Lol.) So we could go in any direction here whether it’s playing along to the sort of canon timeline/storyline with our own tweaks or own brand new story! So I would love to talk world building and plotting with you for this, please feel free to bring your ideas!
I am also pretty easy going with replying times and such, we all have lives and work outside of RP! The only thing I would ask is that replies are at least 200+ words to give us something both to work with! That being said, if you are the type of person who prefers long novella replies, I LOVE to do these too!
I think that’s everything for now, so hopefully this catches someone’s attention, I am DYING to do something with this so please don’t be scared to reach out with your ideas! :)

Title: Bagett!
Scene 1: The Cubicle Creep-up [A quiet office. Employee #1 is lost in their computer screen. Bagett, wielding a giant baguette like a baton, tiptoes behind.]
Bagett: (suddenly lunges forward) A Baguette!!!
[Employee #1 spins around, nearly falling off their chair.]
Employee #1: What? What is that?!
Bagett: (twirling the baguette) It’s the spear of sustenance!
[Employee #1, puzzled and still recovering, watches as Bagett cartwheels away.]
Scene 2: The Conference Catastrophe [A boardroom meeting in progress. Bagett, hidden beneath the table, emerges like a jack-in-the-box.]
Bagett: (springing up) A Baguette!!!
[Executives yelp and recoil, papers fluttering like startled birds.]
Executive #1: (heart racing) What on earth—?
Bagett: (waving the baguette dramatically) Behold, the wand of wonder!
[He exits, leaving a room full of bewildered stares.]
Scene 3: The CEO Encounter [The CEO is touring the office. Bagett, disguised as a coat rack, suddenly sheds his camouflage.]
Bagett: (striking a pose) A Baguette!!!
[The CEO jumps back, then laughs, shaking his head.]
CEO: (amused) What is this madness?
Bagett: (saluting with the baguette) The revolution will not be microwaved!
[Bagett strides off, leaving the CEO chuckling and shaking his head.]
Scene 4: The Elevator Ambush [Inside the elevator, Employee #2 is alone. The doors open, and Bagett rolls in on a skateboard.]
Bagett: (popping up from a crouch) A Baguette!!!
[Employee #2 screams, then recognizes the absurdity and laughs.]
Employee #2: (laughing) You can’t be real!
Bagett: (doing a kickflip with the skateboard, baguette in hand) I'm as real as the crumbs I leave behind!
[The doors close as Bagett rides out of the frame, leaving a trail of confusion.]

Looking for staff weapons used by Rangers across the series. They seem to be rare with Rangers and more popular as mecha weapons.
It should be a stick with two blunt ends, and the Ranger can twirl it to attack with either end. Examples may have middle handles, like Gingaman's Jugekibou or GekiYellow's Long Baton.
They should not be spears or lances with heads, like HououRanger's Phoenix Spear or ShinkenGreen's Wood Spear.

This is from Dr. Levi McLaughlin's April 2016 paper "Religious Responses to the 2011 Tsunami in Japan", starting on page 9 of 21. First a little background you may be unfamiliar with (I know I was):

On March 11, 2011, at 2:46 p.m., Japan was hit by the largest earthquake in its recorded history. The 9.0 tremor struck 129 kilometers off the coast of Miyagi Prefecture and triggered a tsunami that peaked at over 40 meters and extended as far as 10 kilometers inland. Thousands of square kilometers of the coastal regions across northeastern Honshū (Japan’s largest island) were devastated, with damage concentrated in Iwate, Miyagi, and Fukushima Prefectures.

Most of the news coverage focused on the TEPCO nuclear plants meltdowns, not on the details about the people who'd lived there. 40 meters = just over 131 feet. 10 kilometers = a little over 6 miles. Unbelievable.

Years after 3.11, coastal prefectures in northeast Honshū still hosts communities of kasetsu jūtaku, temporary housing units, which are homes to tens of thousands of displaced refugees. Some survivors fortunate enough to gain sufficient funds through employment and government relief have been able to rebuild their homes or move away from the disaster zone, leaving behind the rows of tiny prefab units that stand in fields, on abandoned soccer grounds, and beside schools. Those who remain tend to lack the means to leave—primarily elderly, on a fixed income or poor before the disaster, bereft of family who can offer amenable accommodation, too psychologically devastated to get their affairs in order, or a combination of these and other challenges.

Here's the conclusion:

Additionally, what the Oguchis said and how they expressed themselves did not cohere neatly with a satisfying narrative arc of ruination leading into spiritual renewal that is common in member testimonials promoted by Soka Gakkai administrators. As the Oguchis spoke to me of their experiences with the tsunami and its aftermath, strong emotions rose to the surface easily and often. They derive joy from their daily work, and they clearly place a great deal of importance on their new, elevated role within Soka Gakkai, but years after 3/11 they remain fragile, prone to expressing profound grief. Unlike many survivors who have moved into reconstructed homes or far away from the disaster area, the Oguchis never escape the voices of the bereaved infiltrating their home at all hours, and they themselves are still visibly distraught. They shed tears of joy at having rediscovered their faith by gaining purpose in aiding others after the tsunami, but speaking with the Oguchis, hearing their anguished stories, and witnessing their wrenching mix of gratitude and sorrow, one might think the tsunami swept through weeks ago, not years. Summaries of their aid efforts do not convey this lingering trauma, nor do they do justice to the layers of life experiences that may explain why the Oguchis remain in their tiny temporary housing unit.

This all is an extremely disturbing report of the sort of thing the Soka Gakkai will never openly disclose. While this couple is doing good things for others, it really does sound like they're being exploited by the Soka Gakkai. Considering that there were two Soka Gakkai administrators along for the interview (see below), this might have been the best "face" they were able to put on for a visitor, and I think it turned out to be far more revealing than the Soka Gakkai would ever have anticipated (or chosen).
If anyone is interested in the detail:

Some who have the capacity to leave choose to remain. I have been fortunate to befriend two people who match this description: Masayuki and Kazuyo Oguchi. Since June 2011, Mr. and Mrs. Oguchi have occupied one of the 125 two-room prefab apartments that are pressed together in long rows in a kasetsu jūtaku community a short drive from the rocky coast of Miyagi Prefecture. On two occasions, in the summers of 2013 and 2014, the Oguchis invited me into their tiny home in the company of two Gakkai administrators to discuss their experience of the 3.11 disasters and their decision to live on in refugee housing. When I visited in 2013, their roughly eighty-square-meter unit was covered in decorations connected to their deep Soka Gakkai faith and their home’s status as a kyoten, a local base for Gakkai operations. Framed photographs of Soka Gakkai Honorary President Ikeda Daisaku and his wife, Kaneko, had pride of place on their walls next to a closed Buddhist altar that served as the center of the single room in which the couple sleeps and eats. Surrounding these images were pictures of flowers, calendars from the Gakkai daily newspaper Seikyō shinbun, colorful photos and articles on the Oguchis cut out from Gakkai publications, and a streamer of small flags from the People’s Republic of China that ran along the top of the living room: visitors from a Chinese university who are associated with one of several Ikeda Daisaku Research Centers in China paid a visit to the housing units, where they were welcomed by a local Gakkai delegation and a meal prepared by Mrs. Oguchi. During my visits, Mrs. Oguchi brought my Gakkai guides and me a steady stream of tea, coffee, cheesecake, and delicious prepared food, displaying a worrying level of generosity for a couple that obviously lived in poverty. Outside, the surrounding community was eerily quiet: only the distant bray of a diesel-powered generator made up for the absence of the ambient hum of modern Japanese towns that is noticeable only when it is gone. Inside the cramped unit, however, the paper-thin walls and creaky floors broadcast every footstep and quiet word from surrounding families. Privacy is completely absent in these homes.
The Oguchis are in their early sixties with seven grandchildren between them, but they are newlyweds, veterans of lives that were tumultuous before the 3.11 catastrophe.

This indicates they do have relatives they could have conceivably moved in with (as so many others in their situation did), unless there was some serious estrangement involved.

They are second-generation members of Soka Gakkai, divorcees

Divorce remains highly stigmatized in conservative Japan.

who met when they were 2 of more than 2,500 refugees crammed into a cavernous gymnasium in Onnagawa, Miyagi Prefecture, a community near the quake epicenter that was among the hardest hit by the tsunami. Both found their way to the gymnasium after their houses were washed away.

What an astonishing trauma!

Kazuyo had cared for her mother in her home, which was in view of the ocean and only a couple of meters above sea level. After days picking her way through mountains of debris toward where she imagined her mother might have survived, Kazuyo was found freezing by a rescue crew that lifted her by helicopter to the gymnasium. When she learned that her mother was not among the thousands of survivors taking shelter there she collapsed from shock. A fellow Gakkai adherent from the same town, a Mrs. Akimoto, found Kazuyo sitting unmoving. She wrapped her in a child’s blanket, the only possession the Akimoto family had rescued from their own destroyed home. Kazuyo’s mother’s remains were discovered on March 31.
“I lost ten kilos while I was in shock,” Mrs. Oguchi recalled. She talked of her mother, who was eighty-four years old when she was killed. “I could not believe it. How could someone who had persevered through so much die in one instant?”

What?? She was 84 years old! Why was she not better prepared for her mother's death? Mumsy was really really OLD! I know a death from a catastrophe is bound to feel different, giving all the associated trauma from the calamity itself, but c'mon!

Her mother had joined Soka Gakkai in the 1950s and had been cast out from her community in Kōriyama, Fukushima Prefecture, because of her faith; neighbors pelted her with water and garbage when she came to their homes in attempts to urge them to take part in Soka Gakkai’s chanting practice and to subscribe to the Seikyō shinbun. Kazuyo’s mother endured these humiliations in her role as what Kazuyo described as a bunshin, an “emanation” of Ikeda Daisaku, using the Buddhist term for a provisional form of an enlightened being created to spread the Dharma.

Yikes. That's details we NEVER hear through official Soka Gakkai sources.

“I was not serious about my faith before the tsunami,” she recalled. “But thanks to being raised by a good mother, I feel that there is meaning in her death. I think of her as passing the baton.” After her mother’s funeral, Kazuyo stayed on with the Onnagawa refugees instead of going to live with her daughter in Kōriyama, dedicating herself wholeheartedly to Soka Gakkai aid mobilization.

Perhaps moving in with her daughter wasn't really an option for her? Attributing her rejection/ostracisation instead to a deliberate decision to do religious stuff for Soka Gakkai would certainly have enabled her to "save face", so important in that culture.

Conditions immediately after 3.11 in the Onnagawa gymnasium were dire. After a chaotic first few days, the refugees were arranged in rows of 90 centimeters by 2 meters per person, nominally separated from neighbors by cardboard dividers. There were almost no emergency supplies making their way through the ruined roads. People would line up one at a time to get a paltry dinner at 5:00, their only meal of the day; if they did not show up in person, they would not get fed. Kazuyo joined the effort to coordinate with Gakkai leaders elsewhere in Miyagi and in Tokyo to serve survivors’ needs. As they brought in food, Gakkai volunteers also paid heed to the particular needs of these primarily elderly refugees: they shipped in adult diapers, suitable undergarments for elderly women and men, makeup, and other goods that allowed older survivors to regain a modicum of dignity. “Can there really be someone so pure as this?” marveled Masayuki when he saw Kazuyo taking the lead in these activities. “Someone who thinks only of helping others?”

Using every opportunity to promote the Ikeda cult.

Like Kazuyo, Masayuki had converted to Soka Gakkai as a child when his family joined the religion in the 1950s, and while he had taken an active role in the Young Men’s Division years ago, he grew distant from the organization as he descended into circumstances he only hints at in conversation. “I led a really irresponsible life (charanporan na jinsei),” he laughs through a persistent cough; his voice is rough, adenoidal, the ravaged remains of decades of chain-smoking. “Really, to the extent that you’d say ‘Wow! Someone like this exists?’”

Gratuitous advertising for Soka Gakkai, by someone who is clearly a damaged individual.

On March 14, he was approached in the Onnagawa gymnasium by Mr. Akimoto, husband of the woman who aided Kazuyo. Akimoto recruited Oguchi and Kurasaki, another Gakkai man in his sixties, to make a perilous journey by car from the nearby Soka Gakkai center through the rubble to a community hall in the mountains at which 300 refugees waited without food. “We didn’t know if we would make it back. Pipes were broken, waste water poured into the broken streets, there was lots of debris, yet three hundred people were there in the hall.” The three volunteers brought plenty of onigiri (rice balls) prepared by the Gakkai’s Married Women’s Division, yet they felt that partaking of the food themselves would create tensions: at first, the refugees greeted them with suspicion upon learning that they were a rescue envoy from Soka Gakkai. The three were also starving, “but we watched them eat. There were no Gakkai members there.” It is clear that Mr. Oguchi was immediately conscious of the need to project the best possible public image for Soka Gakkai; by not eating any of the food they brought, these volunteers could represent their religion as singularly dedicated to service of others.

Every moment regarded as a "shakubuku" opportunity, obviously.

On March 16, Oguchi joined the other Gakkai refugees in the gymnasium in reacting with profound emotion to the message from Ikeda Daisaku to the disaster survivors published that day in the Seikyō shinbun; Gakkai administrators distributed copies to the approximately 100 Gakkai members then living in the Onnagawa gymnasium, and Oguchi once again joined Akimoto and Kurasaki in rescue missions to other refugee centers, this time delivering easy-to-read large-print photocopies of Ikeda’s message to elderly Gakkai member survivors along with food and other emergency supplies.

Keep in mind that Ikeda did not show his face; he had already been MIA almost a year, since his last public appearance the previous year, in May 2010. For such an important event and incredibly necessary purpose for a religious leader, Ikeda was a no-show, and it was well known aside from the most brainwashed that others were writing these "messages from Ikeda Daisaku".

IKEDA SHOULD HAVE MADE AN APPEARANCE ON VIDEO AT LEAST.

“I am sixty-three years old now,” he told me in June 2013. “At sixty-one, I realized [Ikeda]-sensei’s greatness (subarashisa).” It was impossible for the Gakkai members to carry out their regular chanting practice—a twice-daily recitation of sections of the Lotus Sūtra followed by repeated invocations of namu-myōhō-renge-kyō (the title of the Lotus, known as the daimoku)—in the gymnasium. Masayuki, filled with renewed purpose, made a habit of joining Kazuyo in climbing the hill behind the gym early each morning to chant namu-myōhō-renge-kyō toward Onnagawa. The two focused their daimoku on everyone in Onnagawa achieving jōbutsu, the realization of buddhahood.

Wouldn't you think those people's health and safety would have been a more pressing concern, given the circumstances?

They became a couple, joined their two tiny cardboard-partitioned sections of the gymnasium floor into one, and began working together in Gakkai relief activities that eventually shifted from emergency aid to long-term relief projects.

Trauma bonding?

After Kazuyo and Masayuki moved into their temporary housing unit in June 2011, they launched into a busy schedule that combined aiding local residents, members and non-members alike, with intensive Soka Gakkai engagement.

Means "shakubuku".

As they continue to participate in regional aid initiatives, they hold regular meetings in their tiny home; their housing complex is home to four other Gakkai households and eight people they call rikaisha, literally “people who understand,” a term they use to describe readers of the Seikyō shinbun. The local members gather for study meetings, chanting sessions, and other events, and they commute frequently into Onnagawa and other Miyagi communities. “Around here, unless you have a car, you can’t carry out any activities at all,” Kazuyo affirmed. The impoverished couple estimated that they spent at least 30,000 yen (~US$300) on gasoline transporting residents to and from the housing units in their first year, to take part in Gakkai events but also to help non-members visit family, shop, and carry out other life activities—funds they pool from Masayuki’s job as a night watchman for a local business. They told me about how, while driving, they stop to pick up neighbors, driving them back and forth to relatives’ homes. “We do this joyfully,” added Kazuyo, characterizing the financial and time costs they accrue as the price of kōsen rufu, or the spread of Soka Gakkai.

This makes me really sad, how these elderly suffering individuals are putting the greedy priorities of the Ikeda cult Soka Gakkai ahead of their own well-being.

Mr. Oguchi expanded on his feelings about money. “For seven years, I ran a pachinko parlor; this shop was swept away by the tsunami. I made a salary of about ten million yen a month, with more than forty million each month in cash bonuses. But I spent it all, and I lost everything before the tsunami…. If money comes into your hand before you even think of it, you have no gratitude, and the things [you buy] do not evoke a sense of thanks. Going hungry as one works and feeling gratitude as one eats—this was not part of my life before.” Tears streaming down his face, he declared several times in my conversations with him: “The tsunami, for me, was the best thing that happened in my life.”

Yikes.

The Oguchis have become Soka Gakkai celebrities.

The Oguchis appear to value that celebrity status so much that they're willing to sacrifice their own well being and lives just to cling to it. Maybe it's all they have.

They have been profiled numerous times in Gakkai publications, and their home serves as an outreach center well known to the many Gakkai volunteers who continue to make regular journeys to Miyagi Prefecture. Soka Gakkai has incorporated relief efforts pioneered by the Oguchis, and by other Gakkai grassroots-level activists like them, into its carefully administered recovery efforts in the region. After 2011, Soka Gakkai mirrored the Japanese government in designating its efforts in the worst-damaged areas as fukkō 福光 (fortunate light) projects, employing a homophone for fukkō 復興, “recovery,” the ubiquitous term in Japanese governmental descriptions of disaster reconstruction.

How facile. Just replace a word that emphasizes all the work that still needs to be done with a substitute that gratuitously serves the Soka Gakkai feel-good propaganda but doesn't actually involve any help for anyone. "Just think positive thoughts, minions!" The Soka Gakkai loves these empty blandishments and doesn't particularly care about the reality of anyone's lives. Unless it makes for an "inspiring" story in their little publications, of course.

The Gakkai’s fukkō districts receive special attention from its volunteer crews, and even now on the 11th of each month the Seikyō shinbun publishes reminders about 3.11, ensuring that Gakkai adherents keep disaster victims constantly in mind as they conflate discourse on recovery with an optimistic aesthetic of fortune and light.

"Everything will be just FINE!" Notice there's no mention of the Soka Gakkai actually sending any MONEY to the disaster victims. But they'll blab incessantly about "an optimistic aesthetic of fortune and light" bleahhhhh

To conclude this case study: the Oguchis reveal that religious relief efforts can come about not from rational plans laid out by technocratic experts but as unanticipated consequences, as bottom-up initiatives by practitioners driven by complex combinations of faith and life circumstances. When regional Gakkai administrators learn of these grassroots-level activists, they urge them to expand their scope and integrate with broader institutional mandates. The local activists are celebrated for their efforts, and their contributions comprise contributions to a synthetic institutional narrative promoted in the hopes of fostering a positive public image for the group.

The Soka Gakkai is determined to profit from what they're doing - regardless of the costs to this elderly couple themselves:

But the difficulties endured by local members like the Oguchis are not conveyed by this narrative, nor are their contributions to relief and reconstruction. The impact of their personal transformations in the wake of the tsunami—certainly on Soka Gakkai members, but most likely also on families outside the group and on the temporary housing community to which they have dedicated themselves—defies this kind of summary.
Additionally, what the Oguchis said and how they expressed themselves did not cohere neatly with a satisfying narrative arc of ruination leading into spiritual renewal that is common in member testimonials promoted by Soka Gakkai administrators. As the Oguchis spoke to me of their experiences with the tsunami and its aftermath, strong emotions rose to the surface easily and often. They derive joy from their daily work, and they clearly place a great deal of importance on their new, elevated role within Soka Gakkai, but years after 3.11 they remain fragile, prone to expressing profound grief. Unlike many survivors who have moved into reconstructed homes or far away from the disaster area, the Oguchis never escape the voices of the bereaved infiltrating their home at all hours, and they themselves are still visibly distraught. They shed tears of joy at having rediscovered their faith by gaining purpose in aiding others after the tsunami, but speaking with the Oguchis, hearing their anguished stories, and witnessing their wrenching mix of gratitude and sorrow, one might think the tsunami swept through weeks ago, not years.

Summaries of their aid efforts do not convey this lingering trauma, nor do they do justice to the layers of life experiences that may explain why the Oguchis remain in their tiny temporary housing unit.

What do you think? It comes off just really sad and stuck to me, but what do I know?

I'M BACK, GLITCHES!
Sorry about the delay, folks. Got a bit caught up with the whole Puzzlevision thing as well as a little writer's block, but I can now present to you the next chapter of Taking Flight.
Enjoy!
We begin in the Castle with Tari and Aybel in the main hall. Tari cautiously holds the orb in her right hand as Aybel hovers beside her.
Aybel: Are you ready, Miss Tari?
Tari: There were times I would be too terrified to even THINK about doing something like this, especially with no idea as to what could happen. Well, times have changed.......
She stares down at the orb she's been holding onto for a week now.
Tari: ..........and so have I.
Aybel: You'll be stepping into uncharted territory. There may be no turning back after this.
Tari: If this is the next step I need to take....... then so be it.
She takes a deep breath as she lightly places her robotic hand on the orb. It begins to glow as the silvery shell peels away to reveal a radiant core. Her metallic fingers close around the core, and the floating remnants of the shell expand and weave across her arm until it forms an armored gauntlet that goes up to her shoulder. The symbol of a blue wing is emblazoned on the pauldron, and the polished flat crystals on the back of her hand and arm dance with a tapestry of sigils and scripts. She admires her new upgrade in astonishment.
Clench: WOO! Now THIS is an upgrade! ........ now what?
Aybel: Now?.......... We get to work.
Later on we see the two gathered with all four SMGs outside. SMG4 and SMG3 are seen dragging in a large crate.
SMG4: Alright, one fresh batch of extra spicy memes at the ready!
The crate opens to reveal an assortment of memes such as Pingas Heads, Dancing Pepes, Wojacks, and.......uh.........Singing Fruit. Whatever, we'll roll with it.
SMG1: Shall we begin?
SMG1 nods and joins hands with SMG2. SMG3 and SMG4 also join hands, and the four proceed to draw the memes out of the box before converting them into golden motes of Meme Energy.
SMG2: In its raw form, Meme Energy can only be properly utilized by beings such as SMGs and Avatars.
A few motes flow into Mario, giving him the Power Star Power-up. He then proceeds to abuse this power by flying after an Ice Cream Truck. The Ice Cream man is shocked at the opalescent Italian plummer flying at him at Mach 2 and hits the gas as Mario gives chase. They both speed off into the distance, much to the amusement of Three and the bemusement of Four.
SMG1: But Meme Energy can take many forms, some of which can be drawn upon by those who are "attuned" to how the universe works. Aybel, would you care to demonstrate?
Aybel: With pleasure.
He raises his hand as a mote floats in his palm. He jestures with his other hand and currents of energy flow from the mote and weave around his fingers.
Aybel: Through methods of conduction, channeling, and communion, a soul can manipulate the flow of energy around them. Even in a diluted ambient state, the applications of such energies are practically endless.
The energy flows into his palm and creates a burning butterfly-like creature. It flutters into the distance before exploding in a brilliant display of crackling sparks and flames. He then lets the energy mote float over to Tari. She reaches for the mote with her new gauntlet. Its crystallic facets giving off a vivid azure glow as she clenches the mote.
SMG1: The Metarunners had the ability to condense this ambient energy into something more refined and concentrated.
She opens her hand to see that the mote is glowing brighter and has turned a bright blue.
SMG1: This is what we call "Meta." It is a force that not only holds great power, but memories as well. And it is through those memories that this power is realized.
Tari allows the mote to phase into her hand. Crackling energy courses through her body as her irises begin to glow blue.
SMG2: Now that you've joined with the artifact, you can now more efficiently draw from both ambient AND raw Meme Energy by refining it into Meta.
Aybel: How are you feeling, Miss Tari?
Tari: It's a bit much, to me honest....... but it's fine! I can handle it.
She transforms her arm into a railgun as the SMGs convert some of the motes into floating targets. With pinpoint precision, she fells each target with each thunderous crack.
Clench: WOOOOOO! WHO WANTS SOME!? COME RIGHT UP!
Aybel: Let's start her off with something simple.
The SMGs then condense the remaining motes into HIVE DARKBLADE KELGORATH, RISEN FROM BONES, TAKEN BY WAR, CHISELED BY LOSS, KNIGHT CHAMPION OF DEATH as a boss for Tari to fight. She draws her glaive and speeds towards the knight. Kelgorath raises his axe and attempts to bring it down upon her, but she easily dodges and cleaves a chunk of chitin from his bicep. He turns to retaliate with another swing only for his axe to shatter against an iridescent barrier. He tosses the broken axe aside and resorts to hurling balls of Arc energy. But she still manages to evade getting burned, even batting one of the balls right into Kelgorath's face and breaking his helm to reveal a bulbous growth overtaking his head. The frenzied Knight lets out a gutteral roar that echoes across the Showgrounds.
Clench: Oh, now he's pissed.
Seething with rage, Kelgorath's fists crackle with electricity as he charges in. Tari flings a blink blade past Kelgorath before he brings down his fists and shatters the earth beneath him. When the dust settles, he scans the area for any remnants of his target. A sudden pain shoots up his leg, and he looks down to see his ankle completely severed with a swing of Tari's blink blades.
Aybel: Clever girl.
Tari climbs up the Knight's back before plunging her glaive into the back of his head. The blade's glow rapidly intensifies before she unleashes an earth shattering blast, leaving nothing but a smoldering stump. She then makes her way down as the Knight's body collapses to the ground before evaporating in a cloud of Soulfire.
Tari: WOOOOOO! THAT'S how you get it done!
SMG4: How ya feeling, Tari?
Tari: Like a million quid! Slightly tingly, though.
SMG1 notices that her scars are glowing. He and SMG2 share glances of concern.
SMG1: Tari, I think you should take it easy. Your body may still need time to acclimate to channeling this kind of energy.
Tari twirls her glaive like a baton, not really heeding SMG1's advice as she notices Ragatha and Jax walking by. In a blink she rushes right up to the group and stops right in front of Ragatha.
Ragatha: Oh, uh, hi Tari.
Tari: Hey guys, whatcha doin'?
Ragatha: Not much.......uh.......
Jax: You're a lot more chipper than usual.
Tari: Oh, sorry. I'm just really really REALLY full of energy right now and I've been practicing for a bit.
Jax: Does that explain the fact that you're literally glowing right now.
Aybel floats over to the three. He carefully analyzes Tari before turning to Ragatha.
Aybel: Miss Ragatha, please forgive the intrusion, but could you perhaps assist us with Tari's training for today? We weren't expecting her to dispatch the boss we had planned so quickly.
Ragatha: It's no problem at all. I'd be glad to help.
Tari: YAAAAAAAY!
Tari immediately grabs Ragatha's hand and hauls her back to the others. The two take their starting positions as they get ready to spar. Tari makes the first move, drawing her glaive and rushing in tip first. Ragatha swiftly draws her cleavers and parries a flurry of thrusting attacks with near perfect precision. Tari steps back and switches to her blink blades. She throws one forward and Ragatha sidesteps, the blade whizzing by her head. Tari teleports to the flying blade and attempts to land a double sword strike, but Ragatha once again dodges with uncanny ease. Try as she might, Tari can't land a single blow on Ragatha. That's when she gets an idea. With a wave of her hand she summons 5 square shaped barriers and combines them into a cube around Ragatha. Now she has no room left to dodge.
Ragatha: Well, she's certainly getting more creative with her barriers.
With her quarry trapped, Tari transforms her arm into a massive fusion cannon and takes aim at the cube. The machine hums with escalating intensity as the tip of the barrel glows blue with energy. But Ragatha has another trick up her sleeve. She pricks her finger up, and a transparent thread around Tari's wrist tugs the cannon upwards right as it fires. A brilliant blue beam erupts from its barrel and streaks into the sky with a thunderous boom. A flock of birds fall out of the sky, fully cooked, basted, and seasoned for some reason.
SMG3: Oh sweet, lunch.
Tari falls onto her back, her arm reverting back to its previous form as the blue glow fades from her eyes and scars. The prism trap flickers away, allowing Ragatha to go check on her now drowsy and barely conscious sparring partner.
Ragatha: You still up for more?
Tari: Yeah, just........give me a minute to.......
Aaaaaand she's out, her snoring now audible as Ragatha picks her up in her arms.
Ragatha: Take all the time you need, kid.
Jax: whistles Well that was a show and a half. One second too late and Dollface would've been in pretty bad shape.
SMG2: And so would Tari if she hadn't expended all that excess energy.
SMG1: Indeed. It'll be some time before her body can properly handle that much energy, but her progress is still coming along swimmingly. We should probably focus more on channeling.
Ragatha makes her way back to the Castle with Tari resting peacefully in her arms.
Ragatha: Yeah, let's save that for tomorrow.

I'M BACK, GLITCHES!
Sorry about the delay, folks. Got a bit caught up with the whole Puzzlevision thing as well as a little writer's block, but I can now present to you the next chapter of Taking Flight.
Enjoy!
We begin in the Castle with Tari and Aybel in the main hall. Tari cautiously holds the orb in her right hand as Aybel hovers beside her.
Aybel: Are you ready, Miss Tari?
Tari: There were times I would be too terrified to even THINK about doing something like this, especially with no idea as to what could happen. Well, times have changed.......
She stares down at the orb she's been holding onto for a week now.
Tari: ..........and so have I.
Aybel: You'll be stepping into uncharted territory. There may be no turning back after this.
Tari: If this is the next step I need to take....... then so be it.
She takes a deep breath as she lightly places her robotic hand on the orb. It begins to glow as the silvery shell peels away to reveal a radiant core. Her metallic fingers close around the core, and the floating remnants of the shell expand and weave across her arm until it forms an armored gauntlet that goes up to her shoulder. The symbol of a blue wing is emblazoned on the pauldron, and the polished flat crystals on the back of her hand and arm dance with a tapestry of sigils and scripts. She admires her new upgrade in astonishment.
Clench: WOO! Now THIS is an upgrade! ........ now what?
Aybel: Now?.......... We get to work.
Later on we see the two gathered with all four SMGs outside. SMG4 and SMG3 are seen dragging in a large crate.
SMG4: Alright, one fresh batch of extra spicy memes at the ready!
The crate opens to reveal an assortment of memes such as Pingas Heads, Dancing Pepes, Wojacks, and.......uh.........Singing Fruit. Whatever, we'll roll with it.
SMG1: Shall we begin?
SMG1 nods and joins hands with SMG2. SMG3 and SMG4 also join hands, and the four proceed to draw the memes out of the box before converting them into golden motes of Meme Energy.
SMG2: In its raw form, Meme Energy can only be properly utilized by beings such as SMGs and Avatars.
A few motes flow into Mario, giving him the Power Star Power-up. He then proceeds to abuse this power by flying after an Ice Cream Truck. The Ice Cream man is shocked at the opalescent Italian plummer flying at him at Mach 2 and hits the gas as Mario gives chase. They both speed off into the distance, much to the amusement of Three and the bemusement of Four.
SMG1: But Meme Energy can take many forms, some of which can be drawn upon by those who are "attuned" to how the universe works. Aybel, would you care to demonstrate?
Aybel: With pleasure.
He raises his hand as a mote floats in his palm. He jestures with his other hand and currents of energy flow from the mote and weave around his fingers.
Aybel: Through methods of conduction, channeling, and communion, a soul can manipulate the flow of energy around them. Even in a diluted ambient state, the applications of such energies are practically endless.
The energy flows into his palm and creates a burning butterfly-like creature. It flutters into the distance before exploding in a brilliant display of crackling sparks and flames. He then lets the energy mote float over to Tari. She reaches for the mote with her new gauntlet. Its crystallic facets giving off a vivid azure glow as she clenches the mote.
SMG1: The Metarunners had the ability to condense this ambient energy into something more refined and concentrated.
She opens her hand to see that the mote is glowing brighter and has turned a bright blue.
SMG1: This is what we call "Meta." It is a force that not only holds great power, but memories as well. And it is through those memories that this power is realized.
Tari allows the mote to phase into her hand. Crackling energy courses through her body as her irises begin to glow blue.
SMG2: Now that you've joined with the artifact, you can now more efficiently draw from both ambient AND raw Meme Energy by refining it into Meta.
Aybel: How are you feeling, Miss Tari?
Tari: It's a bit much, to me honest....... but it's fine! I can handle it.
She transforms her arm into a railgun as the SMGs convert some of the motes into floating targets. With pinpoint precision, she fells each target with each thunderous crack.
Clench: WOOOOOO! WHO WANTS SOME!? COME RIGHT UP!
Aybel: Let's start her off with something simple.
The SMGs then condense the remaining motes into HIVE DARKBLADE KELGORATH, RISEN FROM BONES, TAKEN BY WAR, CHISELED BY LOSS, KNIGHT CHAMPION OF DEATH as a boss for Tari to fight. She draws her glaive and speeds towards the knight. Kelgorath raises his axe and attempts to bring it down upon her, but she easily dodges and cleaves a chunk of chitin from his bicep. He turns to retaliate with another swing only for his axe to shatter against an iridescent barrier. He tosses the broken axe aside and resorts to hurling balls of Arc energy. But she still manages to evade getting burned, even batting one of the balls right into Kelgorath's face and breaking his helm to reveal a bulbous growth overtaking his head. The frenzied Knight lets out a gutteral roar that echoes across the Showgrounds.
Clench: Oh, now he's pissed.
Seething with rage, Kelgorath's fists crackle with electricity as he charges in. Tari flings a blink blade past Kelgorath before he brings down his fists and shatters the earth beneath him. When the dust settles, he scans the area for any remnants of his target. A sudden pain shoots up his leg, and he looks down to see his ankle completely severed with a swing of Tari's blink blades.
Aybel: Clever girl.
Tari climbs up the Knight's back before plunging her glaive into the back of his head. The blade's glow rapidly intensifies before she unleashes an earth shattering blast, leaving nothing but a smoldering stump. She then makes her way down as the Knight's body collapses to the ground before evaporating in a cloud of Soulfire.
Tari: WOOOOOO! THAT'S how you get it done!
SMG4: How ya feeling, Tari?
Tari: Like a million quid! Slightly tingly, though.
SMG1 notices that her scars are glowing. He and SMG2 share glances of concern.
SMG1: Tari, I think you should take it easy. Your body may still need time to acclimate to channeling this kind of energy.
Tari twirls her glaive like a baton, not really heeding SMG1's advice as she notices Ragatha and Jax walking by. In a blink she rushes right up to the group and stops right in front of Ragatha.
Ragatha: Oh, uh, hi Tari.
Tari: Hey guys, whatcha doin'?
Ragatha: Not much.......uh.......
Jax: You're a lot more chipper than usual.
Tari: Oh, sorry. I'm just really really REALLY full of energy right now and I've been practicing for a bit.
Jax: Does that explain the fact that you're literally glowing right now.
Aybel floats over to the three. He carefully analyzes Tari before turning to Ragatha.
Aybel: Miss Ragatha, please forgive the intrusion, but could you perhaps assist us with Tari's training for today? We weren't expecting her to dispatch the boss we had planned so quickly.
Ragatha: It's no problem at all. I'd be glad to help.
Tari: YAAAAAAAY!
Tari immediately grabs Ragatha's hand and hauls her back to the others. The two take their starting positions as they get ready to spar. Tari makes the first move, drawing her glaive and rushing in tip first. Ragatha swiftly draws her cleavers and parries a flurry of thrusting attacks with near perfect precision. Tari steps back and switches to her blink blades. She throws one forward and Ragatha sidesteps, the blade whizzing by her head. Tari teleports to the flying blade and attempts to land a double sword strike, but Ragatha once again dodges with uncanny ease. Try as she might, Tari can't land a single blow on Ragatha. That's when she gets an idea. With a wave of her hand she summons 5 square shaped barriers and combines them into a cube around Ragatha. Now she has no room left to dodge.
Ragatha: Well, she's certainly getting more creative with her barriers.
With her quarry trapped, Tari transforms her arm into a massive fusion cannon and takes aim at the cube. The machine hums with escalating intensity as the tip of the barrel glows blue with energy. But Ragatha has another trick up her sleeve. She pricks her finger up, and a transparent thread around Tari's wrist tugs the cannon upwards right as it fires. A brilliant blue beam erupts from its barrel and streaks into the sky with a thunderous boom. A flock of birds fall out of the sky, fully cooked, basted, and seasoned for some reason.
SMG3: Oh sweet, lunch.
Tari falls onto her back, her arm reverting back to its previous form as the blue glow fades from her eyes and scars. The prism trap flickers away, allowing Ragatha to go check on her now drowsy and barely conscious sparring partner.
Ragatha: You still up for more?
Tari: Yeah, just........give me a minute to.......
Aaaaaand she's out, her snoring now audible as Ragatha picks her up in her arms.
Ragatha: Take all the time you need, kid.
Jax: whistles Well that was a show and a half. One second too late and Dollface would've been in pretty bad shape.
SMG2: And so would Tari if she hadn't expended all that excess energy.
SMG1: Indeed. It'll be some time before her body can properly handle that much energy, but her progress is still coming along swimmingly. We should probably focus more on channeling.
Ragatha makes her way back to the Castle with Tari resting peacefully in her arms.
Ragatha: Yeah, let's save that for tomorrow.

The results are in for Match 15. The winner is…
For Kid Savage, sound around him had begun to dull.
He didn’t hear Moony’s excited chatter beside him, telling him how fine this all was.
He didn’t hear the gunshots firing from just nearby.
He didn’t even hear his own breath, or the heart pounding in his ears.
No, he didn’t hear a thing. All of his senses had faded, as if to focus in completely on the bodies hanging from the power lines. There were more than just the one Moony had thrown, ones he hadn’t noticed until now, all strung up and hanging limp.
His nausea waned.
Suddenly, something broke through that impenetrable silence. Footsteps. Heavy, slow footfalls, just behind him.
The events of that night were already playing back in his head. He knew this part. The end. When he had stared down death, and when slowly, surely, someone else was there. Was he imagining it?
“Been a while. I figured I might see something like this from you.”
No, he was not. That was the voice from back then - the voice that had saved his life. He turned, broken out of his trance, to face Rasna Kaliya. Just like that night. As if he were on a loop.
“Welcome to the land of kings. You want to be a king, kid? You want power? Here it is.”
“Y-You...”
“I heard gunshots.” The ex-leader of Vulture stretched her arms above her head, staring down at the hanging corpses. “And... My favorite food truck was closed.”
“Ahaha, sorry about that!” Moony giggled, placing her hands on Kid’s shoulders, ignoring the way that he jolted at the touch. “As you can see, we were a little preoccupied~! Funky Kitchen’ll be open tomorrow!”
“Hmm.” Rasna didn’t look at her. Kid glanced between them - did Moony know this woman? He’d have to get her to explain later.
“Y’know, we’re actually just about to go get dinner with some, er... Friends. Wanna come?”
“No thanks.” Rasna spun on her heel, making her way back to the building’s stairwell. “I think I’ve seen enough. All four of you... Hah. Nevermind.”
As she left, Moony had the vaguest feeling that she had done something wrong—but it faded in an instant, washed away with blood. That’s right! It’s time for free food!

It's a tie!? With a scores of 75!

Category	Winner	Point Totals	Comments
Popularity	Honeydew Blue and Ouroboros	14 (5+0.5+2) - 16 (6+0.5+2)	It was neck and neck the whole way through!
Quality	Moonchild "Moony" Lamoreaux and Kid Savage	24 (8 8 8) - 23 (7 8 8)	Reasoning
JoJolity	Moonchild "Moony" Lamoreaux and Kid Savage	27 (8 9 10) - 26 (8 9 9)	Reasoning
Conduct	Tie	10-10	Nothing to report!

Kid Savage thought to himself that this may be the worst thing that had ever happened to him. No, scratch that. Worse things had definitely happened. The worst thing would be the Middleman, and the second worst would have to be the events of earlier tonight. This was the third worst moment in his life, then.
“Are you listening, boy?” Ouroboros’s arm landed over his shoulders, shaking him around a bit. “I’m telling you, this story’s a classic! Not many chances to hear tales all the way from Ancient Greece, no?”
He really, really wished he was sitting next to Moony right now. He wasn’t entirely sure what was going wrong with her, but at least she wouldn’t have been so... Like this. They were the only customers in the diner Ouroboros had chosen, the rest probably scared away. He did not like this arrangement. It didn’t look like Moony did, either. She’d had the bad luck of being seated next to one Honeydew Blue, who’d taken a particular interest in the jacket Moony was wearing.
“Uhm...” Moony looked incredibly uncomfortable—it was the most negative emotion Kid had seen from her all night. “Miss, w-would you, er, stop sniffing that? Y-You got the point across the first time...”
Honeydew ignored her, and had now switched back to staring way too hard at Kid. She was still wearing his jacket, for fuck’s sake!
“Anyway, anyway!” Ouro continued his rant, grinning all the while. “Our story begins back in, er, when was it...”
Maybe this was worse than earlier tonight, actually, thought Kid, who wished with all of his heart he had taken the outer seat in the booth.
Looking for something more relaxing? How about a game of golf?
(Shoutouts to u/DSOddish for the match concept!)
Scenario: Port Konwar — 1:36AM
Port Konwar, the logistics and transport center of Rākinnagarh: while a large boon to the city’s economy thanks to the trade and industry the area provided, the port itself does not find as much money poured into supporting it as is exchanged within it to the city at large or its trade partners—and what does find its way to the section of the city does little to help poverty levels similar to that in the neighboring Bedtown.
However, while Bedtown holds little economic value beyond the factories that still have life left in them, Port Konwar is the subject of much more economic interest and as such the city has made sure the area is better policed—the military presence in the area also served to reduce the crime rate in public, but behind closed doors and in dark alleyways it still persists.
The docks were a microcosm of all of this: ships came and went with goods for trade, the area built up exactly as needed and not much more, all built to last in utilitarian fashion. An officer walked up to one of the incoming ships as the small crew started to unload their cargo, coming to a halt as he waited for one of the men to toss him his bribe so he could pretend the smuggling they were partaking in never happened—the exchange shadowed by the larger vessel that docked in to another part of the docks to begin loading up with the contents of the next train to arrive at the nearby station.
A series of light, yet hurried steps slapped against the concrete path alongside the docks. Two shadows clung to the nearest brick wall, one lithe and tall, followed by a deceptively average build. The tall one shimmied against the wall, her eyes striking various spots around her surroundings. As another set of steps approached, the figure froze flat, gripping the other one’s shoulder to pull her back. Sweat beaded down her forehead as two men in matching overalls walked past, a sleeping tiger embroidered on their backs. She swallowed a bit of air, hoping desperately that not a single bead of sweat would dare drip off of her face. Her light-haired partner held her breath, trying her best not to move an inch, a monumental task, to be sure.
Once the guards had moved well past the wall, Lucil Caravan gripped her knees as she gasped for air. She didn’t know how long she had been holding it for, but it must’ve been for an eternity, given how sweet the sensation of breathing felt to her at that moment. She looked up to her partner, who had just finished unwrapping a lollipop.
“Hey, Brighid?” Lucil wheezed. Brighid didn’t respond, as she was immediately turned around, peering behind the wall. She must not have heard her.
“Hey,” she said once more. “What are we doing here, again?”
“Weren’t you paying attention, silly?” a voice chimed from inside Lucil’s pocket, causing her to jump a centimeter off the ground. Gripping her heart, Lucil reached into the pocket, pulling out her burner phone. The small, green LED screen illuminated the lower part of her face, which frowned at the sight of a little jumping envelope stuttering across the screen, a white “1” surrounded by a red square. With a sigh, she flipped open the phone, revealing a feminine form on the screen inside. She twirled her purple hair between her fingers while waving a friendly greeting.
“Can you blame a girl for being distracted?” Lucil said as a matter of fact. “We both know Brighid can get a heavy with the details. Hard to keep them all straight.” She shot a look over to the lawyer, who was still taking note of the scenery behind them, jotting something down furiously in her notepad. “Besides, her energy lately has been throwing me for a loop.” Lucil turned back to her phone. “Don’t you find this all a little weird?”
A chuckle sparked out of the phone, its staccato rhythm causing Lucil to wince. “Well, I suppose I can’t blame you,” Paranoia said with an incredibly sad face. “Humans can only process so much information at a time. You should be careful with how much you give them,” she sang, as she made a grand effort to drag the ‘air’ in front of her into herself. “Give them too much…” her form jittered back and forth, with what looked like smoke pouring out of her ears. Once the image stabilized, she wore a big smile, her head tilted slightly askew. “...and their brains will turn into mush!”
Lucil rolled her eyes. “Yeah, sure. Now, are you going to tell me what we’re doing here, or what?”
Paranoia crossed her arms, resting her chin on her left hand. “That dep~~ends.”
“-On?”
Paranoia flickered once more, revealing her to be lying down, seemingly in midair, kicking her legs. “We haven’t really gotten to know each other, have we? We work at the same place, greet the same faces.” A puzzled look plastered itself onto the virus. “But I don’t know a thing about you!”
Lucil looked up from her phone, out into the dimly lit street they had just come from. “Is this really the time?”
“How do you expect me to share such vital information with a stranger?” Paranoia pouted. “After all, you could jeopardize the whole mission…”
Lucil glanced over to Brighid, who still had not moved, and then back to Paranoia with a heavy sigh. They were going to be here a while. “Fine, what do you want to know?”
The sound of lead scratching paper was barely audible, an impressive feat given that Brighid Rhodes was vigorously filling her notepad with information. A combination of current observations mixed with crude maps of what looked to be hallways stretched along the pages, her eyes fixed in a forward-facing axis between the pad and the office building ahead of her. The sign above the entrance matched the uniforms of the workers that nearly passed them by. She had watched them enter the premises, and they still hadn’t left. It was odd for employees to be coming in to work this late at night. Though, as she knew well enough, this was nothing new for the Ragged Tiger Shipping Company.
Memories of just a couple nights before ebbed into her head, causing her pencil to slow to a crawl. Images of late night workers, packing crates with tired eyes, tight, concrete hallways with far too many corners, gunshots whizzing past her head. She crunched her lollipop as she grit her teeth. Her investigation had not gone quite the way she had wanted it to, no thanks to her carelessness. She could have risked everything, scraping barely by through luck’s good graces.
She looked down back at her notes, where she had scrawled three more bits of information onto the page. Names: “Le Bon”, “A. Rex”, and “Notorious”, each one circled incessantly, something Brighid figured she was doing unconsciously. Her stoicism cracked for a second, letting the smallest of smiles shine through. She didn’t leave empty handed, however. Despite the odds, she had gotten these names, pried them from fate’s own fickle hands. It was more than she had gotten in years, something she was quite enthusiastic about. However, she still only had about 3 small pieces of this 1000-piece puzzle. Fortunately, she knew just where to find the remaining 997.
“Do you like music?”
“Uh, yeah. I’d say so.”
The virus’ eyes lit up. “Oh really? What kind of music do you like best? I’ve been getting into hyperpop lately, myself.”
“Yeah? Well, I guess I’m more into heavier sounds,” Lucil shrugged. “A little bit of grindcore, some rock, mainly anything with a grungey sound to it.”
Paranoia contemplated this response, pacing back and forth inside the screen. Suddenly, a lightbulb flashed over her head, one a little too round, a bit too bright. “Oh, what a silly question to ask,” she replied. “I suppose I should’ve known, right? You’re in a band, aren’t you?”
“-what?” All the color left Lucil’s face. What did she say? She found herself short of breath again. At the same time, she felt her heartbeat whir from a steady rhythm to a faster beat, as if it was getting ready for a race.
“W-what are you… talking abou-?” is about all she could get out before becoming a statue. Her eyes were affixed to the small screen, a grainy picture of some sort of trio. She recognized them, of course. The girl in the middle was her girlfriend, Agata. The guy on her left was a part of her band. The girl on the left. She dug her fingernails into her palms. That woman was incredibly familiar, a face she’d recognize anywhere. She looked a bit different, of course. Maybe a bit more mature? It could’ve been the lighting. But the tag under her picture labeled: “Lucil”, left nothing to speculation.
Paranoia tilted her head, a look of intense curiosity stuck to her face. “This is you, right? Your band? You must remember, they only performed just a few nights ago.”
“Yep, that’s me,” Lucil spat out, swiftly clasping the phone shut. She could practically hear her heart pounding against her sternum. She was shaking, violently. Lucil’s eyes darted around her phone, unwilling to stare at it directly. Just what was the point of all that? What was Paranoia getting at? Lucil looked back over to Brighid, whose own statue-like movements brought her back to reality. She shook her head, taking a glance at her notebook, which the lawyer was absent-mindedly tapping with the pencil, rounding out the lead.
“Hey, Brighid,” Lucil called out, reaching a hand to her shoulder. She jolted upon contact, turning around with furrowed brows. “What?!”
“Oh, hey! Sorry about that.” Lucil held her hands up. “Just wanted to make sure you were-”
“I’m fine,” Brighid said, brushing her dark hair behind her ears. Her demeanor gradually dulled. “Are you ready to move?”
Lucil frowned. “I, uh, still don’t quite follow-”
“Of course we are!” a cheery voice chirped from the burner phone. Lucil had half a mind to chuck it. While she contemplated how much noise it would actually make, a porcelain hand shot out from the inside of the phone, followed by an arm. The top part of the flip phone lifted up ever so slightly as a small figure eked its way out of the screen. With the phone fully open, the figure fizzled right beside Lucil, as a full-sized Paranoia draped its arm around her, causing the hairs on the back of her neck to stand straight up.
“After all, we’ve got a murder investigation on our hands. And we won’t find anything by just twiddling our thumbs!”
“CANNONBALL!”
SPLOOSH!
“Fuckin’ shit!”
“Ahahaha! Well, you’re the one who asked us along! You should have expected a splash zone!”
Nojus sat down, their chair audibly creaking under their weight as they grabbed a pole, fitting some bait onto it and casting the line. They didn’t seem to care about being similarly soaked to Raspberry, furiously shaking out his shirt.
“Is this normal for the two of you?” Raspberry harrumphed, watching Nojus’ husband swim to the middle of the river, then dive underneath.
“What? No! Normally he’d have tossed me in first.”
“...Dammit.” Raspberry sat down himself. “Didn’t take you for a fisher. Nikki would’a come along but she doesn’t like the thought of killing living things.”
“Haha! I’m not!” Nojus announced. “I have no idea what I’m doing here at all—ha!” They tugged on the rod. “Got a bite!” They stood up, nearly pitched out of their seat by the tugging. “It’s a big one!”
“Holy shit, we’ve only been here for a second. And I thought your husband would’ve already scared the shits away with his antics.”
The two watched, Nojus tugging on the line, watching as a large shape lumbered towards them…
“You seem distracted lately, Brighid,” Lucil noted, the group walking towards their target of the Ragged Tiger office.
“Yeah!” Paranoia grinned at the attorney. “Though I suppose this being personal might do that—though I have an idea that it might be something else on your mind.~”
Brighid sighed, turning towards the virus as they continued onwards. “I don’t know what else you’re convinced I’m thinking about, but sure. Go ahead.”
“That Texas kid! She’s been popping up in the news lately, and, well, she does sound a bit like what happened to y—”
“How’d you know about that?” Brighid whipped around to glare at Paranoia. She wasn’t exactly an open book when it came to her past, and she certainly wasn’t an open book around Paranoia. The girl in question simply giggled to herself.
“Texas... That’s Paris Aco’s kid, right?” Lucil spoke up before the tension between the two got anywhere bad. “Y’know the, uh, the one who died? That lady?”
“The very same.” Brighid exhaled. Paranoia was right; it was a situation that felt all too familiar to her. A child, wrapped up in the world of delinquents and ruffians, whose mother was taken all too early by something in the shadows she couldn’t hope to reach. It was pretty much exactly what happened to her, actually, so she was bound to have some sympathy about it. “Dunno how much I could do for her now, but...”
“But you’d like to do something, hmm~?”
“Yeah.” Brighid didn’t know why Paranoia took such an interest, but she didn’t question it. Maybe it was her way of ‘getting to know her’. “The last thing I want is to just be another adult pitying her. She doesn’t need that. Lord knows I didn’t.” She chuckles to herself, twirling a lollipop stick between her fingers. “Guess I gotta think on it.”
Lucil remembered the girl coming into the Gallery a few times—those bright strands of green were hard to miss. It’d been before Paris had died, of course. She hadn’t seen the girl since. But Texas had seemed to take a liking to the lawyer. Recent events must’ve been tearing her apart. Seeing someone dear to her suffering from such a loss... Having someone dear to her...
Lucil didn’t quite like how thinking about that made her feel.
“In any case.” Brighid’s expression returned to its usual coldness. “That’s not what we’re here for.”
Raspberry looked on with caution as Nojus reeled in their catch, the dark shape getting closer and closer to the surface…
…And then Nojus’ husband cleared the water, bleeding heavily from the hook in his mouth.
“YOOOOOOOO!” Nojus grabbed Raspberry, still tugging the man closer with their other hand. “Look! Look who I caught!”
“???????” Raspberry’s face was screwed up in utter confusion as Nojus continued the tug of war, until they’d caught their beau and pulled him up onto the dock by one foot. “Hey, uh, I have- let me remove the hook at leas-”
“I’ve got it!” Raspberry had the scissors torn out of his grip, with Nojus handing the scissors to their husband, letting him take out the hook himself.
“You aren’t gonna catch anything edible in there.” Nojus’ husband mentioned as he pulled the hook out. “Besides me~!” He pulled off a stupid pose, splayed out on the dock. “...The water quality’s god awful. It tastes like mining chemicals and fertilizer. Do you guys know what nitrogen tastes like? It sucks. Really bad.” He shook himself a bit.
“What the hell?” Raspberry grumbled. “Nikki said a few friends of hers had a great fishing spot a while back; things were great then!”
“Huh.” Nojus shrugged. “Oh well.”
“She wouldn’t have lied, either.”
“Yeah, sure. Industry, price of progress, all of that.” Nojus’ husband said. “I’m gonna swim some more. Hey, sweetie, why don’t you find some content to make? Meet up here in an hour? I want to raid a bunch of weird boats I found underwater.”
And with that, he dove back into the river, splashing the two once more.
“...So!” Nojus produced a phone, immediately starting up a stream. “Hey everybody! I’m here with my bro, Raspberry Beret, and we’re about to do some ~investigations~ for you all!”
“What?! We?” He shook his head. “What the hell do you mean we?”
“I mean—” Nojus pulled up next to Raspberry. “—we! I’ll need you to pull off some of the camera work bro, make it so I can edit an absolute hit. Also, I don’t know where to do investigations. They’re the hot new thing in the city, right? Poking around, seeing what you can find.” They flashed a grin at the screen. “And I bet with your local knowledge, you can pick out a place that has some juicy secrets to show to the masses, right~?”
“I—”
“You’re the one always talking about trying new things!” Nojus interrupted his protestations.
“Hey—”
“Nikki—”
“You can’t—”
Raspberry stared into the wall of sheer, ebullient readiness to start as many monetizable problems as possible, and broke against it. “...Fine.”
“...Nikki told me about seeing some shady nonsense happening in a dockyard; she thought it was some illegal goods and said that she was worried about it being in the city. She’d be fine with me investigating that. Probably.”
“Great! I’ll start up my intro; lead the way bro!”
Bridgid and Lucil both kept quiet, having reached the area of the docks where they could begin their investigation. They watched from behind a couple crates as a couple of guards moved past, patrolling the area and leaving an opening. Careful not to make a sound, the duo (and virus via phone) began to move—
A bombastic voice shout-whispered, audible even to them, “It’s right in-”
And then as it was cut off, a scratchy yell began behind them.
Brighid whipped around, catching Paranoia in the arms of ｢Outlando d’Amour｣, the girl hissing, face contorted in fury.
“It’s them! It’s them!!” She crowed.
“Who the hell are you screaming about?” Lucil hissed.
“That voice! They’re the livestreamer that beat up Carol! What are they doing out here?” Trapped in the Stand’s arms and unwilling to make a pincushion out of Brighid, she pulled out her phone, showing a screen.
“-at’s up, Nojus Nation?!” Nojus’ smile filled the stream. “We’re at the Ragged Tigers dock, looking at a lot of shady stuff! Well, I’m going to do my part, and do an ‘unboxing’ of all the contraband my good friend’s wife is worried about! Give it up for Nikki!”
Paranoia gnashed her teeth. “OoooOOOOH I want to stab and stab and stab them so~OOoO--OOO MUCH!!!”
Brighid pulled her into an alleyway, eyes wide. Their cover was almost certainly blown by now, and it would make finding anything of use just that much harder. “Lucil!” She hissed over Paranoia’s diatribe about the bloody vengeance and how long she’d e-stalked Nojus for.
“What the fuck’s up with her?” Lucil responded.
“I don’t know, but I think I can’t stop her- Paranoia. Paranoia! Listen to me!”
At an instant, Paranoia stopped, glancing up to Brighid with a cutesy expression. “Ye~s?”
“If I have you and Lucil uh….” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Beat those two to the punch, break all of the contraband in there you can find, will you promise to be stealthy about it?”
“Can I stab Nojus? Plea~se?” A knife had manifested in her hand.
Brighid dropped Paranoia like a sack of potatoes, the girl landing flawlessly. She looked helplessly to Lucil, who shrugged. “Only a little. I’ll slip in while the guards are busy.”
“O~kay!” And with that, Paranoia was off.
Lucil nodded to Brighid. “Best of luck.”
Brighid took a bit to steady herself. “Yeah. Best of luck.”
“Hey, Nojus.” Raspberry drawled, sliding a hand into his jacket.
“Huh?! Sorry, I’m just dealing with my chat! A ‘troll’ has been saying some very nasty things! Engagement is through the roof!”
“What troll- someone saying that they’d stab you?”
“Yes!”
“Holy fuck-”
Raspberry full-body tackled Nojus through the hole in the fence they’d made, a knife slicing right where Nojus’ throat was a moment before, impacting into a nearby crate.
“Hm.” Was Nojus’ only reply.
More notifications popped into their chat.
“Luci says I can’t kill you now…” Nojus read off, Raspberry watching the woman who threw the knife pop into the same mass of cargo they’d fallen into, followed by another. “...but I can totes upstage you. Lots of exclamation points.” They popped onto their side, lounging. “She almost killed me there. Good catch; we’ll see if she’s wrong, hm?”
“How the hell did you get a fucking psycho knife bitch on your ass, Nojus?”
“Shhh. Guards.” Nojus whispered, only now seeming to acknowledge their surroundings. They shrugged. “I dunno. I genuinely don’t know who either of them are. Maybe she’s jealous about my following. Lot of streamers out there trying to make it big.”
“.....” Raspberry stared at Nojus for a moment, then shook himself. “So they’re trying to interfere with your work? I can… I can work with that. Hopefully Nikki won’t mind as long as we don’t get caught.”
Far away, as Brighid turned to do her own mission, despite herself she muttered,
“Open the game.”
Location: A drydock filled with shipping crates. The map is 90x60 meters, with various objectives marked down on it. There are shipping containers (green) which are 2.25m wide, 3m long, and 3m high. There are also wooden shipping crates (orange) which are 1x1x1 meters.
Marked on the map are the objectives the teams need to accomplish. The diamonds contain information on where their containers are, while the Xs are the actual containers.
Goal: Complete the following objectives in this order:

1. Steal information that reveals which cargo contains smuggled goods. (Diamond)
2. Destroy the contents of the crates without getting caught by guards. (Xs)
3. Exit the map by returning to your starting positions.

Although both players/teams must complete the same objectives, the intel they must steal and crates they must destroy differ between them. The goal of the match is not to prevent your opponent from completing their objective, but to instead complete yours ‘better’ than they can. Players/teams can interfere with each other to slow their opponents down, but may not directly attempt to retire them. Anything up to light maiming and stabbing is fine, but keep your eyes on the ball.
For the sake of the match, the primary goals are fulfilling the objectives completely, fulfilling the objectives with panache, and fulfilling the objectives without being caught. It isn’t enough to simply win the match; it’s to stunt while doing so (either for Paranoia to outdo Nojus or for Nojus to get a really good video). In this situation, being caught includes any evidence that could be clearly traced back to the players; inexplicable occurrences from their Stand abilities do not count. A player could make noise which could alert guards, as long as they manage to stay unseen. Additionally, Nojus streaming will not count as being caught, as none of the guards are subscribed to their socials.
In essence, as long as the players are not spotted and captured in a way that would lead to their arrest, they have some leeway in the clause to not be caught.
The crates whose contents each team needs to destroy will be marked on the map from the very beginning, but they cannot proceed to step 2 without first completing step 1 as per the rules of the match.
The shipping containers and crates not filled with contraband are filled with various dishware. Plates, bowls, glasses, utensils, all the way up to basic pots and pans. The lower down that a container is, the higher quality the contents are; price will vary on the specifics, but one ‘item’ (plate, set of silverware, pot, etc) will generally vary between 20,000₹ on the bottom and 100₹ on top.
Additional Information: Hostile guard NPCs patrol different parts of the map along predictable routes, though they will deviate from their routes to investigate anything suspicious before returning to their routes. Guards start with 322 physicals, a 2 Skill in Patrolling, and a 5 Skill in Increasing Suspicion. At the start of the match, they will give a cursory investigation of an area, but will quickly give up. There is no direct time cap on the match, but as more bizarre things happen around them they will be on increasingly high alert; if one team or another stalls out for a significant amount of time, they’ll almost certainly be found.
While there are a large amount of guards, players may RETIRE some as they feel is necessary. Keep in mind that guards going missing on the job will cause the others to go on increasingly high alert and draw in replacements eventually, and whoever RETIRES a guard is obligated to hide them, or have significantly more heat on them.
The shipping containers are sufficiently expensive as to be un-purchasable by Nojus in the match. The wooden shipping crates are worth 20,000₹ each. Guards are fitted with uniforms (worth 4,000₹), stun batons (worth 7,500₹), and dice for an endemic underground gambling ring (worth 50₹).

Team	Combatant	JoJolity
Gallery of Wayward Reverie	Paranoia and Lucil Caravan	“What the hell are you jerks talking about! We don’t speak human trash-ese!” Even if horrible bloody murder isn’t quite on the cards right now, you still have to outdo this ‘influencer’ at their own game! Antagonize and confound anyone in your way as much as possible, especially through your management of threats in your way!
The Willow Wisps	Nojus Ipolitas and Raspberry Beret	“You think you can pay for this? This suit cost four million lira!” Like you’ll let some small timers get in the way of some hot dollar content. Antagonize and confound anyone in your way as much as possible, especially through your movement and pathing!

Link to Official Player Spreadsheet
Link to Match Schedule
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Big Thicket
Well boys, the life of a squatchemoonshiner living up here in the deep, dark hills of Sasquatch Hollow is very much the Idyllic life one would think. But ever now and then it does a soul good to get away from yer routine and take em a vacation in order to charge thar batteries, if’n ya’ll knowd what I mean.
So I dee -sided to up and take me one of them thar vacations. I wanted to light sumwhar quiet and relaxin. I wuz a’gonna be leavin my business affairs to my new still hand, old “Big Cock From Little Rock”. He ain’t exactly a good old southern boy. But his uncle Willie out thar in Little Rock taught him to shine …. and to flavor ceegars.
After cypherin on my trip fer a spell I decided on a destination: The Big Thicket in the great state of Texas!! I wuz a’goin huntin! See, the Big Thicket is knowd round the world fer not only being a hotbed of Bigfoot activity, but fer havin sum of the biggest, badest Sasquatch sumbitchs any whar!
So I wuz going out thar to the wild and woolly Big Thicket that ever one is a’talkin bout. Plus, I decided to put a spin on it: primitive hunting! That is, I wuz only gonna hunt down and kill them thar critters with my BARE HANDS! Now that thar is sum fun!!! Rest and relaxation, here’s I comes!!!
I managed to git myself to Texas in pretty good time. Thar wuz a little trouble in Mississippi at an all-night truck stop over a pack of Skittles and a glory hole in the restroom which wasn’t exactly as advertised. But I won’t go into that right now except to say that I have to go back out thar in a couple months fer a court day. But don’t fret over it fer me. I ain’t goin!
I hit the Texas state line round daybreak on a Saturday morning. It had been a long and arduous journey. My old donkey, Kamala, wuz gittin up thar in age. I wasn’t sure if’n she would even survive the long trip frum Sasquatch Hollow to Texas pulling me in my old rustic wagon along with my supplies. But the old girl made it like a trooper!!
When I entered the State of Texas I knew I wuz bout another two days from Big Thicket. But I also knew that I had sumthang else I had to do first, before I went huntin.
Jest then I noticed that I wuz passin by a Ford dealership on the side of the road. Well sir, a lightbulb went off in my head! The first thang I did wuz to pull out my old .44 magnum hawg leg frum my pants, pointed it at my mule’s head, then …. NOTHING HAPPENED!!
Upon inspection I realized that I wuz holding my cock! I dun did accidentally pull my old cooch pole frum my pants. I got to tell ya’ll at this point that I had been on the road for two weeks and I wuz hot and tired. I shook my head, put my cock up, found my revolver, then sent my beloved Kamala to heaven. I put the old girl out of her misery. After the long sojourn on the concrete of the interstate she did not even have hoofs anymore. They have worn off! By the time we reached Texas old Kamala wuz walking on four bloody stumps, she wuz!
I bowed my head, took off my old huntin hat, and sed a little prayer fer Kamala. Then I got out my knives and bone saw and butchered the mule right thar on the side of the road. In fact, I set up camp right thar, on Interstate 10 West, jest Inside Texas. I needed a break. So I kicked back and slow cooked the mule’s loin on the fire I built as I sat down, leaned up agin a wagon wheel, and drank sum of my good old homemade corn licker brewed back home in Sasquatch Hollow.
Bout 2:00 a.m. a Texas State Patrol car pulled up to my camp. Thar wuz two pigs. The first one wuz a real prick named “Officer Pedro Gonzalez”. He wuz fast-talkin and clearly on a power trip of the degree reserved for short dicks. The other offer was called “Lieutenant Big Meat Pete”. He wuz more laid back, spoke and moved slower, and seemed like someone I could do bidness with.
Gonzalez stormed into my camp and right up to me, getting in my face. “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!? YOU CAN’T CAMP HERE!! YOU NEED TO PUT OUT THAT FIRE … NOW!!! CLEAN UP THIS FUCKING MESS, GET THAT DEAD ANIMAL OFF THE ROAD, AND GET THAT GODDAMNED CONTRAPTION OUT OF HERE…. NOW!!!
I shook my head and looked down at the ground. “What I’m the hell has the world come to?”, I thought as I reached into my pants and slid my hand around the grips of my .44 magnum and slowly started pulling it out.
Just then old Lt. Big Meat Pete walked over with his hand held up and saying “Whoah thar, fellas. Thar’s no need ta git all squirrelly over this here situation.” I thought yo myself that this old boy is alright. He seemed to be the kind of true Texas gentleman that you expect when you come to this state, unlike that little swarthy prick, Gonzalez.
Old Pete continued on, “Hi thar, feller! I’m old Big Meat Pete. Welcome to Texas! What brings ya’ll this way?” I told old Pete my name and explained to him why I wuz thar in Texas and about camping out. That arrogant rat Gonzalez wuz clearly getting agitated. He had already pulled out his baton from his duty belt and wuz a’statin at me like he wuz wantin to smash in my head with it.
Old Pete kept on talkin. “Well, son, we am sure iz glad to have ya here in …. [pause] uh hey, Roy… is that mule I smell?” I sed “Shore is, Pete. Why don’t ya sit awhile and have ya sum. Have ya a little nip of this here shine too. Made it myself!” Pete got a big, wide grin on his face, sed “Well, I don’t mind if’n I do! Mighty kind of ya, Roy!”
It wuz at this point where Gonzalez lost his shit. He pulled his pistol and pointed it in old Roy’s direction. He then started going on and on about how old Pete is corrupt and that he wuz taking over the investigation. Then “💥BAM!!!💥”, the report frum my .44 magnum is a beautiful thang to behold! Quiet then fell upon my camp, save for old Pete’s chomping on a piece of smoked mule meat.
I sed to Pete, “Sorry I had to do that, Pete”. Old Pete did not even stop chewing as he spoke “Oh, fuck that w#tba#k sumbitch. Boy, this here is sum damn fine mule, Roy! ”
After Pete ate about 3 pounds of mule meat and drank an entire Mason jar of my high-proof moonshine. He sed “Goodnight, Roy! Thanky fer the vittles and hooch! Let me knowd if’n ya’ll need anything whilst ya in the great state of Texas!” I sed goodbye and then watched as the patrolman got into his car, turned on its siren and took off headed East in the westbound lanes at high speed. It clearly struck me that the sumbitch wuz going the wrong way. But I jest shrugged and thought “fuck him”. I then curled up under a burlap sack and got some much needed sleep.
Now, to cut a long story short, I woke up well before dawn at the sound of the wailing sirens on cop cars and ambulances speeding east. I decided to git to werk. I walked over to that old Ford dealership in front of which I had set up camp. I stole me an F350 Dually and and enclosed toy trailer fer hauling motorcycles and moonshine and sech. I then gathered up the shit I needed before setting my camp on fire. Then I hauled ass in my new truck and towing trailer!!
Before I headed over to the Big Thicket to murder sum of them thar Bigfoots, I headed south to the US-Mexican border. See, I had decided to do my patriotic duty and help out with that thar border crises that old man Joe Biden created when he took office and fucked the ever livin shit outa everthang. See, what I dun did wuz call my contact in the Taco Mafia, an old feller named Rodrigo Burrito, and told him I wuz gonna hep him smuggle sum leaf blowers across the border. They is paying $1,500.00 a head fer this!!
Well, I stole me a a big old pickup truck and an enclosed trailer to pull behind it. I’d roll up to the border at a secluded location, load up not thutty them tamales at a time, and take payment. After that I would give each landscaper a small baggie of fentanyl ((I told em it were headache powder) then locked them sumbitches up in the trailer I hauled add to Houston … straight to the local DEA office, where I turned them all in fer drug smugglin!
Them thar DEA fellers was tickled pink! They yanked them old Mexican families out of my trailer, beat them into submission, then performed repeated and violent body cavity searches. It wuz a win-win fer me cuz I made good bank off the Taco Mafia and I kept a bunch of swarthy illegal aliens of the streets of America. But still, I felt like I deserved more.
Whilst them old DEA boys were probin them Mexicans with their batons, I called the head guy over. “Hey, Lieutenant Himmler! Can I have a word wit ya?”, I said. The cop sauntered on over to me. I sed, “Now looky here. Ya’ll don’t wanna have to process all these here be#ners. That’s a lot of work.” The Lieutenant replied with a heavy Texas drawl, “Well now, Roy, I reckon that bout 5-6 of them thar little fellas will make a run fer here shortly and we’ll have to gun em down, know what I mean?” I knowd what he means.
I continued on “Well now, that thar sounds like a right good plan. In fact, I’d like to git in on sum that too if’n I can. But there’s sumthang else I wanna talk to ya bout.” The Lieutenant sed “Well hell yeah, Roy!! Jest grab yer old shootin iron and I’ll deputize ya! We is got us a pool goin. The most head shots wins!”
“Sounds good!”, I sed. “But thar’s sumthang else.” The old top cop narrowed his eyes, cocked his head, and leaned forward. Clearly I had his attention. I continued, “Ya see that thar girl over thar in the ass-tight jeans and Joe Biden T-shirt?” The Lieutenant looked over at her and sed “Yep.” I sed “Well, I dun took a likin to that little squaw. I want her.”
The Lieutenant replied “Well now, Roy, of course I don’t rightly give a shit. I mean, I cain’t sell her to ya. I’m an officer of the law and that would be an ethical problem fer me. I think they call it a ‘conflict of interest’. But sure, I COULD give her to ya.”
The cop continued, “But Roy, how you know me that lil bitch is of legal age?” I sed “I checked her ID”. The Lieutenant immediately sed “Oh, OK! As long as she is of legal age then go ahead and take the lil Taco. I don’t give a fuck. Have fun. Knock yer self out!! But do me one favor, Roy.” I sed “Sure, whut?” The Lieutenant sed “Well, if’n that thar young, seemingly healthy girl happens to drop dead while in your possession, don’t leave it in my jurisdiction, ok?” I sed “You got it, Chief!”
Of course, I knowd that this here cute lil bitch wuz over 18. I got an up close and person look at her whilst I wuz shoving the baggy of drugs up her cooter hole. So thar’s no problem with that. She’s my property now!
I took that pretty little brown skinned girl, put her in my truck, and tied her up so she can’t escape. She spoke no English, only Taco Muncher. Man, she sure wuz pretty, and her tight little body wuz smoking hot! I bet I could take her back to Sasquatch Hollar and make a pretty penny selling her to Madam Kalashnikov at the local whoowah house! But I had other plans fer her.
Well, as predicted, then illegal aliens did make a run fer it. But the cruel hand of justice came down on them hard on ‘em! Me and the DEA boys had us a good laff, shook hands, and then I left with my new jizz jug tied up in the seat next to me.
I headed on up to Big Thicket from thar. Bout halfway thar I caught a ferocious case of the shits from eating old Kamala! I pulled over to relive myself in sum bushes, then got run off by the folks in the Lowe’s garden department. But that weren’t the end of it. I had to stop 7 more times because of explosive diarrhea. I shit myself so bad, in fact, that I ruined my britches and skivvies and had to go plum bare assed. On on such stop I couldn’t even get out of my truck without launching a load of brown water across the cab of the truck and allow my lil Mexican companion and the passenger side window. I felt a little bad fer her after that so I stopped at a Taco Bell and bought her a burrito.
After a couple hours on the road I had pretty much emptied my bowels of old Kamala. Then, jest as we were pulling up to an access road fer the Big Thicket I saw blue lights in the part of my rear view mirror that wuz not covered in shit. I pulled over to see what the fuck the oinker wanted.
Well sir, this. Lil lady in a poleece uniform walked up to my winder. I rolled her down and sed “Well hello there, little lady! What can I do ya fer?” She said she pulled me over because all my windows were obscured by a brown substance and that it weren’t safe fer me to be driving this way. I replied, “Aww shucks, it ain’t nuthin! I been getting along jest fine. Hey, you knowd what? You sure is a pretty lil thang!”
Then that lil police girl got all sorts of bent outa shape. She sed that wuz a mangled kid’s bicycle and two road hazard cones wedged up under the front end of my truck. I replied, “Well, sum fuckers jest don’t know they ain’t supposed to be playing in the road. I figured if’n thar sorry assed parent weren’t gonna teach em then old Roy should step in and teach em, know what I mean?”
At this point the lil police girl pulled out her service pistol, pointed it at me, and ordered me out of my truck. With a long sigh I complied and stepped outs my truck. “THUMP!!!!” came the loud sound. The lil cop looked in the direction of the sound. It were my cock a’hittin the ground cuz I were still naked from the waste down. She stood thar with her mouth plum open staring at my old tallywacker layin thar in the dirt. I sed, “Ya’ll like what ya see thar, sweet thang?” Her mouth closed abruptly and she returned her angry gaze to my face.
Well now, it were at this here point that the little copper noticed my Mexican travel companion tied up in the passenger seat and covered up in dried feces. The cop looked surprised. She exclaimed “OH MY GOD!! WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!?” The little Mexican gal then started talking excitedly with her jibber jabber. I thunk to myself “Well hell, Roy. I guess you is a’gonna hafta do sumthang bout this before that lil cop girl gits hysterical.” Besides, it wuz gonna be nightfall soon and I aimed to git out in the woods to choke out a squatch er three.
Quick as a bunny I grabbed the pistol outa the little cop’s hands. Then I took hold off my fuckin stick, twirled it away 2-3 times over my head, and then busted her over her pretty lil head with it “BAMMM!!!” She hit the ground like a sack of taters she did!! I then looked at the pistol I took away frum her to see what she had been packin. It were a lil old .380 Glock. I sed “Jeeeesus Christ… PUSSY SHIT!!”, then threw the little pea shooter into the woods.
Well no, I gathered the unconscious dick-whipped little po-lease girl and throwd her into the cab of my truck along with my lil Mexican gal, got myself in, then took off down the Big Ticket access road. I had my a route plotted out on my old topography map I stole from the old sporting goods store back home, the “Sasquatch Bait and Pizza”. Unfortunately it too wuz covered in a thick and crusty layer of dried shit. “Well, shit!”, I sed.
I drove bout 2 and a half hours in Big Thicket. I went down the dirt access road fer a while, then took an old logging road, then road down sum rough-ass old pig trails. Finally I decided to stop and prepare fer my hunt. By this here time the lil cop wuz coming to. I wanted to go scout out the land a little bit a’fer I hed out fer the night. But I couldn’t leave the pig here. So I pulled her ass outa the truck and tied up her hands with my long damn cock rod.
She asked “What are you doing?!?” First thang I sed wuz “Shut the fuck up!!!” Then I explained that we were gonna do sum scoutin and that she wuz comin along.
Now it didn’t take long before the cop’s training come into play. She started in with all this bullshit about surrendering to her and how it wuz in my best interest to let her go and other psychological horse shit. I stopped, then turned to her to speak. I explained the situation to her. I told her that we wuz smack dab in the middle of lair of sum of the biggest and meanest Sasquatch on the face of this heat earth. Therefore, is wuz in her best interest to shut up lest she irritate one of them thar rascals and it rips off her head. Second, I advised her that if she chooses to keep on yapping I wuz a’gonna pull the whiskey cork outa my asshole, which I been dun using to stop the flaming shits, and stick it in her mouth. Either way, she WUZ gonna shut the fuck up.
That thar lil cop kept quiet after that, and I hit back to scouting. After a good half hour hike I finally came across the first Sasquatch sign! It wuz a hellish, Jurassic Park sounding “Ohio Call” sounding vocalization. What’s more, it wuz close, like with a half mile. We stood thar listening. That damned old critter let out 2 more howls! I knew I had to move!! I had to get back to my truck and git ready!!!
Well, right bout that thar time I wuz struck by a powerful pain in my old Johnson. Before I could investigate I heard the lil cop girl cry out in pain. I quickly figured out what wuz going on. Hearing them thar Sasquatch howls wuz giving me a stiffy!! I quickly untied my P-Rod from the cop’s hands. Lord knows what would have happened if’n I hadn’t of untied myself in time. I’m guessing my old tallywacker would have busted! I shore would have been in a world of hurt then!
I grabbed the lil lady and we high-tailed it back to my truck. After hearing them thar menacing Sasquatch howls the little cop-ess became very compliant. As we ran back to the cop she wuz nervously asking what the sound wuz from and whether we were in danger. I told her to shut the fuck up. “We gots us sum of that thar bidness to tend to, tits!! Shut up and do what I say!”, I sed. She just nodded and kept on running with me.
When we reached my truck the little enchilada I had tied up had obviously heard the horrific Bigfoot howls becuz she wuz goin bat shit crazy. Amazingly, I discovered in that moment the bitch knows how to speak English. She yelled out “ROY! ROY!!!” I told her to shut the fuck up, realizing having two bitches at yer side doubles the bullshit ya gotta deal with.
But the little taco girl continued, “ROY!! ROY!!! YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND!! THERE’S A MONSTER!!!! Annoyed, I sed to her “DAMMIT, BITCH!!! YOU DUN SEEN IT!! AND YOU KNOWD I DUN SHIT MY BRITCHES!!! I AIN’T GOT NOWHAR ELSE TO PUT IT!!!”
I wuz assuming she wuz talking bout my monster dong. But she continued. “ROY!!! NO!!! THATS NOT WHAT I MEAN!!!” By this time I had had it with this little south-of-the-border snooch. I started to reach fer my old .44 magum shootin iron when she sed the one thang that made my blood run cold: “ROY!!! BEHIND THE TRUCK!!! ITS HERE NOW!!! IT CAME AROUND WHEN YOU AND THE PIG WALKED OFF!!”
Now I understood. It was a trap!!! That mothertrucker wuz gonna ambush me!! I jabbed my hand deeper under the front seat looking fer my shootin iron. Then things got worse. Much worse.
I heard my hammer on my pistol cock behind me. Then I heard that lil ole sissy cop say “Put your hands over your head, Roy! NOW!! Do it or I will kill you where you stand!!!” Boy, wuz I pissed at myself!!! In all the excitement I momentarily lost track of that cop bitch. Now she got the slip on me, and with my own gun!!! Shit!!!!
I decided to work my charm. I sed “Put that thar shootin iron down you stupid skank-bitch before I cock whip you again!” Her voice wuz quivering in rage as she sed “I am going to save the taxpayers some money and just do it and send you back to hell, where you came fro…..” then complete and utter silence followed by a loud “THUD!”
I sed, “Uh, honey? Is you ok?” Then I turned around and looked jest as her headless body crumpled to the ground. Standing right thar behind where the pig girl wuz a’standing wuz a GIGANTIC Sasquatch!!! The motherfucker wuz ever bit of 14 feet tall! The shoulders were more broader than Oprah Winfrey’s fat ass. They had to be 7 feet wide, minimum!
While that stupid bitch wuz standing thar pointing my Hawg Laig at me that damned old Sasquatch snuck up behind her and ripped her head plum clean off!! The thud I heard wuz her head hitting the ground after the monster dropped it. As I stood thar jest staring at the beast I heard that little Mexican gal screaming in horror behind me. I thought to myself as I rolled my eyes, “Goddamn… This here is the last time I bring a bitch with me on a Sasquatch hunt.” But I did not have time fer the battle of the sexes. I had to deal with this murderous Sasquatch!!!
The next thang I dun did wuz to pull out my pecker to take a leak and cypher on this here situation fer a minute. But that big ole beast-critter wusn’t havin enny of it. He let loose with a big old god awful roar. Well sir, I gathered up 4-5 feet of my, whipped it round in a circle a time er two, then concked the critter on its head with it.
The Sasquatch looked stunned. Apparently it ain’t never been dick-whipped before. Then somethang funny happened. It got a real sad look on its face. It wuz jest a’starin at my massive cock laying thar on the ground. Then the critter got all drawn up and covered it’s nethers with both hands. It seemed right embarrassed, it dun did.
I felt a bit empathetic fer the critter. Sure, it wusn’t packing as much man meat down thar as I were. But hell, who does? I have caused horses to die from envy. Yep, they jest see what I got goin on and they start running into brick walls, head first, until they kilt themselves. I always been taught that with great cock comes great responsibility.
I started talking to the poor Sasquatch in a baby voice. “Hey… Why the long face, fella? Come on now, I am sure you ain’t got nuffin to be afraid of. Heck, you is a big old boy! Even an average Wang on you is going to be bigger than most men. Come on, let me see that thar hog leg!” But the Sasquatch stewed in its shame, maintaining a gaze to the ground and using its hands to hide its groin. But I kept it up. I figured the old boy jest needed sum reassurance.
After a few minutes, and me sharing a Butterfinger with the beast, things got a little more relaxed. After a bit we both had forgotten about the Sasquatch’s dick. We wuz sittin side by side on the ground and sippin from a jar of shine I retrieved from under the seat of my old truck. I wuz even showing the big old Bigfoot video of me fucking sum old truck stop whore I recorded on my phone!
Finally, I sed, “Looky here, Bigfoot. You is alright. But it’s late and I think I’d like to go find a whoowah house and git my freak on. Why don’t you take this here little Mexican gal I got tied up in my truck, and I’ll go hits me a little Asian whoowah in town. Whaddaya say?”
Well sir, that monster’s eyes got as big as saucers, and a grin appeared on its face. I untied Dora the Explorer and handed her over to the beast. The damned thang wuz slobbering! That gal wuz gonna got the pounding of her life! But hell, I wuz jest a’gonna use her fer Bigfoot bait anyway. At least this here way she has a chance to live AND she will git to have the time of her life.
“You have a good ‘un, feller”, I said as I waived goodbye to the Bigfoot. I turned to git in my truck. Then, things took a dark and sudden turn.
At first I heard giggles coming from the little Latina. Then they escalated into all-out belly laughter. I went over there to see what the duck wuz so funny. The chick was pointing at the the beast’s groin while laughing her ass off. I look up at the Sasquatch. It had hung its head, tears were streaming down its cheeks. I felt kinda bad fer the critter, especially since he and I had jest partied together.
I looked down at the animals groin. My first thought wuz “Well, where in the fuck is it?” Truth be told, nuffin wuz thar. I pulled out my pack of matches and lit one fer illumination. I held it up close to the animal. But still I couldn’t find its pecker. I wuz plum perplexed!
By this point the lil Mexican gal had somewhat composed herself. She sed to me, “Look Roy, right here!” She pulled back the hair on that mangy beast whar it’s rod should be. I leaned in real close with my match as close to the critter as I could get it without catching the hair on fire. I couldn’t see shit!
I sed “Goddamn it woman!! Thar ain’t nuffin thar!!” Now she is pointing close to the skin and saying “Look closer!!! Ha ha ha ha!!!”
I sed “Jest wait a fucking minute!”, then wint yo my truck to fetch my old reading glasses. Back at the squatch, with glasses and another lit match fer illumination, I bent in real close to the critters junk. After the Mexican chick pulled back the hair and pointed right at it, I finally saw it. I sed “Damn. That’s it huh?” It wuz the size of a BB, like what kids shoot through air guns. I stood up, dumbfounded. I took off my hat and rubbed my scalp with my free hand. I think to myself “Goddamn, that thar is done humiliating shit. It’s no wonder that thar animal is pissed off 24-7.”
I looked up at the face of the Sasquatch. It wuz still looking down at the ground, tears streaming down. Then, in silence, it slowly raised its head and looked at me. It was one of them thar rare moments of harsh, cruel honesty. In fact, it were probably an existential reckoning fer the beast. I felt bad fer it, really bad.
Then I made up my mind. No man anywhar wants to live with a dick that small …💥BAMM!!!!!!💥
The blast frum my .44 maggum wuz deafening! The bullet hit the poor beast right betwixt it’s eyes. Blood and brains rained down on the forest floor and converted it into a colorful canopy of gloom. The Bigfoot’s body hit the ground and crumpled into its position of eternal sleep.
The little Latina bitch wuz as shocked by the report of my revolver as she wuz by being covered in the monster’s blood and brains. She jestcstood thar in silence. But I weren’t dun with her yet. Not by a long shot.
Before I left I tied that bitch up to a big old oak tree. Then I layed out a copious amount of dog treats. They wuz Snausages: Dogman Edition. Yep, this here were doggy treats jest fer dogman. Them damned old demon dogs wuz thick up in this here Big Ticket region!
I figured that since that dumb bitch humiliated that Sasquatch, she deserves some payback. I tied her ass up, made some calls that sounded like distressed and dying animals, and surrounded her with Dogman doggy treats, not to mention the gory remains of my Bigfoot buddy. The howls started growing closer and closer before I even left the area. That bitch is gonna get ripped to pieces, like carnitas on a taco!
Well friends, that thar wuz my trip to Big Thicket. Or more accurately, that wuz Day 1! I hung round fer 2 more days, choked out 3 more Sasquatch, skinned an entire pack of Dogmen alive, and had a 3-way with 2 chick campers! All in all, it were a ton of fun!

Hello, I am back. I just wanted to share this character that I rp with. Let me know if you have any thoughts. (Also, I will be using the character template they provided.)
Name: Auric Kwaku
Age: 18
Birthday: March 24th
Gender Identity: Male
Race: Human
Nationality: Valean
Height: 5' 11
Weight:136lbs
Eye Color:Brown
Aura Color: Gold
Physical Description:His jet-black, grit-filled hairs are styled in locks, and he has almond-shaped eyes, a straight, elevated nose, and thin lips. His face is oval, and he has noticeable cheekbones. His body is muscular and thin, with a medium-toned black complexion. His limbs are well proportionate, with his arms being slightly longer than average, and he has regular hands and feet.
Outfit Description:Auric wears a white cotton shirt with a golden pattern of the lignum vitae flower spreading around it. This is accompanied by light blue shorts with a belt and a light golden merino. He always wears a pair of sunglasses with a gold chain and band. The fit is finished by fashionable light brown slippers. And for protection, he just wears shin and forearm guards.
Personality Description: He has a vibrant, vivacious, yet calm and cool personality. He is known for his confident and charismatic demeanour, always carrying himself with an air of self-assurance. He has a natural charm that draws people towards him, and he effortlessly captivates others with his wit and humor. Despite his outgoing nature, he also possesses a calmness that allows him to handle any situation with grace and composure. Generally, he doesn't bother anyone with his exuberance, as he knows how to balance it with respect for others' boundaries, barely giving a crap about people. He has a knack for adapting to new environments and can easily navigate through unfamiliar situations. His resourcefulness not only makes him a reliable friend but also an invaluable asset in any team or group setting. He's also known to be highly deceitful, often lying and stealing, though he tries to tone it down. Funnily enough, he's also forgetful at times, often misplacing his belongings or forgetting important dates despite his otherwise impressive abilities. However, his forgetfulness only adds to his endearing nature and provides plenty of comedic moments for those around him. Despite this quirk, his quick thinking and adaptability allow him to easily navigate any situation that comes his way.
Backstory Highlights:From an early age, Auric idolised his parents, a pair of smooth-talking cat burglars who pulled off extravagant heists and cons. After his parents' arrests, 8-year-old Auric struggled with abandonment, feeling he'd been left to fend for himself. Placed under his aunt's care, Auric rebelled, running away for days or weeks at a time. He fell in with a gang of youthful thieves, the Sceptics, who became a surrogate family. Auric learned to fence stolen goods and plan small-time cons to prove his worth. At age 15, a chance meeting with a retired huntsman named Kieran made Auric reconsider his path. Kieran saw potential and skill in the troubled youth, and after an intense battle between them, he offered Auric the chance to mentor the youth. He accepts, and thus begins a rigorous 3-year training that had him basically discover and hone his aura and semblance, ending with him enrolling at Beacon Academy to train as a huntsman.
Education: Mentorship under Kieran
Semblance Name: Weave
Semblance Description: He has the ability to control and summon silk and webs. These originate from his own aura and is ethereal in nature, making it nearly indestructible. With a range of around 12 meters, Auric can use his silk to create intricate traps, ensnare enemies, and even swing from buildings or objects. His mastery over his Semblance allows him to seamlessly blend it with his fighting style, creating a formidable and unpredictable opponent on the battlefield. He usually activates this as a dirty trick, ensnaring the foe before swinging them around like an athlete in a hammer-throw competition, often slamming them into nearby structures or the ground with great force. Auric's silk is also incredibly versatile, as he can manipulate its density and elasticity to adapt to different situations, whether it be restraining multiple opponents at once or providing a flexible shield against incoming attacks. He can also weave it form complex patterns and shapes, allowing him to create intricate traps, lassos, whips and even cocoons. Other than aura cost, the only other drawback is that it lasts for only 10 seconds
Weapon Name: Twin Fang Multi-Arms
Weapon Description: Auric wields a pair of intricately crafted tonfa blades that contain multiple deadly forms within their deceivingly sleek frames. In their compact mode, they appear as simple polished steel batons engraved with Auric's trademark spider emblem flowing down the handles. But with the flick of a switch, the tonfa blades unleash with a sharp hiss, elongated silver steel flashing out two feet long from the handles. The honed edges gleam dangerously in the sunlight as Auric gives them an adept twirl. In tonfa form, the heavy duty frames allow Auric to block and counter attacks with lethal force. When he's ready to go on offense, another swift twist causes the tonfa blades to retract and the handles to extend out like hilts. Deadly flyssa style swords emerge from the handles, allowing Auric to slice through foes with ease. A final mechanism transformation causes the handles to split apart into a pair of lightweight revolvers for dispatching enemies at range with Auric's custom metal-infused rounds. No matter the weapon form, Auric wields his arsenal with unmatched skill and precision.
Fighting Style: Auric is a trickster fighter known for his use of feints, bluffs, and verbal tactics to infuriate opponents. He uses mock insults and openings to dodge attacks and counter with devastating combinations of slashes, jabs, and shots. Auric's skill blends kickboxing strikes, capoeira-inspired dance maneuvers, and street fighting techniques, enhancing his improvisational fighting choreography. Auric's battling methodology is based on evasion and parrying. He has trained his reactive muscles to anticipate attacks and twirl out of harm's immediate range. For attacks he cannot avoid, he redirects strikes with his tonfas, preserving aura reserves for retaliation. Auric exploits vulnerabilities by misdirecting an enemy's kinetic energy and using his weapons to expose their limbs and torsos. Finally, Auric's semblance generating ethereal silk threads enables him to immobilize opponents in place, allowing him to then berate them at his leisure. He can also utilize the silk strands for unique maneuvers like violently yanking enemies off balance, pulling himself rapidly out of danger, or choking an unwilling target's into unconsciousness. This versatile webbing perfectly supplements Auric's formidable talents for deception and unbridled aggression within combat. Altogether, whether facing one opponent or a hundred, Auric's dynamic battle capabilities reflect finely honed skills ready to seize victory through any creative means necessary.
Strengths: Is highly charismatic and intelligent, able to trick even the wisest to his advantage. His quick reflexes and agility, along with a sharp tongue and wit, make him a formidable opponent in physical confrontations.
Weaknesses: He often plays around with his opponents and underestimates their abilities, which can lead to him being caught off guard. His agile fighting style is physically demanding, and Auric might struggle with prolonged battles, becoming fatigued and less effective in combat. Auric refuses to flee or retreat from fights, even when at a clear disadvantage.
Likes:
-Creativity -Family -Taunting opponents -Pranks -Music (especially Jazz and Rap) -Art -Sleep -Fighting games
Dislikes:
-Puns -Boredom -Seriousness -Uniforms -Authority figures -Snobby people
Fun Facts:
-He's a talented beatboxer and will often beatbox rhythms to himself when bored or thinking deeply -Is double-jointed in his fingers, which aids his sleight-of-hand and pickpocketing. -Auric can survive on little sleep when he's fixated on pulling off elaborate schemes and pranks. -Auric has won numerous underground dance competitions in shady clubs, partially for the prize money, and partially because he loves showing off. -He originally got his signature sunglasses by winning a competitive limbo contest at age 13. -Unbeknownst to people, Auric is actually highly gifted, he just keep his intelligence under wraps to fool and surprise people.
-His younger brother named his weapon, and Auric hates it with a passion.

Hiya!
I’ve recently made the jump from baton twirling to staff spinning and I’m wondering what kind of staff would be the best fit for adapting some tricks I would already know? A friend lent me her staff and it’s fairly heavy so I’m assuming I’ve been practicing with a contact staff but some moves seem harder than others. I’m investing in a led staff to add to my collection and wondering which kind to choose?
Any advice is greatly appreciated!!

I might be washed
I’m new to the franchise, began playing the kh1.5 collection through game pass before it got taken off and I loved it. Bought both collections and continued kh1 final mix. Hard moments but I pulled through until now
ansem
Ansem
ANSEM
I’m literally only playing normal mode but it took me months of on and off playing just to beat Ansem 2. Kingdom Hearts has been in my quick resume on my series x for months because I didn’t want to close the game and have to start all over from the last checkpoint. Today I beat Ansem 2, but World Of Chaos isn’t much better if not the same level. The lasers particularly are a problem. Unfortunately I didn’t collect aerora or aeroga because I didn’t know about them(btw I think aero in general is a band aid to cover up the crazy damage you take in this game without using it even on normal mode) before this, so my only options are thug it out or go back and get em. I AM NOT GOING BACK. I refuse to do it all over again so I’m stuck, feeling like a kingdom hearts Prometheus. I nearly just I beat the first phase of World of Chaos but got shafted by Ansem’s baton twirl attack. I’m gonna cry. I know it’s a skill issue most likely but I’m genuine cooked guys.