The title really says it all. Really. You have two days to post, at which point I will judge.
She felt it within her bedchamber, even as she sleeped, even as the blankets were pulled taut over her curvaceous figure. She saw it rise high in the sky like a giant D6, perhaps one with a +59,052/+59,052 bonus against Helpless Terrestrial Planets. The only difference was that this thing wasn't playing games.
Oh, wait. It was a Rubick's cube. Indeed it was playing games.
With a sigh, Queen Bludlust Bytemare sat up and pulled herself from her bed, stretching and yawning loudly. With a quick snap of her fingers, her naked figure was covered by a deep crimson bathrobe--a sign of her tremendous, mind-shattering, angsty-teenager-appealing-to power. It was a bathrobe forged by the Dark Lord Himself, woven from the spider's silk of Hell, pressed in the deepest bowels of The Abyss, packaged in the darkest recesses of the River Styx, marketed and sold in the blackest, darkest, most vile and repugnant corner of Wal-Mart.
"I suppose I should save this miserable rock... again..." she muttered. "But how?"
With another snap of her fingers, a day planner appeared in her hand. This wasn't a particularly evil day planner; it was just a day planner. She had drawn a picture of a pentagram on the front that she thought was rather spiffy, but otherwise, nothing evil. Her long, painted fingernails flipped through the planners, through days, weeks, months, years, decades, centuries, millenia, and whatever comes after millenia.
"Well, damn," she sighed. "Looks like I can't go up there and bust some heads and drink some blood personally. Lousy manicurist appointment..." She looked over her fingernails. "But surely someone must be able to..."
"You called, Highness?"
Queen Bludlust whipped around with a start. The window to her chamber had been opened, and a cool breeze blew in. Against the backdrop of the perpetually overcast, perpetually midnight sky, she stood, five feet tall, slim and more than adequately curved beneath her black leather jumpsuit. A satchel at her side was filled with the tools of the trade, and her long auburn hair hung straight at the sides of her face.
http://havak.db-forge.com/portraits/bitmaps/dcf138L.bmp
Queen Bludlust held her hand to her chest, breathing heavily. "Beelzebub, Sneeki-Sneeki... don't scare me like that."
Sneeki-Sneeki Bytemare, kin to Her Majesty the Queen, smiled smugly as she kowtowed. "What do you require, My Queen?" she asked, her voice quiet, nearly a whisper. The Queen regained her composure, then spoke slowly.
"I am certain you have felt it, Super Stealthy Sexy Vampire Cyborg Assassin Covert Op Ninja Sneeki-Sneeki Bytemare," the Queen began. "A presence in the sky, vast, colourfully arrayed, perfectly cubic." The Queen turned around... only to find Sneeki-Sneeki waiting for her behind her. She let out a quick gasp, then continued. "Now, all of the nations of the world are going to try to combat this with brute force, the so-called 'steel penises' we read often about in our history books."
Sneeki-Sneeki nodded slowly. "But we have no such ferrous phallus, Highness," she pointed out. "How can we involve ourselves in such a war upon which the future of our very planet hangs like a dry piece of flesh from a fang?" Queen Bludlust smiles a bit, turning around once again... once again finding Sneeki-Sneeki exactly in front of her.
"You're making it remarkably difficult to pace dramatically, you know," the Queen snapped. Without even a second glance, Sneeki-Sneeki was seated on a nearby wooden chair--a chair that, moments earlier, had not been in the room. The Queen tried to ponder the incident, but instead continued.
"As I was saying, cousin, while we lack the ability to flaunt our megalomaniacal phallic might before the world, we do have... other assets," she said.
"Our heaving chests?" the assassin answered quickly. The Queen shook her head. "The attention of vampire fanboys the world over?" Another shaking of the head. "An unquenchable desire for blood? A pending class-action lawsuit against White Wolf Publishing Inc.? Some sort of voodoo doll shaped like a Rubick's cube?"
"We have an assassin," the Queen interrupted. "We have... Sneeki-Sneeki Bytemare, the world's most fearsome, sneaky, sexy, and all-around kickass ninja assassin covert ops stealth... vampire... thing." The Queen stood over Sneeki-Sneeki with a small smile. "In a world of bit players, you, cousin, are our powergamer... our twinked-out edge."
Sneeki-Sneeki smiled broadly. "I'll be on the moon within the hour."
Standing up from the bed, Sneeki-Sneeki began fumbling around in her satchel. She pulled out first wire clippers, X-ray goggles, smoke bombs, cigarettes, a pear, a dozen eggs, a crate of magazines, the Taj Mahal... and, at last, a grappling hook. Sneeki-Sneeki walked to the window and turned back, placing one hand on her hip and raising the grappling hook to her chest. With one final sexy flip of the hair, she turned back to the Queen.
"I will not fail, Highness."
Then, with a quick depression of the trigger, Sneeki-Sneeki was airborne, her grappling hook already firmly rooted into the side of the moon. She would be there shortly.
Tsaraine
25-02-2004, 09:14
What nation is it? That's a rather important point, I'd say.
The Evil Overlord
25-02-2004, 12:44
Here are a few of mine:
http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?p=1292238&highlight=#1292238
http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?p=1409524&highlight=#1409524
http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?p=1428547&highlight=#1428547
http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?p=1433979&highlight=#1433979
http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?p=1496152&highlight=#1496152
TEO
“Another virgin suicide.” Coranna looked at the body of the young man on the cold steel table one more time, before pressing the button which would take him into the anti-cohesion suite.
Kshunk. Aaah. Shhhhht. The door of the suite opened to release the constituent particles of what had once been John Brown, technician, second class out into the atmosphere.
“John Brown, dematerialized at 19:00, on Friday 7th March”, she spoke into the microphone on the panel above her head. Despite the advances in technology the bureaucracy of death never got any more appealing.
“Oh well. See ya then John” She closed the door on her way out, typed the code that locked it and continued up the escalator to the main exit.
The security guard waved. “Got anything nice planned for the weekend”
“Just a quiet one, I expect” It was always a quiet one, since Kellaha had gone.
“Oh right. Enjoy yourself!”
Coranna nodded. After all, he meant well. “You too”.
He opened the door and she walked out into the bracing cold air of the street, raising an already raised collar, and pulling down an already pulled down hat. Another week gone by. Another hundred nobodys that nobody would miss, brought in, investigated, and then recycled. How long would it be before they were wheeling her in, with no-one but a GM simcat to mourn her passing, and after a while even the simcat would find a new owner, after all simcats don’t really care who provides for them.
Needing something to stop herself sliding into the abyss that evenings and weekends seem to consist of these days, she stepped into a bar. The resident drone clocked her immediately.
“Ah, Miss Coranna, so nice to see you again. Are you well?”
Coranna grunted a non-commital mm.
“No worries, we’ll have you sorted out in no time. Oblivion perhaps, Nirvana. Sweet Release. Mortal Coil” He pointed to the twisters on her left, jacking up, jacking in, their bodies convulsing to imagined realities.
“No thanks. Just skotch”
“Ah yes, for our more discerning clientele we have genuine 12 year old...”
She cut him off before he got into his spiel.
“Just the regular replicated stuff will do fine”
The expensive stuff was just replicated stuff poured into old bottles anyway.
“Yes, of course, Miss Coranna, a most excellent choice.”
He snapped his fingers and a skitter brought over a plastic bottle of golden liquid and a glass. Another snap and a table and two stools appeared.
“One stool.”, she said, sitting down.
He looked at her with that questioning expression that dogs use. She in turn looked back like a statue. The second stool opposite was removed. The drone poured a measure into the glass and then went off to look after a party of radiation tourists who had just come in.
She considered them briefly, but just because they were in her field of vision. They could have been a particularly bland form of wallpaper.
After a few minutes and a few glasses, she began to feel the 80% proof working its way around her system, loosening her muscles, stretching her synapses. A few minutes more and she felt almost human. Or drunk enough not to care which came down to the same thing.
A few minutes more and the world exploded.