Fishmalk
07-02-2006, 13:12
Greetings people of this most glorious world. Well, this world. I am Julian Smythe, to give you the abridged version. You can grudgingly call me Jules; though if I find out about it I would probably have to kill you and hide you in that place where I hide all the other bodies, where was I, ah yes, that's right, sorry sirs. My people are young; occasionally they might smell, sometimes their even a tad unruly; nasty. But thats nothing compared to foreigners; with their foreign ways and their lack of respect and their mortal meatsack gig always coming and going and breeding and puking and multiplying endlessly like boils and itching and scratching...
What my point is; is the world is a Dangerous Place. A really dangerous place; so dangerous that you can't even go to lunch because you could get stabbed in the eye with a salad fork; or a flamethrower. What? What cutlery do you use?
REGARDLESS! We of Malkavia, really need Nuclear Weapons. We think it's essential for our security; for the security of all of you; for the assured destruction of agents of the Blue and Polka Dot Parilament....SHHH....They're listening. Send your messages of support to us as soon as you can; or the whole horde of chaos will be at your throat; from the Laughing Dancers to the Shivering Brigades! Sorry, I may have slipped into a quote there. Anyway, arrevaderci!
Jules sat back, rubbing his temples and giggling softly. There was a knock at the door of the broadcasting room, and his trust ghoul Martin entered; bowing lightly and offering him a selection of balloons and goblets. He took a red one; and a goblet filled to the brim with juicy virgin, type A, hint of lemon and dash of vodka...Sipping lightly, mewling and sighing and tittering all at once with the subtle grace common only to Malkavian's and crack addicts, he smiled. Running a hand along Martin's hair, only to pause, pulling sharply, giggling at the cry of pain.
"Well sir..." Martin hissed through gritted teeth. "How went the broadcast?"
"You know betters than to ask that of us Martin, though I think I shall call you Mr Helpy, yes, Mr Helpy, our business is our business else its not ours and is lost.
And lost it shall be....
Subtlty, Masquerade; poised at the moment of war then go for the throat and feed.
The wages of war are sin and death, can you say hallelujah?
"As you wish Sir." Martin left the room as Jules reclined, listening to the voices, simply refusing to answer....For now.
What my point is; is the world is a Dangerous Place. A really dangerous place; so dangerous that you can't even go to lunch because you could get stabbed in the eye with a salad fork; or a flamethrower. What? What cutlery do you use?
REGARDLESS! We of Malkavia, really need Nuclear Weapons. We think it's essential for our security; for the security of all of you; for the assured destruction of agents of the Blue and Polka Dot Parilament....SHHH....They're listening. Send your messages of support to us as soon as you can; or the whole horde of chaos will be at your throat; from the Laughing Dancers to the Shivering Brigades! Sorry, I may have slipped into a quote there. Anyway, arrevaderci!
Jules sat back, rubbing his temples and giggling softly. There was a knock at the door of the broadcasting room, and his trust ghoul Martin entered; bowing lightly and offering him a selection of balloons and goblets. He took a red one; and a goblet filled to the brim with juicy virgin, type A, hint of lemon and dash of vodka...Sipping lightly, mewling and sighing and tittering all at once with the subtle grace common only to Malkavian's and crack addicts, he smiled. Running a hand along Martin's hair, only to pause, pulling sharply, giggling at the cry of pain.
"Well sir..." Martin hissed through gritted teeth. "How went the broadcast?"
"You know betters than to ask that of us Martin, though I think I shall call you Mr Helpy, yes, Mr Helpy, our business is our business else its not ours and is lost.
And lost it shall be....
Subtlty, Masquerade; poised at the moment of war then go for the throat and feed.
The wages of war are sin and death, can you say hallelujah?
"As you wish Sir." Martin left the room as Jules reclined, listening to the voices, simply refusing to answer....For now.