Charles

Ack, sorry 'bout disappearing. Been a bit busy. It's not my best but (puts something up). Lorenzo's fists clench into quivering balls of frustration. Genocide has killed so many. People he knew. By pushing. Pushing smack, pushing false promises, pushing arms, ultimately delivering that one final push into the awaiting arms of a cold, oblivion--a lonely embrace that can only be provided by the wanton destruction of oneself. Through the rejection of family and friends in favor of an addiction. Ah, what a world, what a world. [i]"I'm glad you're clean; yeah I mean it, man, I can be clean too."[/i] Lorenzo remembers their low voices. That's what they all say. Muffled and full of hot ashed talk of how they were gonna kick. [i]"In fact, I'm gonna kick after I go in, yeah, baby, no more smack for me. Jesus, man, I got shame, I got self-respect, like anybody, like any f***in' body else, and I can be clean too. ****! I gotta quit, look at me."[/i] Lorenzo still remembers the pointed faces. They were lemon colored--like jaundice. He still remembers the junky arms, marked by junky traces. Why couldn't they have found the right path as he did, taken the side of the law. The answer was clear. It was because of Genocide, that so many others never crossed the railroad tracks. [i]He remembers expressions contorted in pain, brothers, familia, lying puddles of vomit, needles still jabbed in their arms.[/i] "Get the battering ram." If he's in there, we're taking him down," Lorenzo says. His people were just pieces of **** to Genocide. Those images. Those vivid images of arms, rotting with craters won't stop haunting him. "It could have been me," he hisses underneath his breath. It's time for that moment, that showdown. Within minutes, Genocide's front door is sent off its hinges, exploding into a million splinters. Light immediately floods the dank dwelling. The house, all of it's four rooms are completely empty, just like Genocide's heart. He's pulled an "H." If this had been a movie, Officer Lorenzo would have followed the anonymous tip without telling a soul. He would have let his conscious guide him, and never let fear drive him. He would have broken down the door, not with a battering ram or a task force of men, but with his own shoulder. Would have found Genocide waiting for him--because fate would have dictated it all that way. Lorenzo would have reached for his gun, but Genocide would have been too fast. If this were fantasy, both men would engage in raw, animalistic combat with their bare hands, to defend their own ideals or lack thereof, until only one stood--the protagonist. Lorenzo would have returned to his home and held his wife in his arms, as he told her that he had avenged his people, his brothers. On the contrary, the only thing Lorenzo finds in the house is a television stationed in the middle of a desolate living room, wired to a VCR. A tape hangs out of the VCR, the words, "PLAY ME," labeled boldly (if not a bit crudely) on the side. Should this be another place, another criminal, another time, Lorenzo would wait for the feds. But, this is Genocide. "Play it," his voice commands, cracking more so now than his face. He doesn't have the authority to issue the command. But, something in his voice sounds more authoritative than official police protocol. It doesn't leave room for "no" as an answer. And so, it is played. Lights, camera, action. Almost instantly, Genocide's face fills the television screen. The tracking is a bit off but what's there is clear enough. So much so, that Lorenzo has to restrain himself; he fights the urge to empty a clip into the television set. Curiosity stays his hand. "Well, if you're looking at me right now, L, it means that the tape isn't the only thing being played," Genocide says, followed by a wink. Genocide's mouth twists into a patronizing smirk. Gently, he pushes aside a soft tuft of hair that hangs in his face like a ban omen. "Passion is a controlled, furious energy caused by doing something you love for people you love," Genocide says, "If you live your life for passion, let it govern how you live--you can start to rely on it. Become addicted to it for all the wrong reasons. But, I've just been preaching to the preacher here, haven't I? Lorenzo, you've become careless in your ways. You can no longer carry out your duties proficiently. Just like your people, you are a waste on society. We all know what Genocide does with waste. We all know what must be done with waste." Suddenly and uncontrollably, Lorenzo loses it. His mind snaps like a cracker. All these years, Genocide has remained one step ahead of him. Something had always held him back. Fear? No. But, then, why hadn't he arrested Genocide before now? Could it really be incompetence? No. It's guilt. Always has been. Still is. He was the one, not Genocide, that encouraged his closest friends to shoot up for the first time. Back when things like death were manufactured tales told by parents to keep him and his boys in line. Painful reality has come crashing down, and all at once. There can be no resolution for a guilty man. "This is the last you'll be seeing of me old friend," Genocide says, "This is the closest you'll ever come to facing your trophy. You're not the only one though Lorenzo. Not by a long shot. A recent business property of mine has come into danger and I will attend to it. Could it have been you stalking her, officer? One of your boys?" Genocide's eyes widen, as if he's actually in the room staring at his old nemesis, face to face. Maybe reality does have it's standoffs, after all. "Success isn't permanent, but failure is fatal. If it is indeed you behind this recent annoyance," Genocide says, "then my actions are justified. If not, well, **** happens." There's a certain finality in the air. Lorenzo watches as Genocide calmly sips a cup of coffee. He barely hears one of the drug lord's henchmen inform him of Apocalypse's disappearance before he becomes occupied with his own thoughts. What more is there to life than this? What does Genocide mean? He never makes hollow threats. In days, headlines across the United States will either read, "Genocide dead," or "Police officer Commits Suicide." There can be no other way. Genocide says "Ah well, it's that time. I've rambled on enough. I've finally found that showdown we never had Lorenzo, the showdown that you couldn't provide." He looks at his watch, and smiles. "Really, it's been fun. Don't worry, I'll take care of [i]your people[/i] for you. Oh, and, Lorenzo, I love you--*****." Somewhere in New York, Genocide lies in bed dreaming about a successful tomorrow. Five Hundred miles away, Lorenzo is no more. Genocide's front had become a macabre burial ground for the police officer, his men, and half of the surrounding neighborhood as burning embers lie scattered amongst twisted wreckage in the street. Perhaps, reality does provide happy endings to a certain extent, after all.

It looks to me like you're both the same person. lol So, what I gather is that you just registered for the purpose of being annoying. Instead of deleting your accounts, I'll simply IP ban you so that you can't come back and pull any more stupid crap like this in the future. Because, quite frankly, something about you stinks, and it's not just your post quality, junior.

I feel that the ending montage could have been put together a bit more neatly. That's where a lot of the confusion set in for me--which I'll get into. But, the movie did a lot of things wonderfully. The soundtrack, for example, is wonderful. It adds to the atmosphere so much. Plus, it is one of those films you want to watch over again. And, I still have to do that and delve into the extra features, so my take on it will probably evolve and sound more informed later on. [spoiler]First of all, Frank can be explained through the definition of [b]Deus Ex Machina[/b]. 1) In Greek and Roman drama, a god lowered by stage machinery to resolve a plot or extricate the protagonist from a difficult situation. 2)An unexpected, artificial, or improbable character, device, or event introduced suddenly in a work of fiction or drama to resolve a situation or untangle a plot. 3)A person or event that provides a sudden and unexpected solution to a difficulty. If you think about it, this explanation is pretty feasible. Frank appears as a means to save Donnie's life when a huge peice of airplane debris crashes into his s room. And, he reveals to him, a revelation. I don't necessarily think that it's so Donnie can save the world in literal terms. Rather, it's a way to untangle the conflict within Donny. He's obviously a very frustrated character, consumed by fear. The fear of dying alone, mainly. But, Frank doesn't only appear to his benefit. Donnie is used as a device to purge the supporting cast from the personal flaws they've been inflicted with, as well. In many ways, Donnie is a savior, or a Christ-like character. Heh, he even refers to himself as a super hero at one point, I think. So, I don't think he was trying to use Frank as an excuse for anything. Frank is a spirit that pulls him from an unavoidable reality for a short time and guides him to a righteous path, so to speak. This is supported through the marquee when he goes to the movies with his girlfriend. You know, "The Last Temptation of Christ," which is a fantasy where Jesus is being tempted by Satan and sees what his life would have been like if he was not the Son of God and had not been sacrificed to save humanity. And you have "Evil Dead," which is pretty much self explanatory. heh But anyway, I adored the Cherita character. You can see how she's portrayed as mistreated for the duration of the entire film. It's like she's shut out. But, when Donnie says "Someday everything will be all right for you," her ear muffs fall off. Because Donny feels that he is going to die alone, he then puts them on. Plus, you see how Donnie burns down the house and reveals the child pornographer for what he really is. Prior to that, he even calls him the antichrist. So, there's definitely something there. The ending was interesting, but a bit confusing to me, as I've said. At first, I didn't understand [i]how[/i] Donnie got back. Now that I think about it though, I think that he did everything he was supposed to and came to terms with whatever was troubling him. Furthermore, he put everyone who was miserable on their right path. It was like what Tony said to me: All the miserable characters were smiling. Donnie's girlfriend was happy, Donnie was smiling, etc. Oh well, that's my take for now.[/spoiler]

The best plan is a nice blend of exercise and dieting. You don't have to kill yourself. Be conservative. Just drink things like water and sports drinks (opposed to soda or deceiving fruit drinks). I limited my soda intake to zero and that really helped me cut down on unnecessary carbs. I also gave up snack foods almost entirely. Occasionally I'll have a pack of fruit snacks. But, the key is to not overindulge yourself. Also, cutting down on dairy products like cheese is a big help. Lastly, I advise you to avoid eating directly before you go to sleep. It's always best to stop eating past seven o'clock in the evening, if possible. You don't want anything sitting in your stomach while you're sleeping. A lot of people gain weight by making that mistake. If you combine smart eating habits with a daily exercise routine you should be fine. Hit that cardio. Use the treadmill and the EFX machines. Maybe do simple things in addition to that, like sit-ups and the pounds should come right off. This stuff did wonders for me, so if you stick with it you should be fine.

I favor Mei and Syk3 because they were not only crazy enough to allow me to participate in their wedding--they went the extra mile and let me play minister. Most wedding chats bore me because they're nothing but senseless chaos. Y'know? Theirs was a perfect balance between fun and organization. Almost like a role-playing game. Teehee, it was definitely a pleasure to marry two people who make such a super [i]v[/i]antastic couple. I'm glad I could be a part of it. ^_^ And remember ladies--[i]I'm still single[/i]. :Smiles revealing hideously deformed teeth, gum disease, and breath that would make a skunk cringe: :blush:

Eh, I always thought that the forum descriptions were self explanatory, as they are. In the Otaku Lounge heading, you're instructed to post off-topic discussion as long as it's in accordance with the rules. If you read that, not knowing the rules, I think it's a pretty good indication that you better get to reading before you post. The other forums are titled appropriately and give you basic instructions too. And, once the new rules are up, I don't think there will be any room for confusion. I mean, they'll be specifically tailored to the site and integrated pretty well. For now, we have sticky threads in certain areas, like the anime forums and the greeting card sub-forum. Besides, this might sound a little superficial, but I think the forums would look boring and intimidating with stuff like: [quote][b]This is a place to talk about anything that has a base of discussion to it. Introduction threads are not allowed, and will be closed immediatly.[/b][/quote] What we have now is friendly and welcoming. I prefer a presentation like that. Yep, that's where I stand on the issue.

Hm, didn't we basically answer this in the "Life Without OtakuBoards" thread? O_o;; Oh well, I'm already grown up and I still visit. It's one of the only things I come online for while the semester's out. In reality, I only purchased a computer so that I could complete my assignments without visiting the library where I would be forced to work under harsh time constraints. So, it's not like I have too much else to do on here. Once my legendary run on OtakuBoards is finally over, I doubt I'll talk to any of you very often because I won't be online to do so. But, I mean, I can't imagine leaving for [i]quite[/i] some time. And totally? Sheesh. [quote][b]Well, If I EVER out grow OB...[/b][/quote] Oh, you will. There's no "if" about it. lol

A man is leaning on the fender of his car, smoking. It's a cop. All the noises of the sirens, the glare of the lights--it's a good morning to play God. [i]Attaboy, fellas. Never judge a last resort.[/i] All kinds of people are here, squeezed together into one portrait of humanity. Trouble always draws a crowd. It's human nature. People want to see blood. People want to see death. For all their praying, and Hallmark cards, and help groups and support lines, people must drink up the misery of others. They've gotta see that conflict. Gotta see that collision. Hell, that's why boxing pay per views draw more than Sunday mass. Today, they dine. It's being served to them on a silver platter. Delivery even--right on their laps. No charge. Just unadulterated trouble. Trouble they can gossip about. Truths they can stretch. It'll give them something to talk about, something that'll make their puppet show lives more dangerous, more exciting. Everything has come down to this moment, this showdown. Every movie has one and if it doesn't, it's not worth seeing anyway. This is the defining moment you're prepared for from the start; the moment that will lead to resolution--[i]satisfaction[/i]. It's not the main event, but who cares? It's close. Two opposing forces are colliding, [i]they have to[/i], and all you know is that one of them will leave in nothing less than a pine box. Fate has decreed it so. Still unclear, is it? This is where the end will be justified by the means. Justice incarnate, the protagonist, meets the antagonist in an epic battle that will surely decide the fate of the world. Anyone who's ever watched a film--[i]read a story[/i]--knows that time and space seemingly slow down to a halt, as fate, perhaps, brings these two dominant forces together. It's as if God is shining a spotlight on his finest creations just so the world can watch whilst they destroy one another with his gifts. It's the stuff awe is made of. That's where we're at now. That breaking point. All these people, [i]all these people[/i], and the air is so thick with silence you might feel as if the world were pressing down on you with its thumb should you be there. This is no movie, not something you read on the back of a napkin; this is a reality. And in this reality -- people die--even heroes. Police chatter breaks the silence, fills in the gaps where conversation should be; cascades of siren reds and siren blues make the damp pavement look prettier than a dolled-up broad. It's showtime. Meet Lorenzo, he's the guy playing the role of Genocide's nemesis. He's that cop, still leaning on the fender of his ride. Still smoking. Every limb of his body tingles with warm blood, slightly thinning under the animalistic, guttural anticipation of it all. The high life. It's almost like he's living off a blend of strong coffee. His heart beats rapidly, almost collapsing in and upon itself as it struggles to remain firmly in place within his throbbing chest. A runaway rush of adrenaline flows into his muscles and they jackknife with renewed vigor, while apprehensive beads of sweat run down his temples. Butterflies flutter furiously in his stomach performing a wild dance, attempting to work their way up and burst out of his heaving chest cavity. "The premises seems to be unoccupied. We can't take any chances with this son of a *****, though. He's done to much," Lorenzo says. He's going to send them in fully equipped. Ready to kill. The dry words crackle out low and quiet, like they're coming from a radio instead of his voice box. Everything's suspicious-looking. It's not what it should be. But, this is where the trail has lead him. A fourteen year long manhunt and it's all come down to this. This is where Genocide is. A row home. And it just doesn't make any sense whatsoever. [i]Oh well. Seeing is believing, but sometimes you have to believe to see.[/i]

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by Pressure [/i] [B][color=silver][size=1]Well, it's impossible for men to ever know how women think. Women are naturally born more intelligent. [ This is why we've been suppressed and degraded for centuries][/b][/color][/size][/quote] Um, no. You can blame the plow. lol Inequality between the sexes can be attributed to society's evolution. If you check your history, you'll learn that men and women held equal roles in hunting and gathering societies. But, as civilization moved towards agriculture, and physical strength became important towards the role of producing goods, inequality between the sexes began to develop. Of course, an agricultural society isn't nomadic. Meaning, once people settle, they expand--and different societies clash over land. Thus, creating war. Armies are built on brute physicality. There you have gender discrimination. I know that this is obviously off topic and we're supposed to be discussing how women think. Yet, I think it's important to point out that gender inequality isn't a product of man's inferior intelligence. It arose out of society's male roles being held in higher regard than the female's. [quote][B][color=silver][size=1]Keep always in mind, that I said there are no absolutes, therefor, this does not apply to all men. For example, Harlequin is ridiculously intelligent, as is DeathKnight.[/color][/size][/B][/QUOTE] Hm, isn't the word "therefore?" I obviously require some female guidance here. I mean, my mind just isn't as developed as yours. ^_^ Anyway, someone said it well on the first page or so. Both men and women behave differently because of the roles society has imposed upon them. Women are told how to behave and men are told how to behave. I doubt there's much of a biological difference in the thought process. [quote][b]I think women think about the future more than anything. First, they analyze you for your looks, then they care about the other things. But, their thinking is correct. How could you possibly have a relationship with someone who you find non-attractive. I don't care if the person was a superman in all other areas, if he is ugly to you, then it won't make a bit of difference. And women always think about their future with particular men, even if they intend it to be a short relationship or a fling.[/quote][/b] Yeah, a lot of people think along those lines. Many sociologists believe that women are more concerned with security and such. But, I doubt that many men seriously pursue lazy or irresponsible women for long-term relationships. And, most of what you're saying is irrelevant. Males aren't interested in relationships with people they aren't attracted to, either. [quote][b]I said be quiet. Peach head. I was referring to how this topic is like saying. How to animals think. This thread treats women as if they are something nobody understands.[/b][/quote] O_o;; I think you're reading too much into this. There's always a certain fascination between the sexes. There have been movies about it! If anything, I think it's funny how you made certain to stress that you're neither a female nor "a gay." But, I digress. If you're that offended by this thread, then I suggest not responding to it instead of trying to turn it into something it isn't (an attack on women).

I created my account with duct tape, toilet paper rolls, and bubble wrap, so it's decidedly rough around the edges. But, it's a start. Hopefully, I can add a little elbow grease to it later, and shine it up real nice with a little tender love and care. [url]http://www.myotaku.com/users/charles/[/url] I'm so glad that no one thought of my username before I did!

His veins feel like they are empty caves, his warm lifeblood seems to flow slowly like thick vicious oil through his system. His heart pumps like a slow piston, like the pistons of the car Dria and Juu are already driving to their next destination, each beat resounds--an echo in his head like a never ending leaky faucet. Words seem to have no place here, at this moment in time. A moment between two people so detached from humanity that they don't even have a tomorrow to keep them company today. It's all in the moment. And all he knows, is that her voice is a seductive purr as she sips from her wineglass with those full cherry red lips of hers, leaving a light stain of lipstick on the tulip shaped glass. And she seems to smile a devilish smile. Luyii sinks to her knees in front of him and pulls his shirt from its tucked-in position in his pants.Her hands dive underneath his shirt and roam over his body. One hand holds up his shirt while her lips press against his heated flesh. Each kiss is like a hot liquid silk on his skin, rapture coming every time she tastes him with those lips and that warm velvet tongue of hers. She moans as she sucks a bead of his sweat into her mouth, the moan seems to amplify in his head, a beautiful music that makes him want her all the more. Suddenly she pushes him back and pulls off her slip to reveal her perfect body to him. Straddling his hips she rides on top of him, taking all of him inside her. Their bodies are racked by wave after wave of pleasure as she takes him; every trick in the book to enhance the pleasure used on him. And on this night he wonders, not out of fear, but sheer curiosity, if this night's rest will be like all others. He wonders if the blackness of sleep with give way to visions of hell.

The only ceramic I ever made was a dinosaur and it looked more like a dog than a prehistoric beast. >_

I've never watched this show in my life. Nevertheless, even I know that a topic discussing a pair of shoes has a short lifespan. A lot of this discussion is fairly irrelevant. Consider this topic .hack//closed.

My house was broken into to some extent years ago. Our basement has a Plexiglas window, something typical goons can't break. Unfortunately, the window frames were weak, so they panes of glass were just kicked in. Nothing was taken out of the basement, save for my bicycle and my cousin's. Which, is a bit strange considering there were televisions and other valuables down there. Similarly to your story, Keyblade, our dog didn't even bark. Which, made the police think it was an inside job. Chalk this one up to [i]Unsolved Mysteries[/i].

It's like the world is shaking, but he's standing still. He really hates Long Island--making the scene. Still, it's a fine night, and he's togged real sharp, with a fine suit, boss coat, and real dancing shoes. He stands there for a second, listening to the music. And then he starts turning away from Luyii, snapping, and shaking his head, as if he's forgotten something. An audible sigh is heard from his direction, and Luyii whirls to confront it. "What?" Genocide feels himself stiffen and lets his face set into a hard black mask, and in a low, just barely controlled whisper, he hisses out, "Have you been compromised? They're taking quite a bit of time in there. Any special plans?" His jaw tightens. When she speaks, Luyii's voice is wryly amused. "Compromised? Oh yes. I've been compromised ever since you left me to baby-sit some fourteen year old's idea of a wet dream." "Look," he says, all bad-like, "Don't try to be some wise mother****** with me. You know--" "This is beneath me," she says, "I'm a professional and this is--" "(He chuckles) Let's not forget you're a professional because of my money. You know that there's something bigger here--'H'," he says." Her eyes scan the room, her face stone-smooth. The gentle ambiance of the party takes over--another calm night, the idle chitchat reverberating off the walls with the jazz-pop instrumental band hired for the evening. Almost peaceful, despite the pungent haze emanating from rich tobacco. Genocide commandeers a glass of champagne, a luxury that flows like water here, and peers at Luyii over the brim of the glass. Genocide finds himself somewhat pleased at her attitude. Yet, he finds her demeanor quite perplexing. Her understanding of the business seems, in a way commendable. No other student of his has made such rapid progression or enjoyed such an impressive resume for murder. However, her approach, seems to scream "Green." She has obviously done her homework, because let's face it, he's the one who took her under his wing years ago, in a past that almost seems like a far-off dream. Her emphasis on power has grown strong and for what seems to be an eternity Genocide stares past Luyii, into space. Finally, his lips part, and a gruff voice, pierces the silence. "You've done well, darling," he says, "If not for you, we wouldn't have been able to trail Dria quite so (he clears his throat) expertly. The photographs, the recordings, sneaking Apocalypse into Ren's apartment complex, the lowdown on 'H'--quite an impressive laundry list." Luyii snatches the glass, now half-empty and it's her turn to stare at him over its brim. If only he were so easy to see through. She knows of Genocide the man, the patient overseer who trained her in the art of assassination, the patron of her generous street education--yet she knows nothing of what he represents other than himself. Relatively simple concepts such as culture, values, and religion mean nothing in his agenda--the achieving of success. All people are the same inside. Everyone has their own reason for living, and a price atop their head. All people lust, hate, and love. Yet, Genocide is different somehow and all those that surrounded him have to be also. Luyii chooses her words carefully, staring at the hungry entrepreneur in front of her, with empty, un-accusing eyes. All the while smiling, as if to tease him. "Hey, you know what they say. If you're good at something, You don't have to 'toot' your own horn. Plenty of others will do it for you." The lights in the penthouse click off, probably signaling a customary romantic dance to close the evening, leaving only the city lights outside to illuminate the room. Genocide shoots her a straight smile. He pulls on her arm and brings them closer together and slips an arm around Luyii's neck. His mouth moves against her neck, jaw and lips. And--she closes her eyes sighs as he slips her a sealed envelope and slips away. "This," he says, "is for Dria. She undoubetdly believes that I was somehow responsible for her 'close friend's' death. Oh, I've been able to see the hate burning in her eyes for some time now. And I won't crush it. No, not yet. [i]I'm going to use it.[/i]" Genocide shoots a stare down on her, his own dark eyes glimmering, not with evil, but conviction. In them she can see the glittering windows of skyscrapers and condominiums, reflected from the cityscape set behind them. "Tell her I send my regards," he says, "And that in this envelope is a contract on that man that killed (he takes a moment to recall the name) Ren, yes Ren, in a lustful game. This is quite a privelage, you see. I've not even shown this contract to my most capable merceneries. She's getting first [i]crack[/i]. Oh, and I've taken serious measures to assist her. Paid exuberant fees to my contacts in the police department. Included with the contract are photographs of the crime scene. I want you to seduce her, Luyii. You've almost completely won her trust. Take it all. Use it. Get her to take you to 'H' (he strokes her face, tracing the curves of her cheeks) and do what you must to bring him down. To bring them [i]all[/i] down."

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by maladjusted [/i] [B][size=1]And Sephiroth and Riku were both stronger than Cloud and Sora.[/size] [/B][/QUOTE] That depends on what you measure true strength by. Cloud and Sora both possess certain qualities that their respective counterparts do not. Traits like integrity, courage, compassion, selflessness, and the ability to stay true to oneself despite it all. In fact, that last quality is one of the overriding themes of both games. Sora and Cloud are skeptical and less then willing participants in the roles predestined to them. Initially, they're driven by their own short-term motives, but as their stories pan out, they begin to accept who they are, and the responsibility that accompanies it. From this, you can come to two conclusions. 1) Cloud and Sora are stronger than Sephiroth and Riku because they're pure in spirit. 2) Cloud and Sora are worthy of comparison. Which, isn't a big surprise considering many Square characters are of the same mold. They're pretty cliche in many cases. There are a few key differences between Riku and Sephiroth. Riku, for example, isn't [i]completely[/i] selfish. His motives are pure--but tainted with jealousy and pride. On one hand, he wants to save Kairi, but on the other, [i]he[/i] should be the KeyBlade master. [i]He[/i] should win Kari's favor. He's very headstrong. You can see his competitive nature from the outset of the game. You race him twice within the opening thirty minutes. lol Thus, Riku is a good person--he's more of a gray character than Sephiroth. And so, that brings me to my next point. I don't even know what the hell was going on with Sephiroth. The translation was pretty shoddy. Nevertheless, I'm well versed in all the theories that lead up to his fate and it almost reminds me of Lucifer falling from Heaven, I suppose. Just like Lucifer, he's a very flat character. There's that illusion of depth because he once was what he is no longer, but what he has become is very shallow. If you strip his character down, past the point of insanity when he mistakenly labeled himself as an Ancient, you've got a typical villain bent on world domination, really. So, I'd say that any comparison between Sephiroth and Riku is aesthetic. ^^ I mean, honestly, Cloud's relationship with Sephiroth is completely different than Sora's with Riku. There's a real friendship there and you get the feeling that they care about one another. Cloud just idolized Sephiroth from afar. It was like misplaced admiration. ~__^

Well, okay then. What I gather from this topic is that you either prefer the titles on Sony's console and don't feel like playing GameCube, or you sold your GameCube for a Playstation 2. Either way, there's not much room for discussion here. Just play what you like. There's quality titles to enjoy on all the current consoles, I'd say. ~_^ And, for future reference, please try to title your threads more appropriately. It will encourage more members to investigate the contents of the topic. If they see a poorly constructed title, it may give them the impression that it's not worth reading what's inside. Good luck. ;)

I've met plenty of wonderful people here. But, none have touched me as deeply as, nor changed my life to the extent of [URL=http://otakuboards.com/member.php?action=getinfo&userid=665]2354[/URL]. Yes, 2354, the wonderful patron of this site, has been a wonderful inspiration to me. We've cried together. We've laughed together. We've been through the good times and the bad. I remember when I first joined OtakuBoards. It was 2354 who gave me a shoulder to lean on when no one else would. And who could dismiss 2354's profound poetry or moving political speeches? The wonderful composition of 2354's posts, and the way his user name defies numerical order truly make him worth mentioning in this thread. We love you 2354! Thank you very much for all you have contributed to OtakuBoards. You are the cherry on my sundae and the silver lining on my clouds! ^_^ God bless you!

Vengeance is best served to those who most deserve its fruits. The door gives way with a gunshot [i]crack[/i], sending a storm of splintery debris exploding throughout the stagnant air. Jutting edges protrude out of the door frame. It falls slowly and when it lands, it sends up a mushroom cloud of dust. Daylight filters into the room through boarded windows, freckling the room with sun. Everything is hard and dead. It resembles a barren wasteland. Life is so nonexistent, so absent, in this place. There is no Mr. H. This, right here, symbolizes the complete and utter ******** that is synonymous with serving street justice. This right here proves the indifference of any master that may reign over us--[i]sparing[/i] a man, so cruel, so vile, a punishment at the hands of Genocide. This bitter, unforgiving reality. And as empty as this place is--death--[i]is everywhere.[/i] A parade of suits march in, single file, their elbows tucked into their sides, pointing pistols as if they are substitutes for flashlights. The leader turns his head in a mask of fear to find his boss's imposing silhouette stationed in the doorway, arms folded, heels firmly held in place. Genocide enters and finds himself in almost total darkness, soaked in the sweat of--fear, perhaps? Disbelief? Frustration? He takes deep breaths of the hot, muggy air as he tries to get his bearings. He is blind in this world, no light allowing him to see. He pats down his body, and in his pocket finds an object that can be his salvation. It is a simple silver Zippo lighter. He takes it from his pocket and lights the lighter. Holding it up, a sphere of light illuminates only about five feet either way of him. He sees he is indeed in a [i]the[/i] room. He can feel it. "Perhaps we're in the wrong room, sir?" one of his men say. "No--no this is it. Of that, I'm certain," Genocide says. He returns to the doorway and sighs. "I halfway expected this," he says "Now I have a little get together I must prepare for. Have the boys look around, see if you can find anything. Any leads. Just in case." "You got it, boss," one of them replies. Genocide isn't listening at this point anyway. Something catches his eye in the hall. A hall just wide enough to allow one to move. There kneels an ominous figure. Down on his right knee. His jet-black locks, long enough to touch his chest, are parted, revealing his deathly pale face. His white, almost translucent skin seems to hide the key to his unspeakable secrets ? a face ravaged by years and unknown terrors of the past. But for all this, he kneels in silence. "Let's get going, A," Genocide says to Apocalypse. But, he continues to kneel. "We were close," Apocalypse says, "We were close." "No," Genocide says, "I don't think we were close. I don't think we were close at all. If we were--I almost think it would have been -- disappointing." [i]Genocide retires for the next few hours, since there really is nothing to do except wait for the festivities to begin.[/i] It's not time to clear reshuffle the deck just yet. After all, the cards have only just now been dealt. [i]He[/i] doesn't have to find Mr. H. [i]He[/i] doesn't have to do anything. Ren is dead. For all intents and purposes, H is the culprit. Everything--will just take care of itself. [i]They thought that I was out of the game. But, now I'm the one holding all the cards![/i] (Tekken quote. ^_^)

Phew, all right, I've cleaned up this thread. I don't want to see any more outbursts in here (or I might have to just delcare myself Mr. Otaku Universe by default and call it a day). We have a private messaging system for off-topic discussion. This thing is spammy enough without people bickering amongst themselves. ~_^

There have already been threads discussing "favorite bands," recently. A good example can be found here: [url]http://www.otakuboards.com/showthread.php?threadid=27705[/url] It was right on the second page. ^_^ It's also important that you remember to encourage discussion when creating favorites topics. Otherwise, people are just giving you a list--and that's not worthwhile feedback.

Symbolic graffiti on an abandoned building says it all: "DUST!" Oh, pity the eyes of those who look upon these buildings! Homes and businesses, once symbols of American ingenuity--now engulfed in the flames of poverty. A raging, suffocating brush fire not easily extinguished. They burn. They [i]burn[/i] not in heat, but the wake of human carelessness. Genocide sits in the back of his personal limousine surveying the scars of his world. They're beautiful almost, these ruins with their flaws revealed. They give expression to the community. There's a fifth of whiskey sitting beside the captain of industry. It hadn't been there before, or had it? It's almost empty. He's studying the shadows, speaking cryptically into a sleek, cellular phone. "A-huh, yeah" he says. He says "A-hah, a-huh, I see. Just as I thought" And just like that they're in business again. It's been over a year since they pulled something big. This is gonna be different; no more smalltime ****. They're gonna hit a place with enough bread to take care of them both real good. When you're looking for a rainbow--it ain't always hard to find. "So, that's it," he says. He says "You did good. Now you're gonna have to get your hands lousy with blood. No one gives it away for free when they're working for me--ah-ha, yes, exactly. Understand?" Genocide and Apocalypse live here to create beauty. Why not paint the town in blood? "Yes, I knew they'd lead us to him, he says "Use it to our advant--that's it, yes, to our advantage. You got it." Genocide's eyes pierce through the automobile's tinted windows and survey towering spires that reach toward the heavens like Tower?s at Babel recreated, where many municipal buildings and rotting project houses serve to drain the once great area of any hope of redemption. Slowly a perfectly manicured hand, reachhes out and removes the finest cigars you could get from Cuba and he slowly goes about cutting off the tip and lighting it with the rather simple silver Zippo he carries with him at all times. Slowly he inhales the smooth and thick smoke of the hand-rolled tobacco. Something's coming. Genocide doesn't know what it is; it's too subtle and elusive to name. But he feels it creeping out of the heavens, reaching toward him through the sounds, the scents, the color that fills the air--just to find him. And it's almost like a high.

My oldest animals are two Boxer turtles named Donatello and Leonardo. It's quite ironic considering they're both female. But, I was young when I found them and I was swept up in the [i]Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle[/i] hysteria. My cat (you had to know I have one) is a Calico. Her name is Kitty because I couldn't think of anything better. She's not the most adorable cat (she can be quite moody). One moment, she may be my best friend, and the next she will attack me for no discernible reason. She's been that way since she was a kitten, but at least she's calming down now at the age of six. Unfortunately, she still won't let anyone hold her. Her arch nemesis is my three year old pit/lab mix, Missy. She's the most adorable animal anyone can own, really. I don't think there's a vicious bone in her body. Lately, she's become fond of doggie lollipops. So, she's always on her best behavior because if she acts up she won't get her treat. My next goal is to buy a parrot. They live to be about one-hundred years old. ^_^

It?s the middle months of the year. Daylight is still hiding behind heavy, drifting clouds, still in submission to the last moments of night. Old Harrison?s grocery store is open early, like usual. But, it doesn't make any difference. It?s like the only business going on is him trying to remain in business. That Goddamn Genocide and his Goddamn rent. Everyday he mixes his hope and checks his pride. The end result is a lingering uneasiness, something volatile like turpentine. Outside, cars are waiting for the light to change. Even they cough and wheeze, their tailpipe breath visible. Everything moves slow-like and cautiously but never stops moving. That's the way city life is here. If you stop for but only a moment, a New York minute, you may die where you stand. ?It?s Tuesday,? Harrison says to himself, ?my God it?s Tuesday.? The impact of this epiphany hangs over his head like a halo. But, saying to himself what he now already knows doesn't seem to make anything better. He taps his finger on the counter, wiggles his toes inside his worn boots and studies the pictures in a newspaper he?s already memorized like a code of law. White creases vein up the black ink. "I got some H," he whispers to himself. It will make all the difference once he turns it on. He has no works, so he snorts. He brings out a cap and carefully opens it. A little jolt of H falls onto his thumbnail. The coolness that will fix anything. He holds one nostril closed and sniffs hard, then the other, until the cap is empty. Then he just sits back and all the misery and pain the day will bring become unimportant, like being there is no concern of his. Sitting there, everything seems to melt together and he feels like one big puddle of a person: soft, detached, boneless. Yep, just a puddle. Someone yanks the door open. The right arm of the individual's knee-length black-leather trench coat encloaks his extended right arm, offering a glimpse of his gloved hand. The figure almost resembles an animal, a towering abomination. A mammoth. The night finally falls to the complete dominance of the day. [i]Meanwhile...[/i] Genocide, the devilish instrument in which he exhaults in, sits placidly behind a mask of fleeing darkness in a glass-faced building. The encroaching sunlight leaves orange and black trails on his desk. It only proves his theory that shadows only mean there is a light shining somewhere near by. He's certain that by now, Apocalypse is at that worm, Garrison's, hovel, a front the local pigs would have burned to the ground long ago had it not been for himself. Delicately, he brings a crystalline glass to his lips and sips warm, clear liquid. His chin covered in dark stubble, seems to reject light's harsh touch. Genocide may not have the correct key to open the door to success, but at least he knows where the door is situated. This is business and it's about connections. With Harrison under his thumb, he has the streets wired. Every two-bit pusher and shady dealer work as a body and they have their functions. If they stop performing them, they're amputated. It's that simple. It's his network from the steps of Washington High, to the alleys of the boulevard--[i]Genocide has eyes.[/i] Yet, he has a feeling that it's Apocalypses' daily task of tracking his more "exotic" women, that will lead him to the nefarious Mr. H. That's why he's been keeping them close. Make them seem important. That's it. Unfortunately, he's been trailing them for a week and hasn't uncovered much--only a shopping list of personal facts. Which, of course would be fine if he was writing a biography. He's not fixing on telling any [i]Playboy[/i] stories--he's fishing. The act of relying on others has a nasty tendency of getting sloppy, and in some cases dangerous. Apocalypse is most reliable though. Accompanied by the hollow ticking of his watch, Genocide rolls the glass in his fingers. It's what you do with that fish once you catch it that counts. And, you know, they say that the fish that keeps its mouth shut never gets caught. But, Mr. H. is no guppy. [i]He's a pirhanna.[/i]

Okay, there is no recruitment thread for this. I've already spoken with everyone who is involved. This isn't anything flashy, or blown out of proportion. It's just a simple storytelling thing. The only way to join in is to private message me because I want to keep numbers down for fear that the plot would get too confusing. :Begins RPG: His office overlooks the bulb-lit world below. Like, somehow it's different at night, this is his world. There ain't no bright sunlight to reveal the stark naked truth of garbage-lepered streets. There's no drabness and hurt. Things like that are covered by a friendly night. It even makes clean, dirty-faced kids. Genocide lounged in a black leather chair that seemed to blend into the background that shadowed him, the darkness surrounding him seeming to cling like the silken caress of a lover to his ever mysterious presence. He looked at the cityscape with its thousand of lights, hundreds of millions of colors mingling with noises, street sounds of cars and curses. Sounds of joys and sobs that make music. Yeah, he leaned back in the chair and felt like a part of the shadows that make company for him in this warm darkness. But, a soft light slowly invades his shadowy sanctuary illuminating more of his form, revealing him to be dressed in one of the finest suits ever crafted. His lips curled back into a definitive demonic smile as his white eyes stared their hypnotic gaze into those of his nearby mistresses. Slowly, and quite deliberately though it did not look as such, his right hand gently touched upon one of their waists for a moment, his perfectly manicured caress drawing one?s eye to the large amount of skin showing around her waist. Blue cigarette smoke swirls around them, casting a potent haze over the room. Not tonight, Mr. H. [i]Not tonight[/i].