Writing Little Deaths

[Raiha]

[b][COLOR="DarkOrchid"][FONT="Times New Roman"][RIGHT]This is where you can ask me to give you the deaths of your fellow Ob members as you've always wanted them to be. And by 'death' I mean it in the least literal sense. Death can mean death of the mind, soul, body, spirit, pancreas, spleen... If you want to be a berserker killing Premonition for being stupid, ask me and I can write it in the most sensually graphically violent detail. If you want a massacre of everyone just for giggles, let me know. I'll even give you my own death, if you get specific enough so I know what you want to see. But we'll start with something light and cheery.[/b]

[size=1]And tasty.[/size][/RIGHT]

[center]~~~~~~~~~~~[/center]

[i]The mermaids slithered through the water. The deepest pool in the darkest of the dark corners of Ob City. Under the foundations of the Theater building, there was a subterranean lake. The walls streaked with old blood, the water cold and flecked with specks of ice here and there. It was so cool and quiet, save for the occasional splash of a fin on the surface, or the light trills and clicks of the inhabitants. Sometimes one could glimpse a flash of silvery flesh, or a flicker of dark hair before it vanished again beneath the water, but no sane man ever took a closer look.[/i]

"We wants to kill you and swim in your blood."

"Come closer...and know us better."

[i]And who were they you might ask? That's none of your business. And people who try to ask them directly usually die horrible deaths. Heavy, and full of blood and life, they enter this dark place, called by the song of the mermaids. Only to drown and suffer and writhe with the agony of murky water filling their lungs. Let us take a closer look. Someone's entered their territory, and they know. They can feel it, sense it, taste it...so warm and delightful.

This one took a step too close to the water's edge, and a clawed, slightly webbed hand flashed out from the surface and jerked hard on the unfortunate soul's ankle. The male felt his body slam hard against the rocky surface just above the water, his head hitting a solid surface, before another hand grabbed him around the knee and pulled him in. He barely had time for a scream, before he was dragged down, deeper, where the water grew even colder than it'd felt before.

And he found himself staring straight into the eyes of Crystia and Raiha. Twin mermaids that had made this dark place their home after so many tragedies above. Allamorph. Their prey.

He drowned and choked and struggled but their hands were strong, and the smile playing about Crystia's pale, light blue lips was simply perfect. She had the look of a beast playing with its dinner, while Raiha simply looked cool and detached. As if to say, [/i]

"He's simply another meal. Let's finish him and be done with it."

"But he's struggling so sweetly. Perhaps we should give him hope?"

"Don't play with your food darling. It's bad manners."

[i]Regardless of Raiha's chiding, Crystia released Allamorph, let him surface, gasp for air desperately. Choking and coughing and spluttering, he made desperate strokes for shore, when Crystia looped lazily around him once, and jerked him down again by the feet. This went on for hours. The silver finned mermaid, with her trailing dark hair and flashing bright gold eyes trilled a sound that did her for laughter. While her little toy struggled for his life.

Raiha idly fluttered around, occasionally smacking her tail against Allamorph's chest to knock the air from it, when finally, Crystia grew bored of simply baiting her meal, and dragged him down to the deep and slit him from navel to nose with one sharp claw. And as his blood trailed up to bubble on the surface, the mermaid's clucked and chittered to each other, giggling and happy. In the blood of their prey.[/i][/FONT][/COLOR]

[Gavin]

[quote name='Neuvoxraiha'][COLOR="DarkOrchid"][FONT="Times New Roman"][i]If you want to be a berserker killing Premonition for being stupid, ask me and I can write it in the most sensually graphically violent detail.
[/i][/FONT][/COLOR][/QUOTE]

[SIZE="1"]So, so tempting... I'll leave this one to someone else though.

My choice D, is a sword fight between myself and Mike [Zen], Japanese Edo-period setting, no set victor. Make it as bloody as suits you, I just really want to see what you could do with the fight. [/SIZE]

[Revelation]

[size=1][color=#8B008B]I'm sure a few people are getting giddy about the bloody mess that this'll ensue. And as for creating a gorey, excrutiating massacre...I'm tempted. But maybe later.

I wonder what everyone will come up with...[/size][/color]

[2010DigitalBoy]

[COLOR="DarkOrange"]James. Writing his death shouldn't be hard, as I'm sure you've known him long enough to give it the right stylistic approach. I want to see the beautiful colors of his blood as only you could detail them.[/COLOR]

[Raiha]

[COLOR="DarkOrchid"][FONT="Times New Roman"][i]The Kanzeon's handmaiden touched one toe down on the rock and held the sword in her arms. The men came one at a time. One after the other. And they watched her cradle the weapon in her fingers, caught up in folds of silk and silver threads. It was obvious she wasn't human, but a bodhisattva, if anything else. And the way her clothing rippled in the lack of wind was disturbing in the extreme.

Eventually the men dispersed, when it became obvious she wouldn't give them what she held, and instead Gavin and Michael appeared instead. Both bowed to her and addressed her with the proper honorifics. They removed their helmets and bowed to her again. And she smiled upon them both, and drew the blade with one quick movement of her wrist. The katana glittered and flashed in the sun, and she swung it forward in a perfectly controlled motion. One short cut down Gavin's forehead, then one down Michael's.[/i]

"Rise and fight. Whoever is the victor will wield this weapon. The sword meant to do good, in the name of Kanzeon."

[i]Gavin stood first and pulled his helmet back on, the mask obscuring his features. Michael imitated his gesture and rested a hand on the hilt of his katana, casually. As if he were completely confident in his capacity to best his one time mentor in a fight to submission. The handmaiden gave them a casual nod, then sat down in the lotus position across the rock and rested the sword across her knees.[/i]

"Will you be the judge of who wins this battle?"

"Kanzeon will do the judging. I'm simply his mouthpiece."

[i]Both walked slowly back to their horses, huge beasts, with coats shimmering in the sun. Gavin mounted and drew a war dart from a sheath, Michael doing the same while the two let their horses walk to opposite ends of the field. The girl held up a slim white scrap of cloth in her fingers. Then dropped it. Holding the leather reins in one hand, and their weapons in the other, both gave their beasts a kick and charged across the field, connecting with a clash like thunder. Both tossed aside the darts and dismounted, drawing in a simultaneous motion. Gavin swung down, Michael up, the blows ringing across the meadow.

A lucky cut, and the first blood was drawn. Gavin's armor staining red around his left arm. The blow had caught him between the shoulder and arm joint, and the pain seared, rendering his left arm almost useless. Pushing the pain aside he merely tightened the grip with his left arm and attacked, this time defending his left side, while the blood slithered down the inside of his armor. The handmaiden smiled and scratched one thin line into the ground at her left side.[/i]

"It's like he doesn't want to harm his former student...But that can't possibly earn him a victory."

[i]Just as she did, Gavin turned in a tight spiral and flung his right arm forward, catching his former student on the right hand, forcing him to tighten his grip. Even as he did, compensating for the blow, Gavin pressed his advantage just far enough and pierced Michael's thigh. The bodhisattva's handmaiden scratched two thin lines on the right side this time, and leaned forward slightly, sensing the potential for further bloodshed. And she was not to be disappointed. Michael swung with his katana, drawing his wazashiki with his left hand and cutting Gavin across the chest. The backlash however, was more than he'd planned. Gavin drew his own, and doubly armed, attacked in a flurry of blows, one after the other, some deflected, and some hitting home.

Michael fell back, one one knee, stubbornly gripping both of his weapons in nearly useless fingers. The blood had come down, trailing over his arms and making a firm grip impossible. The metallic scent filled the air, and Gavin watched his former student, looking him full in the face, with blood splatter from his own wounds and Gavin's as well marking his cheeks. From the one cut across his forehead, he felt a twinge of itching, burning pain. Gavin turned to one side, keeping Michael in the corner of his vision.[/i]

"Well done."

[i]The handmaiden stood and stepped down from his rock, the grass parting before her feet. She would have clapped, but instead let a smile play cross her features. She walked between the both of them, and they watched her move, to the end of the field, well past them, when in an instant she drew the blade, and flung it above her head so high that it seemed like an eternity before it fell to earth. Flashing and flickering in the light, and she disappeared, leaving behind only the sword and its sheath.

Michael stood, by some heroic effort and made a run for the katana, which had fallen point first into the earth. Gavin did as well, and the two raced across the field, arms outstretched.[/i][/FONT][/COLOR]

[Gavin]

[SIZE="1"]Wow. Just wow.

That was a brilliant story D'Ann, exactly what I was hoping for. Hopefully Mike will agree when he reads it. I know he'll probably say that he should be beaten me, but I think we can both be satisfied by the fact the win is up to the person who catches the sword first.[/SIZE]

[Aaryanna]

[COLOR="goldenrod"][FONT="Comic Sans MS"]I have a request... Do Sandy in. Choose whatever manner or method you think would fit the best. And though others haven't stepped forward, I'm sure I'm not the only one who wants a post killing him off. So long as he's properly portrayed as being whiny and annoying... I'm good. :p[/FONT][/COLOR]

[Allamorph]

[FONT=Arial]Hmm. I am somewhat partial to freeze-motion endings. It's like ending a piece of music on a chord of pure dissonance; it wants to resolve [I]so[/I] badly, and it's just left there. The tension makes me shiver. (Such an exquisite feeling, and so many people can't stand it....)

[I]*cough*[/I]

Aaanyway. I just so happen to have a couple of questions to ask. First: certainly this is a . . . nice opportunity you have gifted us with, Raiha; but I can't help but wonder, who do [I]you[/I] wish to see killed in nasty ways? Surely you are not sitting atop the thread without thoughts of your own targets, of whom you might wish to have heads smashed in and hearts cut out and livers removed and bowels unplugged and nostrils ripped and bottoms burnt up and....

[I]*wanders away singing "Brave Sir Robin"*[/I][/FONT]

[Raiha]

[COLOR="DarkOrchid"][FONT="Times New Roman"]I've always wanted to kill my husband.

Just for the tragedy of the thing. But that'll come much later. I can't have him in two concurrent posts. That'd be favoritism.[/FONT][/COLOR]

[DeathKnight]

[color=crimson]Time to up the difficulty.

Do a battle royale between Retribution, yourself, and I.

The setting is a World War 1 era Zeppelin. Three agents from the Entente, Central Powers, and Bolsheviks end up being in each other's way for a mission on the Zeppelin. The Central Powers agent is there to defend, the Entente to destroy, the Bolshevik to escape with intelligence he acquired pre-story.

There is an understructure and pilot's area beneath the broader ballon's superstructure. The understructure has a single escape plane, a network of walkways, and a pilot's cabin. Similar to the Hindenburg, this Zeppelin has the unfortunate quality of being filled with hydrogen due to logistical strains on the supply of helium for the German Empire.

I want to lose by being thrown off the side and down into a broad urban cityscape, as broad as cityscape could be in the 1910s.

I want you to lose by being shot in the pilot's cabin.

I want Retri to lose when the controls are damaged by the firefight in the cabin, sending the Zeppelin into a fatal descent, and finding the fuel tank of the plane sabotaged by someone.

It closes with him watching the terrain grow closer. You are still alive, and crawl out of the pilots cabin aiming a shot up into the ballon itself.

The cataclysm that follows is yours to describe.

There will be various expendable crew, let them die as they should.

There you go, D'Ann. :)[/color]

[Raiha]

[i][COLOR="DarkOrchid"][FONT="Times New Roman"]It was a long evening alone at the office. The sound of hissing traffic on the streets below, the haze of smoke filling the air. And James Manahan, Private Eye, lounged behind his desk. One hand resting on the holster of his handgun, the other holding a cigarette between slim fingers. The sound of his cat purring on the desk, all white fur and big green eyes. Occasionally she would prowl from one end of the table to the other, then sit silently for minutes at a time, twitching her tail in small, delicate movements.

Hours passed, with the mournful ticking of the clock on the shelf, and the purring of his pet the only sounds that reached him. The sound of heels in the empty hallway, the clicking bouncing from ceiling to wall to floor and to ceiling again. The silhouette at the door, behind the smoked glass showed a slender figure. Perhaps a job offer. Detective Manahan sat up, extinguishing his cigarette in the overflowing ashtray and straightening his tired tie. She was a beautiful girl. Long black hair, bright blue eyes beneath a beautiful hat a few decades older than her. And she walked across the short distance from his desk to his office with the long, sexy legs that had probably turned heads the entire way here.

She sat down without being invited and crossed her legs, pulling down the hem of her skirt to cover her knees. A futile gesture, but James appreciated it after all. A lady like her was an easy target. Best to play it safe. She held a small clutch handbag in one gloved hand, the other resting over it easily enough.[/i]

“Can I help you Ma’am?”

“It’s Miss actually. Miss Juuthena.”

“Well then Miss Juuthena. Is there something I can do for you?”

[i]She unsnapped her purse and began to pull things aside, before withdrawing a cigarette. She held it between her fingers and simply watched the Private eye from across his desk. He leaned forward and flicked on his lighter, while she inhaled. He leaned back slightly in his chair, lighting his own and exhaled slowly.[/i]

“I’m being threatened Mr. Manahan. I fear that my life’s in danger.”

“You want protection then?”

“Yes. What you did to Mr. Adam shook this town. Many people have sworn vengeance. And they’ll do anything to get it.”

[i]James Manahan wasn’t surprised. He got death threats every hour of every day it seemed. But that was his life, and he couldn’t have it any other way. He stood abruptly and crossed the office to his window, pulling the shutters down. His cat purred on the desk, watching Miss Juuthena smoke. The woman stood as well, wobbling a little on four inch heels, and stood perhaps too close to James. She had already dropped her cigarette in the ashtray, and seemed to be swaying a little. Strange, he couldn’t smell alcohol on her breath. Just as he thought that, she apparently fainted dead away. He caught her with the ease of someone who’s spent some time practicing, and he looked a bit closer at his client.

Blue eyes snapped wide open and she slammed one foot down, and jerked a stiletto from under her skirt. With a quick slash, she opened up his throat and jerked away before the blood could cover her. The cat leapt to her feet, spitting and hissing, when Miss Juuthena whirled and threw the knife. It sank into the cat’s throat and the poor thing flopped over limply, its limbs twitching spasmodically in the hideous last moments of life. James on the other hand, hadn’t fared as badly. He had pulled his gun, and as Miss Juuthena ran for the door, he shot. She fell, the bullet lodged in her back, and her life drained out of her, down the floorboards and through the grate in the floor.

The detective leaned back, slumped against the corner of his desk, his throat ruined, his life leaving him. He dropped his weapon, the dull clatter filling his ears. His blood covered his front, staining the side of the desk, covering his side. She had a good hand with a weapon. He wondered who had sent her. And he died while he wondered.[/i][/FONT][/COLOR]

[Horendithas]

[COLOR="Indigo"][quote name='Aaryanna'][COLOR="goldenrod"][FONT="Comic Sans MS"]I have a request... Do Sandy in. Choose whatever manner or method you think would fit the best. And though others haven't stepped forward, [I][B]I'm sure I'm not the only one who wants a post killing him off.[/B][/I] So long as he's properly portrayed as being whiny and annoying... I'm good. :p[/FONT][/COLOR][/QUOTE]You are correct, so since James is now dead, I'll post so that Raiha can stun us with his glorious death without the burden of double posting. :p[/COLOR]

[Raiha]

[i][COLOR="DarkOrchid"][FONT="Times New Roman"]The pair whirled across the floor to lively music, pink and black, black and pink. When suddenly they broke apart after the female made one miniscule error. Sandy stomped his foot, his voice raising to a high squawk of dismay.[/i]

?No no! You?re doing it all wrong!?

?Explain how I?m supposed to do it right when you don?t even show me how I?m doing it wrong!?

[i]Aryanna pouted a little, her lower lip protruding just enough to be cute without being ridiculous. Sandy on the other hand, was annoyed, venting his frustrations on the girl he was supposed to be teaching the quickstep. She frowned at him, then jerked her hand out of his and stomped across the floor to go pet her kind, caring, and completely understanding pet puppy. She jumped up to nibble on her hands, while Sandy ranted and raved, like usual. I lounged over the piano, elbows crossed over the music rack. No point in playing while they argued. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Aryanna digging through her purse for something, and shrugged.

I fiddled with the sheet music, when I suddenly heard the sound of Sandy gurgling. This was so odd and out of character that I looked up to see Aryanna behind him, garrote in hand. He was grasping at the piano wire desperately, while she jerked harder, her height becoming an advantage, as he was forced to bend backwards against the inexorable grip of her terrible killing device. I held up one finger and was about to make some sort of protest when a little voice in the back of my head said:[/i]

?...and what would be so bad about this anyway? At least it?ll be quiet for awhile.?

?This?ll teach you to be a nitpicking, nasty jerk!?

[i]He made some sort of unintelligible sound, while all the while she kept on jerking harder and harder, the muscles in her arms rippling, and the pink of her skirt standing out against the purple hue of Sandy?s face. He tried to gasp for air, but she dug her heels in, which was amazing considering the height of them, and he was subdued at once.

Within moments, he had succumbed, and Aryanna stood over him with a triumphant look on her face, the wire coiled neatly in her hands. She gave me a look that told me to put my head down and not stare too closely at what she?d done. Instead I played the opening lines to the piece they had already been working on. Like magic, she tripped across the floor like she had been born to do it, her arms out like she had a partner. Delicately, she pranced over Sandy?s corpse and continued while the music rolled on gaily. And as it concluded, she swirled around in a haze of pink gauzy silk and curtsied. First to me, then to her pet, and then to the poor unfortunate Sandy.

I burst into a round of applause, and then immediately went back to not looking at Sandy?s corpse. She opened her purse, which I was beginning to suspect held an entire hardware store, and dumped out about a pound of salt over his body. Then she doused it with gasoline, and lit a match, tossing it onto him with a flick of her wrist. As the flames rose higher and higher, consuming his flesh, I snatched up my sheet music, and headed for the emergency exit, pulling the fire alarm as I went. It was madness!
[/i][/FONT][/COLOR]

[2010DigitalBoy]

[COLOR="DarkOrange"]Ah, James' death was every bit as exquisite as I would've imagined - excellent work, Raiha. If I decide I'd like to see any other OBer's dead, I'll be sure to come to you first, lol. I fid it interesting that there are a lot of stories where a detective will have a client who is actually backstabbiing them, or even ones where they are attacked in their own office, but yours is the first story I've seen where the detective was killed there, haha. And his cat too! Poor lil bastard.[/COLOR]

[Rachmaninoff]

Remind me to never upset Aaryanna. XP And just to break the pattern here, instead of requesting someone else's death. How about my own? Something noble, like defending one's love or some such thing. Sad, tragic and beautiful all in one. Not that I want to die mind you, but it would be interesting to see what you come up with.

[Raiha]

[COLOR="DarkOrchid"][FONT="Times New Roman"][i][b]September , 1913[/b]


The crewman clutched at his ruined throat, gurgling and choking on his own blood, falling to his knees as the self satisfied British agent slunk past him. The sound of her boots barely loud enough to be heard over the roar of the engine, the creak of her jacket loud in her ears. She kept one hand on the holster of her gun, the other firmly wrapped around the handle of her stinger knife. The Zeppelin rocked gently from side to side, and she kept her legs braced to keep from pitching headfirst into the structure below. Charlotte Hurst stepped slowly, in no particular hurry. After all, a crash is a crash whether it’s close to the ground or hundreds of feet up in the air.

The magnificent Zeppelin, designation L1, Production number LZ14, cruised through the thickening clouds, the dull rumble of thunder overpowering the sound of the engines. Rolf Schmertz, German agent, sat in the pilot’s cabin, his magnificently polished boots propped up against a console, his holster visible through his open jacket. The pilot was glad he was there. The crew was glad as well. He was leaning back, his eyes closed, a picture of arrogance and perfection.

And Bolshevik operative, Leonid Danilov slipped through the hallways unnoticed by most. He was not a striking man. A medium height and build, dark brown hair and darker eyes. Utterly nondescript and bland; good qualities for a spy. With sweeps of his vision, he took in the details of this massive tribute to German engineering. The Zeppelin company should be proud. But not too proud. Leonid turned in an instant, driven by some sort of instinct, and saw the mad yellow eyes of a white female hurtling towards him. Not panicking, merely reacting, he drew his own knife, seeing the flash of metal in hers. Unexpectedly, she turned, oddly nimble in the narrow confines of the corridor and slashed forward, catching him across the eyes. Reeling with pain, he drew back and she kicked out with her right leg and knocked him to the railing’s edge. Overbalancing, he fell down, the smooth sides of the ship’s hull mocking his desperate attempts for survival.

Charlotte didn’t look down. She knew he was dead. Perhaps he had been spitted on the spire of the church that was sure to be somewhere in Leipzig. The city so handsome and beautiful far below in the sheeting rain. The dull clouds gathered thickly overhead, and the sounds of thunder grew louder.[/i]

“Send my regards to God. If you make it there.”

[i]Smiling at the thought of a heaven, Agent Hurst threw open the door to the pilot’s room, and put one between the eyes of the very surprised Captain. Two other crewmen fell, one bullet each, one tap in the chest. Rolf had already pulled out his weapon and aimed it in the woman’s direction, the first going wild, and the second clipping her through the left shoulder. And she howled with rage, revealing the wisdom behind the Entente sending her on this mission. Utterly mad, she’d throw away her life and deal death to those around her without a qualm. The four she’d already killed spoke to that, not to mention the dozens of lives she’d destroyed on her way here. Rolf was shocked. The Germans would’ve never sent a woman on a suicide mission, and that shock proved to be his undoing.[/i]

“Es ist unausführbar! Sie kann ich unmöglich zerstören!”*

[i]He looked down, feeling shocks of pain lance upwards through his body. Her blade was protruding from his stomach, and she’d twisted it 90 degrees after entrance, for maximum damage. He grimaced with pain, and raised an arm, shooting the madwoman in the right shoulder. She dropped, eyes wide with new pain. The she smirked up at him with a flash of pride and immense ego. His first shot had taken out the ship’s controls, and they were going down. The only question was would he stay and shoot her a few times in the chest or head, or try to save the ship from a fiery death.

He chose the later, and staggered towards the fuel tanks, clutching his badly wounded stomach. But it was too late. They were already leaking the massively volatile fluids across the cavity, Rolf turned with a look of desperation on his face, his own death looming behind his eyes. Charlotte grinned insanely, even as she limped down the path the German had taken. He saw her moving out of the corner of his eyes. Ignoring the agony in her arms, she raised her gun, and fired the remaining three shots into the ship itself. And the fluid ignited. Her mission completed itself.

Came a large explosion. A torrent of fire and smoke against the pouring rain and lightning. Rolf’s body burned in an instant, mercifully before his gut wound could finish him instead. Charlotte had dropped her gun and swayed from side to side for a few short while, before falling forward into the metal causeway. The fire consumed her body, leaving behind nothing but a wisp of foul smelling smoke, and the feel of nightmares. The Zeppelin’s untimely end was seen for miles around. Weeks later, news of Agent Hurst’s valiant death while on a mission reached her bereaved family. The Schmertz family, being told their son died a glorious death on the battlefield, held his memory close to their hearts; a treasure to sustain them throughout the end of the war. And Leonid Danilov was forgotten in a heartbeat. He shouldn’t have been there to begin with.[/i]



*This isn’t happening. I can’t possibly kill her.[/FONT][/COLOR]

[Justin]

Give me my own death--the death of an over-confident, self-appreciating philosopher who has taught many people; but he hides an unfortunate stain on his conscience. That stain is the stain of a bastard son.

Make it a pitiful death, without any honor. Make my killer someone who will shock me.

Do this, and I'll give you sex.

-Justin

[Revelation]

[quote name='Rachmaninoff']And just to break the pattern here, instead of requesting someone else's death. How about my own?[/QUOTE]

[size=1][color=#8B008B]You just had to steal my idea, didn't you? =P

As far how the stories go, I think you’ve managed to give us all an entirely new image of [B]Aaryanna[/B]. She’ll never be the same adorable girl we know.

I've got to also say, what amazing detail you've put into this. I expected it to just be a simple story but it turned out better than I thought. Kudos to you. =] I can't wait to see what else you have in store for us.[/size][/color]

[2010DigitalBoy]

[COLOR="DarkOrange"]I want you to kill Aaryanna_mom. The setting should involve high fantasy and Aaryanna being forced into a situation in which she has to kill her own mother. It should be laid thick with tragic dialogue and melodrama.[/COLOR]

[Raiha]

[quote name='2008DigitalBoy'][COLOR="DarkOrange"]I want you to kill Aaryanna_mom. The setting should involve high fantasy and Aaryanna being forced into a situation in which she has to kill her own mother. It should be laid thick with tragic dialogue and melodrama.[/COLOR][/QUOTE]

[COLOR="DarkOrchid"][FONT="Times New Roman"]How do I put this nicely?

No.[/FONT][/COLOR]

[Aaryanna_Mom]

[quote name='Neuvoxraiha'][COLOR="DarkOrchid"][FONT="Times New Roman"]How do I put this nicely?

No.[/FONT][/COLOR][/QUOTE]And I thank you for that dear. I realize these are just for fun, but that's something I would rather not see, much like that horrid signature you had up for a while 2008DigitalBoy. :animesigh Sometimes I wonder about you.

[Nerdsy]

[color=deeppink]I would love to see DB die in obscurity. Nothing really violent or brutal... just have him die forgotton and ignored, without him having had any impact on the world and with no one caring about his fate.[/color]

[Aberinkula]

[COLOR="1234"]Yeah, even I cringed at that when I read it. I'm sorry DB but that isn't right. If anything, A_M's death should be a peaceful one, not like that.

Actually, why not write Nerdsy out? How about his death is brought by a flood of comic books, and anything nerdy. Don't make it too bloody, in fact, no blood at all, just make it comical at least.[/COLOR]

[Gavin]

[quote name='Nerdsy'][color=deeppink]I would love to see DB die in obscurity. Nothing really violent or brutal... just have him die forgotton and ignored, without him having had any impact on the world and with no one caring about his fate.[/color][/QUOTE]

[SIZE="1"]Officially seconded. Sorry DB, but after nominating Mom, you deserve it. [/SIZE]

[Allamorph]

[quote name='Gavin][SIZE="1"']Officially seconded. Sorry DB, but after nominating Mom, you deserve it. [/SIZE][/quote]
[FONT=Arial]Actually, I've got a few thoughts of my own to [I]that[/I] end....[/FONT]