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Post by T.I. inc. on Jun 21, 2016 21:36:18 GMT -8
Opening Ceremonies Arc "Abuzz, Buzzing, Humming, Throbbing, Jittering. Noises, the campus was filled with them, each a different tempo, a crescendo in the modern learning institute, as any outsider would see the pace the rhyme and rhythm, flowing and growing in this house of knowledge. What one saw amidst his coffee fueled daily motion was not the same for another, and each incident while different all ending in the same manner. Creation, permutation, entrapment of knowledge ever growing, ever compiling in this house of brick and mortar that no one man can claim his own."
A man was there, amidst all of it, wearing unremarkable, unnoticeable clothing as he focused, the buzzing in his head a soft drum as the flow of knowledge channeled into him. He had come here out of curiosity, but now here he could sense it, a piece of knowledge that was slowly being writ close by. Whomever the odd writer was, their words had piqued his interest, the unremarkable man, whom upon looking back was gone from where he could have been noticed. Seated now, in a cafe on the campus, a coffee in his hand, black with two sugars, as the scratching of pencil on paper rang clearer here. Whom the writer, their symposium of humanities continual evolution and thoughts towards an evolutionary leap were, a footnote in this page of knowledge he was pursuing.
A soft sip of coffee as he waited, listening and focusing.
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Post by Michael on Jun 22, 2016 0:21:10 GMT -8
The Ferryman • • • • Who watches The Watcher… The figure stood hidden upon a building many streets away from the inconspicuous man, the busy L.A. street bustling below their form. The massive billboard stood behind him casting its shadow, hiding the figures form from the world.
“The mutant is here somewhere, somewhere in this city I know it.” The shadow would think to himself as their eyes scanned the streets below, none of the faces seemed to stand out. Amongst the hundreds of people going about their lives below them, never knowing that the shadow watched from above.
The figure held an old piece of paper with a drawing of the man he searched for, the paper was old parchment as though the person who drew it had known the man and cared for him. It wasn’t amazing detail but it would be enough to recognize the man if the shadow came close enough to him.
Somewhere in this city, the man who knew the answer to the question the shadow wished to know.
The figure would cut the tip of his finger upon their scythe, then after the blood slowly dripped the watcher would write words upon the back of the picture.
The man who knows everything. I am looking for you. You have answers to the question. Midnight, Griffith Observatory, tonight.
“Will he get my message?” The shadow would think to himself.
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Post by T.I. inc. on Jun 22, 2016 1:01:10 GMT -8
Opening Ceremonies Act "His head would pulse, a real time trigger, like a gunshot echoing in his mind as keywords unlocked exclusive files. Files and knowledge, hidden in the recess of the labyrinthine mind of one such as he, a door way coming into view that spoke the words "Your Name Here" constructed as a path, a html hyper link within his mind where the writ and the real could be seen dancing upon the pages of time. In each time there was mention of he, of the name, of the man and the place, but this new thought came alive. The paper an older note, the tool and vessel of blood, same blood as a another note, long ago, asking a question. Similarities, unrarily, linking past and present as another seeker edges to the field in hopes of joining the eternal game. The location of this piece, close, familiar, same time, the buzzing was soft. Inndulgence was a vice of the man, and he had no choice but to live in the time and place of each man whom walked and talked, wrote and quoted. Their literary lives weaving tangled snares and traps that would make the greatest puzzle piece woven and lost. With only one thing, assembling the pieces as they took shape. The puzzle was old, began before their time and would continue long after."
He smirked, raising an eye to the sky in thought as the piece came in.
"New one, you wish to meet, but yet you feel old as I have read before"
The entry had finished, the writer complete for a moment as he looked across the coffee shop to see them. Was this a project for school? Simple musings? The idea that humanities evolution could be witnessed, while not new always caught his attention when he was near. Truth was though, he was here as a substitute for one of the English Lit. classes, which began in lecture hall 3 at noon, it was only ten a.m. Midnight was a long way off, longer still if he wished to rest.
"Just have to rest after class then, no use chasing concepts or theorem, they will arrive in time"
He would idly say to himself as he took another sip of coffee.
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Post by Michael on Jun 22, 2016 13:23:57 GMT -8
The Ferryman • • • • Who Watches the Watcher… Staring across the hundreds of thousands of people before him the shadow knew not where the man he searched for was. The underground chatter of New York was sometimes as much false as anything heard on the news. However, the figure knew better then to believe it was all false, in every story there is a grain of truth, and so in time he had followed the stories across the states to finally arrive in L.A. It was a town very much like New York, with its massive population, and rich diverse culture. A combination of so many people from all parts of the world.
Yet amongst its vast population stood the incalculable chance of finding 1 person amongst millions. If such a thing could be done by conventional means it would require vast government expenses and cutting edge technology. Though the figure had come despite these notions of their possible failure, in locating this urban legend known simply as The Man Who Knows everything. Several of the methods of locating the legend had been silly such as spitting off the highest building, or calling out his name five times. As though the man himself was not in fact a man but a consciousness that governed outside of form or fashion. A sentience that somehow knew everything there was to know, from the beginning of the world to its end. Such a being sounded like the lore of gods of old, but in days such as these it might be presumed if a such a being did exist that it would be a mutant.
The figure at once realized that they had not put away the paper, and had not bandaged the bloody finger that now dripped blood to the pebbled roof below its feet. Realizing it had expected some booming voice or other similar response the figure found itself almost glad that such things didn't exist. For negotiating with a person was already so difficult. Negotiating with a omnipotent being would probably be far harder.
Drawing the shadow around his body the figure disappeared from the roof that it stood on and appeared thousands of feet away, on another roof with a billboard who's shadow bathed over him.
Maybe there are other mutants to be found? The figure mused to himself.
[OOG: Exit stage left, character leaving thread]
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Post by T.I. inc. on Jul 4, 2016 21:04:57 GMT -8
Opening Ceremonies "Shaken, awakened, lost. Five times friday deals, many customers, complaining arraigning, losing and bruising. When one gains do many lose? How do you recite numerical theorem. Questions, always questions, kids with their words and hopes, paper dreams of diaries and love. None of it matters in the end"
He looked up for a moment and regarding ditching out on teaching the class today to find out more about the man and his note, or at least he assumed it was a man, given the dramatist of the note, the curvature of the arc on his vowels and the aggressive nature to which it inferred the existence of himself. It would be unlikely that it was a woman, but perhaps a rather butch one. With that in mind it would be unwise to show up to the meeting, many where after one such as him and just because a note asked doesn't mean he needs to actually listen.
Later that day...
As class started, students filing into the lecture hall, he just sat at the desk relaxed with his legs kicked up on the table. On the board were the words "Guest Speaker" and that was it, any more and he would just be adding fuel to his own fire. After all, they were probably going to write his words down, especially since he was the worlds leading expert on original 17th century english literature and its actual meaning and intonation.
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