Category: Lost

“I am the weight of a feather, yet you cannot hold me for 10 minutes.”

I made a mockery of thought. The action was partially dictated by my persona for the evening, a man known for his boasting and brashness, but I could see it in myself more than others could. I was enjoying this too much. The little bit of cruelty appealed to my Fairest nature, the extended waiting drove home the point that none were as clever as I, none were as smart, and winning the competition would demonstrate that none were as brave, either.

Brian laughed deep inside of me, that deep-chested laugh that makes me cringe waiting for the inevitable gun shot. I thought to the box sitting in my closet with his “bones” in it, a fortune in jewels and gold mixed with palm fronds and sea shells, and knew once again that he still lived in me, that whatever I thought of “souls,” there was that part of me, and it wanted nothing more than what others may have, regardless of what it was.

“My breath,” I said with confidence, and saw it fade into the mist. I had won. Nobody was better than I. Now I could be the only one who completed two of the Queen’s Challenges. Nobody was braver than I, either. They couldn’t be. I…Brian wouldn’t allow it.

For once I could frown. My mouth very suddenly learned to make those motions again. Yet, still I was not allowed to, had to put on a front for the sake of the clever, boastful, and gregarious Jack the Giant Killer to stay in character. The Wyrd’s cruelty is subtle and profound, and I wish I could say that I entirely rejected it. What a miserable evening.


[Bandabras] Coronation

The smooth, deep grooves that had been carved into the lid of the box didn’t always seem clear at first. It was almost like the lines of the picture shifted and turned until it finally snapped to into the imagine of a stick-man being slain by an elven warrior protecting the body of a fallen wizard. I admit, I was feeling melodramatic when I commissioned it, but it’ll be a part of my legend some day.

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Schedule problem

Damn, I hate the problems with scheduling. The big Changeling game up here, the one that is most perfect for my character, and I can’t make it because it’s on Easter weekend and I’ll be with my family in South Florida. This was really poor timing on the part of…well, Jesus, I suppose. Maybe I can even blame Moses, as Passover had a lot to do with it as well.

Either way. Will be in South Florida from Friday morning until Sunday afternoon. Anything going on that I can possibly participate in if I can get away from my family for a little while, maybe on Saturday.

The old man driving occasionally flicked his eyes in the rearview mirror from the front of the limo. I thought about closing the divider so I wouldn’t have to see them. I knew that he was looking at me, and I could feel disappointment with every glance, but I couldn’t bring myself to hide from that piercing, wise gaze. I tried to summon the masochist in me to take some enjoyment from this punishment, but years of separating pleasant pain from censure and correction wouldn’t allow me to revel in his sad look like I would under the whip or flail. Instead, I stared at the window as another Turnpike rest stop passed by, trying to convince myself it was the sudden advent of neon in my eyes that made them burn as if I wanted to weep.

I looked over at Gwen in the seat near to me. Fortunately, she wasn’t in much of a mood to talk either, and the way she recoiled from my reassuring hand during the coronation and Johnny’s outburst as if I were one of the fire Elementals that had ransacked the heart of Thornhedge Apartments made it clear that she needed as much space as I did at the moment. I couldn’t even be angry with myself as I mentally berated my poor decision. Anger impelled me to make it in the first place, it seemed wrong to now find refuge in that same foolish emotion.

Earlier in the evening

I fell asleep that night to the smell of salt after the day’s competition. After years in Opens and charity events, I finally scored an Invitational. This was the big time. The surfing world was finally learning the Pelinor name, and it was huge.

Continued behind here

Sorry this has taken so long, but I’ve had so many other things to take care of regarding this venue, including approvals, VSSes, regional histories, etc.

Suffice it to say, here is the last part of this little bit of story. More stories will come soon, but this snippet ends with this one. I’d love comments.

WTF times Wha-huh?

OOC: The second part of this story. Getting ideas for more stories to post, but this really jumped to mind. Enjoy.

Danny Kaye, eat your heart out

OOC: This is my first IC post for Lost. It came to me the other day. I’m considering trying to make a Token based on the one in the next post, but only because the Token made itself known to me as a natural part of the story, rather than my making up a story to justify a magical item. This is based on the discussion that Jake and I had about our characters meeting.

The True Meaning of Insanity, pt. 1

I’m going to steel Sting’s format for this.

Name: Bandabras
Type: Something related to the water, possibly a water-elf
Other concept notes: I’m trying to re-create and change a little my Dreaming character that I never got to play and didn’t get out of my system, so a lot of things will sound similar. However, I hope that the character will be both different enough and interesting that you’ll forgive my need to finally tell this person’s story.

Bandabras liked to help people. He was raised in South Florida in privilege, the only child of a real estate mogul. You could say he had a nice childhood, spending most of his time walking up and down Lincoln Rd., taking in the culture and especially drawn to the street musicians. And the homeless.

Bandy’s impulse was always to assist in any way he could. He would often, to his father’s chagrin, bring the homeless, drug addicts, or even once an escaped fugitive, home to spend a few days in their large, and otherwise empty house. Even if he could only offer a good meal and a shower, it would be more than many of these people had had in weeks. His father never seemed to understand, and would often pray for strength from his dead mother, who’s bohemian attitudes primarily shaped Bandy’s personality before she passed on when he was seven.

Around the age of 13 he fell in love with surfing, and his father, encouraging some activity that didn’t involve bringing derelicts into their home, spent thousands of dollars paying for lessons, equipment, surf trips, and eventually competitions. Suddenly, his trips down Ocean or Lincoln were replaced by a hectic schedule of shows and Opens, and his private school education was replaced by a private tutor.

Around the age of 20, Bandabras was back home and decided to take a tour of his old haunts. While walking down Lincoln, he came across a woman playing the violin and fell instantly in love. Which is why, when a robbery of one of the nearby boutiques turned violent and a wild shot hit her only minutes after his arrival, he rushed immediately to her side. Little did he know that he can drawn her attention, and, when the ambulance arrived and took her away, that she would visit him in his home later than evening, taking him for her enjoyment to her homeworld.

After Bandy finally escaped, having realized that this woman could never love him and only saw him as a toy, possibly a pet, he decided that the best way to use his knowledge and money would be to help those others who found their way back through the hedge. When he came back, it was to find that his father was gone, and control of the family fortune mysteriously passed to him, so he opened “Bandy’s Home for Lost Runaways” in Orlando as a half-way house for escapees from the Others.

(Note: This makes a lot of assumptions on the nature of the Others, so there could be drastic changes to this, and there will be more details later, but these are the basics)

Other notes in the fae realm: Bandy would have been happy to live as a pet for a while, but eventually that would have worn off. His quiet rebellion would be to help others escape, or at least listen to their troubles.

Potential ties: Jake’s “Round table” so far. And a few non-specific, “Let’s create character ties,” suggestions that I’m sure will fill out as more information becomes available. Considering what he does, there are several built-in connections for people who don’t want many details.

All above details pending to change.