<![CDATA[Eagle Time - Projects!]]> https://eagle-time.org/ Wed, 13 May 2026 12:10:22 +0000 MyBB <![CDATA[The Mondo Ruction 583216789043621775742216180427536789753]]> https://eagle-time.org/showthread.php?tid=7167 Thu, 23 Apr 2026 15:48:43 +0000 Ixcaliber]]> https://eagle-time.org/showthread.php?tid=7167
It was beginning to be a problem.

The Oddball and the forever expanding possibility space that it sat at the centre of did not percieve, not itself, not the world around it or the results of its endless purposeless experiments. Any iota of self that clung to that anomaly of thought and thoughtlessness just completed its actions and did not percieve the burrowing strings of existence wrapped around its thoughts.

As always a selection of eight entities snatched up from throughout the whole of probability space stood in a rough circle looking at one another. Held in place by the most powerful force in the known universe: the author's unwillingness to expend the effort of having to think too hard. They stared at the billiard ball, perhaps one of nature's most incongruous shapes.

"We have taken you for a battle to the death." It said, though it might be more accurate to say that all the sounds that made up that sentence had just coincidentally have happened (causeless) in a coincidental sequence that made it almost sound like a sentence. It was unnervingly both intentional and unintentional and it made your skin crawl.

Eight contestants are introduced to one another, scattershot thoughts embedded carelessly in each other's minds.

The Ovipath, the creature from the vibeplane, the squirming formless shape that crystalizes and forms as it is experienced by other entities. A perception fish that half lives on a different framework of reality. Impossible to describe but if I had to I'd say all its limbs were worms and stop thinking about it for now.

Grey, the living supreme paragon of motorcycability. The shining ideal that all motorbikes were built to try to capture. She shines in the distance. You can see her. You love her from a distance. You build her in effigy. She is real, she is here and she is standing in front of you.

PROC13, the procedure rod. A strange shimmering fish in a whole rainbow of greys, born like most of its kind deep in the heart of the core of order. Their living thrumming heritage passed down through the generations holds them strictly to the platonic embodiment of law. PROC13 was a fanatic, a deep believer in the otherworldly force that is Obligation. Obligiation trails from them like aglae.

The Sparxle Chicks - Mariposa, Melinda, Magenta, Marissa and Magnolia. A girl band from downtown New Town. They are the best of friends and always seem to be going on adventures with one another. Every Friday at 5PM. In this weeks episode Magenta and Melinda will be staying overnight in their haunted Aunt Mildred's haunted mansion. Mariposa will be volunteering at the local hospital and she meets a cute new girl? Marissa and Magnolia will be recovering the Emperor's Blade with Magnolia's old old friend Michaela.

Stringbox - Slithering, string a hundred miles high. Moving all simultaneously but not together, entire bunches and strands gyrating, pulsating out of sync with the mass of bounded twine. It knows it exists only by virtue of its own body holding its thoughtform together.

Saint of Ideas - An angelform thoughtform that walks on the physical plane and is an intimidating icon of the pristine embodiment of an idea. Their existence, their very physicality shifting to match and mirror the thoughts of those around them. They preach about the virtues of mindfulness somehow despite the immbolization.

Gobbo - A little brown fuzzy ball of hair with enormous eyes. Gobbo was a close personal friend of Croc, the mythical hero of their species. Gobbo carries themselves with an air of someone who has been around and formed their opinions and decided never to care what anyone else ever thinks of them again. An embodiment of untempered id. They look like they would make a good merchandile plush that someone could sell of them.

Faraxetty Strigantonio - An artificial man, a straw man constructed out of hundreds of mounds of sodden wood. He moves with a stiffness, a hollowness that shows you he is little more than signifier, yet to be attached to a referent. On his face is drawn a simple, friendly face.

They are shown each other to each other and they are given the boilerpoint speech of why they are here. Seven rounds, seven locations, killing one another until there is only one left. It falls out of The Oddball's mouth as though it means something, as though it isn't a creeping rot outpopulating thought.

Reality ripples around them and Round One begins. They are in the Love Hotel. A tourist destination situated within the thoughtrealm of Love, a physical plane of such intoxicating, overwhelming love, that most who go there for longer than a couple of days call it a clogging, clinging suffocating kind of sensation.]]>
It was beginning to be a problem.

The Oddball and the forever expanding possibility space that it sat at the centre of did not percieve, not itself, not the world around it or the results of its endless purposeless experiments. Any iota of self that clung to that anomaly of thought and thoughtlessness just completed its actions and did not percieve the burrowing strings of existence wrapped around its thoughts.

As always a selection of eight entities snatched up from throughout the whole of probability space stood in a rough circle looking at one another. Held in place by the most powerful force in the known universe: the author's unwillingness to expend the effort of having to think too hard. They stared at the billiard ball, perhaps one of nature's most incongruous shapes.

"We have taken you for a battle to the death." It said, though it might be more accurate to say that all the sounds that made up that sentence had just coincidentally have happened (causeless) in a coincidental sequence that made it almost sound like a sentence. It was unnervingly both intentional and unintentional and it made your skin crawl.

Eight contestants are introduced to one another, scattershot thoughts embedded carelessly in each other's minds.

The Ovipath, the creature from the vibeplane, the squirming formless shape that crystalizes and forms as it is experienced by other entities. A perception fish that half lives on a different framework of reality. Impossible to describe but if I had to I'd say all its limbs were worms and stop thinking about it for now.

Grey, the living supreme paragon of motorcycability. The shining ideal that all motorbikes were built to try to capture. She shines in the distance. You can see her. You love her from a distance. You build her in effigy. She is real, she is here and she is standing in front of you.

PROC13, the procedure rod. A strange shimmering fish in a whole rainbow of greys, born like most of its kind deep in the heart of the core of order. Their living thrumming heritage passed down through the generations holds them strictly to the platonic embodiment of law. PROC13 was a fanatic, a deep believer in the otherworldly force that is Obligation. Obligiation trails from them like aglae.

The Sparxle Chicks - Mariposa, Melinda, Magenta, Marissa and Magnolia. A girl band from downtown New Town. They are the best of friends and always seem to be going on adventures with one another. Every Friday at 5PM. In this weeks episode Magenta and Melinda will be staying overnight in their haunted Aunt Mildred's haunted mansion. Mariposa will be volunteering at the local hospital and she meets a cute new girl? Marissa and Magnolia will be recovering the Emperor's Blade with Magnolia's old old friend Michaela.

Stringbox - Slithering, string a hundred miles high. Moving all simultaneously but not together, entire bunches and strands gyrating, pulsating out of sync with the mass of bounded twine. It knows it exists only by virtue of its own body holding its thoughtform together.

Saint of Ideas - An angelform thoughtform that walks on the physical plane and is an intimidating icon of the pristine embodiment of an idea. Their existence, their very physicality shifting to match and mirror the thoughts of those around them. They preach about the virtues of mindfulness somehow despite the immbolization.

Gobbo - A little brown fuzzy ball of hair with enormous eyes. Gobbo was a close personal friend of Croc, the mythical hero of their species. Gobbo carries themselves with an air of someone who has been around and formed their opinions and decided never to care what anyone else ever thinks of them again. An embodiment of untempered id. They look like they would make a good merchandile plush that someone could sell of them.

Faraxetty Strigantonio - An artificial man, a straw man constructed out of hundreds of mounds of sodden wood. He moves with a stiffness, a hollowness that shows you he is little more than signifier, yet to be attached to a referent. On his face is drawn a simple, friendly face.

They are shown each other to each other and they are given the boilerpoint speech of why they are here. Seven rounds, seven locations, killing one another until there is only one left. It falls out of The Oddball's mouth as though it means something, as though it isn't a creeping rot outpopulating thought.

Reality ripples around them and Round One begins. They are in the Love Hotel. A tourist destination situated within the thoughtrealm of Love, a physical plane of such intoxicating, overwhelming love, that most who go there for longer than a couple of days call it a clogging, clinging suffocating kind of sensation.]]> <![CDATA[in the time of eagles]]> https://eagle-time.org/showthread.php?tid=7165 Thu, 16 Oct 2025 22:43:11 +0000 Sleepy]]> https://eagle-time.org/showthread.php?tid=7165 once a great wind blew through these plains
shaking the leaves of every tree it rushed pass
it is quiet now in the time of eagles and almost everything is still
clouds continue to pass just as they always have
my time with the eagles was well spent 
though i often became intimidated at their stature
small as they might’ve been
 how they called to each other
i watched and tried to mimic them
perhaps i was one of them for a time
 but clouds continue to pass just as they always have
]]> once a great wind blew through these plains
shaking the leaves of every tree it rushed pass
it is quiet now in the time of eagles and almost everything is still
clouds continue to pass just as they always have
my time with the eagles was well spent 
though i often became intimidated at their stature
small as they might’ve been
 how they called to each other
i watched and tried to mimic them
perhaps i was one of them for a time
 but clouds continue to pass just as they always have
]]> <![CDATA[The Battle of the Victors (*S1/2*) - Round "1" - Crystal Mirage XIX]]> https://eagle-time.org/showthread.php?tid=7145 Tue, 28 Nov 2023 05:30:35 +0000 Ixcaliber]]> https://eagle-time.org/showthread.php?tid=7145 “What do you remember?”

As her consciousness reformed the first thing that Franchesca was aware of was the delectable smell of something sweet baking nearby. One by one her senses returned to her. She became aware she was laid down on a hard surface, some kind of powder matted into her fur. The sound of a cheery pop song playing tinnily on a shoddy radio, occasionally distorting for a moment before there was the sound of an impact and the quality continued as it had been.

There had also been the sound of a voice. It had asked her what she remembered, which was a good question but she was at this point too busy getting her senses back online to worry about such things as memories. Luckily, from the way the voice was idly humming along to the radio (and singing the one or two scattered words its owner knew of the lyrics) it didn’t seem like it was desperately awaiting her response.

There was the muffled hum of a fan, which would intermittently become unmuffled with the sounds of something big and metal being pulled laboriously open. Lots of mouthwatering baking scents would be released by this as well. Franchesca was prepared to conclude that the noises she was hearing belonged to a particularly large oven - and hey wasn’t that a good step forward to be making conclusions again?

Now for the big one. Franchesca hesitantly opened her eyes. It took a moment for the world to come into focus. She was in a kitchen, easily the most well-appointed kitchen she’d ever seen, but with none of the impersonality that an industrial kitchen would have. The walls were cream and decorated with framed pictures of quaint kitchen slogans such as ‘Happiness is a small house, with a big kitchen - Alfred Hitchcock’ and ‘People who love to eat are always the best people - Julia Child’ and ‘The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to bake and get baked in return - Elton John’.

There were numerous countertops littered with bags of ingredients and numerous utensils, some of which looked familiar to Franchesca, some of which she would struggle to even invent a use for. A sink in one corner was piled high with cake tins and rolling pins and mixing bowls and the like. In another corner was the huge oven she had deduced the existence of, only larger than she had thought reasonable to imagine. It was large enough that at first it just looked like a door to another room, until you noticed the steam pouring out of it, the tray racks and the shadow of the fan spinning. And probably the heat would be a fairly strong signifier that you weren’t just walking into another room but Franchesca wasn’t close enough to feel that.

Speaking of where she was, she couldn’t help but notice she was lying on a kitchen counter, in a small drift of what she was going to assume was flour. Her body was slow to respond as she tried to sit up, her limbs suddenly afflicted with pins and needles as sensation returned to them. Franchesca gasped out loud and in doing so attracted the attention of this kitchen’s owner.

She was tall, with no fur, just smooth skin, and shifting rainbow coloured hair, tied back in a nice neat bun. She had an indeterminate amount of arms. At any given time, though it didn’t seem to fit with her understanding of the space that the woman was operating in, Franchesca would have sworn she was kneading some dough over at the far counter with one pair of arms, chopping some mysterious glowing white fruit at an entirely different counter with a second pair of arms, washing plates over by the sink with a third and smoking a ratty looking joint with a fourth. She was wearing an apron with what appeared to be a simplified cartoon version of herself face-on with eight hands extended around her, each holding a different kitchen utensil.

“How are you doing Frannie? Remember anything yet?”

Franchesca searched her memories. Her name was Franchesca Fox. She was a resident of Roshain, the voyaging city that she herself had set upon its path into the stars. Her best friend was a little shapeshifting dream-being called Nova, who she had rescued from the machinations of Nightmare Queen Vamera. She remembered Valhart, the broken knight whose agony continued to compel them to try to destroy and remake the universe itself, and the many confrontations that the three of them had had as they journeyed to the Source of All Things. She remembered being close to a final confrontation, but getting stranded on a dismal world orbiting a dying sun, and then she remembered waking here in this incongruous kitchen. Feeling compelled to supply this intimidating lady with an answer she recounted her most recent memories out loud.

“We were so close to the Source, but Rochelle, she’s the mayor of our city, said she was picking up signs of Valhart’s forces on this planet and of course me and Nova are going to go down there and investigate.” Fran said. “But it was a trick, Valhart was nowhere to be seen, me and Nova get separated, and Rochelle flies Roshain off towards the Source without us.”

“Woah, spoilers.” The lady muttered.

“I need to get back there. I don’t know what Rochelle is thinking, if she really did betray us or if there’s something else going on but I need to get to the Source and save everyone.” Fran was getting herself into an agitated state, and simultaneously seemed to be reacquiring full motor control of her body. She was trying to get up, but the lady simply placed a pair of hands on her shoulders and pushed her back down.

“Okay, calm down Fran.” she said soothingly, and while that usually was not an effective tactic to stem someone’s rising panic, this time she did feel a calmness coming over her. With this tranquility settled over her the lady looked down at her appraisingly and then shrugged with all of her numerous arms. “You’re not perfect but you’re close enough. I don’t really have time to try again at this point.”

“Ideally you’d remember all this, but since you don’t I’ll give you the cliff notes. You were taken by a powerful multiversal entity - that’s me - to participate in a Big Fight - essentially a nine person battle to the death, each round takes place in some interesting location from throughout the multiverse, and the round changes every time someone dies. Mine was called The Delectable Confection. I thought it was pretty good but the rest of the Hosts were like ‘ohh its so boring. Everyone’s just hanging around and talking and eating cake. Where’s the big fighting? Etc Etc’ you know the vibe.”

“Anyway things were going pretty well up until the last round where you and the other remaining contestant… um… both died somehow. I don’t know what happened I swear I only looked away for a minute. But the thing is that The Battle of the Victors (terrible name I personally hate it) is almost ready to go and the rest of the Hosts are waiting on my battle. I don’t have time to start over from scratch. I need you to go and be the representative of the Delectable Confection in this climactic battle.”

“I… died…?” Fran asked blankly. “I’m dead?”

“No, don’t be silly, you’re not currently dead, you just were for a while. I rebaked you.”

“You… rebaked me?” This line of conversation did not seem to be making things any better.

“Yes. I’ve been at it all day, trying to get you just right. Honestly it’s a little embarrassing, I used to bake entire universes into existence, but just really been struggling with getting the detail on you just right. In my defence it has been eons since I last did this. Nowadays the most complicated thing I bake are tiered wedding cakes, mainly in a baroque style.”

“You… used to bake… universes?” Fran asked. “You’re a God?”

“Oh, Gods don’t have anything on me, dear.” The lady said. “I’m The Baker.”

“I’m… dreaming right?” Fran asked. “This isn’t happening. I’m still stranded on that planet and having one of the most intense dreams of my life.”

“I think we can speed this along a little bit.” The Baker said, placing her fingertips upon Fran’s head and showing her a glimpse of the creation of a universe, not her own, the maker of her own universe had been more mechanically minded, but one that was similar enough to be understandable to the fox.

The sensation was overwhelming, the scent of a newly baked universe full of possibility and wonder was indescribable. It was too much information for a mortal mind to hold at once. She could taste the fabric of space and time, she remembered sprinkling the night sky with stars like it was a coating of sugar.

Fran pulled away, taking deep breaths as she processed what she’d just experienced. It was far too vivid, far too much for this to be a dream, she was forced to admit that this all might have been true. Which meant it was time to process everything she’d been told about being taken to be in a battle to the death, and dying, and being asked now to go and participate in this Battle of the Victors.

It was all so abstract, especially when all she wanted to do was go home and finally finish the fight against Valhart and save her own universe. But instead here she was face to face with God who was a chef who wanted her to go and fight some people for a reason she didn't really understand.

“How did I die?” she asked.

“I don’t quite know. You and Ginger, the other finalist, I think you were both trying to make your escape and I turn my back for five minutes and you’re both dead.”

“We weren’t trying to kill one another? Isn’t that the point?”

“Its more fun when there’s a mix of characters in there and you get some alliances, some emnities. You and Ginger were thick as thieves, as they say.” She paused and glanced at a clock mounted on the wall. “Look, we’re running low on time, and I don’t really need to negotiate with you here. I can force you to be cooperative with me on this, but it’s messy and I don’t like messy.”

Fran clenched her fists. “I think if it’d get you the results you want you’d just do it, messiness be damned. I think that you’re worried people would notice that I don’t have all the memories I’m supposed to have and realize you botched your battle. I’ll do it, and I’ll do my best to pretend I know what’s going on, but I want this… Ginger? I want her with me. You can rebake her just as easily as you can rebake me right?”

“Are you sure? You don’t even know her?”

“Admittedly all I’m going off is your description of our relationship, but, if we were trying to escape together then I’m not going to leave her behind.”

“Fine. I can work with that. You have yourself a deal.”

“I’m not done yet. I want you to protect my universe while I’m doing this for you. I don’t know what form that takes, I’m not the God here, but I don’t want to fight this battle for you and then go back and find my universe has been remade in Valhart’s image while I’ve been gone.”

A small frown crossed The Baker’s face for a moment, but she says “Deal. Any other stipulations or can I get back to work?”

Fran shook her head. “That’s everything.”

“Perfect. Then you should get your rest Fran. You’ve got a big day ahead of you.”

Show Content
]]> “What do you remember?”

As her consciousness reformed the first thing that Franchesca was aware of was the delectable smell of something sweet baking nearby. One by one her senses returned to her. She became aware she was laid down on a hard surface, some kind of powder matted into her fur. The sound of a cheery pop song playing tinnily on a shoddy radio, occasionally distorting for a moment before there was the sound of an impact and the quality continued as it had been.

There had also been the sound of a voice. It had asked her what she remembered, which was a good question but she was at this point too busy getting her senses back online to worry about such things as memories. Luckily, from the way the voice was idly humming along to the radio (and singing the one or two scattered words its owner knew of the lyrics) it didn’t seem like it was desperately awaiting her response.

There was the muffled hum of a fan, which would intermittently become unmuffled with the sounds of something big and metal being pulled laboriously open. Lots of mouthwatering baking scents would be released by this as well. Franchesca was prepared to conclude that the noises she was hearing belonged to a particularly large oven - and hey wasn’t that a good step forward to be making conclusions again?

Now for the big one. Franchesca hesitantly opened her eyes. It took a moment for the world to come into focus. She was in a kitchen, easily the most well-appointed kitchen she’d ever seen, but with none of the impersonality that an industrial kitchen would have. The walls were cream and decorated with framed pictures of quaint kitchen slogans such as ‘Happiness is a small house, with a big kitchen - Alfred Hitchcock’ and ‘People who love to eat are always the best people - Julia Child’ and ‘The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to bake and get baked in return - Elton John’.

There were numerous countertops littered with bags of ingredients and numerous utensils, some of which looked familiar to Franchesca, some of which she would struggle to even invent a use for. A sink in one corner was piled high with cake tins and rolling pins and mixing bowls and the like. In another corner was the huge oven she had deduced the existence of, only larger than she had thought reasonable to imagine. It was large enough that at first it just looked like a door to another room, until you noticed the steam pouring out of it, the tray racks and the shadow of the fan spinning. And probably the heat would be a fairly strong signifier that you weren’t just walking into another room but Franchesca wasn’t close enough to feel that.

Speaking of where she was, she couldn’t help but notice she was lying on a kitchen counter, in a small drift of what she was going to assume was flour. Her body was slow to respond as she tried to sit up, her limbs suddenly afflicted with pins and needles as sensation returned to them. Franchesca gasped out loud and in doing so attracted the attention of this kitchen’s owner.

She was tall, with no fur, just smooth skin, and shifting rainbow coloured hair, tied back in a nice neat bun. She had an indeterminate amount of arms. At any given time, though it didn’t seem to fit with her understanding of the space that the woman was operating in, Franchesca would have sworn she was kneading some dough over at the far counter with one pair of arms, chopping some mysterious glowing white fruit at an entirely different counter with a second pair of arms, washing plates over by the sink with a third and smoking a ratty looking joint with a fourth. She was wearing an apron with what appeared to be a simplified cartoon version of herself face-on with eight hands extended around her, each holding a different kitchen utensil.

“How are you doing Frannie? Remember anything yet?”

Franchesca searched her memories. Her name was Franchesca Fox. She was a resident of Roshain, the voyaging city that she herself had set upon its path into the stars. Her best friend was a little shapeshifting dream-being called Nova, who she had rescued from the machinations of Nightmare Queen Vamera. She remembered Valhart, the broken knight whose agony continued to compel them to try to destroy and remake the universe itself, and the many confrontations that the three of them had had as they journeyed to the Source of All Things. She remembered being close to a final confrontation, but getting stranded on a dismal world orbiting a dying sun, and then she remembered waking here in this incongruous kitchen. Feeling compelled to supply this intimidating lady with an answer she recounted her most recent memories out loud.

“We were so close to the Source, but Rochelle, she’s the mayor of our city, said she was picking up signs of Valhart’s forces on this planet and of course me and Nova are going to go down there and investigate.” Fran said. “But it was a trick, Valhart was nowhere to be seen, me and Nova get separated, and Rochelle flies Roshain off towards the Source without us.”

“Woah, spoilers.” The lady muttered.

“I need to get back there. I don’t know what Rochelle is thinking, if she really did betray us or if there’s something else going on but I need to get to the Source and save everyone.” Fran was getting herself into an agitated state, and simultaneously seemed to be reacquiring full motor control of her body. She was trying to get up, but the lady simply placed a pair of hands on her shoulders and pushed her back down.

“Okay, calm down Fran.” she said soothingly, and while that usually was not an effective tactic to stem someone’s rising panic, this time she did feel a calmness coming over her. With this tranquility settled over her the lady looked down at her appraisingly and then shrugged with all of her numerous arms. “You’re not perfect but you’re close enough. I don’t really have time to try again at this point.”

“Ideally you’d remember all this, but since you don’t I’ll give you the cliff notes. You were taken by a powerful multiversal entity - that’s me - to participate in a Big Fight - essentially a nine person battle to the death, each round takes place in some interesting location from throughout the multiverse, and the round changes every time someone dies. Mine was called The Delectable Confection. I thought it was pretty good but the rest of the Hosts were like ‘ohh its so boring. Everyone’s just hanging around and talking and eating cake. Where’s the big fighting? Etc Etc’ you know the vibe.”

“Anyway things were going pretty well up until the last round where you and the other remaining contestant… um… both died somehow. I don’t know what happened I swear I only looked away for a minute. But the thing is that The Battle of the Victors (terrible name I personally hate it) is almost ready to go and the rest of the Hosts are waiting on my battle. I don’t have time to start over from scratch. I need you to go and be the representative of the Delectable Confection in this climactic battle.”

“I… died…?” Fran asked blankly. “I’m dead?”

“No, don’t be silly, you’re not currently dead, you just were for a while. I rebaked you.”

“You… rebaked me?” This line of conversation did not seem to be making things any better.

“Yes. I’ve been at it all day, trying to get you just right. Honestly it’s a little embarrassing, I used to bake entire universes into existence, but just really been struggling with getting the detail on you just right. In my defence it has been eons since I last did this. Nowadays the most complicated thing I bake are tiered wedding cakes, mainly in a baroque style.”

“You… used to bake… universes?” Fran asked. “You’re a God?”

“Oh, Gods don’t have anything on me, dear.” The lady said. “I’m The Baker.”

“I’m… dreaming right?” Fran asked. “This isn’t happening. I’m still stranded on that planet and having one of the most intense dreams of my life.”

“I think we can speed this along a little bit.” The Baker said, placing her fingertips upon Fran’s head and showing her a glimpse of the creation of a universe, not her own, the maker of her own universe had been more mechanically minded, but one that was similar enough to be understandable to the fox.

The sensation was overwhelming, the scent of a newly baked universe full of possibility and wonder was indescribable. It was too much information for a mortal mind to hold at once. She could taste the fabric of space and time, she remembered sprinkling the night sky with stars like it was a coating of sugar.

Fran pulled away, taking deep breaths as she processed what she’d just experienced. It was far too vivid, far too much for this to be a dream, she was forced to admit that this all might have been true. Which meant it was time to process everything she’d been told about being taken to be in a battle to the death, and dying, and being asked now to go and participate in this Battle of the Victors.

It was all so abstract, especially when all she wanted to do was go home and finally finish the fight against Valhart and save her own universe. But instead here she was face to face with God who was a chef who wanted her to go and fight some people for a reason she didn't really understand.

“How did I die?” she asked.

“I don’t quite know. You and Ginger, the other finalist, I think you were both trying to make your escape and I turn my back for five minutes and you’re both dead.”

“We weren’t trying to kill one another? Isn’t that the point?”

“Its more fun when there’s a mix of characters in there and you get some alliances, some emnities. You and Ginger were thick as thieves, as they say.” She paused and glanced at a clock mounted on the wall. “Look, we’re running low on time, and I don’t really need to negotiate with you here. I can force you to be cooperative with me on this, but it’s messy and I don’t like messy.”

Fran clenched her fists. “I think if it’d get you the results you want you’d just do it, messiness be damned. I think that you’re worried people would notice that I don’t have all the memories I’m supposed to have and realize you botched your battle. I’ll do it, and I’ll do my best to pretend I know what’s going on, but I want this… Ginger? I want her with me. You can rebake her just as easily as you can rebake me right?”

“Are you sure? You don’t even know her?”

“Admittedly all I’m going off is your description of our relationship, but, if we were trying to escape together then I’m not going to leave her behind.”

“Fine. I can work with that. You have yourself a deal.”

“I’m not done yet. I want you to protect my universe while I’m doing this for you. I don’t know what form that takes, I’m not the God here, but I don’t want to fight this battle for you and then go back and find my universe has been remade in Valhart’s image while I’ve been gone.”

A small frown crossed The Baker’s face for a moment, but she says “Deal. Any other stipulations or can I get back to work?”

Fran shook her head. “That’s everything.”

“Perfect. Then you should get your rest Fran. You’ve got a big day ahead of you.”

Show Content
]]> <![CDATA[Cartooning Thread!]]> https://eagle-time.org/showthread.php?tid=7133 Thu, 02 Nov 2023 23:59:24 +0000 MUNCHMOLAR]]> https://eagle-time.org/showthread.php?tid=7133 Any piece of art which leans into its representational nature rather than seeking base realism. Cartoons may be simple or complex, but they are always iconographic. Sound vague? Good! I don't want to lock out adjacent artworks with an overly-dense definition.

You can post your own cartooning here, talk about stylization tricks, give and receive advice, or discuss particular inspirations. To keep discussion and acknowledgement flowing, please say something about a preceding piece before posting one of your own.

Because I like talking about myself, I'll share something first!

[Image: ChJBXsI.jpg]

I'm particularly happy with the way I've reduced the head, nose, and neck into one distinct shape. The hands came out pretty well also, but I'm not exactly sold on the overcoat... It's at once too complex and not textured enough for me to feel it. If anyone has any tips on how to convey fabrics with line carving, I'd love to hear them.]]> Any piece of art which leans into its representational nature rather than seeking base realism. Cartoons may be simple or complex, but they are always iconographic. Sound vague? Good! I don't want to lock out adjacent artworks with an overly-dense definition.

You can post your own cartooning here, talk about stylization tricks, give and receive advice, or discuss particular inspirations. To keep discussion and acknowledgement flowing, please say something about a preceding piece before posting one of your own.

Because I like talking about myself, I'll share something first!

[Image: ChJBXsI.jpg]

I'm particularly happy with the way I've reduced the head, nose, and neck into one distinct shape. The hands came out pretty well also, but I'm not exactly sold on the overcoat... It's at once too complex and not textured enough for me to feel it. If anyone has any tips on how to convey fabrics with line carving, I'd love to hear them.]]> <![CDATA[Pacific Eagles 202X]]> https://eagle-time.org/showthread.php?tid=5404 Tue, 05 Jul 2022 17:56:08 +0000 CSJ]]> https://eagle-time.org/showthread.php?tid=5404 Hey there. Hi. Howdy.

So, I've wanted to visit NZ and/or North America since discovering the internet, though for different reasons than I did back then. People change, things happen, Tertiary Education drags on and on and eventually, there's a time and place where crossing the biggest ocean on earth looks remotely feasible...

Ok, so what is this?

I'm vaguely planning to do a car-free tour of New Zealand and/or the West Coast of North America (BC, Washington, Oregon and California). I do have a rough outline of how this is going to happen, but I'm still working on exact dates, logistics and the specifics.

The only set in stone parts of the American trip is that it'll start in Vancouver, Canada and end in Los Angeles. The rest is a rough outline of known destinations and idea of what I'm interested in.

What kinda places you wanna see?

Cool landforms, wildlife, architecture and urban spelunking and indigenous sites are some of the things I've been thinking about, partly due to connections to my past areas of study. Also people. People can be interesting!


I'm not interesting...

Prove it.

That sounds like a place what I live!

Well, that's neat, hypothetical person. If you were on the Eagles map (no I won't hyperlink it), then odds are I have factored you into my research into how to make this trip fit within a budget of about $5000 dollarydoos. If not, then I might not know or remember where you are. Ping me here or on Discord, if I haven't already and I'll see what I can do.

I don't live in them thar hills, but I'm One State Away... Krillosophy 

It might be difficult to fit in since I don't have a car license right now (and if I did I would be driving on the wrong side of the road!), but if it's doable and it can fit into the plan then hey, I'll consider it. I'm relying on public transport in a land that actively demeans it, sucks I know.

I don't know you.

Yeah, it be like that. Internet relationships are pretty parasocial at the best of times. I'm in my early 30s, am a few pen strokes away from a BSci and have only left this country once. For a one-week Model UN Conference. Funding for this trip has been acquired primarily from one of the most loathed professions: being a Sports Referee.

I'm pretty introverted which hasn't helped with the whole 'knowing people' thing, but I trust this community enough despite how it's changed over the last 4 years of my involvement to try and pull this off.

Who are you travelling with?

Nobody, unless anyone wants to tag along on any particular leg. I don't think it's particularly likely, since that's a bigger ask than simply hanging out but I won't say it's impossible.

When is this gonna be a thing?

Not sure, but it will depend on several things. If I somehow managed to make both trips happen at once, that's be hella cool. Otherwise, it'll probably be split into two separate trips. Dates I've looked into are mainly September-October in 2022, Jan-Feb or Julyish(???) next year. So there's a lot of time between me having brainworms right now and actually booking flights, accommodation and the like.]]> Hey there. Hi. Howdy.

So, I've wanted to visit NZ and/or North America since discovering the internet, though for different reasons than I did back then. People change, things happen, Tertiary Education drags on and on and eventually, there's a time and place where crossing the biggest ocean on earth looks remotely feasible...

Ok, so what is this?

I'm vaguely planning to do a car-free tour of New Zealand and/or the West Coast of North America (BC, Washington, Oregon and California). I do have a rough outline of how this is going to happen, but I'm still working on exact dates, logistics and the specifics.

The only set in stone parts of the American trip is that it'll start in Vancouver, Canada and end in Los Angeles. The rest is a rough outline of known destinations and idea of what I'm interested in.

What kinda places you wanna see?

Cool landforms, wildlife, architecture and urban spelunking and indigenous sites are some of the things I've been thinking about, partly due to connections to my past areas of study. Also people. People can be interesting!


I'm not interesting...

Prove it.

That sounds like a place what I live!

Well, that's neat, hypothetical person. If you were on the Eagles map (no I won't hyperlink it), then odds are I have factored you into my research into how to make this trip fit within a budget of about $5000 dollarydoos. If not, then I might not know or remember where you are. Ping me here or on Discord, if I haven't already and I'll see what I can do.

I don't live in them thar hills, but I'm One State Away... Krillosophy 

It might be difficult to fit in since I don't have a car license right now (and if I did I would be driving on the wrong side of the road!), but if it's doable and it can fit into the plan then hey, I'll consider it. I'm relying on public transport in a land that actively demeans it, sucks I know.

I don't know you.

Yeah, it be like that. Internet relationships are pretty parasocial at the best of times. I'm in my early 30s, am a few pen strokes away from a BSci and have only left this country once. For a one-week Model UN Conference. Funding for this trip has been acquired primarily from one of the most loathed professions: being a Sports Referee.

I'm pretty introverted which hasn't helped with the whole 'knowing people' thing, but I trust this community enough despite how it's changed over the last 4 years of my involvement to try and pull this off.

Who are you travelling with?

Nobody, unless anyone wants to tag along on any particular leg. I don't think it's particularly likely, since that's a bigger ask than simply hanging out but I won't say it's impossible.

When is this gonna be a thing?

Not sure, but it will depend on several things. If I somehow managed to make both trips happen at once, that's be hella cool. Otherwise, it'll probably be split into two separate trips. Dates I've looked into are mainly September-October in 2022, Jan-Feb or Julyish(???) next year. So there's a lot of time between me having brainworms right now and actually booking flights, accommodation and the like.]]> <![CDATA[ORB STATION 13]]> https://eagle-time.org/showthread.php?tid=5403 Thu, 19 May 2022 02:37:16 +0000 Dalmationer]]> https://eagle-time.org/showthread.php?tid=5403 [Image: orbstationgif2.gif]
ORB STATION 13

[Image: orbstationscreen01.png]

Quote:Ok so how many times has this happened to you. It's friday. You have a beer, or a soda or what have you, your favourite show is on. Your bra-less wife is serving you chicken tenders. But something isn't right. You search and search but you can't quite put your finger on it, until suddenly, it hits you. You snap your fingers and get up from the couch at the same time, as you declare what your issue is.
"I should be playing an online video game where I am attempting to stay alive aboard a shitty spaceship infested with traitors and monsters!"
WELL DO WE HAVE THE SOLUTION FOR YOU

Welcome.... To Orbstation

--Polynera Marketing Solutions, 2022.



Space Station 13 is a weird little opensource multiplayer roleplaying game that's something like a cross between a graphical MUD, Dwarf Fortress and Mafia. You play as the crew of a top secret space station owned by a sinister intersolar corporation. Your mission is to keep the station running, do your job, and make it through your shift alive. It won't be easy, though. Between sabotage from spies among the crew, alien shapeshifts and the whims of the dreaded space wizard, you're going to have your work cut out for you!

[Image: orbstationscreen02.png]

Features include:
   
  •    
  • A "robust" combat system!
       
  • Play as one of many cool as shit jobs, including Geneticist, Bartender, Captain, Clown.
       
  • Watch out for the traitors! These dastardly folk are up to no good, and they could be any one of your crew members. It's not the same thing as among us this game is actually older than among us.
       
  • Play as various creatures, customise your character!
       
  • Don't worry, we got rid of all the weird uncomfortable racism stuff.
       
  • You want weirdly in-depth atmospheric simulation? buddy you GOT in depth atmospherics simulation
       
  • You get to roleplay as your own space person and interact with memorable characters such as "Nancy Winters" and "GRETCHEN"
   
    Note: watch out if you're playing on public servers they're full of freaks.

Orbstation is a small server that we've created with some folks from the old MSPA server "Sayustation", The Orb forums, Eagletime, Crocmom and associated internet zones. We want to make a wee server with a nice mix of roleplaying and action that'll be fun to play in and not full of edgelord gamers.


[Image: orbstationscreen03.png]
   
HOW TO JOIN THE GAME
1. Download BYOND: https://www.byond.com/
2. Create and log into a BYOND account
3. In the BYOND client, press Ctrl-O
4. Enter byond://35.188.247.129:25565
5. Press OK to connect!

we usually play on WEEKENDS right now, but that might change!

USEFUL LINKS

our git repo: https://github.com/lizardqueenlexi/orbstation

link to our chatroom: https://discord.gg/hpwWTMzzux


[Image: orbstationsolid2.png]
]]> [Image: orbstationgif2.gif]
ORB STATION 13

[Image: orbstationscreen01.png]

Quote:Ok so how many times has this happened to you. It's friday. You have a beer, or a soda or what have you, your favourite show is on. Your bra-less wife is serving you chicken tenders. But something isn't right. You search and search but you can't quite put your finger on it, until suddenly, it hits you. You snap your fingers and get up from the couch at the same time, as you declare what your issue is.
"I should be playing an online video game where I am attempting to stay alive aboard a shitty spaceship infested with traitors and monsters!"
WELL DO WE HAVE THE SOLUTION FOR YOU

Welcome.... To Orbstation

--Polynera Marketing Solutions, 2022.



Space Station 13 is a weird little opensource multiplayer roleplaying game that's something like a cross between a graphical MUD, Dwarf Fortress and Mafia. You play as the crew of a top secret space station owned by a sinister intersolar corporation. Your mission is to keep the station running, do your job, and make it through your shift alive. It won't be easy, though. Between sabotage from spies among the crew, alien shapeshifts and the whims of the dreaded space wizard, you're going to have your work cut out for you!

[Image: orbstationscreen02.png]

Features include:
   
  •    
  • A "robust" combat system!
       
  • Play as one of many cool as shit jobs, including Geneticist, Bartender, Captain, Clown.
       
  • Watch out for the traitors! These dastardly folk are up to no good, and they could be any one of your crew members. It's not the same thing as among us this game is actually older than among us.
       
  • Play as various creatures, customise your character!
       
  • Don't worry, we got rid of all the weird uncomfortable racism stuff.
       
  • You want weirdly in-depth atmospheric simulation? buddy you GOT in depth atmospherics simulation
       
  • You get to roleplay as your own space person and interact with memorable characters such as "Nancy Winters" and "GRETCHEN"
   
    Note: watch out if you're playing on public servers they're full of freaks.

Orbstation is a small server that we've created with some folks from the old MSPA server "Sayustation", The Orb forums, Eagletime, Crocmom and associated internet zones. We want to make a wee server with a nice mix of roleplaying and action that'll be fun to play in and not full of edgelord gamers.


[Image: orbstationscreen03.png]
   
HOW TO JOIN THE GAME
1. Download BYOND: https://www.byond.com/
2. Create and log into a BYOND account
3. In the BYOND client, press Ctrl-O
4. Enter byond://35.188.247.129:25565
5. Press OK to connect!

we usually play on WEEKENDS right now, but that might change!

USEFUL LINKS

our git repo: https://github.com/lizardqueenlexi/orbstation

link to our chatroom: https://discord.gg/hpwWTMzzux


[Image: orbstationsolid2.png]
]]> <![CDATA[It turns out you should make a book about it.]]> https://eagle-time.org/showthread.php?tid=4483 Sat, 13 Jul 2019 06:06:16 +0000 btp]]> https://eagle-time.org/showthread.php?tid=4483 [Image: 1MlVLWb.png]
What is all this about?
If the image above alarms, surprises, or baffles you then you should stop immediately and learn the truth that BIG BANANA doesn't want you to know.
Okay yes I am enlightened, but what is specifically this all about?

Oh. Well. I want to make a book. 

Or really, I'd like us to make a book. 

Wait, like, a real book with words and pictures and such?

Yes! A real book! Specifically an anthology of all the best ways to peel a banana, with each method illustrated by members of our community!
As a rough example: 
[Image: 9Zl9Bn7.png]
Anthology?

Anthology (n): A collection of literary (or artistic) works that is significantly harder to coordinate than say, a regular book, but also showcases a wide range of talent and styles! 

Don't things like books cost money to make?

They sure do! There are the obvious printing and publishing costs, but there's also shipping/distribution, taxes and some legal fees, and most importantly paying the artists for their hard work! 

So who is paying for this? 

Hahaha. What a fun question! Well, as with most things in the twenty-teens the answer is CROWDFUNDING. $u$

This project is in very early stages. At the time of me writing this, you have already seen the extent of the rough work done for the book. The book makin' flow will look something like this:
  • Step 1. BTP gets too much time on his hands and gets really psyched about a hypothetical project.
  • Step 2. The idea is bounced around some community members and is not shot down outright.
  • Step 3. We try and drum up community support and get some contributors (writers/illustrators) to join the project. <--- YOU ARE HERE
  • Step 4. Artists and writers are approved as contributors and some honest real deal legal documents are drafted up and signed. 
  • Step 4.5. Further design notes are made, rough drafts and page structures are flushed out and the team agrees on the expected format of the book.
  • Step 5. We take our polished idea and ask the good denizens of the world wide web to give us money to make it!
  • Step 6. We don't get the money, and we're not angry, just disappointed. (GO BACK 3 SPACES)
  • Step 6 (shiny edition). We get the money! Maybe even more! Artists can start their work knowing they'll be paid! Money exchanges hands, pages get formatted, illustrations come in and backers get lots of little email updates on the progress of things. 
  • Step 7. We continue editing the book because really this is the longest part. But it's getting ready and those good book smells are wafting through the air. 
  • Step 8. YOU GET A BOOK! (and if you paid for one: A physical book too!) Enjoy your newly minted compendium of Eagle-Time art and banana knowledge! 
I am excited and have no further questions!

Oh wow! That's great! Go continue to be excited! Maybe post some in the banana thread, or in this thread about how excited you are! Let people know about this great book we're trying to make! 

I am skeptical and have many questions!

Yeah, that's what I expected. I'll try to answer some here, but if I don't get to all of them, ask me in the thread! Or you can message me on discondor or PM me through the forum!

Honest real deal legal documents make me nervous. Do we really need them?

Actually the purpose of the legal documents is to make people less nervous. This isn't like the terms of service you fill out when installing software or signing up for social media. There are very specific and clear goals that are meant to be written out in unambiguous language. Things like, who owns the art in the book, or who can sell the book and how do I get paid for my work. The legal documents are meant for everyone to know exactly what the expectations are and to make sure that no one person gets an unfair advantage over anyone else. If you're thinking that you'd like to contribute, or have concerns for the people who do contribute go ahead and ask! 

How much would writers or illustrators get paid for contributing?*

So first off! I don't intend to use anything from the banana thread without the express permission form and attribution to the author of that post. However, because of the short quip-like nature of the writing, writers who agree to allow their work to be used won't receive any upfront payment. They would be considered "contributors" and (depending on the circumstances) could receive a free physical copy of the book, or be allowed to print/purchase the book "at cost" depending on the amount of their contribution. 

As for our illustrators, non-artists (like myself) chronically underestimate what is a fair amount to pay for professional illustrations. My current estimates have ranged from $35 to $65 per illustration, and I can't put down a hard number here. Factors like "how much time do we expect the artists to work on these pieces?" "Will the book be in color?" "Is simple line art all we need?" all need to be considered and answered. Some artists use methods that are fundamentally more time consuming than others, should they be paid more as a result? Every dollar more we pay our artists is a hundred dollars more we have to ask from our backers, so we have to strike a fair balance. 

If you are an artist, and want to contribute, let me know what you would normally charge! It will help me hammer out the actual numbers that go into the contracts, and if what you charge is more than what we're comfortable trying to crowdsource, that's okay! If all goes well, we'll have more resources to call on you if we do another project!

Keep in mind, that for all illustrators, in addition to being compensated for their drawings, they still retain non-exclusive rights to their work. Meaning the artist owns their work and can reproduce it however they want, while other contributors can only reproduce the artist's work in the context of the anthology. Artists are also able to print/purchase the book "at cost" to sell at conventions, or on their websites, or even local bookstores. 
*Note: This is the "current plan" but could change depending on the circumstances or appearance of "better ideas" as we move into Step 4. 

What are your goals/stretch goals/reward tiers for the kickstarter/crowdfuning?

Heck if I know. We're at Step 3 people. Drum up that support! What tiers/rewards would you like to see?

I want this book, but I don't have ANY MONEY. Help plz. 
Actually! The current plan is, if we get funded, to make the ebook version free! Everyone deserves to see these good tips, and Eagle-Time has been good-art and paywall free since its inception. No reason that should change now. 

I'd love to do an art! Sign me up!

Sweet! If you can, send me a preliminary message either here or on discord with the following:

1. That you're interested in contributing to the book
2. A link to samples of your work (maybe a tumblr, instragram, webpage, or scans of images) 
3. What you normally charge for illustrations, or would like to charge. 
4. If there are any particular "banana peeling" methods you'd like to illustrate. I can't guarantee a particular post will be in the book, but I will certainly give it priority if you like it. 
Also, let me know if you are under 18. Being under 18 doesn't mean you can't contribute, but it does require some extra paperwork. 
I'll be looking for artists for a while and I can't promise to include every artist in the book. So, unfortunately nothing is official until that Step 4 paperwork is all squared away. 

Do you really think we can pull this off?

自称霊能力者 霊幻新隆 :Excuse me I have to take this call.

もしも～し : Hello? Oh yes? Really? Wow that is incredible. From the future you say! It both looks and feels great? Oh new book smell, huh? Most prized possession? That's wonderful. Oh don't worry of course I'll let them know. Uh huh. No. Thank you.

自称霊能力者 霊幻新隆 :I think we're going to be just fine. 

]]> [Image: 1MlVLWb.png]
What is all this about?
If the image above alarms, surprises, or baffles you then you should stop immediately and learn the truth that BIG BANANA doesn't want you to know.
Okay yes I am enlightened, but what is specifically this all about?

Oh. Well. I want to make a book. 

Or really, I'd like us to make a book. 

Wait, like, a real book with words and pictures and such?

Yes! A real book! Specifically an anthology of all the best ways to peel a banana, with each method illustrated by members of our community!
As a rough example: 
[Image: 9Zl9Bn7.png]
Anthology?

Anthology (n): A collection of literary (or artistic) works that is significantly harder to coordinate than say, a regular book, but also showcases a wide range of talent and styles! 

Don't things like books cost money to make?

They sure do! There are the obvious printing and publishing costs, but there's also shipping/distribution, taxes and some legal fees, and most importantly paying the artists for their hard work! 

So who is paying for this? 

Hahaha. What a fun question! Well, as with most things in the twenty-teens the answer is CROWDFUNDING. $u$

This project is in very early stages. At the time of me writing this, you have already seen the extent of the rough work done for the book. The book makin' flow will look something like this:
  • Step 1. BTP gets too much time on his hands and gets really psyched about a hypothetical project.
  • Step 2. The idea is bounced around some community members and is not shot down outright.
  • Step 3. We try and drum up community support and get some contributors (writers/illustrators) to join the project. <--- YOU ARE HERE
  • Step 4. Artists and writers are approved as contributors and some honest real deal legal documents are drafted up and signed. 
  • Step 4.5. Further design notes are made, rough drafts and page structures are flushed out and the team agrees on the expected format of the book.
  • Step 5. We take our polished idea and ask the good denizens of the world wide web to give us money to make it!
  • Step 6. We don't get the money, and we're not angry, just disappointed. (GO BACK 3 SPACES)
  • Step 6 (shiny edition). We get the money! Maybe even more! Artists can start their work knowing they'll be paid! Money exchanges hands, pages get formatted, illustrations come in and backers get lots of little email updates on the progress of things. 
  • Step 7. We continue editing the book because really this is the longest part. But it's getting ready and those good book smells are wafting through the air. 
  • Step 8. YOU GET A BOOK! (and if you paid for one: A physical book too!) Enjoy your newly minted compendium of Eagle-Time art and banana knowledge! 
I am excited and have no further questions!

Oh wow! That's great! Go continue to be excited! Maybe post some in the banana thread, or in this thread about how excited you are! Let people know about this great book we're trying to make! 

I am skeptical and have many questions!

Yeah, that's what I expected. I'll try to answer some here, but if I don't get to all of them, ask me in the thread! Or you can message me on discondor or PM me through the forum!

Honest real deal legal documents make me nervous. Do we really need them?

Actually the purpose of the legal documents is to make people less nervous. This isn't like the terms of service you fill out when installing software or signing up for social media. There are very specific and clear goals that are meant to be written out in unambiguous language. Things like, who owns the art in the book, or who can sell the book and how do I get paid for my work. The legal documents are meant for everyone to know exactly what the expectations are and to make sure that no one person gets an unfair advantage over anyone else. If you're thinking that you'd like to contribute, or have concerns for the people who do contribute go ahead and ask! 

How much would writers or illustrators get paid for contributing?*

So first off! I don't intend to use anything from the banana thread without the express permission form and attribution to the author of that post. However, because of the short quip-like nature of the writing, writers who agree to allow their work to be used won't receive any upfront payment. They would be considered "contributors" and (depending on the circumstances) could receive a free physical copy of the book, or be allowed to print/purchase the book "at cost" depending on the amount of their contribution. 

As for our illustrators, non-artists (like myself) chronically underestimate what is a fair amount to pay for professional illustrations. My current estimates have ranged from $35 to $65 per illustration, and I can't put down a hard number here. Factors like "how much time do we expect the artists to work on these pieces?" "Will the book be in color?" "Is simple line art all we need?" all need to be considered and answered. Some artists use methods that are fundamentally more time consuming than others, should they be paid more as a result? Every dollar more we pay our artists is a hundred dollars more we have to ask from our backers, so we have to strike a fair balance. 

If you are an artist, and want to contribute, let me know what you would normally charge! It will help me hammer out the actual numbers that go into the contracts, and if what you charge is more than what we're comfortable trying to crowdsource, that's okay! If all goes well, we'll have more resources to call on you if we do another project!

Keep in mind, that for all illustrators, in addition to being compensated for their drawings, they still retain non-exclusive rights to their work. Meaning the artist owns their work and can reproduce it however they want, while other contributors can only reproduce the artist's work in the context of the anthology. Artists are also able to print/purchase the book "at cost" to sell at conventions, or on their websites, or even local bookstores. 
*Note: This is the "current plan" but could change depending on the circumstances or appearance of "better ideas" as we move into Step 4. 

What are your goals/stretch goals/reward tiers for the kickstarter/crowdfuning?

Heck if I know. We're at Step 3 people. Drum up that support! What tiers/rewards would you like to see?

I want this book, but I don't have ANY MONEY. Help plz. 
Actually! The current plan is, if we get funded, to make the ebook version free! Everyone deserves to see these good tips, and Eagle-Time has been good-art and paywall free since its inception. No reason that should change now. 

I'd love to do an art! Sign me up!

Sweet! If you can, send me a preliminary message either here or on discord with the following:

1. That you're interested in contributing to the book
2. A link to samples of your work (maybe a tumblr, instragram, webpage, or scans of images) 
3. What you normally charge for illustrations, or would like to charge. 
4. If there are any particular "banana peeling" methods you'd like to illustrate. I can't guarantee a particular post will be in the book, but I will certainly give it priority if you like it. 
Also, let me know if you are under 18. Being under 18 doesn't mean you can't contribute, but it does require some extra paperwork. 
I'll be looking for artists for a while and I can't promise to include every artist in the book. So, unfortunately nothing is official until that Step 4 paperwork is all squared away. 

Do you really think we can pull this off?

自称霊能力者 霊幻新隆 :Excuse me I have to take this call.

もしも～し : Hello? Oh yes? Really? Wow that is incredible. From the future you say! It both looks and feels great? Oh new book smell, huh? Most prized possession? That's wonderful. Oh don't worry of course I'll let them know. Uh huh. No. Thank you.

自称霊能力者 霊幻新隆 :I think we're going to be just fine. 

]]> <![CDATA[Noodle Taxonomy Project]]> https://eagle-time.org/showthread.php?tid=4402 Tue, 21 May 2019 23:19:19 +0000 Ubersketch]]> https://eagle-time.org/showthread.php?tid=4402
https://docs.google.com/document/d/17MDj...sp=sharing

Suggest your changes here.]]>
https://docs.google.com/document/d/17MDj...sp=sharing

Suggest your changes here.]]> <![CDATA[Cherry's songs]]> https://eagle-time.org/showthread.php?tid=4398 Sun, 19 May 2019 20:03:31 +0000 CherryPetrichor]]> https://eagle-time.org/showthread.php?tid=4398 Song link: https://soundcloud.com/cherrypetrichor/p...el-collins
Nigel's Soundcloud: https://soundcloud.com/morne09
My Soundcloud: https://soundcloud.com/cherrypetrichor]]> Song link: https://soundcloud.com/cherrypetrichor/p...el-collins
Nigel's Soundcloud: https://soundcloud.com/morne09
My Soundcloud: https://soundcloud.com/cherrypetrichor]]> <![CDATA[Skewers of Starwood]]> https://eagle-time.org/showthread.php?tid=4369 Wed, 01 May 2019 20:31:58 +0000 kilozombie]]> https://eagle-time.org/showthread.php?tid=4369   Stax carried a wide bough of starwood to the labyrinthine entrance.
  His expression melded between fear and confidence. His glittering red, starlike corona flared in and out like a breath, and finally he stepped inside, with his intentions finally settled.
  Ternary and binary stars orbited around the lobby and it all felt too large, too large. He stood shorter than the rest of him and meeker than his parents, but he knew from the eye-sides and side-eyes that he was immediately noticed, smallened in the center-front of a cacophonous swirling mass, bodies and bodies slipping apart to ensure his alienation on the moment of arrival.
    He had done this to himself.
      He had earned this from his family.
        Alien.
  His three parents stepped up and began a-conversating. Lilia and Vertra and Metrex in their formation and a barely-facade of hope that their son might be more suitable this go-around. Lilia said, "Is that the branch you're planning to carve?"
  Metrex, "You remember how many people are coming from the far family, right? I hope that's enough to cover everyone."
    Stax: laughter and a slip-off avalanche. "If people don't want it, they don't need to."
  Vertra put her arms in a defensive stance, as fit the family, and her glare flickered a moment. "Everyone's contributions is part of the meal, so. Just be as ready as you can be."
    Stax wasn't ready at all.
  Lilia, "Last year's was a joke."
  Metrex, "Certainly could see this one devolving into another."
  Vertra, "Please do better than that."
    Stax wasn't better at all.
  The connectivity between each solar system and solar body became a mess too complicated to untangle through simple conversation. Some stars Stax recognized, which became his rocks, and yet the longer he'd known them the more resistant he was to go near. Siblings sized and shaped and made differently, with different voices and livelihoods, all incredibly tuned in, tuned in further than in any other previous gathering. They'd all grown up. He heaved the log further over his shoulder and rubbed a moment at his glares, struggling to find an in, a place to present himself. A place with not a soul he knew. For the best.
  He found a smaller couple conversating.
  He introduced himself with a grin which had acid in it.
    "Yes, we know you're Stax," one of them murmured. This was a dim, flickering, short-as-can-be star, which seemed thin enough to simply brush away.
      The other, being the largest and most booming Energetic he'd ever seen, said, "I'm your grand-uncle, and this is my friend! We were wondering when you'd show up."
  Steam broken out of him, Stax recoiled a bit and flat-flinched his grin to stay composed. "Oh, well, then that's all news to me! What are your names?"
  "Eietta," said the friend, "and he is Mezzorett." Their voice, in contrast to Mezzorett, was held back and tense, like a pin's through could snap it.
  But this conversation did not devolve so easily into a broken thought as others had, and instead Mezzorett offered a thick orange arm to offer to shake and star Stax's, who did not respond with much more than stiffness. They said, "I'd heard from your parents that you were out and about exploring the universe!"
  Stax grinned and blinked. "I... er, yes! I'm actually just dropping in for Harbor Night since it's tradition, but I've been flying from place to place for growths and growths. Really, as long as I can remember."
  "That's amazing." Mezz beamed beams, wresting his arm on Stax's broad shoulders. "The Energetics in our quart of the family are so stationary-- we go where the solar wind takes us! It was only this growth we got to come to Harbor Night proper, after hearing about it so long." He began to beckon both him and Plett to a triangular corner table, where the symbol of a great nebula was stricken on in embroidered far-cloth.
  With a little uncertainty, Stax hazarded, "How have you heard of me, exactly? I don't mean to talk about myself so quickly, but was it anything about my previous contributions?"
  "Not a thing," assured Eietta.
  "I'm guessing you were truly the life of the whole place, eh?" chuckled Mezz.
  To that, Stax just mainstayed. He nodded absently and went right along with such a thing without a second thought, or with plenty of second thoughts. "I'm just hoping to outdo myself with this round."
  He hoisted the bough of starwood onto his own lap.
    He stared at it.
      He stared at it.
        He stared at it.
  Eietta sat back and the iron chair swivelled a little bit against the thin star's intense weight, relaxing some. Mezzorett remained intensely interested, his form almost encircling Stax. "Tell me about life as a wanderer, grandkiddo. I assume you're jetting around the place in something nice and fast, keeping your senses up? You don't look a hint bloated over one-hundred, and yet you've got the confidence of a real geezer."
  "Oh, you know!" Stax exhumed, from some readily false confidence. He'd been trying to feed his own ego for growths, and this was a shift into the pit of discomfort. "I've been looking all around for people and... sights and sounds, and everything. But I don't want to be a tourist, so I usually find some kind of center spot and just orbit around for a few growths, really make my mark on the whole... the whole deal around that. I recently found this place called Kethobos, which I'm..."
  Mezz threw himself in, glares wider than before. "What have you seen as of late?"
  Entranced by entrancement, Stax continued. "...well, all these little moons orbit Kethobos! They're not too much more than acid-salt vertices, compared to what I've seen in some places, but the way they cycle is the basis for an entire society a thousand stars away. That society and the society of Kethobos have never communicated, but one influences everything about the other!"
  "Two particles in lockstep, eh?" mused Mezz. "You know, it's those kinds of things you get a chance not to just tour around, you get to really see and understand. Generations past and before us, I'm sure Energetics will be simply spending their energy basking in their own lights, but you're shining something into every place."
    Stax meant to mention, but absolutely didn't mention, the fact that he didn't shine or light up a single thing in his vicinity, the fact that this little oddity with Kethobos was nothing more than something for him to point and laugh at.
      For a moment, he wished it were more.
  He said, "I do mean to start writing about it all, one day. You know, really scholar and dollar it out. I'm sure people like those kinds of... er, pointless rehashes of things they could go and experience instead."
  To the side, Eietta finally spoke in, quiet enough that the bustling room behind them was nearly enough to drown out, and yet loud enough to completely silence Mezz. "Won't always have the chance to experience everything. The growths move on, and entropy recycles everything. You're doing a noble thing."
  Stax glimmered a second in pause. "...you know, that's quite the good thought."
  "Eietta's full of good thoughts!" Mezz harrumphed and knocked on the table thrice. "I have no clue how you two haven't met 'til now, with all the traveling you do. I guess both of you aren't that great at meeting new people!"
  "Mmm," hummed Eietta.
  "Right," muttered Stax.
  When the red starman asked in particular where in the family Mezzorett was from, he didn't get anything like a direct answer. So far away, he assumed, that the both of them had no clue of Stax's unspoken alienation-- and so their conversation was such a beautifully blank canvas. But unlike each canvas before that, he felt compelled to... try. Try. His words were a little more restrained, and yet he was comfortable saying more of them. He leaned forth in interest. He even asked questions without compulsion, spoke about himself at least somewhat humbly, and in the span of ten minutes he had almost come to like the both of them, to some degree. When Eietta said the few things that they did, it made something of a spark shoot throughout Stax's surface.
  "The starwood is your contribution, then?" asked Mezz.
  "Yes," Stax said, chuckling. "You know, it's always struck me as such a strange thing, the whole ritual of it all! I don't know anyone else who's even ever worked with starwood, and it's not like any of them could help assist, or teach me a thing. I have to leap into it with no precedent. It's ridiculous!"
  His grand-uncle's expression drooped a little. "Mm. You may be missing the point of the exercise, then. Each starsystem has its own specialty, and it must morph from growth to growth. I can't say I've been here for any others, but..."
  "It's always a little flawed," said Stax, folding his arms in defense. "Nobody's coordinating the thing. It's inevitable somebody will screw their part up and make the pot boil for the rest of everyone."
  Eietta spoke quietly without a hesitant moment. "You don't just try to figure it out?"
  The starman shook his head. "Disaster."
    Or projected disaster.
      Or imagined disaster.
        Disaster in self-doubt, self-hate and frustration.
          It had never gotten so bad as when Stax presumed it would.
            They'd always solve without Stax.
  He hoisted it up back onto his shoulder once the room became organized enough to announce a start to things. There was mixed confusion and rejoicing for the lack of a disturbance or self-uprighting speech from Stax, and the bit most anticipated and most time-consuming was due to begin. Harbor Night was a celebration of a grand escape-- one so far-flung in the past but which was still reason for Energetics to eat and cavort and plan. When a few dozen Energetics finally made their escape from a Harbinger hyperstructure and started an independence for their species, each member of that escape had a role in the grand plan-- and thus so would the ensuing ritualistic ceremony.
  No knowledge would be passed on. No part would be shared between a great number of people. Every slice of the family would integrate their own ideas, and only through the combinatorics of insanity would there be anything edible at the end. It was Stax's worst nightmare, and he had never seen it succeed.
    He'd always leave before then.
      He'd always eat dinner at a Starmark instead.
  He followed close with his ingredient-tool and close with Eietta and Mezz, where a great number of kitchen extensions had been arranged for each of the fifty Energetics who had turned up, and a handful of others which would not be used due to absence, surely making the rest of the plan fail. Stax slyly grinned at his unaware companions as each step of the arduous process began. It would take orbits upon orbits.
  It began with the oldest-- grand-grand and great-great ancestors from far beyond Stax's time, even. Six gigantic rettin shells began to be corrugiblated, then stirred acternally-- then a vret was forced into a blender and transformed both into a crakk. There was no applause or laughter, there was no explanation, just a down-the-aisle observation of each and every old and withering star and their new flavor of tired art. Certainly during his adventures Stax had seen many of these different techniques done by the virtuosic and typical, but this was far from a celebration or even a snobby, patronizing museum tour. His family were entirely nonsensical fakes.
  But, then, there was Mezzorett. After he'd gone and done his activity with little fanfare, readying a couple infinitely long carrots with the flick of an arm, he returned with barely contained giddiness amidst the travelling crowd. "This is incredible!" he murmured, tapping Stax on the arm.
  "--Why?" he asked in return.
  "I know it's a taste fitting nothing else here, but I'm just so interested to see how it works from here! It's going to be chaos."
  Stax frowned. "Well... yes! Yes, it's going to be, but I don't see why you want your obviously competent work developed into chaos. That sounds absolutely stupid."
  Mezzorett boomed in laughter, and a shifting of the moving bodies indicated that it wasn't entirely expected by the rest of them. "Everyone does their job well independently, and so the whole works out. It's got to, hasn't it?"
  "No?" asked Stax.
  Eietta, not far, chittered some. "Seems like you don't want to stick around."
    "I've got to do my section," Stax said, quieted.
  His mothers Lilia Vertra and Metrex delicately arranged strigu into lines of paste, plucked a fax's trett modifier for its liquid, and harvested ev mos for a half-orbit, respectively. As each new participant in the line of nonsense became younger and younger, Stax's anxiety grew more than it ever had. He started gently tapping at the surface of the wood in his arms to test their strength. He glanced around for help. There was no help, not an inch of it. But now and then Mezzorett would whisper curiously about what activity was being performed next, and trying-knowledgeable Stax replied with begrudge, and then puffed out his corona once again in the blindingly bright crowd.
  "I can't wait for yours," Eietta stated, muted, and yet audible in the way that words never should. They echoed throughout his head. He was trapped in it now.
    He'd never worked with starwood in a proper context.
      Well, he had. He'd practiced. But he'd never done this.
        He'd done this thousands of times to prepare.
          He'd never gotten this far.
            He'd failed every time he'd gotten this far.
  Before, before, before-- but he was stuck utterly in the moment as his slightly younger siblings went one-by-one tumbling into the grinder, one literally. They each came out with conviction and that hint of satisfaction, and as time approached he felt glare on him like a solar storm. Now even Mezz remained quiet as Harbor's Night approached its ultimate moments, and the starwood was weighing on him, and his entire center began to shudder at the gravity of it all, and the gravity of those around him.
  He had always considered that eventually he would escape their orbit.
    But they invited him back.
      They always hoped for better.
  And so he hoped for better, and so he hopped time would finally stop or slow enough for him to do something about his inevitable path to the center, but not even the disturbing calm of Eietta's voice wishing him luck could bring the blistering spotlight off of him.
  He stepped forward to his station, which was a small desk with one singular cosmologistic knife and blocky chair. He ionized in abject horror, slid slowly into his seat, set down the branch of glistening starwood, and began to carve.
  Stab.
  Slash.
  The wood parted too easily and held up too well.
  Slash.
  Stab.
  He cut in jank-lockstep and peeled bark with unsteady hands.
  Stab.
  Slash.
  With a little jab, Stax tried to cut away nebulae, without any success.
  Slash.
  Stab.
  Each whittle of the blade multiplied difficulty and workload.
  Stab.
  Slash.
  He screamed without words and chuckled weakly and thought about breaking away to stab someone.
  Slash.
  Stab.
  A pile of skewers.

[Image: gKCr8WS.png]

  An incredibly large pile of sloppily-carved skewers of starwood, glistening brightly, only barely befitting of the mighty stars and starry skies which made up his family. He shakily stood up and crumpled the chair to the side in defeat, feeling his body momentarily drift into a Stax he had never been before-- utterly wracked with fear and disappointment in himself. He slithered a bit to a blank-faced crowd of the glow and wormed inside of the center so he could stay still and matterless.
    Lilia stepped out of it for a moment to lean her white-hot body forward, staring at his work.
      She came on back.
        She was scowling some, glare pierced.
  The final commencement and the very youngest besides Stax in the sprawling star-mesh was a red streak half his height, who stepped to his station of pots and pans, banged two together, laughed its tinny cosmic laugh, and then ran back into the crowd. Two embraced him; there was a smattering of approving words. The red starman melted into himself.
  Those with more experience called an end to this section of the ceremony while Stax began to feel his core implode a tad. Pain wreaked through his body in waves, and as he pressed a steaming hot arm against a steaming hot chest, he felt nothing improve. Sections of the crowd broke off, and broke off, and broke off, then a collection of shouted, barked commands put the world into motion. Ah, look! they said. We've got ingredients here that will work together. Here, and here, and here.
  Shouts and scattered applause. He noticed stone-faced geezers suddenly giddy in delight for one creation or another, but as he slowly retracted back to his station and sat unsteadily back in the blocky and malicious chair, he only stiffened in demeanor. He no longer had reason to make himself vulnerable or even present. It was already over. He had already failed.
    For the second time.
      third.
        fourth.
          fifth, and so on
            and wordlessly condemned for an attempt.
  And this was his place again at the center, wordless. Stax stared onward into the bustling room of excitement and pride which was utterly absent from him, or that he chose not to participate in for any hundred of reasons, and plastered a V-grin sickly smile for what would end up being orbits upon orbits upon orbits, as the meal took horrifying shape out of cobbled-together mess until finally, finally, finally, it started looking wholly decent.
  That was the worst part-- it began to look decent.
  But finally he was approached by the only person, seeming, that cared enough to try and incorporate his half-shavings half-bark skewers of starwood. Mezzorett bumbled over and slammed himself down in a carried-over chair, beaming. "Alright. Mmmph, alright, I think I've worked out how to get these skewers into the meal!"
  Stax sunk a little in a mix of surprise and anguish. "You really don't have to do that. I'm completely aware how badly I screwed them up. Far from... worst, and yet horrible. I hope that gives an idea."
  Mezz simply grinned, starting to pick up the stiff skewers and inspect them with two weathered glares. "I've never even seen the things made. Willing to bet they're a real tough task. We'll skewer everything on 'em-- it fits perfectly! It's the last step to things."
  "Nobody's ever said that to me," Stax murmured. Then he composed himself, brought his corona to grips. "No, but-- no. I really... don't think you should use them, after all. At all. I'll just come back and--"
  "Why?" The large star leaned forth on the table, still gripping one of the skewers lightly. "Why not use 'em?"
    Stax's face scrunched up a little in pain, again. It seeped into him and began to pour.
      All over, surface flaring.
  "Not a single person here thinks they're worth a care," he simply stated. "They haven't in previous years. They've even tried, but it's never right for what they're doing. Despite it all!"
  "Pick something else, then? Somethin' you think would work better?"
  The red starman broke a little and started to speak in a way befitting of a neutron collapse.
    "I never asked to start carving starwood to make skewers. I have no mentor, I have nobody to learn from or compare myself to. It's what I set out to do and
      it's never been worth anyone's time.
        It's never even been worth the effort of coming here to disappoint people! I mean,
          typically disappointing people is just an incredible thing, truly, but,
            not family,
              who continue to want me to improve
                but I never do."
  Mezzorett sat still a second. He inhaled a great deal of the hydrogen-rich air and put it out again, form shifting slightly as he grew unsure. But with a little triple-tap of his gleaming knuckle against the cosmologistic table, all that shakiness disappeared, and his starry form glowed brighter than before. "I'm sure they don't think all that. I haven't known you long, grandkiddo, but you're trying your damnedest. I'm willing to bet half of the whole thing is these charlatans don't know how to properly skewer a meal!"
    These words were meaningless.
  Without allowing another word of protest from Stax, Mezz gathered the pile of misshapen skewers of starwood and heaved them into his wide arms, and began carrying them in wobble-step to the rest of the arranging stations. There was a moment of pause from each person he met up with, but even from a distance away Stax could watch his grand-uncle convince each and every one of them to start skewering the meals-- to turn hand food into street food and finally 'complete' the Harbor Night, in his own little way. Eventually he was joined by his meek little friend in Eietta, and in this agonizing moment watching things go well, Stax started to brandish a broken little grin.
  The food was plated, prepped, thrown together and welded together. Ternary clusters began baton-passing the skewered concoctions between each other in telephoning fashion, and within moments every sun in the room was holding their finished meal. Stax could even spot the convenience of it-- a long handle to keep the orbiting, horrific mess away from your hands.
  Harbor Night had served dinner.
  Stax stared at the brutalized branch of starwood in a bed of sparkling sawdust.
  But they would not eat just yet; a moment came when he scatter-form crowd made room for a stood-up podium with stairs, which was slid in loudly and aggressively to the center of the Harbor Night universe. Then with a silenced fanfare Stax could watch the announcer, being Eietta, stand up and start to speak. From the very first words, he could tell there was little planning to it all. There was little planning for anything.
  Eietta said, "Okay, I think we can calm down a little." They chuckled softly, and a crowd followed suit.
    "I was contacted-- by someone a lot of you know, Mezzorett, to speak up here. I'm only a family friend, but I'd like to think that the growths have been leading up to this for a while now. Energetics all over the universe have their own way of celebrating what happened on Harbor Night, but this one really takes the cake! Or the... whatever we've cooked up." Another splatter of laughter.
      "The story has really been mangled over time. Most young folks like to think it was some kind of daring escape, Harbinger baddies and all." Eietta leaned their head from side to side, huffing. "It was more like... a formal agreement to leave, accompanied by the most inane and convoluted plan ever conceived. I should know! I should know, since-- haha, uh. I guess I should say. I was there." The stars dimmed in confusion.
        "I was there for the original Harbor Night, and no tradition like the one celebrated by this particular family has really embraced the spirit of it. I think nobody knows what's going on! But that's okay. We're all working together. Seeing that reminded me of all those times back in the day. I'm one of the last ones left after all that.
          "I am one of the last ones left, and I'm honored to have been invited to-- to have been welcomed towards a family so wonderfully inviting, friendly, and ingenious. I'm thankful that this inane plan to make this meal today was sealed together by one of your youngest, Stax, with these skewers of--"

    The starwood across the room suddenly burst.

[Image: MrABnHY.png]

  A cacophonous explosion of sound and color and mist, quixotic rays shattering into the air as each and every skewer lost composition at once. It had been aged appropriately, the bough, composed just rotten enough to explode during a moment of peak starlight. Infinite carrot stems atop glittering far-dust sailed into the ceiling. Fax trett modifier liquid coated guests in a warm sauna and lines of strigufungi began growing and flaming all at once. Every Energetic attempting to shield themselves would rapidly find their arms lathered in a steaming layer of wiggly arms.
  Stax sat still.
  In a moment, every star realized what had just occurred. Every relative swivelled to face the beaming, half-broken Stax who sat still and sat still and squirmed and held every expression in stasis except for a frozen and pained grin. The agony overtook him; the glares overworked him.
  Mom, and mom, and mom, in unison: "Ruined."
  He finally pulled his collapsed star of a form upwards and stood up out of his chair, pushing all the equipment away until he was standing. Then, with a smile, he started to announce thusly:
    "Oh! I must have aged it too much before getting here."
  It was no accident, though he could have lied and construed it as such. It was no act of pettiness or misunderstanding, or a directed attack on a soul in particular, or even a message. Stax stared deep back at the pity, anger and disappointment in him, and once it was all out-- once he could even see Mezzorett suddenly sink into a face of betrayal and confusion, he no longer felt any of it. He was freed of the obligation to do well. He had already done his worst.
  Stax walked without another second glance from the interior of the vast kitchen to the lobby of the vast home until he had pushed aside two wide carbon doors and entered the vast outdoors of a darkstar. Once he was out,
    he broke down,
      and began to sob deeply
        into the ground.
          Star-filled liquid formed a tiny pool below him
            and he waited for the moment to leave.
  It took many moments for the moment to leave. It took more than he expected. He felt himself trying to feign an expression again, but it didn't easily come. He found himself standing up and congratulating himself. He found himself saying, "What did you expect, exactly?" He found himself muttering and then yelling, "You should have stayed to see how they responded." Then he was out, an Energetic without energy, drained of anything solid, and his gaseous under-form walked from the house to a small ridge of charred dirt, where he fell, and sat, and waited.
  He wasn't particularly sure for what. Some shards of himself were still left on the ground, and he needed to wait for them to return or die off. It wasn't as easy as every other time.
  It took longer.
  It took so long that he didn't ever feel himself picking up the pieces.
  Instead, after so long had passed that he'd forgotten how he got there, Stax was greeted with the short and wiry figure of a star exiting Harbor's Night early; inevitably Eietta, again, now standing at a shadow's height that felt immeasurable. They gave a meek grin, sauntered over with difficulty over the blackened dirt, and then sat beside him.
    "You're not gone yet?" they asked.
  Stax put out a small burst of plasma and answered with sharpness, hostility. "No, I've got to see how people exit! You can't wash off all what just blew up in their faces." He grinned.
  "Your mothers tell me you generally leave after making the skewers." Eietta took in some of the thick atmosphere. "They hadn't ever gotten used before."
  "It doesn't matter." Stax stared ahead. "I brought near-rot starwood so that it'd blow up in someone's face. It's their fault for inviting me again and again.
    "Oh, because it's family, surely I'll be better off this time.
      "But it's never good enough."
  Eietta nodded slowly, and hummed. "That sounds right." However, they tilted their head to the side, after-- staring the starman in his unfocused glare. "But you didn't want it to happen. The moment you met Mezz, I think you wanted to reconsider."
    "I wanted to see," he said, "if the skewers would go well. And of course they didn't. It's impossible. It was a task I set myself up for and never could improve on."
      Eietta sat up. "I think you met somebody you didn't want to disappoint."
        "That's every person! It's always going to happen." His smile grew bitter.
          "But you didn't want it to."
            "But it did."
  He sunk into the ground a bit, angry like a kid. His whole body quaked and boiled with plasmatic afterburst. "I'm sure they put you up to this."
  "No," said Eietta, "I think you really might have made them give up on you."
    Sting.
      He recoiled a bit and felt an arrow in his chest.
  "...Good!" he announced, unable to contain his sudden and irrevocable anguish. "That's what I've been waiting for! Dozens and dozens and dozens of growths in my life spent failing at the same task an idiot can do, dozens of growths making little mistakes they never forget about. I stopped trying a long time ago. I'm glad I don't even have to fake it anymore."
  ...
  A quiet moment passed, wherein the starman reached a point of true and agonizing acceptance.
  ...
  Eietta slowly reached over an arm, and wrapped it around his shoulder. "I don't know you, Stax, but I'm sorry."
  Stax suddenly burst out in a chuckle, still shaking, still worse for wear, past some kind of threshold of destruction. His snapped-in-half voice went, "You were really part of Harbor Night? Part of the whole jailbreak?"
  "Mhm! Eietta SDSS." They laid back, mirroring the chuckle. "Seems unlikely, with the time between us and then. But I was there in the earliest days of Energetic servitude to Harbingers, when we made the decision without knowing the consequences. It wasn't a grand escape, but it was memorable enough to have made a difference." They gazed off for a moment. "Our plan to escape was as convoluted and confusing as this whole event with your family. The difference is you shouldn't have to fight for your place in the world, here."
  "Yeah," he muttered. "I guess that helps put the whole thing into context."
  "I hope so."
    "I don't know why, Eietta, but something in me feels good about having ruined things. I've tried so many times in the past and it's never worked. But the fact that I got somebody I'd never met to trust me, and the fact I had to just watch, knowing I'd blast away any chance of being part of the family... it's just hilarious, you know! I don't have to think about making it up to them or a second chance anymore. It's just over."
      "Good feeling? You're sure that's a good feeling?"
  Stax stiffened a little, finally turning to face the small Energetic. "...No, ha. It's not a good feeling at all. I suppose I just don't really know what the alternative is."
  Eietta said, "I hope you get a chance to find out."
  After a moment's hesitation, Stax said, "You're a pretty nice star, you know."
    "And we're still talking, aren't we?"
      "We'll see for how long," Stax chuckled.
        "Why not the rest of the night?"
          He felt something flutter inside him.
        ...
      ...
    ...
  But he relented.
  Stax could not motivate himself to stay and try; even in the face of a great attraction he relented to the feeling of weightlessness and throwing himself out of his family's orbit. His shards had been put back together. After an excruciatingly long conversation with an excruciatingly forgiving star, Stax finally
  sat up,
    stood up,
      wept a little longer,
        and began to make the long trek away from home.

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]]>   Stax carried a wide bough of starwood to the labyrinthine entrance.
  His expression melded between fear and confidence. His glittering red, starlike corona flared in and out like a breath, and finally he stepped inside, with his intentions finally settled.
  Ternary and binary stars orbited around the lobby and it all felt too large, too large. He stood shorter than the rest of him and meeker than his parents, but he knew from the eye-sides and side-eyes that he was immediately noticed, smallened in the center-front of a cacophonous swirling mass, bodies and bodies slipping apart to ensure his alienation on the moment of arrival.
    He had done this to himself.
      He had earned this from his family.
        Alien.
  His three parents stepped up and began a-conversating. Lilia and Vertra and Metrex in their formation and a barely-facade of hope that their son might be more suitable this go-around. Lilia said, "Is that the branch you're planning to carve?"
  Metrex, "You remember how many people are coming from the far family, right? I hope that's enough to cover everyone."
    Stax: laughter and a slip-off avalanche. "If people don't want it, they don't need to."
  Vertra put her arms in a defensive stance, as fit the family, and her glare flickered a moment. "Everyone's contributions is part of the meal, so. Just be as ready as you can be."
    Stax wasn't ready at all.
  Lilia, "Last year's was a joke."
  Metrex, "Certainly could see this one devolving into another."
  Vertra, "Please do better than that."
    Stax wasn't better at all.
  The connectivity between each solar system and solar body became a mess too complicated to untangle through simple conversation. Some stars Stax recognized, which became his rocks, and yet the longer he'd known them the more resistant he was to go near. Siblings sized and shaped and made differently, with different voices and livelihoods, all incredibly tuned in, tuned in further than in any other previous gathering. They'd all grown up. He heaved the log further over his shoulder and rubbed a moment at his glares, struggling to find an in, a place to present himself. A place with not a soul he knew. For the best.
  He found a smaller couple conversating.
  He introduced himself with a grin which had acid in it.
    "Yes, we know you're Stax," one of them murmured. This was a dim, flickering, short-as-can-be star, which seemed thin enough to simply brush away.
      The other, being the largest and most booming Energetic he'd ever seen, said, "I'm your grand-uncle, and this is my friend! We were wondering when you'd show up."
  Steam broken out of him, Stax recoiled a bit and flat-flinched his grin to stay composed. "Oh, well, then that's all news to me! What are your names?"
  "Eietta," said the friend, "and he is Mezzorett." Their voice, in contrast to Mezzorett, was held back and tense, like a pin's through could snap it.
  But this conversation did not devolve so easily into a broken thought as others had, and instead Mezzorett offered a thick orange arm to offer to shake and star Stax's, who did not respond with much more than stiffness. They said, "I'd heard from your parents that you were out and about exploring the universe!"
  Stax grinned and blinked. "I... er, yes! I'm actually just dropping in for Harbor Night since it's tradition, but I've been flying from place to place for growths and growths. Really, as long as I can remember."
  "That's amazing." Mezz beamed beams, wresting his arm on Stax's broad shoulders. "The Energetics in our quart of the family are so stationary-- we go where the solar wind takes us! It was only this growth we got to come to Harbor Night proper, after hearing about it so long." He began to beckon both him and Plett to a triangular corner table, where the symbol of a great nebula was stricken on in embroidered far-cloth.
  With a little uncertainty, Stax hazarded, "How have you heard of me, exactly? I don't mean to talk about myself so quickly, but was it anything about my previous contributions?"
  "Not a thing," assured Eietta.
  "I'm guessing you were truly the life of the whole place, eh?" chuckled Mezz.
  To that, Stax just mainstayed. He nodded absently and went right along with such a thing without a second thought, or with plenty of second thoughts. "I'm just hoping to outdo myself with this round."
  He hoisted the bough of starwood onto his own lap.
    He stared at it.
      He stared at it.
        He stared at it.
  Eietta sat back and the iron chair swivelled a little bit against the thin star's intense weight, relaxing some. Mezzorett remained intensely interested, his form almost encircling Stax. "Tell me about life as a wanderer, grandkiddo. I assume you're jetting around the place in something nice and fast, keeping your senses up? You don't look a hint bloated over one-hundred, and yet you've got the confidence of a real geezer."
  "Oh, you know!" Stax exhumed, from some readily false confidence. He'd been trying to feed his own ego for growths, and this was a shift into the pit of discomfort. "I've been looking all around for people and... sights and sounds, and everything. But I don't want to be a tourist, so I usually find some kind of center spot and just orbit around for a few growths, really make my mark on the whole... the whole deal around that. I recently found this place called Kethobos, which I'm..."
  Mezz threw himself in, glares wider than before. "What have you seen as of late?"
  Entranced by entrancement, Stax continued. "...well, all these little moons orbit Kethobos! They're not too much more than acid-salt vertices, compared to what I've seen in some places, but the way they cycle is the basis for an entire society a thousand stars away. That society and the society of Kethobos have never communicated, but one influences everything about the other!"
  "Two particles in lockstep, eh?" mused Mezz. "You know, it's those kinds of things you get a chance not to just tour around, you get to really see and understand. Generations past and before us, I'm sure Energetics will be simply spending their energy basking in their own lights, but you're shining something into every place."
    Stax meant to mention, but absolutely didn't mention, the fact that he didn't shine or light up a single thing in his vicinity, the fact that this little oddity with Kethobos was nothing more than something for him to point and laugh at.
      For a moment, he wished it were more.
  He said, "I do mean to start writing about it all, one day. You know, really scholar and dollar it out. I'm sure people like those kinds of... er, pointless rehashes of things they could go and experience instead."
  To the side, Eietta finally spoke in, quiet enough that the bustling room behind them was nearly enough to drown out, and yet loud enough to completely silence Mezz. "Won't always have the chance to experience everything. The growths move on, and entropy recycles everything. You're doing a noble thing."
  Stax glimmered a second in pause. "...you know, that's quite the good thought."
  "Eietta's full of good thoughts!" Mezz harrumphed and knocked on the table thrice. "I have no clue how you two haven't met 'til now, with all the traveling you do. I guess both of you aren't that great at meeting new people!"
  "Mmm," hummed Eietta.
  "Right," muttered Stax.
  When the red starman asked in particular where in the family Mezzorett was from, he didn't get anything like a direct answer. So far away, he assumed, that the both of them had no clue of Stax's unspoken alienation-- and so their conversation was such a beautifully blank canvas. But unlike each canvas before that, he felt compelled to... try. Try. His words were a little more restrained, and yet he was comfortable saying more of them. He leaned forth in interest. He even asked questions without compulsion, spoke about himself at least somewhat humbly, and in the span of ten minutes he had almost come to like the both of them, to some degree. When Eietta said the few things that they did, it made something of a spark shoot throughout Stax's surface.
  "The starwood is your contribution, then?" asked Mezz.
  "Yes," Stax said, chuckling. "You know, it's always struck me as such a strange thing, the whole ritual of it all! I don't know anyone else who's even ever worked with starwood, and it's not like any of them could help assist, or teach me a thing. I have to leap into it with no precedent. It's ridiculous!"
  His grand-uncle's expression drooped a little. "Mm. You may be missing the point of the exercise, then. Each starsystem has its own specialty, and it must morph from growth to growth. I can't say I've been here for any others, but..."
  "It's always a little flawed," said Stax, folding his arms in defense. "Nobody's coordinating the thing. It's inevitable somebody will screw their part up and make the pot boil for the rest of everyone."
  Eietta spoke quietly without a hesitant moment. "You don't just try to figure it out?"
  The starman shook his head. "Disaster."
    Or projected disaster.
      Or imagined disaster.
        Disaster in self-doubt, self-hate and frustration.
          It had never gotten so bad as when Stax presumed it would.
            They'd always solve without Stax.
  He hoisted it up back onto his shoulder once the room became organized enough to announce a start to things. There was mixed confusion and rejoicing for the lack of a disturbance or self-uprighting speech from Stax, and the bit most anticipated and most time-consuming was due to begin. Harbor Night was a celebration of a grand escape-- one so far-flung in the past but which was still reason for Energetics to eat and cavort and plan. When a few dozen Energetics finally made their escape from a Harbinger hyperstructure and started an independence for their species, each member of that escape had a role in the grand plan-- and thus so would the ensuing ritualistic ceremony.
  No knowledge would be passed on. No part would be shared between a great number of people. Every slice of the family would integrate their own ideas, and only through the combinatorics of insanity would there be anything edible at the end. It was Stax's worst nightmare, and he had never seen it succeed.
    He'd always leave before then.
      He'd always eat dinner at a Starmark instead.
  He followed close with his ingredient-tool and close with Eietta and Mezz, where a great number of kitchen extensions had been arranged for each of the fifty Energetics who had turned up, and a handful of others which would not be used due to absence, surely making the rest of the plan fail. Stax slyly grinned at his unaware companions as each step of the arduous process began. It would take orbits upon orbits.
  It began with the oldest-- grand-grand and great-great ancestors from far beyond Stax's time, even. Six gigantic rettin shells began to be corrugiblated, then stirred acternally-- then a vret was forced into a blender and transformed both into a crakk. There was no applause or laughter, there was no explanation, just a down-the-aisle observation of each and every old and withering star and their new flavor of tired art. Certainly during his adventures Stax had seen many of these different techniques done by the virtuosic and typical, but this was far from a celebration or even a snobby, patronizing museum tour. His family were entirely nonsensical fakes.
  But, then, there was Mezzorett. After he'd gone and done his activity with little fanfare, readying a couple infinitely long carrots with the flick of an arm, he returned with barely contained giddiness amidst the travelling crowd. "This is incredible!" he murmured, tapping Stax on the arm.
  "--Why?" he asked in return.
  "I know it's a taste fitting nothing else here, but I'm just so interested to see how it works from here! It's going to be chaos."
  Stax frowned. "Well... yes! Yes, it's going to be, but I don't see why you want your obviously competent work developed into chaos. That sounds absolutely stupid."
  Mezzorett boomed in laughter, and a shifting of the moving bodies indicated that it wasn't entirely expected by the rest of them. "Everyone does their job well independently, and so the whole works out. It's got to, hasn't it?"
  "No?" asked Stax.
  Eietta, not far, chittered some. "Seems like you don't want to stick around."
    "I've got to do my section," Stax said, quieted.
  His mothers Lilia Vertra and Metrex delicately arranged strigu into lines of paste, plucked a fax's trett modifier for its liquid, and harvested ev mos for a half-orbit, respectively. As each new participant in the line of nonsense became younger and younger, Stax's anxiety grew more than it ever had. He started gently tapping at the surface of the wood in his arms to test their strength. He glanced around for help. There was no help, not an inch of it. But now and then Mezzorett would whisper curiously about what activity was being performed next, and trying-knowledgeable Stax replied with begrudge, and then puffed out his corona once again in the blindingly bright crowd.
  "I can't wait for yours," Eietta stated, muted, and yet audible in the way that words never should. They echoed throughout his head. He was trapped in it now.
    He'd never worked with starwood in a proper context.
      Well, he had. He'd practiced. But he'd never done this.
        He'd done this thousands of times to prepare.
          He'd never gotten this far.
            He'd failed every time he'd gotten this far.
  Before, before, before-- but he was stuck utterly in the moment as his slightly younger siblings went one-by-one tumbling into the grinder, one literally. They each came out with conviction and that hint of satisfaction, and as time approached he felt glare on him like a solar storm. Now even Mezz remained quiet as Harbor's Night approached its ultimate moments, and the starwood was weighing on him, and his entire center began to shudder at the gravity of it all, and the gravity of those around him.
  He had always considered that eventually he would escape their orbit.
    But they invited him back.
      They always hoped for better.
  And so he hoped for better, and so he hopped time would finally stop or slow enough for him to do something about his inevitable path to the center, but not even the disturbing calm of Eietta's voice wishing him luck could bring the blistering spotlight off of him.
  He stepped forward to his station, which was a small desk with one singular cosmologistic knife and blocky chair. He ionized in abject horror, slid slowly into his seat, set down the branch of glistening starwood, and began to carve.
  Stab.
  Slash.
  The wood parted too easily and held up too well.
  Slash.
  Stab.
  He cut in jank-lockstep and peeled bark with unsteady hands.
  Stab.
  Slash.
  With a little jab, Stax tried to cut away nebulae, without any success.
  Slash.
  Stab.
  Each whittle of the blade multiplied difficulty and workload.
  Stab.
  Slash.
  He screamed without words and chuckled weakly and thought about breaking away to stab someone.
  Slash.
  Stab.
  A pile of skewers.

[Image: gKCr8WS.png]

  An incredibly large pile of sloppily-carved skewers of starwood, glistening brightly, only barely befitting of the mighty stars and starry skies which made up his family. He shakily stood up and crumpled the chair to the side in defeat, feeling his body momentarily drift into a Stax he had never been before-- utterly wracked with fear and disappointment in himself. He slithered a bit to a blank-faced crowd of the glow and wormed inside of the center so he could stay still and matterless.
    Lilia stepped out of it for a moment to lean her white-hot body forward, staring at his work.
      She came on back.
        She was scowling some, glare pierced.
  The final commencement and the very youngest besides Stax in the sprawling star-mesh was a red streak half his height, who stepped to his station of pots and pans, banged two together, laughed its tinny cosmic laugh, and then ran back into the crowd. Two embraced him; there was a smattering of approving words. The red starman melted into himself.
  Those with more experience called an end to this section of the ceremony while Stax began to feel his core implode a tad. Pain wreaked through his body in waves, and as he pressed a steaming hot arm against a steaming hot chest, he felt nothing improve. Sections of the crowd broke off, and broke off, and broke off, then a collection of shouted, barked commands put the world into motion. Ah, look! they said. We've got ingredients here that will work together. Here, and here, and here.
  Shouts and scattered applause. He noticed stone-faced geezers suddenly giddy in delight for one creation or another, but as he slowly retracted back to his station and sat unsteadily back in the blocky and malicious chair, he only stiffened in demeanor. He no longer had reason to make himself vulnerable or even present. It was already over. He had already failed.
    For the second time.
      third.
        fourth.
          fifth, and so on
            and wordlessly condemned for an attempt.
  And this was his place again at the center, wordless. Stax stared onward into the bustling room of excitement and pride which was utterly absent from him, or that he chose not to participate in for any hundred of reasons, and plastered a V-grin sickly smile for what would end up being orbits upon orbits upon orbits, as the meal took horrifying shape out of cobbled-together mess until finally, finally, finally, it started looking wholly decent.
  That was the worst part-- it began to look decent.
  But finally he was approached by the only person, seeming, that cared enough to try and incorporate his half-shavings half-bark skewers of starwood. Mezzorett bumbled over and slammed himself down in a carried-over chair, beaming. "Alright. Mmmph, alright, I think I've worked out how to get these skewers into the meal!"
  Stax sunk a little in a mix of surprise and anguish. "You really don't have to do that. I'm completely aware how badly I screwed them up. Far from... worst, and yet horrible. I hope that gives an idea."
  Mezz simply grinned, starting to pick up the stiff skewers and inspect them with two weathered glares. "I've never even seen the things made. Willing to bet they're a real tough task. We'll skewer everything on 'em-- it fits perfectly! It's the last step to things."
  "Nobody's ever said that to me," Stax murmured. Then he composed himself, brought his corona to grips. "No, but-- no. I really... don't think you should use them, after all. At all. I'll just come back and--"
  "Why?" The large star leaned forth on the table, still gripping one of the skewers lightly. "Why not use 'em?"
    Stax's face scrunched up a little in pain, again. It seeped into him and began to pour.
      All over, surface flaring.
  "Not a single person here thinks they're worth a care," he simply stated. "They haven't in previous years. They've even tried, but it's never right for what they're doing. Despite it all!"
  "Pick something else, then? Somethin' you think would work better?"
  The red starman broke a little and started to speak in a way befitting of a neutron collapse.
    "I never asked to start carving starwood to make skewers. I have no mentor, I have nobody to learn from or compare myself to. It's what I set out to do and
      it's never been worth anyone's time.
        It's never even been worth the effort of coming here to disappoint people! I mean,
          typically disappointing people is just an incredible thing, truly, but,
            not family,
              who continue to want me to improve
                but I never do."
  Mezzorett sat still a second. He inhaled a great deal of the hydrogen-rich air and put it out again, form shifting slightly as he grew unsure. But with a little triple-tap of his gleaming knuckle against the cosmologistic table, all that shakiness disappeared, and his starry form glowed brighter than before. "I'm sure they don't think all that. I haven't known you long, grandkiddo, but you're trying your damnedest. I'm willing to bet half of the whole thing is these charlatans don't know how to properly skewer a meal!"
    These words were meaningless.
  Without allowing another word of protest from Stax, Mezz gathered the pile of misshapen skewers of starwood and heaved them into his wide arms, and began carrying them in wobble-step to the rest of the arranging stations. There was a moment of pause from each person he met up with, but even from a distance away Stax could watch his grand-uncle convince each and every one of them to start skewering the meals-- to turn hand food into street food and finally 'complete' the Harbor Night, in his own little way. Eventually he was joined by his meek little friend in Eietta, and in this agonizing moment watching things go well, Stax started to brandish a broken little grin.
  The food was plated, prepped, thrown together and welded together. Ternary clusters began baton-passing the skewered concoctions between each other in telephoning fashion, and within moments every sun in the room was holding their finished meal. Stax could even spot the convenience of it-- a long handle to keep the orbiting, horrific mess away from your hands.
  Harbor Night had served dinner.
  Stax stared at the brutalized branch of starwood in a bed of sparkling sawdust.
  But they would not eat just yet; a moment came when he scatter-form crowd made room for a stood-up podium with stairs, which was slid in loudly and aggressively to the center of the Harbor Night universe. Then with a silenced fanfare Stax could watch the announcer, being Eietta, stand up and start to speak. From the very first words, he could tell there was little planning to it all. There was little planning for anything.
  Eietta said, "Okay, I think we can calm down a little." They chuckled softly, and a crowd followed suit.
    "I was contacted-- by someone a lot of you know, Mezzorett, to speak up here. I'm only a family friend, but I'd like to think that the growths have been leading up to this for a while now. Energetics all over the universe have their own way of celebrating what happened on Harbor Night, but this one really takes the cake! Or the... whatever we've cooked up." Another splatter of laughter.
      "The story has really been mangled over time. Most young folks like to think it was some kind of daring escape, Harbinger baddies and all." Eietta leaned their head from side to side, huffing. "It was more like... a formal agreement to leave, accompanied by the most inane and convoluted plan ever conceived. I should know! I should know, since-- haha, uh. I guess I should say. I was there." The stars dimmed in confusion.
        "I was there for the original Harbor Night, and no tradition like the one celebrated by this particular family has really embraced the spirit of it. I think nobody knows what's going on! But that's okay. We're all working together. Seeing that reminded me of all those times back in the day. I'm one of the last ones left after all that.
          "I am one of the last ones left, and I'm honored to have been invited to-- to have been welcomed towards a family so wonderfully inviting, friendly, and ingenious. I'm thankful that this inane plan to make this meal today was sealed together by one of your youngest, Stax, with these skewers of--"

    The starwood across the room suddenly burst.

[Image: MrABnHY.png]

  A cacophonous explosion of sound and color and mist, quixotic rays shattering into the air as each and every skewer lost composition at once. It had been aged appropriately, the bough, composed just rotten enough to explode during a moment of peak starlight. Infinite carrot stems atop glittering far-dust sailed into the ceiling. Fax trett modifier liquid coated guests in a warm sauna and lines of strigufungi began growing and flaming all at once. Every Energetic attempting to shield themselves would rapidly find their arms lathered in a steaming layer of wiggly arms.
  Stax sat still.
  In a moment, every star realized what had just occurred. Every relative swivelled to face the beaming, half-broken Stax who sat still and sat still and squirmed and held every expression in stasis except for a frozen and pained grin. The agony overtook him; the glares overworked him.
  Mom, and mom, and mom, in unison: "Ruined."
  He finally pulled his collapsed star of a form upwards and stood up out of his chair, pushing all the equipment away until he was standing. Then, with a smile, he started to announce thusly:
    "Oh! I must have aged it too much before getting here."
  It was no accident, though he could have lied and construed it as such. It was no act of pettiness or misunderstanding, or a directed attack on a soul in particular, or even a message. Stax stared deep back at the pity, anger and disappointment in him, and once it was all out-- once he could even see Mezzorett suddenly sink into a face of betrayal and confusion, he no longer felt any of it. He was freed of the obligation to do well. He had already done his worst.
  Stax walked without another second glance from the interior of the vast kitchen to the lobby of the vast home until he had pushed aside two wide carbon doors and entered the vast outdoors of a darkstar. Once he was out,
    he broke down,
      and began to sob deeply
        into the ground.
          Star-filled liquid formed a tiny pool below him
            and he waited for the moment to leave.
  It took many moments for the moment to leave. It took more than he expected. He felt himself trying to feign an expression again, but it didn't easily come. He found himself standing up and congratulating himself. He found himself saying, "What did you expect, exactly?" He found himself muttering and then yelling, "You should have stayed to see how they responded." Then he was out, an Energetic without energy, drained of anything solid, and his gaseous under-form walked from the house to a small ridge of charred dirt, where he fell, and sat, and waited.
  He wasn't particularly sure for what. Some shards of himself were still left on the ground, and he needed to wait for them to return or die off. It wasn't as easy as every other time.
  It took longer.
  It took so long that he didn't ever feel himself picking up the pieces.
  Instead, after so long had passed that he'd forgotten how he got there, Stax was greeted with the short and wiry figure of a star exiting Harbor's Night early; inevitably Eietta, again, now standing at a shadow's height that felt immeasurable. They gave a meek grin, sauntered over with difficulty over the blackened dirt, and then sat beside him.
    "You're not gone yet?" they asked.
  Stax put out a small burst of plasma and answered with sharpness, hostility. "No, I've got to see how people exit! You can't wash off all what just blew up in their faces." He grinned.
  "Your mothers tell me you generally leave after making the skewers." Eietta took in some of the thick atmosphere. "They hadn't ever gotten used before."
  "It doesn't matter." Stax stared ahead. "I brought near-rot starwood so that it'd blow up in someone's face. It's their fault for inviting me again and again.
    "Oh, because it's family, surely I'll be better off this time.
      "But it's never good enough."
  Eietta nodded slowly, and hummed. "That sounds right." However, they tilted their head to the side, after-- staring the starman in his unfocused glare. "But you didn't want it to happen. The moment you met Mezz, I think you wanted to reconsider."
    "I wanted to see," he said, "if the skewers would go well. And of course they didn't. It's impossible. It was a task I set myself up for and never could improve on."
      Eietta sat up. "I think you met somebody you didn't want to disappoint."
        "That's every person! It's always going to happen." His smile grew bitter.
          "But you didn't want it to."
            "But it did."
  He sunk into the ground a bit, angry like a kid. His whole body quaked and boiled with plasmatic afterburst. "I'm sure they put you up to this."
  "No," said Eietta, "I think you really might have made them give up on you."
    Sting.
      He recoiled a bit and felt an arrow in his chest.
  "...Good!" he announced, unable to contain his sudden and irrevocable anguish. "That's what I've been waiting for! Dozens and dozens and dozens of growths in my life spent failing at the same task an idiot can do, dozens of growths making little mistakes they never forget about. I stopped trying a long time ago. I'm glad I don't even have to fake it anymore."
  ...
  A quiet moment passed, wherein the starman reached a point of true and agonizing acceptance.
  ...
  Eietta slowly reached over an arm, and wrapped it around his shoulder. "I don't know you, Stax, but I'm sorry."
  Stax suddenly burst out in a chuckle, still shaking, still worse for wear, past some kind of threshold of destruction. His snapped-in-half voice went, "You were really part of Harbor Night? Part of the whole jailbreak?"
  "Mhm! Eietta SDSS." They laid back, mirroring the chuckle. "Seems unlikely, with the time between us and then. But I was there in the earliest days of Energetic servitude to Harbingers, when we made the decision without knowing the consequences. It wasn't a grand escape, but it was memorable enough to have made a difference." They gazed off for a moment. "Our plan to escape was as convoluted and confusing as this whole event with your family. The difference is you shouldn't have to fight for your place in the world, here."
  "Yeah," he muttered. "I guess that helps put the whole thing into context."
  "I hope so."
    "I don't know why, Eietta, but something in me feels good about having ruined things. I've tried so many times in the past and it's never worked. But the fact that I got somebody I'd never met to trust me, and the fact I had to just watch, knowing I'd blast away any chance of being part of the family... it's just hilarious, you know! I don't have to think about making it up to them or a second chance anymore. It's just over."
      "Good feeling? You're sure that's a good feeling?"
  Stax stiffened a little, finally turning to face the small Energetic. "...No, ha. It's not a good feeling at all. I suppose I just don't really know what the alternative is."
  Eietta said, "I hope you get a chance to find out."
  After a moment's hesitation, Stax said, "You're a pretty nice star, you know."
    "And we're still talking, aren't we?"
      "We'll see for how long," Stax chuckled.
        "Why not the rest of the night?"
          He felt something flutter inside him.
        ...
      ...
    ...
  But he relented.
  Stax could not motivate himself to stay and try; even in the face of a great attraction he relented to the feeling of weightlessness and throwing himself out of his family's orbit. His shards had been put back together. After an excruciatingly long conversation with an excruciatingly forgiving star, Stax finally
  sat up,
    stood up,
      wept a little longer,
        and began to make the long trek away from home.

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]]> <![CDATA[Ludum Dare 44]]> https://eagle-time.org/showthread.php?tid=4363 Mon, 29 Apr 2019 03:03:39 +0000 June Stargal]]> https://eagle-time.org/showthread.php?tid=4363
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https://ldjam.com/events/ludum-dare/44/c...-my-knight

It's about a knight who's trying to thwart a dragon, but instead of training in dungeons, you go around building up your courage by talking to people.]]>
[Image: xg8bx0R.png]

https://ldjam.com/events/ludum-dare/44/c...-my-knight

It's about a knight who's trying to thwart a dragon, but instead of training in dungeons, you go around building up your courage by talking to people.]]> <![CDATA[daily drawings]]> https://eagle-time.org/showthread.php?tid=4359 Sat, 27 Apr 2019 17:47:57 +0000 Kaynato]]> https://eagle-time.org/showthread.php?tid=4359
After some time, it became something like "an emotional diary." It's pretty personal, and the quality varies sometimes - from when I have more things to express, to when I just wanted to make sure I kept it up, to when I wanted to test some tricks on the page.

The first were somewhat differently shaped, and there's some "extras" here and there, but for the most part these are all done on Muji craft paper memo pads with the Muji ink brush pen.]]>
After some time, it became something like "an emotional diary." It's pretty personal, and the quality varies sometimes - from when I have more things to express, to when I just wanted to make sure I kept it up, to when I wanted to test some tricks on the page.

The first were somewhat differently shaped, and there's some "extras" here and there, but for the most part these are all done on Muji craft paper memo pads with the Muji ink brush pen.]]> <![CDATA[Chwoka's Star-Studded 2019 Road Trip]]> https://eagle-time.org/showthread.php?tid=4355 Thu, 25 Apr 2019 21:00:31 +0000 ☆ C.H.W.O.K.A ☆]]> https://eagle-time.org/showthread.php?tid=4355
If you'd like to meet me in the flesh: have a form! https://forms.gle/2NSVcQjKhhNNCWhCA]]>
If you'd like to meet me in the flesh: have a form! https://forms.gle/2NSVcQjKhhNNCWhCA]]> <![CDATA[M o RE Lie s]]> https://eagle-time.org/showthread.php?tid=4352 Wed, 24 Apr 2019 21:11:14 +0000 Ubersketch]]> https://eagle-time.org/showthread.php?tid=4352 Hi people. I did some of the art for this game. Check it out.]]> Hi people. I did some of the art for this game. Check it out.]]> <![CDATA[Space art]]> https://eagle-time.org/showthread.php?tid=4303 Wed, 03 Apr 2019 18:36:01 +0000 Ubersketch]]> https://eagle-time.org/showthread.php?tid=4303 [Image: u0b6cPo.png]
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