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Sir Exal

CBUB Match Judges
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  1. Leslie Reed's brother. Solo Hero.
  2. ...By which I assume he means "unable to vote on their fight." Although I can't see why.
  4. A run-on sentence is when there's supposed to be a comma in your sentence, but it has none. EXAMPLE: SENTENCE: A run-on sentence is when there's supposed to be a comma in your sentence, but it has none. RUN-ON: A run-on sentence is when there's supposed to be a comma in your sentence but it has none. ANOTHER EXAMPLE: RUN-ON: I already have my first part of my next match done I'll send you the rest when I'm done. SENTENCE: I already have my first part of my next match done, and I'll send you the rest when I'm done. ALSO ACCEPTABLE: I already have my first part of my next match done. I'll send you the rest when I'm done. ALSO ACCEPTABLE: I already have my first part of my next match done; I'll send you the rest when I'm done. (Although I wouldn't use semicolons until you figure out how to use commas correctly.) In general, one utilizes commas before most conjunctions (and, but, yet, or, nor, etc.). One uses conjunctions whenever one is changing topic in the middle of a sentence. Any questions? (Seriously, looking at it with new eyes, this is one of the more complex parts of grammar.)
  5. Blind Faith-- You are in a situation where you can either save a hostel with a hundred homeless people in it, or a Head of State. How do you react? Oh, this was funny, thought Faith, [this was goddamned hilarious. 'Hello, girl blinded by defenders of a disgraced politician. Now, tell me, would you save the life of a hundred poor little homeless people, or a heartless politician?' I wonder if the other woman's got some beef with the senators too. Or homeless people. Okay, suppress this, don't let 'em see you sweat. First, of course, there's the third option, to save them both. And you can't say that there's not a third option. Villains have been giving heroes impossible choices since the radio serials, and before that. A Sentinel's job is to find the third options, to do the impossible. But that doesn't answer your question, does it? Which one do I save if only given the ability to save one. Well, Mr. or Ms. Question writer, you're not telling me an important issue--why was I presented with this so-called dilemma? If I'm just walking down the street, say, and the Tin Soldier's launching missiles at both targets or whatever, then I'm going to save the hostel. Needs of the many and all that. Plus the press loves a martyr. But say I'm there as a bodyguard to Senator Bulmoose or whoever it was that replaced Mugwump. Say the Tin Soldier flies up to me and says that if I don't let him kill Bulmoose, he sends the message to detonate said hostel. Then, I'm not going to step down for a second. I was assigned to protect Bulmoose, and that would be what I would do, even if someone has to die. It was my mission. It's not popular. It would probably make me a pariah all over again. But those that would stand against me already took my sight. What else can they take from me?
  6. I prefer Shakespeare's comedies, personally. I enjoy Mark Twain too. Huckleberry Finn was one of my favorite school-mandated books. As favorites go, Nicholson Baker, A. Lee Martinez, and Haruki Murakami are the three who immediately come to mind. I also like Stephen King, although I like almost none of the other 'popular' writers. Oh, and if you haven't read Patrick Rothfuss's The Name of the Wind and The Wise Man's Fear, do that. That should really go without saying.
  7. TreAnt stares down at the tiny, thin plane made from his brethren and ponders what is expected of him. He reaches down to take the pen, but overcompensates, accidentally crushing the entire desk under his massive palm. The official in Mr. Dog's room watches for a second, then asks, "Do you need--" "No, I got it," says Mr. Dog, pawing at the pen, scratching noises coming from his claws on the desk. "Just a-- Almost... Little bit... I'll--" The pen tumbles off the desk and clicks on the floor. "Uh, yeah, about help..." Mr. Dog says. The official in Faith's room felt a glare behind her blindfold on him, burning on him. "Well?!" Faith yelled, "I'm BLIND!"
  8. Hmm. Then I guess I better mention I made a few minor edits to Faith. Mostly just words (acid? Who is she, Harvey Dent?) and I changed Iron Will to Force Field.
  9. I think this was back when characters came in waves, so you played this with a number of characters (however many were accepted that week or whatever), rather than a single character.
  10. Die had seen numerous comrades die. Maybe more than a hundred. Not to mention she was responsible for many more, including (indirectly, granted) her parents. And yet her racing heart ached, as she tried to remember anything to help the dying girl before here. She placed the eye back in its socket and felt a heave of sorrow when it merely lolled about. "Revive kills zombie!" Die screamed, then at the queer glance or two she received, continued. "We can't use a healer, 'cause she's being kept alive by negative energy!" Wait, shit, wasn't she a ghoul? Were those the same rules? *vulgarity*! "Is there someone with dark powers or a necromancer in the fight guests or something?" Meanwhile, Ryan's blood wasn't going to be sufficient. "Move," Die said, and exercising more control than she could ever remember using, ran a finger across the back of her wrist. Blood immediately poured out where there had been skin a moment before. Die winced in pain, but wiggled her fingers. Good. Doesn't feel like she accidentally disintegrated bone, tendon or anything else important. Die determinedly put her bleeding wrist to Becki's mouth. Would this really work? Wasn't there anything more she could do?
  11. "So, is it a chemo thing, or just..." Neimi trailed off. The other woman looked at her for a moment, confused, then laughed out loud. The coffeeshop was quiet and mostly empty, a sunny weekday afternoon giving people few reasons to partake in overcaffeinated beverages. The girl across from Neimi was a spindly young woman with a deep-set face and her hair buzzed down to fuzz, black but appearing silver as the color blended with her pale scalp. This was Aoi Borsythe. She preferred to be called Jo. Jo worked at the same bank that Neimi did; they both were data-entry workers. Data entry was the kind of job where Neimi could be in a room of her own, where no one would notice if she suddenly started glowing and stopped working to fill a notebook with writing. Neimi had just left work when she was accosted by Jeff, another employee of the bank (Neimi had written, in far too many words). Jeff cornered her and was coming on to her, aggressively coming on to her. Neimi had been afraid, and then Jo showed up. Jo had chased him away with a few well-chosen yells. Jo had introduced herself. Neimi had seen her around work, how could she miss the girl with the buzz cut, but never known her name. A year ago, Neimi would have just muttered a thank-you and run, but since she had met her boyfriend, the man who had lent…guidance in her life… She had stayed, shyly introduced herself. They had arranged to meet at the local non-chain coffeehouse after work, and as easily as they had talked--or Jo had talked, and Neimi had mainly listened--the odds that they would be friends felt good. Neimi had not had friends in a while. And then she asked that question, realized how personal it was before she finished, and blushed red, even as Jo laughed jovially. "It's been awhile since anyone asked me that," said Jo. "No one has the balls. Nah, just my personal preference..." She looked thoughtful for a moment. "Actually, it reminds me of something I...hadn't thought of in a while." She looked at Neimi, who was just happy she hadn't horrified or humiliated Jo. Neimi nodded, encouraging her to continue. "When I was a kid," Jo said, "like, twelve, we went to a family reunion out in the country. I met this cousin of mine, Ark, same age as me, m' mother's sister's kid. He was this really smart boy, good and athletic, I knew who he was just by seeing him the first time, everyone talked about him. The first time we met, my mom introduced me, and Ark--he was taller than me by, like, a foot--ruffled my hair and said 'Hi, Jo.'" "My mom corrected him a'course, but he still called me Jo. So that evening, after supper, I'm alone, looking at this fallin' apart little house across the lake, and I feel him rustle my hair again, he pulls one of my curls, and I'm about to yell at him when he just starts tellin' this story. Ain't never going to forget the first line--'The first minute she saw the cabin, she knew she would not leave, could not leave.'" The story was about a young woman who went to a house on a lake where her lover, boyfriend, whatever, had lived as a child. The two were on the run, had run around the world, from a organized crime ring the two of them had betrayed, and knew would eventually catch them and kill them. The young woman met her lover's half-sister there, a blind young woman. This woman, the man's half-sister, was also his lover, something (Jo said) that only intrigued the main character. As long as they lived there, however, the half-sister was in danger from the crime ring. The young woman mentioned this to her man, and he responded, "I have promised her never to leave her behind alone." The woman, her lover, and his half-sister made love in the uppermost room of the lodge, slowly and passionately that night, and almost every night after. A week later, the young woman had gone down to a local city for shopping, and saw a boy that caught her eye, and although he said nothing she knew that it was time. She went home and made love to her housemates again. "The next day," Jo said, "the men finally came to the door, took the three lovers down by the lake, and shot them all, first the man, then his half-sister, and finally the young woman herself, buried in three shallow graves, all next to each other." Neimi hadn't realized how into the story she had become. A tear rolled down her cheek. "Was it...true?" She asked. Jo chortled. "Ya know I asked th' same thing? And Ark said of course not, if it was, how could anyone know what the young woman was thinking?" Jo's expression became distant, and she looked out the window. "Ark just laughed, then, rubbed my hair again, and told me that he liked me. "I like you, Jo," he said, and I really liked that. Then he took his hand off my head, and when I looked up, he was...gone." "He left?" "Neimi, he was gone. I was the last person to see him. He wasn't in his bed the next morning, and no matter how they searched, they couldn't find him. They reported him missing eventually, but the police never got anywhere." She met Neimi's eyes. "It was like he just vanished off the face of the earth." "The day after he disappeared, I took a hair-trimmer to my head, took all my hair off. Kept it that way since." They shared a little more small talk, Neimi inviting to her favorite jazz club in a couple days, until Jo left, citing a hungry cat, and Neimi went her own way, her mind still swimming with thoughts of Jo's cousin and the young woman and her lover at the cabin.
  12. Die shook the feeling she was being ignored the second Sarah yelled Becki was in trouble. These kids didn't know who they were dealing with--the League of Assassins were 57 varieties of trouble. Die had fought alongside Unicorn Boy, she knew what they were capable of. The instant she heard where Becki was, Die took off, but not before yelling to Sarah and Ryan to call backup. Her hands hummed in preparation. She could dimly remember how the vents were--the Works! That's where she needed to go! Die ran through the halls, hoping she wouldn't be too late.
  13. *vulgarity*. Chanticleer had hesitated, was planning, maybe he just wasn't paying attention. You couldn't blame the kid, he wasn't supposed to be the brains of the outfit. *vulgarity*. And now they were both on the ground, Chanticleer deafened and feeling his broken bones, a scent reaching his nose that smelled disgustingly like a meal in a plastic bucket. He couldn't see anyone else through the smoke and fire--damn, he hoped they made it. The kid was on his side, bleeding way too much, at least not exploded, but...dead, unconscious, just in horrible pain, Chanticleer couldn't tell. He tried to send a telepathic message, but couldn't get up the concentration. *vulgarity*. The kid didn't deserve to die like this, not due to the cock's own mistakes. Then again, maybe it was mother*vulgarity*ing ironic fate that got them here, that all Chanticleer's partners would die like this. For one ludicrous second, he thought it was Jeanne, standing just where the flames and debris parted like an avenging angel, probably to see him and finally give him what he deserved. Then he blinked, the features congealed and changed, and... He had a chance. He and the kid had a chance. A piss-poor one, but that was worlds above what they had just had. He'd take anything right now. Chanticleer filled his lungs--great, one's collapsed, that's just what I need--and screamed the bounty hunter's name. "You murderous bastard! St. Etienne! Marie's Cathedral! I saved your ass, now I'm calling it in!" He thrust an index feather towards James. "Get us out of here! Now!" With that, the cock collapsed, his remaining strength gone. It was all up to the hunter now, and Chanticleer did not like those odds.
  14. Die grinned as they headed towards Room D, raising her right hand. "I'm scarier than anything that could be on the loose," she lied.
  15. Die blinked. Then blinked a second time. And a third. Why in the world was Thorn a cat? She shook her head. There were a number of messed up possibilities here, but she decided to just roll with it. For now. "Alright. Sarah, right? Where is she?" Die pocketed the eye again. "And maybe we'll run into Becki on the way, ask her if she lost something."
  16. The scene that had played itself with Vanguard and Zach played itself again, minus the Mammoth. Die collided with Ryan, he only falling over because of his intent to keep the cat perched on his shoulder from hitting the ground. Odd, Die had thought Patty's shtick was the animals. Die might have blushed if she were a shier girl. "Sorry. Ryan, right? So, did you win?" She didn't wait for an answer for her meaningless small talk, and missed Jake's anxious expression. She removed the eye from a cleverly-concealed pouch and asked, "Y'have any idea what this is?"
  17. Die watched the Frat-Man hurry out, grateful she wouldn't have to fake pleasantries with the man. She looked in the sink again, ran a finger around the drain just in case-- And saw the small sphere Mitch had left behind, without a word of explanation. It appeared to be a single emerald eye. She picked it up and...well, it certainly wasn't glass or plastic. The question was whether it belonged in someone's skull, or if it was merely a practical joke. Die pocketed the ocular orb, and left to find someone more useful. From the sound of it, Finn and Axel would be around somewhere...
  18. I think Halo is a pretty cool guy. eh kills aleins and doesn't afraid of anything.
  19. Name: Neimi Apollo Age: 23 Description: You remembered her. You didn't think about her actively or anything like that, but you remembered her. The girl who sat next to you in Sophomore Bio. Your surnames were next to each other in the alphabet, appearently, but you never remembered hers. The girl, dressed in gothwear, clad in black with chains bridging the odd places on her oversized pants. The nails on her pale, tiny fingers painted black. And yet her face was free of makeup, her hair without dye. Her circular face, wireframe glasses perched halfway down her nose in your memory, and medium-length, mouse-brown hair. No Dragon Tattoo shit there. She was shorter than you, you remember, but an average size for a girl. Slight. Waifish. Yes, you remembered Neimi. She hadn't changed a bit when she showed up at your apartment door. History: She was the girl you remembered for the folder full of Jhonen Vasquez and other dark comic books that you read over her shoulder. You saw her draw, a unique, scratch-like style. You remember seeing one of her projects on another class's wall. An entire story, done in German. It fit a meter. It rhymed. And--you remembered her filling an entire college-ruled notebook page with nothing but her writing in the space of five minutes, nothing but her thoughts and random lines from the comic she was reading. Neimi stops you before you enter your apartment building late at night. Tells you who she is, although you remember. Of course you remember. And she says she needs help, to come to her apartment building. You pause, thinking that this might be a trick, but you look at her and dismiss the suspicion, the absurd suspicion. You only ask, "Why me?" and she says she found a yearbook, and that you were the first person she recognized. Ah, fate. She takes you across town, to her apartment, and no sooner has she turned on the light, a bare bulb over the room. Every wall is covered with writing. Black, scratchy writing you can easily identify as Neimi's. The writing covers any flat surface, every cabinet, ever counter, the refrigerator, the windows, even the peaked ceiling has long, unsure writing on it. And in every corner are notebooks, piles and piles of notebooks. You pick one up, flip through it, knowing what you will find--page after page after page of Neimi's handwriting. Neimi picks up a scrap of newspaper. She hands it to you. It is simply the facts of a bizarre situation in one of the alleys of the city one night. A blinding blue light emitted from the alley, and when police arrived five minutes later, they found two men--muggers, from their possessions--killed, and written in some black, indelible ink on the walls and dumpsters of the alley, something akin to a confession, a written-out process of killing the men and other, stray thoughts. "I can't control myself, it's all just...stream of consciousness," she says. "When I get Inspired (you can hear the capital), I just write whatever comes to mind. I admitted to murder! I...need help..." You hold her wrist and whisper to her, calming her down. You sit for the next hour, just talking with her about whatever dumb thing comes to mind, and you can feel your attraction to her returning. At 2:31 in the morning, she gasps and her eyes begin to roll up inside her head. "This...this is it..." she chokes out. You know what to do. You yell to her. "Write about your high school Biology class!" Your eyes are seared by light, and when you open them again, a deva stands in Neimi's place, glowing blueish-white. Neimi moves faster than you can see to a notebook, and with no pen in her hand, begins to write. It is a stunning sight. Some unsure amount of time later, you and Neimi view page after page of Neimi's writing. "It's all one subject..." murmurs Neimi "All just about that Biology class...there are periods! There are semicolons! It all..." she looks towards you. "You helped me! Thank you! Thank you so much!" She kisses you, long and hard. You make love that night between sheets covered with words, neither of you saying a thing. -/- A few weeks later, you are on the phone with a publisher. The books you sent him, you say, are from an eccentric genius who will only let the books see print if an edition is never published in Khazan. He agrees, and asks what to call you. "Muse," you say, "call me Muse." Powers: When Neimi is Inspired, which can happen for any number of reasons, she is extremely fast, very strong, and very tough, not that many have tried to hurt her. Inspired Neimi writes with a magical, indelible ink that bonds to anything. She only ceases this form after writing to her form's mysterious specifications.
  20. "Where the hell is everyone?" Die commented to the air. Her fault for not participating, she supposed. Wandering down a hall, she heard a distant hard clanging of metal on metal. Perhaps the robot had finally gotten out of his room. She wandered down another hallway and found a room with a light on. Entering, she discovered it was the kitchen, with a man examining the sink. "Hey, I'm--" she started, and then saw that it was the Frat-Man. "Oh. You," she said, her voice falling into annoyance. She noticed that the college man was gazing into the sink with a mix of interest and revulsion. "What's wrong?" she asked, and looked into the sink.
  21. Chanticleer flapped up and awkwardly perched on James's shoulder as he walked away. It was a better position in case they abruptly needed to run like hell. Cock feet were not the best for sprinting. He gave a quick look back, biting a nonexistent bottom lip with nonexistent teeth. The coat-girl, from the sound of it, deserved whatever she got and probably a hell of a lot more, but as for Cat... The idea of leaving a falsely accused girl to her fate with the 'law' gifted Chanticleer with a very bitter taste in his mouth. He was very pleased that James had made a decision. As he walked towards the Monaco portal, Chanticleer kept an eye out for more trouble, and mentally said, "Speed up a little, kid, we don't want to be anywhere near them..."
  22. Chanticleer scanned the chatting group one last time, and both James and his new Pet headed for the checkpoint as quietly as possible, at a determined trot. Chanticleer briefly wondered if anyone would notice their absence and follow... Probably not. James and the rooster weren't the noticeable ones.
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