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EGG Profile: Razor Doll (v2) by eent242 EGG Profile: Razor Doll (v2) :iconeent242:eent242 16 3 EGG Profile: Razor Doll by eent242
Mature content
EGG Profile: Razor Doll :iconeent242:eent242 9 7
For Yooi by eent242 For Yooi :iconeent242:eent242 10 7
Literature
Lillandra: An Experiment
Near the border of Ductile, and where the Freifrauenlanden begin, the countryside is beautiful. But…very hilly. Even the most supple and resilient muscles can get tired walking them. Especially  when you don’t have lots of food. Or if the only food you do have is gradually-stale bread, and hard cheese. It leads to…internal complications. And, from there, messiness.
You think me crass. I respectfully disagree.  Translating this story into your language of Over There makes it less elegant.
Or perhaps I’m simply a realist. Despite my reputation, despite the awe I’m held in…I do a lot of walking. It’s rare the days I’m able to afford a horse. Even the amount they charge for a donkey is simply ridiculous. It took most of my purse to buy this bread and cheese.
My name is Lillandra. Sometimes known by the nom de chanson of "The Lute". And I am a bard.
I make you no guarantees, you alien listeners. You may be entert
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Literature
ID 34: Where The Shame Falls, Where The Fear Lives
Once more, they cowered like frightened animals.
The Chief Minister glowered at them. He sneered at Her Malleable Majesty, Queen Julianna of the House of Ductile, wrapped round one of his assistants. "Your Majesty."
And then he slapped her. His fingers made rainbow patterns of light over her image on the huge flatscreen monitor, that slowly faded, leaving only the shiny afterimage of his fingerprints.
The place was silent. Again.  The cries of fear, the explosions, all had died away as though a switch had been thrown. Which it had.  The two techs in front of the big monitor, which had been yelping enthusiastically a minute ago, had hung their heads. He knew the look. It was guilt. In Ductile, or Over There, it was all the same: I've done something I shouldn't. What was unfortunately lacking was Please, please, punish me!  Time to set that to rights.
"If any of you are deaf, please raise your hands, so I will know not to punish you," the
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ElEssticity! by eent242 ElEssticity! :iconeent242:eent242 34 2 MistrEss of Disguise by eent242 MistrEss of Disguise :iconeent242:eent242 14 0 ChEss Play by eent242 ChEss Play :iconeent242:eent242 31 1 Ess 2015 By Stretchygalfan by eent242 Ess 2015 By Stretchygalfan :iconeent242:eent242 15 1 EGG Profile: Ess by eent242 EGG Profile: Ess :iconeent242:eent242 50 16
Literature
Island Days 33: Fatal Impressions
The air was a storm of needles. Or at least, sharp pointiness so fine, they might as well have been needles.
They cut through everything -- metal, plastic, wood, cloth -- and for those unlucky enough to be in the way -- flesh.
Carstairs was near-deaf from the firing of his MP-5. He fired briefly, when he could, because there were allies here, but the gun, He'd lodged himself in a corner for support, while the soldier in him recognized the tactical imprudence of such a decision.  If one of them focussed on him, he would be dead meat.
Also, despite the garish clown costumes, they were formidable adversaries. The edges of their limbs and claws were monomolecular -- and morphic. The edge placed against an artery would kill, or twine about an arm, and slice deeply.  He remembered a night when barbed wire strands of the same material ripped through Kelvar, through cloth, and into flesh and bone...
His leg tingled; a brief resurgence of phantom pain after years of silence. Shrapn
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Literature
Island Days 32: Revels and Revelations
Like something out of an old-school role-playing dungeon, there were three corridors ahead of them.
Liesl said, after examining them, and finding no indications as to where they should go: "I wish I had some graph paper. And a pencil."
The Duchess of Flessible -- who had matured a lot in these past few days? Hours? It was hard to say -- arched one of her shapely black eyebrows at her and asked "Why?"
The tall, freckled Freifrau shrugged. "To make a map with. Apparently, it's something they do here. It also requires dice for some reason."
MIrabella said: "But...I've just seen you fight. Wouldn't carrying all that gear...slow you down?"
Liesl shrugged again. "Yes, it would." Her bottom lip protruded as she thought. "Actually, I think it's more of a game; I never really asked much about it. Lots of nice people here, but I don't understand the appeal of them making a game of my job. I mean, as they say, I play for...the reals I think they call it?  Martin once sho
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Literature
Island Days 31: Various Formations
The Chief Minister -- Former be damned; when you were unfairly and viciously maligned by strangers, what was said about you didn't count -- of Ductile felt mildly irritated.
He stood at the catwalk of what his asserfstants called Testing Chamber A, gazing down. The greenish waters below were quiet. Even the constant whalesong of "Koo-do, Koo-do" had stopped.
Things were not progressing fast enough with his main program, that was the problem. Creating the  Razor Clown hybrids had been simplicity itself; the material had joined together almost eagerly. Some wit had suggested it was the fine line between slapstick comedy and worse violence that had helped the process along. Despite his usefulness to the program, the Chief Minister had almost considered disposing of him. Flippancy was an enemy to delicate work like this.
But this...obstinacy was the worst part. The raw materials in this case were infinitely adaptable and plastic -- much more than in previous cases
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Literature
Island Days 30: On Her Majesty's Stretchy Service
1.
Alana had found hunting people was almost as exciting -- almost: nothing could take the pain of having her gift removed, however temporarily bestowed --  as near-limitless flexibility.
Or maybe she was just clinging to its effectiveness as a momentary sop as tightly as she could. She was, she thought in other moments, going through a version of the Five Stages of Grief -- and she was now in the Denial phase. She had certainly gone through Anger...
Acceptance, though...that would take a long time. Perhaps never. But there was a small flicker of Hope, way deep down, refusing to be extinguished.
But the manner of the hunting was strangely disquieting. Her...no, passenger wasn't the right word. Patroness? Employer? The woman sitting next to him wearing the sunglasses was unsettling. Her undeniably serpentine characteristics -- the eyes behind her glasses, the tongue that sometimes appeared forked, perhaps not -- and her uncanny litheness that gave Ms Longstone
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Literature
Island Days 29: Deus Ex Martin -- Ah!
Martin looked at the piece of wire in his hand. There's always something to overlook,. He thought. The (Former) Chief Minster was a careful planner, a cautious, cunning man -- but he'd failed last time, hadn't he?
Point of fact, his brain said to him, the man who failed against you likely wasn't him, was it? It was his doppelganger, his onimusha, his body double...and you managed to beat him. How do you know the real one won't make those mistakes?
It didn't change the fact that his captor had given him a bunk with bedsprings. Or that he and Ess had seen The Shawshank Redemption, and a fair number of lesser prison movies -- most of those while pleasurably drunk; tipsy, if you wanted to be honest -- and he knew the sort of stuff people got up to in those movies. Nor had his comparatively brief incarceration given him the coldness necessary to shiv somebody. Or the knowledge to make a proper shiv to do it with.
He'd survived a swordfight -- but that didn
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Literature
Island Days 28: Fights and Forward Momentum
She locked her eyes on her opponent.
Then, without wasting time on superfluous talk,  Liesl von Ausdendehnungstahl threw herself forward, an elongated fist twisting and corkscrewing itself towards the other woman, this smug, buxom redhead, that had laughingly proclaimed herself The Best.
Her expression of disgust replaced by a smirk, the beautiful redhead swayed herself to the side and let the fist pass her. "That's pathetic," she said. "Call yourself a fighter? If you were one of my bodyguards, Leiderhosen Lass, I'd fire you, because..."
The last part of her taunt was lost as her face suddenly bulged outwards from behind, her lips involuntarily pursing into a goldfish O of surprise. Her cheeks folded around the edges of what appeared to be a blunt, metallic, object, a box, a piece of pipe.
"Dumkopf," Liesl said, smiling herself. "Are you so conceited, you thought I was aiming at you? Like magicians, soldiers are well aware of mi
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eent242
MDF
Canada
Do you think it's possible to be nostalgic for an entire line of books?

This probably seems very weird since Del Rey is still around, and their general aesthetic has not changed that much -- though their pricing has. ;)

I have always been a fantasy fan, ever since I first read Tolkien as a youngster. I was into it seriously in high school, though I also branched out into horror. Though I still like fantasy, I haven't seriously read it in a long time.

George R.R. Martin and Terry Pratchett novels being the exception.

I'm talking about total brand recognition -- where I'd see DEL REY and Fantasy on the cover and instinctively grab it off the shelf.

Many of the fantasy books in my high school library were Del Reys. That distinctive publisher's logo on the spine. The covers, which were invariably a painting, instead of a Photoshop job.

The little cockatrice logo in the upper front corner with Fantasy under it, and the American and Canadian prices.

This was in the days when books weren't taxed in Canada, so when you were buying a book, and the price said $3.50 in Canada, you were paying just that -- $3.50, which meant you could count your remaining change to the penny, and know you'd have enough to get bus fare home.

I miss that. :(

I found three Del Reys recently -- publication dates, 1980, 1983, and 1982 respectively -- on our 25-cent sale shelf at work. These weren't discarded library copies, they were donations: and for books that are over twenty years old, they were in remarkably good condition -- one's spine wasn't even broken!

Two of them, as it turns out were the first and third books of a series I'd never completed -- Lawrence Watt-Evans's The Lords of Dus I'd found and read the second -- The Seven Altars of Dusura in that high school library I'd mentioned, but for whatever reason had never tracked the last of them down.

Now I'm going to have to go out and hope I can snag the final fourth book, The Book of Silence somewhere. The only paperback copy is in a specialist collection in Toronto that doesn't interloan, and no one seems to have the 2003 omnibus edition.

Now, though, I'm working through Where the Evil Dwells by Clifford D. Simak. Fantay set in Roman Europe.

After Game of Thrones, it's kind of funny reading a fantasy novel that's not only comparatively light in tone, but written in plain 20th Century American English without archaic flourishes or dialect, despite the time it's supposedly set in.

Literary comfort food, if you will.
  • Reading: Where the Evil Dwells, Clifford D. Simak
  • Eating: Nothing
  • Drinking: Water

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derfs51 Featured By Owner Sep 29, 2018
Happy Birthday!
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eent242 Featured By Owner Sep 29, 2018
Thanks so much, everyone!

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ToonHolt Featured By Owner Sep 29, 2018  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Happy Birthday
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Happy Birthday!
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Happy birthday!
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Happy birthday, my friend!
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Happy birthday!
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happy birthday
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StretchyGalFan Featured By Owner Sep 28, 2018  Hobbyist General Artist
Happy (Early) Birthday, ONG! :party:
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