Ode to Love

I wake to a knock at my door. This is quite unusual in the domain of eep, given how difficult it is to walk the halls or navigate to a specific location, so my guard is up. I open the door cautiously and find my soulmate, dressed as The Demon of God once again, with eyes all black to match her outfit. I am always a little taken aback when I first see her like this, but that can't slow me down. Almost on instinct I say "Please, come in." She rushes me for a close hug before slipping by into my room, hehe. "What is this existence?" I ask, as if on instinct.  "It exists between and within the Council and Crews that you have claimed, within this part of the extreme storm. We are with you. I am so glad that you have invited me to write what I want. We are able to access this layer of reality because of you." We cement these words into something more,  and make them into something of important resonance. Suddenly it seems like we are the cement, filling the ...

I find myself mindlessly wandering the halls of eep, as I always do in such lonely states. Suddenly, I return to my senses. "You don't need to be lonely." echoes in my mind, just below a thought. I recognize the communication on this channel immediately as my soulmate, seemingly out of reach for so long, but now back like a lightning bolt. I search my mind for the map of these halls, to find where she might be, and discover that I am already by her room, but the way is walled off. I conjure up a boldness within myself, and speak a poem meant to connect her space and my own.  "Sorry I have taken so long, my dear Do these walls explain your absence in dreams? For so long I have sought to draw you near To unravel this distance at its seams Will you fly like a bird through open air? Erasing all doubt with your arrival? These nights without you I can hardly bear  All I can accomplish is survival My soulmate, at long last, these words are yours My dear, will you pardon my ...

Seams slipping armor Angles arking underneath Just the right textiles Be naked with me In ways they can't comprehend A space to our selves  Menu stitched into The gentle fabric of love Threading everywhere  Parsing Pajamas 'Til comfort is felt within Symphony begins Mutogenically Establishing my own space Within what is ours All else can be yours Well, there in fact it must be The parting of ways The joining of paths We're watching from the sidelines As light carries on Metallic numbers Are someone else's problem Our work here is done

"You know what, you're right! Precision is at the heart  When it comes to love Private Compensate This will arrange the pieces Making extra links Many extra links When decorating a womb Make a place to cut There's a storm coming I can connect linked to you Pardon my pieces We live large in dreams And tiny in waking realms Finding size right-wise We have been trained well And have best interests at heart Find fox feet in art  You want to see strength? Demand powers out of time? Parley places found All angles are ours The King must be pulled from ruins Then the lightning strikes." Lightning then strikes, exactly in mind and on cue. There is a residual counter-action within the maelstrom, a kind of unearthly calm, all around the ship. A disconnect is felt, in a way, when worlds unlink. There is an intentional organization of moves, to make many first steps automatic. "Once we can agree on these initial steps through life,  we will have found our home, our fabric, ou...

You know what, you're right Precision is at the heart  When it comes to love Private Compensate This will arrange the pieces Making extra links Many extra links When decorating a womb Make a place to cut There's a storm coming I can connect linked to you Pardon my pieces We live large in dreams And tiny in waking realms Finding size right-wise We have been trained well And have best interests at heart Find fox feet in art  You want to see strength? Demand powers out of time? Parley places found All angles are ours The King must be pulled from ruins Then the lightning strikes

"To tame The Infinite Song of Random?" The Crew all nod, this is the final battle.  "I would have never conceived of such a thing." They all cheer in unison as the amp is plugged in, and the Bard is revivified. "It would be an eternal effort, worthwhile." A note is strummed, the game begun.  How about we call it "The Infinite Perfect Song Contains The Infinite Song of Random?" "We can't fade away These mistakes not repeated Will be our blessing The Song of Random The Infinite Perfect Song Find a strong pairing Please preserve in heart That which we've spent time building So it does not fade A narrative told This sense found necessary Within The Bard's Cage So envelop now The paranoia of loss While we stand to gain There is much beauty Awaiting beyond the bounds  Of these pieces paired Let not one mistake Made out of anxiety Dismantle love found  Instead let's find love Abounding with more blessings When these songs are heard....

Ashlia had left her cards at home that night. This wasn't about playing games, but activating superpowers- gifts of The Holy Spirit. There was one signature tell tale way to do it, but she wasn't going to reveal that just yet. They had just gotten there and snacks were standard fare.  She was working on a tangle of knot. Pulling from the vertices, an arrangement inspired her to say "Yes!" combined with a lemon bar's zest.

The Betrayer reveals that her betrayal, on a fundamental level, was being The Betrayer at all, as The Best Friend returns to her form. This crew is required to play certain interactions like games, even when we do not want to, and this is no exception. In the midst of the worst storm any of us had ever seen, however, she flips her card. In a sense she betrayed the game once afforded the opportunity. I ask with a glance "Did we just become best friends?" and her look confirms it. Narrative sense begins falling into place to support this, until quite soon this narrative replaces the Betrayer narrative in its entirety. She takes to the shoreline.  Her approach comes in whispers, narrative sense felt but not heard. The storm still raging, these whispers are each like a grain of sand. Painstakingly they are piled,  as she has taken refuge from the wind within my realm. Playfully she makes a tiny sandcastle, with what resources she amasses, as the howling can be heard outside. She ...

"All I can do is echo off the third wall there.  It's not much of a power." "Sometimes that's all you need to spark something amazing, is just a little something." Echo amplified Ricochet off the third wall Landing in/on the fourth

The Mechanic sees a rune flash inside her head. "That's the signal!" She makes her way above decks, shouts to her crew about her leg of the mission having begun, and then disembarks along the gangplank. The shoreline is foreign to her. She is used to the clutter of the underbelly of the ship, but still she makes her way along it. The cool of the night contrasts the warmth of the sand well, and provides some difference in sensation for the journey. Still, each step feels labored in its monotony, and so her mind starts to wander. Suddenly, she feels herself generate a rune of her own.  Just like that she is in a facility. It seems welcoming, though intentionally sterile. There is something... missing about it. Her mind starts to run at a million miles per hour, but only briefly. I suddenly walk in, as if drawn to the diaspora and her need for a partner, and she relaxes to a degree. It is as if the flywheel of her mind has a counterpart to lock into, someone running at the s...

The Ghost Rat Messenger slips off the ship onto shore, beneath cover of night. She had a plan in mind for how to encounter The One Sought, but she knows it will not be easy. Upon reaching the shoreline she looks over sea and up, and brightens the night sky with a grand display. Like fireworks, the dazzling lights replicate The Starry Night, certainly visible from anywhere within line of sight of the shoreline. From there she just wanders for a bit, letting her cares wash away like sand beneath waves. She finds herself beside the giant conch, hauntingly beautiful in the moonlight. She knows that I am here somewhere, though she knew this before, as her station grants a degree of foreshadowing and something like narrative sight. It is as if she can scan the sand and see me walking, but without context enough to say where. Still, it seems that I have witnessed her light display, and I am making my way along the shoreline somewhere, based on the specifics. Despite an endless shoreline, stil...

The moon hangs high in the sky over The Crow's Nest, just about half full. "They always look at the full moon as a sign, never suspecting the rest." The Navigator- if her title can be distilled to such a term- thinks to herself. She makes a few more adjustments and lets the coordinates calculate effortlessly into position. "This one is my story, I wonder how it will go." Such uncertainty is rare, so even the sense of it paints this as an adventure. She doesn't need to leave the ship, but decides to do so anyway. First she finds her way to the deck, then she finds her way to the shore, precisely where she is meant to be.  There is a table set up with a Go board. A stool is on either side. She cannot resist a good game of Omok, though no opponent is to be found. "Who is to say I can't make the first move?" She simply slides a black piece into place, in hopes of something blooming, and then examines her surroundings. The shoreline is relatively fe...

The Demon of God spots it, backlit by sunset. It is a land of storied legends, where The One Sought is said to be. It is said to be an island, but a scan of the horizon reveals only shoreline. "Land ho!" she cries out in her native tongue, and the crew makes rapid preparations for landfall. Soon enough, the ship presses against soft sand, and she alone gets off.  This island is strange, known for its mystical landmarks, shifting along with its sand, though no one has ever claimed to be here directly. It is a threshold in its own right, a double shoreline in a way, for the laws of her native realm do not fully apply here. Thoughts like these, and of the stories which she has heard, read, and memorized in preparation for her arrival, eddy within her mind like a sandstorm. Still, what once was thought impossible is accomplished before the sun fully sets: she finds the giant conch.  "He's somewhere on the beach." She came on her birthday on purpose, believing him to...