Gantic has a thread and will weave a cloth. This is a thread brought to you by Gantic & Co. Bringin' change to a constantly changin' world.
The title of the thread will become apparent later, but to start off:
Three Cowboys
Just to make things clear, there were never three cowboys. Just two. One of them's got the solar-powered laptop, the other's got the rubber ducky, but they're both mavericks, all three of them. It was my idea to throw in the third cowboy, but he's as real as any of the others. The solar-powered laptop and the rubber ducky were my idea, too. So were the two cowboys. To make things clear: There were no cowboys. In the vast emptiness of the Moobes, a black craft shaped like a horse, christened the Star Straddler, cruised to what was only a small but sparkly blue-and-green marble. The captain had his boots up on the dash as his craft crawled along the moobe that would bring him to the planet that the Moogle Navigator had found. As the craft touched down on the surface, only one thought was on the captain's mind: "The Space Cowboy has landed. In Armor Games."
"The Space Cowboy," Stallion Man replied. "He's been here for a couple days. Came with a guy who called himself the Stranger." "The Stranger?" the Bullman asked. "Yeah, a guy in a black hat," Stallion Man replied. "Said he's from around these parts, but I've never heard of him. He's not an Armor or a Gamer. He might be an Figment." Figments were creations, non-beings created by Gamers. Gamers were visitors to Armor Games. Armors were the indigenous inhabitants of the world. Interaction with Figments by Gamers was mostly forbidden, especially if the Gamer was the creator of the Figment. It led to Bad Possibilities, but most Figments were only two-dimensional. However, the more fleshed out Figments and developing Figments were dangerous to themselves and everyone around them. And the Stranger seemed fully capable of functioning in a true-being society and even exhibited some signs of Bad Possibilities. "There's no time to worry about that," the Bullman said. "If you're thinking of hiding in the Imaginarium, I'll move out to Armor Game City. Stuck here for a bit. All the artists there have holed themselves up on the second floor in protest until the recent competition has been judged. Crazy bunch of folks. Still have to clean up after them. And a word of warning, sheriffs frequent this area. The new one too. Been cracking down on everybody. Best lay low and hide that stupid horsecraft."
Figments were creations, non-beings created by Gamers. Gamers were visitors to Armor Games. Armors were the indigenous inhabitants of the world. Interaction with Figments by Gamers was mostly forbidden, especially if the Gamer was the creator of the Figment.
I didn't know that but it sure as heck would go a long way towards explaining why Strop is so concerned about the motivations behind the MWT :P
I may wish to ask you (Gantic) about adopting some of these rationales (and not-so-rational schema) in my own fictional portrayals but if you prefer to keep them separate that's cool too.
This next entry will be utterly lame, but I digress...
I still love this story. I don't comment on it much, but I am thoroughly enjoying it.
Well, it doesn't matter if there are no comments. Someone must be reading it since the views go up.
I may wish to ask you (Gantic) about adopting some of these rationales (and not-so-rational schema) in my own fictional portrayals but if you prefer to keep them separate that's cool too.
Sure.
Of Course, Of Course
The Bullman had hid inside the horsecraft and had Stallion Man cover it inconspicuous foliage that was known to spring up spontaneously in the Imaginarium, even out of the snow. Stallion Man returned to the guild to turn in for the night, but there was an uproar over the new billboard posting: "Judging postponed... still." It was nearly a week since judging was originally due. Now, it seemed likely that the current contest would be postponed as well or at least both contest would be judged together, which everyone feared would cause mismatched confusion. This confusion was intermingled with that of the newest entry entitled "Halloween". "I don't get it." "How is that a math joke?" Stallion Man glanced over the entry. It looked like a family of red ghosts, judging by the title, but what did the title mean? Or maybe it wasn't ghosts, but it certainly looked like a family. "I am appalled by the lack of nerds here who have heard the joke!" said a shadowy rabbity figure. "Oct 31 equals Dec 25, you ten-digit Neanderthals!" He threw up his four-fingered paw-hands in disbelief and turned away. As the rabbit man left, Stallion Man hoped that the rest of the inhabitants of Armor Game City were more normal by Armor Games standards. He would wait until the previous contest was judged, although it looked like the Bullman would be stuck out in the cold for a few days. He was tough. He could handle it.
I prefer RGB since I can't think in hex without pause, since I keep forgetting which way is up. Of course, then I need to rely on converters in html or just use longer html.
I might just type up the Fog City parts by memory instead of waiting.
The Stranger
The Stranger did not remember ever having used crayons. They were these little wax sticks of color that did not provide much in the way of fine lines. He was awake early before sunrise, staring at the second place entry of the nostalgia theme. Earlier in the day, or perhaps it was yesterday, he heard whisper about him possibly being a Figment. He didn't know exactly what that meant and whether or not that was a Bad Thing. He never slept and was never tired, but he never remembered having slept before either. He never even remembered having a childhood, but he knew this must be a child's drawing. Perhaps, he could talk to the artist and figure things out from there.
I planned on two parts today, but I could only get up one.
Fog City "A Little History Lesson"
Fog City is city on the island of Pacarna known for its bluish five-days-a-week fog, to those who even know it exists. It was founded in the 19th century by a retired fisherman who named the new establishment after himself, Port Perrick. The nickname "Fog City" was popularized in the late-40's and early-50's by the influx of immigrants. Sometime in the 60's the city was officially renamed Fog City and the Fog City welcome sign was put up in the harbor. The sign, commissioned by the Mayor Peter Perrick, the great great grandson of the city's founder, became the butt of many jokes, most obviously because it couldn't be seen in the fog because of the fog and the color of the sign. No successful attempts have been made to remove the sign though. The Isle of Pacarna is by far the largest island in an archipelago of seven. Most of the people here can't tell you which country we belong to since Pacarna isn't a country unto itself, and frankly, barely anyone cares. The island was retroactively renamed to the language of the neighboring Dekas tribes in the islands not too far from here, even though the Dekas did not know this island existed until 1925, when traders from Port Perrick were looking to expand beyond the other establishments scattered throughout the archipelago. To the north was Nord d'Brouillard, founded in 1906, and to the east was Sans Nebula, founded in 1951, often mistaken for the cafe restaurant Sands of Neblina. I doubt the founder of Nord d'Brouillard actually knew French. San Francisco's got nothing on us. Literally. Neither does Newfoundland.
The sign, commissioned by the Mayor Peter Perrick, the great great grandson of the city's founder, became the butt of many jokes, most obviously because it couldn't be seen in the fog because of the fog and the color of the sign. No successful attempts have been made to remove the sign though.
I'm trying to come up with a clever reply but my brain seems to be stupefied by the fact that I'll have to deal with bureaucracy in a week or two when they get back after the holidays. And circumstance prevents me from doing anything else since it's impossible to pay for a fee that's already been paid for. I wouldn't mind if it was circular.
Three Cowboys
The round had been judged. The Space Cowboy could hitch a ride back to Armor Game City. He could return to the Star Straddler and relax under familiar settings. The artists weren't so bad; they were more cranky than anything else. He still never wanted to return to this place though. He walked toward the main doors but Stallion Man beckoned to him. "The Bullman is waiting for you outside," Stallion Man said. "Has your... craft, too. Out behind the copse in the back." "Copse?" "Don't ask. This is the Imaginarium," Stallion Man said as he left the Space Cowboy. The Space Cowboy walked around the guild and before him was a copse that was not there when he a few days ago. He walked around it to find the Star Straddler standing on all fours and covered in a layer of snow. A moment later, the Bullman exited the craft. "We have a problem," the Bullman said as the Space Cowboy approached. Before the Space Cowboy could answer, a leg of the Star Straddler sunk into the snow beneath it and it fell and crushed him into the snow behind the artist guild of Armor Games.
