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 no longer knew where he was. This was definitely not Armor Games, possibly. Part of him thought "This'll be an adventure worth talking about." The other part reached out to his long gone gun. "You again, Newbie?!" It was the Union Gander. The very goose who cooked his goose and led on the path to the very wild goose chase that led him to the rather unpopulated Farmer Games. The very goose wearing a blue Union cap atop his head and brogans on both his waddlers. It was this goose that was staring him in the face now. "What did you do to Lucy?" the Union Gander asked. Before the Space Cowboy could reply, the Union Gander seized up as he had before but instead of vanishing, he asked another question. "You're not using Firefox, are you? I hate foxes." The Space Cowboy did not respond for two reasons. Firstly, his custom Dark Horse browser, at least twice as powerful as the most powerful open source browser, was likely illegal in most parts of the Moobes. Secondly, a tall and possibly handsome man of undeniably foreboding presence had joined them. "Greetings." The man's voice was magnetic. "Welcome to my domain."
A shield rose from the brightening horizon as the Bullman walked toward where he thought the closest civilization lay. He had already disremembered earlier accounts of indiscretions but doubt enveloped his mind. He was certain that Armor Game City was much farther away. "Do you think there are dead people in there?" "No." He had never heard of anyone actually dying in Armor Games. There were often hysterical shouts of the zombie invasions but only in the Arcade and occasionally the Tavern. Everything in the Arcade was less real than a Figment's beating heart. Welcome to Armor Fame City.
The arcade... That mysterious forum that I don't know how to get to... Armor Fame? I bet it's a town full of famous people who are obsessed with armor. Or armors who are obsessed with famous people! Keep up the good work, Gantic!
Implosion wasn't beyond the means of the Bullman. Stallion Man imagined that the Bullman would wave his arms around and say something like "They were picking on a flower!" Stallion Man had been soaked by the rubber ducky on one occasion of "maliciously" tramping on grass when he strut and swaggered. He rejoined with a whap to the Bullman's head with his rubber chicken. They realized (with what was completely Bad Luck Bronco's idea) that they could not be trusted together with such weapons and instead of abandoning them in favor of their friendly rivalry (in which the Bullman was sure he was the better) they separated to different parts of Armor Games. Yet, Stallion Man found himself once again upon the familiar ever-changing landscape of the Imaginarium.
The lack of female characters is all too obvious. Perhaps it's time for an Armor Dame of charmer fame named... the lack of name names is all too obvious.
eh. Had a female character planned and an assembly of secondary characters lined up to make their debut. Must progress faster.
I've actually dropped putting "Armor Games" at the end of every "Three Cowboys" entry. And other stuff.
The Stranger
"Applesauce!" The cry sounded in the hallway once again as it had since Monday. The walls shook with the imminent crash. Nonsense. The Stranger still had the note with him. Unopen. Unread. She'll think he read it. Or not. But it was released and free of anxiety. He didn't feel compelled to look. He didn't feel compelled to read. He wanted to talk. He wanted to say something. To anyone. His laptop never held enough power to last him the weekend. The inane conversations on the other side of the door could not satisfy his need for interaction. But he had the note. Unopen. Unread. In his hand.
"O. M. G." the Bullman said. "It's Armor Fame City." The streets were empty. No people. No bodies. No sheep. No cows. No horses. No wood. No glass. No dust. No cobbles. No tumbleweed. No buildings. No streets. Just a purple blob. "It's ploppey!" It was ploppey who was at one time more popular than St--... ploppey who was once the most popular Gamer. The purple blob did not look impressive. In fact, he looked like he was asleep, with a series of plops marking his breath. The Bullman thought it would be a good idea to wake him up with a squirt of water.
In the dust there was ash. In the ash there was nothing. In nothing was his belief. If there was anything to be feared, it was nothing. one two three four three two one. The ash on his face left nothing but his bone-white beak and his blood-red neck showing above his black cloak. His eyes were darker than the ink of his feathers and they reflected the thoughts. He kicked the dust and lifted off. As certain as his shadow upon the ground, someone was going to die.
Interesting how something progresses when there are several possible endings leading to the same conclusion.
Fog City
I don't know how I sleep but sometimes I do. I used to stay awake reading until my eyes were too tired to stay open. That was the only time I would get a good night's sleep. Now, there was nothing to do after the sun set but to watch the stars and talk of nothing. That was the best time spent. Lena said the ability to dance at any moment in one's life is the greatest freedom. I disagree. The want of nothing is. The ability to do anything and not want to do it. Like sleep. I don't sleep until I... Maybe Lena was right. I don't want to dance. I wonder if I will wake up tomorrow with guano on my face.
There's "serious deep stuff", "serious deep stuff that's been done a bajillion times so that it looks stupid", "stuff that's thought to be serious deep stuff because it's incomprehensible to the 'small-minded' when it's really incomprehensible nonsense", and then there's "utter nonsense" like how I stick my commas outside and maybe inside depending on the occasion. Nonsense:
Birds of a Feather
On frail wings and an even frailer heart he flew onward to a place just beyond conscious thought where memories lingered and waited to be forgotten. The moon was his lantern but the bird was his guide, the bird that should not have been moved, but someone had found it. The herald had already found the thief. The undertaker descended upon the body of the Bullman. He tried to move the body and died. He collapse over the underestimated weight of the Bullman. The Bullman woke with a pair of pale knobby knees in his face. He stood and looked over the body. The pale white legs disappeared into a pitch blackness. "I think he's dead," the Bullman said. "Seriously?" "Seriously." "Are you sure?" "Yes." the Bullman said, after checking for a pulse on the grotesque bird. "Are you sure you're sure?" "Yes." "Darn." "What?" "Nothing."
You'd think he'd be happy, but he isn't for some reason.
Three Cowboys
"You are the two who will join me? As dinner," the man said, "is quite lonely out here. There hasn't been a soul in many, many years. Come. Follow. I have a feast planned." The man pushed his way between the sheep before a cry came out from behind the Space Cowboy the the goose. "Hahaha! You canid out-fox me that easily, Rainheart!" It was another tall, possibly handsome man but of noble appearance. Rainheart bared his fangs. "I see you still have that silly habit," the newcomer said. "Tics I forbid. I see no baby chickens again." "Silly rabbit," Rainheart replied. "Chicks are for kits." "Kits you nay." "You think this is bad," the goose said to the Space Cowboy, "just wait 'til you get to Armor Lame City."
I don't promise not to do it again because I've done it before. It took a lot of will not to insert "You saw geese here." Also because I thought of it after the fact. There should be a punning contest. Seriously.
The Stranger
The air outside was more breathable to the Stranger. Was he inspired to move? It was thrilling to push, to force oneself out of oneself if only into another rut. In the darkest corners of the dimly lit rooms of his mind, he knew, or he felt that he knew that it all didn't matter. His laptop had shown him that he existed only in those brief moments someone thought about him. His consciousness was not that of his own but that of the one who had thought of him, the one who was thinking of him the very moment this thought entered into his mind. He had a past. He just hadn't lived it yet.[/i] The Stranger had once read before sometime ago that the worst thing anyone could do to you is not talk about you and the people who push you the hardest are the ones who believe in you the most. When people stop, you cease to matter. Avoid people only compounded the issue. But there was still something holding him back though. Perhaps it was guilt. Perhaps it was the sense of loss of something. Perhaps it was the rubber chicken sword resting on his should in the hands of a Tobiano.
