Forums → Art, Music, and Writing → The Way of Moderation has ended (page 566)

Currently mine is spent doing overtime and paperwork. I hate working from home, but if I don't, I won't be able to do the work I have to do for hospital, in hospital.

Either way, public holidays (that I get off) seem like the only time I can actually get stuck into this anymore. But on that note, since today is a public holiday, I'm getting stuck into it again!

My god horse noses really distort perspective.

The Stone Cold Truth

"Strop!" Klaus said, somewhat more subdued, almost confused. "Where's my public execution?"

"You're not getting one," Strop said, unmoving.

"And why not!?" Klaus stood up indignantly. "You lock me up here for years without pressing any formal charges, and deny me the right to a fair trial because you think I'm a terrorist, and then to top it all off I'm not getting publicly executed? What kind of country does that!?"

"It's been two days," Strop said evenly.

"Well excuse me for not knowing the difference when there's no sunlight down here!" Klaus pouted. "And what's more, if you're not going to publicly execute me, then are you gonna let me go?" His ears perked up at this thought, and he put his best innocent face on.

Strop was unaffected. "No. We're just going to get rid of you quietly. Nobody needs to make a bigger fuss than we've already made. And now we're going to move on."

Unexpected, Klaus laughed. A deep belly laugh that seemed fitting for only one with as much gut as he posessed. "You guys are so full of ****. All this time, I kept telling you the same thing, about the same problems, and how to fix them, and you wouldn't listen. And then you do all these things and have you fixed the problem? No, you haven't! And instead of finally listening to me like you should have in the first place, you decide to sweep the matter under the rug and 'move on'. Yeah, move on to what? Do you think the administration really gives a rat's *** about this place? Did you see what it took for them to even take notice and poke their heads in and spread a little lightning and thunder around? What do you think it'll take for them to actually make changes?"

Ordinarily Strop would have bristled at this, and they would have launched into a long argument. But they were in a dark and damp prison cell, Klaus was supposed to be getting banned, Strop was supposed to be getting to the hospital and he really couldn't be bothered at this point. So he settled for rubbing his face in mild exasperation. "Having said all that, if you're going to blame everyone and everything else, do you think you would have made any kind of difference yourself?"

"Of course, but you never gave me a chance!" Klaus retorted. "And now I hear you're retiring. What's up with that huh? Don't you care anymore? Or is this another admission that I'm right, because I am?"

At this, Strop visibly stiffened. In the first few hours after the inquest, he thought he was okay with his decision, but then again, that was just in the first few hours. Now, in the light of everything that was happening and that he had to think about, he kinda just didn't want to think about anything at all. Maybe Klaus was right, he didn't have enough in him to care. He wasn't like some kind of manga character which had an infinite supply of moxie. Or maybe he was just still tired from the crazy events of the last week, or maybe year. "I'm retiring because I have to move on. I have other responsibilities and commitments starting up and it would be irresponsible to hold so many commitments that I couldn't perform any of them. And yes, this means I consider my upcoming commitments to be more important. That's just a fact of life that I knew I was going to have to accept. Others have accepted it. You should too."

Klaus' face fell. "Stroppy, my good horse, whatever happened to you? I thought we had something in common. I thought we could have been something special. Changing the world with endless determination, working for the betterment of this place, and now you're cutting and running like this just because it seems hopeless? We were such similar spirits, and how you've... you've changed."

"We weren't alike Klaus. It's true that I took up the job because I wanted to serve a greater good. But you were always more than a touch megalomaniacal."

That unnerving toothy bear grin, that made Strop think of Heath Ledger's (arugably) finest work (perhaps not least because it was also his last), was back. But instead of another joke about his scar, Klaus had something else in mind. "I don't think we weren't alike, no. Surely you enjoyed yourself just a little bit wasting a year of everybody's time holding the tournament? Putting on a grand spectacle and being the center of attention? Making big things happen just because you can? It's in all of us, Stroppy, and I think the real reason you're leaving is because you realised, too late, that you weren't immune to the pleasures of power after all. Not you, rock star ninja that you are. You and I, we were the same, only I've been honest about it this whole time."

Strop sighed. Already this visit had dragged on far longer than he wanted it to, and made him think far more than he wanted to. There was precious little that remained to be said, at least anything useful. So rather than find a suitable way to end the neverending conversation, Strop turned his back and started walking to the iron door. "Klaus, you circumvented a ban. We have to send you away again. Don't come back." He stepped through the door, and shut it behind him with a clang.

Suddenly robbed of his rhetorical complacency, Klaus panicked and rushed to the door and gripped the bars. "Strop, it's not too late! You can stop this! STROP, DON'T YOU REALISE YOU'RE JUST LIKE ME? WHERE DID YOUR VISION TO CHANGE THIS PLACE GO? I THOUGHT WE WERE FRIENDS!"

Strop was already at the spiral staircase that marked the exit from the dungeon, but he turned his head over his shoulder one last time. "We are friends Klaus. Just... not in this place!"

He knew those were the last words he would ever utter to Klaus while standing in the land of Armor Games. As far as he was concerned, the matter was over, and he hoped one day, Klaus might come to agree with him. Either way, he had other things to attend to, so he hurried out of the dungeon, and towards the open air once more.

---

So while this is a bit late, to celebrate 3 years of the WoM, I give you, uh... well I guess this is actually quite an uncomfortable scene huh?

This brought a tear to my eyes.

Holy hell, is that you Klaus?

I can confirm that was Klaus :3

Heh, you're evil Strop. Evil for following the rules to the T.

I was just being in character!

Sorry about the absence guys, I got kicked in the head.

... well actually while it is true that I did get kicked in the head, that's not the reason I was absent. The real reason is that work has been busy (as usual, and then some), so I've been working an average of 2-3 hours overtime a day, plus weekends. I will get the next bits posted sometime though. Maybe not this week, I have a grading to go to.

As for how I got kicked, well, it was supposed to be a friendly no-head-kicks bout. Let's just say a 4th dan black belt can't control their reflex when they've been kicking people in the head for years. So my head just happened to be ripe for the kicking and it got kicked. Really hard. But again true to my character, I didn't get hurt or KO. Not even a broken tooth or bruise. Did have a real crick in the neck for the rest of the day though!

wait your going to stop this thread

I can confirm that was Klaus :3

Old alt account for Klaus, no reason to believe it wasn't him making the ring go full circle.

And good to see you are not dead yet, Strops. Even if you apparently can't stop going up against people you shouldn't. Nothing new in that, though. And another grading already?

wait your going to stop this thread

really can i be in that when you two make that

really can i be in that when you two make that

This is a small scene, but like much of the denouement, it was actually quite difficult to write.

It Won't Change Anything

"You chose not to subside in the face of conflict, instead feeding off that provocation and causing the greatest destruction to this city. Even if you are not as you were then, your crimes cannot be undone. I hence sentence you to permanent banishment from this city."

Cormyn's no-nonsense tone remained rock steady throughout his oration. It was merely addressed to the accused ringleaders and flunkies of the great sacking of Armor City, and the moderators standing around them, but it was delivered on top of the execution scaffold that stood in the middle of the Atrium, in plain view of the users who had gathered to see some closure to the whole sorry episode.

The perpetrators all crouched, hands bound behind their backs, their ankles in shackles. Each wore a uniformly sullen look of aimless rebellion and resentment. But even in this situation, on the brink of declaring a final victory, the mood hung heavy around the moderators. This kind of thing, after all...

"It's unseemly," Dank muttered under his breath, scuffing his armored boot on the woodwork, and thus scoring the woodwork in the process. "Holding a ceremony like this. I preferred making them disappear."

"I guess it's symbolic," Strop remarked, similarly sotto voce. "With the new admin cleaning up this mess of old, and all that you know."

"Easy Strop, I'm starting to feel like a relic now," Her Highness the Queen Carlie half-joked, also under her breath. Strop laughed awkwardly, realising all along the truth they all didn't really want to face but had seen coming. With a population now forty times that when Strop first set hoof within the gates of the city, this was the new regime they needed, and needed to get used to. In the background, Cormyn continued:

"The system of appeals still applies, which is to say you're free to lodge them but seeing as the facts of the case have already been established, the only goal you might achieve is an understanding of why you were exiled. Do not think that this is a means by which you can attempt to regain entry to the city. Our decision has already been made and that is final."

One of the emo smart-alecs, from his crouched position, turned his head upwards and put his best tough face on.



Something was tugging at the back of Strop's head. It was something that had been tugging at his head for nearly two years now, the two years he had served as a moderator, and he remembered vividly, that it was something that he had brought up specifically to Dan and John way back then. And he figured that now was as good a time as any to bring it up.

"Uh, Carlie, don't you think we might need to consider, you know. Something little more permanent than permanent?"

Carlie shrugged: "Sorry, I don't think they're planning to change that policy."



I dunno derp

Strop sighed, "...very well." It wasn't as if he didn't know how difficult it was to implement what he was requesting. Issuing an edict that automatically denied access to persons holding passports from certain regions might block as many legitimate citizens as troublemakers, and in a world like this... well, it was all too easy to forge passports. But he didn't know what else to do, and he thought that somehow, maybe magic, magic that the admins knew, might fix it all. As unwanted as it was, he suddenly remembered his late father, architect of these kinds of grand projects people lived in, saying with unmistakeable pride, "I never failed a single job."

And in that moment, he realised that as he grew older, the role that he took on would mean leaving the roles of others to other people, losing that nebulous idealism as his skillsets became more defined. It was that nebulous idealism that allowed people the luxury of hubristic rhetoric of being able to do anything they set their mind to, and it was merely reality that set tangible limits. Thus he concluded that this was a problem that he had to entrust to those whose role it was to fix them, to trust their decisions for better or worse.

Much as he hated to admit it, then it was only a matter of whether other people understood what his job was or wasn't. Speaking of which, there was somewhere else he needed to be...

---

Stitches Are a Luxury

by Cen

Strop trotted down the white halls, his white coat whirling around his legs. There was still a lot to do in the hospital, even though most of the people there was mainly staying because the matron hadn't found them yet and kicked them out. Not because they weren't wounded, but most had seen a doctor, and their only new symptom of anything being wrong was the huge amount of whining. So, nothing physical, at least. Even considering what events they had gone through, one a small handful of users had mental issues, most of which Strop suspected had not been caused by the battle as much as them having been conveniently dropped on their head as a baby. Since there was no psychiatrists around, he had referred them to one of the hospitals in a bigger city, and had hoped they could find their way there themselves.
Even so, here he was on his ward (or rather "entire hospital&quot round, checking up on the few that was still badly enough hurt to not go home or to the many housings that had been opened up everywhere in town when the rest of the mods had figured out only Aristocrat Way had suffered enough to make the buildings more or less impossible to live in. Or enter, for that matter.
Instead, many of the top citizens of the city had been relocated in the small, shed like buildings outside the walls where newcomer's usually resided before they got a proper place to live. While the official reason seemed to be that they would be able to live there without risk from wild games, Strop suspected at least one of two of his comrades took a hidden pleasure in relocating the top citizens to such humble buildings.
He sighed and turned a corner, before something made him stop and go back. He wasn't quite aware what, before a certain voice caught his ears through a door left partially open. As he showed it open, a familiar pair of grey eyes glared back at him, still without their usual glass shield.
"Cen, what are yo-" Strop stopped short as he actually got to witness the entire scene. "Ouch."
The nurse looked up from the gash to look at Strop for a moment. "Can I help you?"

"Oh." Strop tore his gaze away and focused on the nurse. "No. I... Was just..." He gestured, "Passing by, and..." And gestured some more, "... So, what is going on here?" At least he landed on his metaphorical feet.
"I was just finishing these stitches." She spoke matter-of-factly, her hands still holding the needle.
Okay, perhaps it wasn't a perfect landing. "Have the patient seen a doctor?" He tried again, trying to sound as professional as possible.
"No. He refused and said he just wanted to get thee stitches, then he would be on his way." The nurse looked back at him with a frown. "The matron said it would be fine."
Strop had opened his mouth before the nurse had been done, but the mention of the matron and her decision made him close it again. Not that he was scared of the ol- ELDERLY porcupine, but he did have a way with being quite, what was the word, horrifying. And especially not someone he wanted to go against. But then again... "This patient have not been examined by a doctor at all? He might have... Other injuries. That needs checking. By a doctor. Like me."
Both the nurse and Cen, who had, until recently been staring at the door with a both empty and sharp glare, looked at him like he was stupid. Or crazy. Or quite possibly both. Strop did feel a little of both, actually, but he didn't let his mask of extreme importance slip. When the nurse didn't move, he decided for the next best action, which in this case was clearing his throat in a loud and important fashion, while continuing to look like he was the boss and should be obeyed.
"Can I at least finish this?" The nurse gestured lightly at the stitch work, while Cen seemed to continue to wonder if Strop has been dropped as a baby and then continuously kicked in the face.
"Oh. Yes. Sure." The ninja horse doctor let out a small laugh, and sat down to wait.

The nurse left the room with a slightly bemused expression, and Strop got up from his uncomfortable seat in the hospital chair. He made a note to himself about finding some funds to get some better chairs, before approaching Cen, who had gone back to staring at the door.
"So... How did you get that gash?" Strop lifted Cen shirt to look at the stitched line running across the others ribs.
"Glass table."
"Seriously?"
"Apparently having a three hundred pound throw himself and me on it was more than it was designed to withstand."
"A... Three hundred pound..." Strop shook his head in bewilderment. "What does that even mean?"
"That means that someone, with a body mass almost three times mine, threw me at a glass table that then broke. It is not that alien a thought." Cen shrugged a shoulder.
"Seriously??"
"No, I cut myself with a sword. It was the most convenient place for self mutilation." Cen gave him an annoyed side glance, before going silent and continuing to stare the door down.
"Uh, okay." Strop put the t-shirt back in place. "And... When exactly did this happen?"
"Two days ago."
"Uhuh. And where...?"
"Said man's office."
"Mhmm. I think we both would get more out of you just telling me what happened, instead of us having to go through this, Cen." Strop sat back on the chair.
"I believe I would get more out of getting a bandage on the stitches and then go home." Cen glanced at Strop for a moment.
"That doesn't sound right." Strop glanced back.
"You didn't particularly care yesterday. Just because I needed stitches doesn't change the story."
Strop turned to look at Cen with his most annoying deal-with-it-bro expression he could muster. "It is pretty pathetic to hold grudges like that."
"It is pretty stupid to hold a tournament to get new mods too, but we can't always be lucky."
"You didn't stop me."
"Sadly you kept avoiding the bear traps I put up."
They sat in silence for a bit, the sounds of the hospital somehow making its wait into the room, muffled and barely audible.
"So, what happened?" Strop spoke as the first of them, deciding to look at Cen with his most careless expression.
"I got my *** handed to me again, after fighting for the people I care for, but doesn't care for me. One should have thought I would have learned by now..."
Strop's ears twitched lightly. "But what happened?"
Cen turned his head swiftly to look at Strop, some of that burned in anger and betrayal he had seen during their - argument being quite visible again. "Sai was kidnapped by her ex. She told me, she didn't love me, and they left. Then, after the great battle of stupidity, I went to try and save her. It seemed like a moronic idea at the time, and guess what? It was. First of all because her ex could break my neck like a twig, second because Sai didn't need saving. Then she broke up with me. Then she kissed me. Then she told me to leave. And call her. And in my delusion, I went to the library to ask for a girl-to-English dictionary, and got kicked out for trolling. So, would it be too much of a bother for you to do your ****ing job and but some bandages on the stitches so I don't rip them out by accident, or do I have to get in a car accident for such luxury?"



---

Awkward Strop is awkward. Also, y u so mean Cen!?

NEXT UP: The clean up of the city finally begins!

So now we begin the cleanup of the city. It'll take a while. Lots of things have to happen, but we'll get around to that.

A user by the name of Eless suggested this track to me a long time ago, and after some discussion with Cen it seems that it might fit.

Believe

And to get you in the mood, it's time to get your gear on!