Yoinked from the_sandwalker:

http://www.cybuscorporation.com/

Marka-registrada, baby!

In other news… alcohol is bad, and last night the zombies won.

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15 thoughts on “

  1. I’ll never forget , daisho drawn, staring down the Scorpion Clan’s finest on Horyu-Ji’s rooftop.

    I’d been sent on behalf of Lao Da of the Mad Dogs. (He owed her one, and he wanted to make certain she knew what she was getting into with Scorpion. She didn’t, but she left an impressive swath of blood in her path. I suppose that’s why she was able to help Lao Da when no one else could.)

    A few well-placed darts distracted them enough for to have her opening. I’d tipped the darts with the sacred venom the Tamul Kali cult uses for political jobs in Sri Lanka, so it wouldn’t be traced back to the Mainland, but it didn’t really matter one way or another. They would have started twitching a full twenty seconds after she had finished showing the moon and the stars what they’d eaten for dinner.

    All I got from her that time was a nod as she wiped the blood from her chin. Then again, all she got was a nod back. Such is business, after all.

  2. I remember back before the universe was fully coagulated Kitsune and I were having a conversation over her newly invented “tea.” We had been discussing the nature of the weak nuclear force and whether it would be better to do away with it and just have three universal constants, when the subject of gender came up. After about a millenia of arguing, we agreed to disagree and left gender pretty much vague and unspecified, partially to give something for the sociologists to do.

  3. I mourn, as you do, the tragedy of how it ended, but I also applaud your vengeance. Your original plan, to try and live a normal life with him as a human, would never have worked — I hope you see that now — but I believe that, had it not been for that woman, he would have been able to accept you for what you are. He was a generous, poetic soul, and he loved you dearly.

    But of course, his wife interfered, and destroyed your chance at happiness. It truly was her fault, not yours, that he killed himself. Do you believe that now? Or are you still lost in your grief? I know you still visit his grave, and cry for him sometimes. The fault was hers, though, and your vengeance was both just and appropriate. The woman drove him mad with the lies she told him, so in return you drove her mad. Your tricks, and those played by your trickster friends, made her pay for her unkindness and jealousy.

    They still tell stories about it, you know, in that mountainous province. Even the youngest child knows that if he sees a beautiful woman with eyes of turquoise-blue flame, he should treat her with respect, and no one in that entire province would dream of hurting a fox.

    And a scroll hangs in the local shrine, a painting of you kneeling over his body, your nine tails fanned out in all their glory. I should take you to see it some time, if you would be willing to go.

  4. Of all the time we’ve spent together, I think my favorite memory was when you showed me how to use a sewing machine. Such a simple thing, but something I had never learned to do. I needed to make a dress for my high school graduation, and I had seen your outfit at prom earlier that year. The rumor mill at our high school said you had made it yourself, a completely accurate replica of Queen Elizabeth’s high royal regalia. Every girl there had been jealous, and I realized that I wanted to learn to sew from *you*. We had been in an art class together the year before, so we at least kind of knew each other, but it was still one of those weird “I kind of know you but why are you talking to me?” moments when I asked for your help. I’m so glad you said yes. The dress I made wasn’t the best looking thing ever, but I loved it because I made it. Thanks for teaching me.

  5. it was a dark and stormy night. of course, everything was dark and stormy when you were around.

    maybe it was the knife in your boot, or the way you kept your tongue sharp enough to slice paper in half at fifty paces with only the tiniest hint of a quiver in the air to mark your passing. maybe it was the fact that you kept a deaf-mute as a swiss army manservant, your combination maid, butler and executioner ready to be whipped out at a moment’s notice.

    i like to think it’s the fact that, from afar, in your own way, i know you were secretly in love with me.

    but you’d probably eviscerate me for that, so instead i’ll blame it on the wine.

  6. I remember how we met. Looking back on it, if I would have known what was going to happen I would have walked the other way, but I didn’t. I was just minding my own business, looking at the fluffy zoo animals (at the LA Zoo, remember?) You came up to me and asked to borrow 50 cents, and the next thing I knew we were on a plane to Africa. (by the way…how did you do that?) Anyways, I didn’t really have a problem with trying to find the gorillas, but I still don’t understand why you kept insisting for us to act like gorillas, I didn’t like knuckle walking, and I really didn’t like eating all of those leaves. I still say that gorillas eat fruit, no matter what your silly little research says.
    It was the day that we actually found the gorillas that sticks in my mind. Maybe it was you talking to them in “gorilla talk”, or maybe it was all the gun shots from the poachers, or it could have been how god awful hot it was…Well, when I heard the first shot, I kinda forgot about you and ran as fast as I could down that mountain. Sure, I got a little lost and had to live off of gigantic earth worms for a few weeks, but I eventually got through it. I wonder if you ever escaped…I’d like to think that you’re still up there with those crazy gorillas, you seemed to enjoy that sort of thing.

  7. Yes, but you were the catalyst to the rest of us having a spontaneous good time. Also, you’re always allowed one super freakin’ drunk episode every so often. At least you didn’t nearly get sick from dancing in the rain. *grin* And ‘sides, you’re kinda funny when you’re dee-runk.

    -RC

    P.S. you owe me a braiding

  8. Relish your hangover. Embrace it. Understand it’s nature.

    And then hurl.

    As an aside, I’m still working on finding that woodcut for you for your boy that you coerced out of me while I was my cups – even the place you saw it claims it doesn’t have it. Which just means I either have to pull my “crew” togehter and get down there or provide an acceptable substitute.

    That being said, I’m still going to kill whoever told you about that particular aspect of my not-so-pristine past.

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