The day moves quickly. The infernal sun beats down on you baking your brain inside your skull. A sandstorm blows in during the early afternoon, breaking the heat, but scouring your face with biting sand. Tension runs high, nerves are frayed.
"Hey, who is the new guy?"
"There is a new guy? He must be the infidel we should lynch him!"
"You really think?"
"Nah but we lynch all new guys as a matter of principle, besides he didn't even know the meaning of OMGUS he's a real joker..."
"Yes, a regular Jester he is...."
"Wait, who said Jester..."
A chorus of voices join in all at once, quite hard to make out.
"There's a Jester....there's not a Jester...there's always a Jester...but but they have to tell us there is a Jester...no they don't...yes they do...at least there isn't a faceless man....there is a faceless man!?!"
The scene degenerates into open brawling in the street. You quickly tire of slap fighting each other in the middle of a sandstorm and pick yourselves up from the sandy street. It's pointless to try and dust off as sand is everywhere...and it chaffs. One of your numbers doesn't rise from the street, in fact he's not moving at all.
XXXXXX is dead. He was XXXXXX.
This post has been edited by Path-Shaper: 02 July 2009 - 12:35 AM
Only someone with this much power could make this many frittatas without breaking any eggs.