I just wrote a bunch of stuff about these two short scenes that I was pretty happy with... stuff about entropia, people leaving and all kinds of things... I wanted to share... then I tried to insert a link to a trailer at the end that, in part, inspired the 2nd scene... and this SELF CENSORED wiped everything I wrote... I won't be able to write it again... MORE SELF CENSORING Anyway.... A bar somewhere on Calypso. Its funny how time flies when youre dead. Dead, alive, dead again, then alive for a while, a bit more dead then its back to alive until the cycle repeats. Some might call it a kind of hell, or heaven depending on your perspective but at the end of the day, immortality (or near enough) boiled down to the endless pursuit of more and more ways to pass the time. Wistrel had been in the Belk Bar now for over a year, a decaying soul in a decaying dive in a forgotten city of shattered dreams. She wasnt entirely sure why she had come here. Like so much in her life, she guessed it had probably felt like a good idea at the time. She glanced over at the barman, as usual, vigorously polishing glasses that would never serve up even a drop of alcohol and mused that perhaps the fruitless task of trying to score a drink might have been what brought her there in the first place. Carson? The barman put down the glass and directed his attention to his only and somewhat permanent customer. How can I help you Wistrel? Whyd you do this? A raised eyebrow. You know, this, she exclaimed gesturing pathetically at the bar in general. Why bother? Why come here to work and, more importantly, whyd you spend all your time polishing glasses when you know damn well you havent got anything to serve in them?. Im expecting a shipment shortly, replied Carson with a wry grin, and besides, Ive got a fine selection of battery acids out back just in case any of our friends decide to join us. He watched her grin back at him; with the exception of the bit about their friends, the joke, no, the entire conversation was old beyond belief, a perverse ritual of dialog they would go through time and time again, but never failed, it seemed, to cause his resident patron amusement. Seriously though, Wistrel continued, Calypsos lost, forgotten about. Weve been abandoned by the federal government; you havent had a shipment of anything show up here in years, let alone a customer, so why do you come here? Another scene, different story. Entirely unrelated... Rain Once again it was the rain. How long had it been now? Since those days of endless sunshine? Wistrel looked across the grey and rapidly darkening sky and shivered. The rain would continue for hours she knew. It always did these days and, although she had been lucky enough to stumble upon an abandoned feffoid camp, left behind from those days when relationships between the two species were neutral, and trade at least still possible, despite keeping the majority of the rain off, it provided little more in terms of shelter and she was beginning to get cold. As another strike of sheet lightening shattered the sky she activated her portable atomic storage unit. Every colonist had one, issued on arrival it was used to store pretty much all of her belongings. Sad, my whole life in a box. Thunder rolling deafeningly across the distance signified the worst was yet to come so she extracted her predator armour (not only was it warm but it also had a decent helmet) and began to strip off. Partially inspired by: >
