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II

Last posted May 04, 2011 at 09:02PM EDT. Added Apr 13, 2011 at 10:56PM EDT
21 posts from 13 users

…And that was many years ago.

I’ve often spent my nights waking up in a cold sweat. Thinking of my glory days, so to speak. I lay in bed sometimes, absorbing the thin line of smoke seeping from an ashtray beside me. I like think to myself, “Is this what satisfaction feels like?” I shouldn’t know, really. I’m just a surgical intern from Deadpool who got lucky one day. Really, really, lucky. They tell me I’m a national hero. That no one’s as high up as me.
But it gets lonely at the top.
I have my friends, but they’ve always seemed somewhere else.
Griff moved from Featured years ago, but we still mail each other sometimes.
Blubber’s god-know’s-where right now, probably plundering a small coastal town in his retirement.
Silly old hippo, I always called him.
Now I just wish I had spent that time really getting to know him, and those around me.
I feel cold.
And sick.
The room I sit in is furnished with velvet and silk, and a fireplace on the wall in front of me warms me more often than I could need. But I don’t need that. I look out my window and through the clouds, I see what I once had. Skank-No, not Skank anymore. Now he’s Mister Streetlight.
Mr.Streetlight now has a wife, with poofy black hair and thick glasses. I think I can see them sitting in a park, feeding doves. Something I used to do when I wasn’t so old. Jostin’s the only one still with me, living next door. Sometimes we go out to bars and sing together, and that’s one of the few times I’m capable of smiling.
“How good it must feel to be enjoying the fruits of old age, living better than King Dubs did.”
But I don’t.
I have all the money I could ever need, and a house- nay, a tower of hedonism I lounge about in.
I haven’t a fear or problem in the world, and that in and of itself gives me one.
The sky is gray today, and the thick layer of condensation won’t let me see a thing out of my window. Or, rather, a one way mirror that covers all of a wall, and lets me peer down the city. I never really liked how I was expected to be a national hero.
How did I accomplish that again? I can only remember all of it while I’m resting at my age. I remember Genius. He’s dead now…Can’t feud with ‘im any more. I fought him, and then I somehow lost and ended up here. And the crowds cheering, the announcements on tv…Better times. Back when King Dubs was a ruler, and not an unimportant figure in history books.
Sometimes I wish I could undo all of that.
Sometimes I wish someone would try to kill me, just so I can relive some of my youth.
But the bodyguards I’ve noticed at each corner on every block I find myself wouldn’t allow that.
So instead, I’ve come to a different approach.
I won’t relive it.
Ol’ Watcher says he has an invention in his basement that might help me.
Looking over the silver little bolts on my arm, the scars left of my adventure, I’ll take any option to simple be alive again.
No.
Just to simply…Be.

Last edited Apr 13, 2011 at 11:10PM EDT
Apr 13, 2011 at 10:56PM EDT
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TRISTAN IS BACK!

LET’S CELEBRATE WITH ANIME ARTWORK OF HIM!

&troll;

Well, nice work, and it’s cool that you’re writing again.

Here’s an image for you.

Apr 13, 2011 at 11:15PM EDT
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Holy shit. That was so beautiful…..sniff sniff

Last edited Apr 14, 2011 at 06:49AM EDT
Apr 14, 2011 at 06:48AM EDT
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Aha! Another literate post from the ever awesome, Tristan. Glad to see you picking up on the story-telling again, my good man. The nostalgia does wonders.

Apr 15, 2011 at 12:09AM EDT
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TRISTAN

Apr 15, 2011 at 04:46AM EDT

Watcher was…My guy.
He was everybody’s guy, rather.
He lived in the basement of some seedy apartment building in Deadpool. He stayed there partly because the half-blind landlady thought he was a dog, and partly because he could live there undisturbed. He was a supercharged IT guy, so to speak. A five foot four anthropomorphic wolf, who spent most of his time on online forums, or tearing apart engines. Half of his time was spent being a sterotypical manchild, playing games and and typing away on chatrooms. The other half, he ripped inventions apart and all in all, put them back together with others. He was fond of things like sattelites and ray guns turned into death-rays, and fountains and kerosene becoming artistic flamethrowers.
Watcher was nucking futs, in short.

In my disguise, consisting of an old Tails costume, I could slink about in his furry neighborhood. I strolled past a few Plussian shops run by Batbuskas, with no more than a slight eyeball my way. His apartment building was called “The sticky paw”.
I decided I shouldn’t ask why.
Going to the basement, the staircases door’s opening hit me with a smell.
I knew what it was. It was Watcher’s distinctive smell.
That smell. A kind of smelly smell. The smelly smell that smells… smelly.
It was a foul mixture of plastic, gas and Cheez-Bits.
It was his nerd-scent.

Apr 16, 2011 at 12:18PM EDT
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His apartment door read " F. Watcher Wolf"
I called him earlier, so he’d be expecting me, with an unlocked door.
The smell only got stronger as I walked in, with an eerie blue light flickering from the ceiling. The light itself illuminated the dust that flew around in the air, like little black specks. To someone that had never been there, I suppose the dirt in his air looked like flys. The blue light was barely enough to illuminate his crowded apartment, making what little, somehow tinted light he had, give the appearance of some strange rave. The shelves covering most of the walls were filled with assorted tidbits and clutter, overflowing with plastic dolls of Japanese schoolgirls, wrapped up vidya game posters, half eaten sandwiches, and things of the like. He was at a computer in the corner that faced away from the door, and towards the walls. As I walked in he gave a brief “Hm.”
He wasn’t a very verbal guy, who usually showed enough emotion to just remind people he wasn’t a robot.
Which he was sort of close to, actually.
He swiveled around in his chair, and nodded to me, eating a box of cereal.
“Long time, hm.”
I nodded, and tried not to look him in his glassed over eye. It was uncomfortable being there.
“You said, hm…You said you didn’t like how things were going.”
I nodded again, trying to appear as calm as I could.
“I gotta thing you might wanna check out then, hm?”
His strange verbal tick only made the situation stranger, but I followed him as he walked across the room to another door I hadn’t even seen, covered with a cardboard cut-out of some character. He brushed the cut-out aside, and slowly opened the door, and walked in.
Even his walk was off-putting. Putting his weight on his tip-toes and raising his knees far too high to be natural, and letting his feet slide down to the floor.
The room was nearly as strange. Machines that looked like they should be used to either fax or kill, tubes and beakers lying about, and one…Thing, in the corner.
It was a huge, hollow, glass cylinder, about my size.
And it was glowing.

Apr 17, 2011 at 11:46AM EDT
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It had metal rings around it, attaching it to the wall. It gave off the same blue light as I had seen earlier, But much brighter. The room itself was filled with it, in fact, in a pulsating manner. It took me a few moments for my eyes to adjust, but the machine had a…A pulse.
“Custom fit just for you.”
I didn’t look to Watcher again, I was busy looking at…It.
It seemed to be filled with fog, swirling about in the light, a dull, pale color. But it had other colors within it as well. Very faint reds, greens, yellows and purples. Too light to make out clearly. The best way to describe it would be…Like a liquified Opal.
" ‘Ts a time machine…But not really, hm."
I looked at him with a cocked brow, a skill I learned from emulating Blubber in my youth.
“It’ll take you back, but change, hm, things before the date you go to."
I wasn’t understanding it any better.
“Well, for example, you were born poor. Because your grandad put stock on a failed brand. Affected your parents and you, hm…Basically, this changes events way back in the past to alter what happened in the recent past, where it also takes you.”
“…Oh.”
He pulled out a briefcase, which I in turn, filled with money stuffed in my discarded costume I brought along. It was part of the deal, after all.
“Can I ever come back?”
“Yes…The machine’ll be put in a random place, where It’ll stay, hm. Ever wanna come back, just hop back in, hm.”
It gave off a very high pitched, quiet hum. It was…Somehow, relaxing.
“Also, you’ll need an avatar.”
He pulled out a trunk, filled with avatar’s from his old comics.
“That orc thing’ll just get tested on, hm, after all.”
I looked through them all, Until I found one I like.
A man with a face wrapped up in bandages, with a sharp suit and goggles.
Seemed decent enough, compared to the flying tentacle beasts.
And so I stepped into the machine, with no knowledge of where I would go. Anything seemed better than nowhere, really.
The humming sound got louder, and the mist obscured my vision to Watcher.
I felt like I was trapped in a seltzer bottle, covered with…Strange tingles. This lasted for only a few moments, where, upon feeling my head get lighter and breathing get harder, I promptly passed out.

Apr 18, 2011 at 09:46AM EDT
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Hello Tristan. It seems like both of us haven’t been here it a while.

Apr 19, 2011 at 07:52PM EDT
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I don’t know what this is… but it’s amazing.

Apr 22, 2011 at 05:30PM EDT
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Waking up was strange, to say the least.
Part of it was standing up, that was pretty strange.
The other part, of course, was materializing into a solid object. I found myself, once I had stepped out of the machine, in an alley. To my sides were dirty walls, on of which held a couple making out.
Classy.
Behind me were trashcans and crates, which I promptly hid the surprisingly lightweight machine behind. Oh, but what was in front of me was quite the sight. Huge neon lights, flashing signs, and animated voices. In an area with such high light pollution, I wondered how I could see the stars so vividly…They were different. They were yellow.
For once, after seeing countless priceless sculptures of featured, I finally found something beautiful.
The stars I couldn’t see in Deadpool, and wasn’t allowed to in featured.
It took me a few moments to recognize why I couldn’t read any of the signs. They were in Kanji.
Either way, I decided that I would stay in this new reality for as long as I wanted. After all, this reality wasn’t too bad.
I wasn’t a figurehead, and I wasn’t nobody. I looked like a regular guy.
Stepping out into the street, I didn’t have much trouble adjusting to the light with my goggles.
Zey did do something, at least.
So I stood there, standing, at taking in my surroundings.
“Wow…” I thought to myself.
“I wonder who must’ve b-” I was cut off in my train of thought by a slam to my side, throwing me to the floor.
“Yeah? Well you should’ve changed that policy, you little polyp!”
I looked up. There was a man, screaming at some bouncer. Not a man, per se, but a…Thing.
He was definitely masculine, and he was made of…Lava.
But it didn’t burn me, it just sort of swirled around him, never leaving. His eyes were made of fire, that, as far as I could see, was what he was made of.
Literally and metaphorically, if you think about it. And so I laid there, letting him…Blow off some steam.
Heh.
He turned back to me, and his expression changed.
“Oh, quite sorry about that, mate. Here you are, then.”
He grabbed me by the waist and threw me to my feet, with unusual strength. He was obviously drunk, and he seemed to be tripping. And at the same time, standing still.
“That bar’s a bitch, right?” He chuckled, and looked back to it, and then to me.
“Sorry ’bout that little fender-bender, lemee buy you a drink ta make up for it, hm?”
He dragged me to a nightclub next door, playing loud Techno. It was almost completely black, save for the pink strobe lights going off. It made the crowd’s mob of patrons look like a school of fish, shimmering in shiny patterns only someone on the outside could notice.
I’ve always felt like that.
On the outside looking in. Then again, statistics say you do too. Always noticing things.
People were everywhere, on everything. I looked up, and spotted a small group on a mezzanine, the only group not dancing.
I suppose, if I was a poet, I’d say something that sounded better than “And there was a very pretty girl.”
But hey, there was.

May 03, 2011 at 10:32PM EDT
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Skeletor-sm

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