Originally posted by DarthAnt66I wasn't even up at nine AM my son.
My "original story" was discussing Paint. In the last post, I described why Snip and Clip was there.
Both stories show neither was "used" to make the message [b]you sent to me. [/B]
For that matter, why would I deny sending a message like that to you? mmm
I've said far worse to Nephthys personally.
Cut the shit though. For real. How did you do it?
Originally posted by NemeBro
I wasn't even up at nine AM my son.For that matter, why would I deny sending a message like that to you? mmm
I've said far worse to Nephthys personally.
Originally posted by NemeBro
Cut the shit though. For real. How did you do it?
Originally posted by NemeBro
Literally all you would need to know is the font KMC uses to falsify a message.
Originally posted by NemeBro
Why did you PM me right before posting the scan?
Originally posted by DarthAnt66
I was trying to be nice before Nephthys would hammer you down.
Neme, just a random excerpt from near the beginning that I liked that doesn't spoil any pivotal plot points. Tell me what you think.
Spoiler:
On the other side of the galaxy, the Order's most gifted apprentice reached out to tap a lightsaber with the toe of his boot. Count Dooku grimaced. The lightsaber was still attached to a hand. The hand was soot black and rimed with frost; it ended in a gory stump of frozen blood just above the wrist. Dooku was in his study, a place for reflection, and the severed hand hardly struck the contemplative note. Besides which, as hard as it had frozen in the bitter vacuum of space, it would be thawing out in a hurry now. If he wasn't careful, it would leave a stain on the tiles. Not a good thing, even though one more bloodstain on the floor of Chateau Malreaux would hardly be noticed.On the other side of Dooku's desk, Asajj Ventress hefted a bag of foil insulation.
"There wasn't much left of the ship, Master. The Force was strong, and I hit the reactor chamber with my first shot. It took me several hours to find that," she said, glancing at the frozen hand. "It occurred to me a magnetic scan might turn up the lightsaber. Funny to think he was reaching for his weapon when his ship blew up. Instinct, I suppose."
"He?"
"He, she." Asajj Ventress shrugged. "It."
When her first Master died, Asajj Ventress, scourge of the Jedi and Count Dooku's most feared associate, had tattooed her hairless head and left her girlhood behind. Her skull was striped with twelve marks, one for each of the twelve warlords she had killed after swearing their deaths. She was a dagger of a woman, slender and deadly. Even in a galaxy cluttered with hate, such a combination of speed and fury comes only once in a generation; Dooku had known that from the first moment they met. She was the rose and the thorn together; the sound of a long knife driving home; the taste of blood on one's lips.
Asajj shrugged. "I never found a head, but I did pick up a few assorted bits out of the wreckage if you want to take a look," she said, giving the foil bag a heft.
Dooku regarded her. "What a little cannibal you have become."
She said, "I become what you make me."
No easy answer to that. With an expert Force tug, Dooku brought the severed hand, still clutching its weapon, to hang in the air before him, as easily as he had drawn up Yoda's glow light all those decades earlier. Before the starfighter explosion had ripped the hand so untidily from the rest of its body, Dooku rather thought it might have been olive-skinned. The charring made it hard to tell if it was even human. The dead flesh, unconnected to any spirit, was merely matter now-no more interesting than a table leg or a wax candle, and bearing no more imprint of its owner's soul and personality.
Dooku always found this astonishing: how transitory the relationship was between one's body and oneself. The spirit is a puppeteer to make one's flesh limbs dance: but cut the spirit's strings, and nothing remains but meat and paint, cloth and bone.
A Jedi's lightsaber, now: that was something different. Each weapon was unique, built and rebuilt by its owner, made to be a pure expression of Self. Dooku ran one finger along the handle of the dead Jedi's weapon. The force of the explosion had stripped off half the casing and fused its works so it would never burn again, but the essential pattern was obvious still.
"Jang Li-Li," he murmured. To his surprise, he found he was sad.
"I make that sixteen," Ventress said. "Seventeen, it should have been, if you had allowed me to kill that spy, Maruk."
Dooku turned. Released from his attention, the gory hand and the handle it clutched dropped with a wet thump and clatter to the floor. The Count walked to the window of his study. When he was very young, Yoda had told him Vjun's tragic story, and for years he'd had it in mind as a good place to make a retreat. The planet was heavy with the dark side, which made the study of the Sith ways easier. And more practically, Vjun's catastrophe-a plague of sudden madness that carried off most of the planet's population in a year-had left a great many nicely appointed manors empty for the taking.
An old crab likes a comfortable shell, after all, and Chateau Malreaux was very comfortable indeed. The previous owner's sanity had slipped from him in sudden and spectacular fashion; except for the bloodstains, one might think the chateau had been built new expressly for Dooku's occupation. Beyond the study window it was raining, of course-the same acid drizzle that had nearly eaten through the roof before Dooku had arrived to set things in better repair. In the distance, toward the seashore, a few twisted thorn-trees raised their claws at the dolorous sky, but the real ground cover was the notorious Vjun moss: soft, sticky, venomously green, and passively carnivorous. A two-hour nap on the stuff would leave exposed skin red, welted, and oozing. Dooku watched rain run like tear tracks down his windows.
"The last time I saw Jang, she must have been... younger than you, even. A handsome young woman. The Council was sending her on her first diplomatic mission... to Sevarcos, I think it was. She came to ask my advice. She had striking eyes, very gray and steady. I remember thinking she would do well."
Ventress picked up the bloody hand and tossed it into her foil bag.
"Great are the powers of the Sith, but you're not much of a fortune-teller."
"You think not?" Dooku turned to consider the dead Jedi's murderer. "Jang lived in service, however misguided, and acted by the star of her principles, however incomplete. By that judging, how many lives are better?"
"Lots are longer, though." Ventress tied a knot in the foil bag and tossed it into the corner of the room. "If you ask me," she said, watching the bag hit with a wet thud, "that's not what winning looks like." She licked her lips.
"You have a point," he said.
Great stuff.