mordicai caeli (mordicai) wrote,
mordicai caeli
mordicai

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goliath, patron saint of giants.

there came from all the walls a sound of voices, which calling out to the cloaked figure set upon the throne said "who are you, you who live within me?" at the grinding, creaking voice of the house, the form upon that exalted chair stirred, & looked up, & lo! upon his brow was set a circlet of adamant, & it glim'ed in the shadows of his hood, but he spoke not. at this sight, the arrogence of the house was quenched, & he said more solemnly "sieur, if i may but beg of you some small token, one simple answered question? if i may be so vain as to think my shelter might please you to reply to my ignorance?" but the crown'ed creature spoke not, & rose, & fetching forth from within the coal-dark depths of his robe a key in his fist, strode to the door, & pierced it there, impaling it upon the knife-blade of the key. & as thought this was not enough, he twisted the (key) in the wound. "oh, oh fucking hell, oh god, you fucking killed me," said the walls, as the door opened & all the dark strode in.

the moral of the story is, don't fuck with me.

the apartment is, through the scientific application of philosophical principals by miss pravda, slowly becoming a livable environment once again. she used the fucking power drill & everything! fresh shower curtains, places to put bathroom supplies, all the dishes done, everything you might want from your home. everything except fucking condoms. talk about the burden of the great prince mordicai! the saddest drawer in the whole apartment is the one next to the bed where such things are kept. but oh let me not colour last night in such dour shades. there was the season premier of gilmore girls, & wine, rejoicing; songs, dancing, & wenches. & the creeping osmosis of music from storage medium to a more accessable digital format. so ducks are begining to line up upon a row.

sunday my dungeons & dragons game (called more appropriatly "mazes & mordicai," christened so by my players, & a moinker i'm happy to apply) went successfully. a new chapter has dawned, & with it comes a new player, james, & his enormous, big as an ox blaine dreadnaught, garrick blaine. since the closing of the sad case of cloe niven blaine came the day before all-saints (the mid-season feast day of autumn), the session began with that celebration, & the parade celebrating the legendary return of saint parcifal questor. there they recieved corrospondance from kawkabel kettle's friend josef, delivered by the hypparch gunther navidson (& his might destriar). also upon the road to dolebury, they did meet the incredible doctor tophet, who performed his leech-craft upon atahwa itsle, & did show them all many wonders within his doll's house. then, tragedy, of enormous caliber. the thing within the well, that gruesome get of old scratch, stirred, & killed all within dolebury. alone among the survivors were garrick, atahwa, & balphus; cassius stewart & honey rendelson; & those three souls that our party of adventurers were able to save: walther & siobhan hickotson, & aemelia the mushroom gatherer. the dark thing, whose dimensions are not known but which drank light & feared it too, was driven away to its secret place by them; they lit alight the roof of the home it cornored them in, & waited with many stolen lamps until the sun came up. so ended the first day.

also, on friday i saw the cave with iphisol. it was a very sucky, sucky movie. i had hoped it would be a good example of the bad horror movie genre. what with its premise of taking place in an underwater cavern, how could you go wrong? with lots of jump cuts, it turns out. with lots of jump cuts & an almost conscious decision to never have any action take place in any place less cramped than a sound stage. or less dark than a sound stage, for that matter. a fucking black mark upon cinema. afterwords, she split & i went to go see andrew's band guns on high street play at the continental. i had fun, drank a little more than i ought to have, & apparently carla tattled on me? whatever. got home just fine, thank you very much. actually, which i did imbibe a few drinks more than i set out to, i wasn't even that plastered. a line to the black, to the right of drunk rather to the left, but it wasn't like i was a huge mess. or like i was drinking alone. but oh what diabolic intellegence is there to judge these things? none, there is none, not since the bacchae fell to ruin.
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