To recap:
(1) Molly flicked the bottle cap from her fingers, sending it spinning through the thick night air to splink against the half-opened window above. She kicked through the trash blowing around her black-booted feet while she stared up at the back of decrepit tenement building, running her fingers mindlessly through her rough cut black hair. No amount of grooming would ever make her style fashionable, but neither would anyone consider it unsightly; it was perfectly nondescript, the result of years of careful cultivation. Like most of her social quirks, most of Molly was designed to be obscure; to be seen without being noticed.
(2) She glanced up and down the empty street. Being out at this time had never bothered her, but the embrace of the darkness could be rough to the nerves, especially tonight. Molly itched to look back up at the window, but she didn't think she would answer now. Not tonight. Not ever again.
(3) She was a little nervous now. Her contact was late. Usually, he was never late. She... With a great explosion of cursing, I violently cast my pen to the tabletop, splattering ink all over the pristine white pages of my manuscript. I can't imitate Krellin, I say to myself in despair. It's a literary impossibility! Disheartened, I pull myself out of the rickety chair and head downstairs from my room in the inn. I need a drink.
(4) The Molly-mask lay on the floor, crushed under the floor of TBroadley. The perfect print of his slave-produced Nike shoes were imprinted across Molly's rubber face.
On a bed, Krellin lay in a drug-induced haze, his Molly-dress disheveled.
TBroadley knew that 1brucman would be sad....and yet, he looked at the anal-probe lying on Krellin's night stand and knew that, like it or not, it was best that 1bruc never knew the pain/pleasure of such a device....on designed to tap directly into his brain matter....
(5) TBroadley rose, awash with emotions of despair, anger, and vomit. A few moments later, it was mostly the first two.
TBroadley knew that if he didn't get to 1brucben fast, the whole forum might start listening to him...
"Can ANYONE defend 1brucben's views?" He mumbled to himself.
With a laugh, he added.
"Besides 1brucben, of course."
(6) Realizing that her anti-psychotic medication was starting to wear off Molly pulled herself together and recited her affirmations: "I am not a character in a story, there is no such person as Krellin, and I am not jealous of his writing style." She took her pills and and slowly returned to reality. Her date would be arriving soon, and she was determined that tonight would not end in a tragic disaster the way it had so many times before.
)
Are no-hitters not a big deal anymore?
)
)
)
)