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We-eeeell what do we have here, some sort of insane vigilante come to take the well from me? HOLOGRAM? Some kind of undercover bobbie? IS THAT WHAT YOU ARE! I knew it, I knew it get away from me! Those spoons aren't mind don't look at me!
Shut up!
Ohhhh come on then, come on, p-p-p-pow! Ahl punchu so hawrd yo chilln'll come out BRUISED!
Name: Aligatorius
Short: Ali
Age: 34
D.O.B.: 10th Nov. '75
Height: 5'6
Weight: 112lbs
Hair: Natural colour has been completely forgotten due to constant dyeing/ripping out.
Eyes: Irises are believed non-existant.. But perhaps once red.
Occupation: Occasional begging, constant scrounging.
Notable markings: Covered in hideous moles and sores, missing her left thumbnail, holes throughout membranes of wings and ears.
Characteristic items: Lucky cybunny's paw, goggles, plug tied into hair, seagull feather also in hair, fishnets, army boots (stomp stomp stomp!), transient riots badge.
So what? You're not Police? 'Cos I've been squatting here
perfectly legally for the past three months and you
know you can't do anything about it mate! What? Definitely not? Well whatevs, sit down, pull up a, er... Mattress... Would you like a drink? I know it's early but come on. Here have a brandy. That's the stufffffffff
Where did I put that thing... The... Thing...
Oh here it is, excellent. Have you got a lighter? Thanks.
...
Soooooooooo... Come to visit me have weeee.. Holy moley. Excellent I love it when people take an interest in me! It makes me so happy, you know? When you just feel like the world is on your side. There was this one time when I was fishing, and I was thinking about Plato, y'know? His eulogy on how... This man in a cave, and he roped up to the wall. Or wait, was he chained facing the wall...? I think there were a few of them, and some fire... Were they on fire.. I can' remember. Anyway what was I saying? Oh yeah and the fish was sitting there staring at me so hard I thought I
was a fish for a while. Hehe, that was a crazy boat trip. We saw an oarfish I swear we did. OH- GOD. Did you see that! The biggest spider just went past the window! Did you see that! It was huge! I've seen them before but it's daylight so I didn't think they'd come around...
Quick get off the mattress, we have to fortify the room or, I SAID GET OFF THE MATTRESS GO OVER THERE GOSH back to the wall! Don't get in a corner! Where's that lighter? Oh it's in my hand, here pass us the brandy.
MM that's the ticket. Here's to you, spiders.
Right it's a bit of a waste but we have to keep them back. STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT I KNOW WHAT I'M DOING WHY DO YOU ALWAYS HAVE TO BE SO JUDGEMENTAL! AHH! That caught faster than I anticipated, hehe. Heh heh, heaa, haahaha, haahaahahaaaa...
Help me take it to the window, OUCH GOSH, oh the fire's hot, maybe we'll just leave it there... Oh the ceiling, quick! STOP DROP AND ROLL! THE CEILINGS ON FIRE! MOVE IT'S GOING TO COME DOWN ON YOUR HEAD! AAAAAGH HEEEELP, HEEEEEEEEELP! HEEEELP MY LEG, IT'S TRAPPED!
You watch on in fear as the skeith rolls on the floor, trying to put out the imaginary fire, bottle of brandy in hand, sloshing it everywhere. Glancing at the lighter in your hand, you wonder if she honestly thought she had set the mattress on fire or if this was some bizarre display. What on earth possessed this sort of behavior, and then you catch a whiff of it. That scent that brings tears to the eyes of some and birds singing round the heads of others... The mystical choking smell of laundry detergent and lighter fluid. And then you understand.
Ice ice baby!
Yaba dabba doo
Nope not much going on, I found this nice hovel to squat in - someone said someone got murdered in it so no one comes near it generally - and because the fire is
indoors no one can report it yeaaa! And you know that two pence you drop on the streets? Yeah I pick all those up and man o man I live for weeks on it, you guys are wasteful
anyway ice ice baby deeeeeee... square cut or pear shaped, diamonds are a girls best friend.
The riots were the worst part of that phase, everyone was smoked up to their eyeballs and no one knew what they were fighting for. All that we knew was that they were coming at us from all directions and pack instinct whispered that bloodstained word in our collective ear:
fight.
We fought until bone showed through our knuckles and we fought until we standing upon what felt like a blood-soaked mattress of crunching matter. Eyeballs and teeth were everywhere, next to your face and under your knees, I fell once and felt like hell itself was trying to yank me into the ground. But you know, we all knew exactly what we were doing - we were fighting. That clarity was so crystal clear that we kept doing it and kept doing it for days. The transient riots... After we had all collapsed from exhaustion or snuck into some dank dark place somewhere in the city they brought in the diggers. Enormous trucks, piling this red and black goop into skips. It took them a whole month to wash down that street. That's how bad the riots were. No one goes to that part of the city anymore.
A journalist had been watching while we had been fighting, sitting at the top of a building surrounded by strippers like some perverted, bald angel of death and fury, typing live around the city. Crowds gathered in the civilised areas, stopped their squealing, halting their copulation and stood, sat and flew up to stare at the digi-boards, watching the text scroll. " If anyone in this city gave two tugs of a dead dog about Truth, this wouldn't be happening. I wouldn't be seeing a Transient woman with blood on her face huddled in a doorway clutching her belly. I wouldn't be looking down at a dead boy, thirteen if he's a day, draped over the hood of a police wagon. I wouldn't be surrounded up here by the people who have to live and work here, weeping openly. Enjoying this? Good. You earned it with your silence." It shocked the entire city. The police were called back. The wounded were left to bleed to death, the braindead left hapless, the mangled fetishists strewn.
I saw the way the police ran when they got the word that they were being watched. I saw that angel sitting on the brink of destruction, typing up what he saw and then hurling himself whole-heartedly into the scrap. What a guy.
Those were the riots and the start of change. We all kept fighting, demons of our own, a huge battle unleashed on the city, bloody and furious. Headed by the Journalist.
I took my leave at the start of those times and stayed in the riot zone, although it was no longer physically dripping with blood, the damned spots wouldn't wash from the pavement. But I liked it, sitting and thinking, trying to remember whether it was a fight with fists and blood and teeth and hair flying everywhere or just another battle I had witnessed unfolding in my head. Things get so mixed up occasionally, when everything calms down you don't realise you're on solid concrete this time. I floated around picking fights, making friends, losing friends to fights, physical and mental. There's a whole outfit of us, you know. And you know what - there are even a couple of transients. Heh heh he ha haahaha.
The police had a good old stomp and then went home for cookies and milk, and the transients eeked their way back to the street where they belonged. Police grabbing their crotches as they remembered that fight and retelling stories about the child, the mother, the blood soaked riot-suits. They thought they had won. In a way they had but we still squatted in burrows up and down that street, red eyed and glaring, waiting for a police van to show up and craving the day we could look them in the eye as we stomped them.
Its not about revenge, more the tale of us living in a blood-mist. How can you ever clean yourself when you watch a dog eating the remains of what looks like a baby's leg? A remnant of the diggers, something they missed.
The barricades are still up, although rusty and dripping oil. That pile of cars that stretches into the sky, no one could scale that. (They did.) We haven't moved them, none of us strong enough yet. Our limbs are weak and deformed, our minds are equally twisted and stretched, pieces of them strewn down the street. Mine was so thoroughly spread down the road I will never piece it back together. But I sit on that rusting monument and scratch the bloodstains off my skin - they won't wash off.
This is Mads. She's eating cheerios
in this picture and commenting on how good they are cos she does stuff like that. She comes to see me quite often but usually looks a bit scared, sometimes I think she's a bear because of her stupid dressing gown so the fear is mutual. and she's insane, a lot like WB, constant mood swings and stuff like that. confusing girl.
Aulkin the grumpy, grumpy Scot, look at his baby face awwww. he can do some freaky stuff though idk like turn into a FLESH EATING MONSTER. freak. Anyway I spoke to him once and couldn't understand him I mean seriously, the guy sounds like this: hrrunnn nurrnn hurnnr rnrnnrnfnfnnn ghnrrr ggrr GRKKRRRNRRGKGkk fbrrrnnn. What a stupid language.
MAN I WANNA PUNCH HER PRETTY FACE SO HARD GRRERRRRRRR. once I spoke to Honey and was all "oh you could use some concealer" and "your hair goes wonderfully with your sallow eyes". she's just so swooshy and stupid, i swear all the girl has between her ears is some moth balls and sawdust.
"you should be more like me," she said, "boys like me.
Oh now this guy is decent, best one of the bunch. WB showed me how to fatten up earwigs enough so they become inches big and then you can fight them, and how if you don't brush your teeth for a couple of weeks then the bitey things don't come near you. He brings me my... Supplies occasionally too, yeah he's sound. I don't know what he does for a living although I have a good idea, he can be quite moody sometimes.
I've never seen this broad but apparently she's not much fun to be around. Honey keeps raving about how Yearsha could be a modeling superstar but all she does is whine and smell of mould. WB says he tried to sell her some antidepressants once and she threw a silver tea chest at him, how cool is that. He said it was the most expensive abuse he'd ever had and tells everyone about it.
NOOO EVIDENCE OF ANTICS WHAT GET THEM OFF no no no no no! *stomp stomp*
Smokes you gottem? |
By Aspen | a really bad ref sheet
VROOM-BOOM!! adoptables!
neomail me for a custom, trades are open!
Erovie
Look little mes! Aren't they weird! ISN'T DAT VEEEEEERD!
Crystal Award
For people I like. The crystal award symbolises clarity of petpage and truth of life. Only the truly great get this. Oh and the people who have moneyyyyzzzzz
Winners:
Aspen's RatNeomail me to apply and GOOD LUCK YOU'LL NEED IT
LOOK I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF YOU GET OUT OUT OUT OUT OUT here comes jazzy j shooooooooo cops! *dives under a rubbish bin*
