From: Cat-Gonk (gjaniMPERATOR@iinet.net.au)
Subject: [PW!] Brief Return
The figure lay on his back, eyes staring up into the sparkling,
glimmering cloud-like shapes of the silk cloth atop the four-poster
bed in which he was residing. Remarkable, the matress had not given
way under the weight of his incredibly heavy armour, its springs
holding up against what was otherwise an irresistable force.
[PW!] Brief Return
His feet were exposed, their armoured coverings neatly placed side-by-
side at the foot of the bed. The skin revealed was a pale white,
almost purple, to match his face. The figure's hands were equally
bared, a simply-crafted silver ring with a wave-pattern forming its
band on his skeletal, alien fingers. Another hand toyed with the
ornament, before removing it and placing it on the bedside table.
"Short posts tend to get more attention than the longer ones," spoke
the figure to no-one and everyone around him. He'd been told that the
size of the fruits of his productivity was often off-putting to the
casual reader, as were the frequent shifts in viewpoint. His latest
work would be comparatively short and remain fixed on the one
character, and the one point in time. Sadly, a lack of acknowledgement
was becoming all-too-usual an occurence for him, recent discourses on
strategy had gone unnoticed in all his haunts despite himself
believing to be owed a debt of gratitude to those he himself had
acknowledged and assisted.
Yet there was still silence, a silence to accompany the tranquil
setting of the figure's lair. The behind-the-head headphones he
currently used tended to bring discomfort to the ears, and were
unsuitable for use while on one's back, so they remained unused. The
room's speakers were disconnected for some reason he'd recently
forgotten, and the portable units used for blasting out music when in
battle were not attached to his armour.
With a yawn, the figure outstretched his arms in relaxation, and he
sat up in bed to reach for a clipboard nearby. His laptop lay with the
rest of his holstered items in a glass cabinet, where it had been for
the better part of a week.
"Felix needs a post, hmm, maybe some interaction," said the figure as
a pen materialised in his hands and darted across the page. "If only
people actually knew where Hellion Town was, that's the problem with
made-up towns. No-one bothers to visit them." He made a mental note to
examine the next location published in the fictional realm he worked
in, while considering his other options.
"Kirsty's doing fine, if the rest of them don't post by next week I'll
have Night Shade come in." After he spoke the last name, the figure
felt somewhat alone, there had been almost no recognition of his
latest creation within the authorial community. Yet he knew that
someone, somewhere was reading, as did all his comrades. One recent
attempt of his to send feedback had been foiled by a faulty connection
in the MegaSound Chair, though he had not attempted to re-send due to
sloth he hoped AswanJaguar and Foratog would not miss his regards. The
latter had been commended, albeit slowly, for his most recent work,
perhaps his brief work as a "professional" critic had paid off after
"Samuraichu, eh, I'll think of something." Unclipping the page, the
man examined it one last time. "Tick, he'll be back for GS."
It was at that point that the figure began to remember another from
the past, one who had attempted to make up for his lack of readers
with excessive self-spotlighting and egotism.
"Meeh, no-one's going to hate me for this."
And with that, he signed off the sheet of paper. The second his
signature's final flourish lay enscribed on the page, it glew purple
and vanished into the ether. Resuming his previous state of spawl, the
figure was again staring into the ceiling.
"Reply, god damn you..."