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Ruins

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  1. Lately, I got another one: Annoying, bratty and/or bigoted and disgusting people in fandoms who give all of us sensible folk a bad name- like the fact that all bronies are seen as paedophiles, basement-dwellers and cloppers because of a noisy minority. I'm a brony and none of that, but do people care? Mostly, no. I've hesitating to get into Homestuck not only because of it's utter vastness because of the small but utterly vile group of Homestucks I've met over the 'net, ones who seem to be taking the name 'troll' to heart and then some. You know the type. >~>
  2. I often don't remember my dreams but sometimes- just after I've woken up- I'm still convinced my dreams are real, so I end up lying there and thinking something like "But who will save the supermodels from drowning?" or "They have my pencil-dog!". I vaguely remember a dream where someone on my floor at the Uni flats played that game from Homestuck (sburb?) that ends the world. I was trying to get them to take me wherever they were going, saying I was useful and could do stuff. They said no, so I hit them on the head with my metal angle-poise lamp... Then realised I had no idea what I was doing and had just knocked out/killed the only one who did. The building exploded as I was desperately headbutting their laptop screen and crying. That one was kinda depressing, especially since everyone died in the end.
  3. Not that bad, considering, but when I was about nine I knelt on a piece of glass that went behind my kneecap. I still have an inch-long scar that looks like a big slug, even over ten years later Years before that, I hit my head so hard I had to go the doctor's- maybe that's why I'm so wierd. XP
  4. Or maybe we have nobody, so the whole thing ends on a downer as the whole rebellion fails and we all have to go into hiding from the Tyrant-Princesses' troops.
  5. Scarcity smiles at everyone. Catch her eye and BOOM! You got smiled. I also wanted interaction with someone else than NH. (They've probably heard of each other, at the least. Maybe Psychosis had a fitting with her once? She is probably admiring her mane too, yes. :3 ) I was thinking Scarcity for Kindness? She does fit, I think, with the giving out dresses and makeovers and treating everyone the same...
  6. ((I probably shouldn't start RPs, I'm a reeeaally bad GM/RP runner. Yet I keep on doing it. I end up letting everyone down and the RP die because I never have a plan or start one when I'm at my busiest.))
  7. Totally didn't notice Letterform was going to talk to Twilight. Derp. Should I have NH talk to someone else who's free?
  8. ((I'm honestly wondering if we have enough characters to make this work, let alone RPers... I mean, the whole thing rinds to a halt when I'm busy, so...))
  9. Night Haunter trotted into the Hall at Scarcity's side, his gait a purposeful but dignified stride while she seemed to glide along under her cloud of purple silk; he had his characteristic serious look on while she smiled happily and nodded a happy greeting at any pony in the crowd she recognised. Neither seemed to notice or care that some of the guests were whispering behind their hooves at each other, wondering why the Mayor would choose someone like her- a pony born and raised in the slums- to take to a ball like this, an event that was supposed to be the height of refinement and class. It was bad enough, they said that he had invited that horrible pony Letterform, but to arrive on the arm of a jumped-up pauper was really the last straw. When was the Princess going to do something about him, for the Moon's sake? Inside himself, Night Haunter was trying not to smile, not regretting his choice of partner or guest in the least. So what that the upper-class ponies were buzzing like a kicked nest of hornets? It did them good to be reminded who was in charge- that he could do whatever he wanted, it was his authority as Mayor and they couldn't do anything about it. Half of them elected me to this position, anyway. They thought they could control me, that I was some illiterate, brainless street thug they could put on a leash and use as their personal attack dog. I proved them wrong very quickly, didn't I? He became aware that Scarcity had tugged subtly on his cloak: she wanted to talk. "Yes, Miss Belle?" "My dear, I see a good friend of mine, may I?" "Oh, of course. I will take my seat, feel free to come back in a few minutes or...?" He shrugged, not knowing if this was the proper etiquette for grand meals. It probably didn't matter, anyway. After Scarcity had wended her graceful way into the crowd, chatting and making small talk to anyone and everyone as she did so, Night Haunter found himself at a loose end. Looking around, he found that Letterform was not that far way; within a few paces he was next to the writer, noting as he did the unconscious tenseness in the unicorn's muscles. He feared for his life, even here. How curious. "Don't worry. I'm more than a match for most assassins in the city, and they wouldn't dare strike somewhere so crowded. Of course, if you think you'll be poisoned, don't eat..." he said bluntly, ignoring the odd glances nearby ponies were giving him. He was always honest, and always blunt. Meanwhile, Scarcity smiled at one of the performers, the young pegasus mare who'd flown down from the box.
  10. Is anyone else gonna post or is everyone done and it's my turn and I didn't realise?
  11. Through the librarian's argument with the raincoated man, Logan had done almost nothing but stand and shiver like a useless, terrified lump; he wanted nothing more than to bolt outside, away from the yelling and anger, then run all the way home and dive under his covers. Then perhaps he could sleep until the heat had died down and the whole horrible business was just another memory to make himself forget. But the fear inside him and the knowledge that people were staring rooted him to the spot, rendering him unable to flee, mount a defense against the slander or even move an inch. He did move, though, when the raincoated man slammed his book against the table. In fact he jumped once again (about the forth time within the hour), looking wildly from the one man to the other as he chewed his lip furiously. Why was a stranger defending him like that? Was he being... nice, like other people were to other people? But why was he being nice, to him of all people? He was nothing but a useless freak who probably deserved everything he got; he was just a spineless doormat. Maybe his parents were right, maybe he really should have gone and- Don'tthinkaboutit. Don'tthinkaboutit. Just. Don't! The raincoated man seemed to be retreating now, leaving his book resting on the counter he'd hit; he was was still seething, though, growling and muttering under his breath and seemingly unable to leave without one last parting shot. And another ribcage poke. "Don't relax too much, Doctor. He might be fooled but we aren't, not a single-" "Stop it!" Something had flared inside of Logan- a forceful feeling that Enough Was Enough, a line had been crossed and he could take no more. A hot, alien feeling that both terrified and empowered him: rage. "How dare you? How dare you go about talking to people like that?! You should be ashamed of yourself! You're nothing but a big bully!" There was a moment of silence in the library, the sense of many eyes bugging in shock; most had lived in Pareidolia all their lives without ever hearing Logan speak in a normal volume, let alone raise his voice. The sound of him shouting, let alone standing up for himself, was so alien it was like a slap in the face- or being mauled by a goldfish. Even Logan himself was frozen, as if even he couldn't believe he'd said it. Eventually, though, motion came back to the little library. The raincoat man bustled out with some speed, leaving his book behind, as the gawpers went back to whatever they had been doing before- the entertainment was clearly over. In the corner, a group of ladies put their heads together and whispered excitedly about this new development, what they knew about Logan before and what they'd had to rethink about him now. The man himself seemed to deflate to half his size as the anger drained out of him, leaving him almost visibly exhausted as with a sore throat. He turned to the librarian, giving a grateful but slightly confused look. "T-thank you." he said in his usual quiet voice, a little huskily this time. "B-but I don't understand... why. I'm just a unemployed biologist, I'm... I'm not anybody."
  12. I may not be the best judge of emotion, being autistic and all, but I think the only person really offended here is you. Nobody called you names, or attacked you in any way, or tried to 'tar and feather you' as you so subtly suggested- or even seemed to have their panties slightly wrinkled, let alone in a bunch (those of us who wear panties, anyway). I think they were trying to put their opinions across and share their own experiences, so there's no need to get huffy like that. Besides, I think the conversation had moved on just a bit. Oh, and some people don't like being called 'guys'? I know I don't mind and I even I do it sometimes, but it's something to keep in mind...
  13. Am I alone in thinking it's REALLY UGLY? Urgh. I mean, Mewtwo's one of my favourite 'mons, but this... It looks like a badly thought-out Fakemon. A carry-handle and a Star Wars-esque headtail, really?
  14. "O-okay." replied Logan quietly as he watched the other man go about the familiar little ritual that came with taking books back into the little 'flock' of the library. He had seen it lay out many times before, but he had to admit he was slightly impressed by the quick, deft way he did it; the usual librarian always had an angry way about her, always huffing under her breath and stamping the books with unwarranted violence that never failed to make Logan twitch in alarm. What had those poor books ever done to her? He always got the feeling that she would like her job at the library if nobody ever went in and definitely didn't touch any of the books, as if actual customers were just an annoying extra responsibility she'd taken on some time in the distant past but never actually wanted. So caught up was he in this line of thought that, when the assistant asked him if there was anything else he could do for him, he almost jumped a mile; for a second he looked as if Logan was going to flee, though he did blush when a realised he'd probably been staring fixedly at the poor man's hands for some time now. Oh, he must think I'm so strange, he probably can't wait for me to leave... he thought, holding one wrist very tightly with the other hand so he didn't flap and rub his hands like he usually did when he was nervous. With some difficulty, he managed to swallow his nervousness and speak again. "I'd, uh, I'd just like to order a book in from, uh... From the city. If that's okay. I mean I'd hate to bother you if you're busy but..." he muttered breathlessly, before stopping abruptly when he realised he was rambling. Using any excuse not to look at the other man, he looked around as he reached into his pocket and drew out a scrap of paper with a few words written on it in a neat, cursive writing in blue biro. "It's... It's Criminal Profiling: Principles And Practices... Ah, by Richard N. Kocsis." "Planning your next murder, are you? Seeing how you can get away with it?" Logan jumped in shock again, wheeling around to see an older man in a green raincoat, clutching a hardback book in a white-knuckle grip; there was a look on his face as if he were standing knee-deep in cow's dung, and the look in his eyes made Logan's well up with tears of fright. "No... Please, I never hurt anyone... I just... Trying to help catch them but... I never did anything, please..." he whispering, recognising him as a friend of the family of the poor murdered girl. Oh, I'm trying to help but I'm just making it worse; of course he thinks it's me. I'm a freak. I'd think it was me, too. But how do I tell them that it wasn't me? Oh help, he's going to kill me... "You think you're so smart, Doctor, with your city education and airs. But we all know it was you, what you did to those kids. And soon the police'll know that and you'll be banged up like you should be- if someone braver than I doesn't get you first." replied the older man scornfully, poking Logan firmly in his skinny chest. It was almost comical, the way that the supposed murderer loomed over his accuser by a head but probably weighed a good deal less; you'd think a killer would be bolder, not shivering and blinking like a frightened child. Logan really was nearly crying now, frozen with terror and holding his bag up to his chest like a shield; everyone was staring at him now and it hurt, he could feel every gaze burning his skin. "It wasn't me, I... I... I never hurt anyone. P-please just, just leave me alone."
  15. I just added Scarcity's form to the first post, she's now my official second character... (Now, can I play mares? Let's see! )
  16. After Letterform bowed and left Night Haunter looked back at the line of ponies waiting for him to validate their invitations, realising with faint alarm that he had attracted quite a crowd. Maybe I should have had a servant do this... The feeling of so many expectant, attentive eyes on him sent a shiver of nervousness down his spine and straight into his stomach, one hoof shuffling before he clamped down on his feelings and put his calm face firmly back on. He had a job to do, one of many to come in the evening ahead, so he couldn't chicken out now. Taking a breath through his nostrils, he went through the rest of the newcomers with polite efficiency, mentally noting names and faces as he did so. Vocal Glory, the musician. Autumn Strings... No invitation, but with the band. "The door to the gallery where you will be performing is just there, Miss Glory, Miss Strings. Good luck." he said to the pair, gesturing at the small door tucked between the stairs and the entrance to the Dining Hall; it lead to a smaller and rather cramped staircase and then to a balcony that ringed the entire Hall. The musician's gallery itself was opposite the door, directly behind and above where he would be sitting at the end of the table. Psychosis Sonority, the guard's daughter. May have mental issues. Watch her. Sea Cloud. Lives with the musician, I believe? Not a threat, but- Aha. My date has arrived. Just as he had been returning Sea Cloud's invitation to her, Scarcity Belle had descended the great staircase behind him in a cloud of glitter and perfume. She was wearing an elegant, light purple silk gown which complemented her mane, decorated with looping yellow ribbons and bows, sparkling with tiny amethysts; the skirt covered her entire flank and trailed on the floor, while the top had a high collar of dark purple and matching ruffles on the end of her sleeves. On her head she wore a simple golden tiara set with purple gems. Smiling with obvious excitement, she went to Night Haunter's side, who gave her his best smile in return. It made him look rather shark-like, but it was obvious he was trying. "Miss Belle. You look like royalty itself." he said, taking her extended hoof and bowing his head slightly so that his mane just brushed it- he didn't kiss, he wasn't that sociable. "Why thank you, my dear. You look like a king yourself." she replied with a genuine laugh, tapping the end of his muzzle lightly; it may have been a trick of the light, but it could be said that the Mayor's cheeks coloured a little. Recovering quickly, he swept a hoof towards the Dining Hall. "Shall we go in? ...Adamant, Westwood, take care of any more arrivals and send the rest of the performers on their way." "Lead on, Lord Mayor."
  17. Night Haunter is a massive troll.
  18. "I can make no promises." the Mayor had muttered at the unicorn's back before turning his attention back to the handful of guests filing through the wide doorway, just in time to catch Letterform's arrival. Though the bodyguards at his side narrowed their eyes in distaste at the sight of the sharp-penned pony, Night Haunter couldn't stop a small and rather wicked smile from flashing across his muzzle, almost like that of a small child who sees trouble in the future and looks forward to it with glee. He was keen follower of the unicorn's social commentaries, ever since his infamously scathing critique of his predecessor. Night Haunter had no love for most of the upper-class ponies, so it amused him a great deal to see their overblown egos and bloated lies pierced with a poniard of truth; many of the unicorn's victims had come to the Mayor to ask that Letterform be arrested or otherwise... dealt with, but he had always refused the requests and sent the inquirer away with his scornful laugh ringing in their ears. Or just plain boxed their ears. In a way he felt they had something in common, with Letterform doing to corruption and crime with his words what Night Haunter did with his hooves and teeth. "Mr Letterform. I am honestly glad you could make it... It seems tonight won't be as bone-numbing tedious as I had imagined." Night Haunter took the invitation from the other stallion and made only a token inspection of it before handing it back. He didn't really care if it was his or even real; he probably would have let him in even if it were written in bright red crayon on the back of a sandwich packet. "Thank you kindly. And Miss Belle's work? It was indeed... You might see her later tonight- I realised I lacked a partner for tonight and since someone overlooked Miss Belle when handing out the invites I thought I might rectify the situation." And besides, between Letterform, the writer with the wasp's sting, and Miss Belle, the slum pony made good, I imagine there will be a lot of ruffled noble feathers... Perhaps I will see some fun tonight.
  19. Night Haunter caught the invitation deftly as it levitated towards him, his darting about as he skimmed the familiar writing; he had written the invitation himself, the original being used as a template for the printing-press onies to copy and distribute. He glanced briefly at the guard to his left, who looked up from the parchment roll listing all those attending the dinner and gave an almost imperceptibly tiny nod: her name was indeed on the list, with a special sign indicating that she was the Tyrant-Princess' special guest. Satisfied that she was telling the truth, the Mayor extended a hoof to return the invitation back to its owner. "Welcome, Miss Charmer. Feel free to take a seat in the Dining Hall, or wait here for the other guests to arrive..." As he did so, he looked at her face properly for the first time. She seemed oddly familiar, like he had seen her many times before but had never been introduced; Night Haunter had a feeling she had been to the palace before, which was likely. Princess Nightmare Moon had a personal student of the same name? She'd probably been to one of the parties he'd been forced to throw before... And yet he thought he;d seen her in a very different context. A tiny frown appeared on Night Haunter's face as he searched through his memory banks, his eyes widening ever-so-slightly as he suddenly remembered. Of course! How could I have forgotten? She's the mare who caused that magical explosion not that long ago... I had the guards keep an eye out for her, I remember now... Hmm. She doesn't seem dangerous, she hasn't the look of a criminal. Unless she causes more trouble and hurts or kills anyone, I don't see any reason to take action now. he thought to himself, not realising that he had been staring at her in a rather disconcerting manner for some seconds. Like Twilight Charmer herself, he wasn't that good at interacting with other ponies. "Either way, try not to blow anything up tonight. As welcome as the distraction might be."
  20. Night Haunter had to endure the attentions of Scarcity Belle only a few minutes longer, the unicorn dressmaker finally stepping back and declaring herself satisfied with her efforts. She practically glowed with pride and seemed almost inclined to sing with glee, exclaiming that the Mayor was the most handsome stallion in Neighstramo- no, in all of Equestria! The Mayor would never go as far as all that, but even he had to admit that she had worked an almost miraculous improvement on his usual looks. He had long since realised that her clothes and general service deserved every bit of praise they got. She had made the bat-pony an entirely new outfit for the occasion: a long, sweeping cloak of inky black velvet, lined with deep red and trimmed with genuine raven's feathers; an elegant collar and matching hoof-cuffs in the traditional royal alicorn style, made of iron but decorated with silver curlicues, and set with star rubies; a simple circlet of silver that sat on his brow and kept his mane out of his eyes; and a silver ring shaped like a coiled leaf to keep his long tail under control. Scarcity had even insisted that two of her assistants add a little make-up to his face, highlighting his high cheekbones while reducing the bags under his eyes, banishing utterly the mottled burns and bruises that remained of last week's street battle. After she was finished the bat-pony stared in disbelief at his own reflection, Scarcity waiting on tenterhooks for his verdict. "It's... I don't know the words to describe it, but... I do like it. Yes, very much." he said at last, drawing a squee of happiness from the dressmaker and her assistants. "Oh, it's nothing, my dear... All in a day's work. It's simply a shame that I won't be able to see you wear it to the dancing, you will look so elegant..." A sudden thoughtful look appeared on Night Haunter's face, and he turned to Scarcity. "You like this sort of thing, Miss Belle- the dancing, the high-class mingling and all those trappings? Sipping champagne and listening to very rich, very overdressed ponies talk?" Scarcity sighed with longing, a dreamy look on her face. "Oh, if only! I've always wanted to go to a fine ball, but I've never been invited- there's no room at Aquilla Garden's tables for a mare from Old Ponyville, I fear." Old Ponyville? She talks- and acts- like a born and bred blueblood... "Well, Miss Belle, I happen to lack a plus one and a dancing partner, you happen to lack an invitation- perhaps we could work out some sort of mutually beneficial plan?" he asked, pausing at the end for reply; the dressmaker looked at him with a slight frown, as if she understood but didn't dare imagine he'd actually said what she thought he did. "What I mean is- would you like to be my partner for tonight?" Scarcity barely got out her "Yes!" before she fainted in a dramatic yet elegant heap. Some time after that Night Haunter trotted down the grand stairs that lead to the main entrance of the Palace, a large room carpeted with red that could fit most pony's houses inside with room remaining. The high ceiling was painted with the night sky, sprinkled with genuine diamond stars, and tree-like marble columns flanked the double doors; the whole space gleamed gold and scarlet, from the floor to the ceiling, studded with emerald from the potted ferns in each corner. He'd tried to have the room redecorated with a more subtle scheme, something a little more like him, ever since he became Mayor, but all of the nobles, staff and even the city's artists kicked up such a fuss whenever he broached the subject he'd eventually given up. The palace was part of Neighstramo's rich history, they weren't going to touch it, and not even Night Haunter's fierce reputation could change his mind. They clearly thought it was beautiful and refined even if he thought it was tacky and overblown. Sighing, he turned right and entered the Main Hall, his two bat pony bodyguards shadowing his every move. The Main Hall was larger still than the foyer, taking up a small wing of the Palace all by itself. A solid oak table, capable of seating about fifty-two ponies, dominated the room, surrounded by a multitude of matching chairs; like the foyer they were decorated with scarlet, matching the great swathe of fabric that sat below the table. The rest of the floor was bare, polished wood. From above hung three chandeliers, sparkling with thousand gems each, with the Mayor eyed with extreme distaste. It wasn't his style and it almost made him feel physically ill. How many meals could selling just one of those gaudy light fixtures buy the starving foals of the city? How many homes could be improved with the money spent on the brushed-velvet seat liners? How much food would be cooked and go to waste tonight, just to fulfill some iron-hoofed harpy's whim and celebrate the day that Equestria turned into a living nightmare? Shaking his head barely suppressing a sigh, he turned to a pony he recognised as his head butler, a neat white unicorn strictly overseeing the under-butlers as they polished cutlery and crockery to a blinding gleam. "Silverware, have someone to tell the kitchen that no leftovers from tonight are to be wasted. Tell them they can take it to the soup kitchens, take boxes of it home, or just have a servants-only buffet... Just throw nothing away, is that clear?" he asked, his expression almost daring the other to raise some objection of etiquette or style. The unicorn wavered a second, his duty to his master wrestling with his adherence to proper social conduct- this just wasn't the done thing, what the Mayor suggested, but on the other hoof... He had rather liked the look of some of those dishes, and some of the young lads working in the kitchen were a lot thinner than he'd like to see... "Yes, sir" he said eventually, knowing that the Mayor cared not one jot if the upper-crust made a scandal of it, as long as a hungry pony or two got fed. A hint of a smile appeared on Night Haunter's face as he moved back towards the foyer, calling back to the unicorn: "Oh, and make sure Jet-Set and Filthy Rich aren't sitting together this time... We'd hate to have a repeat of last year's fight at the boutique opening party, wouldn't we?" Then he positioned himself on the bottom step of the great staircase, flanked by his two spiky-armoured bat-pony guards, as he waited for his first guests to arrive and the ironically-named Summer Sun Celebration to begin.
  21. Erm, I think I accidently said two different things, but here's the gist: Upper-class ponies: Dinner in the Main Hall of the Mayor's Palace, then dancing and, y'know, drinks (champagne) and mingling in the Park near the lake; there'll be lots of firefly lanterns and one of those fancy string-bands going on. From seven 'till midnight, when NM arrives. Normal ponies: Street meals, lots of tables put together and whatever food the lower classes can cook served; lots of drinking going on, I expect. Everyone: Attends the Tyrant-Princess' speech outside the front of the Palace at midnight. Then a fly-by by pegusi, which rhyme- oh my. EDIT: So I decided to make up for my lack of posting with... this monstrosity of a post. Ye gods, it's huge. I'll work on Scarcity's form tonight, as she's coming to the party. I figured I needed a friendlier face that ponies could chat to. :3
  22. Logan blinked when the young man seemingly appeared from nowhere, taking an instinctive half-step backwards. He'd expected the Head Librarian, a middle-aged woman with a passive-aggressive attitude and a knitted horse jumper, but after a second of thought he was rather relieved; she'd been given him rather nasty looks lately, as if she suspected he might go on a murderous rampage there and then, which didn't help his fragile mental state any. This young man didn't look half as judgemental as her and certainly wasn't glaring at him like he was taking a dump on her shiny floors. On the other hand, he certainly was dripping on them, a realisation that made him blush slightly with shame. Oh no, look at that mess... I'm making trouble for people again, how horrible... Oh! He must hate me right now. It's going so wrong already... he thought, rubbing his ankle with the opposite foot and half-wishing he was safely at home instead of making people's lives hard out here. "I just, um, I just... Er. I just have some books to return. If it's not too much trouble, of course..." he said quietly, fishing around in his bag and proffering the books: one about criminology, the other a beginner's guide to modern forensic technique. Only know did Logan realise just how guilty they made him look and his nervousness rose until he half-expected to be arrested there and then. His eyes were flicking from them to the other man's hand- anywhere but his face. "I'm really, really sorry about the floor. I-I could clean it up for you, I guess..."
  23. Oh yeah, it's early evening- about six o'clock. The party starts at seven and goes on until midnight; dinner at eight, then dancing. Nightmare Moon makes her speech at midnight and that's when the fun REALLY starts. So I think everyone's putting the finishing touches on their outfits and moving off towards the Palace (the party's in the Ballroom). About Scarcity- I heard Rarity's second name was Belle, I dunno. I just added it there because of Sweetie Belle. You might see Scarcity again, she's pretty fun; I might make her my second character or at least a major NPC...
  24. Standing in the hallway, surrounded by musty coats, old umbrellas and other assorted junk, Doctor Logan Tasgall tried to sum up the courage to open his own front door and face other human beings for the first time in over a week. Not a difficult task by any stretch of the imagination for most people, but for him it required as much courage and mental preparation (and sometimes physical preparation) as scaling Mount Everest. It was a task he would have much rather put off, maybe for another week or perhaps even until next month, but he was forced to by circumstances. There were benefits at the Post Office that needed to be collected, daily essentials such as food to be brought and a book that was due back in the library today. These were not tasks he could put off unless he wanted to be poor, hungry and hounded down like a dog by the rather terrifying head librarian. So, it had to be done. Logan had to face the world. Clutching the strap of his over-the-shoulder bag, in which his books were nestled, Logan swallowed as he reached for the front-door-knob. A simple twist and it was open, the door swinging towards him as a beam of surprisingly-bright sunshine hit him straight in the face. He blinked his watering eyes for a second, glancing quickly around to make sure that the coast was clear before he dared to step out of the door and- with a heart full of trepidation- shut it and lock it behind him. No going back now... he thought. A minute later and his spirits had lifted slightly. He had managed to walk down his garden path and some way down the street without anyone yelling "Murderer!" or any similar slur at him; in fact, the two people he had seen seemed to be pretending he didn't exist, which suited him fine. A small smile dared to creep onto Logan's face, and his pace became a little springier. Maybe nothing would go wrong today. Maybe he would have a nice walk in the sunshine, do what he needed to do and get home safely without having a panic-attack or once feeling like he was going to cry. In fact, if it went well today, he could go out tomorrow or maybe even the next day, try talking to some people... His thoughts were cut short by a car zooming by, sending the contents of a muddy puddle straight from the ground to splatter across his lower legs. Logan froze, looking from the retreating car to the mess it had made on his trousers, as his mind started to churn with panic. Oh God, oh noohnoohno... Calm down, calm down. They didn't do it on purpose. They didn't even know you were there. You can do it. You HAVE to do it... he told himself, trying to slow down his breathing and calm his mind before he bolted back inside the house like a rabbit into its burrow. Unclenching his fist, un-biting his lip and letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding in, Logan forced his legs to move and carry him closer to his goal. Quickly he passed the school (he picked up his pace here, trying to ignore both the sound of children at play and the suspicious glares of the policemen guarding the front gate) and turned off into the Main Street. As it was around lunchtime there were a few people on their lunch-break, milling around the shops, but for the most part they ignored the skinny man who passed with his eyes glued on the pavement, and Logan managed to reach the library without any incident. A bell jingled as he pushed open the library door, six-foot something of skin, bones and barely contained terror. Logan approached the front desk and poked the 'ring for attention' bell as if it might explode, summoning up enough courage to speak in a half-whisper. "Hello."