Things and Stuff.

The last one was about getting home. My whole family was there. So were the Hobbits. Those bloody little bastards were startled easily and would attack me at every turn, and then apologize profusely. They would often trail behind, and would attack me when I was running back. It didn’t hurt much, kind like little paper cuts.

We followed someone’s advice and drove down a road, but the road was only railroad tracks. Bugger. We go back the way we came, and get on a train. Oops, wrong train. We found out it was wrong by riding it out of the playing field and going into the non-textured area of the map. Everything was white. We put the train in reverse and head back.

By now, we’ve given up on getting home. We hang around the train depot for a while, and another train comes. This one has crops on it. The man set to watch the crops is an elderly man, and he’s standing behind a pile of corn. We’ve all climbed up on the side of the crop-car now, and he asks one of us to hand him an ear of corn so he can taste it. My mother hands him one, while the rest of use scramble to steal as much as possible while he’s distracted.
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Guess what class I play the most.

Gah, that was odd. I’ve only seen 5 minutes of Oni being played, but I dreamt about it.

The scenery was a factory of sorts, the walls of a purple and white blending hues . . .

It started with Oni running down a catwalk and knocking a guy over the edge of it midway. She runs to some hollow container and punches a few buttons, and then climbs on top by way of cloaked ladder. The ladder is barely visible, and we only know it’s there by the light shining off it slightly.

She slips inside the container through a hole in the top, presses more buttons, and steps out the door onto the catwalk.
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I dreamed of greater things today, I dreamed of what I want to be. What I want . . . or what I was meant to be. Was I meant to be great? No, no one is born into such a status . . . we must toil with our services in life before we are granted such a penance . . . That is what they tell me, yet I do not believe them . . . but who am I to claim that I’ve been denied a destiny? Perhaps it’s a past life . . . But I’ve lived so long, how could it . . . Did I forget things over time? These scars tell me I have . . . I don’t know where I got them, yet they’re there . . . they’ve always been there . . . Those wings, were they mine? What happened to them? Why can’t I remember . . .

(From #rubberpiggy)

[Schroe> Okay, since Cammi nicked my “I hate myself and I want to die” line that I nicked from Engrish.com, I think every artist in here needs to do a super-happy pic of themselves and label it – “I hate myself and I want to die.”

Also not that the character in the image is Kerin-schroe. Silly kitty.