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snakedancing13

Branch: Janus

Micheal shuddered as the world around him seemed to darken. His body shook as if it were in the midst of an earthquake, but the floor around him remained still. Mocking laughter echoed in his ears. He swung his head to the side.

"No, no." he murmurred, groping at the concrete floor.

His hands felt something warm and sticky. He groaned as he pulled his head around to see it. Red. Red, too much of it. 

"No." he moaned again. "No."

He attempted to turn onto his side, but the shaking overwhelmed his body causing him to curl into a shuddering ball.

He gasped and moaned and shook. 

"Nooooooooo." 

Red. Red everywhere. On the floor, on the walls, on his hands. His hands. Red on his hands. Red. Too much red. Everywhere, too much.

He couldn't handle it. He coulnd't. He had to get rid of it.

Micheal's body shook again. He groaned loudly as he unraveled from his coiled position.

Get rid of it. Rid of it. Rid of the red.

His reddened hands clawed at the concrete floor, attempting to pull him away from the sticky mess on the ground. He searched with his eyes, wandering about the room. Red, red, red, red.

No. No red. No more red. Please, no more red.

He closed his eyes, his arms moving back and forth in a useless journey. He shuddered again.

No. Move. No. Move. No. Red. Move. No. Red. Move. Red. No. Red. Red. Red. Move. No.

"NO." He screamed. He shrieked and cried and shouted and screamed in agony and terror and pain.

Pain pain pain pain pain. To much. Red. Pain. Red. 

They were one and the same. Red and pain. Pain and red. Horror. Terror, terrible. No.

More laughter. More tears. More groans.

A mocking voice echoed through the room.
"Oh, come now Micheal. Can't you handle it? Is the darkness too much for you? Have you dwelled in it too long to be able to cope? Oh yes, red and black and pain. My dear boy."

Then laughter. Always the laughter. Echoing, stretching, scratching against his nerves, bouncing through his torn mind.

He didn't want to do it anymore. He didn't want the darkness. He didn't want the red or the black or the pain. He wanted to be rid of it. Rid of this life.

He groaned again and again and again. Consistently growing in volume until it was another blood curdling scream.

"Noooooooooo!

His fingertips brushed against something. He grunted as he swept his hand forward again. Hard. Rough. Vertical. Yes, a wall. A wall. He pressed his palm against the cold concrete. He opened his eyes. Yes. A wall.

No red. Just grey. Shadows and grey. He could use the wall. Another shudder overtook his body.

Use the wall? But what for? Micheal felt his leg shift slightly. Oh right. He brought his other hand around and placed it beside his head. Then he pushed.

It was terrible. Pain wracked his body causing his limbs to shake harder, but he still pushed. Horrible, terrible, red, black, no. 

Yes. 

He could do this. He could do this. He could do this.

Yes. Yes. Yes. He could do this. He could stand. He would stand. 

Micheal paused for a moment. Shaking, breathing heavily, shuddering with every breath. But he was standing.

Micheal opened his eyes. 

He had done it. He was standing. He was standing.

But the room didn't look any different. It was still red. It was still dark. It was still hopeless.

He groaned. And groaned and groaned and groaned.

What was the point? What was he doing? Why was he even trying?

And the voice echoing those thoughts. Mocking. Laughing.

"Yes, why are you trying, boy? Why are you trying when you have no chance at success?"
It laughed again. Deeper, darker, softer, louder. Echoing again and again through the dank, red room.

Red room. Red room. Red and black room. And grey.

Micheal leaned heavily against the wall, moaning. 

"Stop it." He shuddered. "Stop it. Stop it. Stop it stop it." 

He thrust his fist into the wall. More red. More red.

"Please..."

No more. Please. No more.

Micheal stumbled toward the other wall, one hand pressed against the firm concrete.

What was he doing? Where was he going? 
His hand touched something smooth and metallic.

Oh, yes, a door. A way out. Freedom. Freedom from the red and the black and the grey.

Yes, freedom.

With a final grunt, Micheal ran his hand across the door, searching for the handle. There.

Freedom.

Turn the handle.

Freedom.

Turn it.

Yes.
Freedom.

No more red. No more black. No more grey.

Freedom.

The door swung open slowly as another seizure took hold of Micheal's tortured body.

A wave of light highlighted the carnage of the concrete room of red and black. And grey.

And Micheal tumbled out of it.

Out of it.

Into something that was not quite freedom.

 

                    ~Krista~

 

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snakedancing13

Branch: Janus

Badump

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onyxwolf284

Branch: Ekaterina

O_O

 

O. M. G. O. S. H. 

 

THAT. WAS. AMAZING. 

 

I HAVE NO WORDS.

 

WHAT ON EARTH. 

 

KRISTA. 

 

YOU ARE TOO GOOD FOR THIS WORLD. 

 

UM. 

 

...

 

I DONT EVEN KNOW...

 

BYE. 

 

 

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mickey. 

 

no more band-aids on my heartaches.

no more smoke when i burn my pancakes. 

no more drowning in my sorrow. 

with my chin held up there's always better luck

tomorrow. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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basketballmidsummer30

Branch: Tomas

Wow! This is amazing. Please join my thread called the Writing Board. Thank you. I will add a story on the Writing Board if I can findo one

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First is God

Second is family

Third is basketball

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snakedancing13

Branch: Janus

Thanks for the input guys, I really appreciate it.

 

Chapter One: 

 

The heavy sound of factory machinery thrummed though the crowded room. Weighty footfalls and whirring machines moved briskly about. Heads nodded, feet turned, arms waved, fingers pointed. The only thing missing from the noisy environment was the sound of human voices. No one attempted to shout above the clamor and whispering was beyond pointless. The only form of communication was the primitive use of sign language, which measured to little more than the wave of a hand or the touch of a finger to an ear.

It was in this fashion that one of the many factory workers was called away from his supervision of a bulky piece of equipment to the manger's office in the far corner of the busy room. The worker ambled over to the room, passing off a nod here and there as men moved aside for him. Eventually he made it to his destination.

The manager's office was not a very notable place. It consisted of a worn metal desk, a few filing cabinets, and a plastic fern in dire need of a good dusting. The walls were a marred white, scarred with numerous scrapes and bruises, many the obvious work of overzealous union members.

The office's appearance was reflected in the manger himself. He wore a scruffy beard on his face accompanied by broad shoulders over which a blue plaid shirt had been hastily tossed. His shoes were worn and well loved and might be considered in need of a replacement. He gave off the general aura of a hard working factory man who cared little for small talk and looked forward to his next meal with earnest pleasure.

And as it the nature of such factory men, he proceeded to give a round about welcome to the worker.

The conversation was rather dull, consisting of a minimal greeting, an inquiry on the disposition of the other factory men, and a brief discourse about something or other followed by a quick dismissal. Hardly noteworthy except for the scant glances the manager cast at another man waiting by the office door.

He was tall and skinny to the point his suit looked to be filled with bones instead of a man. His eyebrows were peculiarly thin along with his nose and lips. He appeared to be on the point of starvation, but the prideful cock of his head and gold watch chain protruding from his pocket told otherwise. The corner of a white envelope was barely visible from beneath the man's expensive suit jacket.

Throughout the entire interview, this man proceeded to impatiently tap his foot rhythmically against the hard, concrete floor. The sound that was produced was a hollow melody of disjointed taps and clicks, sometimes punctuated by an abrupt shift or scraping sound. The expression on the man's face spoke of his impatience as much as his foot did, though not quite as loudly. A quirk in his thin eyebrows produced the appearance of a high level of irritation.

As soon as the worker exited the room, this impatient fellow stepped forward briskly, accidentally brushing shoulders with the other man in his haste.

He payed no apparent attention to this minor interaction and dove straight to the business at hand.

"Mr. O'Connor," the man began with a winded voice. He got no further before the manager held up his hand for pause.

"Call me Chuck."

"Mr. O'Connor." the man persisted. "It has been brought to the attention of the Board that certain accidents have-"
"Oh, so yer from the board, eh? Should have guessed." the manager leaned back in his chair, placing his feet on the desk. 

The man was flustered. This blunt insubordination was not what he had expected from the factory manager. He had heard many things from the other board members, but none that seemed to indicate his blunt intolerance. How was he to respond to this?

His strangely thin eyebrows narrowed. Of course, he would do what was necessary in this sort of situation.

Squaring his thin shoulders, the man attempted to deliver a whithering glare at the manager. It was whithering only in the fact that it managed to make the man look even more irritating.

"Mr. O'Connor, you would be wise not to blow me off as you have done to my peers. I am aware of the circumstances surrounding your promotion to this position and would remind you that I am in direct consultation with the man who can strip that promotion away."

The manager smiled slightly.
"Is that so? Last I heard Mr. Quinn was in the midst of some sort of investigation. I doubt he'd want to hear about some impertinent foreman such as myself at the moment."

The board representative growled audibly. 

"Whether he will hear my complaints or not is not the matter I have been sent to discuss. Your factory has become rather notorious for accidents involving everything from falling equipment to minor explosions. It has past the point of mere coincidence and the board has demanded that a full investigation be instigated."

"Now that seems a little extreme in the least. A full investigation? When no body's been harmed?"
"It is not the harm to persons that we are worried about. This continued neglect of the equipment used here could result in a serious accident, that could claim more than mere human lives."
The manager quirked his eyebrows and leaned forward expectantly. "And what would that be?"

The representative let out a frustrated puff of air. 

"Money, Mr. O'Connor, a great amount of money."

A slight grin played at the corner of the manager's mouth. He stood from his reclined position, coming to his full height in the small room.

He circled around to the door, placing a hand on the other man's slight shoulders. 

"I'll be sure to look into these accidents, but really, I don't think the board should be concerned."

The representative looked at the burly foreman.

"In fact, I don't think they should inquire again. It really isn't necessary. A complete waste of time in fact."

The representative shoved the manager's hand off his shoulder.

"Waste of time?" He exclaimed in indignant horror. "The safety of the board's money is not a waste of time."

The thin, tidy man stalked out of the office with all the airs of a peacock, brushing off the sleeve of his suit.

"I shall be inquiring again, Mr. O'Connor. And next time I'll be sure that your job won't be quite as stable."
With this last, hastily veiled threat he continued his fowlish parade down the crowded isles. His cries of disgust could be faintly heard over the drone of machinery.

As he watched him leave, the manager smirked unceremoniously. Fool, he thought. An utter epitome of a fool.
What the manager didn't notice during these musings was the other man waiting by the office door.

"Charles O'Connor."

The manager turned slightly toward the voice.

"Who's asking?" he said bruskly, eying the new speaker.

There was a distinct refinement to the man's appearance, something altogether different from the over-tidieness of the board representative and the tousled aura of the factory manager. 

"I wasn't asking," the stranger said. "Might we step into your office?"
"We might not." the manager replied tersely. "I've had enough intrusions for one day, so why don't you tell me who you are and what you want then get out of my way."

"I've come to ask about something you were involved in back in your Brighton days."
"Brighton days? I don't know what yer talking."
"The Brighton Foundation? 'Security for the lesser fools'?"

"Well, this is a waste of my time."

"How about Bertie Hardely? Do you remember him? You and Brighton made fine work of him back then. A real job, not like the half-baked plots the young ones come up with now adays."

"Never heard of any of them. What are you up to? Got some sort of con your working, cause I don't want it here."

"What about the Gemming job? Or the Plumbers? Don't recall any of those?"

The manager turned to the man, a look of such firm placidity settling on his features.
"Look, whether I ever did what your suggestion or not, I don't have any connections now. I'm legit as the day is long, so if you'd stop bringing your cockamamie stories here, I'd greatly appreciate it."

It was at the point where the manager spoke the word "legit" that a commotion broke out somewhere farther down the rows of workers. A crashing noise echoed above the usual thrum of maichinery, leaving a sense of foreboding where it was heard.

The strange young man looked at the manager and smiled.

"Yes. I do believe legit is the word to describe your operation."
Then he left. Without a word of parting or an ounce of satisfaction to the mysteries he had opened.

After a few seconds, the worker that had been in the office a few moments before returned to the manager's side. In his hand he held a slightly bent envelope.

The manager took it, tucking it into his shirt. A ringing sound echoed through the busy air signaling the lunch hour.

"Keep an eye on him." the manager muttered, looking in the direction the strange young stranger had gone. "He might prove to be trouble."

The worker gave an almost imperceptible nod and disappeared into the mass of men.

 

                     ~Krista~

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        Krista the Key

 

 

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        So that our banner may advance?

             Some will fall and some will live

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onyxwolf284

Branch: Ekaterina

AGAIN. 

 

WHAT THE FLIPPIN' PRETZELS, CHILD. YOU WILL BE FAMOUS SOMEDAY.

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mickey. 

 

no more band-aids on my heartaches.

no more smoke when i burn my pancakes. 

no more drowning in my sorrow. 

with my chin held up there's always better luck

tomorrow. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Front sm

snakedancing13

Branch: Janus

Mickey, you need to stop. Not only is my head going to explode due to pride but my sides are going to split with laughter due to your over enthusiastic remarks.

 

This is not good for my ego problems.

 

And you know that that phrase is going on the list. "What the flippin' pretzels, child."

 

                    ~Krista~

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        Krista the Key

 

 

    Will you give all you can give

        So that our banner may advance?

             Some will fall and some will live

                 Will you stand up and take your chance?

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onyxwolf284

Branch: Ekaterina

Oh my gosh, thanks! XD You deserve it!!! 

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mickey. 

 

no more band-aids on my heartaches.

no more smoke when i burn my pancakes. 

no more drowning in my sorrow. 

with my chin held up there's always better luck

tomorrow. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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snakedancing13

Branch: Janus

Chapter Two:

 

A wave of men flooded the street, coursing toward the enticing aroma being emitted at the other side. Despite the variations in height between the men, there was something about them that was strangely uniform in appearance. Maybe it was their stooped posture, or possibly the way their eyes constantly flitted about to those surrounding them. Or maybe it was the measured gate that created a rhythmic echo across the cobblestone road.

Whatever it was, it was broken as two figures stepped from the crowd, one following the other.

The first man was the young stranger who had confronted the manager outside of his office. He wore a long trench coat that fluttered about his booted feet as he walked. The second man was the worker who had been commissioned to "keep an eye on" the stranger. His posture and walk reflected that of the marching throng of factory workers.

As they turned a corner and stepped into a side street, their footsteps could barely be heard. Not only over the hosts behind them, but at their own attempts to dampen the noise. It was hardly more than the pitter patter of a mouse.

The worker kept far from his target's peripheral vision, making sure to always wait until the other had turned a corner before he himself entered after. There were many times where he nearly lost his ward and he might have if not for that mouse like scattering. 

Step step, step step, step step they went. On and on through the labyrinthine byways of the factory complex.

Step step, step step, step- The worker paused. Something was different in the rhythm. He took a tentative step forward. Then another. His feet were silent as he came to another turn in the alleys.

The pattering footsteps continued ahead.

Step step, step step, step step.

The worker let out a long, low breath and turned the corner.

To his surprise, he found himself face to face with the young stranger.

The following moments came in a flash of inhuman speed. The worker, realizing his quarry had caught him, attempted to dash away. But the stranger had suspected he would do something of that sort and stuck his leg out to halt the worker in his attempt. Instead of tripping a intended, the worker jumped the extended leg and moved into a sprint. However, his burst of speed was cut short when the back of his jacket was caught by the stranger's firm grasp. The stranger pulled the jacket back sharply causing the worker to lose his footing. He toppled to the ground, gasping for breath which was chased away by a strong arm wrapping around his neck.

"Tell me, Mr. Chalmers, why did old Charlie send you after me?"

The worker made a choking sound in reply. 

With an upward jerk, the stranger pulled the worker to his feet, dragging him forward in the same motion so that his was looking him directly in the eye.

"Mr. Chalmers, I won't ask again. Why did Charlie send you after me?"

"Why would I-" was all the man was able to breath out before the hand at his throat tightened.

"Let's start over. I know who you are and I know who you work for. I have more than enough information to put you and half a dozen of your coworkers behind bars for the next thirty years. But the thing is, I don't care what happens to them. I want to know where the Fortress is."

The stranger loosened his hold on the worker's neck slightly.

The worker coughed loudly, then sucked in a deep, wracking breath.

"Well?" the stranger prompted.

"I don't know where the Fortess is." the worker gasped hoarsely. 

"Then what does Charlie's factory have to do with it?"
"It's-" a gasp of air "-a half way point."
"Half way? For whom?"

"For... those who are going to the Fortress."
"So then you have a contact within the Fortress?"

The worker shook his head.

"Then how do they get there?"

"Man named... Roux. He's the next stop."

"One more question, then you can go."
The worker waited breathlessly.

"Has a man by the name of Micheal passed through?"

The worker shook his head.

"I'm afraid that won't do you any good. The people who come here don't register with names, just MO's. Names are too dangerous."

The stranger let out a frustrated sigh, then muttered under his breath, "A name is all I have."

Without warning, the stranger's head snapped up and he dropped the worker to the ground. 

"Don't tell Chuck we talked." he called over his shoulder as he slipped away, out of sight.

The worker sat on the ground for a moment, stunned.

"Mad," he muttered finally, "Completely bonkers."

As he got to his feet, he glanced around, searching for anyone that might have watched the interaction.

He didn't see the dark shadow in the doorway behind him or notice as it slipped away down a back alley after the young stranger.

 

                                          ~Krista~

 

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             Some will fall and some will live

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snakedancing13

Branch: Janus

Bumper cats

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        Krista the Key

 

 

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        So that our banner may advance?

             Some will fall and some will live

                 Will you stand up and take your chance?

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snakedancing13

Branch: Janus

Another chapter coming today...

 

           ~Krista~ 

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        Krista the Key

 

 

    Will you give all you can give

        So that our banner may advance?

             Some will fall and some will live

                 Will you stand up and take your chance?

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snakedancing13

Branch: Janus

Chapter Three:

 

Micheal retched onto the floor. His stomach was empty from repeating the process for hours, but he continued to gag and cough until he collapsed once more onto his back.

He was tired and sick and in pain. But at least the red was gone. 

Micheal hacked up a glob of saliva.

The red was gone, he told himself. It's gone and I don't have to go back.

But he was in so much pain. More pain then before. If he went back, would the pain go away?

Maybe it would, maybe it wouldn't, but he wouldn't know unless he tried.

Micheal groaned and arched his back as another wave of nausea washed over him.

He didn't want to go back to the red. 

He didn't want to see all their pale faces again.

Their blank, motionless faces.

The inquisitive part of him told him to go back and find out who the people were, why they were so pale.

But he knew he couldn't. He couldn't handle being there with all the red and the black and the grey.

The grey had been like a haze. Not really there, something clouding his vision, his judgement.

If he went back, he would have to go back through the grey, and he didn't think he could do that.

Suddenly, Micheal's head snapped up.

He heard something. Faint, far away, but it was there nonetheless.

Micheal's instinct's told him to move. He needed to get away from this noise. He needed to go back, but his body wouldn't cooperate. It was too weak, too distracted.

Micheal grunted as he pressed his hands against the floor.

He needed to stand.

He pushed.

He needed to get away.

A mounting scream swelled in Micheal's throat as pain ripped through his arms and back.

After what felt like hours, Micheal let out a gasp, his arms and legs shaking beneath him.

He was on his hands and knees now instead of on his stomach. 

With a massive amount of effort, he slid one hand forward, then his knee, then the other hand, then the other knee. In this way, Micheal managed to inch forward slowly, each movement causing searing pain to tear at his limbs.

His breathing was heavy and laboured. Tears brimmed in his eyes every time he blinked.

He didn't even know where he was going, but he kept moving.

Hand over hand, knee after knee, inch after inch.

Forward.

Go forward.

Sweat soaked his clothes and hair.

Forward.

Keep on going forward.

The noise was getting louder. 

But Micheal kept moving. He had to.

He had to find a way out.

Somewhere, far away from the noise and the room full of red.

Somewhere where he could be free.

 

 

The small bell over the shop door wrung gently as the door swung forward. 

Lucy glanced up. She'd been sitting behind the counter all morning and there had only been a single customer throughout the entire time. A teenager girl such as herself could only sit still so long before she becomes bored out of her mind. And Lucy was bored out of her mind.

And when a mind such as Lucy's has reaches this state of boredom, things tend to lean a little toward the extreme in reality.

The customer who had entered the small, souvenir shop stopped just inside the door giving Lucy a perfect view.

He was a little above average height with a bearing that spoke of experience beyond his young appearance. A black fedora shadowed his blue eyes, covering most of his brown-blond hair at the same time. To go with the fedora was a long black trench coat that fell to about mid-calf.

The coat swished silently as he stepped forward.

Lucy noticed barely any of the aspects of his clothing; his eyes were too distracting to notice anything else. Lucy felt that she had seen those deep set, stormy eyes before, but she couldn't think of where. So familiar, all too familiar.

A coughing sound brought Lucy back to the present.

"Hmm." she said absent mindedly.

"I asked if you had someone else had come in here recently." the man repeated in a frustrated tone.

"Oh, yes."

The man tapped his foot expectantly on the floor.

Lucy frowned. What else did this blue eyed stranger want? Lucy couldn't think of anything. He'd just asked about another customer. There had only been one, besides the man himself. He'd come in only a few moments before. In fact, Lucy hadn't see him leave.

The man coughed again.

"Yes?"

"Is he still here?"

"Um, I don't know. Maybe." Lucy glanced up at the mirror positioned at the end of one of the isles. There was no one there.

"Do you have a back door?"
"Yes, but its for deliveries only."

The man turned toward the isles of merchandise, tapping his foot in a staccato rhythm. He surveyed the shelves and empty shopping  baskets hanging on the walls.

Abruptly, the man looked out the window. He took two, quick steps forward, then dashed out the door with the ringing of the bell as his goodbye.

Lucy blinked rapidly.

"Well that was odd." she spoke aloud.

"Very odd."

The voice made Lucy nearly jump out of her skin. She spun to see a man standing in the isle with the mirror.

He smiled playfully.

"What-how-" she began, but her thoughts were too flustered to create a coherent sentence.

The man smiled again and glanced at one of the displays. There was a key chain with a small red fish on it.

The man gestured toward it. "How much does one of these cost?"

"A dollar in American currency."

The man plucked the fish from the display and walked over to the counter.

Lucy was silent as the man handed her a hundred dollar bill. Her eyes widened.

The man chuckled slightly, then went to the door.

"Who are you?" 

It was a senseless question under the situation. If her over active imagination was right, then this man would not tell her his name.

The man smiled.

"Finnley."

The bell wrung softly, and he was gone.

 

                        ~Krista~

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        Krista the Key

 

 

    Will you give all you can give

        So that our banner may advance?

             Some will fall and some will live

                 Will you stand up and take your chance?

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snakedancing13

Branch: Janus

Next chapter due either later this afternoon or Monday.

 

Meanwhile, those of you who are actually reading this, what do you think so far???

 

        ~Krista~

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        Krista the Key

 

 

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             Some will fall and some will live

                 Will you stand up and take your chance?

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dreamtimeheroine2

aka CatFlying11

Branch: Janus

Ptfl 

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"I believe in Christianity as I believe that the sun has risen: not only because I see it, but because by it I see everything else." ~ C.S. Lewis 

 

 

~Monica Cahill~                 1 John 4:10 

 

 

"Fantasy reveals what reality obscures."

 

 

 

#ENDSLAVERY

 

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analyzingdragon106

aka CatchingBlue120

Branch: Ekaterina

Bump!

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THE NAMES TAYLOR. GIRLS RULE! RP Queen!

 

I like Miraculous Ladybug!

 

I'm just a girl who likes to rp.

 

I also like to write stories.

 

Rise of shadows rp!: /351367

 

Percy Jackson Rp!: /352738

 

 

 

 

 

 

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analyzingdragon106

aka CatchingBlue120

Branch: Ekaterina

Bump!

  • Posted at:

Please tell us why you'd like to report this post

 

THE NAMES TAYLOR. GIRLS RULE! RP Queen!

 

I like Miraculous Ladybug!

 

I'm just a girl who likes to rp.

 

I also like to write stories.

 

Rise of shadows rp!: /351367

 

Percy Jackson Rp!: /352738