( German )


( English )

( German )


( English )

*to the melody of a children's song*
one hu..., two hu..., three little humans
four hu..., five hu..., six little humans
seven hu..., eight hu..., nine little humans
ten little humans

they come together to fight for their rights
they come together to fight in a game
they come together to die in the game

ten little humans
*end melody*

I've now been down fourty percent of my processor level for quite some time. Here I imagined somewhere down this road at least a little bit of challenge in going through life with your energy so much depleted, but alas... nothing happens.

Do they not even realize there is a difference?


[OOC: Jazz is talking about the 'Tristan' holo.]

What is life, but a certain number of questions without an answer?

What happens when we forget we ever wished for an answer?

What happens to us if we lose the ability to question the motives of those who command us?

And as a side note: Why can't the big kahoonas think of more useful things to torture us lowly pawns?

[OOC: This is part of the conversation between Sal and Jazz, that can be found here. Thus it is still Bodyswitch Day.]


The story begins like all stories do, with the magic words that lead us into foreign worlds and long lost eons. For this tale happened Once Upon A Time...

The dancer was a very famous being. All empires, all scroundrels, every regent and every lord knew his name. For they loved the dancer. He alone was able to make the heavens weep with happiness. He alone knew the secret over which many wars were fought and lost. He knew the secret that can never be told because there are no words to tell it, a whole new language would need to be invented for him to explain what all the people wanted to know.

That was the reason why he never spoke a word. Nothing but eternal silence came from his lips. His was a language of feeling and dreams, always free to interpret as one wishes.

Nobody understood what the dancer said. They all watched him dance, but they never listened to his tale. All but one, that is.

A demon heard every word the dancer said, understood every fragile gesture for what they were. This demon came from the vast empires he called home only to watch this most enchanting being, this dancer of truths. And with time the demon began to love the dancer, for never before was he able to hear his heard as loud as when he was near his dancer.

Many years later, the demon found the power to step into the dancer's gaze. He spoke words of devotion and everlasting love. He promised all the things that can only be given and never taken. He promised to give his whole life if only the dancer would look at him.

For a very, very long time the demon spoke these words. Always repeating his plea. Always on his knees so that he may look up into the eyes of his beloved. But the enchanter of his heart never answered. There was only dance and touch. Never a word spoken in reply to the demon's verse. Never one simple word.

With time the demon became sad and left the side of his dancer. He returned to his home and tried to forget. Of course, he was not able to do this. The dancer was just too dear to his heart, too entertwined were their fates. For it happened one day that he found his beloved lying at his feet.

A great war had ravaged the empires and forced the dancer to become a fighter. And as a battle-hardened warrior he now lay before the demon. The dancer had fought his way into the demon's home, not even the many wounds he received in this endevor slowed him down. For he knew his time was short, that he would not survive long in a demon's home, that the very air in such a place would kill him.

The demon's cried in pain as he saw this, fully knowing that now his beloved dancer was going to die. With hands made of dreams and yearning he touched the dancer, held him close and mourned the future that became past before it was born.

He brought the dancer back into the remains on his empires, to a world that had a hint of life hiding in it's dark core. There he built a thing of protection for the dancer, a cage to keep the soul of his beautiful beloved with him until time forgot itself. And when the dancer created a new life in his cage, the demon would take it and give it his wings so that it might fly into the heavens and make the clouds weep.

If one is lucky and very quiet, one can hear the dancer whisper sweet words to his demon.

It is soft and squishy and warm. And organic, must not forget organic.

What a difference to my normal form. Everything is so... empty. I found myself trying to run a self-diagnostic only to realize that I don't have access to even the most simple of function controls. Nearly everything runs without my needing to re-calibrate anything. Not that I made a habit of doing that before, but at least I could do it if I so desired. Now? Not a chance.

The center of balance it definitely not where I assume it to be, which makes it a bit difficult to move from point A to point B. I will not mention the interesting piece of acrobatics I did while attepting to walk. That hurt, by the way.

Anyway, I seem to be missing my body. The specs are as followed: *a long string of numbers, letters and strange symbols*

If you would be so nice and tell me where I can find it, I'd be very grateful.

Oh, and Midvalley. If you are wondering where your body is, I have it.

It seems I've been declared the metaphorical guardian angel, or something like that. Why else do I have the feeling that the other team is not in the slightest afraid of me?

Not that this is not a nice thing, no. It's just strange. The kind of strange that makes you wait for the other blade to find your mainframe. That kind of strange that makes you wonder what the slag is going on that you've missed.

On the other hand, I've felt like some reading as my sensors are not working on one hundred percent, which is something that will be corrected some time later. Maybe some Frankenstein would be good. It'd suit my philosophical mood at the moment.

*sent on an open channel, sender id incomplete, probably damaged*
I'm out!

There is some thing after me. It is huge, mega-scanny huge. And I think it wants to eat me.

Please, if anyone gets this message, help me.
*end message*

As I have managed to totally avoid seeing anything of the previous 'malfunctions' in the area coding of this chess board, I now have the great honour and even greater pleasure to tell you that I have been visited by...

Tribbles.

Tiny, cutey, purry, cudly Tribbles.

Did one of the game designers watch too much Gene Roddenberry as a kid?

Anybody of you want to assist in de-furring my joints? It's a hell of annoying to get small organics out of my armour.

*sent on an open channel, sender id incomplete, probably damaged*
I'm beginning to believe that I'm not in a sim, that all the scanny chizz is what happens to be hard reality here.

How the hell did I manage to get into this mess?

They have one of those huge battle armours walking around here. The bloody thing nearly stepped on me when my food was delivered.

And you know what the worst thing is?

It's not the silver thing I'm afraid of.

If anyone can read this, please help me out of here.
*end message*


[OOC: And Jazz continues his little charade.]

While I was steaming in my own metaphorical juices (i. e. having a bit of fun of the carnal kind with dear Midvalley), a new face arrived.

Seems to me that the guy suffers from a tiny dose of a mighty Jeckyll and Hyde complex. Highly amusing to look at, even the sort of panic his arrival produced in the other team.

I wonder why they are so afraid of him? I've seem scarier schizophreniacs. One of them was a wing-man of my dear surviving third.

Which reminds me, should I manage to get my aft back into my home dimension I'll have to give said third a mighty kicking. He was very annoying with his nuking out the human fighter jets.

On the other hand... wasn't there a theory of his flowting around that there is a miniscule chance that my other third might have survived?

Scary thought. To wake up after more than twenty thousand human years and find one third of your most cherished triade dead. Even worse is the thought that it will me my death he'll be mourning and not I mourning him, as I have done since we were told of the accident. I don't think the kid remembers him.

Ok, time for a topic change. I'm beginning to sound like an overly-emotional poet wanna-be. *shudder* Nope, this one is not poet material.

Anyway, I have received a very nicely worded invitation to a little fete within the exhalted halls of Asgard. Because I am such a nice guy, they wrote.

Seems that I haven't lost my touch, eh?

*sent on an open channel, sender id incomplete, probably damaged*
If anyone can read this, please help me.

I have been here since... I don't know anymore. It seems like an eternity. I don't know if this pad is not another of their strange ways to torment me, but even if it is I have at least the illusion of a small freedom.

I'm sending this on an open channel in the hope that somewhere someone will find this message.

My name is Tristan Jongleur.

Please help me.
*end message*


[OOC: Jazz is bored and plays with his spy persona.]

( Coded for Light only )

[OOC: continued from here.]

So, here I am now. Utterly disgusted with myself and perhaps even a mighty bit angry. At what I cannot say at the moment, be it my own cowardise to break a rule or the fact that I spied on L and Light's little game of who can hurt the other more.

Some days i really hate that my sensors are so sensitive.

I am not sure if I can look at the wanna-be god and not disintegrate him. The boy doesn't like me using a possessive pronoun to describe L but does these things to his nemesis. Really, one should always respect one's enemies, for they are always closer to you than a lover could ever dream to be. And... dirtying such a relationship with an act that is more intrusive and damaging than having one's mainframe high-jacked is so... so... unworthy. Light does not deserve to be honoured with an enmity with L. Where is the warrior's pride that guides him? I even think our resident serial-killer has a death wish.

As much as his counter part from Asgard. Both are so fixated on each other that I've come to think there must be more than their mind games. Much more.

I have made a promise to a mother hen to tell her where her chick can be found. Later, when all is over and I am sure, she will receive what she needs.

( Coded for Light )

( Coded for Lucifer )

( Coded for Ryuzaki )

( Coded for Emerald and Strix )

( Coded for Niflheim residents )

I really should stop trying to connect to the larger communication networks, because... there is none and it only gives me a headache. Thus I'll have to be happy with the small comm network that I can tap into, even though I find it terribly disturbing to have so many voices in my head. Which is a disturbing fact all alone as I am used to far more voices being there, but then I was able to shut them out when I wanted. Now this is not possible.

And it's all text! No sound!

Can you imagine how strange it is to have my 'hive' (Bumblebee would be so proud of me for using this Star Trek reference) invaded by the kind of simple code that we only learned in school? The kind of code that for humans would be the equivalent of Latin, Ancient Egyptian and Mandarin put into one language?

What would I give for a 'simple' and normal comm message?

And some radio or tv programme? Or maybe some e-books?

If nothing else happens I'll go to the library and find myself some long novel.

Do you think they have Tolstoi or Leroux here? Or maybe the Klingon versions of Shakespeare?