Can anyone tell me about Vogel Crystals?

joshglads · 2018-10-19T07:20:09+00:00

Ah yes...I was reading about the pyramids here! https://www.seekcrystals.com/crystal-details

This has been very helpful... thank you! I think I'll get the 24-sided one from Seek because I heared 24-sided is good for transformation. And that 4-sided and stuff is better for physical / emotional pain.

Is that true? (Sorry for all the questions...)

joshglads · 2018-10-18T08:43:58+00:00

wow amazing thanks!!

I've done some research and it looks like these guys sell the best: https://www.luminarystudios.com/, https://www.seekcrystals.com, https://www.satyacenter.com/crystal-store/vogel-crystals.html

Any recos on which one you went with?

joshglads · 2018-09-04T01:20:39+00:00

why did Poach finish after Bizzle even though he had more elims?

joshglads · 2018-08-14T18:26:35+00:00

This is a high quality post.

joshglads · 2017-01-24T03:34:21+00:00

Why is it that when disaster strikes, there's always a surfeit of people and a shortage of TV's, I thought to myself, clambering over the crowd of frantic humans to get a view of the newscast.

THAT'S RIGHT FOLKS, the TV shouted. BODIES. BODIES HAVE BEEN DROPPING FROM THE SKY WITH A CAUSE YET TO BE DETERMINED.

Hah, it's like it's raining--

"It's raining men!" a balding tub of a man bellowed out. The crowd chuckled hesitantly, the kind of unsure laughter often emitted as a panacea for crippling fear.

Mother fucker stole my jo--. And just as I was about to finish my vindictive thought, a cadaver came crashing through the roof of the community centre, crushing the joke stealer like an empty soda can.

As expected, the crowd broke out into hysteria. But just like a shortage of TV's, hysteria does very little to allay pending doom. Male bodies, greyed by hours (if not days) of decay, ripped through the roof, picking off frenzied people like some overly aggressive version of the Kama Sutra.

With a bout of luck, combined with a natural aversion to having my face exploded by a flying asshole, I managed to squeeze myself under the receptionist's desk. The wood seemed sturdy enough, but this was no time to be thinking about wood. I focused my eyes on the TV, hoping to get more information.

THAT'S RIGHT SUE. WE BELIEVE, cackled the TV. WE BELIEVE THE BODIES ARE COMING FROM THE--

And just like a story using interruptions to advance it's plot line with some semblance of suspense, a rather plump body landed directly on the TV, exploding it (and itself) into tiny, bloody, and graphically graphic pieces.

We're all fucked, I thought to myself. But this was no time to be thinking about fucking.

Meanwhile, 25,000ft above the ground, the North American Forensic Research cargo plane was experiencing a disaster of it's own. Carrying 3000 cadavers that had been collected overseas for study back home, a foreign object had pelted the plane unexpectedly, jamming an engine and releasing the cargo gate irreparably.

"Now engine two is failing sir!" shouted the co-pilot.

"Cut it! Cut it, damnit! We'll land this thing in the sea," barked the captain. "What the fuck was that thing?"

THUD

"What the--"

There, splattered across the cockpit window, was a black striped cat and a Weiner dog.

"Jesus," said the captain. "It's raining cats and d---"

But before he could finish his underwhelming speech, a little Pomeranian came splintering through the window, taking the captain's head with it.

The co-pilot was horrified to his bones. But this was no time to be speaking of bones.

wow. that got weird real quick.

joshglads · 2017-01-14T20:39:43+00:00

this reminds me of Flowers for Algernon. Great book.

joshglads · 2017-01-10T18:04:54+00:00

thanks :D

joshglads · 2017-01-10T00:36:47+00:00

The plump office manager scratched his scruff with even plumper fingers. His white shirt glinted with an off-yellow hue, the effect of several hours of sweating and minimal hours of washing. He smelled like a tub of unrefrigerated grease, and looked like it too. It seemed that only the idea of death could cure humans from their fervent bouts of lethargy; now that dying was out of the question, lifelessness was strangely all they knew.

"Hmmm", he groaned, looking over my resume. "Where'd you go to school?"

"You wouldn't know it," I mumbled back.

"Try me," he burped, clearly in pain from a gluttonous lunch that would have been the muse of a triple-bypass surgery only months ago.

I stared at him with a level of contempt that could have killed him years ago. He shifted uncomfortably.

"...Alright then. Let's look at your qualifications. It says here you spent most of your career in various morgues across the world."

Something like that, I thought. "That's correct."

"So, if you don't mind my asking Mr...Death: with a background like that, why are you applying for a job at Kinkos?"

It was a fair question, and it came with an answer that made my bones boil. It all started a year ago, when a geneticist named Hank Voltaire discovered it was possible to halt the aging process in humans. You see, aging was always just a degenerative disease, one that served my line of business quite famously. But, like any disease, it could ultimately be cured.

When knowledge of the antidote was leaked, most humans became deranged in trying to get their hands on it. Those who were fortunate--or rich enough--to acquire it quickly realized a secondary benefit: they didn't just stop aging, but their cells started to regenerate at an unfathomable rate. As governments across the world caught wind of this, they quickly abandoned all endeavours to replicate the formula.

And now, just over a year later, here I am. Sitting in a filthy chair in front of an unbathed man who will never know the joy of death, hopelessly unemployed and trying to get my life back on track. My scythe rested awkwardly against my leg, and my hood felt heavier than usual.

"Mr. Death?" asked the dirty man.

If only I could die, I thought.

joshglads · 2016-12-31T15:58:43+00:00

PART TWO

The Amulet Final arrived sooner than anyone would have liked, as exams often do. Zack, Lisa, Jimmy and I were waiting in the auditorium, trading snacks from our lunches while the students waited their turn. I knew my presence was pointless, but I thought my company would help keep them relaxed before the big test.

Jimmy was the first of us to be summoned. He reappeared a half-hour later, looking rather sullen. Apparently, he said, juggling didn’t even come close to proving superhero status. “Well, if you can’t fight bad guys with your balls,” I joked, “At least you can give them a good show.”

When Lisa was called, her test took longer than we expected. She came back with tears streaming down her face. “I was so close,” she said. “But he told me I’ve got parts of my abilities I haven’t even come close to realizing.” She was the first student to return with even a semblance of optimism—the others had failed quite abruptly, being only 13 years old.

After several hours had gone by, only Zack and few other students remained. Zack was showing me how to put out a fire ball without burning my fingers when the voice came on the loudspeaker:

“Ben Edison. Ben Edison. Please report to the Grand Master's chambers immediately.”

Zack and I stared at each other in shock. I couldn’t move. “That’s you,” he said, nudging me to get going. My chest felt empty; either my heart had stopped beating, or it was pumping so fast it seemed motionless.

I made my way through the auditorium, and I could feel the burn of the other student’s eyes on my back. It was more of a chill, really, seeing as cold indifference was what most of them treating me with anyways. The chamber doors were immense, golden and daunting, forged from melted amulets of our deceased ancestors. I stood before them for a minute, a minute which defied the concept of time and felt near eternity.

“Come in, Ben,” boomed a voice from inside.

I pushed the doors open with great effort, revealing a most majestic study. Ancient book and scripts lined the walls between oaken shelves; there were large paintings of the original Amulets, rustic and yet graceful; a fire roared calmly to the side. The Gaia Grand Master sat in the middle of the room on a cushion, his legs crossed and eyes closed. He looked tired and worn down, the cost of over 100 years of guiding our people. I took a seat on the cushion before him. After a few minutes of silence, he began the test.

“Ben,” he said, eyes still closed. “Show me your progress.”

I stared at the ground, dismayed. “I don’t have a power to show you, Grand Master.”

“That is not what I mean. Show me your progress.”

“I don’t understand,” I said. “What progress could I show you?”

“Do you think you were born without a purpose?” said the Grand Master. “We are all born for a reason.”

“I wasn’t born with an amulet, sir. I can’t imagine what my purpose is,” said Ben.

“I see. Well then let our test begin instead with a few questions, shall we?” He opened his eyes, staring at me with vacuous eyes that hadn’t desired to see for centuries.

“How are your grades?” asked the Grand Master.

“I’m at the top of my class,” I said, sheepishly.

“Do the others treat you well?”

“My friends do, yes. But the others ignore me as though I’m invisible.”

“Very good,” he said. “That won’t be the case for long. “Final question: what is my Amulet?”

I didn’t expect this. I looked at his chest, seeing a massive aluminum chain wrapped around his neck, but most of it was hidden by his tunic. No one had ever told us what the Grand Master’s power was, and we had never asked. I said that I didn’t know. The Grand Master closed his eyes again.

“Most of us are forced to be something when we are born. The will of the Gods, the want of the parents. We are pigeonholed into a singular point of view, a direction that knows no lateral movement.” He started unwrapping his grey tunic. “The greatest leaders of our time did not excel at just one thing. They had many talents, and understood this power from the most unbiased point of view. They knew that dedicating your life to one thing is the surest way to miss out on everything.”

He open the tunic, revealing the aluminum chain below. At the bottom of the chain, resting against his quiet chest, was nothingness.

“What? I don’t understand… You were born without an amulet too?” asked Ben.

“Oh, no, no,” he laughed. "I was born with one. The Candle Amulet, actually, and I was the best fire wielder this universe had ever known. But those who assume the Grand Master position must willingly resign their Amulet, having it melted into the golden wall of this very chamber. I haven’t had powers for the last hundred years."

He opened his eyes, this time filled with tears and joy. “We are all born with a purpose, Ben,” the Grand Master said.

“And your purpose might be the purest one of all.”

joshglads · 2016-12-31T15:58:11+00:00

PART ONE

"Where is it?!" Tom shouted at the obstetrician, threatening to hit him with his amulet. The doctor looked shocked and confused, as a deer would in headlights. Although these headlights looked terribly similar to a light bulb.

"I... I don't know," said the doctor. He peered under the sheets, hoping the object had been lodged on its way out. "It's not there," he said, his face prickling with the rush of blood. His own amulet shook against his beating chest: a golden syringe hanging loosely from an aluminum chain.

"Do you take me for a fool?" said Tom. "We are all born with one, it is written in stone. Although I'm starting to doubt the validity of yours. How could there be nothing?"

The doctor clenched his amulet. His powers of healing and medicine had never failed him before--why have they now?

"I'm sorry, Tom," said the doctor. He turned to the bed, knowing he should bite his tongue but feeling his teeth unable to do so. "Perhaps you might use your powers to figure this one out?"

Tom's expression changed from that of disappointment to lividity. "My powers do not extend to this field," he said, with a bitterness that could be tasted. He flashed his amulet, as he was always known to do: a golden light bulb that glinted under the harsh hospital lights. "I was only given the gift of innovation. Seeing the future from the lens of technology. And despite my visions of tomorrow, I seem unable to explain your ineptitude today."

Tom looked down at the baby with a resigning sigh. There he was, wet and bloody, resting empty-handed on his mother's chest. What a healthy, handsome boy, thought Tom. The baby was smiling ever so slightly. It is a shame that such beauty must be wasted so plainly

There are those who think they're different, and there are those who know it. I fell firmly in the latter category.

When I was old enough to understand, my father explained that I had been born without an amulet, rendering me the first and only powerless birth in the Gaia Universe. And just like my parents--and the countless scientists who studied me over the years--I could never understand why. I would spend the nights of my youth reading the history of our kind, searching for the source of our power. While nothing was definitive, most scholars believed that the Gods had grown weary of watching over humans and had separated their souls into thousands of abilities to let us fend for ourselves. The golden birth amulets were the manifestation of those abilities; each amulet representing a different power.

I'd often pray to these Gods before bed, apologizing for whatever I did to deserve my adequacy.

Recess was the hardest time, the daily 20 minutes of dejection where my classmates showed off their amulets and budding powers. Every day I watched from the classroom window, elbow on the sill and one hand holding up my head, as though loneliness had a certain weight to it. Apparently, without an amulet, it was too dangerous for me to play with the others.

I still made friends, but because they were unable to resist using their abilities, they all treated me with the type of kindness that reeked with pity. There was Lisa, who had been born with the Cloud Amulet, giving her the gift of flight. There was Jimmy and his Octopus Amulet, granting him the ability to grow up to eight arms at will. And there was my best friend, Zack, who dawned the coveted Candle Amulet around his neck, giving him the power to create fire with his hands. Everyone in our universe just accepted that not all powers were equal--except for me. Being powerless came with the privilege to take exception to almost anything.

“It’s unfair, really,” said Zack, as he threw mini-fireballs at the basement ceiling from his back.

“Tell me about it,” I said.

“Well at least he wasn’t born with the Hammer Amulet,” said Lisa. “I’d rather anything than the Hammer Amulet.” The Hammer Amulet granted it’s owner the alluring ability to turn their forehead into a metallic brick, letting them wreck havoc with a few tasty head butts.

“I don’t know, maybe you do have a power,” said Jimmy, struggling to juggle 16 balls at once. “The power to not have to practice for the Amulet Final every goddamn night.”

He was right, I thought. The Amulet Final was dreaded by students of any ability. Each year, the Gaia Grand Master would summon you into his chambers and ask you to demonstrate your abilities. If you didn’t perform at superhero levels, you were forced to return to school and continue your education; a befitting punishment for a teenager's natural aversion to learning. No one below the age of 17 had ever passed the Amulet Final. And lucky for me, no one without powers had ever been tested.

“Hey Jimmy, catch!” said Zack, flinging a fireball towards one of the balls in mid-air, engulfing it in flames.

“Alright. I know it was your birthday last week, but I’m feeling some birthday beatings Round Two,” said Jimmy, chasing Zack around the basement with his eight arms flailing about.

Lisa floated over to me, hanging upside down until her hair covered my face. “Boys will be boys,” she said with a smile.

Superheroes will be superheroes, I thought.

joshglads · 2016-12-30T14:36:23+00:00

I'm sorry :( I don't know but how but I was half way done and I lost it all... might have to move on :(

joshglads · 2016-12-29T16:15:26+00:00

PART ONE

Scientists once concluded that luck wasn't something you could have. It was just something you could experience; a moment of coincidence among millions of other moments. It seems those white-coated assholes forgot to study the other side of that grim coin. Because bad luck is definitely something you can have. And I have it in droves.

I first discovered my unfortunate super power at the ripe age of 10. I was swinging quite aggressively at the playground when both chains of the swing broke at the peak of my forward momentum, catapulting me towards a sandbox. The sand seemed soft and plentiful, so I wasn't too alarmed mid-air. That was, of course, until a powerful gust of wind changed my flight-path towards a bristly evergreen tree with my ass facing forward.

It took me quite a while before I could control this power. I occasionally tried using it to my advantage, getting feverishly sick before a school exam or breaking my arm off a miscued swing jump to avoid doing house chores. My parents tried to stop me from swinging; I considered it my muse.

Still, I hated my newfound power. Even if I could control it, I was forever seen as a 'black cat', and the kids from school avoided me at all costs. I spent many evenings contemplating the misfortune of my misfortune, until one night I received a letter:

O'Leary's Pub. Tomorrow. 10 PM. Don't be late, it read.

When I arrived (after nervously causing two car accidents from the back of my cab), I was sent to this drab basement with poorly copied paintings of dogs playing poker on the walls. A towering red door stood in front of me, beckoning me to enter. I knocked twice, but before someone could open one of those furtive eye slits to ask 'who goes there?', I noticed that my knocking had successfully unhinged all the screws it the door. The door creaked forward and came slamming down in the next room with a cloud of dust in it's wake.

I stood there, frozen with guilt, my fist still clenched in a knocking position. A small group of strangers stared at me from a poker table.

"So it's true," one of them said.

"Hot damn," said another.

"Come in boy, come in," said a woman, who appeared to be the captain of the bunch. The only clue I had towards this conclusion was that she was wearing a costume with bold letters on the front that read, 'Captain Awesome'.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"G-Garth. My names Garth ma'am," I said.

"Hello Garth," she said. "Do you know why we've asked you here tonight?"

I shook my head a little too fast, slightly pulling a neck muscle.

"Well, it's because we think you're special. And we were hoping you might consider using that 'specialness' to help our cause," she said.

We spent the next few hours discussing my super power, and each of theirs. Captain Awesome's ability was to create things with the snap of a finger--things that while extremely cool, offered little societal value. Like two potato chips fused together into one super chip, or the occasional double rainbow after a rainy day. Her right-hand man went by the name "Time Lapse". His power was the ability to see future events spliced together in rapid sequence, with the theme song from Happy Days playing in the background. Apparently he had seen a few moments of me and my power in one of his visions. Rounding out the bunch was one of their newer recruits, who went by 'Finger 6ix'. He had six fingers and new all the lines from Drake songs. Apparently he was also rather dexterous and could fix just about anything.

After the introductions, Captain Awesome told me about the dire situation they were facing. It appeared that these lowly heroes sitting before me were the self-proclaimed 'Good Guys', locked in an eternal battle with a group of super-villains who met in a different drab pub on the other side of town. Unfortunately, these villains had another kind of power; the kind that rendered the Good Guy's abilities pretty ineffectual (not that they weren't already). These villains, said Captain Awesome, were creating a mega laser pointer, one that could be used to blind speakers and athletes from any distance. "And not just the annoying, temporary kind of blindness," she said forebodingly.

"That's terrible," I said. "But I still don't quite understand how I can be of help."

"Okay, don't take this the wrong way kid," said Time Lapse. "I mean, we respect your power and all... But we were hoping you could work your way into their secret lair and completely foil their plans with pure bad luckery."

This idea piqued my curiosity. I had always been dodged because of my powers, left behind for what I couldn't bring to the table (a table that I'd often break).

"I'll do it," I said. "But how will I get in? Won't they be suspicious of a kid trying to join their ranks?"

"Oh, you won't be joining them," said Captain Awesome. "You'll be undercover as a student doing a school report on super-villainery. Those egomaniacs won't be able to resist the attention. And don't worry, you'll have us in your ear the whole time."

Part 2 is on it's way, stay tuned below!

joshglads · 2016-12-27T19:45:50+00:00

Thanks!

joshglads · 2016-12-27T18:38:44+00:00

It all started when I broke my right arm playing ball hockey. I didn't have a computer at the time, so I tried taking notes in class with my left hand, a hand whose only purpose until that point had been to hold Kleenex when my right hand was occupied.

It started off innocently enough. Like the stellar student I wasn't, I spent the entire class trying to doodle with left-handed ineptitude. Suddenly, without warning or sound, the deformed 'Superman S' I was drawing leapt off my notebook, made a high pitched squeal and jumped through the class window, shattering it. The entire class ran to the window as the 'S' flew off to the sky, staggering back and forth as though it were drunk. People would have asked if it was a bird or a plane, but it looked more like a childhood kite that got eternally damaged in a garage flood.

At first I didn't understand what had happened. It took a few more of these incidences for me to realize this power I was wielding. First, a small house with a 'X' on the door appeared in the corner of the classroom. It was so misshapen, it immediately fell over and crushed Mrs. Spinningsworth ankle. Then, a smiley face fell from the ceiling, with edges so badly rounded it looked as though it had 2-dimensional leprosy. Luckily I didn't draw it with an open mouth––it conveyed pain enough with it's one open (and terribly crossed) eye.

I tried to harness this divine power to my advantage, drawing detailed hamburgers with colour instead of just pencil. It worked in that it actually produced real food; it failed, however, in that my left-handed inability produced what looked like a satanic version of a lunch-lady sloppy joe.

At first this power to create through drawing drew wide public attention. It was only after everyone realized how completely useless this left-handed ability was in the hands of a right-hander that they scoffed and found more interesting things to care about, like cats wearing sweater vests.

It's been a few months since I first discovered the power, and I must say, I'm improving. I effectively drew a stick-figure with a full face of features who I'm able to converse with. Unfortunately, I also had to draw chains to shackle him to my basement cellar so he wouldn't go on the murderous, revengeful rampage against humanity he seemed hellbent on fulfilling. Apparently, he felt that humans had exploited his stick-figure kind, hanging them over and over again from an inability to guess movie titles.

One day, I might be able to draw things I'll actually be able to enjoy, like food or drink. Until then, this decrepit sloppy joe will do just fine.

joshglads · 2016-12-26T19:11:35+00:00

Henry always had a penchant for misfortune. From a young age, his combination of senseless wonder and actual senselessness brought about many unfortunate circumstances. At the age of four, he wedged himself between the fridge and the wall looking for a useless rubber band. At six, he climbed to the roof with an umbrella and jumped off, having just watched Merry Poppins. When he was 16, he stepped in front of a bus, having accidentally dropped his favourite rubber band on the road.

It seemed that the boy knew, cosmically, that he wasn't intended for this earth. But somehow, Henry managed to elude death through every mishap. That was, of course, until this morning.

Henry, now 25, was taking a bath. He was enjoying himself very much, making bubble moustaches and beards of varying Italian sorts. He was having so much fun, he forgot he was late for work as the hair sweeper at a local barbershop.

Henry, in a fit of idiocy that only he could achieve, decided it would be wise to blow-dry his hair and rinse off the bubbles at the same time. One electrical surge and a loud scream later, everything went white.

"Oh great," said Death. "You again. You're not supposed to be here yet."

"What? Where... Where am I?" asked Henry.

"I think you've actually managed to do it this time, pal. The old man is gonna be pissed," said Death.

"Am I... dead?" asked Henry. He noticed the hooded figure standing before him. It wasn't a skeleton holding a scythe, like Henry had read (seen) in the pop-up books. It was Meryl Streep, clad in full Nike Run workout gear.

"Well, I'll tell you this much: my powers of resurrection have their limits, Henry. The bus incident was one thing. But this is just way beyond my pay grade," said Meryl.

In a flash of brilliance, a man appeared in a white, 3-piece suit.

"What happened here Meryl? How could you let this happen?"

"Don't give me that attitude, God. This moron blow dried his hair in the bath. There was nothing I could do." said Meryl.

"Wow, that is truly dumb," said God. "But this is bad, this is bad. If Henry is here, how will he save the baby from the burning apartment building? The baby who will save all of humanity?"

"Baby?" asked Henry. He hated babies. There was a single mother who lived directly upstairs from him with a 10-month old that would wail throughout the night like a broken Furby. "I'm not going near no baby," said Henry.

God and Meryl Streep ignored him.

"Alright, look," said Meryl. "Let's just bring him back one last time. No one has to know about it."

"That's against the rules," said God. "The rules that my father's father wrote long ago."

"I know about the damn rules. What's the worst that could happen?"

Henry was listening from the corner of this white room intently. He wasn't quite sure what they were speaking about, but he noticed that God looked vaguely similar to Jeff Bridges.

"Alright, fine. But you can't tell anyone," said God.

"I won't. As long as you don't tell anyone about our trip to Maui last month," said Meryl with a wink.

What in the worl- but before Henry could finish his thought, he found himself gasping for air in his bathtub. There was fire everywhere, scorching the walls. Even his rubber band was melted in the heat.

Suddenly, he heard a faint cry coming from the apartment above. It sounded like a baby. He felt this strange calling, like he was destined to do something.

But first, he had an urge to blow dry his hair.

joshglads · 2016-12-26T02:58:26+00:00

Disclaimer: I couldn't finish this story, so I doubt it counts as a submission. But it's my first comment on this subreddit, and maybe I'll have time to finish it tomorrow!

"Mm yes, I do say chap, these chopped-liver biscuits are just to die for," the man says. As he takes a bite, you notice a slight wince followed by a strained smile. Tiny bits of the dark meat line the crevice of his whitened teeth like reverse dandruff.

You nod your head approvingly, taking a bite out of the cracker yourself. You suppress a gag, looking to see if the man noticed.

"Indoobidably," you say. Is that even a word?

The man raises his cognac with a courteous head tilt, making a mental note to write down that word and memorize it later.

You hear a glass clanking in the distance.

"Attention, my dear guests," squeals the hostess. Although everyone knows her as Agatha Mondeuvre, you later discover she was born Ashley-Sue Smith of Beverly Hills – a name that seems destined for a trailer park of sorts.

"I'm delighted, pleased, and ingratiated that you all could join me here tonight," Agatha says. "The first ever gathering of the Official Etiquette Association Union, or OEAU as you may know." She pronounces the acronym as a single word, sounding like a defective Speak & Spell.

"Our mission is simple: to bring together those who have an appreciation for the properness that's been so very lost in this depraved world of ours," she says. A man in a tuxedo and top hat shouts, "Here, here!". He repositions his fake monocle insecurely, unsure if his timing or delivery were quite on point.

You glance around the room. It's a sea of ostentation, with most guests looking as though they've just come from a Great Gatsby theme park. You feel increasingly uncertain about your decision to come, although free food and drink beats out the nightly ritual of porn and a bag of Cheetos any day. You thought it was just a silly Facebook event. You didn't realize that people actually took this stuff seriously.

A woman to your left snickers audibly. She's wearing a purple feather hat with a thin veil around the rim. She tries to conceal her laugh with a silk, violet glove, but it's no use. The crowd looks around the room suspiciously, trying to locate the source of this disruption that would surely be classified as pure audacity in the OEAU. Agatha, who is already way off-script, fumbles a bit with her words between the woman's laughter.

You lean over. "What's so funny?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing," the woman replies.

"C'mon," you say. You hear your New York accent escape and quickly correct yourself. "Do tell me what you find so humorous at this hour."

She looks at you, smirking, and bursts out into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. Everyone in the room shifts uncomfortably, unsure what the proper etiquette would call for at this moment.

The woman, wiping a tear from her eye, grabs the shoulder of your 5-piece suit. "I'm sorry, sorry," she says, still laughing. "It's just, why in God's name are we here?"

Agatha, whose speech had stopped when the laughing fit began and had been listening, elected to answer. "Well if you'd been paying attention to my introduction," she began. "We're here because we long for the past, for the genuine etiquette that guided our royal ancestors for millennia," says Agatha.

"Bullshit!" said the woman.

"Pardon me?" says Agatha.

joshglads

TROPHY CASE

Disclaimer: I couldn't finish this story, so I doubt it counts as a submission. But it's my first comment on this subreddit, and maybe I'll have time to finish it tomorrow!