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Post by tygerarmy on Jun 21, 2009 17:32:24 GMT -5
and we'd have to use SCIENCE (she said it all in caps somehow, I think her button was on her shoulder). I tried and failed to find a picture of what this reminded me of. Spider-Man, Dr. Doom and Captain America (Capt under cover as airport security) Dr. Doom: Such insolence should not be tolerated by DR. DOOM Captain America: How do you do that? Dr. Doom: What? Captain America: Speak in all caps like that?
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Post by HarleyThomas1002 on Jun 29, 2009 3:42:19 GMT -5
I feel as if I haven't contributed or posted if I haven't contributed.
The Gallery of Henri Beauchamp
If you go into this one tiny, dingy one-story bar in Paris, and the right bartender is behind the counter that night, you might be able to see a very exclusive gallery show of the lost works of one Henri Beauchamp. But, to get in, you have to prove you're a devotee of the artist to get in.
You'll be asked, in clear and perfect English, "What would like to partake of this glorious night?" Answer "absinthe", no matter what. Any other drink, from whiskey to water, will kill you as you sleep.
The next question will regard the type, and you MUST answer one of two things: "The stuff that Man himself could not bear to take," or, "The good stuff. The best stuff." If you ask for any other absinthe, in any other way, you will be plagued by nightmares for 13 days. Each night's dream will be more horrible than the last, until, upon the thirteenth dream, your nightmare will follow you, every moment of your waking and sleeping life.
Don't try and cheat the barkeep: the door locked behind you. You have to drink what he gives you, doom or not. That such a powerful man granted you audience should be enough. Besides, I've heard that the dying complimented his drinks in their death throes.
If you make it that far before sealing your fate, the bartender will say, "Be sure you handle this with care; this is the finest I have." From here, you may do one of two things: Say, word for word, "I overestimated my fortitude, and I bid you good eve." If the barkeep nods, you may leave the door you entered, unharmed and with nothing gained and nothing lost (except the time spent inside).
Or you can go on.
You will be given a glass with a seven-sided rim, with each side twisting ever so delicately around the basin until forming a sleek and simple handle. You will also receive a very, very, very special absinthe spoon, in the shape of a key; the holes at the key's top serve as the draining point for the alcohol to pour over the sugar cube. And, of course, an unmarked bottle, stripped long ago of its label, scraps of paper sticking to its sides, covered in the rot of the decades past.
The spoon is completely flat, but has two distinct sides: one with a groove along the shaft of the key, and one without. Turn the shaft down, so its groove will be face down. If you attempt this face up, your absinthe will taste foul, your nose will burn, and your eyes will shrivel in their sockets with unspeakable horrors not of this world.
Now, if your spoon is the right way up, begin preparing the absinthe as one would (put the sugar on the spoon, and pour the alcohol over so it gains its color and "special qualities").
Say "cheers" to your friend, the barkeep, and bottoms up. If you don't, the absinthe will burn every innard it touches with the power and pain of sulfuric acid.
If you've done it right, the already dim lights will go off, and darkness will consume the bar. Don't be afraid; the darkness is the cue that you've been approved for the exhibit. Wait out the darkness, and keep silent as the dead, lest the bartender decide to make you so.
Eventually (not too long, two to three minutes), a green floodlight will shine brightly on a door on the far wall of the bar. The bar will be bathed in green, and not just from the floodlight. Little luminescent spheres will gently drift through the room, and the barkeep will no longer be there...nor any other unassuming patron inside before.
There's no danger by this point...consider it a safe point. If you didn't finish the absinthe, you don't have to, but you might need the alcohol. Either way, take the spoon and put it in the keyhole of the green-lit portal's doorknob. It will fit perfectly, and reach the end of the keyhole with a resounding click.
Inside is a small elevator, with the most beautiful woman any mortal eyes can imagine, bathed in the green glow in just such an angle that the light refracts beyond her into the shape of wings.
The Green Fairy herself will ask you, "Going up?”, and considering all the trouble you went through, it would only make sense to say yes.
Now, you have one more hurdle to clear. She will ask you, as you cross the line from the bar to the compartment, "How would you compare Beauchamp's surrealism to that of, say, René Magritte?" For your reply, you must say, "I've come to see more than art tonight."
If you don't, the green floodlight will blow out, the doors will slam shut, and the elevator will plummet through a seemingly infinite blackness before a red light grows brighter as the elevator nears the very depths of Hell.
Now, if your elevator begins to go up, the green light will also fade, but in its place will be the cool glow of the moon. But, before you even recognize it, the elevator will reach the top of its...well, let's call it a shaft to not get too intricate.
Now, I'm not as sure about this as the rest, but I've heard that, if the Green Fairy kisses you on the cheek as she leaves the elevator, you will always be blessed with a creative inspiration: a permanent, ever-changing muse. You can't ask her, you can't kiss her; she has to do it of her own volition. If not...well, nothing, but no reason to do it anyway and anger the woman who is responsible for keeping the Beauchamp paintings safe for so many years.
You will enter, from the elevator, a turn-of-the-century parlor, with a large poster of Henri Beauchamp on the left side of the opposite wall; on the right is a door.
Taking the time to read the poster is a fairly good idea, as it explains the very significance of Monsieur Beauchamp. You see, he was a struggling surrealist in the 1920's, always making art to try to be free of all premeditation, and managed to do so. You see, after one night in a tiny, dingy one-story bar in Paris, he began to paint...patterns.
First it was geometric patterns. Then complete fractals. Then images that would be in the newspaper the next day. Then next week. Then from fifty years ago. One hundred years in the future, two hundred years in the past...
Then, on his last night of life, he kidnapped three young girls from their homes at night, murdered them, and painted his finest masterpieces in reds and yellows with the blood and bile of virgins.
He committed suicide immediately after painting exactly 13 of these.
These are behind the door.
The first six, from the left, show, from left to right: the genesis of the universe, the only true visage of God as viewable to the eyes of man, the true image of Jesus Christ, the sprawling clouds of Heaven, every Pope from the first to faces not yet recognizable, and a portrait of Jesus' appearance in his Second Coming.
The other six, on the right, show, from right to left: the cataclysm of the universe, the only true visage of Satan as viewable to the eyes of man, the true image of Judas, the sprawling flames of Hell, every human-embodied demon from the first to faces not yet recognizable, and a portrait of the Antichrist in his Second Coming.
Now, six and six makes twelve. But what of the thirteenth?
This thirteenth painting is turned around on its wall pin, the image facing the wall. The space around it is roped up at a very wide diameter, and under the flipped image is a sign, in three languages. The top is in the scriptures of the Seraphim, the bottom in the runes of the highest demonic orders, and in the middle, in Roman letters.
DO
NOT
TOUCH
Now, like the kiss, I can't say this part with as much certainty, but all the same...I heard that, somehow, as he died, Beauchamp flayed his skin, his organs, his very soul, into some sort of collage. How he took his dead body and created such a horrific masterpiece, I could never say, nor would I ever dare to.
So...if you make it, maybe you can flip the canvas over and tell me sometime? You can tell me about it over a drink.
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Post by spaniel on Jun 30, 2009 0:56:42 GMT -5
Harley, that doesn't sound at all worth it.
Moar SCP Foundation?
Item #: SCP-590
Object Class: Safe
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-590 is assigned to a regular SCP living space at Sector 7. There is to be one guard on duty at all times within said space, to ensure 590 does not harm himself. SCP-590 is to be supplied with one television, which is to be used only in the broadcasting of children's shows. At no time is SCP-590 allowed to leave Sector 7, for any reason. Subject is to be fed only the vitamin-laced protein gruel created for SCP-590. Anyone caught attempting to feed SCP-590 anything else will receive Keter duty. SCP-590 is not to be handled without proper authorisation.
Note: SCP-590 is not to be named as anything other then Five Ninety. He is a tool to be used, not someone's friend, sibling, or child. Anyone found forming attachments to an SCP will be removed to a less people-intensive duty. Handling staff with diagnosed autism or Asperger's syndrome is recommended due to their neurological inability to handle emotional attachment or social interaction.
Description SCP-590 appears to be a young male, approximately 16 years of age.The only benefit he receives from his powers is apparent longevity, as he has not aged since his arrival at the Foundation.
Although in all aspects a normal teenager, when SCP-590 touches any other human, he heal all injuries and ailments, physical and mental, they may have. As an odd side effect, SCP-590 receives the injuries upon himself, being subjected to all the pain, and the aftermath.
To elucidate: When healing a physical wound, SCP-590 not only feels the pain of receiving the wound, but gains scars relevant to where the wound was on the subject. When healing a cancer patient, the tumors materialize at varying places on his body, usually along his arms or legs. Any mental healing performed is transferred directly, resulting in SCP-590 gaining whatever mental aberration he was healing. Those wounds he receives from using his powers accumulate.
SCP-590 is not capable of healing mental disorders caused by psionic induction, including those caused by certain mind-altering SCPs.
In ████, SCP-590 was bedridden, and unable to leave his room due to accumulated injuries. In ████, SCP-590 was put on life support, unable to even breathe on his own. Shortly after, he was given one dose of SCP-500, the reason being that he could heal more often than it could, thus keeping him healthy would be a good idea.
At the instigation of Dr. Bright, SCP-590 was immediately induced to heal several cases of mental retardation. Due to this action, SCP-590 is permanently at the mental level of a three year old child, and is extremely tractable.
SCP-590 is currently reserved for use on Researchers and above. Any requests for testing should go through Dr. ████████.
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Post by HarleyThomas1002 on Jun 30, 2009 4:01:25 GMT -5
I liked it. Kind of a nice change of pace from all the and he was skinned alive while his parents watched sort of thing.
I though of it as a shorter and less gory Holders series.
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Post by Lady Renae on Jul 1, 2009 0:18:06 GMT -5
I would take severe offense to that if it weren't absurd beyond all reasoning to take offense to fiction being presented as fiction.
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Post by spaniel on Jul 1, 2009 1:33:07 GMT -5
I liked the story, Harley. Just seems like a bit much to see some paintings.
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Post by Admiral Lithp on Jul 1, 2009 1:34:35 GMT -5
I would take severe offense to that if it weren't absurd beyond all reasoning to take offense to fiction being presented as fiction. I take offense to any FF game taking place in Ivalice that isn't Final Fantasy Tactics. Ask Harley, he'd know. In the meantime: Moar creepypasta! And not something shitty, like Harley's!
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Post by HarleyThomas1002 on Jul 1, 2009 3:31:09 GMT -5
I liked it. The rest of you can go to Hell.
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Post by Admiral Lithp on Jul 1, 2009 12:14:54 GMT -5
I liked it. The rest of you can go to Hell. Do I need to whip out the pamphlet again!? 'Cause it's really rather nice this time of year!
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Post by Maryland Bear on Jul 1, 2009 12:30:55 GMT -5
Dr. Doom: Such insolence should not be tolerated by DR. DOOM Captain America: How do you do that? Dr. Doom: What? Captain America: Speak in all caps like that? I can't remember the exact issue, but it was a Spider-Man story, not Cap, and it was two security guards talking with Doom. And I think, to make the quote a smidge more accurate, it was... Dr. Doom: Such insolence should not be tolerated by DR. DOOM Security Guard: How do you do that? Dr. Doom: How does DOOM do what? Security Guard: Say your name in all capital letters like that.
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Post by tygerarmy on Jul 1, 2009 19:10:00 GMT -5
Dr. Doom: Such insolence should not be tolerated by DR. DOOM Captain America: How do you do that? Dr. Doom: What? Captain America: Speak in all caps like that? I can't remember the exact issue, but it was a Spider-Man story, not Cap, and it was two security guards talking with Doom. And I think, to make the quote a smidge more accurate, it was... Dr. Doom: Such insolence should not be tolerated by DR. DOOM Security Guard: How do you do that? Dr. Doom: How does DOOM do what? Security Guard: Say your name in all capital letters like that. 100% more accurate. I will be more careful next time I quote the scripture. Especially from the Gospel according to Parker.
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Post by The Lazy One on Jul 2, 2009 14:36:22 GMT -5
If you ever are in an area of absolute quiet, still your breathing and move not a muscle. After a few seconds, you will notice that the silence has a sort of "sound" of its own, a kind of empty ringing tone. This is nothing unique; everyone will hear this, given the proper setting. An informed person will tell you that your brain is trying to interpret the lack of stimuli to your hearing and so creates a bit of a filler sound. This ringing sound actually serves a more arcane purpose, covering up a noise we are not meant to hear. This noise is not impossible to hear, and if you are persistent you can effectively "break" the cover-up sound.
The next time you are silent and hear the ringing, shout at the top of your lungs for about half a minute, then be abruptly silent. It will be different for everyone. Some will hear nothing different for dozens of tries. Others might pick up soft murmuring. A special few auditory heroes might clearly make it out on the first attempt. What you will hear is a voice that relays an account of events about to happen in the immediate future. It's like a sportscaster relaying the events occurring 10 seconds into the future.
As time goes on, you will be able to make out this voice under increasingly noisy circumstances, to the point that it can be heard at any time by just concentrating. Such ability would doubtlessly be invaluable, no? You will be able react to any immediate danger, relate to people around you with greater ease. No one would ever surprise you. Now, of course you are wondering what sort of horrible catch this ability entails. Perhaps the tone of the voice is so horrible that it will drive you mad, or maybe the voice will only predict your death over and over again.
Of course this isn't the case, though, it’s a normal voice, your ears receive it no matter what, and it’s simply a matter of noticing. But there is a danger. For you see, where there is a voice, there is a body. And just like you will notice new sounds, so shall you notice new sights. More importantly, you will be noticed.
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Post by Jebediah on Jul 2, 2009 14:56:40 GMT -5
That's a good one, Lazy. I didn't find it especially creepy, but I liked it a lot.
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Post by DeadpanDoubter on Jul 5, 2009 16:40:46 GMT -5
I liked it. The rest of you can go to Hell. If it's any consolation, I rather enjoyed it. Wait, why're you grimacing?
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Post by HarleyThomas1002 on Jul 5, 2009 17:44:58 GMT -5
Yay! I'm not the only one who liked it.
That's one less person who can go to Hell.
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