Legolover-361

IC: KynaeraMiddayGa-KoroKynaera bit her lower lip in frustration. That Dorian could be so close now only to disappear from Kynaera's life -- perhaps permanently -- shocked her. But she couldn't cry.Kynaera had been tempered like steel during her years apart from Dorian. She had learned to trap her emotions like birds in a cage, feeding them the bare minumum sustenance they needed to survive, never letting them fly free. Logic dictated she would survive fine with Dorian absent. Why, then, did her heart ache?"Do you have to leave now?" she asked, her eyes pleading with him: Please say no. Please don't leave now.

Thank you for accessing Mata Magna's Public Relations webpage. Our radios are operated twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, and we have a fully functional webpage. Please feel free to contact us at any time!Note that your radio discussions will be monitored should any key words be detected by our software. Thank you for your understanding!* * *News Bulletins: 12 / 31 / 2012: The Department of Security reminds everyone to fill out the following form and submit it to your local security office to be approved:[b]Name:[/b][b]Gender:[/b] (he / she / it)[b]Species:[/b] (Toa / Matoran / Glatorian / Agori / robot / etc.; custom species are allowed, but they must be from the Matoran Universe, and you must describe the species' traits)[b]Kanohi:[/b] (if applicable)[b]Appearance:[/b][b]Powers:[/b] (if applicable)[b]Weapons:[/b] (if applicable)[b]Abilities:[/b][b]Weaknesses:[/b] (your character must have at least one; doesn't need to be extreme; no common sense weaknesses like average elemental weaknesses, susceptibility to stab wounds, etc.)[b]Occupations:[/b] (official and otherwise)[b]Personality:[/b] (brief summarization)[b]History:[/b] (please don't write two pages' worth of history; keep it as brief as possible)Once your form has been approved, it will be logged in the Department of Security's census database. You will then be able to continue your business about Mata Magna as usual.

An RPG by Legolover-361 * * * "Time travel, unlike a lot of people seem to believe, is not impossible. It is very much possible; only, it isn't easy to, to attain. I mean, think about it -- its, uh, its complexity could be construed as a safety mechanism. If time travel were simple to achieve, half the imbeciles who surely exist elsewhere in the universe would have discovered it and -- well, would probably have wrecked the space-time continuum by now."--Doctor Kora Ph.D., De-Matoran theoretical physicist at the Mata Magna Institute of Science and Research and technological advisor to Mata Magna's Council, during a televised interview before his speech to Mata Magna's security forcesSirs and madams of our great land's security forces, I would like to open my speech by saying every set of rules has a loophole somewhere; you just have to look hard enough.Take, for instance, the set of rules governing the behavior of existence. You know them as the laws of physics. I say "laws" understanding that many people insist quite fervently that laws are meant to be broken (which is why you, ladies and gentlemen, have your current employments).The commandments of the universe -- thou shalt not defy gravity, thou shalt not travel faster than light, thou shalt not travel back in time, et cetera -- are not set in stone. Toa of Gravity and Toa who use a Mask of Levitation or Mask of Flight defy Spherus Magna's gravitational pull all the time; Toa who use a Mask of Speed aren't affected by the friction generated through their acceleration. How are time travel and inter-dimensional travel, then, so impossible to comprehend?Let us review the facts. Several citizens, at least two of whom suspected criminals, have disappeared in the forty-two days during which these crimes have occurred. Most of our thankfully small number of convicted criminals have vanished from their jail cells without a trace. Who's to blame? Not the jail guards, who reported no disturbances and have not said a word contrary to their insistences that they don't know what in Karzahni happened.Also, gentlemen -- and ladies -- I must confess to you a secret. The Kanohi Vahi stored in our Matoran Universe Museum is a powerless copy. The true Vahi has remained in a laboratory for the past millennia. I was one of the few to study the mask extensively.We, the other scientists and I, were attempting to create replicas of the mask through synthesis of protodermis. About fifty days ago, we succeeded for the first time. Two days later, my colleague, Doctor Scorum, disappeared with the original Vahi, the copy, and the tools we used to forge the second Vahi. He had told us the day before he would be embarking on a weeklong vacation. When he didn't return after that week, we looked for him and didn't conclude he must have been the Vahi's thief till we were certain he had actually disappeared.Sir, our project was meant to be completely secret. We-- Yes, ma'am, we did in fact contact security. We placed five elite security officers on the job. We did not, however, make an announcement because we wanted to keep panic to a minimum-- Sir, I never said the security forces would be the ones panicking, but releasing the secret of the Vahi to so many people at once would have-- No, ma'am, I can't tell you if we're running other secret projects, because the word "secret" implies--Stop! Please, no more questions! I can't answer them all right now! If you want to speak to me further, I'll be in contact with the Turaga overnight, so I should be prepared to answer questions then. No, sir, we are not keeping you in the dark; we just can't tell you everything. It's for everyone's good.Ahem. Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, and good night.* * * Excerpts from a reissue of A Brief History of Mata Magna, by Glatorian Professor Ondramus, a pamphlet provided to all citizens of Mata Magna:Dating systems are listed in years BRF (before reforming) and RF (after reforming). [...]After the Matoran Universe was destroyed during Spherus Magna's reforming, the species of the Matoran Universe joined with the Glatorian and Agori to rebuild and expand Spherus Magnan society; this period of almost four hundred years -- from 0 RF (zero years after reforming) to 387 RF -- is called the "Golden Age". During the Golden Age, many aspects of life on Spherus Magna underwent evolution: all concepts of different "tribes" were abandoned, arena battles became a popular sporting event, and the fields of science and technology expanded rapidly. The Spherus Magnan year was scientifically defined by 5 RF: thirteen months, each with thirty days, each day twenty-four hours. Most of the Order of Mata Nui was assimilated into the ranks of the new security forces, though Helryx, Axonn, Johmak, and several other warriors disappeared.The first major event of the Golden Age, starting at 0 RF, was the construction of a new city. Named Mata Magna ("Great Spirit", directly translated as "Spirit Great") as a homage to both Matoran Universe and Spherus Magnan languages, it began as an impromptu fortress and over the centuries grew to accommodate over fifty thousand individuals. Other, much smaller cities formed across the face of Spherus Magna, the vast majority within a two hundred mile radius of Mata Magna; some served as outposts, while others were built around a specific need such as farming or mining. "Mata Magna" came to be a term to describe the network of cities in this area of Spherus Magna, and the crux of the country was termed Central City.Enemies of Mata Magna retreated beyond the two hundred mile radius and were held at bay by armed patrols and armed citizens. [...]The second major event of the Golden Age was the Survey Magna, the Great Survey. In the year 13 RF, our fifteen-man expedition teams, led by Ackar, Kiina, Gresh, and Gelu, set out to the north, west, south, and east respectively and formed maps as they went. All teams lost lives due to strife both environmental and sapient in source, but the majority of explorers survived and reassembled on the opposite side of Spherus Magna. When the expeditions returned to Mata Magna, they and expert cartographers sketched a comprehensive map of the reformed Spherus Magna, the first of its kind. [...]The third major event of the Golden Age, the First Skrall Siege, began in 111 RF. An organized army of Skrall, led by Stronius, laid siege to two neighboring outlying Mata Magnan cities. They laid siege to the cities for a week before armed forces from Central City arrived, captained by the Toa Nuva. The Skrall were driven to a mountain range east of Mata Magna. [...]In 215 RF, the Toa Nuva were elected by popular vote to become the leadership panel of Mata Magna. They in turn appointed several Glatorian, among whom were such names as Ackar and Gresh, to be their advisors. Kiina declined her offer, preferring to remain a high-ranking officer in Mata Magna's armed forces. In 216 RF, not even a year after the election, the Second Skrall Siege occurred: a force of Skrall, accompanied by a few Bone Hunters and some dissident Matoran Universe races, destroyed a mining colony in the valleys to the southeast of Mata Magna and captured the colony's companion city. Refugees from the city evacuated to Central City but were tailed by patrols aligned with the Skrall, mainly Bone Hunters and snipers; many evacuees died, causing the evacuation path to be known as the Trail of Blood.Kiina and Ackar led a counterattack, splitting their forces to attempt to flank the Skrall. Kiina's force was counter-flanked, and in the ensuing battle, Kiina was wounded badly. An upstart Toa by the name of Ena assumed control of the force and, after a tactical retreat, ambushed an enemy patrol in the night and rushed to the mining city in time to reinforce Ackar's struggling army. After the Skrall were repulsed, Kiina resigned from her position as general and accepted the Panel's offer to become an advisor.However, the Skrall continued a string of attacks, focusing mainly on supply convoys and innocent travelers. The Toa Nuva became personally involved, leading small squads in a one-year bout of guerilla warfare against the Skrall's army and eventually killing half their forces. The Skrall retreated again, this time more permanently. Upon their return, during a celebration wherein they were championed as heroes, the Toa Nuva became Turaga. [...]In 387 RF, development of Mata Magna's colonized areas lapsed, only continuing in regular maintenance. The Toa Nuva felt the country had grown too large and so restricted any growth; however, they did encourage settlers to seek new land around the planet to colonize. 391 RF marked the first launch of an unmanned space vessel: a rocket that released an artificial satellite into a stable orbit above Mata Magna. In 392 RF, a second and third satellite joined the first in a rough triangle, allowing more rapid radio communication across Mata Magna. As of 410 RF, there are ten satellites scattered around Spherus Magna; seven are above or nearly above Mata Magna, while three form a very wide triangle to allow radio communications with settlers on the other side of the planet. [...]A list of important technological innovations:271,018 BRF -- powered vehicles150 BRF -- artificial lightstones (M.U.)25 BRF -- walkie-talkies (M.U.)11 RF -- computers17 RF -- televisions70 RF -- internet, providing communication through computers127 RF -- handheld computers198 RF -- first protodermis transport chute on Spherus Magna321 RF -- completion of most of the Mata Magnan transport chute system, providing easy travel across Mata Magna[...][Editor's note (7 / 29 / 412)A few quick notes about the rash of unsolved crimes occurring:The majority of "suspect-less crimes", as they're called, have happened in Central City. Only two other places -- the mining city Olford in the valleys southeast of Mata Magna, and the seaside harbor-city Ga-Koro-Nui (meaning "Ga-Koro's Greatness") on the shore of the eastern sea -- have suffered similar crimes. The principal suspect behind the crimes, Scorum, was born in Olford, and Ga-Koro-Nui has a very large population of Matoran and Toa compared to other species, but otherwise there is no information about why only Olford and Ga-Koro-Nui have been struck.Please report any and all suspicious activities by telegram to the Panel (call number 101) or the Department of Security (call number 01-801).If you would like to join your local City Watch, please contact a local security office (your local area code, suffix -801) or visit it (a security office can be found by all four entrances of a city -- north, south, east, and west), and they will guide you through the process.Thank you, and please stay safe.-The Editor]* * * Excerpts from The Traveler's Brochure: a Guide to Mata Magna, by Agori trader and explorer Kyry:[...] Mata Magna can be a confusing place -- where do I rent a room? where do I eat? how do I get arrested most quickly? -- which is why I'm writing this travel brochure to introduce in brief outlines the various areas of Mata Magna. I've been everywhere (either literally or vicariously), and my goal is to ensure you don't go everywhere but do know where you should go.So grab your handheld tablet computer, a suitcase with four too many pairs of undergarments, and a chute transport ticket, if not literally then in your imagination -- let me take you on a flyby of Mata Magna.[...]Central CityBig. Flashy. All the lanes adjoin at perfect right angles. You would be forgiven for leaving Central City thinking cities can be manufactured in factories. Central City is by far the largest city of Mata Magna and contains the largest population, even without counting the tourists who fill the hotels in the city. It's surrounded by a fifteen-foot-high metal wall with four gates (one each north, south, east, and west), so technically Central City should be called Central Fortress-City. The city is crisscrossed by protodermis chutes, some of which lead to other cities entirely, making Central City effectively the crux of Mata Magnan transportation.Noteworthy locations:--Panel Headquarters: Nearly bombproof one-story building where the head honchos sit, one of two semicircular buildings within the loop Central Lane creates in the middle of Central City. Guarded. Guided tours are available with advance reservations.--Department of Security: HQ for security officials, the second of the pair of semicircular buildings within the plot of land looped by Central Lane. One story above ground, but three underground floors have been reported. Guarded, so don't loiter. No tours, so don't ask for any.--Market Square: The Central Attraction of Central City. Buy and sell wares here. Must have traders' license to sell; must have money to buy.--Matoran Universe Museum: Museum with artifacts from the Matoran Universe, naturally. Located on the block directly north of Central Lane.--Launchpad: Where rockets are launched, naturally. There's a manned mission planned for within the next ten years, says the Panel, but some people claim they said that ten years ago. Guided tours readily available. Tourists also readily available, not that you want them.[...]Ga-Koro-NuiSecond largest and most awkwardly-named city of Mata Magna: Its name means "Ga-Koro's Greatness" (literally translated as "Ga-Koro Great"). Located on the eastern border of Mata Magna, which is also the western shore of Aqua Magna. Home to numerous hotels, casinos, and people trying to trick you into buying a timeshare. Tourists enter and exit this city like the tides. The large harbor is home to two large cruise ships: the Infinitesmal (ironically named because it's the bigger of the two ships) and the Celebration. Wade through the water, tourists, or both; your choice.Connected by chute to Central City.Noteworthy locations:--Harbor: Piers and fishermen and boats for rent and whatnot. Go check it out. Seriously.--Hotel District: The whole western one-third of Ga-Koro-Nui consists of hotels, period, and yet vacancies are still quite rare. If you think you're lucky enough not to lose money (ha), check out the two hotels slash casinos flanking Casino Lane, one on each side. A trivia tidbit: the street has been nicknamed "Misfortune Boulevard" -- three guesses why.--Coconut Island: Quite the attractive spot for sunbathing. Located half a mile offshore; about a mile widthwise and half a mile lengthwise. Can only be reached by boat.[...]OlfordDinky, dusty, and gray: the polar opposite of Central City. Worry not about tourists. Small buildings, mainly living quarters, surround a purification plant and three major mining sites. Olford is surrounded by a ten-foot wall because its residents rather like their heads between their shoulders instead of mounted in Skrall bedrooms. Visit if you need time away from those pesky tourists.Not connected by chute to Central City; you have to hitch a ride with a travel convoy.Noteworthy locations:--Mining Sites Alpha, Beta, and Theta: These mining sites are arranged in a rough triangle (read: "triangle if you squint and tilt your head; best results if you're drunk"). They're all built into mountains. They are small, two-story pillars that are built atop spider-leg foundations that form a canopy above a mining tunnel. Each pillar holds two lifts that carry personnel and equipment into the mining shafts underneath. Alpha is the northernmost, Beta the easternmost, and Theta the southwesternmost.--Purification Plant: Where minerals are sorted and purified to be shipped across Mata Magna. A three story tall square building. Minerals are transported to the third floor via pumps and manual labor to be sorted from "waste" material; they then travel down to the second floor, where they are further sorted into minerals of varying kinds; and finally, when they reach the first floor, experts examine the minerals and use various rooms in the building to test and prepare the minerals (for example, carving diamonds or ensuring "coal" isn't actually a black rock someone got through the sorters as a practical joke) and then load them for packaging and shipping. Guided tours available but infrequent.* * * News alert on Channel 10 News:We interrupt your regularly scheduled program to bring you this important news bulletin.In light of Mata Magna's current situation, Turaga Tahu has initiated an emergency census to keep track of all citizens. All citizens of Mata Magna will need to fill out the below form. If you do not submit your form to your local security office promptly, either in person or digitally (the latter method requires satisfactory identification), you will be tracked down by security officials and may face legal trouble up to and including a month of imprisonment.[b]Name:[/b][b]Gender:[/b] (he / she / it)[b]Species:[/b] (Toa / Matoran / Glatorian / Agori / robot / etc.; custom species are allowed, but they must be from the Matoran Universe, and you must describe the species' traits)[b]Kanohi:[/b] (if applicable)[b]Appearance:[/b][b]Powers:[/b] (if applicable)[b]Weapons:[/b] (if applicable)[b]Abilities:[/b][b]Weaknesses:[/b] (your character must have at least one; doesn't need to be extreme)[b]Occupations:[/b] (official and otherwise)[b]Personality:[/b] (brief summarization)[b]History:[/b] (please don't write two pages' worth of history; keep it as brief as possible)Some interest groups are already claiming Turaga Tahu is violating Mata Magna's citizens' rights by collecting and cataloguing private information, but he and the other Turaga have remained in adamant support of instituting new security measures.Said Turaga Gali at the announcement of the emergency census, "We can't leave our citizens in danger when we can do so much more. [...] We intend no ill will toward Mata Magna's citizens and will ensure your information is treated with utmost confidentiality."Doctor Kora of the Mata Magna Institute of Science and Research gave a speech last night to security officials, but as of now we are not able to acquire any details.A friendly reminder: If you're scheduled to receive Channel 10 news alerts, check your computer regularly because we will be sending updates on the "suspect-less crimes" as soon as we receive them.Now to Ms. Alana for the weather...* * * Rules and Guidelines:1. All BZPower rules and guidelines apply.2. Use your best grammar and spelling. This ties into rule one -- roleplayers need to understand your posts.3. Your characters are not invincible. No god-modding or impossible stunts. Your characters are not gods but mortals, so be prepared at all times for your character to die.4. Respect others. Treat others fairly, as I'm sure you would wish to be treated.5. No excessive comedy. This RPG is neither a cartoon nor a bad sitcom. This rule is not meant to preclude all humor; instead, it is meant to prevent people from god-modding through usage of cartoon physics.6. No player is allowed more than six characters or more than four NPC companions.7. Respect the GMs. The head GM of this RPG is Legolover-361, and the staff are Gravity, Relapse (A.K.A. KNI), Vorex, and Kaithas. Legolover runs Loophole with the assistance of his staff, so please respect their judgement pertaining to this RPG.8. Not all Kanohi powers are allowed. Banned Kanohi are the Mask of Life, Mask of Dimensional Gates, Mask of Shadows, Mask of Light, Mask of Creation, Mask of Elemental Energy, and Mask of Time.9. Not all species are allowed. No Makuta, Kanohi Dragons, or members of Botar's species.10. Loophole is not a competition but a group story. Don't think you can "win" Loophole, because you can't. As the roleplayers, your role is to populate the world of Loophole and advance its plot. There are secrets to be found in Mata Magna if you look hard enough or if you're lucky enough.11. There are punishments for breaking the rules. Your first offense will earn you a warning. Depending on the severity of your second offense, you may be warned or temporarily banned. All subsequent offenses may warrant a warning, a temporary ban, or (provided the offense is very serious) a permanent ban.12. Have fun!

IC: KynaeraMiddayGa-KoroKynaera's first instinct was to squirm in Dorian's grip. Compromised! her assassin's instinct cried. Escape!Her next instinct, from a source far deeper than muscle memory, was to wrap her arms around Dorian and pull him closer, returning the kiss and forcing her eyes shut to dam the tears hiding behind her eyelids. Droplets slipped out anyway, but she didn't care.For seventeen and one-half long, blissful seconds, the outside world was of no consequence to her. She could feel Dorian's heart beating in tandem with hers; she was alive, he was alive, and that was all that mattered.She felt... warm.An odd feeling for her, considering she normally shut herself in her room in a lonely house on the outskirts of town, her books the most comfort she had. Her cousin was a rich man, but he wasn't very sociable. Maybe he still held a grudge over being forced to look after Kynaera.Her footsteps through the art gallery were unsteady. She had to navigate between Toa taller and more distinguished than she, opining in nebulous rhetoric about the emotional qualities of this painting or the metaphor intended in that one. Every now and again she would come to a halt and examine a painting, only to be approached by a gentleman asking her about something nearly unintelligible -- e.g. how the color gradient of yellow to orange-red rather than yellow to red affected the perspective from which the blocks of color were viewed, and how that perspective altered the emotional qualities of the piece -- after which she would respond, "I just appreciate the artistry," and move on.Eventually she reached the amateur side of the exhibit. Abstract art gave way to more practical renderings of meadows, rivers, and sunsets. The refined connoisseurs of earlier were conspicuously absent, and so Kynaera found herself spending long minutes admiring each piece of artwork in turn.As she paused before a painting of a couple embracing in rain pouring onto a cobblestone road, a voice spoke behind her."What do you think of the shading?"Kynaera turned. The Toa of Iron nearly leaning over her shoulder retreated a step. "I mean, I think it's a little dull -- see, it's rather flat if you view it from a distance -- but I didn't want to go for a three-D effect, either, because it's meant to be admired from close up, y'know?""We-e-ell..." Kynaera turned back to the painting in thought. Paused. Those bright eyes... "Hey, wait, aren't you that pianist from the party a few weeks back?" Kynaera queried, turning back around and examining the young Toa's face.He glanced at his feet. "Uh -- oh, right, that party. Yeah.""You're that pianist, right--?""Dor," said the Toa, perking up again. "Dorian, technically.""Do you remember me--""Ky, right?""Yeah. Kynaera, technically, but..." Dorian's grin derailed Kynaera's sentence. She couldn't help smiling in return. "...I kinda prefer my nickname. It's shorter and sweeter.""You have a nice name!"Dorian's protest widened Kynaera's smile. "Uh -- thanks," she said, and, remembering she was supposed to be polite in a situation like this, quickly added, "I, uh -- well, I, I like your name, too."Release.When Dorian pulled his head from Kynaera's, Kynaera felt like she was surfacing in the middle of the ocean. She opened her eyes and blinked, but no more tears came: She had expended them all. She probably looked ridiculous; she kept eye contact with Dorian anyway."Dor, I'm sorry, but I should go...""We could talk some more over coffee." Dor's perpetual grin grew bashful. "I mean, if you want to...""I'd love to.""Then it's a date.""A date.""Yeah, a date.""One last question." This time Dorian didn't flinch when Kynaera's gaze latched onto his face. "Did you model the people in that painting off anyone in particular?""It's a secret.""A secret?""Yeah. Maybe I'll tell you after the coffee date."The warmth faded; reality pulled Kynaera in for a tighter embrace. "I want to come with you," she said into Dorian's shoulder. "I... don't want to lose you. Not forever."

IC: KynaeraMiddayGa-Koro"You--?"It took Kynaera a second to realize what Dorian had said. Suddenly she desired nothing but to be elsewhere: on another part of Mata Nui, in a boat, anywhere but pressed against a wall in an alley by a man she left to die. Twice.Her survival instincts kicked in, tensing her muscles and urging her gaze to the outlets of the alley. No good -- Dorian was an expert in hand-to-hand combat. She shuddered, releasing breath she hadn't realized was pent within her lungs, and fought the urge to cover her face with her hands as her survival instincts raged inside her: She was going against every facet of her training, she wasn't supposed to let people this far inside her personal space, she had to gain distance, get out...Was she seriously considering running away from forgiveness?Ketan's calls of "Ga-Koro, to me! To me!" resolved into white noise in Kynaera's head.She had failed Dorian once before; she had resolved never to allow herself the chance to do so again. So she had left him, and her guilt had waited and festered till it became the warden of her chest cavity, pumping her heart, expanding and contracting her lungs, and ensuring no feelings broke free. Maybe, all along, she had never wanted to be forgiven; maybe she had thought it would be easier to battle her guilt alone -- no, she hadn't wanted to do battle, but she had felt she deserved it.Her eyes stung, and she realized she was close to tears. Whether they were from Dorian or her internal struggle, she couldn't tell. She pressed her tongue against the floor of her mouth and caged them just as she had incarcerated her emotions.A voice in her head, her own: Breathe in.She complied. Guilt screamed in protest.Let it go.She hesitated, but Dorian's eyes were pleading and the brightest she had seen them since...Let. It. Go!She exhaled. Expelled with the carbon dioxide in her lungs was her guilt.Her heart felt like it was floating."I'm sorry," she said, suddenly the coy and sweet if somewhat socially awkward Kynaera of old again. "I -- I didn't think you could ever forgive me, because I've hurt you, and I don't think I'll ever fully forgive myself for that, but..." Her eyes were damp. Don't cry. Don't cry. You're not that weak. "I... never stopped loving you. I don't think that's how it works, anyway -- I mean love -- I mean, as in, it can't just disappear, like, you can't just stop loving someone -- but I, uh..."Her breaths came deep and fast; her face tingled under Dorian's intense gaze. She hadn't thought things through, and now her emotions hung in the air between her and Dorian like mistletoe. Why did emotions have to make her feel so vulnerable?She abruptly realized she had said forms of the word love three times in ten seconds."Sorry, I'm rambling -- I shouldn't..."

I enjoyed your story mainly for its premise. One of the mysteries of our universe is how life originated, and watching people write about possible origins is oft entertaining. Your inclusion of chemical compounds in the first section of Creation and your usage of braces to indicate translated speech (a technique I actually saw in at least one Timothy Zahn book) were nice touches.Unfortunately, critique you I must, so critique you I will.Your plot, while enjoyable, didn't quite set up the climax wherein the Elder protests the creation of new life. You write about the examination of DNA, then the meeting, then the creation of life, but it's too quick. I can't feel much pity for the Elder because I don't fully understand why he would be against the ascension of his own species or what he's surrendering to become.This alienation (do forgive the pun) is present throughout the rest of the story. You don't provide many details, instead leaving much to the imagination; this can work in some cases, but in this case, your plot feels shallow because of the lack of additional details. Perhaps you intended for mysteries to be left unanswered, in which case you could have at least hinted at the present of such questions.In general, I did enjoy the story, but I feel it was too quick for me to become emotionally interested.

IC: KynaeraMiddayGa-KoroKynaera held her breath for a second. Exhaled. Her eyes remained locked with Dor's, but her stare had lost some of its strength."Yeah," she said for lack of anything better to say. "I... well, I feel the same way. Sometimes. I mean-- I miss you, too. Uh..."She paused, biting her lower lip in an unwonted expression of uncertainty and looking at the ground. Her gut felt empty. Her chest felt empty. Her tongue refused to respond to her commands. She didn't like the sensation.

IC: KynaeraMiddayGa-KoroKynaera nodded, but her eyes and presence remained feeling painfully distant, even to her. Sometimes she felt like she was a puppeter, controlling her body from afar. Was this how others viewed her?"Why are you here?" she asked of Dorian.

IC: KynaeraMiddayGa-KoroMask attachments. Karzahni, that was so long ago. Back when--She stopped. No. Don't think about back then. Thinking so far back would only bring her pain. "It was only for a month," she chided, reestablishing eye contact with Dorian. "If anything, your new tattoo is sillier."

IC: KynaeraMiddayGa-KoroKynaera didn't blink at Dorian's compliment or at the ramblings of the stranger beside them. Her eyes were fixed on Dor's arm. "Your timestamp is gone?"

I honestly didn't expect to win. Thank you, supporters of Loophole; congratulations, fellow winners; and to the other competitors, best of luck in future RPG contests!

IC: KynaeraMiddayGa-Koro"Excuse me -- uh, miss?"Kynaera's impassive stare must have unsettled the approaching Ga-Matoran waitress, because she hesitated before approaching the Toa of Gravity to hand her a glass of lemonade. "For you, miss," she said, and turned to leave."Who bought this for me?"The Matoran stopped, her escape stymied, and turned back round. Kynaera was examining the glass and the paper adhered to its side. "A Toa of Iron, he looked like," she said. "Calix. Very handsome young man, bright smile, athletic..." She caught herself before she got too poetic, straightened her posture, added, "There's a note there, too, um, from him," and glided away with what remained of her dignity.Kynaera peeled the paper off the glass. It was damp, but its message was still legible.To the lovely Toa Arete Kynaera, please, please, please drink this. Vitamin C is good for you. Can't wait to catch up: I have all the time in the world."If this is Ketan's idea of a joke--"She glanced to the nearest lemonade stand, the one across the street, and stopped. There, leaning against the stand with a smile copied from a professional model and bright eyes to match, was Dorian. He winked. Kynaera swallowed."I'll be back," she said over her shoulder to Dico. She tossed the pit of her fruit into a trash bin on her way out.The crowd was still thick as ever, but the citizens of Ga-Koro made sure to get out of Kynaera's way as she approached. Some of them glanced questioningly at her, maybe wondering why she hadn't participated in the festivities. Her cool gaze was all the answer they needed: She was a hero; she had no time for fun and games when evil remained afoot.Of course, Dorian saw through her disguise. Some things never changed.When Kynaera emerged on the other side of the masses, lemonade untouched in the glass in her hand, she had to pause a moment to sort her thoughts."Hi," she said finally. "I'm, uh... glad you're not dead." Not the best conversation starter, but it would have to do.

IC: KynaeraMiddayGa-Koro"Just because I can keep a secret doesn't mean you should come to me first," Kynaera chided. "If Ketan's a good leader, he will have noticed Baruk's isolation... In case he hasn't noticed, you should tell him."She turned from Dico to stare into the depths of the crowd outside the open hotel doorway, her left hand propped on the edge of the table behind her, her right holding the fruit to her mouth so she could take another bite.

IC: KynaeraMiddayHotel, Ga-Koro"Not necessarily. Body fat can't halt bullets except in cases of serious obesity, and Baruk doesn't have that wide a girth--" Kynaera paused as she saw Dico smirk in the corner of her eye. She glared until the Toa of Plant Life visibly and audibly swallowed. "Er, anyway, I see your point. Have you asked Ketan about him?"

IC: KynaeraMiddayHotel, Ga-Koro"Funny how you're saying that," Kynaera muttered before taking another bite of her fruit. She swallowed before speaking again. "What's suspicious about him?"

IC: KynaeraMiddayHotel, Ga-KoroKynaera shook her head. "No; I just came here maybe seven minutes ago, and before that I was decorating at the entrance for half an hour. Why?"

IC: KynaeraMiddayGa-KoroSo this is a celebration.Bright colors, brighter smiles, constant chatter. The sunlight draped across the partygoers like a shimmering veil. The lily pad swayed a bit underneath the movement of so many people, its undulations coordinated with the musical performance by a local band near the center of Ga-Koro.Kynaera was the lone rocky outcropping in a sea of joyous faces. She had been to parties before, yes, but almost always high-brow ones served with wine and formal wear. This was, to her, an alien immersion into one of the nuances of Matoran society: their undying cheer.A spark of irritation flared in her chest.Instinctively she moved to find the edge of the crowd, then realized the only gaps available would open her to scrutiny by adoring fans of the Toa Arete and resignedly waded through the crowd till she reached the door of an open hotel that was providing victuals free of charge in honor of Nokama's return.We have done more for this village than Turaga Nokama has done in remembered history, yet the Matoran still nearly apotheosize her. Why?She couldn't answer her question. Lack of knowledge irked her. The spark in her chest produced wisps of smoke that drifted into her brain and coalesced into thoughts of frustration and loneliness. She was in the midst of a party, and yet she was still alone. She did not understand the Matoran, and they did not understand how she, a hero in their eyes, could have such a vacant expression.With surgical precision, Kynaera picked a small fruit from one of the dishes on the snack table and took a bite.

I would say I've listened to more than enough albums to compose a decent top ten list for 2012. In fact, I'm considering making the list a top thirteen or top fifteen, or including ten honorable mentions, because there are a bunch of albums I don't want to leave unmentioned. Thanks for all your recommendations, whether they appear on my favorites list or not!

I voted for 3, 7, and 8.

IC: KynaeraMorningGa-KoroOnce, long ago, Kynaera had the chance to be a hero. The fact that she was now a Toa Daedra was ample proof of her eventual failure. She could still act like a hero, though.Her measured gait, her squared shoulders, her silent nod and wary gaze, her polished purple and black armor gleaming in the sun -- all combined to form the portrait of a perfect heroine.A portrait: the most her heroic charade would ever amount to. At least she looked good doing it.She slithered through the crowd gathered around Vendico, extricating herself with little trouble, and stood for a moment listening to her teammate's guitar strumming and silky vocals before moving on. Maybe she could perform someday, too...No. Music reminded her of Dorian. She did not want to be reminded of Dorian right now.Sometimes Kynaera wanted to slip under her hood to avoid some of the gazes she was attracting, but heroes didn't keep to the shadows. She felt vulnerable in the open; walking in plain sight was a slap in the face to all her experience working as a mercenary, smuggler, and assassin. She had tried an opposite strategy on a male Toa a few days ago, meeting his gaze so he averted his eyes. She used it again as she walked. It still worked.Several Matoran were already decorating the gates as she approached. Brightly colored strings of flowers had been strung from each gate post to a lily-pad building on either side. One of the three guards overseeing the proceedings saluted her as she neared."Ma'am.""How go the preparations?""Good." The guard half-turned to observe the preparations. A smile spread across his face. "We'll make sure Turaga Nokama will be glad to return; you can count on that."Kynaera followed his gaze. The preparations did seem to be proceeding smoothly.A whim moved her gaze to a Ga-Matoran atop a ladder. The Matoran tried to reach the opposite gate post with a hand holding another weaved rope of flowers but couldn't. Her eyes wavered behind her Miru. Then she leaned over in a second, greater attempt.Her shifting weight tipped the ladder, which spilled her into empty air.Kynaera acted quickly, negating the gravity around the Ga-Matoran so she floated gently to the ground. The guard coughed as Kynaera then turned on him. "Ma'am, I'm sorry, we'll talk to the Matoran now--""I've got it," Kynaera interrupted her.The guard blinked. "What?""I said I've got it." Kynaera paused and bit her lower lip. "I mean, I'll set up those flowers. Consider me a part of the setup crew." After all, I have nothing better to do.The guard hesitated. "But you're a hero around here. You've already done enough for us--""I want to help. Are you seriously going to stop me?"In resignation, the guard gestured to the gates. Kynaera gave him a rather caustic half-grin, reduced her mass, and floated to the top of the gates to the soundtrack of admiring oohs and ahs.She caught the swinging end of the flower rope. The flowers were a bright, sunny yellow. Why did Ga-Koro's citizens enjoy such garish colors?

For the duration of tomorrow, I will be offline. I don't want to sully my Christmas experience by spending half the day on the internet; no, I intend to fully experience the holiday: watching a film or two, sitting by the fireplace, listening to Christmas music, and spending time with my pres- er, family. A merry Christmas to all, and to all, a good haul- er, night!

It's not a Christmas story, but it was posted in recognition of Christmas. Either way, views and constructive criticism for The Hardest Thing to Hold would be appreciated.

The Hardest Thing to Hold My thoughts on night number seven hundred twenty-four on the starship Perpetuator, bound for the Alpha-Centauri star system: I need a breath of fresh air. The time is a quarter past three A.M. according to my bedroom’s alarm clock. I can hear the top mattress of my bunk bed creak; that’s my younger brother Richard Klein, just past his thirty-ninth birthday, readjusting himself in his sleep. Sometimes I wish I could sleep as well as he can. We’re only five years apart, and yet he acts so much younger, so much more innocent than I do. Maybe that’s because he was always more enthralled by the Perpetua Project than I was (or was his excitement an effect of his youth?), always so into such noble endeavors as sending human beings to other planets. My opinion? Travel brochures never tell you everything. Advertisement is just another form of propaganda. I can’t turn on the lights without waking him up, so I roll inch by inch onto my side and sit up. My mattress groans a few times, but my brother’s gentle breathing persists, and as I leave my bed and cross the cold metal floor to the doorway, he rolls over again as if this night is just like any other. Granted, this is no unusual night for me, but I don’t like thinking about my midnight outings too much: I’ll start feeling sick in my stomach, and guilt will fuel my insomnia. Adrenaline fuels my insomnia, too, but it’s different. It doesn’t gnaw at your heart or your mind; it doesn’t latch like a leech onto your skin, burrowing deeper and deeper till it finds a nerve on which to feed. No, adrenaline only serves the purpose of heightening your senses to the point where every change of brightness, of noise, of touch is apparent as a crack in a mirror, and then it subsides. Sometimes it even pushes the guilt from my mind. A gentle hum vibrates the walls of passenger corridor 3A, Quadrant B, in the Perpetuator as I progress to its end. I make a right, open a door marked Authorized Personnel Only a crack, and slip into the narrow, dim crew stairwell. Whenever I nudge the door closed again, I wonder if any sound the door could possibly make is louder than my pounding heart. Now alone, I tap thrice on the railing — pause: One Mississippi, two Mississippi — and tap thrice again. “Whossere?” a voice hisses from the iron mesh platform above my head. “James,” I grunt in reply. “Can’t sleep, Allen. Got any, uh...?” “Yar. C’mon up.” I mistake my heartbeat for my footsteps several times as I ascend the metal stairs. By the time I reach the platform where a fifty-year-old gentleman with a salt-and-pepper beard waits, my head is spinning. I slump beside him and sit in silence for what feels like minutes. “Th’ tank’s half full,” Allen says. I nod without comprehending. A cool piece of plastic is pressed into my hands; I focus, and the whitish blur resolves into the shape of a respirator. “Just a breath,” he reminds me sternly. I take a breath — a nice, long, fresh breath. The hand holding the respirator slips from my mouth to my lap; I hold my breath for twenty seconds, ignoring my heart and lungs’ fervent protests for more, before exhaling slowly. I don’t think my head is spinning anymore; in fact, I would feel like I’m floating if not for the stale air of the Perpetuator’s atmosphere filling my lungs with what feels like lead in gaseous form. I manage a bittersweet smile. “S’good.” “No more. I risked my hide to nick it from the ship’s reserve tanks, so s’mine.” Allen is adamant. I sigh and say to assuage him, “I wasn’t asking f’ more.” “Oxygen’s hard t’ come by, y’know.” “Yar, I know that.” Allen takes his turn to sigh and takes a breath of his own. His eyes alight like embers as he inhales; they dim again when he releases the breath, adding more carbon dioxide to an air mix already low on vital gases. “Cheapskates.” “Mmhmm.” “What d’ they think, that being conservative with the oxygen’ll sustain a fully crewed starship with five hundred passengers?” I’ve heard this before — multiple times. Maybe Allen’s getting too high from the oxygen to remember what he said a couple nights ago, or maybe he just wants to talk. I nod to assuage him — rather, I try, but after my head inclines, it doesn’t go up again. For once, I feel tired. “Gotta go,” I say. “Say hi to Ulysses if y’see ‘im, ‘kay?” “Yar. ‘Night.” As I descend the stairwell again, I hear Allen mumbling something about illegal obtainment of materials necessary to human survival. Maybe he’s wondering what we’ll be charged with should we be caught stealing oxygen. * * * “Ladies and gentlemen of the Perpetuator—” The announcer’s tinny voice resounds through the spacious white cafeteria of Quadrant B. I shovel more of my hash browns into my mouth, hoping the tasty food will counteract the discomfort of the Perpetuator’s air, and covertly glance at my brother. Ritchie’s pale blue eyes are focused on the nearest ceiling speaker, his food lying forgotten by his fork, tapping an arrhythmic pattern on his plate’s rim. “It has come to our attention that the oxygen stored in our backup air tanks has decreased by a small amount.” My heart cartwheels. “We would like everyone to be aware that the oxygen in our backup tanks is needed in the event of emergency air loss—” “What moron’d steal oxygen?” laughs Ritchie and continues eating. “—and that we have instituted safety precautions to determine who is the culprit.” My heart pulls out of its flipping and cannonballs into my stomach. “Captain Irving has decided to pardon any guilty persons who confess to him. Otherwise, continued offenses will result in severe punishment.” The metal bench of our table feels colder. Now Ritchie is the voracious one while I pick at my scrambled eggs. My appetite is gone, but I still attempt to eat to keep Ritchie from noticing. I think he notices anyway but either doesn’t care or has justified my actions in his mind. At least someone can justify my actions. * * * My thoughts on night number seven hundred twenty-eight on the Perpetuator: Are we there yet? Tonight is the fourth night I will suffer without inhaling oxygen. I feel like I’m breathing water. The air smells like dust and metal: very unpalatable. I curl into a ball beneath my blankets and close my eyes. I never understood the tradition of counting sheep — what sheep am I supposed to count? — but I count to ten anyway. Then I count to one hundred. Maybe I can count to one thousand before I fall asleep... * * * Life, I have decided, is a drug. All the entertainment available on the Perpetuator — TV stations run by volunteers (whose amateurishness shows), books both physical and cyber, games, and the internet — has grown so familiar to me that I have taken to lying in my bed, a book I will probably never finish open on my chest, and pondering pseudo-philosophical questions. Life being a drug makes sense, though. When you’re denied what you need to survive, your pains and woes and persistent urges tell you to find them; when you have the essentials, you want more. I told Ritchie my theory around three o’clock; he wasn’t impressed. He must still not be, because every so often, he glances at me from one of our bedroom’s two computer terminals as if he thinks I’m sick. The next time he does so, I meet his gaze and stick out my tongue. It’s the most humor I’ve mustered since a few months ago. Maybe I am sick. Tonight, I plan to count to two thousand before falling asleep. * * * My thoughts on night number seven hundred thirty-one on the Perpetuator: What the devil am I doing!? It’s a valid question. I gave up counting at one thousand two hundred thirty-eight (or was it one thousand two hundred thirty-nine?) to sneak out of my bedroom. My insomnia is acting up; I could probably have counted to three thousand before I finally slept. Down corridor 3A, turning to the right, through a gap in the Authorized Personnel Only door, and into the dim lightning of the crew stairwell, I keep wondering why I gave up counting. I knock thrice on the crew stairwell’s railing, pause, and rap three times more. “Whossere?” “James.” “Ar, haven’t seen y’ up ‘ere in a while.” “Been” — busy? tired? scared? — “been sleeping better than usual. Till tonight, that is.” A pause. “C’mon up if y’want. I ain’t got any air, though.” “S’fine; just want some company.” I clamber up the stairwell, my heart echoing loudly in the narrow space, and sit on the iron mesh platform by Allen. His facial hair seems stragglier than usual. He glances in my direction and nods as I position myself by him, then returns his gaze to the general vicinity of his tank, lying unused by his side. My stomach churns at the sight of the tank. Now that I’m here, I have no idea why I bothered getting out of bed. Lying in bed and staring at the bottom of the top bunk is better than sitting on cold metal and staring at an empty air tank. I restart my mental counting. As I reach one hundred forty, Allen shifts uncomfortably. “I can’t live like this,” he mutters, and licks his lips. “Honestly? Sometimes I wonder if jettisonin’ m’self would be—” “Don’t! — that’s a coward’s way out.” “Not if I have to fight through guards t’ do it.” “Then it’s a moron’s way out.” “Well...” Allen considers. “Yar.” He vaguely waves his hand before him. “But this air. How can everyone else stand it? It ain’t many people who c’mup ‘ere.” “I know my brother hasn’t seemed t’ notice, but I dunno. Maybe everyone else jus’ hides it better.” “We oughta take some tips from ‘em.” Allen’s pseudo-grin is forlorn, but at least it’s a grin. I wish I could grin tonight. My count stops at three hundred five when Allen stands up, his bones creaking, and says, “I’m gonna sleep. ‘Night, James.” “’Night,” I respond, staring at my feet. I hear the clank of Allen lifting his empty tank, the click-clack of him opening the crew door on this floor, and the clack of the door snapping back into its frame behind him. Still I don’t look up. My heart is on fire, and I don’t think I can handle letting the outside world back into my focus before I douse it. I don’t need it. I need it. No, I don’t. Yes, I do. No — yes — no — yes— I look up, my chest filled with heat and my stomach roaring like an engine. I feel like I’m splitting in two, but it’s all right. I’ll be fine in a minute. * * * I remember where the oxygen reserve tank is because Allen told me where to find it twice before. I have no personal tank. I don’t care. I enter the door and feel the hairs on my neck stand up. My chest hurts from my heart’s fervent pounding. I know I’m being watched. I don’t care. I circle round the tank and grab an air pipe, unscrewing it just as I remembered Allen describing it: turn clockwise, stay steady, don’t be afraid if any oxygen leaks because that’s what’s supposed t’ happen... It comes off. I breath in. Welcome air enters my lungs; my knees wobble as a sudden bout of weakness floods my system, my heartbeat still reverberating within my skull. Footsteps. They’re approaching fast. My hands fall to waist level, bringing the air pipe with them. I can’t reattach the pipe. I can’t. My lungs feel like they’re free. I could fly. And I do fly as the lights blind me and a body slams into mine. What I don’t understand is why the floor has to stop my flight, or why my lungs suddenly feel like lead again. * * * There’s no trial — my crime is on high-definition video, so what is left a mystery? — but there is an official sentencing. My metal chair is cold; the handcuffs that bind my wrists behind my back are equally freezing. The stale air is doing its best to choke me. My veins throb like bass guitar strings. These details I focus on to distract myself from the guilt swelling behind my ribs. The justice of the peace, a rather overweight man with bags beneath his eyes and an office seat outfitted with plush black cushions and armrests, reads my charges. The words illegal obtainment of materials necessary to human survival make me smile. I wish Allen could hear. After the justice finishes, he informs me I will be locked in a cell for three hundred days. I cannot contact people, but they can contact me. My cell will have a bed, a small bathroom, and a desk. I will have three square meals a day. I will be permitted to bring no objects that could result in suicide. A psychiatrist will meet with me regularly starting a week after my imprisonment. I nod till my head feels like it will fall off my neck and then blink in understanding instead. “Very well. Before you leave, do you, ah, have anything t’ say for yourself?” The question catches me off guard; so does the justice’s tapping of a button on his console. “...What?” “Well...” The justice scratches his head. “Do you... uh, have some, some statement about your actions which — that you would like t’ be kept, um, on record?” The Perpetuator’s officials probably don’t care one way or the other. I nearly open my mouth to give an excuse but stop, my gaze descending to the feet of the justice’s carved wooden desk. “I hate myself,” I say finally, meeting the judge’s gray eyes with my clear blue ones, “but I can’t help needing oxygen t’ live.” I stop there; I can’t trust myself to say anything else sane. The justice waits a few seconds to ensure I’m done, then nods and presses the same button on his computer. “Very well.” He presses a different button. “Guards, you can escort Mr. Klein to his cell now.” The guards bring me into a crew elevator and press a button. The elevator shudders, and as its descent begins, so does my count. One. Two. Three. Four... The first thing I notice on our descent to the Perpetuator’s small jail is that I feel more tired than I have in weeks. The second thing I notice is that with each passing second, as the elevator drops, the air gets a little harder to breathe.

Yeah, just found that out.