Disclaimer: Texas is, in many regards, a second class state. It is the second largest, the second highest population, the 2 times 2 (4th) hottest (although the first on that list was Hawaii and the fifth was Arizona, which is pretty much the opposite of how it felt when I was at those states, so I'm not actually sure how accurate that list is), and probably the second at a lot of other stuff. On the other hand, I know fuck all about Texas. I am not a Texologist. What you see above and below is, unsurprisingly, not in any way scientifically sound. Also, don't own it.
Those charts go by average temperatures, and since Hawaii is hot day and night 365.256363004 days of the year, they win the 'hottest state' competition. Technically. ~f
(History has shown that the most successful franchises are the ones that beat the horse into the ground until it is dead, pulped, and ground into fertilizer. And also steal from others occasionally. So I'm going to do that more now. Accordingly, transitions go like...
this. I'm not that out of ideas.)
So, for some background, our glorious author forgot to finish the transition joke for this chapter, and I mocked him for having run out of ideas, and beating the metaphorical horse until it's dead, pulped up, and ground into fertilizer.
Then he stole my joke so that he would look like he hasn't run out of ideas.
And then, because he's really special, he used the same joke from the last chapter but in a lamer form. ~f
(Half of a genius joke is still genius.)
No joke is as funny the second time as it was the first. ~f
(One third then.)
Whatever you say, dumbo. ~f
(There's no need to be insulting because I'm funnier than you.)
It's funny how you mistake my disdain for jealousy. ~f
(It's funny how you mistake your jealousy for disdain.)
What really gets me is that you're still copying me, even though I started this by calling out your blatant unoriginality. ~f
("I see")
For the readers who won't get that inside joke, that's what I tell him when I'm trying to quietly back out of an argument that I've lost. ~f
(Why are you copying my format.)
(Why are you changing your format after the fact)
Mostly because it was an aside, something that actually belongs in parentheses. But it wasn't worth putting up with your whining. ~f
(Why do you think that's a valid excuse. And why is this conversation now one and a half pages long. And why am I not using question marks.)
Because you never admit that you're the one who's wrong, and I'm willing to let you make a fool of yourself all night long. ~f
(Go eat a baguette of dicks you french sounding motherfucker.)
And here I always thought "fwexxen" sounded like gibberish. You have to pronounce feauxen right for it to sound French. (And he never does.) ~f
(Name one person who does.)
Hello internet. My screen name is feauxen phiy. (pronounced foe-hen fee, or foe-zen if you're Canadian)
(So you admit nobody knows how.)
You know how. You just pretend that you don't because it's really hard to remember. ~f
(It's hard to remember because it's utter psuedo language nonsense.)
It's a screen name. None of the good screen names make any sense, those ones are all taken. ~f
Catalyst
"Good job, Ginny! Just a bit more flick at the end of that severing charm, and it'll be perfect," Potter said, addressing the female Weasley. Only 5 minutes into the next DA meeting, Luna had another reason to look down on humans. The idea of perfection was a pipe dream, a fantasy, and here was a human claiming they could achieve it with a little extra movement. Almost every sentence out of their mouths was flawed. If Umbridge's class wasn't a dozen times worse, Luna would have been there.
With a dismal sigh, Luna returned her attention to her own wand, gathering her power to cast her own Diffindo. It wasn't a particularly powerful spell. If she did the same thing with her own power, Luna could create a cutting force much more forceful and on a much larger scale. The only advantage the humans had was efficiency, and the Swarm always desired that. So, here she was, flicking her wand three times to the left, lifting it up and clockwise. With a final flick down, she pointed the wand at the target and hissed out "Diffindo!" An intangible cutting force rushed out of the wood and all but bisected the dummy.
"Nice one Luna!" said an unexpected voice. Startled, Luna turned around to see Potter gazing at her, inspecting her wand. "At this rate you might give Hermione a run for her money."
Luna couldn't respond. All she could do was stare silently. This wasn't supposed to happen. Why was anyone, much less the leader of this organization paying attention to her? No one ever had before. Not unless they had to, they were trying to bully her, or... Luna's eyes narrowed. Not unless they wanted something from her. "Thank you," she said cheerfully, with just the slightest bit of detachment. She couldn't let Potter know she was onto him after all.
Potter responded with a nod before moving on to the next person. That was it? No follow up, no questions, no 'suggestions'? What did Potter want with her? He must want something. Perhaps she just had to wait for him to show his hand. With a cautious glare, she resumed her severing charm practice. Potter didn't come back around to her again, although he did nod in her direction as the club wrapped up. Clearly, he was willing to play the long game. That was fine. Luna would remain on her guard as long as necessary. She wouldn't be fooled by the human's kindness. They always had an agenda. Right?
(Transition)
Abathur had never been comfortable with stillness. There was always a pulsing vein, a flexing muscle, an expanding lung, or some other moving part anywhere he looked. Even in death, the little shudders of escaping air or the twitches as rigor mortis took hold kept the corpse moving. There was none of that in the zergling suspended before him. It was frozen, the only movement anywhere a slight shimmer around it's skin. It was completely and utterly still, and Abathur couldn't be happier about it.
The protoss had stasis wards that froze his forces in time. He had now acquired the humans' method of constructing wards. Perhaps only the phrase was the same, but now that he was reunited with the Swarm, he had all the time in the world to experiment in any direction he chose. Naturally, he had began with the weavers, his newest creation, and in all likelihood the only one that he would keep from his time on this planet. The first thing he had done was order them to construct equivalents to the protoss stasis wards. Abathur had expected them to use the better part of the planet's rotation to do so.
They had completed the first version in half an hour, then went through several improved versions for another two before arriving at their final product. The weavers at work were truly a thing of beauty. Every movement was deliberate, each marking entwined with all the others in intricate ways even Abathur could only barely understand. He could only assume that it was how others felt when he was working on his own projects. Even the final ward has surpassed his expectations. Rather than the unstable, indiscriminate burst that the protoss used, the weaver's ward used a delicate touch, capturing only what it wished to and holding them seemingly as long as desired. The zergling in front of Abathur had been locked into its current position for well over a day now with no signs of the ward weakening. Abathur could already think of upwards of a dozen uses for this ward alone, and it was only one of the first design they had produced. The weavers were a work of art. They were all he could have hoped to gain from psionics and then some.
Daggoth's fleet wouldn't be here for a very long time. He was, at a minimum, going to be stuck on this planet for over a year. He had considered that a necessary price. Now, it was looking more and more like a glorious opportunity.
(Transition)
"How was your first week back, Thenabar?"Dumbledore asked the boy sitting across his desk, the subject of his and the various portraits' stares. The child looked so small in the office, glancing nervously at the moving pictures. He seemed so much like a normal student.
"It was an...experience. That's probably the right word. What do you call it when you have to be with all of those people at once?" Thenabar replied with a puzzled expression.
Dumbledore chuckled. "I believe that is called 'life'. It is something we all must get used to sooner or later."
"I don't think I like it," Thenabar said. "I've never had to do it before."
"Nevertheless, it is something you now have to do," Dumbledore said, leaning forward with his hands together. "Life has a habit of introducing changes, and sometimes we might not like them." Was that irritation in the boy's eyes? "Nevertheless, we must embrace them, if only because we have no choice in the matter."
"Why can't we just change it back?" Thenabar asked, still looking puzzled.
"Some things cannot be reversed Thenabar, no matter how dearly we wish otherwise. The only thing anyone can do is adapt." Dumbledore sighed, putting on a forlorn face and lowering his head. "Of course, we can always help each other." Dumbledore locked his eyes with Thenabar's and dove into his mind.
A swarm of billions of minds, storm of thoughts and feelings, a vast collection of flesh and bone spanning stars. Flows of lava fell off an alien cliff, three mountain sized beasts swam through the inky void, titanic spires of flesh played host to elongated bats. Mutalisk. Baneling. Zergling. Roach, ravager, hydralisk, lurker, larva, drone, a tidal wave of names. Ruin and destruction, a creeping wave of death, a dark voice in the void, a titanic presence. Nothing left but the Swarm. The Swarm was everywhere, the Swarm was everything. The Swarm wanted everything. The Swarm had an intruder in its midst. The Swarm thrashed and swayed, seeking out the interloper. Within its vast collective, the Swarm found the single mind that sought to invade it. The Swarm cast the intruder out of itself...andDumbledore was slammed back into his seat.
Thenabars arm shot out and grabbed Dumbledore's throat slamming him back into his chair. Thin ribbons of flesh peeled off his skin and shot towards Dumbledore, intent on impaling him. If the flat expression of terror on Thenabar's face was anything to go by, he had as much control over it as the headmaster did. The strips of skin lashed out at Dumbledore, before being halted by a hasty shield charm. Severus's bloodied face forced itself into Dumbledore's mind. The tendrils prodded at the invisible wall for a few seconds before seemingly giving up and burrowing back into Thenabar's flesh. Abruptly, the arm's grip vanished. Thenabar jerked his arm back, holding it close against his chest.
"Why did you do that?" Thenabar asked in an accusatory tone.
Dumbledore hesitated. "I had hoped to catch Abathur off guard," he said.
"He's never off guard. Especially not around you." Thenabar said in a wavering voice, eyes remaining locked on his arm.
"Just what is Abathur?"
"You wouldn't understand me if I told you. You can't," Thenabar said, still clearly shellshocked "May I leave now? Please."
"Of course." Thenabar stood up and walked out of the room silently, his gaze never straying from his arm. The door closed behind him with a soft click, leaving Dumbledore alone except for the portraits, allowing him to ruminate on his mistake. Clearly, trying to peer into Abathur's mind was a fool's errand. Trying to fightit would be like fighting a nest of basilisks dosed with Re'em blood. Whatever had made its nest within his student's mind was there to stay. Dumbledore knew that should be troubling. Merlin, it should be terrifying to have been overwhelmed so easily. But there was something troubling him, something distracting him from that whirlpool of nightmares.
Try as he might, he couldn't recall encountering Thenabar's mind.
(Why does he never put transitions after the chapters?) ~f
(It's a very long story involving beer, water buffalo, and a rancid sock. Don't ask.)
That's what they all say… ~f
Weavers: Long ago, there was a woman named Arachne. She was really, really good at weaving, so Athena got jealous and turned her into a spider. Then, in her infinite wisdom, Athena decided to claim that she was the best weaver in all the land, despite the fact that people had seen Arachne beat Athena in an unbiased contest of skill, and then turned Arachne into a spider.
Athena was a bit of a bitch.
Weaver: The Swarm's modus operandi is to move from planet to planet and assimilate any local wildlife they can get their wide range of grasping appendages on. Even when stranded, isolated, and near helpless, zerg strive to take in as much essence as possible to further their evolution. On Earth, this strategy resulted in the creation of the weavers. Derived from acromantulas, weavers bear a strong resemblance to their more primitive forebears. They possess eight hairy limbs, a set of flexible mandibles, and a thick abdomen. However, behind their carapace, the weavers possess a vastly different set of tools, all designed for the sole purpose of constructing ward schemes. Their instincts were built specifically around the rules of runes, allowing them to understand their craft at an unparalleled level. Their web production organs have been moved to the bottom of their head, allowing the weaver to expel webs through its mouth and form intricate patterns using their mandibles. The abdomen has been converted into a colony for the Hive, a race of smaller infested insects, which the weaver commands for larger scale and fine detail changes. While the weaver can engage in combat directly, its main strength lies in its unparalleled ability to construct wards at a whim. Simple schemes can be fabricated and launched through its mouth, while more complex and permanent designs can be affixed to creep and maintained indefinitely. Although the strain is still in its infancy and has yet to develop wards useful to the Swarm at large, its potential among the zerg strains is all but unmatched. With the essence of magic in its grasp, the weaver may just be the harbinger of the Swarm's total victory.