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Game Word Association Thread v. Let's Join Hands!!

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You're right. Like the Styrafoam* eating mealworms of the beetle Tenebrio molitor, she discovered she could digest Perspex* polymethacrylate and elided an entire adventure to wind up stuck in traffic waiting to cross the Bay Bridge.

Which is where she sits in frustration, currently.
 
In cduggles alter ego's world:

She did enjoy the splendid view. The beautiful force of the storm, a slight wind blowing through her short but fashionably angular, unkempt hair. She could sense the hairs moving on her scalp as she closed her eyes and faced the wind. It was blowing in gusts with slowly increasing strength.

Her suit was comfortable and kept her warm in the cooling temperatures. She stealthily slid her knife into a notch that kept it accessible. Unconsciously, her hand slid against the small patch of subtly blue skin that was exposed just above her collar.

The teachers had tried not to stare at the faint bluish stain that her training uniform left exposed on her throat. They never explained why they stared as it darkened. Questions were not permitted. The few she did ask were ignored.

She excelled in her training. Her teachers mimed dismay when she killed a mere handful of servants. She did so selectively. First, she dispensed quickly with the physically abusive ones. Next came the verbally abusive ones, the ones who killed dreams. And finally the thieves who stole the few precious mementos the students had. Fortunately, the servants seldomly left the confines of the school and she was able to restore the students' beloved treasures anonymously.

Normally other servants would have taken their place as vampires and leeches, but she was there. Her cold hard stare was feared by all the remaining human servants. Eventually, one would venture out of line and she would disable a cyborg to remind them.

The students feared her... she returned quickly to the current situation as she neared the top of the wall. It was then she realized that the rig she was in had not been tossed to and fro in the wind whistling around her. She took a deep breath and let the black box of her mind solve the problem. One thought bubbled up. Teachers. She sighed. Some things must simply be accepted, even by her. She returned the knife to its full sheath without bothering to be subtle.

As she neared the top of the wall, thousands of pieces of polished hard wood were impossibly stuck in its side, creating a band around it. They dropped down from the top to the last 50 feet of the climb. She pushed off the wall and swung toward the wooden pegs. In one perfect arcing motion she leapt out of the sling and grasped the bottom row of the systematically protruding wooden ends.

She allowed the reptilian part of the brain to take over. For one moment she hung on solely with her fingertips, her legs dangling above the pit of mist that swirled below. She focused like a laser, swung her legs up and began to climb generally upward in a random pattern. These actions were almost entirely automatic, encoded in muscle memory and habit. She allowed herself to smile a bit as the swing hung impossibly in her peripheral vision and then disappeared into nothing. She continued to climb.

She swung up to the top, laying low out of habit, surveying the wall's roomy ledge.
Nothing. A small gust of wind seemed to blow through her as she slowly stood up. The smell of The School filled her nose. She inhaled deeply and for a split second her guard was completely down.

As she exhaled, the warrior returned and carefully surveyed both sides of the wall for possible threats. No one and nothing awaited her. In the distance, she saw what looked like a dot moving toward her. She'd returned to a lower position in case the wind kicked up and to survey the inner wall for the climb down.

The dot became larger and resolved into a male manifestation of a former teacher. Although inside she greeted him with respect, the warrior stayed perfectly still. Her position conveyed a complete balance that was both defensive and prepared for attack. The reptile breathed evenly and deeply, trained on a possible threat or possible prey. The inevitable metallic taste of adrenaline filled her mouth.

He seemed to move toward in a natural fashion save for his feet hovering a foot above the ledge. One of her few male teachers, she found him quite tolerable and not as limited in his thinking as the other two male teachers of hers at The School. He couldn't help but smile at the sight of her, despite his reservations.

She held his gaze and studied the growing urge to avert her eyes.
 
To look upon one's superiors in the Scrofulaic tradition is an error that corrects itself. With a wink The Student returned to meditation and timelessness.

Out to sea the Typhoonami without Sharks evaporated into a gentle breeze, much like the pupil had. At the foot of the wall a tarantula wiggled across a broken Perspex* branded polymethyl-methacrylate paperweight dome.
 
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Oh come on, I'm gone a few days, and this thread turns to dust. sigh

A system of five over-sized rocks is not a planet. Pluto is a dog. What's Goofy then? He drives a car and wears pants.
 
Apparently, rotten eggs smell like brimstone.
 
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Some of us are angels and some of us are rotten to the core​. Most of us are both.
 
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They say there's fire, brimstone, bad angels and angels in the core. But I don't see where they can fit pants into a big iron-nickel sphere.
 
People who run around in Earth's atmosphere should wear pants or their functional equivalent (e.g., fig leaves, skirts, or shorts).
 
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