This is a Fanfic about random Nintendo

[Pilgrim John]

fatherlorris said:

zer0 said:

Crap! You figured it out. Now I can't say he's entirely original. Nuts. Well, his hair is green, plus he's actually skinnier than L. Plus, his arms are longer.

It was bugging me for a long time now. Was it also the reason you hosted it on photo bucket rather that deviant art? or is that just a wild theory?

Wild theory. Doesn't make much sense, either, since I DID put up a Lorris pic on DA.

[fatherlorris]

zer0 said:

fatherlorris said:

It was bugging me for a long time now. Was it also the reason you hosted it on photo bucket rather that deviant art? or is that just a wild theory?

Wild theory. Doesn't make much sense, either, since I DID put up a Lorris pic on DA.

Not the original, as far as I know, but you are right it is a wild theory due to the fact the pictures before then where also on PB.

But I don't understand why, they would make great scraps.


Also, don't worry about the character not being 100% original, its still the greatest fanfic I have read.

[Pilgrim John]

All righty, got the next few scenes written. Please enjoy while I suffer.



The pain, the bleeding, the agony of grief. It was like living simply for the sake of being beaten and shredded. This ungodly “throne room” played the stage of John’s pain and terror—and Pamela, his tormentor.
He felt his blood trickle off his face, from a cut Pamela had put on his right cheek. His entire body ached from her horrible beating, his ears still ringing from her shrill, hateful voice. He could have turned to stone, but he was so scared, discombobulated, unfocused.
But on top of all that, he wanted to die for the first time in his life. To end this painful nightmare once for all.
“You’ve been a bad boy, Richie,” Pamela growled. “Momma didn’t wanna have to whip you, but if it’s the only thing that’ll teach you, then so help me…”
John coughed, trying to regain his composure. His vision was still poor due to not much lighting and that Pamela had punched him across the eye. “I’m not Richie,” he gurgled. “I’m not your son, Pamela.”
This time, it seemed Pamela had had it. She plunged her sword into his left shoulder. “Be quiet!” John’s blood painted her sword red as her victim screamed in pain.
John didn’t want to look down at his shoulder, but he already knew that Pamela had left her sword there. If he didn’t get the rusted thing out, he’d die of lockjaw. “Wh-Why?” he whimpered. “Why are you doing this?”
“You always told me how you wanted to be an artist, like Momma,” Pamela replied as she backed away from John. She smacked one of the hanging bodies, apparently just to watch it swing. The loud squeaking of the chain that attached the body to the ceiling hurt John’s ears. It was like hearing someone scrape his nails across a chalkboard.
Pamela then turned her attention back to John. Her eyes were enflamed again. “But no matter what I did to help you, you couldn’t understand art.” She stomped over to John and tore her sword out of him, spilling his blood over the floor. John tried not to scream, but did so anyway.
In the middle of his tearful shout, Pamela punched his face and grabbed him by the chin. She leaned her face close to his as she growled, “You STILL don’t understand, do you? Art isn’t something you scribble onto a piece of colored paper with crayons, Richie.”
John was more confused and frightened than he had ever been in his life. He tried to recompose himself, maybe even fight back, but being chained to a throne made of dead bodies was hard to put out of your mind. Suddenly, he heard something from outside.
He opened his ears, trying to ignore the ringing put in it by the swinging body from before. It sounded like… policemen. He heard some voices barking at each other: they HAD to be policemen.
John knew Pamela couldn’t hear them from outside (Because being a Tanuki means he has better hearing), so he tried to still act miserable in order to fool her.
But then he had another thought. If the police really WAS here, then that meant they’d take him away to… wherever it was they took Tanukis. Which probably wasn’t much better than this awful place, from the way Dan made it sound.
He had to think. Stop panicking and THINK, he told himself. The policemen are going to storm the place, most likely, since they probably didn’t know she had a hostage. So, when they burst in, he planned to turn his teeth to stone in order to bite off his chains.
Actually, now that he thought of it, keeping just one part of his body encased in stone was more difficult than just encasing his entire physiology. Looking at the state of himself, he’d probably only have a few seconds to chew off the chains that kept him in place.
But where was Dan? There was little chance that he wasn’t on this…

* * * * * *

Traveling through a sewer way was about on par with running your fingers through a paper shredder. It’s not that you’d be dumb enough to do it, but that you’d be pretty dumb to do it willingly—which didn’t look too good for Dan right now.
“Man,” Dan groaned as he tried to wave the stink away from his face, “It smells like crap in here.” Indeed, the stench was quite unbearable. Bad enough to wilt an entire corn field in seconds, to be precise.
The sewer environment around them certainly didn’t look livable. Mold growing here and there, the bricks in the walls caked with scum, the metal iron bars that separated area from area rusted and filthy… Looking at it now, it seemed little more than just a cage for the smell.
Lorris rolled his eyes and sighed as the two walked down the brick path. “Breathe through your mouth, it helps,” he suggested.
“I breathe through my mouth, and I’ll vomit.”
“Better not be threatening me. This is my favorite shirt.”
The two looked sideways at each other as they walked under an overarch to the next part of this stench-encrusted maze. It was like something from a Wild West movie.
“I still don’t trust you.”
“That’s fine.”
Dan finally stopped. He glared at the ape-ish youth as he walked past him. “Tell me, what do you want from all this?”
Lorris stopped. He put a hand on his neck and started to massage it, as if in deep thought. After a second, he replied, “Justice.”
“Justice?” Dan scoffed. “Justice is a pretty relative thing, you know.”
“No it isn’t,” Lorris argued, still with his back turned. “Locking away a group of people for being different for whatever reason isn’t ‘justice.’ People simply use that ideal as an excuse to get away with things they know they’re otherwise not morally permitted to do.”
Dan folded his arms. “Why do you want justice? For them? The Tanukis? Or for yourself?”
The echo of Dan’s voice faded, and all was silent for a few seconds. Lorris finally turned around and looked up at Dan’s eyes. “Do you trust me?”
“No. What did I just say?”
“Then why have you followed me, even though you and I both know this idea might not work?”
Dan was about to issue a retort, but the words choked in his throat. He breathed in deep, then thought over his reply. “Because it’s the only lead I have.”
“Why do you want to save your friend?” Lorris asked as he turned his back on Dan again, this time starting to walk in the direction he faced. “I know I want to, because I know disguised persecution when I see it. And it isn’t ‘justice.’”
Dan just stood there, dumbfounded. He groaned and looked down at his feet for a few seconds. “Come on,” he heard Lorris say over his shoulder. “We’d better get a move on, quickly.”
Dan started towards Lorris again, finally catching up with him. “Right.”

[Waffle Monger]

I gotta set up my printer so I can print out all of your story you have out so far. XD I need something for my long plane ride to NJ.

[Pilgrim John]

graymatter said:

I gotta set up my printer so I can print out all of your story you have out so far. XD I need something for my long plane ride to NJ.

One would think that you'd bring along your DS instead. :/

[Waffle Monger]

zer0 said:

graymatter said:

I gotta set up my printer so I can print out all of your story you have out so far. XD I need something for my long plane ride to NJ.

One would think that you'd bring along your DS instead. :/

Nah. Can't do games and airplanes out of fear... stories take me to safer places... no? Oh well.
Besides, I'm trying to cut back on gaming.

[fatherlorris]

graymatter said:

zer0 said:

One would think that you'd bring along your DS instead. :/

Nah. Can't do games and airplanes out of fear... stories take me to safer places... no? Oh well.
Besides, I'm trying to cut back on gaming.

What ever for?

[Waffle Monger]

fatherlorris said:

graymatter said:

Nah. Can't do games and airplanes out of fear... stories take me to safer places... no? Oh well.
Besides, I'm trying to cut back on gaming.

What ever for?

more stuff like skating, and kicki ass, summer reading, cleaning, playing bass, having fun with friends

[ruben_gamer4life]

Screw summer reading

[Pilgrim John]

Sorry for the holdup, guys. :/ Been busy.
Next part... Of which I really dislike...

Suddenly, Dan thought he heard something move behind them. There was a chance it was the famous supposed crocodiles that grew up in the sewers. Not that Dan believed in such urban fairy tales, but he still couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being followed.
Suddenly, Lorris said, “Dan, duck.”
Dan didn’t realize it was a command until the hair on the back of his neck prickled. He immediately ducked in time for a bullet to whiz by above him where his head used to be. Lorris and Dan immediately turned the corner.
Lorris cursed under his breathe. “A dead end.” Sure enough, this turn was merely a passing point for the river of sewage below. A thick brick wall ended their chance of escape.
“So what do we do?” Dan asked. “We don’t have any weapons with us, do we?”
Lorris drew a gun. “Would you believe me if I told you I’m good at picking pockets?”
Dan’s eyebrows rose. “No.”
Lorris grinned. “Good.”
Suddenly, a bullet pinged by the corner, knocking a chunk of the brick out of the wall. Lorris flattened himself up against the wall, and Dan followed suit. “So, what, you gonna shoot him?” Dan whispered.
“Probably,” Lorris responded. He pointed his free hand’s finger towards the path again. “When I shoot at him,” he explained, “I want you to run up this path as fast as you can. Turn right when you see the crossroad, then go up the ladder. I want you to do this FAST. This guy might not give us enough time.”
Dan gulped. As a traveler, he had faced perils, wild animals that could bite off your head if you so much as looked at them wrong. But he had never faced a human opponent before the train ride a few days earlier. For all he knew, this guy would make the guy from before (Greg, right?) look like a cupcake.
Suddenly, as he listened hard to his surroundings, he heard someone try to slip into the sewage (no, really) and try to move forward in it. Their enemy must have been pretty desperate to kill them if he was willing to wade through the excrement of an entire city.
“Lorris,” Dan whispered, “He’s gonna come up from the river.”
Lorris clicked his tongue. After thinking a bit, he answered, “We’re not who he’s after. It’s your friend.”
So THAT’S what it was! He wasn’t trying to take them out, he was trying to pass by them.
“But on the other hand,” Lorris said, “he might also just be setting up a trap for us. We should proceed with caution.”
Lorris peeked around the corner to see if the enemy was still there. No one in sight…
He and Dan proceeded to hustle down the concrete path, Lorris taking up the rear with his gun pointed at anything he thought was suspicious. Dan ran as fast as his legs could carry him.

* * * * * *

Finally, the police sirens began to invade these hellish halls, shaking the dead corpses from where they hung. Perhaps the one that the noise frightened most was Pamela, and for good reason. She gritted her teeth as she looked up at the ceiling, past the unholy tapestry.
“They’re here,” she murmured, “they’ve come.” She ran across the cold floor, holding her bottom jaw with her hands, as if trying not to throw up. Just as suddenly as she had appeared earlier, she disappeared into what John could guess was another room.
John was facing a dilemma. Either the cops would come and take him away, or Pamela would kill him. He racked his brain, trying to think past the pain and agony he endured for the past hour and a half, to think of a plan. Turning to stone wouldn’t work.
He looked down at his wrist shackles. One of his eyes had been punched too hard and was bruised pretty good, so he could barely see anything out of it. But from what his good eye saw, he still wasn’t all too pleased.
He realized the shackle wasn’t metal. Or a shackle at all, really. It was someone’s hand. Clenching his wrists and legs between dead, fetid fingers with a disturbing grip, almost like a corpse jealous of its living resident.
Then he got an idea. He didn’t want to do it. He didn’t. He hated the thought of even thinking about it. The only one in the room who disagreed with his own idea more than himself was his stomach, which churned and gurgled with disgust. He frowned, nearly whimpered, at the faintest thought he had. Did he really want to go through with it? But it might be his only chance out of here.
He’d have to gnaw the “shackles” away.

[Pilgrim John]

At this point, Dan couldn’t figure out what would kill him first, that stalker or the smell. He kept forgetting to breathe through his mouth like a telephone pervert, and the stench acknowledged it every time. His eyes began to water from the horrible aroma of the sewer. It seemed to have gotten worse than it was before.
Another gunshot fired from behind.
Lorris jumped mid-run, literally jumping over a bullet that pinged off the floor. Dan picked up his speed. “He’s hanging on the ceiling, isn’t he?” he called behind him.
Lorris began to try running backwards, pointing his gun near the ceiling. Just as his eyes caught a human-shaped shadow hanging from the ceiling, the lamps on the wall were shot. Darkness filled the room like rabid fans at a rock concert.
“Damn,” Lorris sneered. More than likely, their quarry wore night-vision goggles. If he wasn’t he needn’t have put out the lights. Lorris kept running, this time in a zigzagging path, attempting to throw off any bead the enemy might have had on him. Two more bullets were fired in rapid succession, one hit the wall, the other zinged right past Lorris’ ear.
Ahead of him, he heard Dan fall over into the sewage river below. Lorris frowned. “We don’t have any time for this,” he murmured. He turned around and fired his gun once, twice, three times into the darkness behind them. Two bullets he aimed for the ceiling, the last one on his level.
He wasn’t sure if the enemy had dropped off the ceiling or not. Either way, it seemed that the bullets had deterred their attacker, at least for a very short time.
Dan gurgled as he tried to regain his position on the sewer way. “Aw, man!” he moaned, “My favorite shirt, and look what happened!”
Lorris looked around and saw another lamp to his right, illuminating a straight path to the left, ending with a ladder. “There it is!” He pointed in that direction with his gun.
Dan crawled out of the garbage and feces, twitching and shaking as if a mad rapist had violated him. “This is the most disgusting moment of my life,” he growled, “And I think I have you to thank.”
Lorris rolled his large eyes. “Right, my fault. I pushed you into the sewage. I’m bad,” he murmured sarcastically. “So very, very bad.” He shook his head as he reeled from the smell Dan produced. “Ew!” he gasped, “You smell like an elephant shat on you!”
“Thanks for your support, comrade,” Dan frowned.
“Anyway,” Lorris continued, “The exit into the warehouse is right over there. We need to get going before that attacker comes back.” He darted for the ladder, and motioned for Dan to follow.
Dan couldn’t bring himself to even move. The smell of sewage all over his large body was something of a traumatic experience: one you’d probably never wish on your enemies. (Well, maybe your worst enemy.) He curled his face in such a way, it looked as if he was about to break down and cry.
“What are you waiting for?” Lorris called.
Against his wishes, Dan slowly moved towards Lorris, slowly but surely gaining some speed. Lorris’ face nearly melted from the awful smell—he quickly pinched his nose shut and began breathing through his mouth. “Right,” said Lorris comically due to his pinched nose, “Let’s get going.”
Lorris decided to go up the ladder first, if only to temporarily escape Dan’s smell.

[Pilgrim John]

Come on, people.... RESPOND! I need to see comments to keep myself motivated!

Final zcene of Chapter Fifteen... Beware, though, it seems a little bit like I'm exploring the mind of a character from Rockstar's Manhunt... (Plus, there's a bit of some strong language here.)





MacGyver, five-star assassin, responsible for the deaths of anyone from crime bosses to politicians to medical doctors, and was… dying?
No, no, he reminded himself. Not dying. Not dying; DEAD.
Oh wait, could he see? Yes… His night-vision goggles were still attached and in one piece, that was for certain… He blinked a few times, trying to make sure he was still conscious. But he felt like his limbs were made of lead, like he was paralyzed.
Paralyzed? Then he was better off dead.
Or was he dead already?
He’d heard stories from his trips around the world, all kinds. One story that was prevalent in the mythology of the wild native tribes in Austromalia was that people would still be conscious even when they die. Their spirits would be trapped within their bodies until their bodies fully decayed—and from the descriptions those natives gave, decaying was a painful process. Much like some religions have a “heaven” and a “hell”, decaying was much like the “hell” of the native’s weird religion.
Well, he didn’t feel cold, that was for sure. But as he concentrated, he began to feel pain. It started out small, but like a fire, it grew into a fierce pain. Suddenly, he had moved his head, jerking in an uncontrollable twitch.
He looked down at the spot just between his neck, his chest and his shoulder. Blood. HIS blood.
Suddenly, his feeling of pain was almost entirely erased by another feeling…. Anger. Those bastards, unwashed baboons, filthy motherfuckers—how could they have even TOUCHED him?! He was the experienced one! He had taken so many lives that it was now apart of his daily routine! But two average joes… one, an employee of a deli shop, and the other, some out-of-towner…
His teeth clenched. He was beaten by LOSERS. Losers!
He gritted his teeth. Losers! Bastards! MOTHERFUCKERS!
His eyes went red with anger. Suddenly, his thoughts became more audible as he tried to stand up. Murmuring his ugly words like a madman, he slithered up to his full height, despite the pain from his bullet wound.
They didn’t defeat him, no. No, no, no. No, hee, hee. They couldn’t. They CAN’T. No one “defeats” MacGyver. No one.
MacGyver thought about that, over and over again, then suddenly threw his head back and burst out laughing. His mad laughter echoed from the walls, almost as if the entire sewer system were laughing along with him.
You can’t defeat MacGyver. You can only make him angry.

[fatherlorris]

rawr! be motivate!

[ruben_gamer4life]

yay for bad words

[Pilgrim John]

rubengamer4life said:

yay for bad words

Well, considering that this is coming from a villain's perspective, I thought it would kind of color him a bit differently from the other characters.