Subject: Congratumalations
Author:
Posted on: 2017-02-20 16:13:00 UTC
Congratumalations on your Boardiversary. If there happens to be any real alcohol flying around somewhere feel free to toss it towards my corner somewhere.
Actually, a year ago tomorrow. "Tomorrow" being a word which here means "in less than ten minutes. . . oh, look at that. I meant to say 'today'."
Quibbles aside. I joined the PPC on February 21, 2016. When I arrived, the big news was a text game thing which turned the Board into a dungeon full of monsters, Boarder shipfics featuring corsets were being written, and hS was panicking over the low number of Boarders. Since then, I've stopped flaking out on RPs and writing challenges (mostly. . .), doubled in squeamishness, and finally learned what a trace on an oscilloscope is.
It's been a great year. I've met so many wonderful people, learned a lot about writing and swords, and. . . I'm getting emotional. I never thought I'd stick around for longer than a week, and now I've got an app downloaded on my phone just to talk to you people. And a fellow Boarder who calls me "senpai."
Anyway *toasts with ginger beer* here's to another year. Maybe by the end of the next one I'll get my Permission prompts written.
--Picture Key wrapped in scribbled outlines and character bios, hair mussed and smelling of candlewax
Thank you for all your well-wishes; I'll reply individually later. I'm on a family trip right now and I'm staying in a hostel where the wifi is spotty at best (whinch is why you may have seen me briefly appear in Discord but not reply to any messages, why I've been neglecting the RP, etc). Lucky the Board is so simple; it's the only thing I've been able to get to load so far. I'm returning home today and should be able to reply properly to all the stuff I know I've been sent at some point in the next 12 hours.
--Key thanks you for your patience
And a toast of black-hole coffee for you.
*Toasts with coffee*
If my first year is as successful as yours, I'll consider myself ridiculously lucky.
Also, "yammered the yak"?
Alpha Beta Chowder, by Jeanne Steig, otherwise known as the best way to teach a six-year-old what "absquatulate" means. It popped into my head for some reason. The yak bit is the first line for the poem for Y.
--Key
P.S.
'Twas a year ago yesterday, yammered the yak,
That a youth with a yatagan jumped on my back.
"To Yonkers!" he cried as he flourished his sword.
"To Yonkers at once! I'm atrociously bored!"
Well, I shrugged him off smartly.
"You yahoo," I said, "You must have been born with a yam for a head.
Had you yearned for the Yukon I might have concurred,
But July down in Yonkers?" I yawned. "How absurd."
Congratumalations on your Boardiversary. If there happens to be any real alcohol flying around somewhere feel free to toss it towards my corner somewhere.
And then I made that all-caps joke, and then you returned that all-caps joke, and I realised then, at that exact moment, something truly beautiful had been created. Something irreplacable. Something untouchable. Something truly unique.
A really stupid joke about all-caps.
But also friendship! That, too! That was also created!
Yeah, mate, what a bloody day that was! Good thing you stuck around for longer than a week, Key, because you're bloody cool as hell, and I think you're bloody cool as hell, and you get my signature 'cool as hell' thumbs up sign.
And then you worked as a really bloody good beta (and the first beta I ever got!), and then you taught me how to beta things, and a million other things. And then I got permission and I do genuinely owe a massive portion of that to bloody you, because of all that, and a bunch of other stuff I've probably forgotten because I'm kind of dumb. Anyhow, there's a lot of things I owe to you, mate, and if you're assembling a team to rob the world's most well-defended bank, or something, I'm in there. Whether I ultimately want to be or not.
*toasts with REAL beer because Larfen is cool and edgetacular and he has a katana* To another year! To getting those Permission prompts written, releasing undoubtedly brilliant agents who will single-handedly fix everything that my dumb ones ruin, and a great spin-off and a whole bloody lot more!
Bloody stroke of luck it was, on my part, to somehow bumble into befriending a person as all-around brilliant and all-around lovely to talk to and all-around jolly fantastic as you, Senpai.
I was thinking of a heist to rescue a morally-suspect roboticist from the world's best-defended technically-not-a-prison-because-no-government-will-formally-acknowledge-its-existence. I just bought your plane, boat, and mule tickets to Cooch Behar (not the site of the prison-not-prison, but. . . you'll see why)! Would you prefer to be in charge of explosives, cartography, or animal training? Or weaponry? You already seem to be stocking up on swords.
--Code Name Key Brekker
P.S. OH MY SWEET GHEZEN stop saying all those nice things to me, I'm almost starting to believe them. Don't call your agents dumb; you are one of the cleverest, most original authors I've read in a near-eternity, counting published (you'll be published soon enough; I want to hear about it when you are so I can make everyone I know buy your book). And you're so kind and put up with all my ridiculous flaky, cranky nonsense. And you are generally a better person than I've ever imagined meeting; if I tried to write a story about you I'd have to give you a crippling nose wart (or a tiny goatee) to balance it out.
P.P.S. I'm kidding; I'm sure your goatee was lovely.
because I just returned from my final weaponised explosive animal cartography lesson, having graduated in the art of weaponising explosive animal cartography. I have a certificate. I've placed it over my bed. My mum squints and frowns whenever she sees it. She looks at me with lost, cold eyes, that look through me into another universe where she never had a son, and is on a beach in the Caribbean, drinking some drink that involves coconuts.
So if we get attacked and are lost at the same time and feel like the animal diversity in the general area is kind of low, I've got ya. Got ya in spades.
P.S. Keeeeeeeey, believe theeeeem. Mean every single word, I do. I mean, not the dumb sarcastic ones, but the nice ones that I genuinely mean because I believe them. Because you're bloody good at things and I think you're bloody good at things.
And original? Clever? Published? RRRRRRRRRRGH, thank youuuuuuuuu. I still feel warm from having read that. Cheers, mate, cheers bloody to eternity. I* try my bloody hardest to not disappoint you, mate.
I mean, bugger me, Key. Honestly lost for words. Except these: give yourself more credit, oy? :) (and maybe give me a little less credit, but that doesn't sound quite as cheery, does it?)
P.P.S. Oh, I assure you, that goatee was very distinctly not lovely. A collective of hairs, perhaps, rather than a goatee.
I'll get a good one, I swear! It'll come back, twice as glorious. And I'll have to wait for it to double again, maybe double another time, for it to actually get somewhere. But somewhere it will get!
* I considered correcting this and adding the 'l's and whatnot, but I thought it would be more ironic, given the placement. It amuses me deeply.