Hrk-Jrrt, thri-kreen bard

The murmur of the crowd dimmed, along with the house-lights, as the band took the stage; a stocky dwarf stood behind her drums, her hair in sharp, short braids sticking out at all angles, wearing nothing except a long, dark-green kilt and a black bra, a madness to her eyes fueled by drugs and pure, gonzo adrenaline; a pale elf, all long and thin, took up his position behind an array of keyboards and synthesizers, his eyes hidden by red lenses embedded in his face, his lips locked into a rictus grin, wearing torn jeans and a plain black shirt; and, finally, the thri-keen, wielding a bass in one set of hands and a six-string guitar in the other, across his body, wearing nothing, revealing his dark-blue carapace to the world.

Darkness, then. Then a staccato rhythm from the dwarf, irregular beats punctuating the complete silence. A single spotlight flares to life, illuminating the elf, who begins a complex series of notes from two different keyboards, beginning the bands' first real hit, eliciting raucous cheering from the crowd that falls, suddenly, silent as the thri-keen begins to play, slow and mournful from his bass and fast and intense from his guitar. This instrumental was what put the band on the map, and the crowd was reverently silent as the concert truly began.

When Maxima Met Iori, a play in one scene

*Our characters enter the scene: MAXIMA, a unit of generous size; IORI, some punk; MATURE, his mom.*

MATURE approaches MAXIMA, lays a finger on his chest.

MATURE: What... what are you?

MAXIMA: I'm a steam-powered Canadian. What are you?

MATURE seems taken aback. IORI pushes her aside.

IORI: I'm a goth punk rocker.

MAXIMA throws up the horns.

MAXIMA: FUCK YEAH!

IORI: FUCK YEAH!

They both strike DBZ-style squatting power-up poses

MAXIMA/IORI (togehter): FUCK YEAH!

The world explodes.









I'm not sorry.