Mz. Cupcake: If I can play it when needed/wanted by others and not have to dive deep on Making Things Happen Myself, it can be done. It's the energy required to get MU-players to act that sounds so immensely tiring right now. 
I've been the active one, and I'm not in that headspace atm.
ES
I want to RP. I don't particularly want to go through the process of creating a new character and bar-playing and sitting around waiting for scenes and pushing to make scenes happen. I'm old and lazy, sue me. I just don't have the time or energy to invest the way I used to.
So, if you've need for an NPC or scene run, whether short term or long, and want an extra pair of hands to handle it for you, give me a ping. I'm decent at the RPs, or so I'd like to think, and I have absolutely no investment in who comes out on top in OOC or IC dramaz.
ES
She lays claim to privacy but it is a tattered shield, rarely fully raised. Were the ones who spoke with dread of mind reading rays so wrong? They claimed tinfoil would solve the problem, but we invite the invasion with every account signed up on social media. Every post button clicked is a declaration of pay attention to me, a demand that those Chosen Few look here look here. If we describe the self as a room, the door is either open or shut. There is no opening at halfsies in this particular metaphor. If instead it is layers of gauze and tulle, does peeling one away to allow a friend a glimpse at What Lies Beneath mean that it is gone for everyone else around? Perhaps the problem is the metaphors themselves, but we are human in the end. We think in comparisons. We could no more give up our allusion to privacy than we could give up our very skin and bones, the ultimate in guardians against the vulnerabilities hidden within. Consider me this: my privacy is not held by me, but held by the viewer. Each of you holds a lens, ground to a fine and exacting degree. What you see when you look at me depends on what prescription I have granted to you, and what prescription you may or may not have stolen from others. Privacy becomes a factor of how many have a lens and what degree each of them holds.
Transcript Begins
O Diaribot! All my friends have it! I don't even know how to say it to my besti! She wouldn't tell anyone else but they'd still find out. [sad-ji] I don't even know what to do! How could I fail the test! I studied! I sim'd! My mum even let me take hers out to practice! I got the controls lit up, I got up into the air and then bam [sick-ji]! Mum said my feed was off and not to worry but then I got to the test and it happened again! Everyone's going out to sortie and I have to ask for a ride! [ang-ji] I might just die! [risk analysis: negligible] Bekki is going to eat me alive when she hears! [risk analysis: negligible] What if there's something wrong with me?! [worr-ji] What if I'm sick arell??? Diaribot search phrase: gravity sickness! [search begins]
There is no grey in this war. There is no middle ground where one might pause and take a sip of something soothing or bracing as the need occurs. There is only the fight, constant and unending. Battle knows no boundaries in this place. It spills over between siblings, between parents, between second-cousins and thirds. Now and then there is a brief moment of respite, a quiet space in a Starbucks when two sides sit at the same table. But it never lasts. The complaints of scent and sound, the cries about caffeine-levels and ritualistic pouring... they are louder still after such times. Those poor few who drink neither are left helpless and wondering where they might find their anti-oxidants, their glorious energy-boost. But the division does not stop with these two camps. Within each there are the heresies, the orthodox claiming a split. Plain-jane or adulterated sweetness? Fast to get the benefits, slow to enjoy the taste? Creamed to soothe or hard-core strength alone? If only they could all see their similarities instead of their differences. Only then could we see peace in our lifetime.
The thing that all-consuming hunger never thinks about is what it will do once it's done all-consuming. Of course, you can't reason with something like that, even if it were sentient, which is an iffy prospect in its own right. The very concept of an all-consuming hunger suggests that other possibilities have already been eaten right up. In a hypothetical situation, should you have the opportunity to speak to something with such an instinct, what would be the response? Please don't! Hungry. No stop! Hungry. What about the children! Hungry. You see? It would be like arguing with a toddler. There's nothing there but desire, and no will to leaven the urge to all-consumption.
So it consumes all. This is a rhetorical situation of course, you'd be eaten too. But in this distant future in which all things are swallowed up in the belly of the proverbial beast, what does it turn to? The only thing left: itself. Self-cannibalism is an ugly picture, but what's an all-consuming hunger to do? Perhaps it starts at the bottom to work its way up. Whether this takes a mere moment or an aeon hardly matters. Eventually it will be down to whatever part does the eating. Not a pleasant picture either, but bear with me.
What matters is that the very nature of an all-consuming hunger is itself something that cannot be eaten! How can it eat its own hunger without losing the desire to all-consume! This paradox cannot be born by the laws of science, and is thus the underpinnings of my theorem on the impossibility of beings from beyond. Only $4.99 in .epub format, no DRM applied!
My good Dr. L~,
There is no small delight to be found in the writing of correspondence to a man of such extraordinary good taste and high intelligence as yourself. I appreciate your willingness to entertain my thoughts, and hope that you will find a few moments to return my letter at your convenience. Though your focus of study does not dwell in the same areas as my own, it is similar enough, I trust, that those similarities will provide a bridge to understanding.
Given the nature of the topic we discuss, you will forgive me, I hope, if I couch my phrases in something of a subterfuge. Without such niceties, we might both find ourselves in some minor difficulties. As such, I trust that through these witticisms, we maintain our respective boundaries and lifestyles. To any who might gain these personal letters and attempt to discern their meanings, I say to you: good luck! You will need it.
Let us first then describe the situation. Consider a child's toy, disassembled. The pieces are familiar, as we are all given to knowing them from youth onwards. Alas, they have been set apart from one another, and inasmuch as we might picture the end result, reaching that point is less certain. For one, the intricacies of the matter are often obscured. How does one put them together again? Should it be some form of glue, subject to solvent but otherwise solid? That would interfere in the flexibility of the finished product. Needle and thread might apply, but the edges, sir! They would peel upwards in an entirely unattractive way. Science need not be ugly, I have always thought, and trust that you would agree. Grace in practice only gilds the lily.
Even with this assembly decided -- and this is not the case, but we move forward to encompass the whole of the situation -- there is yet more to contemplate. A toy such as this should move freely when it is together at last. Gears might be useful in such a case, if they are exactingly and cunningly laid into the workings. One might provide a few moments of mobility through the advent of a winding key in that case. But it would only provide those moments. The very fundamentals of our understanding of thermodynamics suggest that the energy converted thus would dissipate all too soon. How then to apply energy in such a way that it will provide continued motion to the toy? Perhaps if a sufficient jolt were supplied at first, the system might take up itself with minor infusions to follow, much as we ourselves do? This verges on the mysteries of life, however; I cannot claim to know how it might be done yet.
Thankfully, the question of who would be interested in such an item is already answered. Though the science itself should be enough of a joy to convince the world of its worth, we do not live in such a perfect symposium. As such, I have sought out enlightened gentlemen of means who would find use in a completed object. My work continues apace, and they are as convinced of my final success as I am myself. It is only a matter of time.
Any thoughts you might share regarding the two questions at hand would be greatly appreciated, my good sir. As you are able, write back with your suggestions. Indeed, I would dearly enjoy the opportunity to hear what troubles your own research raises! I believe there is some validity to the theory that the social and life sciences in conjunction can benefit all involved.
Yours with gratitude,
Dr. F~
This space reserved
For the art
That would have been here
If our tastes weren't
So very different
Her baroque
Me minimalist
Him anti-art entirely
And so it's just
This simple empty frame
They're at it again. You'd think people who're together as much as they are would be less... fraught. People! Listen to me. I still think of it as a 'people' even knowing it's not. Farthak does too, but he's a dwarf. He has a thing for worked metal. I have no excuse at all, and if Ser Midday Sun Glinting On A Blade of Grass -- ugh, elvish names -- were to hear me call it people, I'd never hear the end of it. All of which is a way to avoid thinking about the fact that they're arguing. Again. The rest of the party is doing their best to ignore that pinched expression on his face. They know what it means too. She's haranguing him, probably something about how he's not striving hard enough to destroy evil. Sure, he killed a few goblins the other day, but that's minor stuff. She wants something bigger, and she's not afraid to tell him so. He was so excited when he found her, too! A real sword at last! A magic sword, dedicated to fighting the horrors of the world! Ser Midday Sun tried to warn him... but it was too late. Poor kid was already swinging her around like she was his own arm. I shudder to think what it'll be like when she can speak aloud to the rest of us. Of course, we can get away. The kid is stuck with her. If he 'forgot' her somewhere, she'd just show up in his sheath the next day, mumbling in his head about how he needs to go find a dragon or a demon for them to defeat. I wonder if there's a board in the city somewhere, someplace to ask if more powerful adventurers need a fancy evil-killing sword? At least then he might be able to convince her she's on to bigger, better things. The past few weeks may be enough for him to realize it's not getting better. This just isn't working out. It's her, not him. Or is it it's it?
You want to know what it sounds like? OK then. You go on and get your hands wet, and soap'em up a little. Then you just sorta rub them against each other, real slow. That wet, squelching sound? That's what it sounded like! Don't you believe nobody who tries to tell you it's too quiet to hear, got me? It happened to me, and I remember to this day what it sounds like, and it wasn't silent, no matter what them television shows try to tell you. Now, I know you gotta lesson about it in that school of yours, and that's all fine. I'm not trying to say your teacher's lying to you, I'm just saying if she wasn't going through it, how can she really know? All she knows is what she's told too. But I did, so I know. First it sounds like when you take a bite of an appl-- you don't know what that's like, I forgot they're all gone now. OK then. When you take a bite of a real fresh ration bar, them ones that have the crispy edges. Take a tiny bite of that, nibble crunch in little bites. That's what it sounded like first. Then you get your raspy-slick sound I told you about earlier, and that goes on for a while. If you're lucky, someone'll notice you're staring funny, and they'll come help you out. Just gotta find the tail and pull it out, like my pap did for me. He didn't know what it was of course, we didn't have no lessons in them schools about it yet. But he saw it wriggling and he yanked it right on out with his old pliers. He told me later I was bleeding for a while, and I never did hear so good after. But it didn't get too much, so I can't complain! You pay attention now, you got me? If you hear that crunchy-wet-squelchy sound on the inside, you run on over to your pap or me. We'll do you up good.
A Warning Tale, as told to Catherine Stonebound by a paladin of Pelor
They asked why she was out alone on the road, of course. That sweet, sad-eyed girl with her clothing rumpled and her face wan. They plied her with spells of true sight, with words meant to gauge her honesty, with a brief glimpse at her heart to see if she was evil. In the end, they let her stay the night by their fire. She was, in fact, just a girl. She'd lost her parents in an attack and was out searching for a place to settle down. No, no, not searching for heroes to set the matter right. She knew exactly who'd done the deed. No, no, she'd handle the situation herself, in her own time.
What does it take for a girl, fifteen if she was a day, to take up a knife? What leverage comes to bear, that she feels a need to kneel next to a sleeping knight with that blade bared? She knew exactly who'd taken her parents from her, after all. He was wearing the spoils. If those parents were bandits, if they deserved what they got for their temerity, did that mean they had no family? No daughter to demand their rings back from the thumb of a man who'd thought it pretty enough to keep? There was no evil in her heart, but that didn't mean she couldn't be driven by sorrow to strike out. There was no evil in her heart, but that didn't stop the ingrained reflexes that returned the blow.
If she'd asked, they'd have given her the rings. What's a bauble to a proper adventurer, in the end. But that wouldn't bring her parents back. It wouldn't return her to her home. It wouldn't stop the tears. Adventurers are like the weather, like a gift from the gods. There's no telling when or where, only that the world will be shaken to its core for someone before they leave.
O let me sing to you of that gently-tended sweet-scented boundlessly delightful home nestled in the deep-rooted well-flowered endlessly pleasant fields.
O let me sing to you of the high-walled smoothly-arched artlessly graceful home stretched alongside the swift-flowing earth-shearing benficently holy river.
O let me sing to you of that heart-rending soul-touching agonizingly beautiful home created around the hush-inducing light-swallowing always greening trees.
O let me sing to you of Xanadu and Kubla Khan its king.
The first step to meditation isn't really a step after all since you're sitting still but we call them steps which is such a silly thing when you stop and think about it though you understand we're not stopping to think about things in meditation because it's about not thinking about things so put that right out of your mind and focus instead on your breathing which is the first step followed closely thereafter by the second step and again I will reiterate you are not actually stepping anywhere except maybe deeper into your own mind the way a spiral staircase drops slowly into the dark where the water laps up against the bottom-most riser and you're going lower even as the waves lift higher with each slow breath in and out like in step one so keep remembering that step while we move on to step two which is to imagine the staircase under your hand and under your feet so you can feel the wood or the metal or the stone sliding beneath your fingers and the sound of your footsteps as you take a step down towards the dark waters that wait below but please don't actually rise up and find a staircase in your body because this is meditation and we've only just gotten to step two when we should be on step four or five by now but you keep distracting me which is what's making this whole meditation instruction so very hard to follow through properly but don't worry we'll talk about step three next and that's when you layer in the sounds around you next like that humming electricity that's always around us in the modern world only leave that behind because it's not helpful for meditation unless you're going to let it fill you up with the fuzzy hum of it all to help you drift down but there's no rush to it you can take your time and get there when you're ready the water is waiting and by the time we're at step ten you'll have drowned in it.
"The polite, tidy, terribly middle-class front door, painted pale blue."
This line feels like it's what... solidifies? the whole thing, @JinShei. Because anyone can have a door like that; it's the only declarative-descriptive sentence in there, bringing it Present and now I kinda want to get my front door painted a new color.
ES
A classic opening line, Auspice! I almost went with it, but I didn't feel I had anything strong enough to say. I really like the paragraph's first sentence in run-on breathless fashion, followed by the abruptness of the second sentence. They're lovely together.
ES
A new pancreas. Skin without flaws. Eyes that don't squint. A little taller, perhaps a (heavy) touch better metabolism. An urge to exercise that doesn't exist now, so it'll need to be added in whole-cloth. Longer, thicker hair, and make it red on its own instead of through a bottle. The snoring can go, and the sinus issues too. That's it. That's all. Just... almost everything, really. There are parts I'll keep, I'm not greedy. The blue in my eyes is fine, I'm content with the heft of my 'assets' above the waist. Brain's a bit too complex, we'll leave it be, and I don't mind the fish-belly pale. Gender's all good, though if the cramps can go, that'd be keen. I know all the list is on back-order, but I tell you what. That new body will be something when it finally shows up.
Science tells us that there's math involved. That if you know the formula, you can work out the exact numbers. But the variables change and fluctuate so often that everyone gets a different result. I'm not sure if that means the formula is broken, or if we're just not meant to know. Either one is frustrating.
So here's the problem. There's a true, finite amount of Happiness in the world. I know, right? Crazy! But that's what the scientists say. They've measured it, that's how they came up with their formula. That problem's bad enough. Anything finite is a resource, a commodity to be bought, sold, traded, fought for, hoarded. More valuable than gold! Certainly more than diamonds, considering how that's jacked up.
But there's a step further in the problem. You see, the scientists haven't just measured it. They figured out how to give some of it to you. At least they did it open source. Anyone can get a bit of Happy anytime they want, it's not a rehash of that old saying about money buying the stuff. Only because it's finite, anytime you get some, you're stealing it from someone else. Before, when we didn't realize, it just happened. Constant ebb and flow, no problem, life is like that.
Except now when you bump into that great moment, or if you reach out for some deliberately... you know. You're stealing it, pulling that Happy out of someone else's life to enjoy for yourself. It makes it harder to be Happy, I think. There are whole churches built up these days around the idea of finding Happiness in being Unhappy. Somehow you deliberately being Unhappy is supposed to make the world better? But it's finite, so I'm not quite sure how they work that bit of mental gymnastics. All I do know is that it's hard to really relax into the moment anymore. But if I'm not using my own moments of Happy properly, does that mean someone else is? Someone who doesn't care as much as I do about the theft?
If they try to tell us that Love or Friendship or Contentment are all finite too, I think I might have a conniption fit. There are so many things to be other than Happy, it's not a single trade-off. At least... they haven't figured out the formulas for the other emotions yet. Either way, I think I'd be Happier if I didn't know. And isn't that just the worst.
Have y'ever noticed that when yer shifting from light t'darkness, you kin feel the glare right on up until the tippy-top of yer own personal shadow disappears into the larger ones 'round you? That's when yer safe. That's how y'know. They used to think they'd done 'nuff by standing in th'shadows directly. But that weren't good'nuff. Them slow growing blisters and weeping red spots, they were proof they hadn't moved far 'nuff into th'shade. They had juuuust enough protection t'slow down the pro-gression, but not 'nuff to stop'em flat. So they died. It wasn't nice to watch, I tell you what. That much sun... if y'get a full dose, at least it's quick. But slow like that? When they'dve done been fine if they'd just taken half-step further in? It was a bad way to go. Nowadays they've got them wide hats, so you really only have t'watch for hands and feet getting too much sun, or sometimes some bit of mirror shining at the wrong angle. Moonlight's not much better, though it's easier t'get to in time. I hear there's people who spend their whole lives inside rooms without windows, just so's they can actually walk around without layers. Crazy! We may rush on over to th'shadows for protection, but that don't mean we worship them. I gotta wonder sometimes iffin letting th'plants get so much sunlight means we're eatin' alla that bad stuff? Th'sun only went wrong a coupla years ago. We ain't had time t'see what it'll do to our insides.
@cobaltasaurus
Why so many 
? You play TTS with us, fgs! 
ES
Focus of Will, an exerpt
There is within you a space you have not dared approach. It is shut away, locked up, hidden behind barriers to keep you safe. You know it is there, but it has always been easier to let it be. Why glance at what is dangerous? So you continue your life closed, dammed, blocked. You may stop reading now and go on without fear. It will not harm you to stop. It is the way others live, and if they do not touch their own power, so you might refuse as well.
Or you may read on and search for it within yourself. The space may be vast, or it may be shallow. All men carry differing depths. Later lessons will guide you towards greater strength if you are willing to put forth the effort. But you must begin by finding what exists now. Knowing yourself in this way requires clear vision and wisdom. What is must be acknowledged before what comes may be sought.
This first lesson will take time, as all lessons will. Do not think there is a way to speed this course. As a man must ingrain the lessons of a sword into his body, so too you must fasten these lessons into your mind and spirit. Once begun, they will not end. Having tasted the power residing within you, your thirst will be forever unquenched. Know this. Own this truth as your own: once begun, you will always want more. You may stop reading now and go on content enough. It will not harm you to stop. It is the way others live, and if they are satisfied with so little, so you might be.
Or you may read on; to begin requires inner sight. Cast your mind back through your life. Find those moments when you Wanted. When the urge to be more, do more, have more, rose within you in a great swell... and was set aside for lack of response. These memories may be tiny things from childhood. Search there for the first. Do not find any such memory and settle for it. To know the space within where power rests anticipating your arrival, you must be willing to delve deepest into your Self.
To attempt this feat should instill restlessness. You will wonder if it is worth this trouble. You will ask if you have truly found the first memory, or if this is all a sham. These thoughts are tangent, your own mind attempting to draw you away from the power you seek. To be a man of substance, of Will, you must set trace on these impulses and use them for your benefit. To a man of Will, the mind is a horse in harness, set to task and driven to complete it. You may stop reading now and go on without Will. It will not harm you to stop. It is the way others live, and if they are uncontrolled, so they are also powerless in turn, so you might follow their path.