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A Cloudcuckoolander's Musings

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Sorry, it’s just too cute!
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About

We are now going to do an exercise in imagination. To be present here you must have a sufficient amount of imagination, for we cannot exist without it. Essentially this is like a captcha, except for your brain. If you can't visualize this at all, leave. Come back when you have more imagination.

The setting is steampunk. You come from a wealthy family and as such you are meeting the person your parents have arranged your marriage to for the umpteenth time. You’re sitting in the parlor, a big glossy room for every inch of it is polished and decorated and you hate it so much because it serves as a reminder of how mechanical your life is. You don’t want to be an aristocratic puppet, but being a sky pirate wouldn’t be great either. They always fight with the government, who also stinks, and then one side is completely destroyed and either way you don’t feel like dying as either one of those kinds of people. Just as you looked at your fob watch to see how much longer this fiancé(e) of yours would take to get their late butt in here, the huge front doors open and they saunter in like they own the place. Sure they’re attractive and all, but good lord are they annoying and shallow. You don’t care how “great” their new outfit is or how utterly phantasmagoric the new room in their house is. They just won’t shut up about it and you swear the amount of stupidity a person can have should have some sort of limiter the way human strength does. If you can’t pick up the couch with one hand, the person in front of you shouldn’t be able to not know the difference between a parrot and a parakeet. You hastily excuse yourself to go to the bathroom and leave the room. You don’t really have to use the bathroom; you’ve decided that you’re going to leave. For good. Some other unlucky sucker can get married to “I-need-someone-else-to-button-my-shirt-for-me-because-I-can’t-figure-out-how-to-do-it-myself.” Up to your room you went, tearing off the stuffy outfit you were wearing and grabbing the silver scissors on your vanity. You began to haphazardly cut your hair to a nice, short length (because long hair is a sign of aristocracy and you really hate the aristocracy) and then tie up what’s left into a fail of a ponytail. You don some good sturdy boots, that cotton shirt with the leather vest that goes over it and looks amazing, a good pair of britches, and your excellent puffy newsboy cap with the goggles. A big backpack is slung over your back after you fill it up with money and all sorts of victuals. You make a makeshift rope out of your bed sheets and repel out the window into the city streets and hit the ground running towards the docks. You blow half the money you brought on a decent sized junk ship that also came with a grumbly 20 year old navigator that you found to be a much better example of human life than the idiot that was still probably waiting for you in your house. Without further ado you took off, the steam engines of the junk propelling it forwards into the glorious sky and you smiled widely as the wind whipped your face. It’s time to go exploring.

Hello there, if you made it to the end congratulations. You are worthy to enter this fail of a blog. I am a special breed of strange, as I have been told, whom you may address as Danni. It is up to you to see if that is even my real name. I warn thee, you are crossing into strange and unpredictable waters. Any of the above statements may or may not be taken with a grain of salt, the decision up to you. Adieu~

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