The Shadenight123 Corner, Hugs Need Not Apply

[shadenight123]

So, I got greenlit by @Admiral Skippy before posting this thread, so don't you worry gents. It is apparently the right place for this.

Similar to the wdango thread, here is where I shall post all those one-shots, snippets, ideas, and whatnot that come through my head, wish to leave, and then are left in a corner of the hard drive to die horrible, slow, deaths until I need more space and thus erase them.

This shall also be a place where I'll put the quest status of the quest I'm doing, the ones I'd like to do, and those I need some crunching before doing.

However, as Admiral Skippy has thus proclaimed, keep the 'Quest-Related' banter of specific quests on their quest threads. Here there shall primarily be User-Fiction discussions.

Now then, to start first things first, a convenient index of stuff...because my Signature? My signature can't hold everything any longer.

(That is the secondary reason for this thread. My signature's reaching the end of its potential, and I need more space!)

So, Verbatim, here stands my Signature, if in an expanded format and with additions to it:

My Fictions on this Forum:

Persona IV - Faust Was Misguided All Along: Saving those meant to die to kick-start the investigation on the Fool was supposed to make the rest easy, so then why are things spiraling out of control, and why is Izanami coyly smiling? Deus Vult, Shade! Deus Vult!

Grimm Life: Shade is love and everything nice. Shade is also a Grimm in pre-canon RWBY. Things spiral out of control. Chibi-Ruby is cute. Young Ruby is paranoid. This is all Shade's fault somehow.

My Older Siblings Cannot Be the Dragonborn: Finding yourself dragged to the execution block together with a Nord and a Breton who believe they're your siblings is problematic enough, finding out the Dragonborn is a Bandit Nord? Where is my canon and what have you done to it!?

Noblesse Oblige (Completed): Zero No Tsukaima/SI. A story of Fluff and Kindness, of growing up in the La Valliere household and altering events, ensuring things turn out fine...even when they don't. Features fluffy birds, loving tenderness and good, happy feelings. Because Shade is Love. Shade is Fluff.

I Have Materia. Your Argument is Invalid (Completed): FF7/SI fic. I was simply taking a train back home. How I ended up in Midgar's train station is anyone's guess, because my memories are what they are. If only Jenova wasn't so interested in feeding me...

Ignis Aurum Probat: Neon Genesis Evangelion AU fic. Due to events, the first battle ends with an eleven year pause in the arrival of the Angels. A Grown-Up Cast faces new dilemmas, new troubles and different dreams and desires. Also, Shinji has a therapist.

The Steep Path Ahead: Zero no tsukaima AU story. Louise is kidnapped as a newborn and left in Germania, the summoning happens in drastically different circumstances, and nobody happily whips anybody around.

Dread Rising (Book One Completed.): Pathfinder-Like Setting. A powerful Lich awakens from slumber, the world he knew and had conquered now not even remembering him, or his reasons. He thus embarks on a quest to recover his lost power, find out who sent him to slumber for thousands of years...and use his Smart-Evil alignment to prove that Evil does not necessarily need an Idiot Ball in hand.

Mook Life: Multicross. Be a mook. Live events. Die horribly. Get reincarnated as a mook elsewhere. Because even faceless mooks may have interesting stories to tell...or painful things to go through.

Fate Stay Write Go (Completed): FSN. We have three main paths as a master and one path as a servant. There are...things, inside. Lots of...things. And stuff. Still, in the process of turning it into a VN (thanks to Mizu and InfiniteDaze)

Grimm Tidings: RWBY. Follow a slight retelling of RWBY with a 'slight' diversion from the beaten path with team BAYN, as Jaune tries his hardest to become a Hero. Yet, the path to fame is always riddled with strife and pain, isn't it?

Soul Art Online (Completed): SAO/DS. Soul Art Online is a multiplayer online game where Humanity is precious, death is at the order of the day and many things are tested. Can the players keep their humanity in the face of ever-growing trials, or will they shatter their morality for an easier path?

I have a very strange Master (Completed): Star Wars/SI, POV of Ahsoka Tano. Ahsoka Tano has a very strange master. Scratch that, maybe he's mad from head to toe. But he's also awesome. Maybe, maybe not. Episode I and II out.

Team Bonding. The last Naruto Fic I'll ever write. This shall deal with simple, fluff-filled stuff about Team Seven growing up and becoming the best teammates there ever could be, like no one ever was! Very, very slow pace, very short chapters, but if you want a dose of heartwarming, pass by here. Just be careful with Tora. The Eldricht thing bites.

Dark Wings. Ichika Orimura was successfully kidnapped by Phantom Task. Recovered after a failed mission, how will a half-broken, half-mercenary Ichika deal with...the Infinite Stratos Academy?

Soul Splitter (Completed). SI Pokémon story. Double the Shade, Double The Fun.

Bond Breaker (Completed). First SI Multicross. Keep an eye out for Invisitext and the Meta, there's plenty of both.

Hope Bearer. SI Multicross. Sequel To Bond Breaker. Vacation Time Means Happy Fluff Time, Right? This is the sequel which also holds all those dimensions I would have liked to put in the first one, but I didn't want to bloat the first part, so I placed it in the second one instead.



My Quests:

Welcome to Beauxbatons, You Are Tom Marvolo Riddle: Be Tom Marvolo Riddle in the most fabulous setting ever. Enjoy the dryad songs and find out the mysteries of the golden palace. Will you have FUN?

Skyrim Quest. My first Riot Quest. You are a mook in the Imperial Legion. Burn down the cities you're charged in protecting! Praise Talos! Praise Sheogorath! Do madness and face-palms in abundance! And remember that the Legionnaires' hymn is 'Kill the Thalmor!'

Keep Ruler. Rule A Keep. (Quest). A try on a management Quest, hopefully it will go well.

Thicker Than Blood. Harry Dresden Quest. Be Nathaniel, Ax-Loving Guy. This has recently restarted to boot. I hopefully can convey Jim Butcher's ever-increasing odds of despair with only the skin-of-the-teeth salvation at the end.
Or maybe not, and Axing shall fall on poor fae and warlocks alike.
Poor, poor Fae.

Quests 'Dropped'.

Welcome to Hogwarts, You Are A Wizard SV! You are Alexander Crouch. Ravenclaw Wizard First Year.

Hero Hive Creatures Quest You are Emiya Shirou, governing the Zerg, in Halkeginia. Things can't possibly be worst-oh wait a second is that Gilgamesh and Magical Girl Ilya over there!? Joy! Pure. Joy!

Me Elsewhere

Tvtropes pages for my fics, help is appreciated: Bond Breaker , Introverted , The Eyes

Twitter. Facebook. Deviantart. Amazon. I have a Wordpress now.

Patreon.

My Fanfiction:

My Fanfiction Page

I personally suggest ignoring everything before Introverted. And of Introverted, I suggest reading past the Chuunin Exam, first test, because a lot of people stop there without understand it was a lie. That said, it is the core of Grim-Darkness-Derpness, so take it with a pinch of salt.

(Why then, do they still stand there? Those other fics, which I no longer consider worthy of being read? Because they are a testament to the changing of my writing style, of course!)

At 'Great Request': The Boy in the Park. This story is not endorsed by Shadenight123 in no way at all. It is not in line with his usual writing and should thus be considered an exception that confirms the rule. No, seriously, this is fluff.

My Published Book: The Investigator And The Case Of The Missing Brain.

And this should be all for the Signature and stuff.

With that out of the way, well, let's get this discussion going with some good asking.

Readers! Followers of the Cult of Shadenight -Yes, I have those too! Damn Huggers! (I'm watching you! Don't you dare near with your hugs!) Those who vote in my quests! (I really should update a couple. Give me a couple more minutes and some will be updated)

Things People Say about me:​

@Taisei : "Your stories do inspire a bittersweet trippy sensation of sadness and grief. If I had to use an analogy to describe your writing, it's kind of like having sex with a quality prostitute who looks like someone you have a crush on, feeling sick afterward, then waking up and realizing it was a dream. You inspire that feeling in me; hold onto that."

@Bladestar123: "The name Shade is forever immortalized as belonging to a psychopath swinging a light saber through the multiverse."

'It could use a bit of Shadenight123 in it' has become a common term to define a desire for less Harem-Troping in a fic.

to Shade: vb. To act in a highly abrasive, yet entertaining manner, to use deep insight and knowledge of someones mental build to ones advantage, to preach about negative emotions and coffee.

Click to shrink...

I don't trust Shade when he shows signs. If he stood next to a road with a "Rome" sign, I would still ask him where is he hichhiking, and I would be fully ready for the answer to be "Santa's House".

Click to shrink...

Dark Ness: To Shade=To write a great story that also involves paranoia and ANGST in large amounts

But we can always improve.

And this thread shall serve precisely that purpose.

Thus, people, let's start discussing stuff. General Writing stuff. What would you like to see written by yours truly? What would you like to be improved in the upcoming chapters of new fics? Would you like an Omake? If so of what?

As always, my creed remains unchanged.

I am an average writer, but this does not mean I have to stay average. Thus, let us improve.
-I think for a starting post this is more than enough. Any Fic/Quest I forgot to put up in here? Do tell!-

 

[shadenight123]

*sigh*
Just one more thread to keep an eye on.

Stop it Shade! Stahp~!

Click to shrink...

You have been a faithful follower for all these years, Drakonskyt.
Worry not, your loyalty shall be rewarded.

Ask, and ye shall receive a snippet.

By the by, here, fellow readers, have a snippet.

Harry Potter and the Very Strange Slytherin

Harry had come to a conclusion at the end of the third year. Slytherin students were cardboard cookie cutting evil. He didn't know when the notion clicked in his head that such was the case, or when he understood the true implications of it -after all, he hadn't really had much of a culture in what qualified as a 'Cookie Cutting Evil Basket Case' before. Simply, from one day to the next, he realized that to say Slytherin meant 'Bigoted Inbred Person with a penchant for Racism' and that...puzzled him.
He had been taught in primary school that everyone was the same, that the only differences between people were merely perceived, and not really a good reason to not be friends with one another -that hadn't really worked with Dudley bullying here daily, and he didn't have any friends in primary, but again, that wasn't the point.
So, when the Fourth Year began, he had all but expected to face off against mad, cackling and with twirling mustaches Slytherin.
And he had. Oh boy if he had. The Triwizard tournament, the tasks, the 'Potter Stinks' badges and whatnot had utterly cemented his opinion on the Slytherin.
Well.
All except for one new guy -maybe a transfer student, but did Hogwarts even take 'transfer students'?
He was well behaved and amiable, and seemed to actually show visible concern for someone other than a Slytherin. Neville had begun to swore by the boy had chosen to help him in potions -and because Snape didn't bully Slytherin, putting Neville near one prevented the worst from happening.
The most interesting thing was that Snape himself was wary of the boy, keeping his distances.
It was bizarre, but again, Harry was expecting the mad cackling laughter and the 'let's murder the impure' talk any moment, even as he faced off against the dragon, and won by the skin of the teeth, he really was expecting to hear this or that about the 'new guy'.

Instead he found out Hermione had become kind of distant. Not overtly so, but just a bit moody, a bit 'over the top' with her thoughts, as if something bothered her. And someone had gifted her books for Christmas, and it hadn't been him or Ron, that was for sure. Plus, she had a dance partner for the ball and, once more, it hadn't been either him or Ron.
"I'm telling you mate," Ron whispered to Harry, "It's fishy. She's Hermione."
"And what would that mean?" Harry asked back, perplexed.
"Well, nobody but us likes her," Ron said with the same delicacy and finesse of an elephant in a china shop. Fact was, Ron wasn't evil. He wasn't a Death Eater of sorts. Sad to be said about his friend, but Ron was simply a git, and stupid, and maybe with a hint of Brain Death all tied up nicely together to form the person known as 'Ron'. But for the important things, he could be counted on, and that made him a great friend.

Hermione, that night, danced with the New Guy, now renamed 'The Strange Slytherin' in Harry's mind.

Ron was the color of puce for the rest of the night. Harry sighed and shared his friend's sentiments. It wasn't that he personally hated the Strange Slytherin, but he was a bit miffed by the entire ordeal. Slytherin was composed of bigots after all.
It was kind of a bigoted view to hold, but when you looked at statistics, reality and bigotry seemed to go hand in hand.
"Maybe he's the exception," Harry hazarded.
"Dunno about that," Ron replied.
"He is a lucky man," Viktor Krum said, overhearing the two of them. "Dah. Very lucky."
The duo had no idea why the Quidditch Seeker would say that, and let the matter rest.

Then came the time for the second test. It was cold, it was truly a cold February day, and yet nothing of interest happened. Hermione came and went more and more with the Strange Slytherin, and a few other boys and girls from various Houses did the same.
Dumbledore wasn't concerned. Moody was.
"If your gut instincts tells you something, Potter," he drawled out of nowhere while walking next to him, "Then follow it."
His gut instinct told him to slam Professor Moody's death-breath into a jar of mints, but he wasn't going to do that.
But seriously, what did he eat to get such a bad breath? It was as if something had died inside that man's mouth!

Finally, he decided to act. Under the Invisibility Cloak, he followed Hermione on one of her nightly escapades up to the seventh floor, and after a short back and forth, she entered a door that hadn't been there before.
She wasn't alone.
Hannah Abbott, Susan Bones -with cookies, warm too judging by the smoke and the smell, Neville, Luna Lovegood and a few others entered the room. Finally, he entered together with the last arrival.
A nervous looking Millicent Bulstrode, one of the very, very few Slytherin Harry had kind of 'lost sight of' during the course of the years. Maybe she had naturally drifted away from Draco's gang -the role of the girl taken by Pansy- or maybe she just wasn't that vocal. Well, whatever.
He was going to find out what this was about.
And as he stepped inside, the Invisibility Cloak was taken away from him as chairs swiveled around him, revealing the Strange Slytherin sitting on a very comfortable and elevated armchair in front of him.
"Ah...Mister Potter," he drawled, doing his best James' Bond interpretation. "I was expecting you."
"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed. "You followed me!"
"Bloody hell I did," Harry replied. "What is this all about!?"
"This? This is a group of like-minded people who wish to improve the Wizardry Society," the Strange Slytherin said. "But we have not been presented yet, so I think it would be for the best if we did."
With a nod, he flicked his wand -a dark thing that just felt wrong to Harry's skin- and a wooden table appeared from the ground, with hot chocolate cups -one for everyone, apparently, Harry included- and an extra armchair for Harry to sit on.
...
The Dark side had chocolate, cookies and comfortable chairs.
...
No, no Harry, don't fall. He's a Slytherin.
"Well, I'm Harry," Harry said lamely, trying to fight off the desire to grab the chocolate cup. He failed that, and gingerly gripped the edges of it to hold it with his hands.
"Well," the Strange Slytherin said with a small smile, like a snake having just caught his latest prey.
"My name is Armstrong," the Strange Slytherin added, "Jeremiah...Armstrong."

The chocolate was very good, running down Harry's throat.

Why then, did it feel as if it was going to stain his soul?

But maybe he was just being overtly paranoid, over nothing.
He looked like a good guy.

PARANOIA RISING

 

[shadenight123]

AN (From the Wiki): in the web version of the story, 50,000 players were trapped in the game. This number was reduced to 10,000 in the published novel.

The Black Friar Guild (SAO FIC)

Sword Art Online.
The principal release of the game came for the Japanese servers alone, but already since the beta, hard-cracked copies with beta-patches and translations circled around the circles of the internet, both Light and Dark, in order to get into what was acclaimed as the next-gen in the gaming industry.
It was to no surprise that when the game actually went online, Kayaba had planned for it. The game allowed only English letters to be used for names, and came with a fully built English translation. Thus, although the servers were in Japan, the actual number of players sky-rocketed worldwide, especially when the copies went on sale in an international surprise event.

This is the story of those players.
This is the story of fifty thousand souls stuck in the slow-grinding mechanism of despair and death that began as a MMORPG known as 'Sword Art Online', and the day to day lives of those who tried to survive into it, following the jaded months of suicide-driven escape from such a reality.
Only Thirty-Thousand three hundred seventy-five players would leave Aincrad.
Some would leave it unscathed. Some would leave it jaded. Some would leave it shocked and silent.
Some...some would carry the weight of their sins and the trauma of their experiences beyond their game, and into their life forever after.

But we are not here to narrate the stories of those players.

We are here, for the history of the Black Friar Guild.

And as our stories begin, they begin not with a bang, but with a soft whimper.

"You leave him alone!" a few players exclaimed, rushing to the side of their fellow guild-mate. Now, if only their fellow guild-mate hadn't been the one to backhand Gertrude, then maybe they would have been right in being incensed. But the raven-haired and dark-eyed girl had been backhanded by one of them, and thus he had been back-mauled into submission by a very pissed off man with hazel hair.
The man in question wouldn't have, of course, normally resorted to such means, but half of his guild was running a grinding and tedious quest to bring up the skills needed to reach a higher floor and get better loot and equipment, while the other half was stuck there 'holding down the fort' and generally going through the procedures of grinding up the 'support skills' needed to improve the equipment.
In Dungeons and Dragons, people usually scoff at spells like 'Guide' that give a meager plus one and require a round to be cast.
In Sword Art Online, giving the sword just at tiny, small edge of one more damage was more than enough to warrant grinding for components until you could no longer stand on your feet.
To think he hadn't planned on playing more than a couple of hours and then getting ready for University the next day.
He would never have thought he'd end up teaching a group of Hormone-Driven kids that backhanding a girl was not okay, especially not with a large maul and a pissed off look. He was usually demure and quiet in public. Yet, this place was liberating. Enough practicing, and even the largest of hammers moved like the lightest of feathers. Not his, of course. He was slow, and he needed time, and while the damage was oh-so-worth-it he still remained open to attacks when he did that.
That was why Gertrude was with him and Ferdinand.
Together, they were the second half of the Guild known as 'The Black Friar Guild'.

They had been long time friends, long time acquaintances, and long time players of nearly everything under the sun that could be called a 'game'.

Thankfully, in the safe zones, attacking an enemy player didn't result in the Orange marker.
"He started it," he supplied carefully, "Take him and leave. This is your only warning."
Gertrude was still massaging her stinging cheek -although it was more of a reflex, since pain in Sword Art Online wasn't at the same level as reality.
Gertrude was actually their support-only teammate. She was a scaredy-cat, and thus did most of the Support Skills grinding that she could. Drug Mixing, First Aid, Blacksmithing and whatnot. She had them all. She trained them all.
She was the very precious only gamer girl, and that alone qualified each and every one of us as The Protector. And she was also Jean-Claude's sister, meaning that if things went down, it would soon turn into a bloodbath.
Names notwithstanding -they were nicknames, after all. Gertrude wasn't German, and Jean-Claude wasn't French. They were united as a Guild.

The trio actually left with a sour look and little words, but the inkling in the back of His mind told him they might just come back. Too much paranoia playing games, too little trust in humanity's future and the knowledge of what being a hormone-driven teenager meant back in the days.
"You all right?" he asked, a hand offered and accepted to bring Gertrude back up.
"Yes, Richard," Gertrude said.
His name was Richard Lionheart, member of the Black Friar guild. He was level twenty-seven.
He had never played at a Multiplayer Online Game for longer than a few days.
And now he was stuck in one until it was cleared.
"Why did he hit you?" Richard asked, eyes on the doors of the inn closing behind the retreating backs of the trio.
"He insisted I join their guild," Gertrude replied. "I refused. He insisted some more. I refused more. He grabbed my wrist. I threw beer on his face. He hit me. You mauled him."
It was a bad situation all around. The more members a guild had, the better they could work on the support skills grinding, and the more the support did its job, the better the 'Grinders' did theirs out in the field. While they had been lucky to start with six members already, the small guilds had understood that only large teams would be able to ascend the higher floors.
Floor Eleven was their home base, specifically in the city of Taft. Mostly because resting at an inn worked better to organize the plans, and because other players couldn't enter privately owned rooms.

Slow and steady wins the race, or so the saying went.
Unfortunately, Richard couldn't help but have the sinking gut-feeling that something wrong had happened to the others, because-
"And we are back!" the other half of the Black Friar Guild said, returning with bright grins and smiles. "We did the quest for the umpteenth time and earned our keep! Look forward to a new shiny maul, Richard, and a stronger armor for you, Gertrude!"
The bright and glorious leader of the Black Friar Guild, 'Tuck' stepped inside with a laugh that would have woken the very sleeping stones -and made them laugh together with him.
He was the always optimist.
He was built like a woodworker -and worked as a mechanic- and he held the toughest and meanest armor they managed to build for him.
The honor of being a front-line warrior was his, or so he had said with his tanned skin, burly arms, and short red hair.
Tuck, Gertrude, Jean-Claude with his permanently spiked blond hair because he loved comparing to Cloud Strife, Tovarich -who didn't come from Russia but liked to fake the accent and had platinum dyed hair, and John Smith -because he liked anonymity, as if the NSA would really be on his tail just because he downloaded music illegally- formed, together with Richard Lionheart, the core members of the Black Friar Guild.

Neither Clearers nor 'Beaters', just...normal people, trying to survive.

But would they?

AN2: The stats are taken from the official wiki, but powered up since the starter number increased. I also considered Internationality because 'why not, if we can have virtual reality then instant translation is a Thing too'

 

[shadenight123]

The Desert's Wind Snippet-Extra-Omake-Whythehellnot.

"My Lord...is it wise?" Nabooru asked him, and Ganondorf sighed as he watched the desert's wind pick up the sand from the top of a dune, and move it slowly across the land to form another one, a little bit further away.
"I dare not question Shade," Ganondorf said. "I saw in his eyes a madness unlike any others, a cunning far exceeding that of my mothers, and yet also a pride that blossomed with each step I took on the path he wished me to achieve."
"Still, is it wise?" Nabooru asked, her hands on the reins of her horse. "We know nothing of his true intentions-"
"He is my brother," Ganondorf replied. "He is the one who saved us from starvation, and taught me how to bring life into a desert that held nothing but death."
"It could be a ploy," Nabooru pointed out. Ganondorf could hardly fault her. He hardly managed to keep himself out of that line of thinking. "To bleed us dry, make us weak."
"If such a ploy existed, it would not be his," Ganondorf replied. "You...know not of his intelligence, heard not his wise words. Nabooru, if he truly wished for it, why, even without moving a single finger, he would wipe us out. Why else would the gods need such a cruel curse on him? Why else would they find the need to drive him mad, if not because they feared his rational side?"
"Then I fear him all the more," Nabooru said.
"I cannot fear him, no," Ganondorf said, "I will not fear him. He has done too much for us, asking for nothing in return. Were he a devil, then so be it, my soul is his. Were he a monster, then I'd let myself be killed if it meant this boon to our people would keep on happening."
"Did you say 'Our' people, my lord?" Nabooru asked.
"I shall not force you," Ganondorf said. "But I would like it, if you answered the unspoken question I had in my heart for years."
Nabooru looked at the desert, and then at Ganondorf. Ganondorf simply looked straight ahead, as the wind blew over their heads.
"After the war is over," Nabooru acquiesced.
"Then this war shall be won swiftly," Ganondorf said, a smile on his face as he lifted his sword up in the air. "GERUDO!" he turned, and as he turned, his eyes stopped gazing at the sand, and began to look at the luscious green land beyond the horizon, where fat Hylian plowed fields that were so rich, a little bit taken from them wouldn't hurt. He gazed at the sea of green, so different from the sea of pearly white sand, and he ground his teeth as he squashed the inborn desire to rule over it all.
"My people! For too long we have suffered famine and hunger! And then came our salvation, and finally, we had water, and food, and our land began to return to us the hard work of our hands! And yet now, the Hylian take this away!? Yet now, they persist in stealing our very survival from our hands!? If they claim the water is only theirs, then let us steal it! If they claim we are unworthy of it, then let us show them our worth through their blood! If they shall call us thieves and murderers, then I crown myself King not only of Gerudo, but also of Thieves and Murderers! I would rather be the king of you all, than the king of even a single Hylian! To arms, my sisters! To arms, my daughters and mothers! To arms, my cousins! Let this be the day the Hylian people rue having faced us all!"

An army of horses trampled and shook the very foundations of the Hylian Empire, as fields burned and people screamed their last. Blood spilled fresh on the ground, and poison burned through the lake of the Zora as fires burned the tunnels of the Goron to a close. The Dead rose from the ground to aid the Gerudo, and with them so too did the spirits and the shadows unlike any others. The Hylian fought, they fought bravely, and they fought long and hard to their very last breath.
But the cannons turned their lances to mush. Their walls crumbled under the thundering ramming of iron balls, and mortar shells, crude, yet effective, pumped oil and venomous gases into their very cities.
And in the end, when Ganondorf could have clutched and suffocated the throat of the King himself, when his sword was poised and ready to strike...
The King of Gerudo did not deliver the killing blow. He gathered his wounded, his dead, spat at the king's feet and slapped the crown off his head, and then he walked away, with only some land added to his own, and money to recoup the losses of his people.
A marriage contract ironed out in his other hand, he was ready for it when the Spirit came back.
Only, he was no longer a Spirit.
His eyes still held the same sadness and grief as before, tinged with the madness that characterized his anger, like the burning charcoal left in a dying fire.
But still, Ganondorf hugged him as he would a brother.
He was marrying soon, after all.
He owed it to the spirit, if his luck was such.

 

[shadenight123]

>You open a coffee cafe in Westeros, ASOIAF setting.

Click to shrink...

Coffee Shopping is for the brave of heart

A shop opened up in a dingy, dirty street of Westeros one late night. It was a shop like any other, if with a bit of an exotic merchandise and a very strange man manning the counter of said shop. People came in, expecting a bar or a pub, and were quickly disillusioned by the bar wench being a young girl, with a clean face and a bright smile. The man at the counter served sweets and pastries of strange origins, and brew nectar and liquids that he called miraculous.
A drink that would make one not sleep, or another that would swiftly lull him to bed. A drink that tasted of cinnamon and mint, and another that held the fragrance of roses and strawberry.
The prices were low for such delicacies, so low that a lot of people began to frequent the place with their children, even though they barely had money to feed themselves with the war and the taxes, yet within that shop, peace reigned by some unspoken rule.
The rule held with but a look at the man's face behind the counter. Dark haired, dark eyed, a smile that held no meaning whatsoever and an empty glass in one hand that he continuously cleaned with his other.
The girl serving at the table was sweet, and always managed to bring a smile to the faces of the people within.

Joffrey entered the shop one day, having heard of such a place and bolstered by his status.
He left broken, his guards mangled to pieces, a sign with the words 'A Bastard's Soul Deserves But A Bastard's Treatment' etched on his skin.
If asked, the people within claimed they had seen nothing, and heard nothing.
Only Joffrey knew, and he closed himself into his rooms, never to step outside until his last dying breath a few days later from a fever that just wouldn't break.
Disheartened, the Queen sent her guards to the place, and yet the guards returned with bags of sweets and no visible trouble -as well as lacking their Guard's captain, Jaime, whom none knew where he had ended up going.
Cersei called for the King to act, such devilish treachery could not stand!
Demons, or devils, or sorcerers had bewitched her son, killed him, and then moved on to her brother! The King's Guard itself lost many members to 'sudden disappearances' to boot!
Yet the coffee shop remained, unscathed.
And then, one day, the King decided to head there in person.

He came back sober.

He came back sober. He came back angry and sober. He called for all of his bastards. None answered, because none but few lived yet, and yet that angered him even more.
Cersei knew she had to call her father for aid, but found she could not.
No messenger left the walls.
No crow flew past the guard towers.
The noose sunk through her flesh, but not before her children disappeared from their bedrooms one night.
Yet she cursed the name of the shop, even as the fragrant brew of coffee expanded throughout the streets reaching her nostrils, her last smell of this earth before the call of the Stranger came for her.

Littlefinger would investigate.
His men would find nothing, and soon he would start receiving packages of very special sweets that forced him to surrender any and all investigations.
Varys would try to heed the noises of the street.
His people would refuse on a principle older than life itself.
Survival instincts.
In the end, Tyrion Lannister was the only Lannister who left the city alive...because someone had to tell Tywin what had happened -and because, secretly, the only heir of the proud Lannister being a dwarf could only mean dishonor upon the family name, no matter what the man might claim.

"So," the owner of the shop said, "I think we can try to open a venture somewhere else."
"Shade, we need three more milkshakes and two coffee, Jumbo-Size!" Yui said as she dropped a note in front of the counter.
"Right, right, give me a moment," Shade said before turning to the kitchens, "You heard the lady?"
"Loud and clear sir!" someone who was not clearly Jamie Lannister nodded, soon followed by two children who were clearly not Myrcella and Tommen. They all had black hair for starters, and secondly, when the Stranger comes in the middle of the night to offer you a chance at not getting horribly killed, you take that chance and stay the hell quiet about who you really are.
And if the Stranger likes to brew coffee, then you just learn to love the coffee brewing.
"You were saying about opening a new venture?" Yui said.
"I was thinking about the Wall," Shade replied. "You know...I reckon they could use hot chocolate over there."
"Sure, why not. Foster peace relationship with the wildlings by using Hot Chocolate-"
"And don't forget the chocolate chips biscuits," Shade added with a chuckle.
"Right," Yui nodded. "Of course. How could I forget those? And then what?"
"We pour hot tea on the Draugr advancing and we use the ice wall to make slushy."
"Slushy," Yui said very slowly.
"Yeah, I reckon...you know, Ice-Cream Parlors sell ice cream in winter months too."
"Slushy. At the Wall. Do you want to sell sand to the desert people while you're at it?"
"If it's colored sand then yes, why not!?"
Yui just groaned and headed off to gather a new order.

...

Shade merely shrugged and returned to cleaning his glass mug.
Why did he always clean his glass mug?
Because he always filled it with a different brew of coffee, and drank it day after day, minute after minute, second after second.
Being a quasi-immortal writer's construct meant he could drink all the coffee he wanted, and get no poisoning from it.
And so he drank.
And so he was happy.

Happiness is Coffee, after all.

 

[shadenight123]

Game Crasher

I hate my life.

Four words, four very simple words, that however perfectly encompass everything that needs to be said about me, about what is going on, and about why it's going on. The why isn't really all that important, all things considered, and I know this sounds more than a bit mad, but you need to understand this very important facet of my life before we can move on.
My name is Shade.
No, no, ignore the tag that says 'Brendan'. My name is Shade.
I have no idea what form, sort or otherwise incomprehensible god decided that it would be fun to make my life a living hell, but I am not 'Brendan', I am not 'Brendie', and I am not, in no way whatsoever, the son of the woman currently trying to get more than a few words out of me.
And she won't get them. Yes, call me petty, yes, call me a bastard, yes, yell at me that I need not to needlessly offend someone who somehow brought me into this world and who couldn't possibly be at fault for this...and yet, I won't give you the satisfaction.
I have but one mother, and one brother, and a father I'd rather see dead in a ditch, but that's neither here nor there. No, the point of the story is that I hate my life, my current life, and I swear if I had a choice, I'd have run away before the move to Johto, but I knew it would have been needlessly futile to do so.
So here I was, in Hoenn.
Eleven years old, in Hoenn.
Hating the universe, in Hoenn.
Do you know what the problem is, with being young? Nobody takes you seriously.
Nobody.

On the plus side, Littleroot Town was actually bearable. It was a port-town, similar to my real hometown, and I could suffer that. Frankly, I had always been a 'stay at home' kid when I was younger. Here, I couldn't stay in the house. I couldn't look at the woman who wasn't my mother, and I knew it hurt her to look back into my eyes, so I did what was best for us both. I stayed away as much as possible.
The fact was, she never understood I didn't need to practice talking.
I went from silence to talking without missing a beat, because I had practiced in private, and because I didn't want to show weakness. Never show weakness.
She was a single mother -unfortunately, the one who got the 'Father as the Gym Leader' turned out to be May, with her little brother Max, in some form of unholy union of Anime and Game.
I didn't really care about that. It was better this way.

So, to rephrase the start of this story, to make it abundantly clear how things began and how they reached this point, I must state that I was neighbors with both May and Max, although May in the Anime had stated she was from Petalburg -but again, having two houses and the parents distant due to work issues wasn't uncommon, wasn't unheard, and was pretty much a sensible thing due to the commute hours. And Professor Birch was somehow not only a Pokémon caretaker, but also a 'Let me try and get the sulky child to actually speak to his mother' type.
He didn't succeed, and neither did his assistant Joshua.
But you know what I understood?
If you point your finger at a Cyndaquil while being a ten year old kid, and ask 'Pretty Please may I take care of her', it actually works in getting the pokémon.
But again, I must tell you why I hate my life so much.

The reason is a dumb, pathetic, red and white capped moron who has a Pikachu, and who is grinning like a loon wanting to challenge me and my Cyndaquil.
You see, I do not know what sort of pathetic, moronic god would enjoy this, but I am not going to care.
I'm not going to start my journey into the pokémon world at eleven years of age.
I mean it.
I was four when I managed to cross a busy road without dying, further proving that I was both mad and under the protection of the Holy Trinity, but that didn't mean I had to face off the world of Pokémon as an eleven years old.
I refused that on principle.
I refused that, and there was no way I would ever accept it.
Again, I'm getting ahead of myself. You see, we all know, at least, I know, that Ash's Pikachu was some sort of demigod of Thunder merely shitting everyone else by faking being a weak and pathetic electric rat. I knew from the very start I'd lose the battle, and call me stupid, but I do not fight losing battles.
Hence I refused on the principle of 'Not wanting to battle because no'.
Somehow, 'Because No' is a perfectly valid reason for adults, but an utterly stupid one for children.

"Go Pikachu! Thundershock!"
Said eleven year old in question needed to be on the receiving end of a punch of glory, such aptly named punch being a Shade Specialty involving grabbing a bastard by the neck, and then proceeding to punch-stomp his reproductive system until tears were all there was left on the face. I admit, I would have loved that, but I was an eleven year old, and I didn't have that kind of strength.
I had Cyndaquil, who looked as bothered as me about the entire ordeal -he who goes with his pokémon, learns to be his pokémon, and the pokémon who goes with his trainer, learns to be his trainer- and who was really in no mood to fight.
Thus, he decided to return to his pokéball before the lightning attack could hit him.
The lightning produced by the Demigod Pikachu didn't just hit the wood, of course. It pulverized it.
The end result was that I hated my life.
I was wet, wooden shrapnel was inside my skin, and I was bleeding. Mostly, I was mightily pissed because while I did have a watch, it wasn't waterproof. I was angry, because I had said no and Ash Ketchum was simply smiling and gingerly scratching the back of his head while saying sorry.
I was seeing red, complete and utter red, because I did not want to have anything to do with him.
Mostly, salt water on wounds hurt, and my Cyndaquil agreed that while burning a kid to death wasn't the answer to all of life's problems, it would make the particular problems of today easy to deal with.
<<I can always roast him, Shade>>
<<I have no intention of going to jail or seeing you in prison, Napalm>>
"So...my name is Ash, Ash Ketchum, from Pallet Town!" Ash said, extending a hand to help me up from where I sat, halfway embedded in the sand with the waves lapping at my chest. "And this here is Pikachu."
I could feel the veins throbbing on my forehead as I glared at him, before slowly coming to a stand while ignoring his proffered hand.
"Leave. Me. Alone."
I walked away, and once on the dry, glorious concrete-land, Cyndaquil nicknamed 'Napalm' emerged and huffed, lighting his back on fire to heat me up as it nestled on my head.

<<I hate water>> I grumbled in my head as I tried to dry off what I could by squeezing and wringing my clothes.
<<I hate water too, Shade>> Napalm agreed, and I knew that the bond we shared went deeper than just him being a fire-type and hating water, and me hating getting wet and cold for no reason.
<<I hate dumb kids>>
<<I do not dislike the moniker 'Hot-Headed'>>
<<It's a horrible pun, Napalm>>

AN:

So, what do you think as a first chapter?
Still in the work, this is one of the possible starts for the Hoenn region. Nothing finalized, but this...well, it's one of those that inspire me due to the 'I never before wrote about an SI born in the world in question and all the delicious angst that goes with it'.

Hey Shade, do you still want fanfiction requests? It would be cool to see some mook stories. Generic Iwa chunin, unseated Shinigami, a Grey Warden, Stormtrooper, etc. Seeing them react to the heroes and world changing events in a variety of styles. Fatalistic acceptance of their status as mooks, blind belief in the ideology leading them, sheer "I just want to go home" it's your choice.

Click to shrink...

If only it weren't so late I'd write something about this!
Well, wait tomorrow and cross your fingers!

 

[shadenight123]

Game Breaker - Second Try-

The smell of seawater woke me up with a kind of lazy rhythm to it, my hair soaked, my mouth dry. My hands held on to the sand, my vision blurred. I could see a vague form pull itself out of the water, before falling down near me. I had no idea whom it was, but it looked eerily familiar. Then the figure fell too, and there was nothing but darkness once more.
I woke up again to the sound of beeping machines. This too felt familiar, but I had no idea why I would think such a thing. This entire place...looked familiar, yet it was not.
A nurse stepped inside, her gait slow and steady as the machines around me began to beep harder. "Where am I?" I asked, a frown on my face. The nurse had light pink hair, and a small smile on her face.
"You're in Hoenn," the nurse said. "I am Nurse Joy. I know that they say my family is only good with pokémon, but I'm a qualified nurse, so you have nothing to fear."
My puzzlement grew. "Your family?" I asked, tentatively trying to sit up and refusing it, as my bones and muscles screamed that I'd better stay put if I wanted to live.
"You know the Joy family, right?" the Nurse said. "We're the certified nurses of all the regions of the Pokémon league. It's a kind of family thing."
I crossed my eyes a bit, and then shook my head. "I'm sorry," I said, "But...I don't remember."
"Uh...do you remember your name, sir?" she asked next.
As I took in my surroundings, I realized that the hospital room I had envisioned in my mind due to the noise of the machines wasn't at all inside an hospital. It was instead a small pink room, with a heart monitor and a few other medical necessities hanging around, but nothing more. This...wasn't a hospital.

It was a simple room.

A very foreign, simple room that I had no idea where it actually was.

"Your name, sir," the nurse asked once more, kindly. "Do you remember your name?"
I shook my head.
I didn't.
I didn't remember anything.
I did, however, remember about the Chansey being a pokémon whose eggs could heal wounds, and that had to mean something, didn't it?
The nurse did share my enthusiasm at that. Maybe I was a pokémon researcher.
Well, better than nothing.

AN:
This start on the other hand deals with the classic 'SI with amnesia that slowly breaks up' in this case, but I'm not completely satisfied with it. I feel it's sort of a cop-out from the actual deal, what with Amnesia meaning it doesn't have the same bite, or punch, as having a full-set of memories inside.
Your opinion on this one gents?

 

[shadenight123]

Also Shade without Shade would be a stange scene to contemplate. Maybe we'd see that mythic presence deep in your past called Prince? That polite kid? Wow.

Click to shrink...

The way you worded it inspired this.

OMAKE - Soul Splitter

"You know, Shade," Sabrina said offhandedly as I walked by her side, my eyes scanning the latest industrial complex built on the outskirts of Petalburg city, "I got all of your memories."
"Yes, and?" I asked back, an eyebrow raised as I gave a curt nod to a couple of Team Mercury Officers doing their rounds.
"You were such a cute kid when you were young," Sabrina said. "You smiled a lot."
"I do smile," I pointed out with a sigh, "But I'm feeling quite uncomfortable talking about this. Can't we change the subject? How are your Psychic Guards coming along?"
"My Psyducks-"
I groaned.
"Psyduck is a very misunderstood Psychic pokémon, Shade. They are adorable in the right circumstances."
"Adorable doesn't mean anything when it's used as a comic relief more often than not," I drawled.
Sabrina blinked. "I will not engage you in this conversation, again, as you change the argument of our discussion. I want to know what happened."
"Don't you have access to all of my memories?"
"Yes, but there's no magic time dilation thing. If I want to view a minute of your life, I need to waste a minute of mine."
"Joy, then you're wasting time asking such questions?" I drawled.
"Shade, stop being such a Cloyster."
I pinched the bridge of my nose, and looked at Sabrina with half a glare. "You want to know?"
Sabrina nodded. "I do."
"Are you sure?"
Sabrina nodded once more.
"Life happened. The Internet happened. Coffee happened. A depression happened. Nervous breakdowns happened. The world happened. And if I am now the very picture of happiness and mental sanity, I owe it to my indestructible optimism."
"That...does not explain anything," Sabrina said. "And...you're an optimist?" she barely held back a snort.
Barely.
"Of course the world will be going to shit and stupid people will keep on pestering and festering and growing, and of course everything will go to hell and we'll all die in our final hour because that's life, life's shit, it's pure-outright-everlasting shit, and the good pieces are there only to ensure you chew properly on the rest of the shit. So you learn to live waiting for the sugar cubes in the middle of the sea of shit. You learn to like the shit. You learn to bitterly remark on the shit while you eat the sugar you manage to find, and when you do that, you sigh and then plunge back into the ocean of shit looking for another morsel of sugar. Sometimes, you get hit by plasma. Sometimes, you get hit by a torpedo. But then you find a piece of sugar and everything's fine once more."
"Colorful metaphor, still doesn't explain anything and you're changing the argument again. I don't want metaphors about life. I want to know what turned that cute, chubby kid into an instrument of sarcasm, dry wit and coffee addiction."
I rolled my eyes. "Life happened."
"That's not an answer!" Sabrina shot back.
"Well, what turned you into what you are right now?" I asked back. "Can you actually answer that question?"
"Of course I can," Sabrina huffed. "You did."
"And ain't that a torpedo of shit," I retorted with a sigh.
"Please," Sabrina huffed. "If we're working on metaphors you're kind of like dark chocolate. Bitter to eat, bitter with the aftertaste, and yet you just can't stop eating it."

I massaged my right temple. I looked past the walkway at the production lines being completed. "You didn't just compare me to chocolate, Sabrina. You just didn't. That's like, the sappiest thing ever."
Sabrina grumbled and crossed her arms in front of her chest.
"Pardon me for trying to act girly."
"You can't act girly to save your life. Psychotic Yandere? Terrifying Kuudere? Over-Protective Big Sister type? Maybe, but girly isn't an adjective I'd use to define you."
Sabrina faltered on her next step.
"Maybe that's why I like you," I continued calmly, a grin in the back of my head as Sabrina stumbled on her next step once more, nearly face-faulting, "As a friend," Sabrina crashed against the guard-rail, doubled over it, and fell into a vat of Potion.
Well, she didn't because she quickly teleported back on the walkway before touching it, but she grumpily glared at me as I grinned back.
"What is it?"
"Troll," Sabrina hissed. "You think I don't know what you're doing now, Shade?"
"Oh well~" humming, I walked further down the walkway, Sabrina hot on my heels and pissed off as hell.
But, yet again, 'Off my back' about my life.
...

Ah...It was nice to be the Boss.

 

[shadenight123]

The Shade Odyssey


"Once upon a time, there was peace, and prosperity, and quiet understanding between the races," I hissed as I looked straight into the eyes of a fanged fish. How could a goldfish mutate into a fang-filled abomination was beyond me, but such was the case. "Fishes were fishes, wolves were wolves, and they did not breed with one another."
"That's not how it works, boss," Summers said with a chuckle.
"Nothing works the way I want it to work, Summers," I drawled back. The Arbalist girl had the galls to grin as she shook her head, her crimson hair moving in the wind. That was all I dared to peek, because seriously, whoever designed the armors around here needed to be shot, brutally shot, and then quartered.
"So, we fighting or what!?" 'Deathblow the magnificent gladiator' said, lifting her sword up in the air to an invisible crowd. "The crowd's waiting for us! Let's kick some fish's asses! Do they even have asses? Who the hell cares! COME ON PEOPLE!"
Yep, half the labyrinth had heard her. Her green hair -anime much, of course- and black tank top swayed around while I rolled my eyes.
"Let's fight!" Asura said. The small, pink-haired monk girl grinned cheekily as she took a fighting stance. She was showing too much skin for what was age-appropriate, but that was unfortunately the norm around the place.
"Be calm," Pyroxis said in a soft-spoken tone, her voice wavering as she brought her magic staff up to face our foes. Her colored robes fluttered in the wind behind her, her hair a nice brown color.
I hefted my shield and prepped my lance, inwardly praying to the gods for this torture to end.
So, a Hoplite, a Gladiator, an Arbalist, a Monk and a Zodiac walk into a forest.
Why am I an Hoplite, again? Because I'd rather be the tank with lots of health rather than risk brutal death with a lucky shot from an enemy. I know how brutal 'Etrian Odyssey' is as a genre, and I have no intentions of dying, thank you very much.
The Fanged Fishes begged to differ, however.

Then again, they all beg to differ.

AN: Just a quick oneshot. SI, Etrian Odyssey 3: Sunken City. A friend of mine loaned me his DS for a while and this was on the table. Played no further than the start floor, kind of 'Eh' and so-so. It would have the deliciousness of Anime-Trope loli-kids-girls with strange colored hair and myself screaming in 'NO. YOU DO NOT WEAR BIKINI ARMOR. GO AND CHANGE, RIGHT NOW'. But...that's pretty much it.

 

[shadenight123]

Janitorial Work - A My Little Pony Fic -

The number of Alicorns can be counted on the tip of the fingers of a single hand. What's one more, especially when he wants nothing to do with ruling?

He was old.
That much was obvious. He was old, he was grumpy, and he was the Janitor of the Royal Canterlot Palace. He was a Pegasus. He flew over the windows, cleaned them, made them sparkle, and the guards knew of him as 'The Janitor', nothing more and nothing less. Sometimes they wondered how old he was, and sometimes he replied 'Old enough, but not too much to retire', and that was that. Nobody bothered the Janitor unless something was spilled, something was dropped, or there were things to clean, fix, or make 'disappear' -that involved socks gifted at Christmas Parties, mostly.
Yet, The Janitor was one of the few Ponies that not even Blueblood, for all of his pompous attitude, could come to berate. Frankly, a lot of people thought it was because the Janitor was below the notice of the Prince, while others thought it was simply a show of kindness from the noble to a lesser Pony.
Fact was, Blueblood knew the Janitor since he was a foal, and while he'd act like the dumbest and thickest of ponces whenever he was out in high society, he dared not speak aloud against the one Pony who cleaned his messes when he was two years old.
Actually, the one time he thought the Janitor was being skived off on his retirement, he actually went in person to check. Yet the Janitor hadn't lied. He still had a few years to go before his retirement.
Old, but not old enough.

The Janitor was a figure that was forgotten as soon as it was out of sight, not out of spite, or evil, or whatever. He was the Janitor, and he liked his job, and thus he passed in the background as just another Janitor, just another maid, or butler, of the castle.
Admittedly, even Celestia couldn't remember a time where the castle didn't have the Janitor, but in her long age, she merely thought there had simply been a line of Janitors one after the others, and those times she checked, she merely supposed they had all been named after their father, or their grandfather, which was why the name remained the same throughout the centuries.
It was strange, but still, not strange enough.

Twilight Sparkle knew the Janitor far better than anyone else. First things first, she always made messes, then, in trying to clean up made an even bigger mess. Secondly, she had a baby dragon, and such an unholy union of 'Baby' and 'Dragon' meant that it was a very fiery, chaotic, and outright demonic in some occasions baby. Thirdly, she always wanted to help clean up her mess, and that ended up with the Janitor having to pull double shifts.
Yet The Janitor never complained, and like a ghost, edged at the back of Twilight's foal-hood memories in the years to come.

The Janitor, for his side, was content that way. No intrigues, no palace rulings, no having to follow etiquette or anything similar to it. He was old, he had a bright white beard and long white hair, and his mane was white. His wings were mottled grey, and he always wore a Janitor-approved utility belt.
You never knew when you could use a plunger.
So, all in all, life in Equestria went on, and for centuries, his disguise held perfectly well.
Then one day Princess Luna came back, and in no moments the disguise built with centuries of indifference towards the mythical figure of 'The Janitor' fell into pieces and blew up. Hell, he could literally hear it creak and crack as the Princess, looking around the assembled crowd of servants welcoming her back, stopped to gaze at him and widened her eyes in surprise.
"Is that...is that you, Door Keeper?" she asked, halting the entire parade made in her honor through the palace courtyard and jumping down to walk straight in from of him.
And Door Keeper knew that his time of peace had come at an end.
"That's my ancestor's name," didn't mean he wouldn't fight for it, "just like it is mine, princess."
Princess Luna huffed. "Cease this foolishness at once, Door Keeper, we hardly forget a face, even after all these years. We remember thee's face. Thou brought hot chocolate."
Yes, yes he did. Once. He brought it once. He was actually going to drink it out in the gardens when Luna finished her 'shift', and he had ended up offering it to her due to her not-so-subtle sparkling eyes of wonder at the thought it might have been a kind act for her.

"Luna," Celestia said hesitantly, "It's been centuries. Nopony except us would still be..." and then she stopped, and frowned, and gazed up and down at Door Keeper. "He does look awfully familiar to his father, and grandfather, and great-grandfather, and great-great-great-grandfather, now that I look at him."
Door Keeper squirmed under the attention.
"Just a coincidence?" he hazarded in a soft spoken voice.
"Maybe," Celestia conceded, "Come sister, we should finish the parade. We'll have a look later on this."
Door Keeper inwardly sighed.
The rest of the parade went by uneventfully, but even then, Door Keeper didn't try to escape. Frankly, it was too much of a bother.
He had expected an 'Inquisition' approach to the situation, but he wasn't surprised when it turned out to be a more low-keyed event. Namely put, it was a small room with three chairs. The two princesses were already seated, and so he took the last seat and sighed, knowing this had been a long-coming moment.
"Between my sister and I," Celestia began, "we looked through a few things. You've been working non-stop for the Canterlot Royal Palace for...centuries. You did not even go through the effort of faking your death, and then coming back under a false guise. If you're immortal, then...what are you? We won't judge you, if you're not a pony. We are just curious as to what reasons you could possibly have to work at the palace..."
"We think thou cannot be evil, on account of being a Chocolate-Deliverer," Luna said triumphantly, chin up. "Thee hath nothing to fear."
"Well," the Janitor said, scratching the back of his mane and sighing once more. "It's...a boring story -a very long, and very boring, story."
And it was.
It began more than a millennium before, sprouted from the very simple fact that he didn't want to be bothered, and it ended with him going to sleep and waking up centuries later, his race all but destroyed, and no intention whatsoever of making himself known to the public.
He really liked not being in charge.
He really liked having no responsibility except cleaning dirty windows.
"We have time," Luna said. "Thou are not denying your immortality, we realize."
Door Keeper nodded. "I am a very lazy pony. Lying is too much trouble, Princess."
Celestia smiled at that. "I see. You do a good job with the windows however."
Door Keeper shrugged. "I can't stand the dirt, Princess."
"How old are thou?" Princess Luna asked.
Door Keeper spoke a number.
Both princesses blinked at the same time.
"Could thee repeat it?" Princess Luna asked again.
He did.
"Oh my," Celestia said, a hoof to her mouth. "You really are old."
"But not enough for retirement," Door Keeper quipped.
Celestia giggled at that. "Yes, old, but not old enough."

And so Door Keeper told his very boring tale. He fell asleep underground, in a nice comfy cave, and woke up centuries later to 'having slept more than enough'.
Both Princesses had probably expected some sort of dashing story, and were both visibly deflated at hearing such a boring tale, but nonetheless, they looked happy.
"So, are thee truly a Pegasus?" Luna asked.
"I'm an Alicorn," Door Keeper said, "But I prefer this form, so I think I'll keep it."
"Truly, we would like to see your real form," Luna said.
"If he doesn't want to show it," Celestia began, but Door Keeper shrugged.
"Only once," he said, "And just this once."
Door Keeper stood up from the chair and sighed. He really didn't like his real form. He really, really, really disliked his real form. As his body elongated and grew, his mane grew and changed color, becoming a sparkling green-like ethereal flame. His fur turned black, pitch-coal black, and his eyes became crimson, like sparkling rubies. At full height, he was as tall, if not slightly taller, than Celestia. He snorted and sighed, shaking his head as both Princesses just looked at him for a moment, before Celestia emitted a little whistle of appreciation.
"Sister!" Luna exclaimed, shocked and appalled.
"What!" Celestia replied. "I did nothing!"
That brief moment of distraction was all that it took for Door Keeper to return to his average, non-descriptive, Pegasus form.

"Drats," Celestia grumbled. "I wanted to take a picture."
Door Keeper slowly raised an eyebrow.
"Well," he said in the end, "I'll go back to cleaning the floor then." He made a light bow of the head, and turned to step out of the room.
"Wait!" Luna exclaimed, and Door Keeper stopped. "Thee are one of us...why then do you demean yourself like that?"
Door Keeper shrugged.
"I am a very lazy, very selfish pony. And I like cleaning, Princess. With your permission...I shall return to my duties."
And with that, he walked out, leaving a shell-shocked Luna behind.
A shell-shocked Luna who had transformed into Nightmare Moon just to get power from her sister, and who saw in front of her eyes an Alicorn who preferred to act like a Pegasus Janitor rather than even want a tiny bit of power.
"Well," Celestia took a sip of tea. "Things are going to be interesting around the palace from now on."
And as she said that, her Troll-Estia grin appeared.