Merthoc the Glittery, Party Enthusiast of the Eternal Star

PK Gank-O-Meter

Role

Chapter 9

The Party, ever present along with her retinue of now elegantly aged, straw
seersucker hat adorned, lithe dancers, party attendees, and friends (dead,
alive, and not yet born yet) now created an ongoing cacophany of exultant
cheers and encouragement wherever Merthoc found herself. She could barely see
for the intense, magma hot light that each star threw off and lately she had
noticed that she had wanted to pry her jaw open to speak more clearly.

Curious about her curse returning, The Party explained that she was letting
the party drag on too late here, where she was now, when the next great thing
was waiting for her. The Party, personally, blamed the types she had taken to
partying with.

Transcendentalism? The Party would sometimes ask her (often, it did not). This
is what you get listening to irresponsible ideas of hermeneutics, slices of us
sustained independent of a mortal realm (noticeably not the entire cake),
wishy-washy, gloomy Udgaardian ideas of sensory evidence? Those were all well
and good for layabout philosophers from their guild, espousing ideas that were
impossible to integrate into Getting Down, indolently streaming from beneath
moustaches flecked with coffee foam, slanted black hats and on-ramp haircuts
hidden in a drift of cigarette smoke.

Merthoc and her dancers responded that she was interested in what the storm at
her arena event had been and, more importantly, there were boys down here.
While The Party understood full well there were boys afterwards too, this
party's current form was far more interesting at the present time.

The Party, also Merthoc, laid out the steps needed: Ask the smartest people
you know about the storm, live to host another arena night, become even better
at partying.

Just this last thing, Merthoc assured The Party, then I'll get shimmying down
the road!

Role

Chapter 8

Merthoc's skin stretched tightly over her entire being, each movement a
fantastical jolt of light as she endlessly reached towards the final,
triumphant joy in a life that had known only victory. The party was found in
triumph which is found in victory, which finds, which is victorious, which is.
Merthoc was every scene played out in an endless, uplifting scream of
exultation from the party, amidst ceaseless swirling dancers, lit by an
endless cacophony and cry of one who has overcome simply by being.

The party was - as expected in every movement of Merthoc's life since she had
begun partying. Really. Partying. From the last moment she had felt the pain
of forgetting to rhyme properly to the moment of victory, ever fraction of a
second, when Merthoc knew only utter satisfaction and excitement at greater
moments.

Her body had been restored by her desire to get Rarywey in on The Scene with
her, sacred sacraments provided by the party to those who would party, who
would, who would always. She heard the long horns of prayer calling her friend
Garolyynk, silver tinkling bells in bouquets beneath the standard of his
entire family's goal, fulfilled.

Thanks to Merthoc, not only did she find a way to hopefully get Rarywey drunk,
she also got Garolyynk to stop focusing on his ancestor's expectations by
recruiting him into the flock of the party.

She also seemed to have become immortal, restored by a shimmering cavalcade of
purple sequined fluttering wings, ripping away at the weakness that could not
Get Down anymore. The party had, as it must always, fulfilled Merthoc who
believed in partying, who partied in triumph, who is, and always.

The party, having anointed its most faithful in the techniques to always Keep
the Party Going, gave its warning to the world through Merthoc's blood. Even
when suffering the most grievous of wounds or poisons, Merthoc could still
keep going. Could still always find victory which must find celebration, which
must, which will be, always, eternal.

Merthoc might have noticed that she couldn't feel pain and when she bled, the
bright presence of victory, light against chaos, was all that came out.

But that wasn't important. She wasn't here to suffer a physical form. She was
here to party.

Role

Chapter 7

Merthoc had achieved all of her goals slightly further ahead of schedule than
she had imagined and now found herself reaching new levels of joy and
accomplishment that she had not known existed. She was happy a LOT and VERY
MUCH all of the time but this sense of goal accomplishment settled deep into
her bones and set her dancing at a more frantic pace. It was swiftly reaching
the point where she could barely contain herself within her skin.

The Party had deemed her worthy of secret self-actualization: the realization
that one need not judge themselves against arbitrary structures of needs and
achievement but rather reflect on their feelings and needs on a continuous
basis, assigning priority as needed given the moment. This was, of course, not
secret self-actualization and just normal maturity but The Party found it
easier to explain it to Merthoc this way as she was currently drowning in a
flaming shot luge of her own design.

Now that she had gained the ability to start a party completely on her own,
she decided to start really planning a hullabaloo. Just the grandest affair
that could be found. Something that would allow The Party itself to permeate
the scene and drive everyone to having the best time available, driven purely
through her connection The Party. To achieve this, she had begun microdosing
all of the drinks she served with spores and venom from the mandible she
carried. (This was what made it purple, you see. Merthoc didn't. She just
liked purple.)

So by getting everyone on the macrodose caravan at the party, she could set
about to having a REALLY good time.

Role

Chapter 6

Of course, none of this actually manifested itself to Merthoc who was more
preoccupied with inventing ways to make the Party more exciting. It was
abhorrent, anathema to her that Rarywey should be unable to get drunk. While
certainly not required and in no way making you more likable, drinking was one
of the core components of the party. Someone who was completely unable to Get
Down struck her as someone that required her unique brand of help. A brand of
help that involved learning how alcohol was actually made.

Merthoc wasn't really interested in peeking behind the curtain on things.

Armed with determination and killer dance moves, Merthoc made it her life's
mission to find a way to get Rarywey completed hammered.

Role

Chapter 5

You were there, in the moment, far, FAR out west, when you first tried to make
your body into the same movements that staved off the times of Passe. When you
could put your body into the shapes and contortions that scared away the Has
Beens.

The Has Beens were the ones who followed Merthoc into her choice to always
live within the Party. Through pirouettes and stomping feet, kicking out their
legs and switchblading their arms, they made a delicate mirage of what she
always always was just one quarter step ahead of: In the party, alive.

Pursued through the snapping short years of her life, Merthoc threw herself at
the Party, enticing and protecting the dancers who continued to narrate what
must be: a party, continued.

The Party beat relentless against those who would bring them Down.

Against the skin of Empires and Fortresses and Outlanders, Merthoc stormed,
thundered, and Had Flayed herself against the interrupting, disconnected,
minor chords of the Downers.

Even in the lights of the Disc-Go, Merthoc beat herself against the Drum of
Has Beens, seeking to overcome each Downer, ever eager the attendant to the
Party, the heart that beats against the Downer, whose dancers demanded the
Party and, in Merthoc, who would not be denied.

Against the skin of the timpani, drawn taught over Merthoc's dance which Has
Been, but could not be denied, she sought angry mallets against the single
Downer in her ranks.

Merthoc demanded the Party and would not be denied.

Role

Chapter 4

Existential Dread sat forlornly on the stage, Merthoc close by their side with
a comforting hand on their shoulder.

"I don't understand it. I'm no lackwit. Why can't you give into sin, rather
than just win?"

Using a variety of tap dance techniques, Merthoc communicated to Existiential
Dread that it was no one person's fault for a good or bad party. It was simply
the will of the crowd and the movement of the celebration that determined
which way things would go. By earning her bartending license, Merthoc had
simply evaded one of Dread's tactics and reached a new level of
self-actualization.

(Three more steps and she would get SECRET self-actualization.)

The Party had decided that she had earned the ability to speak without rhyme
again. The sins of her past had been washed away by a haze of perfume,
glittering lights refracted by tiny mirrors, intense choreography, and the
simple fact that she wanted it more.

To Merthoc, NO ONE wanted it more. Not Lyeeth, not her short lifespan, not her
curse, no one.

As far as Merthoc was concerned, things were going absolutely disco for her.

Role

Chapter 3

The party raged on as Merthoc attended to each guest and goer, seeking seats
and places for extra guests as the heavy, deeply folded curtains piled center
stage were ripped apart, revealing the participants who waited, giving
gentle shrugs and claps in tumescent anticipation of the two crews, ready to
battle.

Existential Dread came out, thrusting itself out between their patient
attendants, who fluted, trumpeted, and rang off the timpani in a growing
chorus, the dance team behind them growing with each step as Dread came out.

Dread pulled off commercially pleasing body tricks which traded the emphasis
on the ability of the dance crew to act as a whole for behind the backs, under
the legs, and extremely dangerous dead drops that were meant only to impress
the uninitiated.

Merthoc and the retinue of dancers that followed her catcalled and waved
dismissively at the cheap movements, not for a moment feeling the actual
message that Dread was trying to convey.

On their turn, through words and movement, Merthoc and her allies responded to
Dread's accusations of forsaking the party to instead craft new friendships
and earn their bartending license for fame and the ability to drink for free
rather than continuing to stoke the fires of The Party through a series of
coordinated movements, relying on the timing and understanding of each dancer
to create rippling effects and wave patterns through switchblading legs and
arms. Their coordinated movements and increasingly short breaks on the drums
spoke of no doubt at all in their mind that they were forsaking the party.

Styled, colored hair and glitter flew through the smoky air of Merthoc's mind,
denouncing the accusations and slowly gaining ground on the stage as the
opponents turned their backs on them, clearly unable to even bear the sight of
such simple and overly choreographed movements.

"Besides!" Merthoc argued, "The more I can become a party starter, the more I
can start the party everywhere I go!"

Merthoc never rhymed in her head.

At the final moment, Dread turned with a sudden extravagant flair which
clearly communicated to both sides that only the dance crew leaders would be
battling now.

"Started what? You claim to be a life of the party, but! You only have the one
credential! Your doom and weakness is evidential!" Dread danced.

Merthoc faltered in her seamless movements once, just for a moment, but it was
all that the judges needed to decide on the winner.

It wasn't Merthoc.

Falling back into the arms of her dance crew, weeping at the complete robbery
of a decision, Merthoc couldn't help but acknowledge what she had become. A
Has Been. A Once Was. She would have to get the party started again and again,
while also avoiding the downer Lyeeth whom she hated with a fury so large it
rivaled even the amount of body glitter she wore.

Role

Chapter 2

Role

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