Town of Salem Game Forums

dota2reporter wrote:also, 22 players with only 2 replacements for 1 slot total
that's insanely efficient
props to everyone who played

well tbf the game was a 14p d2

oh yeah btw 3cheers you still had a shot

On a string, on a string, on a string I was held
The way that I move, can you tell?
My actions are orchestrated from above me
And so I swing and I sway
Wave my hand, kick my leg
And it's always right with the music

Until all that swaying starts to make you sick

For a song I was bought
Now I lie when I talk
With a careful eye on the cue card
Onto a stage, I was pushed
With my sorrow well-rehearsed
So give me all your pity and your money, now (All of it)

We used to think that sound was something pure

But if I could act like this was my real life
And not some cage where I've been placed
Well then, I could tell you the truth like I used to
And not be afraid of sounding fake
Now all anyone's listening for are the mistakes

(Oh, I'm sorry)
No, it's okay, it's okay
One two three, one two three

In a house, by myself
I hear the ice start to melt
And I'll watch rooftops weep for the sunlight
And I know what must change
Fuck my face, fuck my name
They are brief and false advertisements
For a soul I don't have
Something true I have lacked
And spent my whole life trying to make up for
But I found in a song
And in the people I love
They will lift me up out of darkness
And now my door, it stands open
I'm inviting everyone in
We're gonna laugh, we're gonna drink until the morning comes

That's what we are going to do
Come on! Come on!

(Door closing)
(Muffled party noises)

A weary-eyed Lyra makes her way down the staircase, making sure that sleepiness did not interfere with her motor skills. As she enters the dim foyer, she looks out the window at the crisp night sky. The moonlight pours into the room, leaving enough light to guarantee a safe venture to the kitchen. Entering the room, she gives the light switch a flick, letting the light deplete the darkness from the room.

She walks to the sink and grabs a pot from the rack overhead, taking a moment to look at the reflection in the pot’s shiny covering. Staring back at her was a tired and worn-out mare. Her usual neatly-tucked mane was out of place and ravaged wildly on her head, showing clear signs of stress and lack of sleep. She rips her sight from the reflection and partially fills the pot with water before leaving the sink.

Placing the pot down on top of the stove, Lyra ignites the pilot to start the boil. That’s all it took to make the motionless water move rapidly: A small flame. She prepares the contents for this accursed late night snack. Reaching into the refrigerator, she grabs the carton of milk with a magical aura, laying her eyes upon the white liquid inside. It smacks against the sides of the cardboard container, splashing about with neither care nor remorse. It was neither spoiled nor fresh; it had been the fridge for about three days now. Lyra continues to watch the liquid stir as she moves the container towards her prep station. Placing the milk container down on the counter, she opens the cabinets in search of her utensils. A measuring cup, a heatproof bowl, a wooden spoon: they were all essential to prepare this “fourth meal”.

She peers into the pantry, looking desperately for the most important parts of the concoction. Without them, the pudding was null. Digging into the cabinet of food, she pushes aside boxes of spaghetti, bags of flour, and canisters of spices before finding the ingredients she needed most: cornstarch and a bar of chocolate. Levitating the necessities with her magical grip, she proceeds to bring them to her small work station. She grabs the measuring cup, carefully measuring out the desired amount of ingredients to make a bowl of pudding.

Placing the contents into the bowl, Lyra begins stirring them together, ensuring that everything was evenly distributed. She takes the bowl and places it over the now boiling water, making sure not to drop it inside the pot. The chocolate begins to melt, changing the white mixture into a murky brown. Change is important; it meant that things are progressing forward. But that didn’t necessarily mean that the progress was good. One time, Lyra allowed the chocolate to sit for too long, which resulted in the chocolate melting, but not in a desirable way. From that day on, she learned that progress is to be monitored to ensure that there are no mistakes. If only she had learned that years ago.

The brown is now turning into a darker shade, evenly spreading across the pudding. Lyra’s belly begins to rumble, practically begging for the pudding. “In due time,” she tells her stomach, as if it were a pony itself. “Patience is key.” The stomach ceases its impatient growls and casually waits for its meal to be finished. A small pitter patter echoes throughout the room, ringing in the mare’s ears. Bonbon must be awake, wondering where Lyra had run off to. She does not take her focus off the pudding as the sound of hooves clopping come down the stairs. Lyra continues to stir the delicious treat as Bonbon enters the room, confusion spread across her face.

“Lyra?” she whispers, looking at the mare with concern. “What are you doing?” Lyra mentally scoffs, thinking about how ignorant of a question that was. The action was being committed before her eyes! How could she not see it?

“Making chocolate pudding,” Lyra grunts, not taking an eye off of the bowl. The liquid was now thick and ready for consumption, yet she continued to stir it without a care. Bonbon looks over at the clock on the wall inside the kitchen, checking the time.

“It’s four o’clock in the morning. Why in Equestria are you making chocolate pudding?” Lyra holds back the urge to yell at this point. Did she not see that chocolate pudding was an essential part of her life? She couldn’t begin to even understand her love- neigh! Her need for chocolate pudding. It is such a complex concoction, yet simple to make! Just its existence brings questions to the mind. Is it a liquid, or is it a solid? Who thought of creating such a thing? These thoughts ravage the mare’s mind, as if life itself revolved around the snack! Chocolate pudding is love! Chocolate pudding is life!

Then it hit her. The realization is like a cart smashing into a wall at a hundred miles an hour. How could she not see it all this time? Her life didn’t revolve around pudding. Pudding is just a treat! A delicious, simple treat. Nothing more, nothing less. The moment brought an ache to her heart. If chocolate pudding isn’t a necessity, what purpose did she have in life? What did she have to live for?

Staring into the center of the mixture, she stops her stirring. Lyra refuses to remove her eyes from it; it is like losing sight of a lover. Bonbon raises an eyebrow, wondering what is taking Lyra so long to respond. At that point, Lyra didn’t want to say it, but she has to. They always say that the most important part of overcoming a problem is admitting that you have a problem. Without showing a shred of emotion, she continues to stare down into the late night snack. Bonbon takes a step back, scared of her friend’s expression, but does not leave. The words leave Lyra’s lips with a monotonous ring.

“Because I’ve lost control of my life.”