Unknown entity of [insert grand title here] speaking. I am not -antiquarian-, pangolin, CelesteOfTheGoldMoon, Midnight Phantom, or Phantasmagoria. Neither was I a pancake last I checked, though one can never be sure. Do pancakes know they are pancakes? Truly a conundrum.

Anyway, we are glad you liked our horrible puns, Artemis! Much time was spent in crafting their horridness. Up next: Darkvine "darky" Nightshade!

._. 

Yes, Darkvine Nightshade lives in a secluded little cottage in the woods, and yes she has green eyes, and yes she wears a robe darker than the blackest night, and sure, maybe she isn’t quite humanoid, but she is certainly NOT a WITCH. In fact, she considers herself something of an amateur Sepak Takraw player (not that she’s ever played Sepak Takraw due to the fact that most people she asks take one look at her and run away screaming). Not only does she have quite dextrous feet (from necessity, being unable to pick up anything with her clawed hands) but has also taken up a habit of walking on her hands so as to open closets easier (though this does sometimes lead to some unwanted collisions). Indeed, she is quite the acrobat! *Does backflip because yes* (do not mind her grammar, it is way too early in the morning). The reason why it is so early is because Darkvine has gotten up to care for her 2,087 bumblebees before they wake up. However, as she is going from her secluded little cottage into her secluded little clearing, her claws brush up against something so feathery and squawky that she tumbles head under heels onto the ground. 

After reading the note and deciding that this gardening trip is definitely a great idea (a decision obviously made completely separately from the newspaper which happened to be delivered next to it, headlined GIANT WASP EATING BUMBLEBEES TO INVADE TOWN, EVACUATE NOW), Darkvine kicks back into a handstand and heads inside to pack her cauldron. This includes three hairbrushes, one claw clipper, one nail clipper, and several black robes in case this ends up being an overnight trip. She also throws in several sketchbooks, which absolutely do not contain spells and potions of great power.

Nodding with satisfaction, she grabs her broomstick like a sensible person and attempts to fly off dramatically into the sunset—er, sunrise. First, she hops around the little secluded clearing, trying to lift off. This fails to produce any meaningful results. Then, she climbs into a tree and jumps off. Well, she was airborne for about two whole seconds! Darkvine notes the personal record in her sketchbook then turns back to that task at hand. Thinking hard, she decides that it’s time for the ultimate plan. She closes her eyes, says some Latin (or was it Greek?) and believes in the power of LOVE!

…yeah, still nothing. 

And now the pigeon is looking at her oddly: her darker-than-the-blackest night robe seems to have sparkly hearts on it.

Huh.

Sighing, Darkvine resigns herself to a battle to the death with the wasps. However, as she kicks into a handstand and plods back inside, she feels a nudge at her heels—first light, then stronger, then all at once, sending her tumbling feet first into her cauldron. She scrabbles at the walls for something to grab onto, but her oh-so-sharp claws fail to snag on a hanging nail, and she falls further and further into the depths of her cauldron, until it is no longer a cauldron but the open sky and she shuts her eyes and waits for the end to come…

Some time later, Darkvine opens her eyes to see a very…sharp… pigeon smirking down at her. She shrugs sheepishly as she scoots very rapidly away from the very intense avion gaze across the very solid ground.

._.

Signed,

Pigeon of [insert grand title here] 

@Pigeon, is one of you Seadragon?

We're not Seadragon.

This ski lodge will likely take a break from approximately next week to early January, as our school has winter break and one of us will be traveling (the other one, unfortunately, will not be, much to their disappointment). Faithful topping will be appreciated. This is not a certainty, however—we might pop in once in a while, even if we don't post any large bits of writing. Just letting y'all know.

And here is Writing_in_the_Dark's intro. Notice we're posting these faster than usual as we're growing slightly bored of intros, but don't worry—only two or three more and we'll get to the actually interesting part soon.

._.

Heaven is not a nice place for living creatures, the pigeon reflects as it waits for Writing_in_the_Dark to finish taking a bath. It is rather cold (heaven, not the bath), and hard to breath in (heaven, not the bath), due to low oxygen (heaven, not the bath), but also because it is mostly filled with water (not heaven, the bath). However, the longer the pigeon waits, the colder it becomes (not heaven, the bath), until Writing was forced to leave for comfort’s sake (both heaven and the bath). The pigeon also remarks on the vocal talents of Writing, musing that perhaps *Singing In the Bath* is not quite up to par with its competitor *Singing in the Shower* (though both, of course are outcompeted by the reigning champion *Singing As The Titanic Sinks And All Hope Is Lost—Now Reinvented In HD*).

Xe emerges looking ruffled (Writing, not the pigeon) and sets about packing in xyr bag (Writing, not the pigeon): a change of clothes, toiletries, Space Boy Omnibus by Stephen McCranie (volumes 1 and 2), headphones, a phone which is charged to precisely 32% (though it doesn’t do much good, as it turns out WiFi is not high on the divine ToDo list), a sketchbook, a notebook, a pencil case (empty, of course), and a radish, of course x2. This had a sticky-note face on it (the radish, not the pigeon), and is named Donatello (which may or not be short for Donato di Niccolò di Betto Bardithe). It also has wings (not the radish, the pigeon), and is crotchety (both the radish and the pigeon).

Packing over, the pigeon eyes Writing’s wings, appearing to think. It quickly reaches a conclusion, and sighs, if pigeons can sigh. If pigeons can’t sigh, the pigeon sighs anyway. Lovely how that works, ain’t it?

Writing sighs as well. Writing can sigh, so there is no point in describing how if Writing couldn’t sigh, xe would sigh anyway, because xe can sigh. Anyway, xe did sigh, as was already discussed.

*sigh*

The pigeon, done sighing, mimes teleporting (by spinning in a circle and looking dizzy, followed by sticking its head in its feathers like it’s trying to disappear). Writing brightens. Xe leads the pigeon triumphantly to a teleporter (what? Angels don’t fly manually nowadays. That’s so last year). They get in the tube, Writing looking excited and the pigeon looking nervous, and the pigeon pushes a few buttons on the side, typing in what looks like an exact latitude and longitude (but not necessarily is, because even if something looks like something else, that doesn’t mean it is that thing, for example a duck and a blender, which, if hidden in the dark of night behind a large screen will look exactly the same if viewed from the correct side of the screen).

It takes a minute (these things are so laggy), but Writing_in_the_Dark and the pigeon are soon safely (or unsafely, as the case more likely may be) on their way. 

._.

Unsigned 

This ski-lodge really is so funny and interesting! :)

@Pigeon, is one of you Eclipse?

…yes, I’m Eclipse. 

I feel like I should be offended that you’re taking all the credit—Hex. (And besides, that’s my vuvuzela…)

Ok, but I wrote this one myself.

It took you so long, though.

Ugh.

I bet the readers thought that we had forgotten about the Ski Lodge entirely. 

My my, someone’s fussy. My deepest apologies I express onto you for the deep and horrible damage, grief, and loss I have beset you with.

Better.

Humph. ANYWAY, here is the intro:

._.

Jynx Levisay lives in a secluded, reclusive, mountain cave. 

Sorry, we mean: Jynx Levisay lives in a quiet abandoned castle overlooking the blue waters with nothing in the distance but sky.

Oops! Meant to say: Jynx Levisay lives all alone in an underground palace, with endless winding passages to explore and absolutely no-one around.

Needless to say, Jynx Levisay is rudely awakened early in the morning by the honking of New York cars and various screams from outside her apartment. 

*sigh*

She sets about making hot chocolate, and, stepping gingerly around her roommate’s stuff which is so carelessly strewn across the floor (really, that goofus is beneath her. And so loud! You should have heard the music last night—or maybe you shouldn’t have, if you want your eardrums intact) and sets out for a croissant (the only perk of living in the city is the bakery down the block). Her perilous journey is cut short by The Pigeon. Now, pigeons are nothing special, and at first she shoos it absentmindedly. However, the pigeon surely sidesteps the shooing, springing onto her shoe. “Shoe! I mean, Shoo!” She yells, but the pigeon does not vacate the premises as hoped. Rather, it hops onto her shoulder, shoving its spindly foot into her face, waving a small parchment. Ugh, even the New York pigeons are rude.

However, she brightens after reading the note. The Hanging Gardens of Babylon sound like a peaceful, quiet spot—and, as Jynx reflects, she needs a vacation from this noisy place. So she cuts her pastry excursion short, instead heading into her apartment to pack the essential items: 

Daggers

Bluejay Palisman

Breath mints

Macadamia nuts

Books

She throws on her best outfit: a blue tunic with white leggings and blue sleeves with matching white boots, and wraps seventeen (blue and white) hair ties around her wrist. Oh, by the way, she also has blue hair and ice-blue eyes, as well as blue fingernails and milky white skin. (Author's note: don’t question the color palette, ok? Note the daggers at the top of her packing list…)

Hopping on the subway (literally—she likes riding on top of trains. Such a rush!) she heads to the airport and books the first flight out to Iraq, which turns out to be exactly seventeen minutes from now. Huh. After a small skirmish checking in (turns out daggers set off the metal detector, who knew?) she boards the plane, noting with satisfaction the complete lack of passengers. And flight attendants. And… pilot? The plane takes off normally enough, though a bit low to the ground, but doing some quick cartography reveals that they are heading straight for a hill. In a panic, (the nerve of these people, to ruin her vacation!) Jnyx grabs a handy dandy (white and blue) parachute and jumps out the plane, her palisan watching curiously from the seat.

Her descent is slow, peaceful, and quiet.

._.

With deep apologies and a dusty vuvuzela,

Pigeon 

Very important information above! And we're done with intros! Everyone is accounted for and will arrive very shortly to start murdering—I'm sorry, did I say murdering? I meant meeting! Slip o' the tongue! (does adding more exclamation points make me seem more credible and excited? hopefully so—)

._. 

Signed!

The Pigeon Who is Annoyed Because the Bold and Italics Didn't Work Last Time!