Location : In front of my computer, derpface.
I drifted away from this forum a while ago, for reasons entirely unrelated to drama. I've kept in touch with a lot of the friends I made here, however, through other sites, and I remember a lot of what went down before I left. So naturally, I came back to poke around when I heard Doc was back, and lurked throughout the drama of the past few days.
And then I wrote a forumfic about it.
This will probably be my past post here.
The Slender Nation Castle had seen many minor wars over the course of its relatively short existence, both internal and external. The first few years of this small community's life had been tumultuous and unstable, but over the course of time, things had gradually settled into a steady peace. The Castle was now a bustling, smoothly-running community, thanks to a group of well-respected elders. The peacetime had been hard-earned, but it was well-enjoyed by new residents and old hands alike.
And then, one day, a voice rose above the usual chatter. The bearer of this voice wasn't wearing the usual house garments or plain robes, or even the blues of the moderators. He was wearing a cloak that had been locked away a long time ago, and was now only brought out for ceremony and official announcements. And though it had been modified to grant its temporary users anonymity, this man's face was fully visible.
What followed was a cacophony of confused voices, curse-laden objections, and careful planning. As the man retreated into the heart of the castle, to the control room, to strip the elders of their power, those that had recognized his face fell into a deep despair. This man was the tyrant who had been dethroned in the last war. This man was dangerous because, in his eyes, he was simply reclaiming what he rightfully owned.
Once upon a time, a small group of preschoolers started playing in a small corner of a very large sandbox. One of them built a sandcastle, and the others joined in and helped with the construction. Kids from other corners of the sandbox noticed the sandcastle while wandering around, and gradually, one by one, the amount of people adding on to this sandcastle grew. Friendships were formed, adventures were had, and all was well. When there were problems, the preschoolers sorted them out fairly quickly, if someone childishly – after all, they were only toddlers.
The preschooler who built the beginnings of the sandcastle, however, after many days of playing, started kissing his female playmates. It happened more and more frequently, to more an more people. Sometimes they had warning, sometimes they didn't. Some learned to run when they saw him coming, others saw it as nothing but harmless play. Some gave their permission, but many didn't. Eventually, when this risked breaking a longstanding friendship between two of the girls, one of whom had been around since the sandcastle's beginning, many of the other boys noticed. They banded together to push him into the sand whenever he got close to the castle or the group surrounding it, and eventually, dejected, he wandered off to another corner of the sandbox.
He'd attempt to build other castles, because he liked that more than anything, but none of them were as good as the first. Especially since, every time he came back to look, there were new additions to the castle that he'd never thought of: towers, a moat, flags made of twigs and napkins. And new kids kept flocking to that castle instead of his new one, which he thought was extremely unfair. He'd started building that sandcastle. It was his.
Those that left did so not out of bitterness at this child taking his castle back – after all, this was a sandbox, and there were ways to build more sandcastles – but simply because they recognized him as the bad playmate he was.
This is not what happened, either.
No trait is more justified than revenge in the right time and the right place.