The Room Of Characters Who Never Came To Be...

[Seven]

As fiend of Fang ensnared the poor bird-girl in his trap, Faeori, for the first time in her simple-minded existence, became extremely conflicted. When the teeth of the toy(?) cat closed around her, her eyes widened (or at least her eye orbitals had widened, as in a rather cartoonish fashion, her actual irises back increasingly small) and her jaw dropped to let out a hark of surprise.

"Gah!!" she said--ironically in a tone less loud than her normal speaking voice--as Fang threw the ball at Cranley and she made her first bounce.

However, whatever Faeori lacked in intellect, she made up easily enough brawn and primal instinct. She was lean and petite and her sense of balance was without comparison. Needless to say, with all of her own trick flying the turns of the bouncing ball hardly fazed her. With her strong leg muscles, and even stronger arm muscles, she grabbed hold of the bars and crossed her legs beneath her, keeping herself (surprisingly) very steady in her bouncing prison. And in this fashion, she started to think. Very hard. She probably never thought so hard, because one could vaguely smell burning. And she bit her lip, looking somewhere between pouty and angry.

Then she sighed. "Ughh...What do I do now? This just isn't...fair!" She was "murmuring" to herself--so to everyone else, it just sounded like she was talking like a normal person would have. "I mean...does that count? Coward! We didn't even fight! I bet I totally could have beaten him to a pulp if we had fought! But... I still lost. I was captured! I was defeated! Does that mean he's more stronger than me?" The girl sounded like she might have been having an existential crisis, but she quickly waved that one off, saying, "Nah! Can't say that for sure."

"Still..." Her teeth grit. "Tricky little bastard outdid me. But then, maybe there is something to that--" she said, vaguely remembering the story of how the smallest bird became the king of birds. Then, she sighed again, as she watched her prison completely clobber Cranley, and for the first time, her expression became a bit more girlish as she looked at his squished face before the ball continued to roll away. "But it isn't fair! Cranley is just so handsome! I mean, his nose... is just so pointy! And so hooked!" She sighed, dreamily. "Not that he can ever know that! I mean, if Fang already beat me, that means I'm gonna have to take him as my mate--if only he had a pointy, hooked nose!" She pouted again, frowning.

Well, Faeori had to think of something. She had come to the lowly level of the crust looking for her mate, after all. If Fang was strong enough to capture her, then he should be strong enough to give her strong offspring, even if he wasn't very good looking. Suddenly, she perked up. Hey, maybe she should see how strong Cranley is! Yeah! Oh, and who cares if she was captured--maybe she could even have a rematch with that cat-creature to see if he really was strong, if that was just a fluke! And then she could fight Cranley! And if they both were strong enough to defeat her (she inwardly snorted, doubting that. In fact, she figured neither might, but she'd be willing to stoop to someone who was adequately strong...) then she'd just have to see who was stronger of the two.

Faeori grinned brightly. Now she had a plan! "ALLLLLLL RIGHT!" she exclaimed, back to her regular screeching. "Now that I've gone and finished my thinking--Time to get out of here!" With that, Faeorie--stomach of steel growling hungrily--grinned as she pulled out her daggers and held them like utensils, and began to chow down. Hey, she said she wanted to eat that kitty thing. She was too headstrong to take it back down from that now. Another hark of triumph blasted through the basement announcing when she finished her meal.

Kelpie sighed, regretting that he had ever gotten himself banned from that one board whose name he couldn't remember. His life was just misery. Either he was intended to be a part of a fail-tastic story in that other forum, or be with this lot of degenerates. He didn't know which was worse.

[Rojo]

It was as the hatchet passed to his left hand for the twelfth time that Cranley saw some sort of confusingly-described ball which possibly had teeth and eyes moving towards him. Some kind of soundwave had preceeded it-- it possibly had been words, however they had come in the form of something small, loud and annoying, instantly bypassing Cranley's field of interest and perception. He faced a dilema of his own mind-- on the one hand, he knew his Creator could easily have him simply step aside an avoid the ball entirely, leaving him unscathed, however to him this seemed a little unrealistic-- he was, after all, just a normal man, no special magic powers or RIDICULOUSLY Mary-Sue like qualities (he shuddered as he thought of some of his. . .kin if you will) and as a result, moving out of the way of the ball at the lightning speeds it would require to make such a feat possible would make him a hypocrite and if there was one thing Cranley did try to do it was to stick by what he said-- even if it meant being hit in the face at flattening speeds by a large Face-Ball thing of poor description.
He swallowed his pride and recieved the ball in the face with a grim, expectant expression.

The next few moments were rather hurried and confusing-- first, his vision flickered black like a television with awful reception, then pain exploded throughout his face (followed by a numbness in certain areas) and finally he found his old friend the floor rising up excitedly to meet him, knocking his glasses and hat off. All of this happened in about the space of three or four seconds.
The Universal Critic lay flat, glaring at the wall, most of his face red, his nose having lost feeling. Slowly, one arm pivoted around from under his face and picked up his glasses, putting them on with difficulty.
Pulling himself into a sitting posistion, Cranley picked up his pork pie-shaped hat and placed it upon his head, pushing it down with a sort of side-to-side screw motion, all the while still glaring at the wall. He prodded his nose experimentally and this peeled away the layer of numbness, revealing sharp pain. He clenched his eyes shut momentarily but did not wince, opening them slowly and observing the other occupants of the room.
With murderous eyes, the displaced reject of an englishman cast his gaze around for that wonderful little bladed shaft he had been holding again and his eyes fell upon the hatchet a little ways away. He smiled rather nastily and picked it up, standing as he did so and turning, hefting the shaft (ha-ha)-
"Oh grow up," he murmered, his voice heavy with irritation and disdain at his creator's childish toilet humour.
-at either end, with his hand just beneath the head (hee-hee). Cranley rolled his eyes.

"I hate."
He stated, not feeling it neccesary to add any specific object to the end of the statement-- he had meant it towards the world in general- and his loathing for it.

[Asila]

((I'm remembering why this thread started to aggravate me so much. I'm just going to bail and leave it up to the two of you.))

For no apparent reason, Fang shouts "Yes! Finally!" His exuberance is is only vaguely explained as the vastly immature demon and supremely unbalanced angel each abruptly disappear from the room.

[Seven]

Faeorie stood there, jaw suddenly dropping and eyes widening comically in horror. "And then there were three?" she half shuddered. People were fading from existence--fast--and for a minute, the brave Faeori felt cold. The man who might have, might not have beaten her was gone, and in a moment of weakness, she wondered if she too might suddenly pop out of existence. She bit her bottom lip, turning her head over her shoulder to look at Cranley and the--

"The Kelpie! He's gone!" she gasped. And with that, Faeori gasped so strongly that it winded her, and she suddenly fell out of the air and onto the floor having fainted.