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Like a day-old phone number written on the back of a young hand.

Right when they were about to make it big.

'Ritual'... 'deal'... you could easily hear Tempo exchanging one word for the other...

Dildo nom de guerre. In recognition of its heft.

You remember it all too closely -- hopscotching through the lightning strikes of youth.

Could go with TAXGIRL... Strong thematic resonance.

Nail Yana's cryptonym.

In the slow dip of silence, a piano melody lulls through a thin wall.

There are words to be traced in the loops of her cigarette light -- if only you could read the language.

From a nearby apartment, the muffled sound of a beautifully-played piano gently shifting key.

Maybe you've solved a cosmic mistake, you were supposed to be him all along.

The revolutionary spirit.

Hark his reverential silence, a devoutly sworn oath. He will not utter a word until the Lich lies dead.

His heart forever torn, if you were to put your ear to his chest you would hear its tender, arrhythmic sob.

That would be killing you. You know you've thought about it. Do you want to watch?

You could marry him for real after this, just think of all the arguments you'd never have.

You've had dirty laundry on your floor for longer than this man has been alive and yet here he is, probably about to die.

Maybe you've solved a cosmic mistake, you were supposed to be him all along.

Because he is one of them.

Created to be destroyed, like a grass dog -- named and decorated and burned on the pyre.

Confidently superlative. In this case it seems fair.

They can carve it onto your shared headstone.

A shrike above the thorn.

The voice on the other end of the phone.

A star with no shrine.

Arthur Killingwire, for his poem Ode to a Worm on a Figleaf.

The description of a work of art as a literary device!

Inadequate, weak, morose!

Awesome. You're the best poet of all time. You read it to yourself aloud every morning.

Onomatopoeia for a dog coughing up its tonsils.

Trick question, hasn't been decided yet.

A band of plucky young pipe fitters who must save a basement from a canal.

Like a bird's nest after the snake ate its fill.

It's the vibration of the earth as a drill passes through your brain.

An invisible machine gun, ventilating him.

An offering, the boy trussed and gagged upon a bed of flowers.

There's your 'brief', operant.

Breathing gently on his chair, he could be a sleeping child, but for the wide-open, lightless eyes.

It reminds you of a cosmonaut's safety tether.

The film is monochrome and silent. The only soundtrack is the low hum of the projector as the celluloid rushes from its spool.

A promissory note the length of recorded time -- signed by every soul on the universal registry.

Nonsense words he's making up on the spot.

The veil... is lifted!

The thinking man's masturbation.

Suddenly sentimental -- the emotional quick change of a ravaged alcoholic.

Suddenly sentimental -- the emotional quick change of a ravaged alcoholic.

Like a sorcerer who's spilled all his magic on the floor.

Lapping the air like a giant child's tongue.

714 skill checks - ZERO PARADES field manual - Page 6 of 15