Week 7: El Pancake (2-2) vs. Split Eight (0-1) \\ El Pancake wins via no-show

[Certain]

Season 3

The Basics | Read the full rules here.

Verses are due Friday at 11:59 p.m. PT. THERE ARE NO EXTENSIONS.

Votes are due Sunday at 11:59 p.m. PT.

Verses may not exceed 48 lines or 650 words unless agreed upon by the opponent.

Voting on three battles is required. If you win and don't vote, you will receive a loss instead. If you lose and don't vote, you will receive a one-week suspension. Please post links to your three votes in this thread.

Topics this week are available for your choosing here.

Good luck, @El Pancake and @Split Eight.

[PancakeBrah]

Octavious?

[Split]

Crêpes


The most important person in your life has disappeared inexplicably.

[PancakeBrah]

Theodore.
or, sociopathy

“Theo I’m so sorry for your loss”
Ok.

“Theo have you heard anything? What happened!?”
I don’t know.

They’re so wrapped up in feels. ‘Lets feel a feel for folly!’
It’s embarrassing. Their bleating. Their seething need for hobby.
Preoccupied with bleeding hearts, knee deep in their sobbing.
So public. So naked and proud, all these appeals. So gaudy.
Incessant. A pissing match over which can hack it up more,
tears for this one, howls for that. One even collapsed on the floor.
Yes, we’re all very impressed. You’re so distraught and affected.
I guess the more you mourn the more your ‘God’ will respect it.
What of guarded reflection? No, there’s no notice in that.
Not nearly ‘emotive’ enough . You’ve really got to show that it hurts.
“Theo, I don’t know how to act.” No, I don’t know how to act,
but your stage presence and delivery deserve a roll of the claps,
a glowing review. “He’s taking it hard.” “He’s just holding it back.”
If ‘it’ is a strong ‘fuck off’ and a shrug you’re clairvoyant, ol’ chap.
Just hours upon hours of cowards, cowering with eyes shut.
You really seem to care, really. And the flowers were a nice touch.

“I guess we’ll never know what happened to her.”
Probably not.

“It’s so surreal, a funeral with no body.”
We can make a stand-in now if you want.

I suppose it’s difficult to believe I married at all. Holly was fine.
Serious. Athletic. Apathetic to point that I thought we aligned.
Stone faced. She wasn’t like me, per se, but a close facsimile.
She would’ve hated this, too. We had the same morose affinity
for being blank. If I was dumb enough to believe in a soul
she’d be its mate. And I know she’d leave this grieving alone.
But if I had known our marriage, and her subsequent “death”
(they never did find her. It was almost like she had just up and left,
but enough time passed, plus there was evidence of her blood on her desk)
meant I had to be here, I would have cut ties in a sec.
Everyone dressed in black. So dour and serious, so...hollow.
I can tell hollow. Soft crying at first, and I’m sure some delirium to follow.
Me? I thought I maybe possibly felt a pinch of a sort of sadness,
but it turned out to be sharp boredom at the tedious comport of the masses.

“I know this must be hard, Theo. I know she was important to you.”

Yes, she was important to me. The most? Yes, that’s actually true.
Because she wouldn’t have carried on like this if it had happened to you.

Thanks for the flowers.