Whitzz/544K-RP-Datasets huggingface dataset:
Thread: To the Last Syllable (Mr. M & Bathos)

The chaos played out too quickly for Lyla to fully comprehend what had happened. There was a tussle--a violent, bloody tussle--and then all was quiet and it wasn't until the Phoba turned to her and actually cracked a joke that she dared to believe she'd actually been rescued. Her lips twitched once, as if she were biting back a sob, but she made no sound. Wordlessly, she allowed herself to be pulled along, carefully picking her way past the carnage. It was the throwback under that mask, she knew. It was the second time he'd saved her from an unthinkable fate now, and the idea that without this mutant she'd now be dead two times over just broke something inside of her--something more vital than her rapidly eroding mind. A tremor went through her, when they were making their way in from the street. The musty smell of ancient paper and binding filled her nostrils, the buzzing in her head settled into something low and manageable and almost pleasant, and suddenly, without a warning of any kind, her vision blurred. It was a long time--not until moisture gathered at the corner of her mouth, pooled, and fell--before she realized that she was crying. There were no accompanying sobs or fits, just a slow, steady leak of tears from her bleary, bloodshot eyes. She waited close to the throwback, silent, while he removed his outerwear, first the hat, then the mask and, finally, the coat. When he had hung them in their proper places, Lyla took him by the elbow, and led him past the records and books. She released him when they stood at the foot of the mattress where she'd awoken one week ago. Without bothering to kick off her shoes or shrug out of her jacket, she crawled on, curled in on herself, and sighed. She closed her eyes, turned her face into her arm, and said in a small, muffled voice, Stay right there. I'd like to sleep now, if you don't mind, and I don't think I can without ... She trailed off, her breathing evened out, and then she was blissfully unconscious.
Thread: To the Last Syllable (Mr. M & Bathos)

She was out like the proverbial light. And he was left standing there in his jeans and classic-style t-shirt, and all he could think was well, THIS is awkward . He crouched there, by the foot of the mattress it was hard to call it a proper bed as much as it was just crash space, really, and listened to her breathing, So she'd found her way back, but now what? What had he really intended to do when he rescued her from the street in the first place? He'd never quite answered that question to his own satisfaction, but whatever the reason, it was the same one that motivated him now. He let his attention wander around the room. He was going to have to go out and get his pack at some point hardly anybody used the catwalks, as the regular access stairs were more dangerous than walking down the alleyways, but that didn't mean they were totally deserted. And she was probably going to be hungry when she woke up from the looks of it, she hadn't been sleeping or eating well at all. But now she was catching up on one, which meant the rest of her body would want to catch up, too. He could feed her, that wasn't an issue, but it did move up the timetable for his next provision run... His mind wandered into planning mode, recalculating what he would need to do to handle the extra resource drain, so he barely noticed when he moved from crouching beside to actually sitting on the edge of the mat. He only noticed what he was doing when he found himself patting her calf reassuringly, at which point he withdrew his hand, feeling very self-conscious. Much later, the scene that greets her freshly-conscious awareness would be very much like the first time she woke up in this room. The light would be indirect, blocked by books, as before. There would be music playing , although the record player was nowhere to be seen from the bed this time. There was the sound of pages turning once again, from nearby, and indeed, the back of the throwback's head could be seen immediately on the other side of the book wall, his back to her as he read. But there was also a smell besides old paper and old building... the aroma of food permeated the air.
Thread: To the Last Syllable (Mr. M & Bathos)

Lyla drifted back to consciousness slowly. Ultimately, it was the smell of food that finally pulled her from her dreams, teasing her senses awake so tantalizingly that she actually awoke with a smile. She rubbed at her eyes, crusted over with dry tears and sleep, until they remained open without resistance. She looked around at the books surrounding her sleeping place, registered for the first time the soft music, and her smile died instantly. A peculiar sensation pulled at her chest, as if her heart were simultaneously sinking and jumping into overtime. She remembered foggily the way she had been rescued by him, how he hadn't been so much as winded after killing four people . How she'd cried, tugging him to her bedside like a snot-nosed toddler, and asked him, pathetically, not to leave her. And now, her pain was gone, nothing left of her bizarre affliction but this pleasant, soothing buzz in the back of her brain. It was a long time before she finally sat up. First thing, she cast her gaze around the room for her duffel and saw it laying near her bedside. She pondered on this for only a few seconds before snatching it up, jumping to her feet--and then, briefly, waiting for the room to stop spinning--and stepping out from behind the wall of books. She stopped directly in front of the throwback. Voice hoarse with sleep, she asked rather abruptly, Point me to a facility?
Thread: To the Last Syllable (Mr. M & Bathos)

Lyla was a long time in the facility, but not because she was slow. On the contrary, when she actually got to the business of attending all her pesky mortal needs, she was fast and efficient. No, she was a long time gone because of the time devoted, upon first setting her duffel on the rickety old counter, to quietly dropping down onto the edge of the tub and indulging in quiet, relaxing anxiety-induced hyperventilation. When she was able to pick herself up again, she noticed her surroundings, and took her time inspecting them carefully as she brushed her teeth with the brand new toothbrush that had been laid out for her. At least she hoped it was for her. Otherwise, she owed the throwback an apology on top of the two overdue thank-yous. When she returned from the bathroom, clean, at least more balanced than she had been, and starving , she found the throwback in the final stages of grilling a hot sandwich that she dearly, dearly hoped was intended for her. It smelled like happiness. She squared her shoulders, preparing to formally thank the man for all that he had done for her. It was a lot, really. Two life-saving encounters were nothing she could thumb her nose at, but when she did finally open her mouth, all that came out was, You know, you really should wear an apron when you do that. It'll round off the whole mom vibe you've got going on.
Thread: To the Last Syllable (Mr. M & Bathos)

He didn't look up at her comment, just made an amused-sounding Hrrr! kind of dry chuckle and flipped the sandwich onto the little chipped plate he had brought for her. Someone needs to take you under their wing. You were just born last week. Or reborn, as the case may be. He looked up at her and held out the plate to her. Might as well be me. Once she took the plate, he rose smoothly and went into the other room, the main library for lack of a better term. He went to a small bucket and plunged his hands into the cool water within. It's perhaps a little sad that this counts as splurging, but it seemed a special occasion, he said as he withdrew two plastic bottles flavored electrolyte-infused water, a common inexpensive brand. Do you prefer watermelon flavor, or strawberry? He gave her the flavor she liked, opened the other one, and let her eat. He cut himself some slices of the cheesefood and made another grilled sandwich. The turkey, he ate straight, tearing the thin cold-cuts into small pieces with his fingers and popping them into his mouth while he waited for the bread to brown. Once she seemed to be reasonably calmer, he cleared his throat almost apologetically. So, why don't you tell me what's been happening? What brought you back down here?
Thread: To the Last Syllable (Mr. M & Bathos)

Lyla took the strawberry water and the sandwich mechanically, eyes never leaving the throwback until he'd turned back to the business of cooking. Once he had his back turned, however, she dropped to the floor, found a comfortable sitting position, and inhaled her food. She never took her eyes off of him, not because she didn't trust him, but because she was trying to work out what made him tick. Why was he so special? And then, after she'd sucked down half her water, he sprang the question. Why was she here? Lyla thought over the past week, the headaches, the sleeplessness, the brief foray into homelessness, and shrugged. My boss was a dick. He fired me over the whole, you know, confidential-patient-files-scattered-across-the-city thing. Which is completely unfair, by the way, because I was taking those files home to re-organize them. His last secretary was such a flake , she couldn't even figure out her own filing system. Was I getting paid for that? No. I did it because I, unlike she, am such a wonderful employee. She paused, pulled a face. Ex-employee. Whatever. Long story short, you've got yourself a stray. I figure you saved my life, twice now, and that means you've invested in it for some reason I have yet to work out, so you don't want me starving to death or--at this, she gestured vaguely in the air as if she were struggling to find the right word, but went on brightly--worse. She took a deep breath, smiled big for the first time in their acquaintance--and it was a nice smile, full of white teeth and punctuated by a single dimple on the left side--and sighed. I'm Lyla.
Thread: To the Last Syllable (Mr. M & Bathos)

And I am T.B., he said solemnly, grinning without showing his teeth and nodding to her as he used a practiced wrist action to flip his cheese sandwich over to grill the other side. Just the initials. And yes, that's horrible, and I agree, unfair, but, and I hope you'll forgive me for saying so, you were a wreck when you showed up. Even with the stress of losing your job and, presumably, your home, you were beyond exhausted. He looked at her very seriously. If I'm to help you understand what you're going through, I need to know all the details. He had dealt with many mutants, both physical and mental varieties and some even stranger, and he knew that first coming to grips with one's power was almost universally a difficult experience. She could have taken the real-world stresses hard, but he was laying his bet on the possibility that her new powers had given her additional stress, forced her into the zombie-like state he found her in. And he was being honest when he said he needed to know the details to help her his powers were of the purely physical sort, but he'd spent time with others, and he had a lot of experience to work with.
Thread: To the Last Syllable (Mr. M & Bathos)

When T.B. looked at her with that serious expression on his odd face, Lyla was forced to look away. There was something in his eyes, it put her on edge. She didn't like the way it made her feel, vulnerable and small and, somehow, important. It was creepy. She kept her head pointed in the other direction as she began to speak, a little less brightly now, but just as flippant. I get these headaches. One headache, actually, that started when I got home that first time after I was here. It got worse sometimes, manageable others. Made it hard to sleep. But it's gone now, and there's this ... Lyla hesitated because it was just so weird and she didn't want to say it out loud. She wanted it to go away and she wanted never to speak of it again. But this guy said he could help, and he'd already shown that he genuinely wanted to, and there was a chance he could make it go away, so. Buzzing, she finally went on. There's this sensation in the back of my head. It doesn't hurt or anything. It just doesn't feel like it belongs there. It's like this really gentle sort of ... presence? It started when-- Lyla flushed crimson and continued in a soft mutter, When you showed up.
Thread: To the Last Syllable (Mr. M & Bathos)

T.B. raised his monobrow at that. He's expected something akin to troubles with poltergeist activity, the usual issues of a telekinetic being activated and then not learning conscious control of the power. It was pretty clear from the way she fell last week that TK was one of her abilities, but he hadn't expected symptoms like this. He stroked his chin and looked at the floor while he thought. Buzzing in the head, and pain before... mental sensations. She was sensitive to something, clearly, was detecting, but what could vary so widely between what's up a few levels and what's down here... And then it struck him. He should have remembered it when she said buzzing, for that's exactly how Tav used to describe it. Lyla, let me ask the headaches, they'd really kick into gear when people were around, like, in the next apartment, or in the hallway, wouldn't they? When they got worse, was that when more people were around? Worst in crowds, things like that? I have a theory, but I am not wholly certain. Of course, it had to be something he couldn't do, that he was unable to even interface with. In a way, that made him the best person for her to be around safely, at this early, uncontrolled stage, but he hoped she'd be able to figure some things out for herself once he told her what he thought it might be.
Thread: To the Last Syllable (Mr. M & Bathos)

Lyla's head whipped around so fast her neck audibly popped and she stared, wide-eyed at T.B., her forehead knitted into a series of wrinkles that clearly said, if one were willing to listen, ' You gotta be kiddin' me .' Because, yes, T.B. was kind of on the money with his theory, the same way she was only now beginning to suspect he was right about all kinds of things. But this? This was just too much. So, what? Now I'm allergic to people ? And just when the world population had hit an all-time high, Lyla mused. Well, that did seem to run with the theme of the week of complete worst case scenarios. Only, there was one little bug in T.B.'s rationale. Wait. Then why do you make it stop? The words were spoken before she could rethink them, and once they were, she wanted desperately to snatch them back out of the air and pretend like they'd never existed. Lyla's fair, expressive skin, once again, turned pink at various points of interest--the apples of her cheeks, the tops of her ears, the column of her neck. Lyla really hated being dependent upon anyone, worse if they actually knew about said dependency, and she'd just now all but told T.B. he was her personal sentinel against insanity and pain. She looked down at her hands, fidgeting with the half-full bottle of flavored water. I mean, I guess maybe you're not really even people , she grumbled. She knew it was an awful thing to say, that T.B. was the most human being she'd met in a long time, possibly ever, but she couldn't seem to stop herself. After all, I'm not allergic to cats or dogs.
Thread: To the Last Syllable (Mr. M & Bathos)

He was deadly silent for a long moment, just looking at her with an unreadable expression in his yellow eyes. The charred scent of his cheese sandwich beginning to overcook snapped him out of it, and he flipped his sandwich off the hot surface and onto his own chipped plate. Yes, indeed, he growled. I'm sure you'll be just as happy with Spot or Fifi helping you figure out what's going on. By all means, go seek one of THEM out. He took a sip of his water, damping down his emotions impetuous reactions wouldn't help the situation. OR, perhaps, you can attempt to not be insulting to someone who only wishes to help, and listen for a moment. I believe that when your abilities activated last week, they included not only telekinesis -- which is the ability to move objects with only the power of your mind -- but also telepathy, which is the ability to read the thoughts of others. He shrugged. I have known telepaths in the past, and they tell me that my mind operates on a different frequency than that of other humans. Apparently this happens very rarely in the case of mutants with extensive or multiple mutations. Since you don't understand the mental input you're receiving, and you have no means by which to defend yourself from it, your brain interprets the entirely new sensation as pain, is my guess. The more minds there are around you, the more thoughts you sense, the more pain you feel. Down here... well, this block is not very well populated, which is why it's dangerous only the dregs come to squat here. This particular section of the block has very little access to basic services there are no nearby feeds, and it took great effort to set up just the power and water siphons I've got, and you see how much I was able to manage. It's entirely likely there are no minds within your current range -- except mine. And mine, you see, doesn't work quite the same as everyone else's. Oh, my cognition may not be diminished, but it's FM when everyone else is AM. He paused, then shook his head. You probably don't even understand that reference. Suffice to say, you can't read my thoughts. But you can still feel the presence, a niggling buzz in the back of your brain, is how it was described to me. I'm told you should be able to interpret my emotions, once you learn what sensation means what. But what you feel that's my mind. His sandwich had cooled enough, he took a discreet bite from it. I'll let you come to grips, in your limited, closed-minded way. All right, so he hadn't entirely let her slights pass him by he still had work to do on his forgiveness reflex.
Thread: Fear No More (Hector and Forever Unbreakable)

Charles Nelson was back after long leave finally he had completed his book. He was impatient to get back to work, although he needed sometime for himself but he truly missed the college. Teaching was just not a job for him but it was what he dearly enjoyed. He did quit his law practice, so he could be a professor. Although it didnt paid that well but he was happy with how things were going along. He had a nice house, a loving wife and 2 pretty daughters. Everything which accounts for happiness, he owned it. It was the first morning of a new semester Charles was sitting in the staff room, in a light blue shirt and black trousers, he was waiting for the lecture timing. He was well prepared to meet the new class, new faces, although he was a bit nervous. Finally it was time he finished his coffee, picked up him diary and left the staff room. In few moments he reached to the class room, the door was open, there were some students sitting and chatting others were playing with their mobiles. He walked inside the class room and screamed Good morning class. I am Charles Nelson, your psychology professor. he continued without even waiting for a reply on his greetings. Dont take any noteswhen I am explaining, you can always find those in books, if you have doubts then only speak of them after the lectureI dont appreciate disturbance. He glanced at the class once then spoke Lets start then...
Thread: Placida (Hector and O C T O x p o d)

Alaric, the feared barbarian, the king of all, stood silently near Temple of Hercules, vindicating his grief on his unwilling decision of sacking Rome. Something he never thought he would do. That noon the sun was brightest than ever but still he felt chill to such a harsh decision. Finally, the invincible, untouchable Rome had fallen to the fury of same people who she battered for years. The armed barbarians brick by brick destroyed the city and left the streets red with the blood of its own people. Although it was not the end of Rome but it was certainly the beginning of an end. The glorious Rome, with its ancient tales of power, riches and madness were finished. Truth to be told Alaric never desired war rather he wished to be a part of Rome. A piece of land was all he was seeking, a safe haven for his nomadic people, a place they could call home. For this dream he even negotiated the Roman Empire, not once, not twice but trice but all he gained in return was betrayal. His people were filled with hatred because of the years of exploitation and they wanted their vengeance. Unfamiliar with the political affairs, they started to suspect why their king was not calling for a war despite having a large army against week Rome, thus at last Alaric called for the sack of Rome. His brother Ataulf knew what Alaric was going through but he was preoccupied collecting his share of the booty. The colossal Roman wealth was more than what Goths could carry along but they wanted to take everything they could. With a blood red sword in his hand, ragged cloths and bleeding wounds Ataulf walked inside the Royal Palace looking for the best part of this loot Princess Gala Placida.
Thread: Placida (Hector and O C T O x p o d)

The bright noon light, for Placida, seemed tainted with the blood of Rome. It's trade and temples were burning, it's markets and priest murdered. Heavy smoke hung in a thick pall, muffling the air and terrible noises of slaughter. Her servants had fled and were probably dead or worse, she considered. Her guards, valiant as they were, lay in crumpled heaps, sodden with blood. For all Placida knew she could be the new Empress of Rome, or at least what was left of this. In safety she had found uncertainty. Delicately picking up her skirts, she stepped over the remains of her guards, Placida left her hiding place. She refuse to cower any longer, there was no point in it. Lifting her exquisite chin and flipping back la heavy mass of hair, she strode through the remains of the Royal Palace with all the dignity, poise, and haughtiness expected of the princess of Rome. The palace, her bustling, sprawling home that had always been filling with guards and dignitaries, servants and politicians, seemed eerily quite to her. It sent clammy shivers through her body, and as if the very thought provoked it, Placida shivered. Suddenly she regretted her bold decision, her steps into the main hall of the Palace faltered. Turning, the princess locked eyes with the only soul there and halted. Her stance was perfectly still, paused in the flow of time like a deer freezing in it's hunters eyes. Not a muscled moved in Placida not even her heart it seemed.
Thread: Placida (Hector and O C T O x p o d)

A smile ran across his lips when he saw Placida, a bit barbaric as he was born, a bit hesitant to witness Gala Placida, a bit vigilant to the war and a bit gentle that was Ataulf that very moment. Keep your hands off her. He screamed to one of his colleague who stormed close to the princess, listening but yet ignoring the warning, he dared to touch Gala Placida. Ataulf was a proud warrior, how could he overlook that? I said keep your hands off her. Ataulf walked close to that careless colleague and pushed him away from the princess. I assure you, you are safe. Ataulf turn to Placida with a gentle smileas he stood there he imagined the visage of hers in his thoughts to the reality he just witnessed. He often heard stories about her beauty, stories which said she was the most beautiful girl in Rome. So it is true. He shed a grin which rarely meant anything more than his nervousness. This way please. Ataulf himself escorted Placida out from the castle to a waiting carriage but he didnt care to bid a farewell as he left to finish what was left of Rome.