A Clockwork Orange
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“Choice. The boy has no real choice, has he? Self-interest, the fear of physical pain drove him to that grotesque act of self-abasement. Its insincerity was clearly to be seen. He ceases to be a wrongdoer. He ceases also to be a creature capable of moral choice.” -- The Padre
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[edit] Our Members
What point is there in being Good, if you did not choose to be so. What's the point of being Evil, if you did not chose to be so? A Clockwork Orange is made up of those neutral enough in their lives to know the difference, those who just don't care, and those who, while once constrained to their path, now know that their actions are Good because of their own free will, not some moral dictate imposed by the clockwork perfection of their bodies. While we are nominally a Good faction, it is only in so much as we welcome those who have felt the need to stray from their preordained path of Good.
[edit] Forums
http://z8.invisionfree.com/A_Clockwork_Orange
[edit] The Ultra-Violence
We wandered the islands of St Germaine for a while, before settling on the north shore of Harper Island. Our new resturant, while different to the traditional decor of the Korova Milk Bar, was still perfect for our daily needs. Elmund, the barman at Armando's, put aside his typical drinks, and now serves a range of milkshakes with that little extra in it to sharpen us up for the night ahead.
The first night we'd all got together and decided to go and rumble over some miscreants, so our wandering feet took us to the home of The Sith Order. Now these certainly deserved a bit of re-education, and re-educate them we did, with feet, noshers and punches to the head. Leaving them in a mostly bloody heap on the floor, we escaped with their standard, and wandered out among the south shore of Harper island looking for some more fun, but as the night grew old we returned.
The second night was more interesting, and a real fight was on our hands. A quick trip in the ferry took us to Jonestown, where the members of Clan Hellstrom made themselves a fine target for us. Most excitingly as we were to strike the final blow, Dire Lord Hellstrom showed fine class and exploded in our faces, after a dire warning that we would be hearing from them shortly.
While we'd been wandering the Nexus, a few factions had decided to relieve us of our standards, and it was only fair that we should visit them to retrieve them. Most conspicuously, the Orphans were our biggest annoyance. Not once, not twice but three times, my droogs and I had travelled the streets, looking for their place. Twice we found one of their gang on the streets, and some violence ensued, but we'd never found all of them at once. Until one night, when we heard rumors that they'd set up shop in the far north of Saint Germaine.
Well, the fourth night, me and all my droogs were in Armando's, when Clan Hellstrom and some rather nasty looking types showed up to reclaim their standard. Knowing what was up, and not wanting to be on the wrong side of that sort of battle, those that still could upped and outed quickly. After a while, George recovered from his injuries, got bored of waiting and decided to show the final remaining Behemoth what he thought. Well, more likely, Dave told him to, and George was never one to get in the way of Dave when it wants to hit things. So slish slash and eventually, with twilight's help, we evicted them from Armando's, dragged Elmund from under the bar, and settled back down.
Too much milk makes you wanna get rid of some calories. We put our suits on,sharpened or britvas, and jumped in the car. A few miles later we were knocking at the doors of the fortress of philantropy. All nice droogies in there, govoreeting, drinking and crafting together for the evolution of good. We stayed there overnight. We woke up next day missing Elmund, who couldnt leave his job at the milk bar, but we had taken enough milk with us so we were ready. We jumped in our Durango, and drove to Riddleytown, where we had an old payment to make. The house belonged to a group of droogs calling themselves -b ± sqrt b² - 4ac / 2a, and known very well by other small groups by the name of Quadratic Formula. On the way we met some droogs from Paradox, which jumped in without asking many questions. We ringed the bell all evening, but they didnt want to open the door. So we decided to toolchok it. Inside, not much to see: some very dodgy malchicks, which tended to make us become evil, but we took them down before that happened. George even found a flag with their names on it, and we decided to take it with us as a trophy.
While the droogs headed back to that fortresswe where we have stayed overnight, i went at the milk bar to show Elmund our flag. He was so happy, that he gave me alot of drinks on the house. Iwas in the ninth heaven that day. Idecided to go back to my droogies, and share the milk bottles with them. The way there was unfortunately too long and i almost crashed at the fortress gate. This time i stayed there for the night and my droogs went out for the ultra violence. They payed a visit to The Orphans, which had theyr headquartes in Northcamp. since they dont like us, only one of them was at home. They started playing some toolchok with him, and George went angry, because he really wanted to pay the old in and out with Sara, a good hearted devotschka that hangs around with them. This time, two of our droogs lost their powers while playing with Sully, but we found a flag there too.
A lot of raz has passed since I last govoreeted about our ultra-violence drives, o dear brother, and as i make my rassoodocks about how to do it the real dobbiest way, it comes to me that we had the Straylight. It was when droogs from all other gangs decided they need Bogs, and the bogs decided they need planes. In those days, dear brother, we were ittying out of our domy as much as we could, we rabbited a real hard spreading the old ultra.violence in the nexus, and eventually got our forge. With the new bogs and planes, many droogs in other gangs started leaving theyr domies and go look for other milkbars. so did we. We all had a loong govoreet with Elmund, said our good-byes, then left for our new domy, the Right-a-way. It is here, dear brother, that we now drink our moloko vellocet and plan our ultra-violence tours for the nochy. We live now close to a biblio, we own a hospital, trying to cure as many of us as possible, and we went into the restaurant rabbitting. Our britvas still sharp, we now live next to a gunshop, because, dear brother, gunshops are right on the way between us and the ultra-violence.
Your humble narrator was asleep for a bolshoy raz, and when he wake up, many young droogs were sipping their milk in our bar. Even the P and Ms weren't the same any more. But what we do is the same: drink moloko, itty for the ultra-violence, sloosh to Ludwig van, and kick you in the yarbles. Our first success was the bolshoy ultra-violence on The Salty Dogs, which made me viddy it as it is, we are now a bolshoy gang of droogs ourselves. The Salty Dogs came to our domy right before we wanted to itty out and did the old-in-and-out till all the droogs died. They stolen our flag and ittied back to their domy before we knew anything. So we went there, to viddy it ourselves. We left our Durango 95 on the coast and had a great flying-and-swimming to their domy, which is on an oil rig. Once inside, we viddied our flag not looking good at all in their domy and took it back. The ultra-violence afterwards went just smooth. Second big ride we had was at the Shadow domy, where we got in just to make a phone call. But they had no phone. And they had no yarbles to kick. They called on another gang of droogs, the Angels with Dirty Faces, and all three had a real horrorshow fight till all of us died, o my brothers.
[edit] The Flag
[edit] The Original Orange
A Clockwork Orange is a book by Anthony Burgess, more famously turned into a film by Stanley Kubrick.
It discusses the actions of Alex, through his life as a leader of a violent group of droogs, his betrayal and capture by the authorities, their forceful re-education of Alex to be a Good and upstanding member of society. The aversion therapy involved leads Alex to be unable to function in society. He's forcefully used one or more times, before a freak chance removes the therapy, and he returns to his old ways.
It's a political essay on how society is inherently violent in nature, whether that violence is physical or not, and attempts to show that the manipulating politician, and the state that the people support are equally capable of violence, yet are not punished for it.
