I've got some misc. stuff that I can donate. I'll be in game in about an hour, i'll hand it off to you then?

Do you need.... some "Lots of confetti"?

I'll catch you sometime in game, I can give you some donations <('-'<)

I've got some extras. Ya want? =]
~IGN: Shadowknifer

Only one week to go! Can't wait! :D

this sounds like a fun event, I will most likely be there! :)

This is a true story.

When I was in college, I did some work volunteering for Habitat for Humanity. One weekend our campus chapter was involved in a dual fundraiser with the local branch of the Humane Society (we were building a doghouse that was going to be auctioned off). Right as we got started, however, we realized that a number of the tools we needed were locked in a friend's truck, and as he was tailgating at the football game, it would be hours until we could get to them. As I worked in the theatre department's scene shop, I volunteered to walk over to the theatre building and borrow the tools we needed, and my friend Beth, who was also a theatre kid, decided to keep me company.
A quick note about Beth: she had a reputation on campus for her divination work--reading people's tarot cards and the like--and she was very open about being "sensitive" to the presence of ghosts. I personally didn't put much stock in it, but I was open-minded about the whole thing. Who am I to question someone else's beliefs?
When we arrived, the theatre building was deserted--no students, no professors, no one. It was a sunny Saturday afternoon, and with no shows in rehearsal at that time, everyone was out taking in the crisp Fall air. The sunny feeling vanished, however, as we passed through the fire doors that separated the airy, glass-walled lobby from the utilitarian concrete of the backstage area. The new sensation was one of oppression. Cold. Like the air was too thick to breathe. I glanced over at Beth, and could tell that she had likewise noticed the change in the atmosphere. She cocked her head sightly to one side, like she was listening to far off music. After a brief moment of discomfort I forged ahead, Beth trailing behind me as I turned the corner toward the scene shop's heavy steel door.
Now, another quick note: the scene shop housed not only the raw materials we used to build sets (wood, steel, paint, etc.) but also the shop's valuable collection of tools, and for this reason the door to the shop was ALWAYS locked when someone wasn't actively working. Outside of the department's technical director, there were only three other people who had keys to the scene shop: myself, and the other two shop supervisors, both of whom I knew were back at the fundraiser awaiting our return. Imagine my surprise, then, to find that the door to the scene shop was not only unlocked, but was in fact standing wide open. There was no one around, and the shop, like the rest of the building, was quiet but for the sounds of our shoes shuffling on the concrete floor. The sound echoed slightly into the darkened maw of the shop's open doorway.
I quickly snapped on the shop's lights, and after a cursory look for the tools we needed--I'll admit, the nasty feeling that Beth and I had been experiencing meant that I didn't look too hard--snapped the lights back off, and closed and locked the shop's heavy steel door. We would have to check the basement. The basement of the theatre building included the costume shop and the building's furniture storage. As we were between shows, I knew that a number of students had been working on constructing new shelving in the storage area, and careless workers might have accidentally left the tools we were looking for locked in with the furniture.
The oppressive feeling worsened as we rounded the last of the stairs to the basement. It was, frankly, terrifying. A feeling like something bad happening was imminent. While I tried to remain composed--I mean, come on, I was just scaring myself, right?--inside, my heart jumped with every flicker of the dying florescent safety light that illuminated the staircase. At this point I was walking rather briskly, and quickly flung open the heavy door into the basement proper. It was, as with the rest of the building, dark, and deserted. My sense of dread deepened, however, as I saw that the doors to the furniture storage were likewise standing wide open.
One final note: the furniture storage area began its life as simple utility storage, providing workers with access to the theatre building's steam pipes, electrical systems and the like. As such, the doors to storage were not just fire doors, designed to prevent the spread of a blaze from one area of the building to another, but were solid, heavy metal. So heavy, in fact, that some student workers had difficulty moving them on their own. So heavy that opening them was made even more difficult by their sagging weight scraping against the cheap linoleum tiles on the floor. These doors, these heavy doors that sometimes took two people to move, weren't just standing open, but had been pushed all the way to the wall. Pushed so hard that they had scraped past the normal grooves that had long ago been worked into the floor, and had cut a fresh path through previously untouched tiles.
I stood for a moment, barely aware of Beth's presence beside me. I flipped on the hall light, which sputtered into life over our heads. No one was there but us. I did my best to gather my wits, and, with great difficulty--and without even bothering to look for the tools--shoved the storage doors back into place and locked them. I exhaled heavily.
After a moment, Beth reentered my awareness--she had been dead still, silent since we had crossed into the basement. "Do you want to know her name?" Beth croaked quietly. I stood for a moment, overcome by the intense feeling of dread that permeated the air, "She wants them open. The doors."
"No," I said finally, trying to pull myself back together, "No, I don't."
I took Beth's hand and led her through the darkened costume shop and out one of the building's side utility doors, dumping us awkwardly back into the late Saturday afternoon that still awaited outside. We were immediately bathed in light, breaking strong through the trees that lined the small faculty parking lot behind the building. The feeling of dread was gone. I let go of Beth's hand.
We returned to the fundraiser, and lamented not finding the tools to our friends. In the end, the doghouse went unfinished. Beth and I never spoke about the incident afterward.

The end.

I suppose this is the event you spoke to me of? :3

I'll be sure to come, provided I have time.

@Narfle- Not bad! It's nice to see someone actually telling a scary story/creepypasta with good grammar, and good writing skills! /salute Narfle
~
@Art- Ah, I won't be able to make it tonight....Packing for a trip tomorrow....Yall have fun though. =(

I figure I'll post the draw-number you gave me here, Art. Just in case I'm not present for the draw itself.

Immortous= #15

Thank you Arty for hosting this event, and thank you to everyone who came in (although we had bad lag sessions) and hang around until the event ended.

Cheers to creepy pasta! Wait, I would rather have carbonara instead xD

Missed it, had to do something, I could've won back my stuff :P.