Ink Is Thicker Than Water

Radom original fiction crap!

2009-12-14T03:51:14Z

All snippets. I was practicing some stuff.

Asphyxia stumbled through the shelves, panting. He wasn't used to moving so quickly and so much- he was far too skinny for this, not enough muscle. "Kyo?" he called. His voice sounded, to his own ears, far too quavery and high to be of any use. He knew these stacks and the sound would barely reach a few feet before being absorbed into the dry pages of the waiting books, to be echoed back later, much later, when he was trying to sleep. It was bad enough to have to watch over all of these books without some of them being almost sentient.
"Kyo?" he called again. There was no answer, of course. He hadn't expected one.
Sphyx knew Kyoraka could take care of herself perfectly well when it came to slicing and killing things, but these were books, and she was a native of the ink realm. She'd be susceptible to the spell they wove, especially some of the more magical ones. He had to find her.
He thought about calling again, dismissed the idea offhand. No point, really. It wouldn't carry far enough to do any good, not unless she was close enough to be seen, in which case it'd be rather pointless except to snap her out of any daze that the book's magic might weave.
He closed his eyes. 'If I was in the stacks, which way would I go?' Well, that depended on what he was intended to do, of course. He couldn't get lost here. He was The Librarian- no, he was The Library. It was much different for Kyo, who regarded a book as a good meal and thought of a bookstore as basically another kind of restaurant. An awful thought struck him- what if she tried to eat one of them? There was no telling what kind of havoc that could cause.
Asphyxia groaned and sank to the floor, feeling utterly useless.

The house looked like nothing so much as three shacks stacked up in a pyramid. The upper half was so full of pits and craters that one could only guess it had suffered terrible acne in its youth. The roof was crumpled like tissue paper and jagged fractures littered it with the random patterns of hailstorm shrapnel. All the windows gaped ominously; nothing that took refuge in that place would find comfort in the dark eyes of the house. Chill wind would blow right through the thin, tattered curtains, and rain would have no difficulty sweeping in and soaking the floors, probably seeping into dank carpets and filling the house with a musty smell.
The lower half was better, but not by much. There was, perhaps, no roof to have holes in, but most of the ceiling had probably given up the ghost some time ago. The windows were mostly intact, but were scattered with random holes, probably the result of the same bad hailstorm that had hit the roof. No curtains on these; you could have seen straight through, if it wasn't for the dirt that caked them. The door hung off its hinges, though. Unquestionably, there was no lock; you'd be doing good to get it to stay closed.
It was not, decided the group, the wisest place to stay the night. But they had no other choice.

Inquiry grinned at the faceless being in front of him and waved a syringe around. It probably wouldn't pierce the dark fabric-like covering that passed for skin among these creatures, and even less likely to hit anything remotely resembling a vein, but he liked to give this sort of thing a sporting try. Now, the chainsaw- that'd kill just about anything, or at the very least rip them apart.
Beside him, Sawdust was readying himself. He didn't have any weapons, aside from a small pocket-knife and his hands, feet, elbows, knees, and teeth. These were usually plenty. Saw was half-demon and seven foot tall.
One of the creatures leapt. As on grasped for his throat, he swung one leg and hit it hard in the regions of the jaw. No bones, of course, but there was something solid and his foot produced a satisfying smacking sound. The thing went flying back. Another one went for Inquiry's stomach with a protruding claw, but short as he was, the small stitched demon held enough hostility and violence for several people twice his size. The inkbeast didn't make it halfway there before the infamous chainsaw was out and slashing. Then the rest pounced and Saw didn't have time to watch his companion. They were far too close to his vital regions and he had to concentrate on hastily slashing and hitting his way through the masses; knife to one, elbow to another, then something clawed at his throat and he leapt back into another group of them. Frantically, he swung around but not fast enough because teeth scraped across his forearm and left a ragged gash.

Kain sat at the bar with a shot of tequila and waited for someone to say something. He had bright pink hair spotted through with lavender and was wearing cutoff jeans and a purple-and-pink striped shirt that showed his midriff, with several bangles. Someone always said something. Usually a tough guy looking to impress a girl: more often than not, he was about six foot tall with muscles like a rhinoceros and about the common sense and brainpower of same. Most of the time, he was also drunk.
Behind him, a slow, deep voice slurred out the words, "Well, well. Whut do we got here?" And Kain smirked. Ah, here he was. Sloshed out of his mind and ready for a fight. Awesome.
"Just me." Kain rasped, grinning up at his would-be attacker. That grin contained teeth more pointed than humans traditionally wore them, and if the thug had been more sober or possible just a bit smarter he'd have been unnerved; as it was, he just sneered.
"Ohrly", he asked.
"Yep."
"Well, I think you dress weird, and it's upsettin' my lady."
Kain rolled his eyes. One of those stupid oxes who pretended to be doing it for the girl he'd dragged to the bar, when she just wished he'd shut up and leave it. Demon world abounded with those sorts of people, both male and female. He glanced over at to what was presumably the girl in question; she looked uncomfortable and was glancing around, seemingly hoping nobody had noticed her involvement with the man.
"Well," asked Kain, "What's your name?"
"What's it to you?"
"Eh, not important. 's just that it's easier to keep records when I get the names, right?"
The man seemed confused, and then reached a decision and swung angrily at Kain. He grinned once again and lightly leapt to the side. Alchohol had made the man's moves clumsier than they would have been, though he swung with great force and good skill even now. Nevertheless, Kain could have taken him even sober.
Being an amoral vampire was one of the best lives possible.

A generation lost in (cyber)space.

2009-11-24T08:33:27Z

So. You guys seen that chain of emails going around? The "We had it so much more tough than you did, with your fancy computers an' junk. You're all spoiled." ones? They only started bothering me recently, which is to say, after I had received a fecking ton of them.

For instance, there's this one joke....

I only read it recently. Today, I think. It was this guy talking about his nintendo cartridge not working and he got it out, blew the dust out, and hey presto! It worked, with no help from fancy message-boards or anything like that.
To which my mental knee-jerk reaction was:
"HAHAHAHAHA Nintendo cartridges? Dust? I respectfully laugh at your simplistic technology and solutions, sir. Believe it or not, we quite frequently clean off our CDs(the equivalent, I suppose, although I'm sure there's a more accurate comparison involving current video-game technology.) before running off in a panic to our message boards and forums. Well, not always, but don't tell me you've never done something stupid, gotten mad at the piece of technology or machinery you were trying to work on, and then found out the reason was stupid and felt like an idiot. This is a normal human instinct, superseded only by the capacity for sin. Seriously. Look in any history book and there will be lots of records of people doing stupid things, then feeling very embarrassed afterwards.
But anyway. Where was I? Ah, right. We do go through various basic checks with many computer problems. The problem is, there's about a dozen more things that I can think of offhand that you have to know. As much technology as there is today, message boards and forums are there for a reason, which is to help those of us with only a basic knowledge of computers fix more advanced problems. It's not really that much different from, say, asking your video-game-geek friend to figure out why your system isn't working*. The main difference is the fact that instead of a video games system, you have a computer or whatever, and instead of a friend, you have a bunch of other geeks to consult with. In other words, it's just a wider circle.
What really bothers me about all this is the implication that this entire generation is "soft". Trust me, it isn't. Frightening and strung-out and violent, yes, but....
It's like they think all the tech is making us stupid. Maybe we're less self-reliant, yeah. But for one thing, we're getting actually smarter. Haha, haha. It's not making us stupid after all.
And you know what really bothers me also?
"If someone plunked you down in the 1980s, you couldn't survive!"
Uh, yes. Yes we could. As attatched as we are to it, as inconvenient as it would be not to have the world at our fingertips, we could survive without it. So, yes, we're spoiled, but not that spoiled. I don't even think too many would be cast into near-suicidal despair. Mostly, we'd just be bummed.
And yet another thing.
"My generation had it tougher than yours!"
Well, yeah, in a lot of ways. We also have to deal with a somewhat more violence and crap than you did, according to many of my older teachers, but you did have a lot of harder physical stuff to go through. But I bet your grandparents said the exact same thing to you, amirite? Of course they did. It keeps getting easier, and the previous generation will inevitably complain about it, and we should let them because ~~they are old and have nothing to look forward to~~ we owe them that much respect. But it's not like we have zero hardships, either. They're just different.
Although we're lazier, of course. And I'll admit freely that this generation is about twice as corrupt as the last one, maybe more. No arguments there.
But still, show us a little respect, 'k guys?
(If only because we will be controlling which nursing home you go to.)

*How did those old things work? What were they, like, the eighties? I think we have a really old one of those. It's one cartridge with 88 games on it. It's pretty rad. But, my current knowledge of video games is basically knowing the names/plots of some, the memes of some others, and the brand names and the way they look. Otherwise, I'm fairly lost.

And on now the robot apocalypse slash supervillain uprising front....

They know what you'll do
And you can control things with your mind
Sure, they say, "We'll use it for good, but you know that megalomaniacs are going to get wind of this. This is how it starts in all the comics. And sure, you gotta have a special receptor, and stuff, but....
Also, you ever seen Aiko the Gynoid? She has an amazing amount of capabilities and can react to a lot of things like a human, and some genius guy built her in his basement. Yes, that's now possible. Yes, you can scream. Also, several academies and institutes and such have similar projects, sometimes more advanced. All of the ones I researched are female. They are also all built by Asians, which just proves my theory that Japan is going to take over the world.Giant mechas will soon be scientifically possible, and then you'll all believe me.
So it looks like robots are more likely to kill us all than zombies, so far.
But anyway. Yes.

</textdump> </rant>

I have fanfiction!

2009-11-19T21:27:47Z

Three pieces. This is fairly notable, as I lack severely in will to write fanfiction this last year.
First, a little Death Note; a character study on Near and Mello, which I write too much of..

L's successors were like porcelain dolls, in a way. Pretty and built carefully from the ground up, each thought and hair and sentiment in place, each feeling, no matter how messy, hidden behind a veil of logic and reason. Pale skin and dull button-eyes that don't quite shine like a human being's might; china words and cold, brittle minds. You want to look forever, but you really can't touch, because it's almost like they'll shatter.
False assumptions, of course. They are not diamond or ice, hard but shattering when dropped. Try that and you'll find yourself in trouble.
They stand on the opposite sides of a room. Rather, one stands, one sits. It illustrates the differences nicely; the sitting one is pale and vulnerable in pajamas and socked feet. Rather than shatter, one gets the feeling he would come apart as quietly as a smothered sigh, no muss, no fuss. To look at his thin wrists and baby-face, you'd assume that his will was as weak as his body. Not true, though. He could peer straight through you and you'd feel something like fear creeping up your spine as you looked into his eyes. You'd know that despite the fact that he looked like the doll, he'd see you as the toy.
In black, on the other side, his mirror-opposite leans against a wall. Slouches, would be more appropriate. Despite his relaxed posture, he's tense as a violin wire; here's one that feels like he would shatter. Can a body handle that, the constant pressure on itself, the desire to always be one step ahead? Is that why he's so lean and wiry? Is that why his eyes are so firey, so prone to quick, darting glances around the room? He wouldn't see you as a toy; a tool, perhaps. But he might care without admitting it, and hold fiercely to you, not letting you fall to anywhere.
There's a charisma about them both, something a person can't seem to resist following, whichever side they chose. You may not like or even respect them, but you can't help but feel something for them; hate or love, indifference is never an option.

Next up, a drabble from Soul Eater. Sort of for a community involving dialouge-only fics, only this isn't long enough to post.

"Get away from me with that scalpel, you maniac!"
"Eheheheh...~~"
"Papa, I was wo-....Papa? Professor Stein?"
"Maka-chan! It's not what it looks like!"
"Eh? Oh, hello, Maka-chan. I was just getting ready to dissect Senpai."
"Oh. Okay, then."
"...Maka! Don't be so cold-hearted to your fath-let go of my jacket!"
"I can't cut through your shirt and jacket, now can I? Now, hold still, or I'll slip and you'll lose a kidney."
"Get away from me! I don't want you to cut me open at all, and I'm not afraid of you anymoaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH! RUN, MAKA! RUN! SAVE YOURSELF!"
"Huheheheh~"
"...."

And last but not least...another Soul Eater fic, with a love triangle. Bit angsty, bit fluffy. My best friend gave me the idea for the pairing, which is Chrona/Asura/Medusa. Works better then one would think.

Chrona was always afraid, no matter where she was. There's so much to be fearful of, in this world. Tacks in her shoes, Ragnarok's torment, people being offended by her attempts at conversations. Medusa, of course, did not approve; she wasn't afraid of anything, Chrona sometimes thought. Death, maybe? Chrona had never seen her mother in the throes of death, she always had an escape route. Through the soul of a rat into a snake into the mind of a little girl, she could crawl, uninhibited, largely undetected, unless she wished to be. She had no reason to be afraid. She was powerful.
Chrona was no such thing, not really. Well, yes, she had Ragnarok and a certain amount of skill at fighting, but that was strength, not power. Not like Medusa's incredible, dangerous charisma and amazing capacity for schemes.
Another thing Chrona didn't have was the attention of Asura, the Kishin.
Medusa could lure people in. That was how Chrona felt, anyway. She'd gotten Doctor Stein, hadn't she? And so many of the students at Shibusen had trusted her. Which was more than Chrona had ever gotten.
But why the Kishin? He was afraid, too, she'd seen it. Hiding behind scarves and behind Arachne(who was dead. Medusa had taken her down, too. Maybe that's why Asura took to her, maybe from admiration, maybe from fear. He certainly didn't trust her, didn't trust anyone). It felt like Chrona should have something, at least that, at least a shot at finding someone else who understood her fears. She might have stared at him, watched him, just to get a feel for how he acted and thought, if she hadn't known that'd frighten him too.
There was nothing much to do about it, though, other than wishing, which had never done her any good, not when she didn't want to kill rabbits or talk to Ragnarok or be left in the closet alone.
So she just thought about him and wondered if maybe, some day, they'd share fears and a scarf to hide behind.

Settle for Less

2009-11-18T20:26:03Z

Well, I desperately need sleep, and should really stop trying for semi-romance, but these are two characters I don't give much love to.
I feel that I should warn any random stumble-oners that I'm at my most verbose when at the dubious edge of consciousness. I could not tell you why.

They walk home from school together, like usual, but not like usual Daichi stops just in front of Honoka's house, hand hovering nervously around his facial regions as if looking for something to brush out of his face.
She is not certain why he is nervous; they have walked this way a hundred times since school began. He always opens his door, and lets her in, and then backtracks to his house. She's insisted before that he doesn't need to walk her all the way, but he tries to be a gentleman because werewolves are supposed to be monsters and it's the last thing he wants.
"It's just to my house", she'll say. "Just a few blocks.'
"Still, you're a lady, it's only fair."
She doesn't really mind, though, even if she's too ugly to be a lady. The company is nice. Honoka has several problems with her human form; first and foremost, it looks deformed. She looks as though someone had told her, when she was first forming the idea, that large eyes, long legs, and a wasp waist were ideal traits for feminine beauty, and she had gone a bit overkill with these supposedly-attractive attributes. This wasn't what had actually happened, of course. It is just that she can't quite seem to pull herself together right. The consequences are a distinct lack of people willing to hang around with her. "Might get the scent of the bugs and the spiders", they sometimes said. She tried to tell them that, to them, there was no scent, and only she would know the difference. It didn't really matter. So Daichi not minding it is a pleasant change.
As they stand there, the silence that normally reigns on the walk home, familiar if not comforting, has been replaced by a more-tense variety; an awkward and gangly silence, waiting around for someone to dispel it and have done with it. So she tries.
"Well, we're here."
"So we are."
"...was there something you needed to talk about?" Perhaps the straightforward approach.
"This one was wondering, is all."
'This one.' Daichi's third-person habits spring from self-confidence issues more than anything else, but Honoka thinks it sounds quaint and unique.
"Wondering what?"
He looks her straight in the eye, then. Straight into big purple buggy ol' eyes, and doesn't flinch. He says, "If you would go out with this one."
"..." Unlike him to be so bold. And she knows, somehow- "It's sweet that you're doing this, but you don't have to go out with me from sympathy."
He leans in much closer. Closer than he'd ever been before. "You misunderstand this one's reasoning..." And he kisses her.
Straight off the bat, she understands that reasoning. They are alone together. Nobody else in school talks to them; they are often assumed to be a couple, or perhaps best friends, though they barely know each other past the superficial niceties that two people picked up through mutual small-talk. There was no place else to go. And she knows, too, that kissing Daichi back would be like giving up. It'd be like agreeing, like saying, "I know I won't find true love, but I guess you're okay for the cold nights." It'd be saying goodbye to the chance of a fairy-tale and a prince, and shipping off to work nine-to-fives in a dull office, Monday through Friday, not a challenging schedule but monotonous enough to not quite be what you wanted. It'd be like admitting to herself and him that neither of them was going anywhere and that all the romantic drivel about true love was false, that the best you could hope for was someone you could get along with.
But she kisses back, because it was all true.

-toddles off to bed-

Books 'n stuff

2009-11-16T12:32:40Z

Well, I just finished up the first "Artemis Fowl" book. And I can't say I'm obsessed with it so far, but I have to admire how well-crafted these books are.

Speaking from a purely objective standpoint, the elements and threads of the plot are brough together in a fairly admirable way. For instance, the finger-dart. Totally forgot about that, although there was a long pause between me reading the bit where it's introduced and the bit where Root actually used it. But, it was a pretty good bit of tying in stuff, a good Chekhov's Gun. I can't say why this made such an impression on me, but it did. Maybe because I, myself, pretty much suck at Chekhov's Gun, and it fascinates me to see someone do it well. Mind you it's not like lots of other authors don't do it wonderfully as well(insert me raving about the wonderful works of Sir Terry Pratchett), but for some reason, I feel like this is going to stick.
Another thing that impressed be were the characters. Not the People. I felt that Holly Short was interesting enough but not particularly original, although that's certainly hard enough to be these times, and I"d say she was far from a cliche- it's just that I've seen her before, basically. And of course, Root's character is an archtype. Foaly was a pretty interesting thing, though- I've seen the techie-geek done a dozen times, but never as a centaur, and never quite with his attitude. It was pretty neat.
No, what I really liked about the characters were Artemis and co.
Firstly, let us examine Juliet. Perhaps my least favorite of the bunch, simply because, like Holly, I've seen her before. Only six people in the world. But with Butler- he seemed like a quite genuine person to me. I don't think I have a particular interest in him based solely on his attributes, he's not the type that fascinates me. It's just the fact that he essentially emotes like a normal person and yet manages to be so awesome and butler-ish. Normally, with this type, they'd be so completely unflappable it would be insane, which I normally like because I prefer the over-the-top to the realistic, but it's interesting to see him behave more like a normal person. Well, sort of like a normal person- more like a normal person than, say, your average anime character. As I said, I usually prefer the anime-character-way, and I grow more attatched to that sort, but on a purely professional level I can't help admire the way it was put together.
Which brings me to the main character himself. I'd just like to say that you almost never, ever seen a young mastermind and criminal genius that occasionally almost loses his cool and actually appears to have a few traits that a normal twelve-year-old might have. Not many, of course, which makes his brief revealings of the fact that he is not a 35-year-old trapped in a preteen's body much more surprising. His speech patterns are also something I admire. They don't sound like a preteen, they should, but they do sound like a human being.
On the note of other people who sound like actual people instead of robots- read Skulduggary Pleasant. Seriously. Children's series? Well, yes, but a fairly edgy one as such things go. Lots of maiming and horrifying monsters and such. And really well-put-together stories. The older I get, the more I write, the more I notice that, you know? It's odd. Couple years ago I was doing good to notice if a character talked well, now I'm analyzing the finer points of the plot and thinking about whether there were things like blatant Plot Coupons and such. I attribute this to a combination of self-awareness developed because I'm trying to write seriously, and TVtropes. TVtropes, I would venture to say, is the major factor here.
Can't blame my inner word-placement editor, though. I developed that several years ago.

On a mostly unrelated note, I'm getting Unseen Academicals in sometime late November/Early December! Just in time for my sweet sixteen! Squeeeeeee~~~

Nightmares

2009-11-11T08:11:38Z

A rough draft of a short story about a couple of my characters, only further proving that I cannot, in fact, write romance.
But it includes my resident frigid brat jumping to conclusions and needing a bit of comfort, and my oblivious sweet guy being unusually firm. So that's fun.

It's dark and she's alone. She isn't awake when they brought her here; she doesn't know what happened or why she can't see anything or where she is. A closet, perhaps. The air is stuffy enough.
Waking up a bit more, she stands up slowly and feels around in the darkness. The cold wooden floor and cramped quarters seem to confirm her earlier thoughts. A closet, then. Why?
She thinks back over the last thing she can remember. An odd smell and a cloth pressed tight against her nose. She'd read about cloroform before, in mystery books, but had never smelled it, and didn't know if that's what they'd used-
They? Who were they? She thinks for some time, and then comes to the conclusion that they were random muggers off the street. Yes. They had to be. It is the only way.
Then why is she in a closet?
No. As she sits down slowly, sliding against the chilly wall, the memories come flooding back in, bringing a sharp headache with them. The people in her house- the house she worked in as a maid, at any rate- they'd had something to do with it. She wonders vaugely if it had anything to do with the conversation she'd overheard before, about secret meetings and some kind of possibly-illegal goods. She'd thought the goods were illegal because of the hushed tones in which the men had spoken, and the way they stopped when she entered the room.
Leaning against the door to listen in had been a poor idea. She curses her own curiosity.
The pain in her head begins to worsen. Something warm and wet is trickling down her neck. Puzzled, she reaches around to feel the back of her head, and her hand comes away coated with a slightly sticky substance that smells, when she sniffs it gingerly, a bit metallic. Coppery.
She should be panicking, but she can't seem to get up the energy. It's all so much trouble, and she is tired, but the pain is fading. That's good. She rests her head in her lap, long pale hair spilling over a long pale nightgown, and closes her eyes.

When she opens them again, her headache is gone, although her vision haa yet to lighten. She stands slowly, just in case she gets dizzy and had to sit down. Nothing. Oddly, she can't feel the wall against her back, either. Not quite able to see whether anything is in front of her, she shuffles forward. A few hesitant steps fail to bring her near anything, so she takes a few more. Still nothing.
Perhaps her original surmise had been wrong, and she isn't in a closet, but a large room. Still more steps seemed to prove this, although she runs into a faint chilly feeling as if passing through a brief current of slightly damp air. More than likely, it is her imagination. She isn't sure if her head is functioning quite correctly, either.
Feeling strangely light, she slides her feet along the floor. White slippers tap faintly along, seeking a solid object. Nothing. This is slightly worrisome- she isn't outdoors, is she?- and so she turned to her left and felt along with her arms for some kind of solid object. The sensation of passing through a few feet of damp air reocurres shortly, but nothing like a wall seemed to be there.
A mild sense of panic sloshes around her psyche, but once again she can't work up the energy to be really afraid. Maybe she is one of those people who don't really panic until bad situations are over with; she wouldn't have known before now, this being the first really awful thing she's been through in a while.
Her vision is starting to return, eyes having adjusted to the darkness, perhaps? She peers around and grows puzzled again. The place she is in is a large room, quite a familiar one, the dining room, she thinks. And there seems to be someone approaching.
She tries to flag them down as they got closer. Two men- oh, no, they are the same ones that had put her in the closet! She seeks a place to hide, but somehow, they don't notice her as they pass. It is odd, but a small blessing, in any case.
She crouched in a corner and watched them. They opened a closet door; a closet? Had she been in there, and the door somehow had gotten open? And she hadn't noticed, and in her muddled state, had walked right out the door. That doesn't explain why it was closed when they approached it, though...
They are dragging something out. A small figure, with long, wavy, pale hair and fair skin made fairer by the deathly grey tinge that seemed to saturate it. A white nightgown stained with red.
Distress does the work that panic couldn't and she leans foward, feeling abruptly sick to her stomach. The figure is about her size, certainly her gender, close to her a-
No, no, no, no. The facial features are too close. It has to be a hallucination. She begins to feel quite fearful now, looking at the body, which she now realizes must be dead. It is too still and too limp to be living. Ill and frightened, she looks down at her own nightgown.
It is stained with bright red.
She reaches out for a table to steady herself, feeling quite faint and now, finally, actually panicking. Unfortunately this venture is unsucessful; her hand plunges through the table and she falls, sailing straight through the floor and down, down, down through the depths of the earth-

Eccentricity Ever woke up screaming.
She took a shaky breath- completely unneccesary, because ghosts didn't really breathe- and closed her eyes. Ghosts also didn't usually need to sleep, but it was possible to drift off if one wished. They shouldn't dream, but they very often did. Every time Eccentricty had tried it, memory played through her mind, and she found herself unable to wake up until precisely the point of the fall.
She drew her knees up and clung to them, arms encircling as much of her small mass as was possible. For someone to whom emotion was usually a distant memory, the sensation of fear or even uneasiness was highly upsetting, which in turn lead to more distress, and more unease. She reminded herself that she didn't have adrenaline glands of any kind, and therefore any fear was psychosematic. It helped a little.
As she sat motionless and tried to clear her mind of all thought, she was mildly surprised to feel someone approaching. Another ghost, of course. There were no footsteps, just a faint rise in the- well, the fullness of the room. You got sensitive to that sort of thing. It was probably Evidence, the only other ghost haunting the college.
"Eccentricity? Are you, er, alright?" he inquired gently, his honest face radiating concern. Evidence had never caught onto the bit about the glands, and felt quite as much as your average human. He had also not thought about the fact that his glasses were no longer neccesary, and tended to crash into things if he didn't wear them. At the moment they were perched haphzardly on his nose, fortunately, or he might have mistaken her for a bookshelf.
"I am fine." She was, too, she told herself. Perfectly fine. She was unable to be upset, and-
"Except I heard you screaming, you see."
"I had a nightmare. It has faded. I am awake."
"Um, yes, I can see that."
Radiating an impressive amount of chill for someone so shaken, Eccentricity replied, "I do not require assitance."
"You had a nightmare about dying." A statement, not a question. It was a traumatic event and haunted the dreams of as many undead as haunted the dreams of humans.
"...yes. But I have recovered", she shivered faintly, "quite nicely, thank you. Please leave."
She didn't want him to leave, not really. His presence was helping her get herself together. When you had someone to shun, it was easier.
"I cannot leave you like this, my love." A heartbreakingly tender tone and a rather sweet line, but it only stiffened her spine. Sloppy sentimentalism.
"I am not your love. Please leave."
Almost amused, he replied, "Ah, you're my love indeed, but I'm not yours. That is the problem. But I shan't leave you alone, not now."
"There is no need for-" she began, but stopped in surprise when he knelt down and hugged her.
"I've learned to read your moods, you know." he murmered, face buried in her hair. "You've yet to recover and I am staying until you do."
She didn't relax, but she didn't pull away, either.
"You have a great deal of pride. I respect that, my love, I do. But don't send me away for that purpose alone. If you need help, stay silent, and I'll remain here. No need to ask, if it'd wound you."
No noise came from the bundle is his arm, aside from a soft, hesitant sigh. Eccentricity loosened up slightly, and leaned against his shirt.
"Right, then. Send me away whenever you wish."
She didn't get around to it for a while.

And there is yet another new science fiction fandom!

2009-06-24T05:36:10Z

Yes it is time for me to ramble about Doctor Who, about which I have picked up no icons. So I get to use an irrelevant Reilly Poole one because sidekicks are awesome.
SO.
I have only yet seen the new series, as it is much harder to find the old one, and very daunting, what with twenty-six seasons to watch. I've nearly finished the new, though; only four or five episodes of Season One(?) to watch, which I've been putting off because I'm slightly sick of Rose, to be honest. I watched them out of order so ended up with Ten as "my" doctor and am still trying to wrap my head around the idea that there are nine others. On one level I accept it but absorbing it is brain-breaking.
I am, however, very much looking forward to Four, Five, and possibly Six, because they look awesome. Still, it would have been nice if Nine had stayed for another season.
On the subject of companions: I've decided Donna is the most awesome thing evar. I mean...really. I don't know why, but she's definitely my favorite. Rose is cool but she...was too much, I guess. It was like she eclipsed the others, which makes sense given the circumstances but still makes me sad. I still like her, though. I was rather lukewarm on the subject of Martha at first, but I think I like her now. She's kind of easy to relate to, if not as entertaining as Donna.
Episodes, episodes, episodes~ So many good ones~ Blink was amazingly creepy, along with Midnight. Silence In The Library/Forest of The Dead was also pretty good, but so was Human Nature/Family Of Blood... I loved Last Of The Timelords, too. But the Christmas Specials are probably my favorite, actually- Runaway Bride and The Christmas Invasion, at any rate. The latter for the epic swordfight and the Doctor regrowing his hand.
Also:Time Burton's Alice In Wonderland.
DO WANT.

GIMP dump.

2009-06-14T12:20:38Z

Right, let's start off with the icons, shall we? There are only four and it should not be too painful.

Text: "Wanna know how I got these scars?"

Text: "The angel folded you up like laundry, your body thin as an empty dress//the end."

Text: "A broken doll//you never really loved me at all."

And now the signatures, which are the most numerous.

Some posters I intend to stick up on my wall. I made them to suit my personal taste, so I'm extremely fond of them.

And finally a wallpaper which is probably something I'll never do again. Too big. Too involved
.

And now credits, yay.
Sparkle brush, fingerprint brush, archane circles brushes in the FMA wallpaper, hearts in the "not broken" icon, and probably the splatters: Obsidian Dawn
"This day we fight" and "The end" text brush/map of Middle earth brush: Amarie Vienne
Flower brush in the "sun still shines" signature: Shelby-Is-Crazy
Death Note brushes in the Near poster, Misa poster, and L icon: yukiarukia
:Mr. Brightside brushes in the Near poster: geekluvinskater
Heart speech bubble in the Near poster: Shiraniu

I've seen Star Trek XI~~~

2009-05-09T04:02:23Z

And also I have an excuse to use the Star Trek icons. -cackles-

And that would be how they conducted the whole Spock/Uhura thing. I kind of like the idea, but it's like it was too forced. I admit that there was a bit of friendliness between the two in TOS, and she seemed to me far more suitable than Nurse Chapel, whom I somewhat disliked. Also, they are my two favorite characters and what more can you ask out of a pairing, besides that it makes sense?
However, it was just...too sudden. Granted, I did miss the first quarter or so of the movie, to my great regret, so I may have missed something, but...meh. Like, the scene in the elevator. I do not that that she should have kissed him then. It seemed so out of place with the whole..tone of the scene. Also, was that the first time she kissed him?
Ah, well.
And the fact that it's AU. Actually it's not that I object to AU, it's just that I was hoping for something set in the original universe, like a full-out prequal. However, once I got over that(and the fact that I missed the parts I wanted to see the most), I was actually quite impressed. Mainly, with the way McCoy, Chekhov, and Scotty spoke that much like their TOS counterparts. My favorite scenes may quite possibly have been those with him and his small green compatriot. Also, I love the fact that they included Leonard Nimoy as Old!Spock. It was so weird and cool, totally awesome.
Another great thing: The special effects.
O
M
G.
That is all.
Star Trek+great special effects=mind-blowing. May I just say that I *really* liked the new look of the Enterprise? I mean, it wasn't the same, but it was gorgeous. I am also very pleased that a redshirt died. I was waiting for that.
No tribbles, though. Le sigh. They wouldn't have fit with the tone of the movie, but a girl can dream...
On another note, I saw a guy dressed up in full costume at the theatre. I sent him the Vulcan salute and he saluted back. Actually I wanted to tell I liked his costume, but couldn't work up the courage...
I wish I had a costume for occasions such as this. Alas. Unfortunately my gender prevents me from being 80% of the TOS cast, I can't adjust my pathetically pale skin tone to work for Uhura, and I don't like Nurse Chapel. Although it would be COOL to dress up as a redshirt. Bad luck though, I expect.

Writer's Block: Taxmen and Poetry

2009-04-17T04:31:41Z

So I thought I'd like, actually post something or sum'. Why? I don't know. I stole a Writer's Block. Deleted the Poll thing, though, because it was bothering me.

That is...not an easy question to answer. Like srsly not. I mean, I have a lot. Most of them are from Marge Piercy's poems. Let's examine a few, shall we? The non-Marge first.
Let's see, where to start... I like a lot from The Raven. I like the whole poem. No, let's skip that, I can't isolate a line. I'd start quoting the whole thing.
Insofar as Marge Piercy goes, my favorite poem of hers is prooobably "My Mother's Body" and my favorite line(s are) is most likely "I became willful, private as a cat; you never knew what alleys I had wandered. You called me bad and I posed like a gutter queen in a dress sewn of knives." Now, that line.... I don't know why, but it just really registers. I can imagine someone chanting it softly, as if reciting a story, or snarling it it a Shakespeare-style play to their mother. I have, in fact, tried snarling it just for effect, and it comes out quite wonderfully. I should say, in fact, that it works rather well when snarled.
I also like the following lines:
"The angel folded you up like laundry, your body thin as an empty dress. Your clothes were curtains hanging on the window of what had once been your flesh and was now glass."
They remind me of L, for some reason. I don't even know why, it's weird. Except that he *is* really thin, and it leads in a roundabout way to "Arms Of An Angel" which also reminds me of L. Anyway, this is also fun to say outloud, but you really have to take the first option, which is to say chanting it softly and preferably poignantly. Although that's just my opinion. I should like to talk with Marge Piercy and ask her exactly how it goes in her head. I like "The Friend" and "Barbie Doll" by the same. They have the same feel to me. "The Squash People" is also highly entertaining. Oh, and "For The Young Who Want To" gave me great hope. Mainly because, she says that a main requirement of being a writer is "you have to like it better than being loved" and I think I do.
Let's see, the challenge included song lyrics, as I recall. Oh, there's a subject I can talk for hours on, I listen to a ton of different music. Hmm, right now there's "Everything You Want" by Vertical Horizon stuck up thar in my head, and I really like the refrain. However, my favorite line ever in a song right now would be....from Blink 182's Going Away To College.
"Don't depend on me to ever follow through on anything but I'd go through hell for you."
I don't know, I just really connect with that. It's so sweet. I mean, that's all you can really ask for, isn't it?
Then "This world's an ugly place, but you're so beautiful to me." is second.
I just love the cynical-squishy tone to that. And I agree- the world is an ugly place, but there are a few beautiful people in it.
I also like a line from "The Ballad Of Barry Allen", which concerns The Flash and the general downsides of being a supderspeedster.
"And I'll be there before you know it- I'll be gone before you see me; do you think you can imagine anything so lonely." It makes me want to give the Flash a hug, although I'd frankly prefer Wally West, whom I know better than Barry Allen, being that I grew up with him.
Well. On that note, let's end this thing before I get out of control(as if I haven't).
However, before I go, I have just one more question. -tosses around Columbo reference-
Any of you(who? Who's reading this?) know a song or poem with "But she's so shy and he's not sure" in it? I've had it in my head for a couple days, and I know I did not invent it, but I can't find the darn thing.
kthxbai.

The grand high hobo of ugg boots.

2009-02-25T02:47:43Z

Actually, I just don't have a title for this poem, which was brought on by some stuff my sister shoved at me.

What's the deal with ugg boots, or whatever? They're like everywhere nowadays, hmm?

Little bits and pieces of the
person
I
was

Fractured realities seen through
my
childhood
eyes

Yellow scraps and barbie dolls and
tiny
red
bows

The remnants of a time more
innocent
then
now

Disremembered musings that I never
thought
I
had

Experiments in everything I
never
knew
then

Library Lurve

2009-02-03T03:05:46Z

the story of two demons and one library. Scenario thought of by MMC! <3

A girl in his library. Asphyxia felt a little bit nervous; he didn't usually get guests, especially girls.
Her hair was short, dark dull-brown; she was dressed in a odd manner, dress shirt and crop vest paired with black shorts, boots, and silver tights. Then again, it was demon world; normal was a relative concept.
He did not know her name. She simply strolled in and picked up a book. One of his favorites, as well; he felt they might even have something in common. But he couldn't approach her, she was a girl. Nervously, he hung back and watched her....
A slurping sound resonated through the quiet library, suddenly and startling. He suddenly felt indignant. Was she eating around his beloved books? Sphyx marched over there to give her what for and opened his mouth-
THE WORDS WERE HOVERING OFF THE PAGE. THEY WERE LEAVING THE PAGE, IT WOULD BE RUINED! Outraged, he opened his mouth and what came out was "HEY."
Truly eloquent.
The girl narrowed her grey-brown eyes at him and hissed "I had this first, find your own book to ea- Oh, hey. You're sort of cute."
"E-EAT! EAT MY BOOKS." Sphyx was so upset that he completely ignored the comment about his cuteness, something that would have spazzed him into a corner under most circumstances.
"Yeah, yeah. I eat books. Kyoraka's the name~. Your books? You're the librarian? Heheheh. This could be good."
"Put it down!"
"Fine, fine." She plopped the volume back to where she'd gotten it and scowled. "I gotta go find some lunch now..." Sighing, Kyoraka trotted off towards the door. Danger gone from his dear children, he suddenly felt even more nervous, and he did work up the courage to do what he did until she was almost out the door.
"...come back tommorow?"
She didn't respond, and his heart plummented into his stomach. But after a moment, she turned, gave a grin, and continued on her way.
It was a good thing, at least.
"I wonder", he mused, "if I will ever see her again."
(As it turns out, he did. She came around the next day and mooched a used book off him for lunch. This became a habit...and thus history was made. Sort of.)

Are You My Death?

2009-01-19T23:11:23Z

Wooh, morbid poem! I always enjoy writing these. Oddly, I don't write them in bad moods. I just like writing dark things.

Mannequins in awkward flesh-tones
lay about, their faceless stares slowly decimating me
I turn, horrified, afraid one will lift itself up,
painstakingly and deliberately becoming my doom
Childish fears, perhaps, but what fear is not?
What are we but children, in the end, dolls
for our own offspring to wash and dress and feed?
Slowly we rot. In our own flesh, we die many times
before our final demise.
Not I; if the mannequins do not come to life and kill me,
something else surely will. We are doomed to live in fear of
traffic accidents, food poisoning, terrorist attacks
and if we avoid them, we worry ourselves to death.
Modern times; what is civilization but a facade
of false security, a thin blanket that keeps madness away?
Simply a small amount of warmth in a large cold world.
I will not console myself to rotting away, chained
to ethics and principles laid down by the weak!
So I wander into warehouses with mannequins strewn about
and wait to die.