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 Posted: Fri Nov 03, 2006 6:01 pm
Okay, so the NaNo site has a place for an excerpt of your novel, but it's highly tiny, so here's a place to post a slightly longer one, to get more of the context across! Here's mine: Quote: From "Rosemary is Fat" By {Lady Snoogin} Helen was the first to arrive after me, she usually was very prompt, which is one of my prized characteristics I use when judging human beings. And Helen was one of the few that didn't automatically generate the general disdain I reserved for the other sapient bipeds tottering around the earth. "Rosie, how are you today?" She smiled, sitting at the desk across from mine. "Not too bad. I got into a fight with the clerk at Target." "Oh, I hate Target! Red is such an angry color!" " . . . I love you Helen." She laughed. I sometimes imagine myself becoming Helen in twenty years and the future doesn't seem so bleak after all. Patricia and Kelly, the other two girls, came in not much later and we spent the hour before Mr. Perkins arrived ranting about Target and other such retail hells, relating job experiences and customer complaints and the like. The common trait we all shared was procrastination, which was most likely why we got along so well. Mr. Perkins came in, and not much changed. He's an unassuming little man, about an inch shorter than I am and bald with little gray tufts of hair behind his ears that make him look like a cartoon character. He has round glasses that magnify his eyes and give him a very innocent look. However, he dresses very sharply, never a wrinkle in his impeccable three piece suit. I believe he dresses that way in order to inspire confidence in his clients since they are trusting him with their money after all. A little after lunch, I went to the filing room to look up something for Mr. Perkins. I moved through the four of five rows of cabinets with practiced ease, despite their narrowness. I found the one I was searching for and bent down to the bottom drawer. CREAK.I looked up. No one was around. Was that the cabinet? I shrugged and poked through the files. CREAK.What was that? Is the ceiling about to cave in? CREAK.Okay, now what the hell-- CRASH!I'm not entirely sure of the exact events that occurred after I heard that sound, although I do remember there suddenly being nothing under my feet, then something scratching my back painfully, then landing with a thump on my rather large posterior and coughing as I inhaled plaster and dust. Dear Lord I'm so fat I broke the floor."Ugh . . ." My eyes widened. That was a masculine voice coming from somewhere under the pile of rubble I was sprawled on top of. Oh, and I'm killing someone why I'm at it!"Oh God, oh God!" I rolled off the pile and saw whoever I had landed on pulling himself up to a sitting position. "Are you okay?" He winced. "Shouldn't I be asking you that?" "But I landed on you!" "I'm fine." He forced out a painful smile. "Just help me find my glasses." "Oh, sure, okay!" I frantically pawed at the debris and found them quickly. I wear glasses myself, so I knew how he felt being temporarily blinded. "Thanks." He shook the white dust out of his hair and brushed some off his face and I realized how handsome he was. Dark hair, stern jaw, broad shoulders. He was at least six feet tall and well built under the dress shirt he wore. Soft almond eyes and a broad nose gave away his Asian heritage, but hardly detracted from his looks. Men like that didn't exist in real life and I became convinced I was dreaming. I must have a concussion from the fall. Nevertheless, it is incredibly rude to just fall on someone, even in your subconscious, so I felt obligated to apologize. "I'm so, so, so, sorry!" I put my legs under myself and clutched at my skirt. "It's not your fault." He looked up at the hole in the ceiling with a rather exasperated expression. "I told Jim we shouldn't bribe the building inspector." He slowly stood and offered his hand to me. I took it and pulled myself up but stumbled as ten bolts of lightning struck my ankle at the same time. I sprained my ankle by falling through the floor? Are you kidding me?!Now that the shock had cleared, I felt the scratches on my back start to bleed as well. Mr. Incredibly Handsome Figment-Of-My-Imagination helped me over to a chair against the wall and I flumped down, instantly exhausted. "Rosemary? Are you all right?" Mr. Perkins' small little head poked through the hole above us and gave me a concerned look. "I'm okay." I smiled weakly. "No, you're not." Cutie McI-Fell-On-Him turned and looked up at Mr. Perkins. "Her ankle's hurt, bad, by the looks of it." "Oh, dear, I'll call an ambulance!" Mr. Perkins replied frightfully. "Ambulance?!" I heard Helen's scared shriek from above. "Rosie, what happened?" Her head promptly appeared next to my boss'. "Well, Helen, the floor gave out." Despite her concern, I couldn't help but affect a rather sardonic tone. I really do have the worst luck. "I'll call 911!" Mr. Perkins started to back out of the hole. "No!" I cried, holding up a hand. I don't have health insurance. "I'm fine, really. I'll just go home and put some ice on it." "Are you sure?" Helen replied worriedly. "I can call your dad . . ." "No, really." Applying a fake grin to my face, I stood and bore weight on my ankle, causing me to think that maybe parapalegics don't have it that bad after all. "See? I'm fine." "Well, take the rest of the day off, Rosemary, the other girls can handle it." "But Mr. Pekins--" He sighed. "I'll still pay you. Workman's comp, after all." A genuine smile pushed my cheeks up this time. "God bless you, Mr. Perkins." "Yeah, yeah." His head disappeared. Helen's, however, remained. "I'll get your stuff together, Rosie, and take it easy, okay?" "Sure thing, Helen." I smiled at her reassuringly until she lifted herself back up as well. "AAGH!" I let out a small scream and collapsed gratefully into the chair. Cutie looked down at me with a stern expression. "You're lying. You're ankle's probably broken." I shook my head. "Nah, I can still move the toes. I've sprained it before, I'm pretty clumsy." His features didn't soften one bit. "You should still go to the doctor." "Can't. I haven't worked here long enough to get health insurance, and my dad's doesn't cover me because I'm only a part time student. It'll be fine, like I said, I'll ice it, wrap it in an ace bandage, and it'll be fine in a coupla weeks." Defeated, he offered me his hand once again. "Okay, if you're sure. I'll help you out to your car at least." I took his hand and stood, but refused his offer of help. "Really. Don't worry about it." Briefly, I pondered why I was talking so casually to someone I didn't know at all, then reminded myself it was definitely a dream and shrugged it off. I hobbled out to my car where Helen brought me my purse and hugged me for at least ten minutes, nearly in tears. Calming her down, I used secret ninja techniques to slide into my car and paused after buckling my seatbelt, then took a moment of silent prayer to thank the great Olympians that I did not drive a stickshift. In case you didn't know, driving a car with manual transmission requires coordination and dexterity, involving using both feet, the left one, which was the one I had sprained, to push in the clutch, and the shifting of gears with the right hand which I had a long scratch down the center of the palm. Two of the four cars I've been through in the past year (like I said, I have terrible luck) had been sticks, but luckily now I drove a small automatic sedan, and I was never more grateful for the Toyota Camry in my life then I was at that moment. ********************************* That's actually the second half of the first chapter . . . the first half is mainly a rant about how awful Target is. Man, I hate Target!
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Posted: Sat Nov 04, 2006 1:26 pm
XDDDDD Wow. That's really funny! YAY for beating up on Target... an early story idea I rejected had a giant apple god rampaging through a Target in an alternate dimension. XD Quote: And Helen was one of the few that didn't automatically generate the general disdain I reserved for the other sapient bipeds tottering around the earth. This really amuses me for some reason. Quote: Mr. Incredibly Handsome Figment-Of-My-Imagination Cutie McI-Fell-On-Him Also highly amusing. Two thumbs up!
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Posted: Sat Nov 04, 2006 7:41 pm
Eh, decided I'd have a go at describing what it was like in the Halls of the Dead. I'm rather happy with the way it turned out:
Bloodstone, Chapter II
She sat there, her pale skin seeming to glow in the light that seemed to come from everywhere. Thick black curls rested around her neck and shoulders, their dark colour matching her eyes as she watched those before her moving in their slow, tired fashion. Many were old when they began their walk, the saggy skin becoming firmer and less wrinkled with each step they took. There were almost as many men, aged from their twenties to forties, as there were old people. They did not look tired, they looked confident despite their surroundings, albiet somewhat pained. She could understand why. With each step they took, even they seemed to grow younger. Their wounds healed, their scars faded, they continued to walk.
In the large halls, where only she sat upon her red throne and watched the others walk around her, only her dark eyes were focused. Only she made any reactions to what she could see; the others simply moved, one foot after another, forever looking ahead of them but never recognising anything. Their unfocused eyes were as good as those of a blind man.
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Posted: Sun Nov 05, 2006 5:27 am
xd Wow. I love that, Lady Snoogin! Kiyala: You make me look horrible thanks xp I wish I had a better excerpt for you all. But without the first part here it all sounds like insane babbling. Quote: She floated somewhere between Robert’s consciousness and his dreams. He thought he could feel her and once he even tried to contact her, but that was when he was young and foolish; adults don’t do that sort of thing anymore. These days he just ignored her. He repeatedly pushed her back into the little pocket in his soul that was reserved for the twisted products of his mind. And for a little while he was well; he was even happy to an extent. But it turned out that Shadamine had a slight case of claustrophobia and the secret pocket began to overflow. He had never named her Shadamine, he had just known that Shadamine was her name and that was what she would expect to be called. And he floated somewhere between her consciousness and her dreams aswell. But she could definitely feel him and it drove her insane. She screamed at him, constantly telling him to go away, or at least be quiet, but the boy would just not listen to Shadamine’s pleas.
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Posted: Sun Nov 05, 2006 12:14 pm
my mom works at target. . . .
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Posted: Sun Nov 05, 2006 1:22 pm
Lupe_Oceana: Thanks for the awesome props! You shower me with undeserved praise . . . (And how awesome you named the pet in your sig Zaphod, so cool . . .)
Kiyala: This is incredible. Way to go for stting an awesomely crrepy mood. I lurve it.
Nucleotide: Thx for the loves! Your excerpt has me all curious about the rest of the story, powerful writing.
CaptainFlinty: I'm sorry! I don't mean to insult your mother, I'm sure she's a wonderful person, please forgive me~~~~! I've just had a lot of bad experiences at Target, that's all . . .
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Posted: Sun Nov 05, 2006 4:34 pm
Eh pretty amusing start, though not a genre I'd normally read unelss it takes some drastic turn somewhere into scifi/fantasy land. xd Anyway here's mine: Quote: Which way was it again? It was the rainbows that told him where it was. They were nice rainbows. I hope nothing happens to them while I am gone. If something happens to the rainbows, I don’t know what I’d do. Oops, almost missed the turn worrying about the rainbows, but they’re fine, the wolf face is with them. Now I’ve got to concentrate on what the rainbows asked me to do. First I have to turn towards the chair until I get to the cross. Which way was it after that? Was it towards the sunflower or the boot? Hmmm, well either way it’s bound to lead up to the horses at some point, that or the coins. The coins places were so pretty, but they also were very cruel. The rainbows had them around often, but he didn’t like them either. The rainbows always had to be nice to them anyway, and I’m supposed to be nice to them too. Still, the coins weren’t cruel to him while he was with the rainbows. It must be because he helped the rainbows so much and so the rainbows made them be nice to him. He wished he could do something to help the rainbows more for being so nice to him. Oh wait, that’s what he was doing right now. “Towards the horses, keep going towards the horses.” That’s what the rainbow had said in his mind. “…and once there you must find the man of coin with the shark face. I know you fear him, but you must do this.” He would do it since it was the rainbows who had asked him to do it. The rainbows could command him to do it of course, but the rainbows never did that, the rainbows only asked.
At last I’m here. Now where would the man with the shark face be? Hmmm, he’d be in the big coin place, but not this late. He must already be inside the places near the horses or the rainbows wouldn’t have sent me. It’s not that cup place, there’s not enough coin there. And that has too much coin. There it is. That is where the shark man would stay. Now what was I supposed to do once I found him? “Go to the shark man and make sure he is alone. Once alone, you must do it. I know you don’t like doing it, but it has to be done, the shark man is too dangerous now. He thinks he can succeed me as the rainbows and I know you don’t want him to be the rainbows.” Oh most definitely not, still it was sad that I have to do it again. It’s been such a long time since I’ve had to do it to anyone. At least I know he’ll be happy. The rest all were so happy afterwards.
Isn’t that right? Yyyyyeeessss weeee areeee all veeeeeryyyy happyyyyy heeeereee with yyyyyou, isssss it timeeee for ussss to beeee reeeeleeeeasssseeeed? No, not yet, but soon my friends, soon. Soon another will share with being us. Theeeee ssssshark man? Yes, the rainbows have asked us to do it to him. Beeee careeeeful, theeeee sssssshark man isssss dangeeeerousssss and trickyyyy. I know, but it must be done for the rainbows. I’ll be extra careful though, and I’ll always have you to help if I need it. Yyyyesss, yyyyou will haveeeee ussssss, but sssssstill, it issssss theeeee sssssshark man.
Serik looked up covertly as the door opened to the common room of the inn he was at. It was that court fool Drim. Well, at least he thought Drim was a fool most of the time. Sometimes he wondered though, it seemed every once in a while his eyes had a different light, an all too intelligent light to them.
Still, he had to admire the Deur for his subtlety. No one would ever guess the court fool would be the one to carry messages from the king to others, let alone that he would take them to see the king. It was so unexpected, even by him, that he couldn’t help but marvel at the skill of the man he wanted dead so badly. He had wondered why the Deur would want to talk to him at all, as he knew the Deur had been behind many of the moves that had blocked him from gaining the necessary second line from the female side. If only he had been born to a KenDeur and not a RenDeur; things would be so much simpler. Alas, with only the male side of the line, he needed the female side, the VonDeur in order to have any change against the others in line to the throne. Still, it hadn’t been too hard to get the VonDeur side in the past, well not until the Deur found out his plans. He still wasn’t sure how he had done it; the Deur must have had someone watching him then, but how? At times he thought the very walls in the castle must have ears to have overheard his plots. Still, he couldn’t blame the Deur entirely; it was his own young and stupid fault for not knowing any better.
He was learning though, he had already gotten so close. This last time would have been perfect were it not for that specially needed marriage due to her being pregnant. If only he could have claimed it as his, but if he had done so he’d have surely insulted several other important families he had attempted to call upon during the time in which she had been impregnated. The worst part of it all was that no one saw the Deur’s hand in it, to anyone else, it was just misfortune. He almost would have believed that until he realized it was like a game of chess over and over again, and the man he played, the Deur, was always steps ahead of him. This time though, he wasn’t going to lose. He had figured out an excellent plan, the best he had ever conceived and with no escape for the Deur. If the Deur tried anything, something worse happening than having Serik gain the ability to have the throne would occur. Still, he would wait and see what new move the Deur had done. No need to enact it yet, not without at least some inkling of what the Deur might be up to. For while he was sure his plan was perfect, he knew there were always going to be those small holes with such things, and if someone else, like the Deur, could find them before he did, he could easily change them from small holes to big holes.
As Serik waited at his table, he was surprised Drim didn’t come over immediately to see him and request someplace less open to meet. Instead he noticed Drim going and talking to the innkeeper, getting a table, and having a meal. Then, after some thought he realized that Drim wasn’t new to this like he had been; he knew the game and played it well. He almost began wondering how stupid Drim really was, but looking over at him, Serik knew there wasn’t anything going on behind those eyes. They were dull, vacant, and lifeless. Obviously he had been trained, perhaps by the Deur himself to keep it a secret. Once again Serik marveled at the Deur’s ability to have found and created something useful from something everyone else would count out. Almost he wished he had done differently. For a time after his first failed attempt he had considered going and seeing if the Deur would place him under his tutelage. A dangerous proposition for himself, and for the Deur, as it required much faith on both parts, but one with many rewards, the Deur wouldn’t have had to watch him so carefully and perhaps neglect other matters, and Serik would have learned from the master and probably been given the ultimate plan from the Deur, perhaps not to be Deur, but being second in power to the Deur wasn’t a bad thing at all. Unfortunately he lacked faith that the Deur would agree to such a thing purely because the Deur was too smart for that. He’d have realized his own days were numbered the moment he took him on. And if there was one thing the Deur was good at, it was seeing the pitfalls inherent to all such agreements. Serik knew the Deur had made them a few times, but he also had planned, perhaps months, or years, in advance for such occurrences and had it set up so it quickly became the other person that would end up with their days being numbered.
However, it had become too dangerous for the Deur to engage in such deals anymore. There were too many enemies, both inside and outside the Empire that were more than willing to take advantage of even a moment’s of weakness, and Serik was somewhat proud to think that he was one of the most dangerous or else he’d not have the Deur’s attention. Most such matters were left to Stalhn, Wehr, or Behr. And while all were probably his equal in most plotting and planning, none of them could have predicted all the moves that the Deur had predicted. That alone told him more about how close he was to being the Deur than anything else. For some time now he had been preparing for the day when he would kill the Deur and then remove anyone else that got in his way to the throne.
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Posted: Sun Nov 05, 2006 6:04 pm
Erm...mine is a little long, as its the entire Prelude. If you want a shorter snippet, go read my nano excrept (my users name being pillywiggin_elf).
So, here goes.
Prelude
The harsh winds of winter whispered passed the windows of the little cottage. Snow drifts were piled high, and the promise of a long winter hung over the small building and the valley it was nestled in. Of course, none of this mattered to him. No. As long as there was a fire to warm his toes, it could continue being winter for all he cared. After all, if he wanted, it would be spring before morning. Not that he’d rush Winter through her frosty make-over of the world. He liked winter. It was so beautiful. Even the cold, frigid air was beautiful.
“You’ve grown lazy,” a sneering voice said behind him, and he turned, placing a finger in the book that rested open on his lap so as not to lose his place.
“Is it that time already?” he asked, ignoring the barb with a grace that only centuries of practice could bring.
The newcomer stared at him a long moment before his nose wrinkled with disgust and he stalked into the room, slouching into the chair across from him.
“It’s always time.”
Rolling his eyes, he opened his book, fishing beneath his leg for the bookmark he was sure was there somewhere. They’d had -that particular debate before. A very long time ago they had simply agreed to disagree.
After all, what was time to a god?
Finally he found the errant bookmark and slipped it between the pages of his book, setting the book down on the table beside his chair, then grabbed the arms of his chair and shifted the hefty thing until he was facing his companion, the table with the book on it gone when he settled himself into his seat.
“I’m surprised you want to play again,” he said with a small pleasant smile on his lips.
Between them a table without a top appeared, and above it appeared a large globe filled with violet gas. Atop the globe, perching perfectly, was a square board checkered with black, white, and gray squares that was so faint it was hard to see in the dim light of the fire.
“Why wouldn’t I want to play again?” his sneering companion asked.
“Because you never win,” he answered promptly with that small lazy smile as he began to pull little figures out of the air and began placing them on the board before him.
Across from him, his companion also began to pull out his pieces.
The pieces were similar to those found in a chess game, only there was only one of each major piece. One knight, one prince, and one mage. Then there were many peons. Another marked difference was that all the pieces were clear as crystal, and all were formless, undistinguishable from each other except for size and placement on the checkered board.
“I’ve won before.”
Before he could help himself, a snort of laughter escaped him, and he nearly dropped the peon he was setting on the board.
“Once,” he said with a large toothy leer. “And that was because I fell asleep.” Leaning forward, he carefully placed another peon on the board, examining its position before nudging so that it rested in the perfect center of a gray square. “Why didn’t you wake me?” he asked at last, a frown replacing the smile.
“Because you were winning,” his companion said with his customary sneer accompanied with a look of disgust.
“Bah!” he said, slouching back in his chair, holding in his hands the last piece to be set on the board. “It was an unfair win, and you know it.”
“That may be,” his companion replied, staring intently at the little figurine held in the his hands. “But I still won.”
“Indeed,” he muttered. Slowly a smile spread across his lips, and he lifted his eyes from the little figure he held in his hand to his companion. “Is it my turn to pick the Queen player?” he asked with a lazy delight.
Now it was his companions turn to slump back in his chair, a disgusted look on his face.
“You know perfectly well it’s your turn, you sadistic b*****d.”
Cackling with glee, he lifted the little figurine, held in the fingertips of one hand, and nuzzled it against his cheek, his gaze on his companion. Oh how he loved it when it was his turn.
Before him the board and pieces vanished, leaving the globe of violet mist. Slowly the mist cleared and the globe expanded slightly. Before the mist cleared completely, water began to flow over the surface, and from the water sprouted large masses of land. When the world was fully formed, it began to rotate slowly over the topless table. Across from him, a groan sounded and he cackled with delight.
“Don’t tell me we have to play on that dustball again,” his companion complained.
“Oh come,” he said, sinking back into his chair with a satisfied smirk. “That ‘dustball’—as you call it—is lush with diversity and change. It’s always such a joy playing there, since the Mother, and her children, are so unpredictable.”
“Fun for you, perhaps,” his companion said with an unbecoming pout. “I always end up in some stinking desert.”
“You can have the swamp this time,” he offered charitably, his lazy smile filled with a joyful malice.
“Too dry, or too wet,” his companion muttered. “Don’t I get any other options?”
“Well,” he said, considering the globe between them. “Let’s see.”
The globe, still spinning lazily, stopped. Leaning forward, he peered at it, his nose scant inches away from the surface.
“There are the northern mountains,” he suggested.
“Too cold,” was the short reply.
“The western plains?”
“Too empty.”
Sitting back and then slumping, he stared at his companion, who sat with a straight back, his arms crossed over his chest and his nose sticking up in the air.
“No desert, no swamp, and I get the forests…” he mused. “That doesn’t leave anything else, I’m afraid.”
A dramatic sigh escaped his companion as he stared forlornly at the globe, which began it’s slow rotation once more.
“Can’t I just have that other continent to work with?” his companion asked wistfully. Then, seeing the frown forming on his face quickly added, “you always get to play on an entire continent, barring the one area that’s mine.”
His frown deepened into a scowl. Never before had his dark faced companion asked for more than what was given him. Just as he had never asked for more. They were content with what they were given. There were no rules against asking for more, true, but he didn’t like the sudden request for a change in the game they had been playing without any changes for countless eons.
Something about his companion’s request didn’t feel right.
Putting trust in his instincts as he had for so long, he opened his mouth, the words of a refusal posed on the tip of tongue when his companion stopped him by saying, “wouldn’t it be more of a challenge for you?”
The mouth that had been prepared to speak continued trying to do so, even after he had decided to not speak, leaving him looking like a landed fish. Quickly he snapped his mouth shut and thought about it. It was true that he hadn’t found much challenge in their game lately. Not for a long time. Perhaps giving his companion a larger domain was just what was needed to spice the game up for him once more.
Still, he had a nagging feeling that he shouldn’t do what he was about to do.
“Very well then,” he said, leaning back in his chair with a lazy smile. “You may have this one,” he said, turning the globe with a lazy twist of his finger, showing the continent to his companion. After a nod from his companion, the globe began to rotate slowly once more.
“Now,” his companion said eagerly. “it’s time for you to choose the queen player.”
“Not yet,” he said, his lazy smile spreading into a grin. “You’re forgetting something.”
Frustration crossed his companion’s face, which pleased him to no end.
“And just what,” his companion asked, anger dripping from his voice as he gritted his teeth, “am I forgetting?”
“We have yet to flip for white.”
A harsh snarl was directed at him. The globe vanished with an angry pop and in its place appeared a large, flat disk. One side of the coin was as white as a blanket of freshly fallen snow, while the other was as black as a bottomless abyss.
“Here’s hoping for white,” he said cheerfully, silently laughing at his companion’s frustration.
Slowly the disk began to spin, spinning faster and faster until it was a blur of gray between them. Then, so abruptly there an audible pop, the disk stopped spinning.
“Drats,” he said, slumping back in his chair with a sad sigh. “Black.”
Finally it was his companion’s turn to cackle with glee.
“White!” his companion said with a chortled. “The first move is mine.”
Sighing dramatically, he shook his head. He hated being black. And for more reasons that not being the one to make the first move. Mortals had this horrible tendancy to associate black with evil, which just wasn’t true. Black wasn’t an evil color. It wasn’t, technically speaking, a color at all. Ah well. Live and learn, as the saying goes.
“Well,” he said after another long drawn out sigh. “Guess I should choose the queen player.” His tone was forlorn, as was the expression on his face, though the entire effect was ruined by the twinkle of mirth that danced in his eyes.
“Stop the theatrics and get on with it,” his companion said, the glee vanishing like a candle blow out by a sneeze.
“Very well,” he said with a grin, taking a very petty pleasure in his companion’s nearly instant rage.
He really shouldn’t tease his dark companion as he did. They were constantly butting head, or as some put it, they bickered like children. But, sometimes he just couldn’t help himself. The rages his companion went through just amused him to no end.
Still, he didn’t want one of those rages ravaging his home.
The disk was whisked away with a thought and was replaced once more with the globe rotating lazily with the board perched on top of it, oddly motionless above the moving world. Just as the disk had, the globe began to slowly increase in speed, spinning ever faster until it was a blur of blue and green. Then the world began to grow, engulfing them and the small room, surrounding them by the clear blue of skies touched by light no mortal eye would ever see.
Humming a happy little tune, he relaxed in his chair as they plummeted towards the ground far, far below them.
“What are you doing?” he companion demanded in a shrill voice as they plummeted through the bright blue sky.
Smiling his pleased, lazy smile, he studied his companion. The poor man was gripping the arms of the chair so tightly his knuckles were white. Of course, this—like his companion’s rages—amused him to no end, and he settled deeper into the comfort of his chair with a smug smile, like the cat that finally ate the canary.
“Why,” he said with feigned innocence, “I’m choosing the queen player, of course.”
Gently their mad decent slowed and the came to rest some feet above the ground, an empty road stretching between them. Suddenly a figure appeared before them, than vanished and was replaced by another, and another until there was nothing but a blur as hundreds of faces whisked passed them. Men, women, children, old, young, human, elf, demon, everything and everyone rushed passed in a mingled blur of motion and color.
Closing his eyes, still humming his happy little song, he raised his arm, pointed with his index finger and said, “I choose…This one!”
The world stopped with a motion that was jarring. There, standing right where his finger was pointed, was a girl, just starting to teeter on the edge of womanhood.
“This one,” his companion asked, looking a little ill. “Why that one?”
He studied the girl for an intent moment as she stood before him, frozen in time. Again that lazy smile spread across his lips as he lounged back in his chair.
“Round and round we go,” he said in a sing-song voice, “where we stop, nobody knows!”
“What are you talking about?” his companion asked, looking at him askance, as if he’d suddenly sprouted a second, very ugly, head.
Cackling delightedly, he caught a glimpse of the growing horror on his companion’s face. Which, of course, made him laugh so hard that his eyes leaked.
“Ah, the look on your face,” he said, wiping at his tear stained cheeks. “Priceless! Simply priceless.”
The look of horror quickly turned into one of anger, which then quickly turned into sullen impatience.
“Choosing the queen is the most important part of the game,” his companion told him, scolding him.
“Yes, I know,” he said, leaning back in his chair, little fits of giggles still attacking him as he thought of the look on his companion’s face.
“Have you lost your mind?” his companion demanded darkly.
“I don’t think so,” he said with his lazy smile.
` Silence settled around them as his companion sulked, and he basked in the afterglow of his amusement. Then he leaned forward and reposition the now black pieces on the board, enjoying the warmth of the fire.
“You having a whole continent changes things, you know,” he said at last, his eyes remaining on the board as he set the queen piece, the only gray piece, on the center of the board.
“A bit, I suppose,” his companion agreed, “but the rules remain the same.”
“That they do,” he mused.
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Posted: Mon Nov 06, 2006 12:39 pm
I'm jealous of all the people doing fantasy writing . . . I am not that creative . . . sweatdrop
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Posted: Mon Nov 06, 2006 2:54 pm
*snorts* Who says you have to be creative to write fantasy? I mean, there's a bloody formula for it, for heaven's sake. It's not that hard. ^_^
And actually, I think it takes a lot more creativity to write fiction than fantasy. I'll never be able to write a good fiction.
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Posted: Mon Nov 06, 2006 4:16 pm
Woah, so many awesome writings… sorry I can’t comment better, I haven’t had time to read them all in depth lately… but here I go with mine. Mmm. Incredibly, incredibly long excerpt… Sorry. I just wrote it literally five minutes ago and am very happy with it, and can’t see cutting it up. For the record, Erik’s my main character, kinda nerdy-looking. Mickey looks like your generic emo kid, but really isn’t, and is now mute and communicates by writing, due to events that would take too long to explain but are mostly Erik’s fault. This is kind of a parody of the way dreams in stories are always, ALWAYS prophetic. Mickey has decided that someone needs to have a prophetic dream because their life has suddenly gotten very, very confusing (long story). It’s his best solution, but all of his dreams have made zero sense. And so… Quote: “Uuugh. What the hell is this? ‘Find a pie of an unusual fruit and give it to the street musician playing a bagpipe?’ Why do we keep getting sent to buy pastries?” Erik snarled as he walked, occasionally kicking at the ground with one foot. Mickey shrugged as Erik continued his rant. “I mean, this is just insane. We’ve been here in Coopersville for three days and all we’ve done is run stupid errands for people. We’re mercenaries, not personal shoppers? What’s going on? We need, like…” A prophetic dream? Mickey scribbled in his notebook and held it up for Erik to see. “Yeah! A prophetic dream! All stupid adventures have one, right? Why, did you have one? All my dreams have been about, uh…” he coughed and turned red, looking away for a minute, “um… you know. Stupid dream stuff.” I was hoping I’d have one, but all I got was an apple god rampaging through a Target, a giant green bird, and a guy with an Australian accent.“Okay then. That’s reeeally helpful.” Oy! Look at that! Mickey’s handwriting couldn’t quite convey the urgency of what he was trying to say, so he hit Erik in the head with the notebook as well. “Mickey, what the hell are- hey! Look at that!” Glowing from a window across the street was a neon purple sign reading “Prophetic Dreams for Sale.” “How convenient,” Erik said, shrugging and walking into the store. --- Inside was a burning stick of incense, some attractive purple-blue wallpaper, and a teenaged girl with long braided pigtails, named Sara. “You want a prophetic dream, right?” she said in a Brooklyn drawl as the two boys walked into the store. “Uh. Yeah,” Erik responded. “Good.” Sara handed over a large mallet. “Hit me in the head with this. Try to miss the face, okay?” “Uh… what?” “What?” “Are you crazy?” “Hey, if I’m going to have a prophetic dream, I’ve got to be unconscious, right?” “I thought we were supposed to get the dreams?” “No, I’m the one who dreams. If you’re lucky it’ll be about you. Now make with the head-hitting, nerdy boy!” “Uh.” “I’m waaaaiting!” “I can’t hit a girl!” “Fine, I’ll do it myself.” Sara snatched the mallet back and hit herself very hard in the forehead with it. Her eyes crossed slightly and she swayed slowly on the spot. “That’ll… be… ten dollars,” she muttered in a faint voice before keeling over and collapsing on the floor. Erik and Mickey stared at her silently for the better part of ten minutes, internally debating whether to call 911 or not. Suddenly she sat bolt upright, breathing heavily. “Woah,” she said, holding her head. “That was a doozy.” “What happened?” Erik asked, leaning over her, half-nervous, half-excited. “Ten dollars,” Sara said briskly. When Erik had handed over the money, she began to speak. “Okay, so there were these seven ears of corn and seven cows… do you know this bit?” “Yeah,” Erik said, unimpressed. “Oh. Okay. One of the cows was playing a saxophone, if that helps. Um… yeah. So you guys were standing in the middle of this burning field, and there was this big-a** UFO overhead, and a bunch of blue rabbits, and then these big… amorphous… plaid things appeared and there was a sound like…” she gestured vaguely, thinking it over, “like if you split a chicken’s skull open and were gooshing the brains around while eating Pop Rocks and whistling Dixie in the key of E flat, only backwards and out of tune. That make sense?” Erik nodded numbly. “Good. All right, so then everything turned to Jell-O for a few minutes, then the Clockwork Monkey of the Apocalypse came over the hill and you, with the dark hair, you threw a hand grenade at it and it turned into butterflies made of sausage. Then there’s this long bit about frogs that I don’t think you want to know about, and then everything exploded.” She nodded firmly. “….okay.” Erik said finally. “That’s very… interesting.” “You want an interpretation?” “Is it going to cost me?” “Depends. You want Freudian or modern?” “What’s Freudian?” “Everything either represents your sex drive or your secret desire to ******** your mother.” “Let’s go with modern,” Erik said after a slight pause. “Okay. That‘ll be five dollars.” Erik handed her another bill. Sara pulled a rumpled piece of paper out of the back pocket of her jeans. It looked like a mix between a mathematical equation and a star chart, only it was written in ballpoint pen on the back of a Denny’s placemat. “Hold on, I don’t think I calibrated this right… neither of you are an 84-year-old woman with a fetish for blue armchairs, right?” They shook their heads in unison. Sara frowned, scribbled a few things on the paper, turned it upside down, and started speaking again. “Right… so you two are on a strange journey attempting to escape from a difficult past, am I right? Yeah, I thought so. Who isn’t? So, um, nerdy-boy, you’re wracked with guilt about something you did to Emoface, Emoface here is full of self-loathing related to whatever happened but trying to make the best of it, and you’re both in a strange town doing stuff that doesn’t make any sense. Good so far?” They nodded. “Okay then. You’re both going to have to face plenty of challenges, Emoface is going to have to do something he’s very afraid of and doesn’t think he can do anymore… uh…” she turned the paper sideways. “Nerd-o, you’re going to be in a major fight or something and… uh… eew, I don’t think you want to hear that. Anyhoo, you’re both going to eat an extremely large amount of pastry, be involved with more cats then you want to, there‘s this thing with a weird old man in a kilt… I think that’s it. Oh, and the one true love of your life is going to die. The end.” She shoved the paper back into her pocket. “Wait! What’s that about… I don’t even have a true love! But who’s going to die?” “Five dollars.” Erik searched through his pockets and swore. Mickey dug through his jacket but could only come up with two dollars and twenty-nine cents, so they were forced to leave. Sara waved cheerfully as they went out. “That was SO not helpful,” Erik said.
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Posted: Mon Nov 06, 2006 5:12 pm
In this passage, Faloth (ironically, one of the few I've written about thus far and isn't the main character) contemplates his culture and what, exactly, makes someone human.
Edit: Just so you know, Faloth is the son of a rich Aristocrat (who does make an appearance but really isn't important yet) and is always sick. Always.Quote: Although it was a warm day, he pulled his cloak tight about his shoulders. Light eyes on a pale face squinted through the open window of the carriage, sweeping over his surroundings. The older man beside him cleared his throat. “Master, perhaps we should step outside?” “What have I told you about being too bold, Sardan,” he snapped, turning his head to glare at the older man. “My apologies, Sir.” “Keep talking and you’ll be fired.” He rolled his eyes with a scoff and returned his attention the window. A third man made his way to the carriage, gait casual, face stern. “Faloth, why are you still lazing about that infernal contraption? And remove yourself from that cloak; it’s degrading!” “Father, I’m ill,” Faloth replied evenly. “And this ‘infernal contraption’ only just arrived.” “Then get yourself out of it and join me! We’re here for you and it defeats the purpose if you won’t place one dainty toe on the ground.” “Women are dainty, Father,” Faloth retorted. “I am simply ill.” As they bickered he stood, slowly easing his way out of the carriage. He was a short young man, thin as a stick. Blonde hair was combed perfectly to the side, his clothes a display of the family’s extreme wealth. “They’re behind the fence over there,” his father told him, waving his hand toward a wide corral to the left. “Choose one you like and make it quick; I promised your mother we would be home for tea.” He dismissed his son with a quick nod and strode away to join his fellow gents in light conversation. Faloth resisted a sigh and set off at a slow pace for the fence. He eyed the creatures milling about inside, the metal tags on their leather collars glinting in the sunlight. They did not seem to be any better than the usual herd sold at the auctions. A few lounged beneath what Faloth assumed was a pitiful excuse for a tree. Perhaps they were a bit brighter than normal. One of them leaned against the far fence and it was this one that caught the young aristocrat’s eye. With skin the same soft grey as the rest of them, raven hair flopping in a shaggy cut just over his ears, it was the obvious signs of brute strength that set him apart from the others. Even with all the muscle, Faloth couldn’t help but feel that this one was particularly lazy. His eyes were half-lidded as he baked away in the sun as if he couldn’t decide whether he was asleep or awake. But the collar around his neck was thicker than the rest, a sign that he was either twice as strong or twice as rebellious than any trained creature would dare to be. Either way, Faloth knew the strange one would make the perfect birthday gift for himself. “Father,” Faloth began as he approached the group. “I’ve decided.” “Wonderful!” the older man beamed, clapping his hands together. “Now, which one did you choose?” “The one in the back,” he drawled as they approached the corral. “Leaning against the fence there.” He tilted his head to peer up at his father whom seemed to be a shade paler than usual. “That one?” “Yes. Is there a problem, Father?” “A problem? Do you have the slightest idea as to how much he’ll cost?” “You said I could have whichever one I chose and I choose him.” “Fine. But you had best take care of it; I don’t want to hear it from you when that thing dies because you didn’t bother to feed it properly or some other nonsense.” “I will, I will. Now hurry, I would like to go home.” His father shot him a glare before stalking off, muttering about the disrespect of the days youth. Faloth merely rolled his eyes and returned to the carriage, pausing only to snap at Sardan while they waited for his father. As he took his seat he looked through the window and at the corral; he could just see his Father and another man leading his gift away. There were those who called the creatures human, those that claimed that for all their differences they were still people. Faloth felt inclined to disagree. Even so, it hardly mattered; either way these creatures had never protested, never shown any sign of resistance. For countless centuries they had been servants of the rich and there was nothing and no one who could change that now. Slaves were slaves, and in his eyes that was all they would ever be. --------------------- Faloth felt the light in the room was insufficient, even if it was only the slave’s quarters; he would remind Sardan to bring in more candles later. The furniture was sparse, consisting of a small mattress shoved into the corner. The room itself was small as well and there was no place to build a fire during the winter. Yet the slave himself did not seem to be entirely worried. In fact, it seemed to Faloth that the strange man did not care about anything at all. “These are your quarters,” Faloth said. Although he was the master and this creature the slave, he felt inferior standing beside such a power house. “You’ll live here now.” The slave did not reply. Faloth forced himself to keep his temper in check; there was no merit in getting angry over something so lowly. “Do you have a name?” The slave slowly shook his head. “You don’t have a name?” There was no reply. “We’ll have to name you, then,” Faloth huffed. He turned and made his way down the corridor, footsteps lightly echoing off the walls. A moment later another pair of feet joined his. He stopped walking and so did whomever was following him. Faloth turned to the side, glancing into a mirror that hung on the wall. Frowning, his soft, honey eyes scanned over his pale face and limp, short brown hair. Was that really him? He realized he could not recall a time he had not seemed so sick and weak; perhaps he needed to spend more time outdoors. The sound of approaching footsteps derailed his train of thought and a moment later the slave’s towering reflection joined his own. Neither of them said anything for a moment before Faloth cleared his throat. “Is there a reason you’re following me?” The slave did not respond. “Don’t tell me you’re deaf; after the price Father paid for you, I thought you would be something special.” “I would like a name.” Being the first words the slave had spoken, Faloth was momentarily stunned. It was a complete sentence, too, something he had learned very few slaves could do. His speech was slow and deep, but Faloth felt the power house before him was not a stupid young man, if not terribly bright. Faloth turned to face the slave. “Come again?” “I would like a name,” the slave repeated. “If you would allow it.” Once more Faloth was unsure as to how he might respond to such a request. He knew it was not uncommon for slaves to want names, though he had never heard of one outright asking for it; of course, he’d never heard of a slave conversing with their master as freely as this man did. It was as if he were unafraid of any consequences, that he had seen the worst of the worst already. This man was certainly peculiar and Faloth couldn’t help but feel intrigued. “Of course,” he replied, nearly as slow as the slave. “But I’ll have to think of one.” “Scaf.” “Pardon?” “Scaf. For my people, it is a good, strong name.” He fell silent, then, as if he had said too much. “Scaf it is, then,” Faloth replied quietly; he could have sworn he caught the beginnings of a grin on the slave’s face. But just as quickly as they appeared, the corners of his mouth fell back into their usual straight line. The slave - Scaf, he reminded - turned and began to tromp back to his quarters. At the end of the hall he paused, twisting his neck to peer back at his master. “Thank you.” By the time the words registered in Faloth’s mind, Scaf had already gone. Still somewhat confused, he continued on his way, Scaf’s last words replaying over and over in his mind. A strange feeling welled up in his stomach and he briefly wondered if he might be ill; he had to be hearing things, as he was certain he had imagined Scaf’s request and the short exchange following it. No one had ever thanked him before. ---------------------- The following morning came and went and Faloth reluctantly came to the conclusion that the thanks he had received was not an illusion cast by one grudge-bearing servant or another. It wasn’t so much that he disliked doing the deed more so that his father was very much against most displays of kindness. He had never thought much of it before, but now he was beginning to question his father’s ways. If his father noticed any change in Faloth’s behavior, he did not show any sign of it. Instead he kept to barking tasks at anyone who would listen and seeing to it that the slaves followed through with their orders. Ordinarily, as a slave of the family, Scaf would be among them. Faloth had decided, however, that he rather liked being trailed by the somewhat intimidating man and ordered him to act as a sort of bodyguard for him - not that he needed guarding. And so most of their days were spent with Faloth reading in the study and Scaf standing near the door with the rigid and straight posture one might expect from a piece of wood. It was on one such day that Faloth came across a thick book on the history of the gods while scanning the shelves for an interesting read. He reached up a thin arm and pulled the book from its place, dislodging a cloud of dust along with it. Staggering back he sneezed, bumping into the shelf behind him. Rubbing his back with a scowl Faloth trudged back to the table. The book fell on the table top with a thump and he turned the dusty pages without bothering to seat himself. The first few sections covered bland information he already knew from previous studies: how the gods and goddesses came to be, how they created Odea and several theories the monsants of Gananai had cooked up to explain their saviors’ disappearance. He was ready to return the book when he flipped toward the back and came across what seemed to be a more personal account of the gods. Faloth assumed it was fictional; no proper text would deliver the gods such wretched personalities. They seemed so much like a twisted version of cops and robbers. So much, Faloth realized, like people. He soon placed himself in a chair, eyes locked on the words scrawled across the page. Faloth quickly found the description of his country’s god, Mreek: Mreek, the god of Illusion, reigned over Rakirni with terror and pain. Using his magic in various pranks and tricks, his jokes were cruel and insensitive, often resulting in the deaths of his victims. Although good friends with Uwmel, his antics caused a rift between the two and their ties were quickly severed. Uwmel used her magic to grant wishes and, because they were often not granted in the form the wisher intended, Mreek argued his case in saying that her motives were not terribly different from his own. Faloth’s frown grew as he re-read the words. There was no doubt about it then; this book had to be fiction. Why else would their god be depicted as a horrifying man with no feeling toward others? But the more he thought on it, the description of Mreek and the reputation of the people of Rakirni as a whole were strikingly similar. Faloth’s race was well known for their brute ways and were often depicted as uncaring miscreants, albeit wealthy ones. Faloth could not honestly say that he disagreed. Still frowning, he flipped the pages, skimming over passages on the other gods. He paused as he came across the section on Riique; it couldn’t hurt to learn a bit more about what he assumed Scaf believed in. The god of Stone, Riique, was said to be the strongest of them all in brute strength, next to Emest, the god of Earth. Riique was also extremely kind; so kind that he took it upon himself to cure the less fortunate. In doing so, Ashrukni fell into a state of great depression. In order to relieve their people of this burden, many of its citizens sought out work in other countries. This arrangement, however, quickly failed and because Riique was unable to help his people, the nation quickly became the slaves they are today. Most citizens of this country– Faloth tore his eyes away, unable to read any further; his mind was reeling. How could anyone ever consider those of Ashrukni to be people? He was fairly certain that even the Ashrukni themselves were quite aware they were entirely different. Though they looked somewhat similar and perhaps acted like a human, Faloth knew they were anything but; they were trained like the animals they were, trained and nothing more. As such they did not deserve respect or to live in the comfort that real people needed. He shut the book with a soft thud, rising from his seat. There was no reason to continue reading when he was only being fed lies; he had half a mind to tell his father about the ridiculous books his scholars were allowing in the study. Faloth changed his mind, however, as he marched past Scaf on his way to return his book. They were not people, he reasoned, but he did not want to lose his birthday present. “Scaf,” Faloth began as they left the library, lightly struggling to keep up with the slave’s long strides. “Do you consider yourself a person?” It had only been a few short weeks since Scaf’s arrival, but Faloth could tell the young man was somewhat surprised by the question as he leaned his head slightly to the side. “... No,” he said at last, twisting his head to look down at his master. “We can never be people.” There was a pause. “Did I say something-“ ”No, you didn’t say anything wrong,” Faloth snapped. “Just proved my point.” But he was sure the sour feeling twisting in his stomach was not due to any illness he may have fostered; how could anyone mistake anyone for being human and be so wrong?
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Posted: Mon Nov 06, 2006 6:25 pm
>w<
Gotta love Mirrior. <3Excerpt
"Come at me again. Only this time, swing harder. Concentrate."
That voice grated in his ears. It carried the undertone of an elvish accent, even though the owner had long stop using the language. It was female, harsh at the moment. It commanded the boy to do better. Well, perhaps man. Mirrior had seen twenty six winters, nearly nine of them had been under the watch of his teacher.
Mirrior picked up his sword. It was lighter than most, yet heavy enough to get the right amount of force behind the swing. He looked back to his master. She was an elf, a rarity these days. Twice so, being both an elf out of the elvish lands and being a woman. Generally speaking, the role of warrior was not something women did, it was frowned upon. So for his master to even be a fighter was a great achievement, let alone the fact she was a master at her art.
She was tall, taller than Mirrior, but not quite close to towering over him. Her hair had a golden hue, matching her eyes down to the last shade. It was short cropped, cut between her shoulders and her chin. Her ears, it was no wonder, stuck out from her hair, long and pointed as it was with all elves. He knew not her true name, only what she went by: Kera Soulanthis. Many just knew her as Kera, it was what she was often called. Not by him though. No, he had respect for her as his teacher. He called her Master, out of this respect.
As for Mirrior, he had silver hair. It was silver, not gray. Just as Kera's was golden and not blonde. It too was cut short, just barely falling into his face. His eyes, however, were an oddity. Even more so than the color of his hair. They too were silver, but that wasn't the strangest part. They glowed; albeit faintly. But the mere fact that his eyes radiated light was enough to suggest something other than his human heritage. It the darkness his irises could be seen. They shined with a soft silver hue. It was not nearly enough to light up anything, just enough to distinguish them.
He was poised and ready to attack. His heart was in it.
"What are you waiting for? Do you think your enemy will give you the luxury of a moment to evaluate you next move?" His master's voice rang out again. He hesitated no longer. Mirrior rushed at his master, swinging his sword down upon her. It was useless though. Before he even processed what happened Kera had deflected his blow with her buckler, and somehow managed to twist his arm in a way which made him immediately drop his sword and cry out in pain. And to top that off, she had not even drawn a weapon.
"Check and mate, dear Mirrior." She mocked him. A ghost of a smile played across her lips. Her eyes showed her enjoyment in all of this. She was his teacher, yes, but she reveled in the power she held over him.
Mirrior was infuriated, she knew how important this training was. They didn't have time for games. He saw red, and through the haze he somehow managed to find one of his knives. He struck out at his master, not caring where he hit. His eyes focused on the two long scars across her face. How he would love to rend them open for her mockery.
It would not happen today, however. As though in slow motion his blade neared her face, until the loud screech of metal on metal. Quicker than he realized she had met his blow with one of her own knives. Kera smirked. "Now see. Blind anger will get you nowhere." Her eyes hardened. "Back down, Mirrior. You have spirit, but you need not think you are so advanced that you could strike me yet." Her voice was soft, yet menacing in it's own threatening way.
It didn't take long for Mirrior to get the hint. Training would cease for the day. His blind fury had been the final push to end the day's work. If he had found one thing out quickly, it was that his master had a very short temper and that it was not wise to push her buttons. He dropped the knife, letting it fall to the ground before stepping back. He bowed his head to Kera. "Of course Master. I will do better next time."
"I should hope so." She replied. Her voice held no emotion, no hint of what she was actually thinking. "You are progressing well, yet not nearly fast enough. I am glad though, that this time you did not try to use your powers." With that she left, heading back to their camp.
Yet another thing strange about Mirrior was his powers he held. Unlike the humans granted with magical powers, his did not fall under any of the elements. He was skilled in their use, not nearly as much as he could be, but good enough to know that he could stand any who got in his way. Save for Kera. For some reason, she had always been able to thwart his powers, or even in the least trick him into putting himself in a situation his powers could not help. But the, he was not under Kera's wing to learn how to use his magic. No, he was here, and had been here for some time, to learn how to better master weaponry.
Under Kera's command, he had learned the use for many weapons her had never seen, let alone used. She was far more knowledgeable than he ever hoped to be. After she had left he rested, his back to a tree, and thought about his Master. Thinking back, he really did not know too very much about her. She was old, possibly even ancient. Just how old, she never let on. She didn't show it either, for all her appearance she was about twenty seven. But that was quite impossible, she had been in numerous wars, that much he knew.
From what he had gathered she had never taken a student before. So it was often his thought, why now? Why him? One thing he had been told, by a stranger who oddly knew quite a lot about Kera, was that she only kept things around as long as they were useful. Mirrior had be warned by this man not to trust her, to watch his back where ever he went. Before he could inquire more, the man had left. The stranger set him on edge, not only because of what he said, but because of the way he spoke of her as though he knew his Master. It was explained to him before his was fully taken as a student that if in danger, he would have to save his own a**. Kera cared nothing about endangering her life for another, save one and that person had long disappeared for years.
Only a small part of chapter one. <3
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Posted: Tue Nov 07, 2006 3:01 pm
Lupe-- ::::::WUVS::::: Quote: I was hoping I’d have one, but all I got was an apple god rampaging through a Target, a giant green bird, and a guy with an Australian accent. Quote: “Hold on, I don’t think I calibrated this right… neither of you are an 84-year-old woman with a fetish for blue armchairs, right?” Quote: “Right… so you two are on a strange journey attempting to escape from a difficult past, am I right? Yeah, I thought so. Who isn’t? So, um, nerdy-boy, you’re wracked with guilt about something you did to Emoface, Emoface here is full of self-loathing related to whatever happened but trying to make the best of it, and you’re both in a strange town doing stuff that doesn’t make any sense. Good so far?” Hilarious, I greatly enjoyed these lines in particular. <3<3
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Posted: Wed Nov 08, 2006 5:55 pm
Wow, thanks! <3 *glomps Snoogin*
I have NO idea where the armchair-fetish line came from. It seemed good at the time. XP
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