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 Posted: Sat Feb 09, 2013 10:19 pm
 x 
You can't feel the heat until you hold your hand over the flame.
You have to cross the line just to remember where it lays.
You won't know your worth now, son, until you take a hit.
And you won't find the beat until you lose yourself in it!
That's why we won't back down--
We won't run and hide!
Yeah, cuz these are the things that we can't deny.
I'm passing over you like a satellite;
So catch me if I fall!
That's why we stick to your game plans and party lines,
But at night we're conspiring by candlelight.
We are the orphans of the Amerikan Dream
So shine your light on me~!
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Posted: Sat Feb 09, 2013 10:38 pm
There was a curious clicking chime emanating from somewhere outside the shop. If one bothered to investigate or randomly happen upon the scene, it was a small clearing far enough away from the shop that - should anything happen - the building itself would be shielded by bushes and trees. A lone fox in crimson armor was partially sprawled out, and clearly hard at work. It had only been 'recently' that Lacey had started making fireworks, again.
Most of her attempts before had been complete failures. Bombs, rather than the pretty spectacles of light that she adored so much. And more than once she had fur singed off and felt intense heat as her explosives misfired. There was a time or two she was lucky to have escaped. For a while, she had given up and tried to focus on other interests...but it just wasn't the same. Fireworks lit up her life, and they always had. She got that from her grandfather, 'Agent Nevada'. She liked to pretend she had gone out on a big and important mission with him. He would have supplied the demolition supplies and bombs.
And it was her job to create the fireworks to celebrate their victory!
In her mind, he was her hero, and she was his trusty sidekick. Both of them were brave, experienced, and entirely elite soldiers, and they had a mission, each time: save Nevada's lifemate, Eta, or "Ellie", as she was fondly called. Grandma Ellie was so kind and soft and gentle. Needless to say, she adored her family. And she was indescribably relieved she could make fireworks, again.
The charcoal vixen hummed as she worked, a soft little melody easily recognized as the 1812 Overture.
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